Sareena Loralen

Sareena Loralen (a.k.a. Cardinal)

Sareena - known as "Cardinal" when she busks on the street - has been seen on the street corners of Novandria since the spring of 1882. Sareena is often seen fiddling on street corners in the merchant's district and other populous areas, though that seems to be largely for her own enjoyment. She is in demand as a performer at numerous social events throughout the city. She seems happy and throws herself into her performances with abandon. When not performing, she is watchful of her surroundings. Information on Cardinals' known in-game pieces can be found at: https://www.worldanvil.com/w/terranon-stormtroll/a/music-and-known-songs-article?preview=true

Physical Description

Special abilities

Sareena's primary instrument is violin, though she is known also to sing, compose, and play guitar.

Apparel & Accessories

Cardinal favors simpler clothing but the tailoring and fabric indicate an increase in her wealth.

Mental characteristics

Personal history

Sareena was born and raised at the Red Lion Inn. She left there recently (please contact the player if your PC would be familiar with the inn prior to the spring of 1882) and took up residence in the Warrens. She goes by the name "Cardinal" when performing. Sareena joined the Bardic guild in early 1883 and became a journeyer towards the end of the year, having lived at the Skybound during that time. She married Maelie Arsenault in the Fall of 1883 and, since Maelie has left for personal business, lives in a manor in the north ward. She became a master of the bardic guild in the spring of 1884.

Education

Prior to joining the bardic guild, Cardinal was illiterate and had little to no schooling. Upon joining the guild she has become a voracious pupil, learned to read, and inhales any new knowledge she can get her hands on.

Employment

Bard

Accomplishments & Achievements

Cardinal is the only student of Master Bard Aerin Robintan. She has a certain amount of noteriety and fame in that roll as Robintan is known as one of the best bards in the guild in recent - or longer - memory. She's often referred to "The Protege" or "The Songbird of Novandria"

Intellectual Characteristics

Observant and quick witted, cautious

Social

Contacts & Relations

Sareena's elven father was a traveling bard by the name of James Redgrove. Her mother is a prostitute at the Red Lion Inn. She is courting with Sir Victor Orsei

Religious Views

Sareena worships Sephira

Hobbies & Pets

Sareena has adopted a small kitten that is typically seen wearing a sweater. Observant watchers might notice an extra set of paws.

Wealth & Financial state

Cardinal previously was dirt poor and living in the warrens but, by all current estimates, is now quite wealthy through a combination of her work as a bard, adventuring, and her relationships.

A Master bard that goes by the name Cardinal. She currently lives in a large house in the north ward and is regularly seen adventuring and busking around Novandria.

View Character Profile

Age

Date of Birth

Nov 25 1858

Birthplace

Novandria, The Red Lion Inn

Children

Current Residence

Arsenault Manor

Pronouns

She/Her

Gender

Female (she/her)

Presentation

Feminine

Eyes

Green

Hair

Red

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

Pale with freckles

Height

5'5"

Weight

125

Belief/Deity

Sephira

Two
Sareena Loralen-Orsei, October 1884

Sareena fidgeted as Robintan came into the music room and James looked up from tuning his guitar. She looked between the two of them, her Father and her Papa. They looked at one another. One glacial eyebrow rose slightly. One flame red eyebrow rose in response. She gave them a few minutes to feel one another out without her interference. Jamed Redgrove had been denied entrance to the bardic guild by Master Aerin Robintan. But James Redgrove no longer had a magically granted voice. James Redgrove had left a daughter he had not known existed in a hellish childhood and Master Aerin Robintan knew it. Cardinal went over and picked up her violin and offered Robintan the piano seat. None of them spoke for several minutes, letting the tuning of instruments fill the entirely too awkward silence. She realized there would be no words. None of them had any for a "hello parents, please meet one another" meetings. So she drew her bow over the violin strings and was mildly gratified that they both stiffened out of their own thoughts. They fell into the familiar tune almost automatically, a simple enough warm up for three masters; Sareena didn't need James to wear a guild badge to know where he would fall. She also was certain that Robintan would hear it by the end of the session and it would all sort itself in due course. For the next hour, there was only music. Sad music for lost years. Angry music for promises that were broken or not kept, sheltered accusations in flurries of notes. Happier music as the pains eased into a sort of gentle understanding, tentative olive branches offered. She avoided anything with lyrics and they were content to follow the pace she set - perhaps because they knew she was the one who had arranged the meeting. When the worst of the emotions had been spilled into the air, she shifted into a traditional round, starting the verses with her lush, rich soprano. Robintan's deep voice resonated beneath her own into the next verse and she resisted the urge to sigh in pleasure. James's lyrical tenor joined just after and she could feel her Father's gaze shift slightly - the only indication of surprise he would give. She tried to stay focused on her part but she wanted to sink into the sound, roll herself in it like a blanket. She closed her eyes to keep from shedding tears of joy, her hands shaking on the violin bridge. This moment. This precise moment was a dream she had sheltered in the deep recesses of her heart. She had written of it once, with different setting and words, where a little girl with red hair grew up with her mother and father and played the violin and all three of them made music. It was not the faces she had originally imagined but it was perfect nonetheless. As the final notes died away, she lowered the violin and looked between them both. Two nearly identical nods, two glances at her. As one, they each took a hand, squeezed her fingers gently and then released. "Well." Robintan nodded, rose, and inclined his head slightly "I will see you tomorrow?" "As always," she smiled warmly and kissed his cheek. He hesitated a moment and she paused. He never reacted. She did not expect him to but she knew enough to know the momentary hesitation and murmured softly into his shoulder. He nodded and inclined his head to both before stepping out. James exhaled softly. "He always like that?" "Incredible?" James laughed at her response. "That too I suppose." "Yes. But it's ...not a front. Just a wall. The few that get through have earned it. I understand that." "I suspect you do, my girl. What did you say?" She paused a moment, not certain she should tell him but then decided to share the same open heart with both men, and smiled a little "I told him he was my Father first and then second and that I just had two of you now so he'd better accept that I wasn't going anywhere. I'm your girl and his little bird." James smiled at that and put his arm around her, giving her shoulders a squeeze. "Is it everything you wanted, my girl?" "Everything and more," she said softly. "Everything and more."

Aftermath
Sareena Loralen-Orsei, October 1884

Cardinal stood, in the cold grey pre-dawn of a Novandrian morning, in the wet ashes and the haphazard array of blackened timbers that had once been The Red Lion. The ruins were still smoking but the Rooks and wizards had declared the site safe from any continuing fire. The goons had fled and the Rook, a helpful fellow that remembered her from their past work with Parr, had explained that they had found two bodies but it looked like a lantern had fallen and ignited the structure. Cardinal had nodded and been on her way. Now, the site clear, she was back, toeing the ash aside with her boot where she had, nearly fifteen hours earlier, committed her first murder. Nel said it was self defense. Cardinal wasn't so sure - but she also was not certain she cared. The smell of the place still threatened to choke her but at least it was from smoke and not the clawing fear that had first gripped her when they had collectively slipped through the kitchen's back door. She knew every inch of the Lion from the beer and blood stained floors to the stale smell of the straw mattresses in the rooms and the drafts in the attic. She had wondered if being back in the building would paralyze her and for a moment she had wanted to run back to the alley, but she pushed through it and stayed. The first breath, then the second, and then she realized she was not as frozen as she had feared. She had thought perhaps seeing him, hearing his voice, would send her running, would stop her in place, but she felt nothing but a seething, burning hatred when she saw him. Maybe the wretched dragons had burned it out of her. Maybe the last beating was just too much. But whatever used to cower at the sight of him was gone. It was the first moment that she knew she could carry through the plan to the end. She could sense the magic in him now, that she had never been able to sense when she had lived here. She could feel the power that he had used on her and the others, magic used to hurt them and subdue them. She had thought, for a very long time, that she was just weak. But now she knew better. He was powerful ... but no more powerful than her. She stared at him on the balcony. He grinned back. She saw the moment in his eyes when he realized she was not shrinking away. It was a brutal fight. Her friends were pulled somewhere else by fae creatures. The hired men hit hard with fists like hammers and she felt bones crack. But she countered his spells and flung her own back, born not by song in the air but by the furious beating of the drum of her heart. She would be free. Dead or alive, she would be free of this man. She was losing and she knew it, outnumbered six to one but she kept going. She would be free, dead or alive. Dead was looking more likely. The flurry of guitar notes, the lyrical tenor with its Avalonian accent wrapped around her, knitting flesh and bone and giving her a full breath. "Don't touch my daughter, you cunt," anger laced through the voice. It was not one she could recall yet so instantly, like Robintan's soothing bass or Victor's baritone or the light soprano of Arinelle or Bella. It was a beautiful voice, she thought idly, a bit winded. She chances a look, saw the face of James Redgrove and her eyes widened. Robintan was off rescuing her from Windemere in the only way he could. And here was her father, doing the same in this moment. She had waited a lifetime for someone to care enough to save her. Victor from the snow. Robintan from the fear. James from this place. Nel and Bella and Zayn from the aching loneliness of that huge house. Muse and Nita and Kevan and Arinelle and Peg from the solitude. Elsie, promising a future where there had been none. She donned it like armor. She gathered it all into one vicious psychic lance and gave the Vagabond back his own pain. In the end, he had stared at her with eyes wide with fright. She took the moment to savor it, for him to know that he was, for one brief moment, experiencing the thousands of times he had inflicted it on her, on the other girls. And then she slid the shadow blade home between the third and fourth ribs, as she had been taught. She watched the light fade from his eyes, dispelled the magic over the place. The words to her returned friends were a blur. She remembered her foot kicking the corpse of the man that had tortured her. She remembered anger and a strange, watery and weak relief that made her feel boneless and unmoored. She set the blaze with her own hand and did not look back. Except this morning she did. She picked up a handful of the wet ash, letting it drip through her fingers. "It's done," James' voice was soft behind her. She looked up at him, still learning the roll and inflection of his voice and smiled a little. "It is, isn't it?" "Yes. In all ways. Come away, my girl. Let's go play a song." He offered her his arm and she took it and if she leaned a little much he did not comment, as Robintan never would either, and if his arm tightened a little too hard on hers, just as Robintan's would, she did not say anything either. She had found her parents - the ones that counted - and her family - the one that mattered. It was time to come away.

Enacted
Sareena Loralen, September 1884

The plan had been laid piece by piece with only as much thread played out as necessary. Prose only knew the glamour weave dresses. Chrissy only knew her dancers. Edward knew the song. Arden knew the stage. Scarlet knew the targets and the legal briefing. The mockingbird knew only the gossip. The Aurora knew only the news story reveal, thankful to Peg for her writing. Mordecai and Clover knew only to take the children to visit on a field trip for the weekend. The drop box - old but still used - for the Syndicate received a single letter. A list of houses was sent to Harper to check on. Several nobles found their debts suddenly settled and their accounts cleared. Every scrap and step had been carefully prepared and laid and set end to end not for the sake of secrecy but for the sake of safety. One slip, and she would miss and that could not be afforded. She’s been vague even with the people she trusted most because it was easier to lie when you did not actually know the truth. Cardinal smoothed the white, buttery silk of her gown and fixed her best smile and went to take down a monster. Around her, the ball glittered and shone through shades of black and white and she would douse it in red as a declaration of her own pain and the pain of the hundreds of people Windermere's manipulations had hurt. The women, those bloodied, defiant, wounded women were just the start of the iceberg - and in the boxes that would go out, lay the evidence for all the world to see. But she could not miss. And so each step was done in stealth and secrecy with no ties to reveal anything. The requests may have seemed strange but none of her friends questioned the need for the glamour weave and the messages and the specific performances. It needed to be memorable and vicious and so visible that he could not sneak away. And so she had stripped herself bare this one last time, revealing the scars, the bruises she had known so well, the knife marks, the finger marks, all of it. She needed them to see what ignoring the viper in their midst had done to so many, not just her. But she was, in her own way. one of them now, her gold pin giving her access to their ranks if not in name then at least by the need to absorb the power and emotion of her music. So tonight, she would give them her music, all of it, raw and agonized, so that they would know what it took for her to create as she did. And then she would let Baron Johannes Windermere burn in a fire of his own making. ----------- It was nearly dawn and while the rest of the household was either asleep or - in the case of Mordecai and Clover - keeping careful watch in case Windermere decided to tempt Robintan's fate - Sareena was not asleep. She sat in the music room, her violin in her lap as she idly rubbed her thumb over the strings, making them hum almost imperceptibly in the slowly gathering light from outside. She watched the last traces of stars out the window, remembering the shock on the faces of the people she cared about, recalling the faces of those who were surprised, those who were horrified...and most of all those who looked ashamed or afraid. She likely could have, she mused, simply revealed Windermere but the performance had been needed to drive the point home. Too many had known about Windermere's abuses. Too many had stayed silent. Cardinal needed them to understand that silence was complicit, that their ignoring of all the bruises and cuts - literal and figurative - had created the monster they feared and who hurt so many. In that, too, they needed to see the smaller monsters among them. Those that "only" visited their cruelty on a wife, a daughter, a child, a son, a spouse. Cardinal watched the stars glimmer into the light and then hide themselves from the encroaching dawn. She hoped that there was more than one set of noble eyes still watching them as she was, considering the consequences of the people that they had hurt, awake and torn if not with guilt, at least with fear. In freeing herself, if she could have created one kindness for someone like Bella or Peg... it would have been worth it. And if not, well, she was lore and whispers and eventually she would find out.

A Mockingbird's Spite
Sareena Loralen, 1884

Cardinal waited in the very nondescript inn, in a very nondescript chair, waiting for a person she wasn't certain of the identity of. Unfortunately, this seemed to characterise a great deal of her Whispers work and she wondered, idly, if most of the guild realized how much of the "insidious evil Whispers" time was spent simply staring at walls waiting for something to happen. She ran over her current composition in her head while she waited, sometimes pausing to make a notation in her notebook. The door opened and the figure that entered looked around and then sat across from her. "I am told darling, that you have some information that I may be of interest in." Cardinal stared. The Mockingbird waited. "You are not what I expected," she admitted after a long moment. "Well that's half the fun, my dear Master Loralen." Cardinal scowled at the appellation and the Mockingbird held up their hands "My apologies, it is a difficult voice to drop." "I see. I'm not sure if I should trust that or not. You've spent a great deal of time talking about me and my friends in a way that has been far from kind." "I have a particular duty to a particular set of moorings," the Mockingbird said after a moment. "Whatever may be, I am actually quite fond of you and your friends. You are interesting people and my work thrives on that. Besides, as you've noticed, I am hardly boring myself." Cardinal considered this a moment and then nodded. "Fine. I'll share this with you. But you cannot share it until the night of the Arden Ball." "Oh a deadline," Mockingbird replied drolly. "Very well. Gregory dear said it was worth the wait." Cardinal slid over the top file of her pile but not the rest. Mockingbird flipped it open and one delicate eyebrow arched. "Well...well... well. I know the son's given you trouble but how has the father earned the ire of the Songbird of Novandria?" "That is not your business." "You know I could-" The Mockingbird stopped as Cardinal flipped the folder closed and drew it back. "And if you do, I will find every single secret you hold dear and make you the next target of next season." She said calmly, surprising herself with her own bravery. "Hm. I see why he picked you," The Mockingbird said after a moment. "There's a second stipulation." "And that would be?" "A retraction" "My dear I do not print retractions." "But you do change your mind on occasion. Master Aerin Robintan has never done anything untoward or inappropriate to me or any of the bardic college. Ever." She said softly, though the steel in her tone was unmistakable. "I don't give a rat's arse what you say about me. But you will not tarnish him on the words of that bitch of a former master." "Well she has managed to regain her title..." Mockingbird sing-songed. "Though goodness knows-" Cardinal slid over a singular letter, gleaned from Weber's files. Mockingbird glanced at it and then looked at her again. "Goodness." "I'm not her. I won't blackmail you with her falsehoods. But I know she tried. Lina Weber is no master, no matter who she has bullied into giving her that title again." She tapped the other file in front of her and finally Mockingbird sighed. "Fine...fine... No Robintan. Though the way you defend him you'd think there really was something, Master Loralen." Cardinal did not rise to the bait, her expression mild. "You are a peculiar individual. I've seen you shake in your slippers at a ball but you will face down me or a dragon without compunction won't you?" "I'm still shaking, Duchess," she said after a moment. "But for the few that have earned my loyalty?" she shrugged slightly. "Dragons don't seem so bad after you've been melted enough times. He is my master and like a father to me and I cannot conceive of a world where he would do the things Lina Weber suggests or be as stupid to be played by anyone, let alone me, and so I will rewrite the world if necessary to keep him from being hurt again." The Duchess gave a startled laugh and then nodded. "All right darling. It's a deal. You give me the information. It goes out in a special edition on the night of the ball. I print an apology as new information has come to light on your esteemed master." A brief smirk flitted across the writer's features. "I've heard you play enough to know the other part isn't true. Good luck, Master Loralen. I believe you may need it for this endeavor, but either way it shall be delicious to watch." Cardinal slid over the necessary information, nodded, and walked out on her first - and only - meeting with Duchess Mockingbird.

The Duke's Grace
Sareena Loralen, 1884

Cardinal waited in the parlor of Arden manor, a pile of stacked files in a case by her feet. She was dressed in one of her best visiting dresses and her hair pinned up neatly. She resisted the urge to fidget while she waited, soothing herself by running scales in her head. <if you do this… don’t miss> Robintan’s stern warning echoed in her head. Without Arden’s backing, none of this would work. “Master Loralen!” Amelie's bright voice brought her back around and she rose, curtsying to the Duke and Duchess as they entered. “Your Grace,” she addressed them both. “Thank you for seeing me.” “Certainly,” Gregory Wren bowed to her slightly. “I admit the request was somewhat surprising but Amelie insisted it must be important.” Sareena has spent months since the winter ball befriending the duchess as much as she was able. The woman wasn’t hard to like. She was warm and not terribly older than Sareena herself. They liked to have tea and talk about art and music and while Mae had always been closer to Declan, Cardinal had found an unexpected friend in his mother. The political gambit had turned into an actual relationship. But it was the gambit she needed now. “I … need a favor if you would be willing to grant it.” The Duke gave her a look but Ameie laid a hand on his arm and he nodded. “What do you need?” Cardinal picked up the files. “You have a cancer in your house and it’s caused and continues to cause great harm…” Piece by piece she laid out her evidence, the stories, the clippings, the letters, everything she had built up over a year and a half of searching from Mae’s searching of The Lion, from the news archive, from her own bardic friends. Finally, she turned and looked at Amelie. “There is more. I… would like to show you what they did but it...is not appropriate for His Grace.” “Windermere?” The Duke’s eyes narrowed. “No, but one he supports and one of his blood. I…” Amelie was quicker on the uptake. “Oh Sareena," she murmured. The woman took her hand and nodded. “Come into the sitting room." It was several minutes before they returned, Sareena adjusting the shoulder of her gown and Amelie with glassy eyes full of unshed tears. She sat next to her husband and leaned to murmur in his ear. His expression darkened further, having been paging through the files while the women had departed. Carefully, he handed them back to Sareena who clutched them to her chest like the treasure they were worth. "I assume you have a plan," he said finally, Amelie's murmured words still echoing in his thoughts. "I do not agree with much of your political leaning, Master Loralen, for that matter I don't agree with my step-sons. But you are a good woman, a master in your guild, and I cannot fault raising yourself from wherever you have come from." he glanced at Amelie again. "Wherever that was," he emphasized subtley. "Moreover, I cannot condone the type of violence to which you have been apparently subjected or the dishonor that Windermere is inflicting by his underhandedness." "I... do have a plan, though it's a bit dramatic and I'll need society there. I can't afford to miss, Your Grace. So it's all or nothing and rather attention getting." "Well.. maybe we're due for a bit of that to shake up some of what has been hidden for too long. I have a friend I'll put in touch with you that will help cement the deal. Expect a letter and I will see you as the penultimate performer at the Black and White Gala?" Slowly, Cardinal's shoulders unhitched. "Thank you, Your Grace. For...your understanding." Gregory Wren rubbed his eyes with a small smile "Thank you for allowing me to see to the matter, Master Loralen." They closed the parlor door behind her and, ready or not, Cardinal set the next piece of her trap.

Twisted
Sareena Loralen, August 1884

A dazzling new play from Master Bard Lina Weber follows the heroic exploits of Alina who attempts to reveal the sordid affairs and betrayals of an apprentice who has only gained her position thanks to manipulating a compromised and sordid relationship with her Master... Cardinal stared at the Patlovian review of the new play with growing horror and nausea. But he would never... The office next door had been, for many months now, one of the only safe places in the world she had ever known. To think that she would manipulate him... To think that he would in any way abuse his authority... He was, for all intents, her father in her mind. Not the one who had run. The one who had stayed. The one who patiently filled all the little pieces of hurt and absence and cruelty that the only other father she had known - Vagabond - had ever given her. Trying to imagine him looking at her that way or doing any of those things... her mind filled with white static, crashing cymbals, the discordant slamming of a hand on piano keys. She moaned softly in the room, thankful she was alone. To think that Aerin Robintan was anything at all like that man was incomprehensible. To think that anyone -else- would think that... The coffee mug shattered into the wall. She'd march out there right now and have the Barasians put a truth spell on her and tell them everything, clear his name and his reputation and his honor. She had none to speak of - it didn't matter. But not Robintan. Gods no. Frantically, her logic pointed out that it was a plot but she didn't care. She couldn't let him bear that. She had promised. She kept her promises. But if she moved now, she would tip off Windermere and in turn tip off Vagabond and the entire plan of two years would crash and she would not get another chance. Windermere not knowing her origin was critical to the entire thing and she had carefully built up her trap with the express purpose of avoiding that nugget of knowledge. If she tipped her hand now... Sareena drew a wheezing, panicked breath, wondering if there would ever be a time where she would be free - and if it could save the man she loved as master and father, did it even matter?

Kintsugi
Sareena Loralen, August 1884

The pieces were almost all in place. There were a few last minute details to see to, one reporter to manage, a few dresses left to be made with Master Prose but the pieces only needed to be arranged and then she could fuse them together. The action that would help heal her would shatter Windemere's world and there was no remorse in her for that. Tonight, she stood in the late night hour outside the Astral Ink Parlor in the South Ward. There were no tattoo shops in the central or north ward and despite the location the Astral had a stellar reputation. Edward had recommended it when she'd asked for the magical shadow blade tattoo as a weapon back up but she was not here to have that replaced. Despite the late hour, the lights were on though she saw no other customers inside. The elaborate door danced with angels and devils, frolicking, taunting, laughing. Which was she anymore? Light or dark? Or some combination of both? It was hard to feel bad about what she was doing - she had tried but the nights all rose up to blacken her dreams and when she woke screaming, she wanted Windemere and his ilk to know that they games they played ruined lives. She pushed open the door and the proprietors, Inkshadow - a Tiefling, and Seraphel, an Aasimar, looked up. "Back again, Master Loralen?" Inkshadow purred, half lowering her eyelashes in a flirt. "Yes...I'd like something different tonight though." "Another spell wrought?" "No. Are you available?" "Yes, it's been a quiet evening. What do you have in mind?" Seraphel took out the design sample book she had selected from last time but she waved it away. He raised an eyebrow, saying nothing as was his habit. Cardinal nodded and went into the changing room supplied for those who were having less visible areas inked. She came out in the white silk robe supplied for that purpose, her underskirts still in place. Checking again to ensure no one else was present, she turned and lowered the robe from her back to show them, keeping the silk clutched to her front. "Make this beautiful." Behind her, there was silence and she tried to still her anxiety about what they might think. After a moment, Inkshadow's soft step approached and Cardinal felt the Tiefling's fingertips trace the edge of one of the deeply wrought scars in her back. The swooping pattern had not been made by her choice and the pain of each of those lines radiated in the tension from the bard's back and shoulders. Skin puckered in places it should not, the depth of the lines was not consistent. She had fought and tried to get away when the pain had become too much. He had told her to stop moving as she was ruining his art work. Night after night he had added more carving, more details. She had learned to still herself and not move by the end. Cardinal knew that some cultures valued scarring like this as a beautification design, a mark of honor, some other social merit. Europa was not one of them. She had hidden them for a very long time - only Victor and Maelie had seen them. But she was tired of being broken into so many pieces. Carefully, Inkshadow raised the robe over her shoulders again and gently took her hand, leading her upstairs to Seraphel's work space. She let Cardinal lay face down on the tattooing bed, covering her legs with a light, soft blanket and letting her arrange herself comfortably. Seraphel followed them up a few moments later, setting a tray of supplies down. "I do not think we can use the magic needles on this, Master Loralen," Inkshadow said softly. "There will be some stinging but...nothing like what that must have felt like." "Whatever you like," she murmured, closing her eyes and cueing music into her thoughts to prepare herself. "Do you know the Kintsugi of the Dragonfly Isles?" "No..." Cardinal flinched as Seraphel's hands smoothed over her skin and she felt some of the scars split and mend, flesh parting and then reforming as quickly as he had rewounded her. She felt some of the tightness of the worst scars ease as he worked soundlessly. Inkshadow continued speaking, lyrical voice lulling. "They take broken pottery and place it back together with powdered stone and gold, making the piece more beautiful for having been broken." "Is that..." "You will see. Trust us, Master Loralen." The Tiefling and Aasimar bent over her back with their needles and began to work as she floated away on the light hum of pain and the music in her head.

Showing Off
Sareena Loralen, August 1884

"You want to -what-?" Edward stared at Sareena. "Look, Chrissy showed me. It's all balance - I can do balance. So the dancers will come in here-" she marked the stage map layout between them. "And then the rig will be here... and we'll hire a wizard apprentice with a wand here..." she marked a spot in the wings. "Can you...do that?" "Do what?" "Play upside down?" "I'm pretty certain I can. I've done it while falling when we adventure and I have to cast." "Red Bird, you know you aren't sane right?" She shrugged "I can't keep playing noble parties all the time. I'll get stale. So this is the new plan - one noble party a month to play, I'll attend the rest for work, and then Saturday's here, Friday's at the Skybound for the so-called common folk. Special events as they arise." "Can you afford that?" "Edward, what they pay me to play is now officially obscene," she sighed. "I keep trying to donate it but Zeff won't let me." "All right...well... this just feels risky." he hrmed over the diagram. "You're here with the eletech guitar." A twitch in his face indicated she had him. "And this does give Chrissy a fabulous chance to work on new and innovative choreography," he demured. "Certainly." "Well. All right. Yardage of silk...apprentice..wand.." he started making a shopping list while Cardinal -grinned-.

Not a breakthrough
Sareena Loralen June, 1884

Sareena knew if she avoided him much longer, Robintan was going to actually send for her and then Sareena's ability to hide behind the wall of numbness wouldn't matter a jot. It was not that she was trying to avoid the emotions, the hurt, the loneliness, the music that would release them. It's just that she seemed unable to take those emotions and actually craft them into anything useful for once. It was rare, but even she could not constantly turn all her pain into beautiful songs- or even not beautiful ones. It had been a long time since the music had abandoned her - the only other time she could recall was when Vagabond had marked her. In truth, she didn't want to listen to it. She didn't want to make the emotion, the aching, screaming abandonment, anymore real than it already was. Whatever tunes she was churning out in her head were so violent and despairing that she feared them. So she ignored them and stayed wrapped in the fog where none of it mattered. Unfortunately, that was not working. She had barely slept in days and hadn't taken a posting in the last week. She would not be able to hide much longer and she knew it but she was afraid of what would happen when she removed the bandage. Sareena had tried to talk about it and the words wouldn't come. She had tried to write about it and the words wouldn't come. She had tried her violin and finally put the instrument up in a fit of annoyance as every tune she started to play fell flat or veered into something she had previously written. None of it was helping the vague, claustrophobic feeling that she was lost and could not be found again - and that no one cared to actually find her. She sat at the piano for the seventh night running and plinked out an aimless tune that once again led nowhere.

Mementos of Ghosts
Sareena Loralen, June 1884

Cardinal slid the painting in the music room aside and spun the combination lock beneath until it clicked. She swung the door open on the small safe and surveyed the contents. The financial papers and such were all elsewhere. This wasn't that kind of safe. The ratty black coat with the gold bullion embroidery still smelled of must and stale whiskey and Him. It sat at the bottom of the pile, neatly folded and long since replaced by finer clothes. "No one but me wants you anyway, little girl. On top of that sat the battered instrument that had been given to her by the cleric of Sephira, dented and warped from too much time in the Warrens and too many wet days on the corner. She had done it the service of loosening the pegs so it could rest in peace having saved her once. "And your ratty dress and your broken violin..." Mae had sneered over the table, misinterpreting her terror for rejection. She shifted the instrument carefully, not wanting to damage it further. A silver backed hairbrush - not real just silver paint but the metal beneath it was solid -sat next to it. More than one crack in her jaw had come from it. She wasn't sure why she had stolen it but her mother had valued it and it was some sort of touch stone despite the pain it had caused. "Don't you ever dare mention him again," Jaihra snarled. A letter, written in polished, sleek hand. "I have to go to Montaigne to see this through. Take care of Elsie. I love you." written to the woman she was not the woman she is. The words were smudged at the bottom where Cardinal had run her finger over the name of her wife hundreds of times that night she had found it on the bed. Another letter, an invitation to Arinelle and Victor's wedding from Baron Orsei, announcing the nuptials and the making of Lady Orsei the someday Baroness. The letter from Robintan and the ticket stub that had sent her for weeks to Marchant's workshop - to spare her Greyson, not that she had known it at the time. A copy of a story, written on in Lina Weber's bold hand. "Excellent! Meet me to speak in my office." A piece of sheet music with Greyson's name on it and her score beneath. "The final battle" She took the letter out of her dress pocket from the room upstairs and read it again. "My darling daughter... I just... don't know what to do now that I can do anything... I need to go away for a while...You deserve a better father... Any father would be absolutely mad to not be proud of you... I... don't deserve that.. Any father would be proud of you and love you - I am sure of nothing else in life right now but I am sure of that...James." She had read it again...and again...and again. Any father. But never him. No "Father" no "Papa" no sweetness. Just James. Another name she had smudged under her thumb a hundred times before the walls and the darkness had closed in and she had curled into that corner in that room. She had kept her crying quiet because He might hear. She didn't move because if He found her... it had taken Nel's footstep to break the hold of the memory and she had scrabbled with all her considerable will power to put her thoughts back in the present. Thank the gods for Nel and her hugs and the warm, solid comfort. But the present hurt more for once. She had trusted him. Against all odds and all of the reality that he probably wanted nothing to do with her, she had trusted him when he said he would stay. Cardinal knew better than to trust so easily but it had been such a pretty story. The same fragile stuff of hoping her mother had an answer, that He wouldn't hurt her, that Maelie would stay, that Weber wanted to befriend her, the fairy story of the Orsei's accepting her as part of their family. She knew far, far better than to trust that deeply and that quickly. But she had anyway, clutching the story with her whole heart until it had shattered in her grip. She would not let Elsie see her like this. She would not let Elsie see this. She would rip the sky asunder to make sure her daughter never felt even a sliver of this pain and loneliness. She slid the letter in on top of Mae's good-bye. She shifted the violin back. And then she locked and closed the safe where she stored her ghosts and went to retrieve her daughter from classes.

Gifts
Sareena Loralen, June 1884

Edward trailed after Cardinal in the shop at the luthiers south of Novandria where Cardinal had briefly learned how her instrument and others were made. Master Marchant met them at the door and hugged her enthusiastically. "Congratulations, Master Loralen," he beamed at her with the corners of his eyes crinkling and his lopsided smile. "I knew that wouldn't be long in coming." "Thank you, sir," she smiled, accepting the praise with a faint blush. "I was surprised to see you letter. Surely you have a guitar?" "Uh..several at this point but ...this is for someone special and I wanted to be sure to get your input and Master Leonhart's." "Of course, of course," Marchant bustled them into the finished instruments storage. "By all means look about, test whatever you like. We can apply decoration to any of the unvarnished pieces if you'd like." Cardinal looked to Edward and the two of them spent the next hour testing almost every instrument in the room. She kept her eyes closed, listening for the tones and timbers and finally she pointed at one of the four Edward had narrowed the selection down to. "That one. That...feels right." Marchant smiled from the doorway. "Well thank you, Master Loralen." "I picked one of yours again, didn't I?" "Unerringly, my dear." The guitar was already finished, dark wood with a simple front and the back inlaid with elaborate marquetry in an elven pattern. She turned the instrument in her hands and passed it to Edward. Edward raised an eyebrow and passed it back. "Master Loralen." He said pointedly. "Uh..yes. Sorry. Habit," she checked the tune, strummed the strings and played quietly on it before her wandering fingers found a tune and she put herself into the playing. Master Marchant watched, looking quite pleased. Edward selected a different instrument and joined her and soon heads were popping in from the workshop to listen. The two bards grinned as they finished, a spontaneous round of applause coming from the instrument makers who had come to listen. "I'll take this one, with a case please." "Strap as well." "No I... had something made for that already," she blushes. "Right then." Edward rather sheepishly handed over gold for the guitar in his hands. "Chrissy is going to have your head." "Oh no she doesn't discuss the guitar collection. I don't discuss the dance costumes." Marchant chuckled "May I ask who this is for, Sareena? I know you have one already as I sent it myself." "My father, sir." The master blinked several times at her and she shrugged. "It's a very long story but...he's knocking the rust off and I thought he might like his own again." "I...see. Well I hope he finds much joy in it." Edward's hand found her arm as she trembled with the gold in her hand and then passed it over. Marchant did not comment. She hoped he would like it and not find it presumptuous but the sound of him playing still filled her heart and she wanted very dearly to give the gift of music back to him because she knew very well, watching his fingers move on strings, where her own had come from now. "C'mon Red Bird. Let's go home."

Close of the Day
Master Bard, Sareena Loralen, May 1884

Tell me your fields are a-flower With poppies posing Tell me they've been waiting for hours For the close of the day Tell me do you seize the emotions Fading murmurs (anyone home?) Tell me I've got magical potions Rising from the gramophone The giant house that was known as Arsenault Manor was quieter in the last several weeks. Other than to the Midnighters, Sareena had not really remarked on it. She had been watching the progression of emotions for several weeks further and she had seen the signs and marked them and knew where this was going. Maelie had grasped onto a place and stability with both hands and clung but it was like a life raft - untenable and not a place where you stayed forever. It broke Sareena's heart even as she understood. The process of finding yourself was hard and included mis-steps and false starts and even love was sometimes not strong enough to overcome the weights they carried if those weights were not let go. The raft was sinking and no amount of desperate tears would keep it afloat. So you say you want me So you say you need me Would you say you'd follow me through all the confusion? Falling flowers fade away So you think that you just may Come in time to leave before I sense the intrusion "I'll be back," she had said softly in the quiet of the secret office. "When?" There was no heat to the question. "I ...don't know. This is such a complicated matter." A lost sister. A chance to have family, history, heritage. Sareena had marched into Hell for the same thing. She could hardly stop Maelie from Montaigne for the same thing. Sareena had smiled and kissed her wife, whom she would always love but did not actually expect to return in any short order. She knew Maelie's concerns in Montaigne were eating her up. The balance of identities and lives was too much a tangle to let her live this life freely. If there was one thing that Sareena understood, it was the need to open all the cage doors. It was not a journey she could accompany her wife on. God help me if I get there long before you And find a way to build a fence without you And hide in places where I keep me from you Tell me nothing's lost on the journey I lost track so long ago Tell me to ignore every warning Shooting sparks on barren coasts Maelie was in Montaigne and the house was quieter. But in some ways it was not. Sareena had found her footing, finally. She was certain their would be set backs but she had Elsie and her friends, the music, her father - damaged as that was, Robintan, and a gold pin on her vest that they would never take from her. It was easier, with the life she built around her, to let go of the person that needed resolution and catharsis and to untangle her own broken past. So suppose it's real to you So suppose I feel it too Every indication leading back to whence from where it came All the peace that we had found Was left there on the proving ground In the place where destiny had once played her vision game God help me when I get this way when all the calm Within is inside out and all I feel is numb God help me when I get this way and think that we Have nothing left to say 'cause I want you to stay because you want to I want you to stay because you need to I want you to stay and not have to ask you "Mama, when is maman coming back?" "I don't know, my little bird," Sareena said, snuggling into Elsinore on the bed. The little girl was quiet for a long time. "Is she okay?" "I am absolutely certain she is and loves you very much, but Maman has to fix some of the things bothering her and that may take a while." "Like you with the Lion and the bad man?" "Just like it," she nodded and kissed the top of her daughter's head. "You won't leave?" "Never ever," she promised. It was a true promise. The freedom Sareena had found was here in these halls with this little girl and her music and this life. She had no mysterious past in another nation to balance or to come to terms with. For a moment, there was a spark of anger that this life could not have been enough, but it was fleeting and more sadness than much else. Too much of Maelie was still that noble girl who needed the acceptance of her remaining family while too much of Cardinal was still the street rat and whore. It could pain her all she wanted, but Sareena knew the reality of it was both just that simple and that complex all at once. "Would you like to move in with the Orseis or stay here?" Elsie thought about this for several minutes, tracing the pictures in the book they were reading with her finger. "Can we stay here? I like my room and Granpapa can stay here too and we have the music room. Then we can let Mr. Mordecai and Miss Clover and Miss Stasia stay too." Cardinal was relieved at that. She had built a strange sort of home here in the halls that were too many and too large but she adored the staff and while she still thought it overly grand, the house had become hers. "We can wait together here." "We will, always. But we will also live, my little bird. Life doesn't stop because people come in and out of it. I need you to remember that when you remember those people." The little girl nodded, tucking the wisdom into her mind for later when experience and time would make it make more sense than in this soft, safe moment where she snuggled her mother in her fairy tale bedroom. For Sareena, this was easier, in part, because the woman that Maelie had fallen in love with wasn't the one she was living with now and Sareena wasn't certain how to explain that to her. For all of her pride in her, Maelie still saw parts of her as the girl in the ratty dress with the broken violin, in need of protection and caution and to be saved. But Sareena had saved herself so many times that the daily need for it had dimmed. For the now-master bard, it had begun to chafe. Sareena had not lived for years in bondage and submission to return to it even with the best of intentions. So, in the fairy tale house with the fairy tale daughter, and the father that should not be but was, with the grand room of music, and the misfit staff, she decided ...she would live. But you're talking to me and you're telling me Everything you think I should know you're talking at me and you're telling me One more thing before I have to go and you're telling me I should be careful I could get hurt but I thought if I changed the room a-round something would give but nothing did and all I'm left with is an unfamiliar place to lay my head and in this place where I have made my bed it seeps into my dreams and says it has nothing left to give so I suppose the time has come to live God help me when I get this way. when all the calm Within is inside out, and all I feel is numb God help me when I get this way and think that we Have nothing left to say 'cause I want you to stay because you want to I want you to stay because you need to I want you to stay and not have to ask you

Outer Gold (part 2)
Master Sareena Loralen, May 2024

The masters filed back in. Cardinal stayed sheltered in her seat, surrounded by friends but her mind drifted alone and cold. She had punched Greyson in the face. Assaulted a noble. Assaulted a master. By all counts she should be in almost as much trouble as the thief of her music. She watched Robintan and Zeff take the podium again, watched the masters peer and glower and stare. She tried not to shake. Tried to feel Nel leaning, Muse's steady presence, Kevan, Arinelle, Victor, Nita's hand on hers, Aloysius and Peg waiting with those just-in-case expressions, surrounding her like a harbor as the ship of her life tossed back and forth. Robintan stood and she tried to look at him but it was easier to fix on the middle distance. She knew his ear knew the truth - but would they have believed him? It was the worst of betrayals, a rape of another kind, of her spirit, taking those thoughts and shoving them out there for the world. Exposed, she had no choice but to claim them because to let someone else claim them was to give them even more power. But it had felt like Vagabond again, like grasping hands and pain and the vague chipping away of her spirit that she had endured for years. "I am a man of few words and less patience. The tribunal, and frankly the assembled populace of Masters here," Robintan said, nodding towards where the various gold-pinned bards are seated. "finds in favor of Journeyer Loralen. The original works are hers." The sea calmed, she took a breath. That at least was intact, her integrity, her music. Tears threatened but she would not cry in front of Greyson Windemere anymore, not from grief or relief. "Damn right they do," Kevin muttered. "Thank you, Masters," she said softly. "Our next order of business tonight," he says, leveling a look which could make a beholder wilt at Greyson. "Greyson Windemere is stripped of the Rank of Master and expelled from this college. Do see yourself out." "We've got you," Nel whispered, shielding Cardinal with her body as Violet stepped in front of her. She felt the sword boys close in behind them. Were they... shielding her? The concept was so novel, even here in this safe place, that it distracted her. Even if Greyson had wanted, he couldn't reach her through the sudden press of her friends. "How dare you," Greyson sputtered, rising. He stalked out with several of his cronies on his heels. Just like that, he was gone. The man who had tormented her since her first steps into the college was...gone. Sareena felt like she was floating, not sure she was tethered to her own body, never mind this place and time. "And now to our last order of business," Robintan announced. "Journeyer Loralen." Cardinal's stomach plummeted downward. Now she would pay recompense for her actions. Perhaps they would knock her back to apprentice? Or even out of the guild? Surely he wouldn't have allowed that last? Her fingers gripped the edge of the chair, hanging on for balance but she forced herself to look up. She would not embarrass him further by shying away from her own responsibility. She stood. "Yes, Master Robintan?" She was focused on the man in front of her, did not see her friends exchanging glances and smiles that hinted at what might happen. For her, there was only this next step forward and facing her punishment. When one did wrong, one was punished. That was the way the world worked. "You punched a master in the face in the dining hall of this guild. There are many who would take umbrage to that," Robintan continued. "Yes, Master. I... am deeply sorry to have embarrassed you, Masters." "You'd think they'd understand passionate musicians defending their very personal music," Arinelle muttered. Sareena did not flinch and did not look away from her Master. "You misunderstand me, Journeyer." Cardinal froze, the rules had changed suddenly and she did not know what to make of it. "Sir?" "You punched someone who could, arguably, ruin your life. As a master of the guild, he had authority over you. As a noble, he has tried to exert that authority elsewhere. And regardless of cost or consequence, you fought him." "Yes, sir. Our music is our own, our gift to Sephira. The thing that cannot be taken. I... if I let him take it, sir, I would be lying to myself as well as letting him lie to others." She spoke slowly, weighing the truth of her own words. It was what would make whatever awaited her worth it - and one of the foundations of her teaching. Never apologize for the music, for the defense of it. "There is, therefore, only one fitting response for this. Your time as a Journeyer is done." The world tilted off it's access but she had expected this. Expected her rank to be removed or herself to be exiled from these halls. But gods in front of all these people? Her friends? She clung to the chair, forcing her eyes wide to not cry. She had gained so much here, at least she could support herself and Elsie... "Come forward." So she did, just as she had approached him the first time, step after trepidatious step, though the tears on her cheeks were visible this time and she couldn't stop them if she wanted. "You, again, misunderstand me... Master Loralen." Master Loralen. Master. Loralen. Not Arsenault, the name she had not taken as she strove to find her own. Not Cardinal, the name she had applied to hide in plain site and to find who she was. Master. Not apprentice. Not outcast. Not journeyer. The breath rushed out of her and she heard nothing for a moment. She looked at the floor, at him, at the masters, heard nothing of the cheering bards or her friends. She watched his long, elegant fingers take the gold pin from his own vest, Robintan's pin , and slip it onto the bodice of her dress, the silver slipping away. The first thing she was aware of again was his hand on her shoulder to make sure she did not fall. One hand on gold, one hand over the start of the scars that so few knew were there. Was she sobbing? She was sobbing. She thought she saw him look ever so slightly amused for just a second. He held her up through the realization, the high, the crash, the whirl, the noise, the blessed return of air to her lungs. "You have weathered torment upon torment. You walked into the literal fires of hell and played for demon kings and then, somehow worse, you weathered the injustice of having your innermost thoughts stolen and published. And through all of it you have walked with your heart and head aloft, trusting the music and the Lady to guide you. I could not possibly be more proud of you." She hugged him. She knew he didn't much like physical affection, public affection less, but the words slotted into a hole in her heart and made something broken heal. He did not pull away, wrapping his arms around her and holding a beat longer than necessary, safety, protection, and pride in his gaze, all under the auspice of keeping the new master upright. Sareena did her best to not soak his jacket with bewildered tears. The rest of the masters just chuckled. They'd all been through their moments - most with about as much aplomb. They nodded at her thanks and then he released her with a quiet "Go and celebrate. You've earned a happy night more than once, Cardinal. This, this they cannot take from you." She was lost in a whirl of laughter and drink and celebration and dancing and for the first time, she felt completely free.

Inner Gold (part 1)
Sareena Loralen, May 1884

It was a normal evening in the guild hall, full of bustle and noise and song and stories flittering like butterflies through doors that opened and then closed again. It was nearly dinner time and the halls were starting to empty as people filtered to the dining room. The bardic guild was a haven for Sareena and had been since her first day in its halls. For a moment last week, after the announcement that Greyson had been named a master, the hall had seemed less safe than normal but she shook it off knowing that Robintan would not let him do anything truly egregious. A few more insults from Greyson Windemere were hardly anything at this point. But tonight she was not here for safety. She had head the snatches of one of her own tunes in the market. That song was from the Red File. Short of Pip copying it out for inclusion in one of her folio bindings, it was safe and secure in her files at home. Pip, she knew, wouldn't steal anything from her. He had discretely and beautifully copied dozens of her pieces now so she could have the guild professionally bind them and she could put them in her library. "Excuse me... that's a ... lovely melody. Where did you learn it?" she asked politely and the bard had directed her to the archives and the archives to Greyson. Three of them. he'd stolen three of them and some of her most private works. The dining room hall door slammed into the wall as she shoved it open. Most everyone who was gathered and eating tonight was already present, the tables full. Greyson Windemere sat amidst the gathered masters - Sareena noted that while he had rarely attended dinners as a journeyer, he was now quite content to join the ranks of gold-pinned masters to lord his position over others. He was chatting idly with a few of his cronies. The chatting stopped when she walked up and punched him in the face. "I knew you were a scum-sucking bastard, but the thieving was new." "What is the meaning of this, you gutter rat?" he seethed, his ale dripping down him. She wished she was stronger to break his nose. For once, her anger over-rode her terror. "You -stole- my music," She said loudly enough to be...very overheard. "You used -my- pieces for your -master audition- you cowardly hack!" "A bold allegation for a low talent no-one from the corner of a shit-heap. I'm rather certain our charter has something to say bout journeyers and the respect they owe their betters." "I'm sure it has something to say about claiming someone's work as your own too. You left out the harmony on "All Things End" ...and Gods can you even come up with good titles or did you just point at a bloody dictionary, and the lyrics on all three pieces and I have no idea what in Barasio's flaming hells you did to the pacing on them but it's shite." Sareena kept her spine straight and stared him right in the eye, voice falling cold and quiet. "I have played for the very lords of hell and won souls from their grasp and you don't scare me. You can't even come up with original -insults- anymore." "Your lies get grander and grander. What's next? Holding court with gods and kings?" Gods, if Greyson knew. "You can answer for your actions now, welp," he replied, sneering. "Let us step outside and see how well your practice has gone. Do you hold a sword as poorly as a pen still?" "You will do no such thing." Robintan's voice had silenced the growing murmur in the room like ice sheeting across a field. In the end, there was an inquest and Cardinal had waited with heavy heart for the guild to turn against her. She had put her faith in it but systems were not kind to people like her and Maelie's skepticism gnawed at her confidence. How she made it through the three days she was not certain. And then they asked her to play. It was bad enough that the pieces had been stolen and butchered. To hear him play them so was painful but embarrassing as well. When it was her turn to prove they were hers, she studied the violin in her hands carefully. Why had no one cast a truth spell? Were they just going to abandon her? Her gaze slipped to the gathered masters, Robintan watching calmly. Zeff with her chin on her hand and expression serious. The entire hall was full of journeyers and apprentices and her friends, every master in the college in attendance. Sareena struggled to rein in her emotions, to not cave under the memories of coming back to herself in dirty sheets and trying to find who she was when other pieces of her had been stolen away. Three pieces. Three bits of her soul, ripped out and put on display. It was like the Lion again. "In the End" - which she had written about the dangerous allure her abusers had sometimes held, "Tempting Fate," which she had written about Maelie and Vera - both seeking heights of glory in their ways, and "Something to Believe in." She did not want to put the feelings between them on stage, but there was no choice. Sareena didn't want to see the hall. She didn't want to see Greyson's face or Zeff's watchful gaze, Robintan's cool confidence, the way that the journeyers reacted, the judgement of the masters. Gods what would they think of these shameful, inner thoughts? Of the attachment she felt to her master as if she were somehow his daughter? The music was there for her as it always was, and those these were three of her most private pieces. But she played them anyway, in order, with the correct pacing and notes and the lyrics carried by her rich contralto. Two of them wanted for piano additions but there was no help for it here in the hall with their eyes on her. There was her, and the violin, and then the masters filtered out to confer.

What you want

James Redgrove didn't know what he wanted - and that seemed reasonable after two decades of service to a high lord of Hell. It -was- reasonable. Very much so. Most of Sareena accepted that happily, good to have done the deed and freed someone from that torment who ostensibly meant something to her and to the world as a Bard. But there was that part of her that was not most of her, the damaged woman inside who was more a child than a woman, that needed reassurance, needed James Redgrove to be well and hale and happy because then it would mean she had a parent who cared about her. Not a mother with no redeeming qualities to her name who had hated her from birth. But an actual father. Almost all of her knew she could not expect that in any way and should not - because that was not a reasonable ask of any person who had gone through the loss of his art, his heart, and twenty years of life to be hauled out of hell by a stranger with his eyes and his hair and, really where had her freckles come from? But reasonable left the room on the first cup of coffee. She didn't realize she was doing it until hours later after the conversation had ended. The habit was so easy to go back to when her guard was down. She was afraid, afraid he would flee, afraid this would be nothing, afraid that the deep and desperate longing in her for some sort of history and family past would be unfilled until the day she died and did not return. The panicked rambling that hid the terror kicked in almost automatically. Offer everything - anything - anything they could want. Be quick about it. Remember the drink preference, the food choice, the tiny details. Anything - everything - to make the moment work, to not be hurt, to not be in pain. It was not sex or submission this time, but she still would've given anything in that room to gain his approval. "I should have rescued you," he had whispered. "I'm self rescuing now," She had laughed blithely. Because she was. But in her heart she wanted to scream that yes, yes she had wanted that more than the entire world, more than breathing, and for a time of her life, more than even music. There was no going back now, though. Only forward. So she offered everything again, just as she had to Maelie and to Victor and to Robintan, to the Coinspinners, to the Guild, to Sephira... because it was the only way she knew how to scream out the love and need and anguish without putting it into music. The only way she knew how to secure these people and these things into her life so she would not have to be alone, ever again.

Orpheus

Cardinal closed the door to the music room and looked around at the various instruments, the desk, the files of composed music. She sat down at the piano, fingers trailing over the keys so lightly they stirred no sound. Orpheus and Euridice was a tale almost ubiquitous among the bards. A love and music so strong it had drawn life from death save for Orpheus' foolishness. But now it was her best bet. She had no soul to trade for the man that might be a father. She had no magic item or trick to replace him. But she had this fire-filled and thunderous gift inside her and maybe that was enough. She stood and flipped through the files of music, considering piece after piece. What would be good enough to charm a Lord of Hell who wanted only souls or- "You played joy for me," Nel had said, wrapping her in a strong hug and Cardinal had laughed because it had been wonderful to tap into an emotion such as that. She turned Valveux's story over in her head. The warlock who had reached too high and sought to be a god, now trapped doing clerical work for Barasios, forever gathering souls to aid the task. She understood reaching too high. A fool's errand. She had been told that so many times. About her dreams, about her music, about her life. Perhaps godhood was a bit much, but she knew the -need- to matter, to have touched something greater than yourself. She also knew what it felt to be entrapped, enslaved, caught staring out at the freedom she could not touch. Could she play that? Could she -write- that? Would that be enough to charm a devil lord into the cost of one soul? It would have to be the best thing she had written and her absolute best playing- as good as if she were testing for her Master work. She got up from the piano. This would take her heart and her soul - and only one instrument would ever do that for her. Her fingers curved over the bridge and she began to write.

Could have, should have, would have been
Sareena Loralen, March 1884

Cardinal sat in the bardic college library with every list of bards she could find. Composition lists. Engagement lists. Enrollment lists. Audition lists. It was the only place she knew where to start. She knew what he was and she had a name. Jason Redgrove. Her fingers traced each page carefully, trying to find anything that leapt out, head bent and eyes on the task. She should just ask Robintan. But for some reason she didn't. Her fingers stilled a moment down a column of journeyer tavern players. Why didn't she just ask him? Because for a moment, a single moment, she had hoped for a different name from Rose's lips. The weight of that still stung and the brief flash of disappointment and mingled hope stung more. She had wanted a name - any name - for so long that this new offering was like a life vest tossed into storming waters. She grabbed it because the gulf of not knowing was too deep to withstand any longer. Too many family portraits where at least her friends knew who brought them to this world. Too many sibling jokes and loving mother's touches and fathers who were stern but proud. She still made up stories in her head. But in the year since she'd joined the guild she had become used to, fond of, and yes loved, the guidance and care Robintan offered her, the irascible, aloof and distant protector, and he had started to wheedle into the cracks that she longed to fill with a family who would be proud of her. And he was proud of her, she knew that. He had offered to walk along side her and she had accepted him. She loved him, not romantically, but she knew her heart the night she had laid her life at his feet. It was not fair to expect anything else of him or of fate. There was no fairy tale. There was survival and what she could pull together into the pieces of a song and that song into a symphony. Just because they shared the intricacies of music in an understanding that was like breathing... She pushed her fingers down the page again. Who was Jason Redgrove? Would he even care she existed? And if so what sort of relationship could he even offer a whore who had become a bard? A survivor who made her own stories? A Lore Bard who slid into Whispers when no one was looking? Was he even alive? Rose had said he was in hell - was that literal or not? Gods would he even want to talk to her if he was alive? The uncertainty of all of it clawed at her insides like a pile of feral animals trying to get out and she stepped to the library window for the cool spring air, letting the sweat from her anxiety cool and trying to draw in a lung full of air again. Breathe. Just breathe. So many lessons and so many keys unlocked. She had never wanted to meet someone so much. She had never dreaded meeting someone so much. And she had no idea what to do with what on Terra to tell Robintan in either of those cases.

In the blood
Sareena Loralen, March 1884

Was there something about her that made her what she had been? Some trace in her blood that showed on her face? Cardinal wondered this as foot fall after foot fall carried her back north. Enough men had commented now, had offered her brothel work, had raked their eyes over her frame with that look in their eyes, had sidled closer than they should if she were a proper lady. Was there some sign in her eyes or some way she walked that Rose and Vagabond and Mama had beat into her that made them stare? Or was it simply the nature of men? It was certainly in the nature of some. Johannes Windemere. Greyson. Vagabond. So fitting that the men trying to ruin her were all of the same blood. Maybe, like them, she was simply destined to be something, to be used and cast aside, hurt and made to bleed for their pleasure just as they were destined to hurt and use. But not tonight. If that were true, she would not accept it tonight. It was the first time she had ever taken that choice into her hands and told them she would not be what they wanted her to be. Rose's inert form hung over Nel's shoulder as they walked. At some point, Maelie took the woman and spirited her away into the shadows. She had asked Maelie to send her to the Summerlands. She was not so naive as to think that Rose would ever get there. The thought did not bring her any remorse or any regret. Rose was as sure an enemy as Vagabond or Windemere. She had held Cardinal down enough times, held the whip, held the knife, wielded the words, for whatever South Ward justice would come to be no longer Cardinal's concern. In truth, she had nearly done it herself but her nerve had failed. She would need to make it stronger - Vagabond would provide her no such graces as yielding and she would not let anyone else carry the weight of that justice. "You aren't a killer." "No, but I am a survivor." Sareena knew that with Vagabond and Windemere alive and against her, she would never be free to do that. If her freedom meant that, if they pushed her to that hand, she would take the chance and write her next songs in blood.

What You Know
Sareena Loralen, February 1884

"You misunderstand me... you are not playing in the Orchestra. You are conducting it." Sareena's world tilted with a soft slide of notes. She was a bard. She was a player. She... the reality of it hit her backed to the sound of a violin's bow scraping without rosin. Being a Master, becoming one, was not simply about composition of music. It was about being able to conduct others, to orchestrate. To -lead-. Perhaps not all the time, but when it was necessary. Leadership could not be done without others - but that did not take away the fact that any plan she put together would be hers, her hand on the key, turning the lock. She took a sharp breath and watched as the smile that was not a smile flitted through his eyes, seeing she understood. Like a conductor, like a composer, she had more instruments available to her than her own violin. The sharp piccolo of Maelie's daggers and keen mind and the kettle drum of her gun. The sonorous viola of Nevermore's shadowed form. The vibrant strings of a guitar for muse and the quick dance of a flute for Nita. The ever shifting piano of Donatien's many faces. The deep cello of Arinelle's faith and the bright, plucky harpsichord of Igor's chaos. She thought in music, and in the music her mind wove together the people she knew, the notes, the steps. "Teach me what you know." "It's time to take a piece off the board."

Back Against The Wall
Cardinal, February 1884

Long lost words whisper slowly to me Still can't find what keeps me here When all this time I've been so hollow inside (I know you're still there) She wasn't expecting Rose to have that kind of power - to have any power - to summon ghosts. The fight had been brutal and short and one more time, Cardinal had run, this time with Maelie at her heels. She had been cocky. She had forgotten the first rule of knowing the pieces. She thought she did and she had not - missing that the image Rose projected might not be the real one. "I suppose I should send a message back. It would be rude not to." Watching me, wanting me I can feel you pull me down Fearing you, loving you I won't let you pull me down Hunting you I can smell you - alive Your heart pounding in my head And in the end, bloodied and hurt, she had to run. Again. Maelie kept trying to tell her that they'd learned things, that it was all right but all she could feel was the looming failure of it - and the sudden realization that they were so much stronger than she thought. She had let herself be talked into the lie that they were just pompous and weak and bullies only to find that they had their own magic, that they were backed by a dangerous enemy. She had forgotten the second rule - that she was never as strong as the things that nipped at her heels. Mae tried so hard to soothe her, to reassure her that they'd done well but all Cardinal could manage to see that she had in fact not saved herself and that they were as much of a risk as ever and that she was not free at all. Not while they still walked - and she was too weak to stop them. Too weak to stop them if they came after Elsinore, though Gods she would die trying. She had grabbed at her chance to take Celedor's offer to go to Marketh - even though she never wanted to see Marketh again after the dragon attack. Finding some missing rooks and taking a day seemed like it might help. She liked and trusted Celedor though he barely knew she existed outside of missions. Still, there was a small comfort in the familiar smallness of that. It was never just a vacation. At every turn she felt off her feet, off her game, unable to solve things that she would normally love puzzling through. She felt slow and stupid and useless, trailing along with the group but she put it down to her tiredness and her preoccupation with Vagabond and Rose. She didn't like the brief flickers of the other timeline she saw but at least her own "version" seemed to be mostly cut throat and more like Fox which while not comfortable was not the worst thing. She shied away almost instinctively from the alternate Nita and Kevan, the cruelty of their smiles too close to a knife on her back. Cardinal threw herself into the puzzles that would unlock the ritual that would let her go home to her family, to solve this problem. Even that was hard, like thinking through mud. "You're just like your father, a dreamer." She wanted to peel back that sentence but she refused to give Rose the satisfaction but now it haunted every breath. Someone knew more. Someone out there knew. And she could never ask that person or take the opportunity because it would be another chance for them to take her back to that hell. But it was a distraction she kept going back to while she worked. She nearly missed that the alternate version of Kevan was cornering Muse. She hadn't thought. Muse was one of her best friends so she stepped in front of them, aware of the idiocy of it but feeling compelled to protect a person that would protect her. Watching me, wanting me I can feel you pull me down Fearing you, loving you I won't let you pull me down Hunting you I can smell you - alive Your heart pounding in my head "I would have so much fun with you," Kevan had purred. The shudder that ran through her froze her in place. The familiar, friendly face turned cruel and mocking. The innuendo, the look. She tried hard to not be sick on anyone's shoes and managed a shrill and panicked "Victor!" before she froze, pressed against the wall. She barely registered Muse stepping in front of her, Nita, Seraphina, she wasn't sure who. Everything was terror and numb limbs and trying to fight off the certainty that if she moved, she would die or his hands would be on her. She curled herself smaller behind Muse's back, the apologies falling from her lips like a mantra. She heard the snap of Nita's wrist, saw Kevan fly across the room with Muse's punch and then everyone was crowded around her "brother," trying to help him as he scrabbled away from them. She stood alone in the room, arms wrapped around herself, shuddering in terror that had eaten all rational thought. Watching me, wanting me I can feel you pull me down Saving me raping me Watching me She put it all into the box in her head. Put the smooth faced mask on as Muse came over to hug her. Do not confuse composure for lack of emotion. So when the ritual came and it was time for her to reveal her true self she knew what it was. Whore and Bard. And she had honestly said the bard as she did not wish to start them all fussing at her for the admonition. But Cardinal knew who she was. A woman wearing a mask of who she desperately longed to be, trapped in the life of someone who would never be free as long as her captors were alive. A woman unable of truly rescuing herself or any of her friends if it came to it. She was not and never was strong enough. It did not matter that she could compose and play joy, that watching Elsie's smile lightened her heart, that the touch of Maelie or Victor thrilled her. It did not matter how much she loved Katja, Muse, Nita, Nel, or Arinelle or Igor. She was not strong enough and she was not free. I can feel you pull me down (Fearing you, loving you) I won't let you pull me down And that was how she entered Robintan's office to ask him to join the College of Whispers.

The best laid plans
Sareena Loralen, January 1884

Each girl would need a different plan, she realized. As soon as one was sprung from a trap, He would get more careful and change how things worked. So she made several plans. Eight girls in all including her mother and Rose. She gave their names and descriptions to Harper. Had the times spaced to give Harper and Mae enough time to get them settled elsewhere. Yari first - the first at the temple. That would be the easiest. Yari had never liked their work or what went on in the Lion. The temple was easy enough to escape from with a spell or two - and the clerics were sympathetic thanks to Arinelle. Dimension door to the alley and walk off into the north ward. Never go south. They expected you to to run south because it was what you knew. She figured that the temple scenario would work at least twice - though she would change the method of escape the second time. A letter to Igor - they wouldn't bother to search -another- temple nearby and she knew the Gorathians would approve of the chaos. Just in case, she had a backup for the temple of Sephira. From there it would get harder. She knew she could count on Igor to help and go in to pose as a healer. But that would be a one time plan. Three girls free. Off-hours were the next best bet. Nel could smuggle someone out then. That was four, maybe more if they were extra careful. The rest, she figured would have to go when she confronted him. Half the girls gone and with the names she getting from Barasios the nobles could be curtailed and the funding and support gone. Then Harper would shut down the rest. She did not actually think that the Vagabond would go quietly. She did not like killing people or hurting them. But there were exceptions she was willing to overlook in her moral code. She felt less terrible about protecting herself and her loved ones than she might otherwise. Because it was a matter of desperation. Desperation so very few understood. What would you do to live? For your children to live? Would you give your word to a murderer? Would you give your body? Would you let men do unspeakable things? Would you let them take more than a pound of flesh? What would you do to save yourself? To save your child? And was that selfish - did that even matter? Cardinal didn’t know the answer to the morality of it. But she knew what she would do, what she would give, what she had given. She longed for them to understand that. And at the same time was desperately glad they never would.

Behind the facade
Sareena Dec 1883

CW: Physical and sexual abuse (largely vague but mentioned) Cardinal had spent a great deal of time waiting and watching for masks to crack and fall. Behind Maelie and Victor's, she had found love and safety, after all. But she was slow to trust for a reason. "Get back to work," Aloysius' voice had snarled across the engine room, aimed at the elementals but it sent a shockwave through her, cutting through the strain of trying to be alive with a memory crystal clear and sharp like ice and knife tip. " Get back to work!" He had just finished with her and shoved her out his bedroom door back to the main floor. Rough hands caught her. " 'ow much?" "Eh, three gold tonight. Already used goods," Vagabond smirked and she whimpered. The man holding her arm backhanded her. "I don't like noisy girls," he said softly. "Yes m'lord," she whispered. "I said -stop-" And the tingle of Violet's spell made the bile rise in the back of her throat. She hadn't felt that magic since. The sort of acrid, lemony smell mixed with smoke that clung to the back of her throat. As the fire elementals swarmed her, the pain was a welcome distraction from the memory. "On your knees, girl," His voice was soft and sibilant, the sort of seductive whisper a lover might give and part of her longed for the affirmation - any affirmation at all - and part of her quailed in terror. Caught in the paradox of feelings, Sareena froze. "I said -on. Your. Knees. Slut." He growled this time and the command spell wrapped around her throat and squeezed until she collapsed on her knees, head bowed. "Yes, master," she whispered. The blows were extra hard for her slowness in following directions Master Fox walked the room carefully, adjusting postures here and there. She paused by Cardinal's side and nodded "Very good, love. You've a natural grace." "Don't you ever, ever let 'em see you be anything other than submissive, girl," Rose drawled from behind the curl of opium smoke. "That's what they want. Elegant and submissive and do anything they tell you those nobles. Can't trust a one. Your ma already told you that. And the Vagabond is..." "A noble, Miss Rose," she whispered. "Couldn't you just have someone bring you the money?" she had put on her best pout on the Vodaccian's arm. She knew how to charm a man, knew how to pour on honey and sweetness until they'd pay gold for what they wanted. Because if she didn't, then the Vagabond's visit that night would be worse. The Vodaccian gambler smiled at her indulgingly and glanced at the stairs. He wanted to take her up there, hike her dress up, use her like the whore she was. But she kept the smile on and bumped her knee into Igor's and played the part so that her loves could get the cipher they needed. So that Eisen would be safe. Later, she threw up into the bushes outside where they couldn't see her. "You had damn well better turn a profit girl or I'll make that design reach your pretty face," He gripped her chin hard in two fingers, the dagger point digging into her collar bone. "Lord's are coming tonight. See to 'em. No complaints or I'll find softer spots to put this." She trembled in his grip. He was not lieing. He never lied about that. The thud of body hitting floor and the cruel anger etched on Esch's face drove a spike of fear straight through her. She'd been about to ask if there was anything else to help. Sareena knew what the man had done had been abhorrent - but she also knew the desperation of needing a meal and a roof in a way that none of her noble or middle class friends ever would. It was easy to have high morals when you weren't starving, much harder to keep them when winter wore your fingertips to blackened bits and your stomach gnawed at your ribs. She watched Esch's hand at the crush of windpipe and remembered how it felt to have the air wheeze slowly down the restricted space, trying to reach the burning fire that lungs had become. Panic made her heart crash harder in her chest, the memory and the now tangled together. She stared at Esch for a moment. He'd been kind to her. He'd been restrained. "Call me Aloysius" But she saw the mask stripped back and the bloodied and battered man on the floor - a criminal, a worthless nobody beneath the vaunted estimation of the nobles. A southie. A warrens rat. Nothing better or worse than the whore she had been. And Sareena knew exactly where that line was drawn as her footsteps hastened her down the hall.

Journeyer Adventurer

Begin writing your story here...

Morning After
Sareena, December 1883

It wasn't actually the morning when Cardinal woke. She was used to long hours of playing but even for the most seasoned performers a twelve hour stretch was a great deal. The sun was high in the sky by the time she stirred from bed and padded her way to the tea service that Clover had left her. The morning broadsheets were tucked on the tray, a habit she had picked up from Robintan and one she enjoyed with her relatively newfound literacy. She glanced at the two calling cards - Nel would be first and then she'd visit Riddle later. Carefully she scanned the articles while she nibbled on toast and jam and stretched out in the luxuriating heat from the fire. Cardinal scanned the article on the Ruskovian party and frowned, reading it again more carefully. It was hard to stop the rush of hurt and wounded pride. Mostly the hurt. She'd taken Veronica as a friend of sorts but her friend to so casually stick to her principles that it would hamper her career and then to perform the ball herself? She chewed over the words as the toast stuck in her now dry throat. "But of course it's all about you," she said softly. "You were disrespected so the guild should bow. So you'll take the spotlight." Cardinal grimaced in pain and anger, getting up and wadding the broadsheet into her hand. She snatched the star ornament from where it was hanging over her fireplace, wrapped the paper around it, and tossed the entire thing into the fire. She blinked hard against the hot sting of tears and took a slow breath as she rearranged Veronica in the categories in her head from "Friend" to "be cautious." Cardinal wondered if Veronica - never Vera - knew how hard it was to get into the first category, but then she didn't think Veronica fully cared. She had been a tool for the noble - and when the tool was not useful or too difficult to use, she had been discarded. She watched the ornament and the paper burn for a long few minutes before she turned to get dressed. She had work to do - and it wasn't at the whim of a Ruskovian princess.

The Silver Season
Sareena Loralen, December 1883

The dinner party that Baron Magnus Leonhart von Bremen hosted became the talk of the the entire House for the first week of December. Sareena dressed in her bardic best, a deep blue modest gown with her journeyer cords prominently displayed on her shoulder. She'd never chosen a set list as carefully - going over each piece with Edward multiple times and choosing select winter standards and variations on them that would play softly during the dinner itself and several livelier pieces for the dancing. She saved a new variation on the simple "What Child is This" for her finale, turning it into a sweeping dance tune that completely departed from the original, familiar variation and following up with a new piece she'd written inspired by the sleighs coasting through central park and their laughing occupants. Edward remained true to his word and did not accompany her although she had selected a few of the other college journeyers to join her for the dancing portion of the evening. She was careful to choose Bremen musicians where she could. Edward, for his part, introduced her to all the right people during the party, including a personal introduction to Amelie Wren. "Journeyer Loralen, why have we not seen you at any of the Arden gathers?" she smiled warmly. "I am afraid, your grace, that my Master and I are not favorites of one or two of your house members," she admitted. "Baron Windemere has a difference of opinion on musical stylings." "Well certainly I am not going to let that stop my husband or I," she huffed softly. "Have I told you he is a great admirer of the violin?" "You have not, your grace, I've not had the pleasure of meeting him." Amelie smiled warmly "He is a good man. I know the ton likes to talk of our age difference but I met his Grace quite a long time ago while I was still married to my first husband. His Grace was Lord Schaeffer's commanding officer but we would dine together often. He was never anything less than polite and courteous. I've always been friends with him... he... " she stopped, blushing a bit. "Everyone always sees the very prim duke, but I have seen so much more." "I... am familiar with seeing more in my wife and Sir Orsei than society does," Sareena responded after a moment, voice quiet. "May I tell you a story?" "I would like that very much your grace." "When he was younger and able, he would go to the town on longest night and make sure all the families had dinner and fuel. Lord Schaeffer used to accompany him. It was ...the thing that made me notice him I suppose. He never told the rest of the house. he would just...go. Now he sends the servants as that much carrying is a bit much but they know," she smiles. "Arden has this wretched reputation as being stodgy but he cares about them," she sighs. "Your Grace would...would you mind terribly if I ... made a song for your family?" "A song?" "yes, I've an idea. I won't use his name - I suspect he'd not like that much but..." "If you'd be so kind to send it to me before you perform it?" "Of course your grace. I don't normally but I understand the sensitivity." Amelie nodded. "It's been a pleasure, journeyer," and she let Cardinal return to her playing. A few days later, Cardinal sent the missive - with a brief rendition via magic mouth - to Amelie Wren. And that was how journeyer bard Sareena Loralen booked a longest night performance for the house that would not hire her out from under the nose of several bardic masters. It was the start of what would later be known as her Silver Season and a calendar that kept her at a noble house's party almost every night of the week, spinning music into the air and tucking secrets into the pockets of her gowns.

A plan
November 1883, Sareena Loralen

Cardinal sat in the front row of the Celestial watching Chrissy work on choreography with some of the other dancers. Cardinal's feet twitched in time to the music and her expression remained pensive. "We weren't expecting you," Edward said, dropping into the chair next to her. "I didn't have any contracts tonight." "You didn't- ah. Arden and Osterlind." "Does -everyone- know?" "No, but Zeff asked us if we had any more contract nights we could give you." He grimaced. She knew he didn't - the Celestial showcased a variety of up and coming journeyers and it was unfair for her to take more than her share of slots. "It's all right. I wasn't expecting more stage time," she soothed. "Maybe in a year or if you want to full partner when you master..." he offered and she sighed. "You're good friends, Edward. But this is your dream and I don't have room to demand anymore than what you've already given. I know how hard you work getting this place where you want it," she said kindly. "You're too good for two houses to be stonewalling you," he groused. "No such thing and you know that, when it comes to politics." They say together in silence for a moment, percolating over the problem. "What if there was a way to make not having me as a performer more socially disadvantageous than not?" "What did you have in mind?" Edward dug out a flask from his vest and took a sip. "Well... how many new compositions would you say get debuted in a given social season?" "From the guild? Hm maybe fifteen...twenty. Robintan's by far the most prolific but he almost never releases the music to the public. Why?" "So then... you'd say that new pieces are coveted by society?" "Yes...it's definitely novel and if the bard is good enough- how many do you have?" He didn't look at her, watching Christine stretch on stage. "About that many." "you've written... twenty new pieces?" "Give or take. I don't want to share them all." "In a -year-?" "Yes? I mean they aren't all multipart." Edward rubbed his face. "Wait here." "Where are you going?" "To send a message to my father." ....several...hours... later.... Cardinal stepped down off the stage to find Baron Leonhart von Bremen watching her shrewdly. "Well I cannot fault your skill, Mrs. Loralen." He glanced at his son who was standing by the proscenium arch with is arms crossed. She had been watching him and he'd enjoyed the short set of pieces she had played. "What's the proposal?" She was about to speak but Edward held up his hand. She grimaced, already feeling bad enough that she was playing on her connections - or rather that Edward was playing on them for her. But it wasn't just the playing or the gold - social events were where she farmed information for the Spinners, where she made connections and figured out what was going on in the background, where tiny slips and single phrases were ferreted out. It was where she now plied both of the things that she loved to do. "You hire Cardinal for the next social gathering at the house. Convince a few other of the house members to do so as well. It's about time Bremen stopped hiding during the social season anyway. Each time, you get one distinctly new piece performed for your party and your party alone with the understanding that once it's premiered she can do as she likes with it. That should...get her back in business after that nasty business with the Windemeres. I'll be certain that a few friends get a few invites to spice up the reception. Lord Schaeffer's mother is a great fan of the arts." The baron frowned more deeply. He would not say anything against the Windemeres in front of commoners, but Cardinal could read the expression well enough. He did not like Johannes or Greyson. "And?" the baron prompted. "Fine. I'll start coming to the events. As your family and not a performer," Edward grimaced. "But only if you drop that nonsense with Christina. I'm marrying her, so you had better learn to find her as charming as the rest of the world does. And I'm not giving up this career. We'll... sort out some sort of balance," he sighed finally. Cardinal knew Edward was as tired of fighting with his father as he was his father yelling at him. Cardinal watched the two noblemen glare at one another and finally Magnus and his son shook hands, some of the tension easing. "Ms. Loralen, are you free this evening?" The baron turned and flashed her the same, charming grin that she was used to from his son. "At your disposal, my lord."

Narrowing Options
Sareena Loralen, November 1883

"So... I heard you and Lord Windemere had a ...moment... in the hall," Guildmaster Zeff nudged a cup of tea toward Cardinal who sat rigid and nervous in the chair on the other side of the desk. Cardinal nodded mutely, having apparently assumed a level of safety that didn't exist. "Brava dear," Zeff smirked and chuckled as Cardinal deflated in the chair. "What you thought I was going to take you to task? You were perfectly polite all things considered. Hells, some of the colleges think that's a light morning exercise." "There were other people present..." she said quietly. "Oh pishposh. We have a reputation of being keen with our words and he was being rude to our guests. You did well. Master Frostflock even said so." Cardinal smiled wanly and sipped the tea in front of her. "But..." Zeff glanced at the letter on her desk and Cardinal didn't need to ask to know the seal was Veronica Orlov's. "But, you and I both know that Grayson being a prick isn't worthy of censure. Half the nobles of Novandria would need to be censured then. He was in our hall and didn't insult anyone of sufficient rank, even though I detest that phrase. He didn't harm you - quite the opposite - you stood up for yourself and those darling children." Cardinal nodded, having expected this. "Also," Zeff continued. "It is not in the habit of the Worshipful Guild of Bards and Performers to censure anyone based on the opinion of a single noble or even a house. The freedom of our speech is an imperative we will always uphold. If Lady Orlov wishes to spend the rest of her social season hiring substandard performers, that is her purview." Cardinal nodded again. "But it's cost you, hasn't it?" Zeff said gently and the journeyer bard, dipped her head, not wanting to look the guildmaster in the face for once, to show her the hurt. "Aye," she whispered hoarsely. There were two houses now she could no longer perform for - Arden - who was not hiring her due to Baron Windemere's pressure no doubt - and now Osterlind. She knew better than to think that Lady Graven or even the count would meddle in the affairs of musicians for parties. That only left Bremen, Rosebrier, and Elysia and one of barely ever hosted anything. For a bard in her journeyer debut season, it was a hit, no matter how good she was. "Oh Sareena," Zeff got up and moved around the desk to hug her. "it'll sort. At least you've a cushion having married Ms Arsenault, whom I adore, by the by." She smiled gently. "I'm sorry though. As much as I would like to move on this, I can't. There's a bigger picture with the guild's rules and reputation to-" "No no, I would never want you to do that," Cardinal replied firmly and honestly. "I just... I thought she was my friend. And... at first I was so pleased because she went and defended me. But then this... " "She doesn't understand, I think" Zeff said softly. "In Ruskovich, a noble's word is law. Here... the law and the rules don't bend like that. And our purpose is more important than just waltzes at a ball. You understand that - in ways Lady Orlov and Grayson Windemere likely never will. Keep your chin up, journeyer," Zeff said softly. After a moment, Cardinal nodded and forced a smile. "I'll.. thank you for the meeting. I appreciate your kindness, Guid Master." She rose and curtsied to Zeff and slipped out so she could at least save her tears for a quiet room where no one would see her. Composure, after all, was important.

A cunning plan
Sareena Loralen, October 1883

It was a subtle change at first. One dinner a week, nothing extravagant. And if society noticed at first, they did not say. Certainly the bards did but they also did not say because the masters quietly realized that Journeyer Sareena Loralen was doing what most of them had been unable to do in the last decade. Master Aerin Robintan was once again actually leaving the college and his home and setting foot outside in public. Sareena knew better than to push too far. She selected quiet restaurants, mostly middle or upper class. She avoided too many nobles - who would doubtless swarm them on the pretense of kindness and on the reality of nosiness. In truth, it was less a plan to haul him out into public and more an excuse to spend time with him and talk about philosophy and politics and music. She'd come to treasure the time together, filling some of the holes in her heart with the richness of conversation of not simply what he could teach her but what opinions they could share. After a few weeks, she carefully let drop to Celedor or Grizelda or Gisela or Vidal to meet them. These additions were sparse and careful. Celedor had eyed her shrewdly and then accepted the invitation without hesitation. Grizelda and Gisela had done the same. They all knew what it was about - but they didn't dare stop her, having been trying for the same for so long that they'd given up. After that it was to Zeff or Anders or one of the other masters she knew he favored time with. She expanded the night out to drinks and a theater trip to discuss a new presentation or show. She avoided any apprentice or lower ranked journeyer, each thing carefully selected as she combed over the entertainment bookings for the week. This too was done carefully. She knew he knew what she was doing. He knew she knew he knew. None of that was ever spoken aloud. Sareena also knew if she was careful it would be a boon and not a burden, practice at skills that were rusty and a break from the shackles of his own thoughts with people who accepted and understood his foibles. She never, ever, invited anyone for whom he would have to put on the social mask of pleasantry or small talk. And so week after careful week, just as he had lured her out of her mental cages, she lured Master Robintan out of some of his.

Who do you belong to?
Sareena Loralen October 1883

It had been days since the wedding and the day-to-day rhythm in Arsenault manor had not changed much. Maelie and Sareena still took late breakfasts together. They often slept in the same room - but sometimes not depending on their hours or if Victor was about or if one of them was particularly restless. They went by Mrs. or Ms. now, depending on the person. Sareena had not changed her last name as trying to to alter journeyer bookings to suit would have been detrimental - and she was still uncertain if Victor would propose and she would have to change everything again. What had changed, was another key in another lock in Sareena's head. One of her fears - and likely a valid one - was that the Vagabond would somehow leverage the law against her. Was there some contract he had fabricated that stated she still belonged to him to pay off debt? Could he claim she was runaway family and feeble minded? Her mind fabricated a thousand ways he could complicate her freedom outside of the news adds and the goons he already sent after her. But not anymore. She was legally wed and bound to another. And while there was no contract, Sareena had studied enough law to know that the marital bonds and laws, taken together with her guild oaths and membership, were stronger than anything he could now throw at her. In a very real sense, she had gained another level of protection and freedom - and she knew it. So while she flitted about the house glowing and laughing and enjoying newly-wed bliss, it was mostly because she deeply loved her new wife and their life together. And in small part because she knew she'd shed another potential shackle. And there was nothing, except music and Victor and Maelie, that was as dear to her as that.

Cease Fire
Sareena Loralen, October 1883

It took her most of the conversation to realize she was waiting for one of them to snap. For Robintan to yell or Maelie to lash out. For a vase to fly. For fists or hands. For loud words. But of course that never happened. Neither would ever do so - particularly not to one another and particularly not with her. It was...astonishing. They were being snide and sassy to one another but there was no heat, nothing but some barbed words and, overall, good intent behind them. Testing boundaries. And then they stopped and that was it and there was time for wine and talk of dinner at the end of the week. She broke another bar from the cage.

Time stop

He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be dead. Victor Orsei, Nevermore, couldn't be dead. Her mind spiraled, locked, stopped, went back to the one true place outside their hands and hearts and plunged itself into a melody so deep and heartfelt, it rose out of the depths of her without bidding or thought. Later, she would not be able to put it to paper, the searing notes that she lost as soon as she wrote them. She couldn't move because this couldn't be real because he couldn't be dead. Notes tumbled into existence and spun away, a maelstrom of sound in her own head that scrolled through behind blank eyes. She wanted to cry. To scream. to sing. To let it out. But her fingers and lips remained silent and she stared at his lifeless body. Because Victor Orsei couldn't be dead.

Too Small
Sareena Loralen September 1883

All she'd ever wanted was music, the silver badge pinned to her chest. Then she'd found them and love and friendship had seemed a possibility. She had found a teacher who she cared enough for to die for. With it, a task and a mission. But she was just a girl. A nobody daughter of a whore, a whore herself, no family, no blood, no name save that which she scratched out of the earth with her own scarred hands. Heavy Lies the Sky My body burns And I've gone blind Whispers in my mind Say Let go, you've done your time. And she wanted to help them, wanted to follow this lead almost as much as she wanted to play music. It was a purpose, some way to cement her tiny reality to something larger. But she didn't know how. Brave, they called her. All she felt was weak. Kind, they said. But was that fear just masquerading as gentleness so that no one would strike? Hold me still, Hold me still against the water the waves are tall And I'm a child, I'm just a girl Hold me up, Hold me up It's getting harder These gentle hands were never made to hold the world And still she strove to try and be what they saw and asked, muscles aching from the effort of each endlessly practiced motion, head aching from the words that she shoved in as fast as she could read. Fingers cracked and blistered feet The journey's long and I am weak This weary heart still beats But it's a caged bird longing to be free I'm a caged bird oh set me free Learn the masks fast enough to use them so you can help. Because if you don't, will they still want you? Will the stern face still quirk that half smile as he lets you into the office? Will the lovers still be able to bear your presence if you can't keep up? Will anyone still want you here if you are not striving at your best and hardest at all times? Hold me still, Hold me still against the water the waves are tall And I'm a child, I'm just a girl Hold me up, Hold me up It's getting harder These gentle hands were never made to hold the world What could she do? She was a singular woman, barely that. She was a musicker, a bard. Not a hero. Not some shaker of worlds and men. Not a revolutionary or a noble - and Gods the way Victor's father had looked at them. Not a politician or a leader. Hold me still, Hold me still against the water the waves are tall And I'm a child, I'm just a girl Hold me up, Hold me up It's getting harder These gentle hands were never made to hold the world One slip, that girl. One slip, back to the Lion. One slip. One slip.

This is fine
Sareena Loralen, September 1883

The evening was a blur, even after the healer's ministrations. They'd been riding home in the carriage. The carriage had stopped. Jenna had cried out and before either of them could pull a gun or cast a spell, they'd been overrun. There had been a silence spell, cloaking Cardinal's outcry and then a sharp pain and darkness. When she'd woken, Master Robintan was speaking with a cleric and her skull felt like it was splitting in two. "Maelie," she gasped and then looked embarrassed as she sank back into the pillows with a groan. "Already in progress," he said a touch more gently than normal. "Stay in bed." "But..." His gaze turned sharp and cold. "That was not a request, journeyer." "Yes sir," she winced. His gaze was as good as rope tying her to the bed. But she also knew if she was capable of going, he'd let her. "You need rest, journeyer," the cleric said more gently. ".... a rash of disappearances... I'm told Sir Orsei and his sister as well.... " one of the clerics in the hall muttered as they walked by. Cardinal flung herself out of the bed and wobbled. She had the horrifying realization she was only in her chemise, her master was right there, her scars were visible, and her loves were in danger all at the same time. Then thinking was obliterated by searing pain and she doubled over, trying not to throw up from the sudden nausea and throbbing head. Gentle hands put her back in the bed and tugged the blankets back up as the priestess guided her back to the pillows. "In progress," Robintan said again flatly. "Stay here." She trusted him. She knew she couldn't manage to be helpful right now. She trusted the clerics as well - at least medically speaking. But none of that stopped the gnawing worry and terror until the priestess laid a gentle hand on her forehead and she fell back into darkness and sleep.

I need to see a man about an electric cello...
Sareena Loralen Septebmer 11, 1883

Cardinal burst into The Celestial's office where Edward was pouring over the receipts for the week. He looked up. "Hey, Red Bird, how ar-" "I need an electric cello. Maybe made of iron? Uh.. probably without the floor spike because it's just going to get in the way." "Huh?" 'An electric cello. Like your guitar. It's got to be sturdy...iron would be good. Or some other strong metal." "Are you...taking up a new weapon?" he looked baffled. "Me? Oh. No it's for Verminithrax." "What's a Verminithrax?" "I think a devil. An Orthon? Big tusks...yay high? Hands the size of hammers?" "Humor me. Why does an Orthon need an electric cello?" "because a regular violin is too small and fragile, of course." Edward could not fault this logic. He still, however, had questions. "And how did you get asked to find an instrument for a giant devil?" "Oh, well I beat these chain devils in a fiddling competition and they took my card in case they wanted lessons and I guess Verminithrax wanted to play quite badly. So I'm trading him the instrument for one piece of information and a song." "Mmhmm..." Edward started writing. "What are you doing?" "Nothing...nothing idea. I'll talk to Kretch. Give me a few days. Who...does he bill for this?" "Well me of course. Mae won't mind." "Uh..huh. So to make sure I understand.. you won a fiddling contest against Barasios' devils and now they're coming to you for musical guidance." "Something like that?" Edward grinned at her. "What?" "Nothing, nothing at all. Just... consider yourself forewarned." He shooed her out the door before she could ask but she swore she heard him cackling as she went off to her next gig.

The Red File
Sareena Loralen, September 1883

Cardinal had set up the beautiful desk Peg had given her in the music room. It was where she did virtually all of her writing when she wasn't at the guild house. Next to the desk sat an elegant wooden filing cabinet. The top drawer contained pre-lined music sheets. The next contained in-progress pieces. The next drawer contained finished works - when there were enough she submitted them to the guild for copying and a bound folio. Those folios went on the shelf in the room - she had just received her first one back a short while ago where it sat in rich blue leather with her name on the spine. Ten pieces of music, bound neatly together. She was embarrassed how often she took it down to touch the pages, run her fingers over the edges of the volume. She had requested just a simple binding but it had come back with the blue leather and her name stamped in gold and the clerks desk had simply shrugged, not able to tell her who had ordered the upgrade. She assumed Zeff or Master Anders as it was not the sort of emotional detail that Robintan would usually pay attention to. The last drawer was filled with the pieces she wouldn't play for anyone. Songs she'd written in grief or anger or pain that was not understandable or shareable. Beautiful but not suitable for public ears... and sometimes not even for those she loved. Dark thoughts from when she thought she would never find light again, songs that were riddled with memories she didn't ever want to share, never mind see again in her own head. Tonight, she played at various tunes mulling over the events of the night. Maelie was upstairs, well and truly passed out from the sip of apparently god-created mead. Cardinal had made sure she was comfortable, her face was clean, and there was water nearby as well as a basin. She'd tended more than one passed out woman in her life. She played the piano idly with one hand, writing notations with her left. I've been out in this world alone All I've known is rot and ruin, blood and bone Those I've loved are all dead or gone Promise you won't leave me now Another for the Red File, tonight. She mulled over Robintan, Maelie upstairs asleep. The way she'd wanted to twitch and run from the gorgeous men in the river. The way the scent of the alcohol invaded her thoughts. While she did drink occasionally, she did not drink often and rarely to excess. The journeyers exams had been a fluke and only because a very sober Edward had stayed by her side. Tonight was not one of those nights she had been willing to risk it. You've been lost in a world so changed Hardened by the coldest winter, numbed by pain You're so fierce, but you feel so safe Promise you won't leave me now Hayden's drunken shanty had been too much for her memories. Bella saying that her wedding would be "interesting" now when she just wanted the day to be happy and peaceful. The old woman watching. The raucous laughter. All just too much. She hated that it was. She wanted to enjoy it too, enjoy the night air, the scandal, the drink, the laughter, the sound of Maelie's slurred but laughing Elven. I've seen too much No...no that line was his. I've not seen enough Yes, better. There was not enough life to totally drown out the before yet. No matter how quickly she tried to drink it in and absorb it all, it still lingered. Don't leave me here She split the lines in her head as she wrote them, revising the lyrics now that the tune was solid and the notations down. She could hear the rich baritone that would likely never sing this piece, counterpoint to her mezzo. She didn't need to sing it to hear it. You'll just be frightened.. You've lost too much But you have my trust Don't leave me here 'Cause we've got something Something to fight for She supposed it could almost be any of them she was writing for, but she didn't feel safe with any of them right now. She could never tell them that - that for these few hours her fear was too big. She knew now, after months of working through this, that the feeling would fade and wasn't real. She was gloriously happy with Victor and Maelie, safe with them, protected. But there were times when the memories were kicked open at the seams without their realizing ad she had to regroup. It was not intentional nor malicious nor did it upset her but they handled their own memories and darkness differently. One withdrew, the other lived so hard it drowned out the hurt. Robintan was the only one who did not accidentally do so - a strange by product of his own reserve. They were so careful with one another. Stay with me, and we'll find a way Look beyond the rot and ruin; hope remains There's a bond that we can't explain Promise you won't leave me now Cardinal knew she would always have these scars now. She had one day hoped to lock them away, like she locked music in the red files. But even if you never showed them to the world, they were still there. On the skin of her back, in the recesses of her mind. And the only way she had found to release them was with these notes. I'm not scared of the blood and bone All the monsters beneath the stone I'm just scared that I'll watch you go Promise you won't leave me now I've seen too much I've not seen enough Don't leave me here I'll just be frightened You've lost too much But you have my trust Don't leave me here 'Cause we've got something ... "Miss Sareena? I think Miss Maelie is awake and looking for you. Shall I tell her you're busy?" "No, oh no, Miss Adnala, thank you. I think I'm all right now." She smiled to the Harengon and then reassured herself that she was, in fact, all right. The worst of it had bled out with the music. She tucked the piece into the bottom drawer and headed upstairs to her beloved.

Flowers and Ribbons
Sareena Loralen, August 1883

Cardinal walked carefully into the dress maker's shop with Elsinore in hand. The little girl was wearing good, solid clothing now, simple but well made. Nel's move up in the world had been good for the family and Elsinore was glowing with the change, looking in better health and in better spirits than Cardinal had ever seen her. The tiny elf child, smaller than even most her age, looked around with wide eyes at the store, huddling closer to Cardinal's hip with nerves. "It's okay, Elsie," Cardinal soothed. "The people here are very nice and they work with Miss Arsenault and I a lot." "It's so pretty," the elf-girl breathed softly, reaching out a hand to touch a delicate silk ribbon carefully. After no one yelled at her for it, she took it in hand a little more surely. "Can we help you, Miss Loralen?" the dress maker's assistant came out with a smile. "Oh, who's this?" Elsinore, shy again, half-hid behind Cardinal's skirt. The older bard was sympathetic - she still felt nervous coming in herself but it was easier to be brave when she had to for Elsinore. "This is Miss Elsinore. She's going to be a flower girl in Miss Arsenault's and I's wedding this October. I'd like to get her a dress for the event... and maybe a second nice one for special occasions for this winter?" "Two?" Elsinore squeaked, looking up at Cardinal. Cardinal knew Elsinore idolized her. She was careful with the relationship and tried to make sure that the little girl knew she loved her but that she was also still a fallible, mortal thing. She never wanted Elsinore to feel she had not been honest - or caring. Some part of her was aware that she projected parts of her own childhood on the little girl - a need to be all the things that she had desperately wished for from her mother and a father that didn't exist. It was a careful balance for both of them. "Yes, two," she said firmly. "That way you have something nice for the holidays too," she pointed out. "we can make it so the seams have some allowance to let out if she grows," the seamestress nodded. "Would you like to step up here, Miss Elsinore so I can take your measurements?" Cardinal held the little girl's hand as she stepped onto the measuring platform. Elsinore tried to stand very tall and very still, glancing at Cardinal with wide eyes. "Nothing will hurt. It's just a tape, see." Cardinal showed her the measuring tape. "And then they'll write down the numbers like you do when you use a ruler at school. That's how they know what size to make things." "C-can I pick the color for the other dress?" she asked shyly. "Of course," Cardinal smiled. "We'll look at some fabrics after this and you can surprise Miss Nel with it for the Harvest festival." With the patience of all small children for whom kindness has been a rarity, Elsinore stood quietly while she was measured and turned. She giggled as Cardinal repeated the same motions, winking at her charge for the day and making the dress-maker's assistant smile as well. Measurements done, the two looked through the fabric book together, picking out the colored sash for the flower girl dress and the fabric for a holiday dress. "Is this how you shop all the time?" Elsinore asked, looking up at Cardinal with wide eyes. "No...well...yes I suppose recently. It is new for me too." "It's nice," she whispered. "Thank you for buying me a dress." "You're very welcome. Thank you for agreeing to be our flower girl." Elsinore frowned a moment. "What do I need to do? I want to be very ready." Cardinal hid her smile and nodded at her seriousness. There was much of her own intensity in Elsinore's mannerisms. She tried so hard to be good and do everything well. She knew it was not because Nel had been unkind but rather the same ephemeral sense that everything might be taken away at a moment's notice. For Elsinore, it was poverty that had not yet been erased from her mind - though Cardinal knew that wouldn't last forever. Still, she understood the feeling. One wrong step for most of her life ended up with lashings and worse. "Well, we will give you a basket and you scatter petals down the aisle for us before we come in. Can you do that?" "little handfuls or big ones?" "I think big ones," she grinned a little. "Miss Maelie likes grand things." Elsinore considered this and nodded. "Do I get you a gift?" "No, you don't have to do that. Your gift is helping us. And Miss Nel will bring you to the reception too. Miss Adnala said she'll have a table set for you and the other children. And there's cake!" Elsinore grinned in delight and hugged Cardinal, nuzzling into her side. This girl, at least, she could help. This girl could be a daughter of some sort - something that she would likely never have given the circumstances of her life. Cardinal exhaled softly, wrapped her arms around the little girl, and ignored the vague longing all of it stirred.

The Celestial
Sareena Loralen, July 1883

One of the first contracts that Cardinal received - and accepted - was an official standing engagement at The Celestial, Edward and Chrissy's theater. While she knew they were friends, Edward had assured her it was because of her skill rather than their friendship and so she'd accepted the two night a week engagement which specified two solo pieces and two collaborative pieces with the company worked in development with the two master bards. "So a set of four songs?" Cardinal looked up at Edward as he handed her several pages of sheet music. "Yes... two solo pieces with Chrissy dancing, two playing with me while the company dances. Can you write something - or do you have something - that works for the fire theme? We were thinking "Burning Heart" but I've no idea what else you have squirreled away." "I'm not -that- bad." "Uhhuh. You can't get them down on paper fast enough. But regardless..." he arched an eyebrow at her and she wrinkled her nose in thought. Edward valiantly resisted booping the freckles across her nose and kept himself properly proper for the moment. Finally, she nodded. "Yes... so it's the phoenix story?" "Yes. Chrissy has costume changes planned already for and the dancers and a pattern she wants you to go with." "Vocal or instrumental only?" "Whichever you prefer, Journeyer," Edward smirked. Cardinal side-eyed him and shook her head a bit. "Yes, Master Leonhart," she intoned respectfully until he blanched. She laughed at his expression. "Does this order sound good?" She played through the song selections quickly on her violin as he listened. "Let's flip the first two. It's more dramatic that way. So solo start, duet, duet, solo. Nice symmetry." She almost asked him if she was good enough for a solo and then stopped herself. She knew she was and he knew she was and she knew he wouldn't brook any foolishness from her. This was a job, and despite being her friend, Edward was treating it like one. "All right now what?" Slowly, he grinned. "Now I get to show you the new lady in my life." Edward drew out a guitar from a case in the room and presented it to her. In basic form, it looked like any other, but the body was thin with no real amplification. "I don't understand...it's flat. How does this make music?" She strummed the strings idly and it barely plinked in the still air of the practice room. Edward reached over and tethered a cable to the back of the instrument that led to a device that looked more like a victrola box than much else. "now try it." Again, Cardinal strummed a chord, this time the sound bursting forth from the small box so that she startled and fell backward over the bench as she tried to get away. Edward laughed, wheezing at her expression. "Sorry, Red Bird. Too good to pass up. It's got an elemental in it. A little electricity one that moves the noise from the strings to the box." "You...electrified an instrument. With ...lightning?" "Well...yes very small, docile lightning. Listen." He took the guitar from her and began to play as she stared open mouthed. The techniques he used were much the same as any guitar but the sound... She dove for the satchel by her chair. "Like it?" he grinned. "Yes. But I'm rewriting that last piece...that's..." she breathed softly and looked at the guitar. "Tomorrow. Can we try it tomorrow?" "Of course. Come by after classes with Robintan. We'll practice before we open for the night." With a small grin, he left her to write.

Now what?
Sareena Loralen, July 1883

Cardinal stood at the clerk's desk fingering the envelope that held her new schedule in one hand... and a veritable pile of envelopes in the other. "Journeyer Loralen?" Zeff paused in her walk across the hall and came over to her, touching her shoulder lightly after a moment. "Are you all right?" "What do I do?" Sareena replied, staring at the envelopes. "Oh. Well... why don't you come sit in my office for a moment. I've got tea and cookies?" Zeff guided the young journeyer into a chair in her office and closed the door. She passed her a cup of honey sweetened tea. "Lost?" "Yes... I mean I know how this works. Logically. I just... I never imagined it would be real. And I just got used to ...how things were." "How things were?" she says softly, head tilting in question. "My classes, seeing Master Robintan for lessons, where I stayed when." "You should probably open your schedule before you panic too much. It is true that your oath is no longer to your master and is now to the guild. But many journeyers continue to work with their master after they are made silvers. Guided study, we call it. I believe he also suggested a few of the others you enjoy studying with that he thought you might deepen your understanding." Cardinal unfolded the letter and saw that her lessons with Master Anders for voice were still present, politics with Fox, Storytelling with Master Marchant, and movement with Chrissy were all still on her list, albeit most of them in shortened form. She would still meet three times a week with him. Sareena's face crumpled and Zeff took her hand. "You're as good for him as he is for you. None of us have to understand it to see that and he insisted that part remain the same - not that any of us were going to argue. Sareena what you did..." "I wouldn't let her do that to him. To me. To any of you," she said with more heat than Zeff had anticipated. "I know. It was a great service to all of us. You don't just play beautifully, Sareena. You've a heart to go with it. And if keeping you growing meant another full slate of apprentice classes I would have done so but we both know that isn't necessary." The air genasi smiled a bit. "Now... I also left your nights in the dorm because you enjoy it. The other classes are shorter, more seminar style. The masters will work with you to decide what you want to learn. It's how we fulfill the need for multiple masters to mentor you before you test for Master yourself." "You think-" "Sareena Loralen." "Yes, Master," she ducked her head at the stern - if compassionate - tone, blushing. "Now...the other envelopes are all requests for you to be hired for performances." "That's... a lot of requests," she managed meekly. "Mmhmm. You caught some ears. The guild sets the rate of pay depending on the function. We take a percentage and you get the rest. The longer the function - or the run - the more pay. That doesn't necessarily mean you should take the longest runs, however. So let's see what you have." Sareena carefully opened the dozen envelopes and Zeff chuckled. "I assume you'd like to take the two days solo act, two pieces, at Master Snow and Master Leonharts? And I assume you'd like to keep your contract playing at the Skybound?" Sareena nodded, breaking into a smile that both of those were included. "Good. That would be my suggestion. Those are consistent and stable. I know you don't really need it any longer with your engagement - congratulations by the by - but I'm going to walk you through the business side of this as if you didn't have that net." "That will make me feel better," she agreed and Zeff nodded. "I always recommend you take at least two steady engagements as a journeyer that will take a few of your evenings. That will give you a steady income regardless of the season. Both of those locations are very profitable - and they suit your style. What would you say your style is?" She asked shrewdly. "I...like small ensembles and solo work," she said finally. "Quartets are okay but I prefer duos. I like being able to set my own set list and choose my pieces. But I really like also collaborating with another good musician." "Excellent. Interestingly...why not larger ensembles?" Zeff's eyes sparkled. "I'm limited by what emotions they want to impart," she shrugged a little. "I... want to be able to speak truth with my music. Even if that's playing someone else's writing, I can't do that as well in large groups." Zeff cackled lightly. "Ha! I won! They owe me a fiver," she looks satsifed. "Who...?" "Provencer, that mole. He thought you'd want to hide in the masses. Gods that man is detestable. If he weren't so good at beating theory into some of the flightier ones, I'd have foisted him on his own petard when I stepped up." Sareena stared and Zeff shook her head. "They're just people, Sareena. They have their own foibles. We all do. Most of them are -very good- people... and -very good artists-. Some of them..." she shakes her head. "I've always been glad Robintan has been as selective as he has been. Not everyone can withstand that stare." "Doesn't bother me so much anymore," she murmured and Zeff just grinned again. "Right, given that, I'm taking out these three. They're all long run string quartets for House Bremen, House Elysia, and House Rosebrier. They're lucrative to be sure but I think you're wasted on them. You have to pick -things that will bring you joy too.- This is hard work. Make sure you love it." Carefully, Zeff went through the other contracts with her and they selected options for some small duos that were one offs, some small solos that would feature her at some of the smaller summer balls, and a few of the more prominent noble requests to maintain correspondence with. "These... Zeff slid over... you're going to curry favor with. Write to them, tell them you're honored to have been noticed, and to please be in touch if they have any specific events in mind." Sareena glanced at the envelopes "These...are all barons and counts..." she squeaked. "Yes, and you are perfectly articulate. Robintan will check the letters if you want before we send them. But this," Zeff tapped the pile. "Is how we ensure we all retire well. They'll be pleased an up and coming bard - one that is likely to be a master some day - noticed them and will maintain contact. They'll ask you to an event occasionally to perform - and you'll grow a bigger cadre from that. When you're a master you can afford to be selective about whom you perform for. Now...you'll likely just go if they send a request unless it's something truly atrocious. Robintan will help you with that too if you're uncertain." Sareena glanced at her. "He will?" "Oh yes. I'm sure it will involve forty questions and a raised eyebrow but you'll get the grip of which ones should be avoided from him very quickly. By the time you're a gold, you'll be able to set your own price based off the guilds for a performance. The best of us... are very comfortable. We work hard for it - but it's a good life, Sareena. Far better than any you'd have found if you'd not come to us. I am... very glad you are here and bless Sephira for guiding you to us." Sareena nodded slowly. "Thank you. The...business of this always eluded me. I want it so badly just to be art..." "It is," Zeff said softly. "But never ever let them forget that it's powerful, meaningful, truth that you bring them. It's our job to walk softly when needed - and walk tall when they won't listen to what should be. You know it in your heart. I just want you to be able to take care of yourself while you do that." Sareena sighed softly. "Thank you. This...helped quite a bit." "Well, even the best of us needs a compass on occasion," she smiled. "Go on and get to your master who is no longer your master." Cardinal smiled, curtsied again, and left with her pile of invitations. "Oh, Cardinal?" "Yes, Guild Master?" "Could you get me a card for your warforged friend? They were interesting. I'd like to talk to them more." Cardinal grinned. "Oh absolutely."

Interlude: The Old Guard

"Well this is SPLENDID," Vidal snarled as her maul took the head off the zombie trying to crawl over her shield. "It really is!" Celedor chimed in as he levitated a few zombies into the air like bouncy balls. "I believe that was sarcasm, Celly dear," Grizelda calmly examined her nails as her own undead wrangled with the horde trying to reach her. Aeryin Robintan arched an eyebrow and said nothing as he efficiently dispatched some more of the undead swarming their way. He had no particular love of the undead and he was quietly plotting how he was going to poison Celedor's next meal if they made it that far. "I believe you said, simple job." "weeeeell," Celedor wibbled his hand and unleashed a wave of magic that made the rest of the party jump back. "I would like to point out I am WITH THE PARTY" this time, Gisella Richter called, "AND CANNOT BAIL YOU OUT OF PRISON AS A RESULT!" Richter ducked a set of zombie claws and parried with an elegant strike of her rapier. "This isn't going to get us arrested," Vidal huffed. She glances at Celedor. "Is it, Celedor?" "Weeeeelllll..." another pile of undead fell. "Please remember I control your reputation," Robintan commented dryly. "You wouldn't, you old bastard," Celedor smiled charmingly and ignored the flood of Loreali's holy light that turned several of the zombies to dust. Robintan just gave him a frosty look. "Gentelmen..." Grizelda pointed out. "This is not the time to quibble. This really is a rather extensive infestation." "UNDERNEATH THE PARLIAMENT!" Richter added, slamming two zombie skulls together with a splat and a small, wild grin. "Which could actually get us arrested. If we're found." "I suggest we skip that step then," Robintan noted dryly. "Behind you, Gisella." She ducked in time to miss the zombie's claws and Vidal hammered another undead into the wall. "Aren't you supposed to play music or something, Aeryin?" "Celedor, if he stabs you in your sleep, you've earned it," Grizelda sing songed. "Now stop playing and break the focus." "Fine, fiiiine," Celedor huffed and waded through the levitated horde of writing zombies to the unearthed gem. "easy enough?" Vidal asked. "Weeeellll..." celedor frowned. "If he does it again, I'm hammering his head in myself," Vidal snarled. "Ah, no I have it!" After a few moments of tinkering, the gem dulled. The small party lowered their weapons cautiously. Without warning, the gem flared brightly again, vibrating. "It is not supposed to do that," Grizelda commented lightly. "We should-" Celedor commented. "Run." Robintan finished, turning to usher them toward the passage door. The gem flared brightly one more time and every zombie in the room exploded in a shower of goo, coating them all in bits of flesh and bone. "I stand by my original statement," he finished dryly. Celedor, unable to help himself, just started laughing.

New Truths
Sareena Loralen, July 1883

Sareena had spent the few days since the auditions in a sort of agony of waiting. She thought she had done well enough to pass. The applause, Robintan's nod, the way her friends crowded her were all signals of these things. Without the silver on her breast though, it was hard to make tangible and real. She waltzed through those few days pretending it was a dream of sorts, the only way for her to function through the press of emotions and worry and fear that she had still, somehow, missed the mark. Even at the banquet, she had not dared to hope. The other new journeyers all got called one by one and she had watched almost all of their performances so she was thrilled for them, as she was for almost any of them when they were announced. The smile and applause were genuine. Still they didn't call her name and she wondered, briefly, had she answered the questions on the history exam wrong? But then they did. The world had seemed to freeze for a moment, the sound evaporating in a rush of silence as Robintan stood behind her chair. He looked down at her. She looked up at him. He offered her his arm. "You have walked alone almost all of your nights. Tonight I walk with you," his soft, melodic voice broke through the quiet. Not alone. Maelie's touch in the dark, soothing the nightmares. Victor's strong arms pulling her close when she shuddered in her sleep. Nel growling protectively over her when the Pinkerton had struck her. Muse leaning against her in the park when a tremor ran through her. Peg, clutching her hand. Nita standing next to her against the fire. Lukas sliding another plate of food over in the cold of winter when she took refuge in the Skybound. Miranda handing her the book from the shelf with a small smile of delight. Sera carrying her to safety. Violet, holding her as she woke from death with a fierce hug. Kevan saying he was adopting her as a little sister. Arinelle's quiet, steady presence. Igor, dancing with her around the room. Katja. Aloysius. Vera. Schatzi. Bella. Edward. Chrissy. Pip. Their faces tumbled through her mind. Sound returned as she took his arm, trembling not with fear this time but with trying not to sob in relief. Something broke inside of her, crashing down in a rush of emotion that was so strong it threatened to make her knees buckle. Another cage shattered as the words her friends and lovers had been telling her for months finally penetrated the years of neglect and hurt. Sareena strayed closer to the unfamiliar feel of Robintan's arm anchoring her as they walked to the front. If he noticed that she leaned for support, he did not say, nor did he step away. Such a strangely intimate gesture, taking someone's arm. Distant, but the vague heat and presence of someone standing close. Even with no romantic undercurrent it was a momentary connection and she took the comfort of it to keep her head high. Not alone. It rung like a truth in her head, baffling and precious all at once. "I release you from your oath, Sareena Loralen. You have served, learned, and trained to my utmost satisfaction. Is it still your wish to stand as a Bard of the College of Lore?" Part of her rebelled at it. She did not wish to be released. She had just found this, found stability here. There was not an option though. To be a journeyer was to be devoted to the Guild. Please...please not yet? Please, I am still your student. She didn't speak it though and his gaze remained steady, as if reminding her to trust what she had just learned. It was all right to be wanted. It was safe now, to trust these people who had earned it. To trust him. Utmost satisfaction. He would not send her away. He would not let anyone else do so either. So she spoke the words. "Yes it is." "Once before, I stood here and accepted your words, and you mine," he says formally. "Now, the College would hear your words." What to say? She had dreamt it but never spoken it. How did you swear loyalty to air, to breathing, to life? The answer to that was in her though, present since the night she had thrown her life at Weber's feet. The only thing as constant as air and life and music was the stars above. "I, Sareena Loralen, do swear to serve the Most Noble Society of Bardic and Performing Artisans and the College of Lore with all that I may offer in skill, in heart, and in spirit, until such time as the college no longer sees me as fit or until Sephira's watching stars burn out." "Heard and witnessed!" Came the roar back from the tables. "Heard and witnessed," Robintan said solemnly. "Heard and witnessed," The masters behind her spoke. "Then I grant you the rank of Journeyer," Robintan intoned formally, "and affirm your place as a Bard of the Guild and College." His fingers undid the clasp of the copper pin, slid it free, and put the Silver in its place. "You are not to remove this again unless it is by my hand." Sareena caught his hand as it dropped. A hug was too much to dare but this tiny breech of distance seemed possible. Her fingers wrapped around his, the briefest of pressure. She felt the mutual callouses of his fingertips from stringed instruments. The slight rough spot where a pen would rest. The same callouses her own hands bore, no matter how well manicured otherwise. It was a moment of thanks she couldn't find words for. Sareena released his fingers before the moment and his patience frayed and made her way to the Journeyer table where the other new Silvers engulfed her in laughter and drink.

It'll be just fine
Sareena Loralen, June 1883

"I was told you might need some help," Chrissy surveyed the pile of dresses and sheet music strewn across Cardinal's bedroom with mild amusement. Stasia stood sheepishly behind her. "Sorry miss. Just...this is the fourth time you've changed outfits after you and Miss Arsenault picked one and.." "Erg?" Cardinal replied eloquently. It was just past dawn and she had already put herself in a panic of questioning her decisions. "hooboy," Chrissy sighed. "Okay. Stasia, anything not green or blue, put away. We're going to capitalize on your gorgeous hair. Outfit. Then music. I'm not on your adjudication board so I am actually allowed to give you advice which I assume your brat of a master did not?" "Huh?" "Then again I suppose he has about as much care for female fashion as a fish does for rocks... although he does have excellent taste," Chrissy mused. "Right.. sit!" Stasia obediently collected all the other garments and rehung them. "This was the original selection?" She examined the dress. "I like the embroidery but it's a bit....simple." "But this is a journeyer exam?" "We'll keep the embellishment low but up the fabric quality... silks I think. A little luster. No glamourweave - gods forbid. You'd never deign to let your clothing do the work your music should be," Chrissy shot an amused glance over to Cardinal who just blushed to the roots of her hair. "I know blue is your favorite but I want you to consider the green." "But bardic.." "Which means every other journeyer candidate will be wearing it. Also -you- are auditioning - not your master. He already knows your his, Sareena," Chrissy said softly. "I don't think anyone could question that after the past two weeks. Besides isn't green Miss Arsenault's favorite," she grinned wickedly and Sareena blushed even more. "Done." She selected a silk green gown without sleeves. "You can dance in this when you play. The lines are right. She picked through the clothes "my you did finally shop, I'm so proud of you!" She laid out a simpler blue day dress for wear "This for the written exams. Blue for that part. And comfortable and with sleeves - the classrooms get chilled. That blasted air elemental they got is overenthusiastic." Chrissy unceremoniously plunked Cardinal into the vanity chair and started brushing her hair. Stasia watched in mute fascination. "How'd ya learn all that m'l- master?" "Bards rarely have hair dressers for performances. I've got my tricks," Chrissy grinned but slowed her movements to let Stasia watch. "Music. What are you performing?" "Sibelius violin concerto in D for the violin piece. The first movements - the entire piece is too long for an audition." "Oh yes that's just one of the hardest ever written," Chrissy replied dryly. "Not your own?" She raised an eyebrow. "N-n0? Should I change it? I thought I'd use one of my compositions for vocal but they've already heard me do one of mine for apprentice auditions for violin. I wanted to make sure it was clear I could play other people's compositions as well." Chrissy just smiled and kissed the top of Cardinal's head. "Perfect. What other instruments are you going to showcase?" "Piano." "If I didn't love you, I'd hate you just a little," Chrissy teased, fingers working a careful braid into Cardinal's hair. "What for that one?" "I thought one of my own for that one? It's a new instrument for me to showcase and I have a piece I think works? Winter?" "Good... you should showcase your own work since you're proving you can play others with the violin. And yes that's perfect. And voice? Anything a bit less delicate? Your first two are flowing and excellent choices but range." Cardinal fidgeted as Chrissy pinned the last bit of braid into place and turned her in the chair. "Cosmetics?" Chrissy continued. Cardinal pointed at the top drawer. While cosmetics were generally frowned upon in polite society, the bards had also generally ignored that and Chrissy was a master at making it look both natural and highlighting features. "Will you murder me if I use just a liiiiittle glitter?" Chrissy batted her eyelashes at Cardinal who smirked. "Go on, I trust you." "Okay so piano is covered. Voice?" "I'm worried about voice." "You've been training with Anders, you're fine." "it's more...exposed. But.. I'm going to use another original piece. I can have an accompanist for that right?" "Yes, you can have two accompanists for voice." "Okay..then yes. Um...Bring me to life." "oof," Chrissy breathed as she swept a light powder over Cardinal's cheekbones, certain to leave the freckles visible. "Oof? Is that a bad choice?" "No, love. It's a beautiful song but you're going to -wrung out- by the end of this audition," she chuckled. "That's... you're putting a lot of yourself out there on this aren't you?" "Y-yes," she said finally. "But it's my music. And it's truth. And after Weber I... I feel like I'm hiding all of these things and someone's going to find it anyway so I want to be honest with it if I can." Chrissy nodded slowly. "Okay. Well... we'll be there for you to listen and cheer you on. Probably more cheering from Edward than me. He's -so- bloody loud," she smirked. "Thank you," Cardinal whispered. She turned and looked at herself in the mirror, hair elegantly pinned up, makeup subtle and perfect that made her green eyes stand out. "You're very welcome. Now. Get dressed, get over to the hall, and show 'em what you can do, Sareena." Sareena took a deep breath, exhaled softly and gathered her things to go. Chrissy watched her silently, with a small smile. For Cardinal, this felt like the goal. Master Christina Snow knew it was only the next step, however important. Neither she, nor Edward, nor Robintan would rest until gold gleamed on Cardinal's shoulder.

Measure of A Man
Sareena Loralen, June 1883

"And your service deserves much reward, I think." Compliments from him were so rare that it made tears prick her eyes and she resisted the urge to hug him, not sure he would accept it, that it was proper, that he would understand the moment of soul-thrilling -safety- he had just provided her. Sareena's relationship with Robintan was as complex as the man himself and as her own background. There were almost never compliments - but the few given were genuine and treasured like diamonds and she could remember each turn of phrase and word and would turn them over in her mind for weeks after when her spirits sank. There was never touching - it had started as both of their rules but Sareena thought it was more his now than hers. Whatever fears she had about him harming her had been banished and she always felt safe in the book lined office. Affection was not spoken but was shown - There was never an admission that he cared for her as his apprentice or from her as her master. But she knew where every pen and book and paper should be arranged. The water jug should have lime instead of lemon and contain ice. She knew he favored the right side of the piano bench. He knew what pieces of music would be a challenge and tantalize her into trying some new form without fear. He knew which chair was more upright to better accommodate skirts and corset. It was a language the past months had created out of slow trust and long hours and one no one else could or would understand. He would defend her in what ways he though necessary - He would not spare her the bruises and embarrassment of the fencing practice and Greyson's wrath. But he would send her out of the college for a week when Greyson's temper was liable to be much stronger and fall on her. He would not intercede on behalf of the other masters as long as their judgements were fair - but if they were not he would ensure she received the lessons needed. Sareena no longer doubted that had the kidnappers from winter kept her, she would have miraculously found herself free and no one would have ever seen them again. There was no doubt in her mind that Aeryin Robintan had killed, could kill, and would do so if he thought it was justified. But she also suspected that he preferred subtler means when possible. Death was a fact of life - but not to be reveled in. And lastly she had learned, that she would defend him with her life. Not because of any of these things he offered her or the lessons but for two immutable reasons. Robintan, like Maelie and Victor and Nel and Peg and Lukas and all of them, had given her the keys to the cages and waited patiently for her to figure out how to open each one and step through. And because of the music. Because of all of the bards in the college, even her dearest friends, he was the only one she knew understood the burning, consuming need for it that filled lungs like breathing. He understood how it filled the empty spaces and the cracks and the scars and, if it did not always repair them, made them bearable for a while. There were many talented bards in the college. There were many for whom their art was a calling. But she thought that maybe they were the only two here in Novandria for whom it was -air-. So she had offered the only other thing she could in his defense that night when words would not work, when no other actions were possible. She had offered her life. It was the surrender Vagabond had always wanted but never earned. In the end though, as she woke on Robintan's desk, she realized it was less surrender and more a claiming of her own choice. As those ice blue eyes met her, she thought maybe he understood that.

Honk
Sareena Loralen, June 1883

Cardinal spent most of the prior evening studying music theory and Eisen law, ensuring that she had the areas of knowledge straight for her upcoming journeyer exams. She had been up late and so she slept in late, sprawled across the comfortable bed and happily dreaming of an entire room of magical violins. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" Echoed across the northward. Up went the bard. Up went the sleeping displacer runt on the bard. Up went the covers. Up went the piles of books on the covers. Everything landed at once. Tinte climbed Cardinal's head, fur bushed and spitting, his tiny tentacles waving madly as another displacer kitten illusion mirrored itself on the bed. Cardinal grabbed for the illusion to calm it and belatedly realized it wasn't Tinte. Holding a pile of books with a cat on her head, she sat upright gasping for air and trying to make sense of what had happened. "Miss Sareena?" There was a knock at the door and Stasia poked her head in. "You all right?" "What...in the name of Gorath is that.." "Gorath, miss," Stasia replied with a smile that belied her amusement. "The temple always does something on the longest day to uhm.. make things interesting for the Temple of Akmon." "There's screaming?" "It's a little different every year," she admits. "Uh.huh." Cardinal carefully pried Tinte off her head. "is everyone else all right?" "Oh..yes. I think-" "WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS CITY?" Maelie's voice rang out in elvish from up the hall. Stasia clapped a hand over her mouth to not laugh. "Yup. Just fine..." Cardinal grinned. "Grab one of my day dresses please? I'm going to go investigate...."

Rumors
Sareena Loralen, June 1883

"Ah! Apprentice Loralen, no not today. Off with you. Go rest. Go study!" Master Anders shooed her out before she set foot in the door. "Dear what on Terranon are you doing here? No... go home. Study if you like but get some rest!" Master Fox gently but firmly ushered her out of the classroom. "Apprentice Loralen, what do you think you're doing? Get!" Menolly waved her off from the stack of theory work on the corner of the desk. Cardinal slumped back towards the college doors, ignoring the whispers and stares. Robintan had point blank said he didn't want to see her until after her journeyer's exam in two weeks but she hadn't realized that it meant all her classes were canceled - or how quickly the rumors had spread regarding her. Apparently, when you were carried in dead to a master's office it raised a few eyebrows. Cardinal was exhausted, still feeling worn thin from the resurrection, but at least working on something would make her feel less adrift. Even for her, there was only so much time she could study in a day. "Red bird?" Edward's sing song caught up to her and she stopped as he and Chrissy both hurried toward her. He scooped her up in an inappropriately familiar, if friendly but firm hug and she batted him off. "They'll manage," he replied dryly. "Or they can choke on their modesty. Are you all right?" "I'm fine," she smiled a little. "Mostly. Dieing is tiring, did you know that?" Chrissy made a small sound and hugged her as well. "Gods, you scared the life out of us, Sareena. The rumor was around campus in an hour and no one knew what was going on. What happened?" Sareena winced "I... don't know if I'm allowed to talk about it," she dissembled. "Not here, I wouldn't," Edward looked around. "Can we walk you home?" With a moment of hesitation, Cardinal nodded. "I'd like that. Safer too." "Safer?" Chrissy frowned. "We...should catch up." With the two older, master bards trailing her, Cardinal headed back out of the guild hall and toward home, ignoring another bevy of whispers in her wake.

Worth of a dream
Sareena Loralen, June 1883

"And they cannot take that from you," Robintan's voice, melodic, was soft as they spoke. "No...they can't," she agreed. Because in her darkest moments she still had music in her heart, in her mind. I've been looking in the mirror for so long That I've come to believe my soul's on the other side All the little pieces falling, shatter Shards of me, too sharp to put back together But now, the outraged, bitter scowl of Lina Weber filled her vision. Unable to move, unable to speak. She let the music play through her head. Not even Lina Weber could take that away, despite the words of the geas that bound around her, the spell that hid it. Not even the mocking cruelty, the rage, the anger, could take it away. No ones bitterness and spite and hurt and pain had ever been able to before and after two and then some decades with the Vagabond, she kept her mind fixed on that melody winding through her head, willed the tears to stop. Crying never helped. Too small to matter But big enough to cut me into so many little pieces If I try to touch her When the Master Bard was done, Cardinal stared at the gold pin on the desk. Weber's pin. The graceful curves of the small metal harp had always fascinated her fingers. It was a touchstone now, a way to calm herself or think or focus. Gold. She'd never see silver, never mind gold. It would be simple, really. Take the folio, bring it to her, have the geas lifted. She was subtle enough - had stolen enough to get by - that she could probably do it. But he would eventually find out. She thought about the stone and ice blue eyes as she took off the copper pin and laid it on the desk. If she were not in the guild, she could not be used as a weapon. She walked out of the office, silent and quiet. And I bleed, I bleed And I breathe, I breathe no more Take a breath and I try to draw from my spirit's well Yet again you refuse to drink like a stubborn child Lie to me, convince me that I've been sick forever And all of this will make sense when I get better At least that was what she wanted Weber to think. For all of her kindness and the love of her friends, Sareena Loralen was a survivor. She has lived for twenty four years in a brothel with a man for whom cruelty was breathing. She had flourished in a landscape of hellish poverty because she was finally free. She did not feel that the nobility of Novandria owed her anything other than perhaps some human decency. And she knew the guild certainly did not. She knew her friends owed her nothing and, of all people, her Master did not. But she knew to whom she owed down to the copper penny and scrap of lint. Even if she would never have to pay them back. Even if they would never accept it or ask it or even dream it. She owed her life and love to Maelie and Victor. She owed her courage and persistence to Nel and Lukas and Peg. She owed sweetness to Violet and Arabella. Quick wit and belief to Miranda and James. Sly, clever smiles to Igor. Bold, stubborn resistance to Vera. Quiet, faith to Nita and Muse. She walked the guild campus for the last time, through the favorite practice room where the sun missed the piano but kept your feet warm in the winter if you turned the stool just right. She walked the main hall, watched a few apprentices play dragon chess and laughed with them. She made her way into the dining hall, mostly empty now. Here, she sat at the apprentices table, pretending to write notes in her music book as she looked at the journeyer table she would never join, at where the masters sat where she would never even dream about again. Her pin sat on Lina Weber's desk. She was a survivor but she knew the weight of love and loyalty, better than the storytelling master bard ever would. She thought of those stone and ice eyes and the sound of his voice, the sternness that was never unfair. The ever so slight smile when he said "little bird," the master that had taken her on not only to teach her music but to teach her how to free herself. Whatever had happened with Lina Weber was her truth... but Cardinal knew stories, like music, had different threads. But I know the difference between myself and my reflection I just can't help but to wonder Which of us do you love? And if she owed anyone anything, it was to tell Aeryn Robintan the viper that lay in wait. Sareena left the guild house for the last time. If she succeeded, she would have one chance to tip the hand and then she would rely on Sephira's good graces. If she succeeded and lived, she was making an enemy that would keep her from ever coming back here. What was the cost of a dream? Counted in loyalty and minutes and promises and tears. In the end, it didn't matter. She could at least tell him, tell Violet. They could take the guild badge, they could take her life. But they could never take her music again. So I bleed, I bleed And I breathe, I breathe no Bleed, I bleed And I breathe, I breathe I breathe, I breathe no more

So far
Cardinal, June 1883

Give me a reason Make me whole again Moonshine becomes scars But I'm cracked instead Can't risk believing That I would stand a chance Frozen in the doorway Don't wanna leave the past What did they see in her that she couldn't see? What did Maelie see that deserved hiring someone to keep her safe and protected so she could play music willy nilly through the city? What did Victor see that he was so afraid she would turn him away because he was unworthy and monstrous? What did Nel see that she was willing to step in front of her to shield her from dangerous men and was happy about it? What did Robintan see in the fumbled fingers attempts to live up to his brilliance, in her inability to shed the shackles of the past like he expected? What did even The Vagabond see that he would send men to chase her down and try and reclaim her? What if I can't see your light anymore? 'Cause I've spent too long in the dark And I'm on my knees Without shame begging to believe, but I feel So far from heaven When she looked at herself in the mirror in her lavish, comfortable room, all she saw was a too thin young woman, barely past being a girl, freckled and wide eyed and scared. She felt the fire of her own anger and shame, bursting out of her to snap at the wrong moment - always to the wrong person at the wrong time. She saw the girl who couldn't learn fast enough to possibly keep up with her peers, somehow apprenticed to the most gifted bard the hall had seen in ages. She saw the Vagabond's lust and her mother's hatred, Grayson's contempt and Vera's dismissal. She saw the person that inexplicably two others loved and had given gifts to and she could never, ever repay their kindness or the thrill of the way they looked at her, or the peace of them taking her hand in the night. Fragile. Broken. Covered in shame that she was desperately trying to shed, to shake the voices that had given it to her so often that it was etched into her memory and the skin of her back as if she were marble. Wake up to a new day Break my heart again Dreaming makes for sweet escape But I can't forget I'm back at the edge now I never needed you more Staring down the emptiness that I can't ignore She wanted to shatter the mirror and the reflection in it, to cast off all the chains and shackles and the shame. But she couldn't seem to shake it. What did they see that she couldn't? Is anyone out there? Did you give up on me? Break this silence, I'm crushed under love I don't wanna lockdown, but we've lost so much Will you forgive me if I Can't see your light anymore 'Cause I've spent too long in the dark And I'm on my knees Without shame begging to believe, but I feel So far from heaven Cardinal hoped one day the perspectives might match but she saw the hurt in Maelie's eyes, the tilt of her head and she knew that somehow she had failed them again.

No place like home
Cardinal May 1883

Shaky hands, heavy heart One breath away from falling apart It's my best-kept secret Cardinal set the case of clothing at her feet and looks around the entrance hallway that was supposed to be the entryway to her home. Home. The giant, mostly empty house didn't feel like it lately. They had just moved in when everything had broken and shattered. Sareena had tried her best to keep it together. To put the pieces back and soothe the wounds. It hadn't worked. Maelie had barely been home in the last few weeks, out every night as Fox. Victor had reassured her but he too had been scarce. There was not enough "If I Just..." to repair this. Built a house made of glass Won't let you close enough to see the cracks 'Cause I can't show weakness She had tried to keep herself together as much as she could but it was an exhausting mask to wear and while she was an excellent liar by necessity and survival, she hated it. It reminded her too much of tiptoeing around Vagabond and her mother, concealing how much pain he caused and how much their collective abuses eroded her spirit because revealing it was a sure way to get hurt more. And lately, she was surrounded by people for whom lying was like breathing. Her dreams had turned into montages of pain and mocking laughter and when she woke there was no one here. No gentle hands to smooth her hair. No concerned face waiting at the window. Miss Clover had taken to leaving a tea tray late in the evening for when she would inevitably wake screaming. She had told Stasia to stay away, afraid she would lash out at the young girl in a panic. If deception is an art form You're looking at a fucking connoisseur Nobody talks a bigger game than me Spins their half-truths quite as convincingly But you knew exactly what would hurt the most And you dealt me the final blow "Miss Loralen?" Mordecai's voice broke through her thoughts - and her stalling. She picked up the suitcase again. "Yes, Mr. Heller?" "May I inquire as to where you are going although it is none of my actual business?" His voice was smooth and gentle and worried. "The Skybound. For a few days. Until this sorts I think... I... can't be here alone like this. I know you all are here but it's not the same." "I do not even pretend it would be," he said gently. "If she returns and looks for you shall I tell her?" "Where I am? Yes..I..don't want her to worry." I have to say the worst betrayal is You standing there acting all innocent Like your good intentions were just misguided Well I don't buy it Endless days, sleepless nights A false bravado to hide behind But you saw right through it "Miss Loralen?" "Yes?" "The song you were writing?" He hesitated as he asked. She had been playing it non stop the last few days. She had finished it that morning. It was still sitting on the piano. "It was...beautiful." "But?" "Sad, Miss. I am ...sorry for whatever caused that." And every instinct Told me to run From the force that We could become But you made me Believe it was worth the jump Nobody talks a bigger game than me Spins their half-truths quite as convincingly But you knew exactly what would hurt the most And you dealt me the final blow "That's... a complicated story. My past. Them." "Them?" "Miss Arsenault, Sir Orsei, Mr. Leblanc." "I ...see. You do not like deception do you?" Heller's head cocked to the side, watching her with his whiskers fanned forward. "No." "But you are good at hiding yourself as well?" I have to say the worst betrayal is You standing there acting all innocent Like your good intentions were just misguided Well I don't buy it If chaos is a crusade You're looking at a fucking renegade "Very, Mr. Heller. But I hate it," she said softly. "And with them I could finally be me. But I suppose not right now. I can't be here alone like this. It's too...empty." She picked up her bag before he could stall her again, stepping out and climbing onto the readied Sonata and heading back to where the last place she had felt safe was. Nobody talks a bigger game than me Spins their half-truths quite as convincingly But you knew exactly what would hurt the most And you dealt me the final blow I have to say the worst betrayal is You standing there acting all innocent Like your good intentions were just misguided Well I don't buy it But when all is said and done You're still the one I want Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3trdJW_HcGs Worst Betrayal by Beth Crowley

If I just...
Cardinal, May 1883

If I just make sure everything in the room is neat, she might feel better. If I just give them enough distractions, it will solve itself. If I just smile, it won't hurt as much. If I just... "Red Bird, you are not okay," Edward said softly as they put the instruments up from their busking. "I'm completely fine, Edward." Edward hesitated a moment before he touched her shoulder gently. He never touched her - ever. Thinking about it, Cardinal realized that he had maintained a professional distance despite his relaxed demeanor. Sareena looked at him, meeting the solemn dark eyes. She suddenly realized that Edward was as good at reading people as she was, as Robintan was. Chrissy was the face of the pair but those dark eyed missed very little. "You are not fine, Sareena." "If.." He took a chance and gently increased the pressure on her shoulder with his fingers. She froze but he remained still until she breathed again. "If I can just fix it..." "You won't be hurt?" he finished with a question. She nodded mutely. "It doesn't work like that. You know that. Is this a problem you made?" She slowly shook her head. "Do you have people you can go to that aren't in the problem?" This time she nodded. "You...two. N-..no she's involved in a side. And P-. no her too." She crumpled a little. "No," she said softly. "I don't know if I do. Maybe Mr. Skybound?" "Okay," he said after a moment. "You can always come to me or Chrissy or Mast... well maybe give that some room," he smiled a little. "Sareena, you didn't do anything wrong to cause whatever this is. You are not responsible to fix it. And you don't have to fix it to avoid being hurt. None of the people who care for you are going to hurt you like that." He said all of this calmly. "I don't want them to leave me-" she said so softly her voice barely could be heard over the evening foot traffic. "I know, Red Bird, but you can't fix them. You can only fix you." She nodded mutely, blinking hard. "And you have to stop that..." he gestured at her stony face. the pained mask that kept the tears from falling. "Let it out, Sareena. With tears, with music, with whatever. That might be the one lesson Robintan can't teach you in entirety," he said sadly. "But if you let it rattle in there too long, it'll eat you up until everything that's left of you is locked in a little box." She sniffed hard. "Can I hug you?" he said gently. She nodded finally and he gathered up the instruments and went into the small road behind Milton's cart where they would be not seen by the passing folk on their way home. Edward set the cases down and pulled Sareena into his chest where she finally broke, sobbing hard against him. Sobbing for the certainty she had left behind, for the new life that seemed too big and too rich for a former street rat whore. Sobbing for the fiancee who was so clearly lost and hurting. Sobbing for the suitor that she hadn't seen since. Sobbing for how alone and adrift it felt in all of it because she simply couldn't fix it. No matter how many "ifs" - there was nothing she could do to spare any of it, just like when she had been at the inn and there had never been a good enough that would work to save her in the end. It was a long time before she cried herself out but Edward held her in the hug the entire time, shielding her from prying eyes until the exhaustion won out. When she crumpled into him finally he conjured a mage hand to carry the instruments, scooped her up, and headed back to the campus and the dorms. "I should-" "No," he said firmly. "Chrissy and I have a flat. You can stay tonight. You need someone to take care of you for a night right now. I'll send a message to Miss Arsenault." "You are literally carrying me," she said grumpily. "You're still a stick," he quipped. "Chrissy weighs twice as much with all that dancer muscle. Relax, Red Bird. Let me at least fix this for one night. She nodded a little, capitulating as he discretely tucked her into the cab of a taxi and climbed in after her. She stared out the window as they rolled back toward campus. "You're a master," she said weakly. "Shouldn't be doing this." "Taking care of an upset apprentice? Actually in the job description," he grinned and reached over and took her hand, holding it with nothing but friendly reassurance. "Is it?" she laughed weakly. "Wow. Someone should tell some of the other masters," she offered with a bit of sass. "Ah there she is!" Edward crowed triumphantly as she looked back out the window. "Thank you, Edward," she said softly. "For... they don't have the space to deal with this right now." "I know. And that's all right. But that's why you have friends. And that's why I am going to make you the famous Leonhart hand pies for dinner, shove a mug of ale into your hand, and make you sing -bar songs- with me all night. Bardic therapy." She gave him a look but finally smiled a little "Okay... okay." Having won at least this round, he let her rest with at least one less "If..."

Secrets on all sides
Sareena, May 1883

Sareena Loralen, born by that name, who had chosen the name of Cardinal to escape her own past, was no stranger to secrets. Her world was full of them. Her own past was secrets upon layers of secrets. A mysterious father. The mother that never spoke of him. The Vagabond and the girls and the layers of meaning in their expression. Sareena hid that past from others to avoid their judgement and condemnation. She was apprenticed to a Master bard that taught her but did not speak of his own. She learned from others who grew up from the same streets she had come from and didn't speak of their own past, their very art erased to protect themselves. A myriad of masters who hid their own histories behind the facade of music and words and performances. Bards were creatures of masks - even those not of the College of Whispers. They performed for everyone - and sometimes, like Robintan and Cardinal, they revealed truth. And sometimes they chose what truth to reveal. There were secrets that Maelie kept, her true past and the mask of the Fox she wore now. Cardinal knew much of the money Maelie had - the very thing that had bought them this splendid house - was stolen from others who had excess themselves. There were secrets Victor kept, the mask of Nevermore, and more he had not yet told her that she waited patiently for because she trusted him. Tonight, she felt caught in the maelstrom of them. Victor knew Maelie wasn't saying everything. Maelie knew Victor wasn't saying anything. She wanted to love them both - but she felt torn between them, unable to balance what they didn't know about one another. One that turned to crime to pursue goals, another that turned to justice. Both good people with good hearts and good purpose. And her in the middle, the balance between. Would it be too much for them to love her despite what they would learn about the other? Would they shove her away to try and spare her? She had watched Maelie already try, to keep her safe from the machinations of this enemy of her uncle. She had watched Victor do the same, afraid to intrude on the engagement that had already happened, afraid this argument between them would cause her harm. Cardinal wanted to go to Robintan but didn't feel he would appreciate her romantic concerns - whatever was walled off in him was not yet ready to be breached. She wanted to go to Weber but she didn't trust Weber who had sacrificed her entire artistic truth for some sort of social machinations. She wanted to go to Edward and Chrissy but they were wrapped up in their own projects. Peg hated Victor. Arinelle was courting Victor. Every possibility she came up with dead-ended into a reason not to go. And so she went home and went into the music room and closed the door and flung herself at the piano, letting the secrets and the hurt and the loneliness fall away in favor of truth. Always truth, always this thing they could never, ever take.

Elsinore
Cardinal May 1883

"Did you have fun?" Cardinal looked at the small elven girl skipping along next to her as the pair walked back to the market where they would meet Nel. "Yes! And I did good?" the child looked worried again, glancing up at her. "Very well, yes," Cardinal frowned a little. "Elsie, you know I'd teach you anyway right? And we can still play even if you are having an off day?" "But..you're perfect at it. I have to be too," the girl said firmly. "Whoa," Cardinal stopped and took a knee on the sidewalk, earning her a nasty glance from a passing lady. "I am not perfect at it. I work at it, and I'm a lot older than you so I've had longer, that's all," she said gently. "All I ever want you to do is work hard at it and find joy in it, okay? If you don't love it, we will find something else for you to do." Elsinore nodded solemnly. "But I -do- love it!" "I know," Cardinal replied gently. "But I never want to steal that from you, even if it's sometimes hard to learn. This is truth," she touched the violin cases and then the child's chest over her heart. "No one can take this from you, ever. But it has to be a truth you choose." Elsinore frowned, nodding a little but Cardinal wasn't sure she was quite grasping that concept yet. She let it be for now though, letting the thought percolate and grow just as the girl would. Instead, she rose and took Elsinore's hand as they walked. "Elsie?" "Yes?" "Do you like living with Miss Nel?" "Very much!" The girl bounced and then stopped, walking a little slower, glancing shyly at her. "What?" "Maybe...can I stay with you some day? Maybe just a few nights?" "I'm sure Miss Maelie wouldn't mind a few nights," she chuckled. She watched the little girl skip in a circle and then, minding her manners, walk carefully again. It would be good to show her the music room and let her experience a different life for a bit. Halls, Cardinal was still learning a new life herself. Maybe someday... She said as she watched the blonde braids bounce to Elsinore's steps.

Voice Lessons
Cardinal, May 1883

"Excuse me is this...voice?" Cardinal poked her head into the office and blinked about. The entire interior was covered in posters and playbills from various theater productions and operas. She couldn't even see the window though light glowed vaguely through the posters to try and illuminate the dim room. Wizard lights in lanterns fought off the rest of the gloom at least enough to see a well groomed, silver haired half-orc that sat at an over-sized desk. A delicate pair of half-moon glasses perched on his nose. Cardinal blinked several times. "Again," the half-orc said without looking up from his paper, gesturing for her to repeat herself. "Is this voice, sir?" The half-orc looked over his glasses at her and she took a step back. He burst into a wide, friendly grin "APPRENTICE CARDINAL!" The rolling boom of his voice almost rocked her on her heels and she vaguely considered running. "Ah. My apologies, I did not mean to startle you, only I am pleased you have come. Master Robintan let me know you would be starting today. I am...to quote him... mold your voice into something more passable." She blinked several times, trying to conceal the hurt and shock. "No no...! Oh. I have mispoken again!" He fumbled a fresh handkerchief to her. "I am the -advanced- voice teacher, dear Cardinal," he soothed. "If he's sent you here, you are quite more than a modestly good singer." She sniffed a bit, staring at him again. "I..." she tried to catch up to the ramble of words and decide if she was safe in this room with this large, fumbling half-orc and her uncertainty of her own skills. "Let us start again," he said more gently. "I am Master Anders." he held a hand out to her and then kissed her knuckles when she gave him hers. "You are lovely, your voice is rich and I look forward to teaching you. Master Robintan speaks well of you as do your other teachers." He grinned a little "And you are decidedly not my -type- so you do not need to worry about my manners," he winks salaciously and she giggled a little, noting the small painting of him with another half-orc man and a young half-orc girl. Her shoulders unhitched a bit. "Thank you, sir," she murmured. "Ah, I should have tempered a bit. I've been told you're still a bit shy until you know people. I do offer my sincere apologies." He rummaged in a drawer and passed her some sheet music. "Do you sight sing yet?" "Yes, sir." "Good. Try that. No tricks. Just let me hear your natural voice and see how you breathe." She worked through the warm up exercise and short piece for him three times before he nodded. Unlike Robintan, he had no compunction about touching her or adjusting her stance but he was gentle about it and after the first gentle poke to her shoulders, he sufficed with a gesture if she slouched too much or impeded her own breathing. The lesson wasn't terribly long - an hour maybe, an hour and a half. By the time she was done, she was exhausted, her muscles sore in places she had not known they could be sore. "Well. I am -pleased-," Anders said finally. "You've a lovely soprano. Nice warm tones, rich. I dislike little twittering breathy singers and you've none of that. Your breathing needs work - we'll practice basic stances before we adjust to you breathing with your playing and movement." He took several notes and passed her another book of music. "Nightly, my dear. Warm ups, I want you to stretch that range. And tell that Master of yours he's to let you sing in some of those lessons with him now. You've my approval and won't ruin your voice." Cardinal blinked under the assault of information again. "Well go on! Go then!" He ushered her out the door and closed it behind her, leaving her in a whirlwind of sheet music, a rumbling baritone humming behind the door, and a great deal of confusion. "What..on Terra..." she muttered and trudged off to find her next new teacher.

What would you change?
Cardinal, April 1883

Everything. I would change everything. But I can't. And that story isn't real. There was a girl who lived under a sign with a red lion and the scars on her back were the same color as that faded paint. In the mornings, the dock bell would ring calling the sailors from berth before dawn. The girl would rise with it, numb from the cold in the attic in winter and drooping from sweltering heat in the summer. Her bare feet would step lightly down the flights of stares to not wake the girls and to not wake the Master. Either was another beating. She would stoke the fires for the cook before the cook rose. She would sweep the floor of the tavern from the night before. She would right the chairs that were tipped. Silent, always. If she was not silent, it would hurt and the girl was very good at avoiding the worst hurts after many years. Her name didn't matter. She was "girl" to most of them. Even her mother just called her that. The Master called her "my girl" and her first memory of him was hearing her mother beg for her to be sent off to the orphanage. "Please just get rid of her," the woman whom the girl knew as "mama" had begged. "She's underfoot and she reminds me of-" "No," he had said simply. "I have plans. I'll mold her into exactly what I want." And so the girl had stayed. She was too young at the time to understand what he meant. Her days were filled with the drudging work of a tavern. Her nights were filled with dodging men who were there for the women upstairs, to pay coin for their bodies and for cheap ale that took the edge off a hard days work. The girl knew the sounds of a bedroom as her only lullaby for a long time. Sometimes, though, there was a musicker. Usually a he, he would stop in for a quick bite and a few coin. Usually the bite was quicker once he saw the fare of the tavern and realized what sort of place it was. He would play a song or two on a lute. On a guitar. On a violin. He would sing. The girl would hide underneath the table beneath the balcony which was mostly out of sight. She would listen, rapt, at the sounds of instrument and words. She would study his hands, the curve of fingers over the neck of an instrument. The way a bow arm dropped relaxed and easy. She would copy the movements beneath the table. Sometimes, she would imagine that whomever the musicker was, was her father, finally come to find her. He would have heard she existed and traveled day and night to the tavern beneath the sign of the lion. He was waiting to see if she would emerge to he could take her from there, her hand in his. In the winters, she imagined that he would wrap her in a good wool cloak and too big gloves and would laugh and say "I'm so sorry I did not bring proper clothes for you, little bird, but we'll get you some when we are safe away." But no elves ever came and she looked too like her mother to have any idea of who he might be other than long gone and ignorant of her existence. One night, a halfling musicker got too drunk and was tossed out after trying to start a fight with the master. The girl did not know what the fight was about, something about the women not wanting to work there. She had hidden from the awful sound of his hands being broken and his screams as he was tossed into the street. She did not move from beneath the table for a long time. The black mood over the Master's face indicated that she would get hurt as well if she were in sight. When the room finally cleared and the Master took her mother to the room behind the stairs, she crept forward and picked up the broken remains of the musicker's violin. Quick as thief, she took it back to her room and spent the cold night gluing it back to bits as well as she could. The sound it made was awful, but it played. The girl started to learn. Now every passing musician was a chance to glean something else. To memorize a new song, a new way to hold something. A new rhythm. She hoarded it all in her mind like a dragon of old hoarded treasure. As surely as the darkness of the place had pervaded her soul and touched all of her, so too did the music. They could not take it away from her. Not when her mother beat her black and blue with the silver handled brush. Not when she was of age and the Master showed her what his plans for her had been. In the dark, in the pain, in everything else, she played the music in her head, imagined the chords and the fingering, adjusted her grip on the bow, thought of a new variation for a familiar chorus. The only thing that rescued her, was the music. And the only person who could rescue her, was herself. When the opportunity came, the chance to finally flee, the only thing the girl took with her was the darkness and the music. Even if she would change it all, she could not and at the very least, there was truth in both of the things she carried. Cardinal looked at the page, read it again and dragged the tears from her eyes with her sleeve. She did not think Master Weber needed the gory details of her beatings or what happened with men and women at the lion. But in the spaces between the lines, she remembered it all very clearly. She wondered if she should give the girl a name but did not think it was needed. That child still lived inside of her and was neither Cardinal nor Sareena, nor even Master Robintan's gruff appellation of "girl." It was a memory, painful and still affecting her, but a memory. The story was done. And in that, there was some relief, she supposed. Not that the story was new to her at all but writing it out had at least made it concrete, something she could see and read in front of her. After a moments consideration, she made two more copies and slid them into the drawer of her desk. She slid the first into a folder and slid it into her satchel, along with the re-written version to turn in later that week. She wanted to be sure she had all the words right - even though she already knew she did. It was not what Master Weber had requested. But she was not sure she, for once, actually cared.[/1]

A story's start
Cardinal, April 1883

Cardinal sat at the desk in the music room and stared at the blank page before her. Dozens of previously started pages were strewn about, crumpled, tossed in the waste bin, or just stacked aside. I want you to re-write your childhood. Change it. What could have been different. Everything. Everything could have been different. Once upon a time, there was a girl and a mother and a father. They lived in a small inn on the outskirts of Novandria, providing board and bed to passing travelers. The girl would help sweep the floors in the mornings, collect the eggs from the chickens, and serve meals in the afternoon and evening rush. Then she would sit with her papa and learn the tunes from his instrument as he showed her fingering and bowing upon a child-sized violin. His hands were not soft from the work of the inn and the callouses of the instruments but her mother's were when they braided her hair back. Things were often not easy. When weather and custom were bad, they skimped on meat in the stew. They patched clothes to get by when things became worn. The girl's mother turned her dresses into smaller version for her daughter as she grew, a tiny copy of the red-haired human woman who was her mother. But things were good. They were happy. They loved one another and music and tales and joy and they lived, always, in the small inn by the road. It was a much happier life. But it was a terrible story. There was no drama or tension, no obstacle to overcome. It would make a terrible drama, a worse adventure, an insipid romance. But it was what she would change. A clean home. A mother that loved her. A father who loved her. Music. Music was the only thing still there. She had tried several versions at this point and none of them were any better. They weren't really even worth turning in to Master Weber. She wasn't sure what the Master wanted. There was clearly some sort of tension between her and Master Robintan, unspoken. She'd spoken of wishing to pin Cardinal herself several times but, to herself, Cardinal could never see it. Robintan, for all his stand-offishness and indecipherable looks, understood something at the heart of her that very few understood. Deep-seated pain that had wounded a soul so deeply that it had become a never-ending part of it, touching all pieces and all light no matter how much joy those other parts carried. He understood the music in her. The truth of her. And she was not terribly certain most of the College - as talented and amazing as they were - would do the same. The painful reality was that she needed someone not only to push her musically, but to force her to look at those pieces that she was trying so desperately to hide. None of which made it any easier or any more pleasant. Touching all pieces and all light like shadow... she stared at the words on the page that she scribbled while thinking. It was not the story that Master Weber had requested. But it was true. He had told her never to hide that. "Sephira above, give me strength," she whispered and put the pen to paper again. There was a girl who lived under a sign with a red lion and the scars on her back were the same color as that faded paint...

Sanctuary
April 1883, Cardinal

There was no way they would find her this far north. That was the selfish thought that kept rolling through her head all that day as she and Mae interviewed staff. As she made sure the bedroom window was accessible for Nevermore. As she explored and found each new room and marveled at how this place could possibly become a home. It was the selfish thought that crept in hours after Maelie's proposal and the delirium and delight and shock of it. There was no way they would find her here. She was safe. She watched Mordecai and Clover make plans for cleaning and installing whatever it was Mae wanted. She watched the chef unload the first supplies into the pantry. She stared at a room too beautiful to belong to her. And finally, she went to the music room, the only room that instantly felt at home. She sat by the large windows and the grand piano and ran her fingers lightly over the keys. She watched the light rain dance down the panes of glass. She struck the first chord, marveling again at how the person who built this room must have understood music at least, the sound rolling out from the instrument to fill the space. The acoustics were perfect. This room was hers. This house was hers. Maelie was hers, someday to be her wife. It seemed too good to be true, a dream, fragile like glass that if she poked hard enough it would pop. But all she could think when the throbbing light of the joy had ebbed a bit into coherent thought was that surely, they could never find her this far north.

Pinning A Master
Cardinal, April 1883

Several days after Chrissy and Edward had been announced as Masters, Cardinal received an invitation on heavy cream paper, sealed in bardic blue wax. "You are cordially invited to witness the pinning ceremony of Master Edward Leonheart and Masster Christine Snow, per their express request. Thursday the thirteenth of April, 1883, in the function hall of the Most Honorable Company of Bards and Performers." Apparently it came with a party of it's own, which she had been unaware of. She dressed in the gown Robintan had given her and stayed expressly toward the back as the hall was filled with masters and upper level journeyers. She was, by her estimation, the only apprentice present and she made sure to keep herself to herself. Still, she watched avidly as her friends were given their actual gold pins and the gold braided colored cords. Zeff and their former masters conducted the ceremony together, pinning each and arranging the cords over their left shoulders. It was announced that the pair would be wed in the summer and that they were opening their own dance troupe and performance venue which would host members of the bardic guild in a specialized troupe for new movements in dance. Both, it was added, would also host classes at the hall. Cardinal applauded with the rest and then snuck back to her table to observe, watching the social flow of the room over the rim of her wine glass, barely touched. A year ago she could not have imagined being in this room, among so many master bards and journeyers, among so much talent. The people, the clothes, the hall - all of it was a distant dream. And now she was standing in it. The reality was so much sweeter - and more complex. "Enjoying it?" Edward's lanky form sprawled in the chair next to her suddenly, startling her. "Very much. Thank you for inviting me." "You're sitting alone, red bird." "Masters," she pointed out. "Loooots of masters," and he sighed at her. "Whom you are allowed to talk to." Cardinal was silent for a long few moments. "Why did you invite me to this?" "You're our friend." "Yes, but... this is more..." She gestured, searching for the word. "Formal?" "I don't belong here," she murmured. "Well..technically no. But Zeff said we could. And...someday you will. We wanted you to see what the party for elevations is like so it wouldn't be a surprise to you." "Edward-" "Journeyer is much the same, more pinnings and more people though and more apprentices. We do the Walk the Tables and they you get to invite your guests to this part. Tables for bards only, the pinning ceremony for whomever you want." "So if -" "When." She looked frustrated at him. "When I make journeyer, I could invite my friends," she nods a little. "That...makes sense." "Chrissy suggested it," he said after a moment. "She's noticed you don't much like sudden surprises and you love knowing the rules of a thing. So...first hand knowledge, aye?" "Yes," she nodded firmly. "Good. So we'll be at your journeyer and master pinning," he smirked and ducked as she almost threw her napkin at him. "Oh, feel free Cardinal," Master Fox grinned from her seat. "He's undoubtedly earned it twelve times over." Still grinning, Edward left her to her thoughts. She didn't throw the napkin after all, folding it into her lap instead.

Returning Friends
Cardinal, April 1883

Cardinal stared in the practice room mirror, gnawing on her lip. The glamourweave outfit was eluding her as she tried to imagine what it should look like as a performance costume for carnivale and failed. "Red bird, you look positively glum," Edward beamed from the doorway as he and Chrissy slid into the room. Cardinal turned and dipped into a curtsy "Master Leonheart, Master Snow." The pair stopped in their tracks, Edward blinking dumbly and Chrissy staring in open mouthed shock. "Red Bir-" Chrissy elbowed Edward and moved forward, gently taking Cardinal's hands. "Sareena," she said softly and tried not to frown at Cardinal's immediate wince. "It's us. You don't have to treat us like that." "Your guild masters now," Cardinal replied softly. "I respect your rank." This statement came out more firmly. "Yes, but we're also your friends. And you don't need to curtsy to your friends, especially not in private," Chrissy explained reasonably. "Masters don't associate with apprentices like that," Cardinal replied weakly, trying to keep the tremor from her voice at how much she'd missed them in the past few weeks. "That's...not true," Edward replied carefully after a moment. "Many don't... but that's also because we tend to move up with people we joined with. All of Master Robintan's contemporaries have been masters for a while. They all spend time together." He paused. "Well..I'm actually not sure if he socializes much but the point stands." "It's...not a rule?" Cardinal whispered back, looking up at them with tears in her eyes. "Gods no!" Chrissy flung her arms around the other woman. "Definitely not. We've just been off setting up a small theater! I'm so sorry, Cardinal. If we'd know you felt that way we'd have been around sooner." "Oh," came the muffled reply as Cardinal stood tensely and then finally melted into the hug. "Some masters we are," Edward muttered. "Traumatize the apprentice." "No...no it's okay," Cardinal assured him hurriedly. "I just.. I missed you," she finally said. "I thought you wouldn't want to see me or play together anymore." "Gorath's balls- OW" Edward rubbed his arm where Chrissy hit him. "No, not it at all. We were hoping you'd play sometime at the theater actually. Opening acts, small things, until you're a journeyer?" "I'm no where near that," Cardinal laughed but nodded weakly, relief plain on her features. "Thaaaat's... " Edward backed down from Chrissy's glare. "Sure, Red Bird," he said more gently. "We checked with Master Robintan and he said it would be acceptable on occasion." He added, reassuring Cardinal further. "Now.. what's this?" Chrissy plucked at the glamourweave skirt. "Not that the white isn't lovely but it's a bit tame for Carnival." "I have NO idea what to do with it," Cardinal sighed. "And it's hard enough out there with all the masks." Chrissy grabbed her hand and hauled her to the window. "Which ones look nice to you?" For several minutes she watched as Cardinal pointed out costumes that she found intriguing as the revelers passed outside. "Right...so the skirt with... hmm blue. That's your favorite. Like..." She fluffed the skirt and the fabric pattern shifted in her hands. "And now the bodice... aaaand... " she rummaged in her belt bag and pulled out a matching mask. "There. VOILA!" she announced in Elven, spinning cardinal toward the mirror. "Oh," Cardinal breathed softly. "There. Now. We are going to all three of us go out...and we're going to play some of those pieces you've been hiding because you think they're too scandalous. because we are all masked. And Bards. And THAT is what we do at carnival." Without waiting for Cardinal's response, Chrissy marched out of the room. "You..." "Definitely am not in charge in our relationship. Nope, sure not," Edward grinned lopsidedly at her, shrugged, and followed his fiancee out the door. "C'mon, Red Bird, before she turns us both in to Zeff."

Moving Forward
Cardinal. March 1883

There was some sort of collective meal weekly at the bardic guild hall, or at least nearly weekly. It was the time when Zeph tried to gather the entire guild together to impart any news, new requests from patrons, or trends that the guild was seeing. Cardinal always tried to attend - she enjoyed the feeling of being connected to the rest of the guild and it was on Wednesdays which was one of her nights on campus anyway. While several of Grayson’s cohort tended to skip the meals due to their simplicity, most of the guild liked to show up. Even Robintan joined the other masters at the head tables, talking quietly and occasionally with a few of the other teachers. She never saw him laugh or joke but she got the impression it was at least an increase in his socializing. She never bothered him at these meals, staying happily ensconced with the other apprentices and sticking near the few that liked to talk to her. Edward and Chrissy had been correct that she was well liked - but most of the guild avoided anything past light conversation with shy glances at Robintan like he was going to eat them alive from the high table. Tonight, even Grayson was present, though she made sure to sit at an area of the apprentice table that would keep her far from him. The dessert course was well on its way when Zeph stood and clinked her spoon delicately against her water glass. The entire hall fell silent by the third tap. Cardinal looked around, bewildered. Zeph had already made the weekly announcements before the meal had started. “Well you must all be -very- curious,” Zeph teased. “That’s a good thirty seconds faster than last time.” A general chuckle went up from the assembled and Cardinal tried to keep her bafflement from showing too much. She clearly didn’t know what was going on and most everyone else did. “As is right and proper,” Zeph began, “We elevate those worthy of new rank each season. Winter is always our quietest time, a time when most of our guild is kept indoors and performing for the greatest of Eisen’s elite in the long hours when darkness holds sway and Sephira’s inspiration provides us some of the only light. We have already brought the new in this Winter,” Zeph gestured to Violet and a few of the other newest apprentices. “But now is a time to celebrate those who have continued to work through these months.” The hall was silent, spellbound by the flow of Zeph’s words. She didn’t need magic. She was a skilled orator and it was no wonder she was their guild head and beloved. Damn her genasi blood and lack of citizenship, Cardinal knew that the guild would rally behind Zeph if she needed it, to the person. Cardinal deeply wanted to ask what was going on. She saw three chairs brought from the sidelines to the journeyers’ table and two chairs moved to the masters’ tables. The hall stirred, murmuring a moment and the tension in the air increasing. Cardinal’s gaze honed in on those masters’ chairs, crossing her fingers in her lap in hope. “Apprentice Lorelei Bradshaw, College of Swords!” Zeph announced. “Walk the tables!” The entire company of bards cheered back. Cardinal blinked in surprise at the noise and then grinned at the girl across from her. Two journeyers, friends of hers, Cardinal assumed from the way they were ribbing her and laughing, hauled Lorelei out of her seat and walked her to one of the empty chairs at the journeyers’ table. The hall quieted only to hear the next name. “Apprentice Slythe Temakin, College of Lore!” “Walk the tables!” “Apprentice Prythen Lord, College of Glamour!” “Walk the tables!” There was a general round of cheering and applause as the elated apprentices were lead to their new seats and pinned silver by their masters. Cardinal cheered along with the rest, happy for them and caught up in the excitement of seeing the ceremony. “And there are those who have worked harder than most,” Zeph continued when the hall was quiet again. “Who have worked hard enough and proven their skill at performance and creation of those performances that they have touched the gold so few will see.” Cardinal chanced a glance at Grayson who was smirking in expectation at the end of his journeyer table. She thought maybe she saw the ghost of a smirk on Robintan’s face when she looked but then nothing again, just that blank polite face. He had promised her she would not be hurt here. She wasn’t certain why she was even looking to him but his expression reassured her. She glanced nervously at the two Masters’ chairs, empty and waiting. Zeph took her time to sip her wine, examining the color in the glass. The audience almost sighed in impatience. “Oh go get them before you all explode with waiting,” she grinned. Two masters that Cardinal didn’t recognized stepped down from the dais and moved over to the journeyers table. They swanned past Grayson who visibly sputtered in rage for a moment. Cardinal’s heart dropped as they stepped beyond Edward and Chrissy’s seats. “Oh no,” she whispered. The sound was soft but she swore Zeph heard her and winked from the dais. The two masters backed up as one and hooked their arms beneath Edward’s lanky arm and Chrissy’s smaller one and hauled both of them to their feet. The hall erupted into cheers and whistles, calls of “Walk the Tables!” mingled with “Take the Gold, Snowden!” “Atta girl Chrissy!” Cardinal practically vibrated out of her seat to watch them step up to the head table where their masters pinned them, tears and smiles all around. Edward turned and scooped up Chrissy, swinging her around and then setting her down gently with a kiss that set the whole hall to roaring again. It was nothing compared to when he took a knee in front of the startled dancer and offered her a small ring box. Cardinal supposed that nobles and high society polite folks would clap appropriately. But this was a hall full of bards… and the roof nearly came off with the sound of approval raised from hundreds of musical voices. “Are you okay?” The apprentice next to Cardinal looked at her worriedly and she realized belatedly she was sobbing into her napkin in joy. “Y-yes. Sorry. They’re..good friends.” She sniffed, wiping at her eyes with a smile. “I’m very very happy for them,” she finally managed. She looked back at the stage where Edward and Chrissy were sheepishly taking their seats, Chrissy’s gaze alternating between the gold pin on her blouse to the emerald ring on her hand. Cardinal swallowed thickly at her seat, the feelings of elation mingled with unexpected sadness. She knew that she wouldn’t get to spend much time with them now but they deserved the honor so much - and the happiness more so. She raised her glass from her seat toward them and put on her best smile and pretended she wasn’t about to be alone again, not really sure if they were tears of joy or sorrow anymore.

Field Trip
Cardinal, March

Cardinal frowned at the message in front of her and sighed. It wasn’t as if she had the opportunity to say no and it wasn’t an imposition or a bad idea. It was just the timing… She and Maelie had just gotten back from looking at houses. Manors, she corrected herself. The locations had been so huge they seemed like hotels or guild halls rather than a home but she knew Maelie wanted to spoil her - and wanted the space herself. She supposed the horse was a second courting gift of sorts and the house would be considered a third if Maelie was even paying attention to that sort of thing. Nothing in her minded, however, and in fact it inspired a sort of peaceful joy in her to even consider the possibility of a life together. She’d read the laws now. Multiple partners were common, multiple marriages somewhat less so but still not illegal. She looked back to the letter at hand, Robintan’s elegant writing scrawling across the page. How long had it taken him to perfect the penmanship, she wondered? Her own writing was neater now but nothing like this. Cardinal mentally added it to the list of things to continue to practice. “You should be aware of how the instruments you choose are constructed,” the note said. It included a train ticket to a small city outside of Eisen where she knew the Stradivarius workshop made its instruments. That workshop and several others formed a small instrument makers guild house under the auspices of the bards and the woodworkers. Eisen had its own branch but if he was sending her to this place it was to see masters at work. Cardinal did not think that he wanted her to take up instrument making or try her hand at making anything herself but she knew he believed in knowing the roots of a thing in order to take the best care of it. If she took the ticket, it would be an interesting trip and she would get to see how several of her primary instruments were constructed. If. She smirked. Like there was an option. She left both Victor and Maelie a note with her love and packed her suitcase to head to the train station. ——————— “Which wood would you select?” Master violin maker Franklin Marchant smiled over the rim of his wire spectacles at her, close cut curly gray hair framed his face in a disarray, bits of wood shavings peppering his outfit and hair. Cardinal had expected someone dour or strict but Robintan had surprised her again, seeming to know what sort of stranger would least startle her. Marchant was a master crafter of violins and the head of the workshop at the Stradivarius company in Eisen. It was, all things considered, the closest one could get to visiting Vodacce’s workshop and Marchant had been working there for decades. The workshops had given her a room in the apprentice ward that smelled of fresh wood and rosin and the vague metallic smell of wire strings. She’d visited the piano workshop to see how the giant metal sound plates were made and the wire strings stretched into everything from an upright to a grand concert piano. The harp workshop was similarly fascinating. She’d spent an entire day making simple flutes in the woodwinds area, chattering happily with apprentices that did not know or care that she was The Protege. She learned how many of the instruments she played had similar pieces and components. Sound boards to amplify sounds. Strings to create vibrations. The techniques and craftsmanship differed but the general principal of vibration of air to sound was the same and she started to see how the skills she used for one instrument transferred to another. It was refreshing, also, to talk with people who didn’t care if she was The Protege, to get away from the bevy of expectations and looks from the apprentices, the sneers from some of the journeyers, or the outright hostility of Grayson and his cronies. “This one,” Cardinal said finally, pointing to a thin sheet of wood after she had felt all of them and tapped her nail against each. “Why?” Marchant beamed. “It’s the best dried, thin enough to bend to the forms but not too thin to split. The tone…sounds right?” She looked sheepishly at him. “I’m sorry I don’t know how to explain it any better.” “Ah, that’s your natural ear coming through. You don’t need to explain it - you’ve a sense of perfect pitch and you know what the resonance should sound like.” “Erg?” “Goodness, hasn’t that master of yours told you any of this? Or is Master Rob too busy working you to death.” He looked amused., taking the sheet of wood down and moving to the cutter to start shaping the pieces that would form the sound board and belly of the violin. “He’s not very…uhm…emotional? With praise? But I know I’m doing well,” she nodded firmly. Marchant gave her a look. “Hm. Maybe about time you wandered into the hall. I’ve been wondering when he’d take an apprentice for years.” Cardinal groaned inwardly but was too polite to let it show on her face. Not the protege talk again. “It’s good he’s connecting with someone again,” Marchant explained. “And…he’s never been very good at praise,” he smirks. “I think he called that violin he purchased from me “acceptable” and that was years ago and one of my master works,” Marchant laughed with a rolling chuckle. “I assume since you seem happy and he’s not cussing about how stupid you are, that you’re doing just fine.” “Yessir,” she replied quickly. “Master,” she added more softly. “No need for that either, dear girl. I’m not -your- master and we don’t stand on ceremony here.” Marchant said after a moment, reading something in her posture that indicated her discomfort. She wasn’t sure if he was analyzing her or Robintan had tipped him off but either way she nodded. Calling older men that was still a stumbling block whenever she tried. At least those closest to her and her teachers no longer demanded it and took the “sir” for the respect it was given in. “Well come try your hand at it. It’ll be good for you to get a feel of the process for your own instruments.” Carefully, Cardinal guided the wood through the cutting saws with Marchant guiding her hands and the wood gently. “Well done.” She looked critically at the wood piece. “It’s crooked.” “It’s your first attempt. I’ll adjust it so we can still use the piece but you’re here to make it familiar, unless you’ve a new skill you want to pick up?” He raised a fluffy eyebrow at her. “I don’t think I could fit anything else in if I tried,” she blushed sheepishly. “Well then, let’s let you try out what you can while you’re here and stop worrying about perfection for a bit. What’s the phrase… remember to breathe?” Cardinal groaned and Marchant laughed. Well, that answered on whether or not Robintan had tipped the other master off. Marchant winked at her jovially and walked her to the next table where the building process would continue, filling the silence of her discomfort with chatter and facts about instrument making while he discretely shook loose some of the innate tension that she always seemed to carry with her in the Novandrian bardic hall. Breathe, just breathe.

Stumbling
February 1883, Cardinal

(CW: Sexism) "Miss Loralen, a word?" Master Reginald Provencer frowned over the rim of his spectacles. The rest of the beginning theory class had already filed out. Unlike them, Sareena had not been handed her final exam back. Also unlike them, Sareena was female. She nodded and rose, curtsying to the master and approaching his desk with a nervous twitching of her fingers. He wordlessly slid the exam over on the desk and flipped it. C. She had passed. Barely. Her shoulders sagged in relief. "I won't be recommending you for the intermediate course," he said flatly. "W-what... ?" she stuttered in surprise. He scowled. "Master," she hastily added. "I'm sorry, Master, I don't understand." Cardinal tried to keep her stomach from flipping in knots. Her sweaty palms twitched against the wool of her skirts and she fought to keep from trembling under his hard gaze. "If this is the best you are capable of, then you either need more study time or, as I suspect is more accurate, you are incapable of progressing further." "In-incapable?" She asked weakly, unable to pluck the word's meaning. "Not able, Miss Loralen. Unable. Not good enough." "B-but I passed?" "Only by one question. And one question is certainly not enough to secure you journeyer and barely enough that I'd credit you as an apprentice." He sniffed. "Then again I should not expect much from women, I suppose, particularly not ones with your...background." "I'll take the class again," she said hastily. "I'll talk more with my tutor. I'll learn it, Master. I promise," she stumbled over the words as they poured out of her mouth, trying to reassure him that she meant it. "Please don't tell Master Robintan," she said softly, trying to bite back tears. "He is already aware of your... lack of progress," Provencer sniffed again. He slid the paper to her and she picked it up. "You will repeat the class. We will see if I can be ...persuaded of your ability with future efforts." Sareena cringed back. She was relatively certain he had meant no innuendo to the statement but the casual coldness of his words were anything but reassuring. "Yes sir," she murmured. "Master," he snapped. "You will treat your betters as such." "Yes, Master," she whispered even more softly. She managed not to cry and not to run as she left the classroom and went to the practice rooms to work.

Missing Something
Cardinal, February 1883

(player note: Lana is aware that in a busy scene information gets missed and Lana is totally fine :) ) "You are missing something, girl." Robintan had meant it in reference to Grayson but that search still had no answer. She felt the gnawing of it again tonight, watching the bandits and trying to put the pieces together and knowing she didn't have them all. Maybe would never. She was not smart like Lady Orlov and Peg. Not smart like Sir Victor and Lady Miranda. Not like Ottilie or Mx Hayden who could see patterns and logic and dazzle with their thinking. Cardinal was clever sometimes, quick on her feet and able to read people. She was dedicated to her studies and muscled through them with tenacity and hard work and many long hours of admittedly desperate studying. But that intangible brilliance that some of them manifested? That was not her. "But who were they?" "The Sun Blades. They're a band of Ruskovian mercenaries," Cardinal piped in. She had no idea why this small fact had stuck from her recent studies but there it was. "Right but who were they?" Someone else asked. "The...the Sun Blades. They're a band of Ruskovian mercenaries?" The chatter continued. "They're the Sun Blades. They're known for their dedication to the task and..." and Gregor had provided three times more information in a moment and they all nodded. "I'm sorry I can't cast illusions." "I can," Dona smirked. The noise of the dining room was making her feel claustrophobic as she tried to piece together all of the things she knew her brilliant Master would understand in a moment. Cardinal longed for the approval of what he might say if she offered an interesting phrase or thought on the development but she couldn't pull one together from what little she knew. Her thoughts felt dense and hard to manage. Her collar bone ached where the sword wound was still healing. "Stupid, stupid girl. You don't know shite." Another blow of another fist. "Come here and do what you're good at." The Vagabond's hand closed around her wrist. She could feel the spiral coming before it hit and forced herself to get up and return to the safety of the corner by the hearth, to pick up the instrument, to fall into the one place that was always, always safe.

Panic
Cardinal, February 1883

Cardinal let the door to her room closed and slammed the latch before her knees gave out and she curled onto the floor, gasping for air in ragged, heaving breaths. Panic shot through her in electric waves of terror, her memories flooded with the image of an angry satyr and the quiet growl in Aeos' words. Logically, she knew Aeos wasn't going to hurt her. But when he had followed her, it had taken every ounce of her control to not bolt, to keep her steps measured, to keep the chilling terror from winning as she walked - faster than she should - back to the Skybound. He was trying to keep her safe. But none of her instincts said that. She shouldn't have challenged him but she was so tired of seeing him be a stubborn idiot and hurting himself because of his fear. It was a trap she knew very well, as much as she clawed to get out of it. That made her upset. But what had actually made her mad was when he had insulted her own instincts, telling her how wrong she was. "Useless bitch, you've no idea what you're doing." Rose had sneered. "You'll never play that damned wreck of an instrument." Her mother's voice "Do better girl or I'll make sure it's on that pretty face." Vagabond's fingers squeezed her jaw hard. "Have you considered...cabbages?" Robintan's head had tilted slightly before he left. "You don't belong here," Greyson said, eyes narrowed. Time after time after time. Insults. Wounds. Hurt. No idea what you're doing, thinking, playing. Clueless. Idiotic. Failure. Inept. Nothing. Waste. Street Rat. Whore. All of the labels she fought against with every note and every breath. " yer no' readin' i' righ'." Except every instinct said she was. She knew people. Because reading people, reading all those hateful things they'd said to her had kept her alive. Maybe she was bad at even that? Cardinal lay on the floor for a long time until the shakes subsided and the adrenaline passed. She sat up slowly, running her hands over her limbs and torso to convince herself she wasn't injured. Not for the first time or the last, she cursed the Red Lion and its people who'd laid all these traps into her thoughts. She walked slowly into the bathroom, dropped the plug into the tub, and started the hot water to try and soak away the feeling that she was back in that elegant knot-hole of a place.

A little bit of glamour
Cardinal, February 1883

"You're a bard," Celedor said, gesturing to the pin on her lapel. Even in armor, she wore it. It was her shield, her identifier, and the tangible sign of her own progress. "Yes, m'lord," she replied quietly. "Ah, well, I've a thing for you then that I think you may enjoy as a reward for your upstanding decisions." He rummaged through a pile of boxes and Cardinal wondered if all wizards were so scattered in their possessions. Then again, he had an uncommon amount of them. "Ah! Here it is!" Celedor produced a small chest and opened it to reveal... a stack of folded clothing. "Is the entire bloody population of the city out to give the poor their clothes?" Cardinal muttered. Celedor arched an eyebrow. "Long story," she sighed. She looked at the clothes inside and then lifted them out. A full skirt, a bodice, a jacket. She looked at him. "Ah! Yes, sorry. Glamourweave. It's Uncommon glamourweave so..." He passed his hand over the jacket lapels and the fabric shifted from black to blue with musical notes embroidered into the fabric. "It will change. It's illusionary but quite useful for performance clothing I am told. It would perhaps be useful for busking though I'm certain you've too many compunctions to wear it for formal tests and such." She sniffed, glaring at him despite his status. Cardinal was steadfast that her performances would be her skill only, and if she used illusions when busking or in the inn it was only as an add on to that skill. "I don't use magic when I perform unless it's for whatever job we're on." "I thought not. This would be like the illusions an illusionary instrument would create. To attract attention and assist, nothing more. A...touch of glamour." She nodded. Even if she didn't use the enhancements, having a set of performance clothing that she could change at will would be useful. "Thank you," she said finally. Celedor beamed at her and handed her the chest. She didn't notice the keen-eyed assessment the wizard gave her as she walked away.

Observations
Cardinal, February 1883

Cardinal carefully peeled the skin of the orange away, inhaling deeply at the sudden burst of tangy scent. She held the peel to her nose, sniffing but set it aside, remembering Nel's note - now safely tucked aside for a later conversation with Master Cintros. The remaining fruit in her hand was soft, pale orange in color and still retained a bit of the white rind. She poked it curiously because it looked more like some dungeon creature than a food but she also trusted Nel. She sniffed, catching the same vibrant scent and then carefully broke into the ball of fruit, peeling off a slice. It was segmented and she took a careful bite, eyes widening. Sunshine. It really did taste like sunshine, the same way that spiced tea with honey reminded her of fall and the bite of peppermint ice cream reminded her of winter. Cardinal savored each slice, eating the orange slowly as she stared out the window of her room watching the cold rain fall. The orange was a nice change to the weather, making her feel warmer just from its sharp, tangy scent. She had hit a momentary dead end with the Grayson problem. Though it in and of itself was a lead. She'd been reading and studying about the families of Eisen for weeks now and while they all had stellar reputations in their own ways, the Windermere's were too clean. There was always a mention of some old scandal or issue, some black sheep somewhere. No family was without its flaw or drama somewhere in its histories. Most of it was quite old and long forgotten by current society. But the Windermere's were different. Their family history read like a fairy tale. No current news stories or scandals. Nothing. It was like someone had scrubbed the entire history clean. And that in and of itself was suspicious. Cardinal may not have joined the College of Whispers, but Robintan was certainly of that college and while he wasn't explicitly teaching her about using her insights politically or socially, the lessons were still there. Zeff's words were always a hovering background to her lessons - Walk softly. Speak the right words and the right songs at the right time. Cardinal had joined for music - but Robintan's lessons had taught her that there was far more power to her potential bardic position than she had realized and she embraced the concept. It was the first time in her life anyone had even suggested that she might have agency for herself and to make an impact elsewhere. Even if she wasn't sure what to do with it, it hung there, waiting for her to break out of her cages. Another slice of orange was delicately consumed. But Grayson was still a problem. He triggered all of the defense mechanisms she didn't want triggered anymore and he was a noble as well. She had twenty four years of scraping and bowing to nobility beaten and carved into her. It had taken her months - and she still had moments - to accept Victor, Peg, and the others who'd gently encouraged her. Miranda and Vera still terrified her - so inured to the habits of nobility that they consciously or unconsciously held themselves above her. Schatzi made her regularly want to flee just from the wrong turns of phrase that they couldn't possibly even know they were setting off. So trying to deal with the problem of Grayson Windermere was like trying to fight a dragon for her. Nearly impossible and not entirely sure what to do with it. "You are missing something," Robintan had said simply. "I'll try my best, sir," she had said softly. "You always do." And there was no sarcasm or ire, just a simple, gentle compliment that he had noticed her work and she had to rein in her desire to cry at how good it felt. So she had dug back into the research and observation. The research had shown her a surprisingly - and suspicious - squeaky clean history. The observation... Cardinal had carefully held over the last several weeks at a distance and surreptitiously. Greyson associated only with nobility and some of the best families in Novandria at that. But not all the nobles associated with him. His particular group of friends was, she supposed, select and followed him like puppy dogs around the hall. They were insular and mocking to anyone they considered different - but never in front of the masters or some of the higher ranked journeyers. They liked to target the few Warrens' Rats that were in the college, or anyone that they saw as an easy target. Usually it was taunts and words but she had watched one or two of them try to physically intimidate one young apprentice by stealing his instrument case. It was petty and ridiculous and beneath everything Master Fox was teaching of her polite society. Cardinal had come to the conclusion that Greyson despised anything he viewed as a threat - whether that threat was real or not. Further, he took a very familiar glee in inflicting harm on others. He seemed to take offense at anything he did not consider perfect. She would recognize that glint in an eye readiy and easily for her entire life. The irony was that she had listened to him play several times in the last several weeks. He was competent - but he wasn't that good. He could read sheet music well, play precisely, and was what she would consider a solid orchestral player. It was by no means a slight - the bulk of musicians were good, solid players who were needed for what they did and their own love of music. But there was no heart to his playing. It was mechanical and precise and ... boring. Cardinal started to maybe see that what Maelie had said was true, that part of his anger at her was that she had skill he maybe didn't have. Then again, maybe he was just bored with the songs? Maybe his own pieces were inspired and she had simply not heard him at his best. So she had started to perhaps understand a bit more about why he targeted her. But the why...the thing that would give her leverage or at least some sort of mental defense for herself, was still missing. She still didn't know how to keep him from targeting her. If she understood why he was doing - maybe even how - she could at least compartmentalize it, shove it to the back of her mind, and focus on learning. If she understood it...just maybe she could defend herself She finished the last piece of orange. Nel's description, she decided, was completely appropriate. Sunshine.

Dreams too small
Cardinal, January 1883

"Booooored," Edward swing his long legs over the side of the bench, laid back, and stared up at the twilight sky. "Also it's cold so why are we sitting out here?" "Because it's finally not raining, darling," Chrissy replied calmly. "We could play?" Cardinal offered. "You-" Edward pointed a finger at her. "Have a one track mind." "Bard?" Cardinal offered. Edward rolled his eyes. The trio played together regularly but even he and Chrissy's passion for it had a hard time keeping up with Cardinal sometimes. She had the ability to singularly focus on the music she wanted to play for hours on end. Fueled by a stamina for playing that had been honed on hunger and desperation, she could generally outlast most of the guild in terms of simply not getting tired. The two Journeyers took it on themselves to make sure she took breaks now, having caught wind of how much she had caught up in her studies in such a short time. "Right but if I have to play another reel I'm throwing the guitar,' he muttered saltily. "Got anything new, red bird?" "Hmm...I... wrote down one of my mine?" Both of the Journeyers swiveled to face her. "Didn't know you wrote..." Edward hedged carefully. He'd had to learn to temper his speculations on Cardinal. Every time he thought he had a grip on her skills, she threw another surprise. He'd flatly told Chrissy that the only thing saving her from being despised by half the guild was that she was just so damned nice. Otherwise, the music came so naturally to her that it sometimes seemed unfair. That she worked so hard at it to boot either endeared her to everyone or made them dismiss her as a boot-licker. He'd heard one young idiot ponder what she'd done for Master Robintan out loud but that rumor had mysteriously stopped after Edward's fist had crashed into the moron's face. Sometimes, accidents happened but it was better Edward's fist than a Whispers knife; he did not trust that Master Robintan would take that rumor kindly. "Aye. The piano piece you all heard was mine." "Ah." Chrissy said eloquently. Neither of the Journeyer bards was a stranger to composition and choreography. But they were skills that both had learned in longer course of time and had refined and were refining as Journeyers. They both hoped to take their mastery tests in the summer months. Meanwhile, Edward watched Cardinal carefully. "How long you been writing, red bird?" He held out his hand for the carefully annotated sheet that Cardinal shyly pulled from her satchel. He took the piece of music and looked it over with as much of a bland expression as he could manage. Edward may play a dolt, but he was smart and he knew music. There was a spot or two the chords could be tightened.. a place where he might adjust a tempo a bit for an instrument other than the violin. The lyrics were solid if simple but he wouldn't say anything about them. As he read them, he realized he was holding a tangible piece of trust in his hands. "Oh. Um. Since I was little I guess? I've always made up tunes. When I could. Wasn't really allowed to play them when folks were around but.. anyway, I wanted to be able to write them down. That's part of the reason I wanted to join the guild." Chrissy frowned at the thought of anyone not being -allowed- to write. Cardinal had told them almost nothing of her past, only that she had lived, until recently, in the Warrens. Edward passed the music over to her to look at. Chrissy scanned it as well. "Well.. I can manage a harmony. My voice isn't as good as yours, Cardinal but I'm happy to hear it." "I...it's not ready." "It won't be ready until you test it and adjust. Let's play it, see what you think and we can critique after." Hesitantly, Cardinal nodded. The song wasn't her most complex piece - she'd created violin tunes multiple times more complex than this. But it was a piece of her that she was sharing. It felt personal. "All right. Let's try it." Edward swung the guitar around into his lap, setting the music where he and Chrissy could read it and began strumming. (Pretty Little Things - Crane Wives https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DfPyyHaxAyo ) The last few notes died away in the cold air of the park. "Well." Chrissy said, grinning. "Guess that answers whether it's any good." "It's not done," Cardinal protested weakly. "Right. So here's where I'd adjust the chords..." Edward hauled her over to the bench and started pointing out lines. He shot a look at Chrissy over Cardinal's bent head. Chrissy just shrugged back and the two of them grinned and didn't mention to the bard between them that they knew the dreams she dreamt were entirely too small.

That Girl
Cardinal, January 1883

"She wants you to write about what would happen if you didn't succeed... if this wasn't enough. What would happen if you fail? Who is that Violet, and why can't you be her?" "You study like a drowning man seeking air." "It -is- air, sir." Violet's writing assignment was not an assignment Robintan had given her, but he had not needed to. The imminent threat that if she made a grievous error, if she disgraced the guild, she would end up back in that "elegant knot hole" had been enough. She had no doubt he knew her past and had before he'd pinned her. He had no doubt that should she fail at her current tasks, she would end up back there. It was an understanding, unspoken, between the two of them and it was the only time she felt the fragile trust she had built with him feel so tenuous. "Write the story of That Girl," Cardinal said gently to Violet. "That Girl" in Cardinal's head was scrawny, without the weight of several weeks of good food decorating her bones and filling out her thin frame. Her cheeks were hollow and sunk, dark circles beneath her green eyes from sleepless nights and the skin of her face was sallow and hid the freckles that decorated her nose and cheekbones like stars. Her green eyes stared at nothing but the ceiling, endlessly waiting for the men that came to her to be done with her. There was no music in That Girl's heart or mind. There were no tunes that rose from the depths of the darkness like sparks fireflies dancing in night air. There was no laughter of song, not even the searing healing of pain set to notes that her voice could give wing to in order to unburden her soul. That had been snatched away with her failure. Miserable, That Girl in that story dragged herself from the safety of the skybound and back to the docks. She let herself be dragged into the door of the inn under the sign of the red lion. She fell under the fists and knives and groping hands silently, because what sound did a ghost make? That Girl loomed in her mind, a constant specter of what would happen if she failed. That Girl haunted her nightmares and her dreams, always lurking and looking for a mis-step that would send her back there. She didn't need promises of money or fame or fortune to play. She didn't need promises of glamour that she didn't even want. She only needed the desperation to avoid the story of That Girl that was the only other path she would have if the guild refused her, the one where there was no freedom, no dignity, no song. Cardinal wondered what it was like to not have that wraith haunting your steps and your mind but it was a fruitless imagining- she would not be free of that spectre until she succeeded. The place in the inn. The comfort of a position where she could play regularly and support herself. They were meager goals, but they were her's. And, most importantly, they were the opposite of the story of That Girl in her head. Watching Violet write for a moment, Cardinal rose and headed back to her next class.

Learning
Cardinal, January 1883

"And again," Cardinal repeated the curtsey and this time Master Fox nodded. "Good. Elegant, well done Miss Loralen." Her warm smile was contagious. Cardinal glowed with the small piece of approval. This week's focus for her social politics class had been movement. While some of the nobles - very few - chose to take the class to learn lower class manners so they could blend in for whatever duties they had, most of the class population were the few Warren's Rats and lower middle class folk that made it into the guild. Cardinal assumed the nobles that occasionally appeared and left again were Whispers, trying to learn some secretive thing that would help them infiltrate whatever it was the Whispers infiltrated. She had little desire to know what most of Whispers did while the other half of her was intrigued. She knew, however, that she didn't have the temerity for it. She wasn't made of the same iced steel as Robintan - not that she begrudged him it. Cardinal had learned quickly that most of the college either deeply feared or deeply respected Master Robintan and that reputation transferred to her in some of the strangest ways. Even now, most of the room barely acknowledged her when she entered, even though they were all fellow apprentices. Cardinal was determined to not let it bother her. She had made some good friends and other than Greyson and his ilk, no one was rude or cruel to her. She kept her head down, worked hard, and continually beat herself into the glass lantern of friendship like a moth beating toward a flame. She religiously spent Wednesday and Thursday evenings at the Guild dorms, introducing herself and involving herself in whatever musical happenings were going on that night. They never turned her away. But they weren't precisely welcoming either. "It'll get better when you're a journeyer," Edward assured her gently. "Apprenticeship is hard. Everyone feels like they're going to get kicked out at any time and a lot of folks find out it's not like they expected. Once you're a journeyer, you're a little more secure - and more people will know you and talk to you. You're kind, Cardinal. Just stick with it." Kind. Tough. Persistent. Diligent. Inspiring. No one ever said talented. The constant fear that she wouldn't be good enough was not assuaged by the fact that everyone complimented her work ethic. Cardinal knew she worked hard - harder than many of the other students. She also knew she had no choice. As Robintan had said, she was only one major mistake away from ending up back in that elegant knothole in the wall. The terror of that singular thought meant that she would do everything and anything to not make that type of mistake. The more she worked with Robintan, the more she was sure it would have to be a serious mistake but she at least was determined not to give him one - or bring any embarrassment to the guild or to him. Which was why she diligently showed up every Wednesday and Thursday for the fencing practice. Why she ignored Greyson's continued jibes and the critical assessment of her inability. Why she went back to the inn every night and studied the terms and the poses so that at least he could not belittle the same things twice. It was exhausting and she felt weary and dizzy everytime she left the practice, worn to the bone by the vigilance and maintaining her careful mask and not breaking down or losing her temper. She was surprised to learn she even had a temper. Cardinal was also aware of what would happen if she lost it on a senior, noble Journeyer. So Cardinal kept quiet. Went to her classes. Worked harder - and with more joy - than she'd ever worked in her life. She would not let Greyson take that away from her. Even if it meant enduring the constant pain and humiliation that his words wrought. Tough. Persistent. Kind. Inspiring.

Progress?
Cardinal, January 1883

Master Cintros passed back all of the reading tests to each of the students face down. She never allowed them to share their scores with one another to avoid embarrassing any of them - or creating undue hostility if someone did well. As always, each of them slid the paper into the kits after peeking at the score. "Stay after class," Cardinal's read. Her heart plummeted and she nodded a little to the Master and tried to stay focused on the lesson but was lost in the haze of frustration and grief that she had done so poorly the teacher needed to speak with her. Cardinal packed her things slowly, fabricating reasons to go slow until the other apprentices had left and then looked worriedly at her teacher. Master Cintros was famous for her bland and grumpy expression but she looked...amused... as she watched Cardinal. "Did you even look at the rest of the paper, Apprentice?" Reluctantly, Cardinal shook her head. "I'll do better and study more, I promise. Please don't go to Master Robin-" Cintros cut her off with a raised hand and gently pulled the paper back out of the leather carry case that Maelie had given Cardinal for school. There were no other marks on the test. "I've already spoken with Master Robintan," and Cardinal gripped the edge of the desk in panic. "You did perfectly fine, Apprentice," she said gently. "No errors. In fact, you're past the need for this class." "I...am?" "Yes. You've all the decoding skills I can teach you. Your fluency is improving by the day. You just need -time- and -practice.- I would like you to keep up with your tutoring so you can continue to learn more vocabulary and in case you feel you are struggling but I don't need you for here any longer." Cintros glanced down at a note on her desk and then scribbled out a pass in her neat, elegant hand-writing. "I'm to give you this. You start Society and Politics. Show Master Fox this and she'll get you caught up. It's a rolling entrance class so you won't be ahead or behind in it. It's also on a ...per need basis...so you should see several of the other non-noble apprentices with you," she said gently. Cardinal nodded - she knew she would end up in some sort of etiquette and society class eventually. Bards were required to be able to attend society events at all levels. Even if they later chose -not- to - they still needed the skills. "I... thank you, Master Cintros, for your patience," she said quietly. "I don't know if you realize how much of a gift this was but..." "Off with you!" Cintros smiled. "You worked hard. Keep doing so," she said a bit more primly before she shooed Cardinal out with a small smile. "Good lass," she said after the apprentice's red-haired frame had left the doorway and was out of ear shot.

Courting
Cardinal, January 1883

"So. Courting?" Edward's long, lean frame draped across the practice room chair where he sat with Chrissy perched delicately on his knee. For once they were both dressed respectably and out of their performance clothes. "Huh?" Cardinal looked up from deciphering the sheet music he'd brought for a new piece. "Coooouuurting." "Oh. Yes? That ...is a thing I am doing," she agreed. "I thought you didn't like nobles?" Chrissy teased gently and Cardinal shook her head, still studying the music. "I didn't say that. I just think they're a better class of folk than me." "So you think that Toff is is better than you?" Edward sounded a bit defensive and Chrissy elbowed him hard in the ribs. "What? No. Yes? Do you want me to learn this piece or not?" Cardinal huffed at both of them in exasperation. "I'm still not good at picking it up from sheet music." Edward went to play the tune and Chrissy smacked his hands. "Bad guitarist, bad. She has to learn," she chided gently but looked back to Cardinal. "So...Sir Victor Orsei... that young lady you were -also- with..." Cardinal's cheeks flamed bright. "Miss Arseneault. Yes. We...are courting too." "Aaaand?" "Hmm?" "Oh come on. You're an excellent liar but I know you're still hiding more." "I am -not- an excellent liar." "You are when you want to be," Edward smirked. "Whose the other lucky man? Woman? Person?" "Mr. Leblanc...though I'm not sure how official that is." "The circus owner?" "Yes that one." "It's a veritable sampling of the class system!" Edward crowed. "Veritable?'" "Uh...it makes the word more intense. So... a wide sampling." "Sampling?" "Gods, Cardinal, you're getting impossible to joke with. Pick up more vocab," he groused and then noticed the red-headed bard was smirking at him. "Oh. Well, was that intentional?" "No. They make me happy," she said softly. "And they make me feel safe." She had been performing with the two of them often enough that they had noticed the odd quirks, the moments of watchfulness, the nerves. Neither of them pried into her past but they knew her wariness ran deep and was really only alleviated when she was actively playing or working on their collective craft. "Happy is -good-," Chrissy affirmed. "And don't listen to Edward. He wouldn't know romance if Cupid flew in and bit him." "I protest," he exclaimed. "I got you a courting gift!" "You got me a replacement ribbon for my dance slipper when it broke," she replied dryly. "in the middle of a gig." "That's a useful gift! Gift of hands!" Chrissy stared at him until the innocent batting of his brown eyes melted the look on her face and she leaned over to kiss him. Cardinal took little note - Edward and Chrissy were as official a match as any noble couple ever would be and most of the bards didn't hold with strict social graces in private and among friends. All of them could put on the show of it for the crowd they were entertaining but she'd found most of them to be more casual in closed door settings where only the guild dared tread. Well, except some of the nobles and a handful of the masters but then, she was only an apprentice. Of all the bards she'd met - and there was now a long list - Chrissy and Edward were the ones she spent the most time with. The two journeyers had latched onto her and helped her navigate most of the waters around the guild without much issue. Most of the apprentices and journeyers avoided her outside of the course work that she threw herself into. She was The Protege - and it came with its own parcel of gossip that she wanted no part in. Greyson and his cronies mocked her. Most of the journeyers speculated on what she could have done to gain Robintan's attention or simply ignored her as beneath their rank. Masters didn't associate with apprentices. Apprentices - well she'd made some friends but most of them were trying to just keep their head above the waters for all the new skills they were learning. She had no idea how some of them had time to attend balls and parties as they did. Then again, most of them weren't also learning to read still. "So you gonna marry him?" "Is this a C shar- what?" "Courtship usually ends in marriage. Or ..just ends." Chrissy pointed out. "I suppose them is more appropriate. Three." "Peitho's tits, Chrissy, you can't just -ask- that," Edward mock teased, assuming Chrissy's earlier chiding tone and leveling it back at her. "Well she should think about it!" Chrissy nodded primly. "Can't argue against any of those matches really." "I'm sure someone will," Cardinal sighed. "I don't know. We aren't that far along yet. And I need to get through my apprenticeship first without failing my classes." "Card, darling, I don't think you could fail at this if you -tried-" Edward said more gently. "You're -good-." "Good isn't enough and you know it," Cardinal replied with a touch of sting. Good was never enough for Robintan - and she wouldn't be happy with her own progress if she was not at least trying her absolute and complete best at it. Confronted with hundreds of supremely talented individuals, she had no illusions that she was the best of anything or even in the middling ranks. Edward sighed and waved one long-fingered, elegant hand. "Fine. Just try not to -actually- work yourself to death?" "I'll try not to die before I become a journeyer," she muttered. Neither Edward nor Chrissy had any fears in regards to their someday masteries. Both were excellent performers and composed and choreographed their own pieces. It was a matter of time before they were raised in rank - but both of them were also genuinely kind and she valued the time they spent together and their help. The two bards exchanged a glance behind their friend's head. Chrissy just shook hers. Cardinal wasn't ready for some conversations - like her guild rank and the rumors that sometimes swirled in her wake. At least after a month, most of the worst of it had died down. "Okay I think I have it." Cardinal finally said, plucking out the tune briefly on the practice room's piano. "That right?" "Aye and well done. Watch the tempo on that second measure." Edward nodded, reaching for his guitar. "Violin or piano or voice? Did you pick up woodwinds when I wasn't looking?" "I can get the reed pipe?" Cardinal looked baffled at him and he shook his head, bemused. "Of course you know that too. No, lets go basics. Violin, guitar, Chrissy - percussion?" "Still working on steps for this so yes." She leaned over and nudged Cardinal before they started. "When they ask," she grinned. "Say yes." Cardinal didn't have time to swat at her before the song started.

How I ended up in your room
Cardinal, January 1883

(CW: abuse) She didn't tell Victor that the reason she had snuck down the hall to his room the night of the Hunt party was that she had been unable to stand the guest room that had been provided to her. The dark corners, the large, unfamiliar bed, the way the wind whispered outside. Perhaps in the light it would have been fine. It was a -nice- room. It was generous beyond belief. But all it did was stir memories of fears she did not want to entertain that night. She had slipped the memories and the dark on padding feet to find comfort in his arms and if he questioned her nameless fears, he did not say. Stop light, lock the door Don't look back Undress in the dark And hide from you, all of you See you free yourself from the cage, Master Robintan had said. She had known he meant more than the physical cage of the dungeon. He had meant the mental ones as well. The catharsis she could gain from music was a step of that. She sensed he understood how deep it all ran, how pervasive it went to her thought patterns. But he was correct that the only one who could free those locks was herself. She was smart enough to know he planted little seeds of thought and let them germinate. She had no idea how to extricate herself from what logic dictated and what her instincts screamed instead. The words made sense. The logic made sense. One simple thought to the next. But none of that meant a thing to the screaming, hysterical, desperation in her head in those moments. You'll never know The way your words have haunted me I can't believe you'd ask these things of me You don't know me now or never Because in the depths of darkness, in the night, she still remembered all of it. The hits from childhood were nothing compared to the way He had twisted her thoughts to his whim. She had been his favorite from the time she was of age and that first night when he'd claimed her after her First. She supposed if it had just been her body, it might be easier to shake. You belong to me My snow white queen There's nowhere to run So let's just get it over Soon my love, you'll see You're just like me Don't scream anymore, my love 'Cause all I want is you She was terrified of him to the deepest pieces of her soul. She couldn't look at him without revulsion. She couldn't look at him without the wounds he inflicted weeping from her flesh and aching. She couldn't look at him without wanting him to help her. She couldn't look at him without wanting to grovel at his feet. She couldn't look at him without wanting the momentary relief from the pain because the relief became pleasure. And through it all, his pretty, whispered words that she couldn't escape. Wake up in a dream Frozen fear All your hands on me I can't scream, I can't scream I can't escape The twisted way you think of me I feel you in my dreams And I don't sleep (ever and ever) I don't sleep See you belong to me My snow white queen There's nowhere to run So let's just get it over Soon my love, you'll see You're just like me The cage door remained stubbornly locked. She would go days without thinking of The Lion, of The Vagabond, of his hands, of his knives. And then she would wake panting for air in the dark, clawing at the sheets and swearing he was next to her. She would turn in a ballroom and swear he was behind a mask. She would start in the street, thinking he was watching from the corner. Don't scream anymore, my love 'Cause all I want is you Can't save your life Though nothing I bleed for Is more tormenting I'm losing my mind And you just stand there And stare as my world divides And so it was easy to pretend that it was all over when every instinct knew it wasn't. When every slip was a chance that he would find her again. When every mistake meant someone knew might pick up the blade and start on her again. In those moments, there was no future, no hope - there was only memory and darkness and terror. She hoped whatever freedom Robintan offered in her thoughts blossomed faster so she could hope to breathe someday for longer than a moment of respite. You belong to me My snow white queen There's nowhere to run So let's just get it over Soon my love, you'll see You're just like me Don't scream anymore, my love 'Cause all I want is you All I want is you All I want is you All I want is you Forever and ever, ever and ever

Winter
Cardinal, January 1883

Cardinal watched the drizzly snow outside the window of her room, tracing tiny flakes down the window pane where she sat studying for the afternoon. Her classes had gone well today and she'd enjoyed the new stories from her tales class but she felt restless, discontent. Trying to place why was as furtive as trying to catch one of those snow flakes. Her gaze caught the edge of the paperwork that certified her birth and Eisen citizenry, recently gained from the Temple. Her relief that she hadn't had to go back to gain some form of proof was too enormous for words. Even then, the information she'd had was scant. Her name. Her birth year. Her Mother's name. The inn. What else was there? She knew nothing else. Snow can wait, I forgot my mittens Wipe my nose, get my new boots on I get a little warm in my heart when I think of winter I put my hand in my father's glove Winter had always been the worst. The workers were surly with the damp and cold and took it out on the girls. Vagabond was trapped with the same crowds and took his temper out on the girls. The girls were tired of the same abuse and the harsh use and stuck together inside and took it out on one another. All of them used Cardinal as their favorite target, particularly Master Vagabond himself. I run off where the drifts get deeper Sleeping Beauty trips me with a frown I hear a voice, "You must learn to stand up For yourself 'cause I can't always be around" He says, when you gonna make up your mind? When you gonna love you as much as I do? When you gonna make up your mind? 'Cause things are gonna change so fast All the white horses are still in bed I tell you that I'll always want you near You say that things change, my dear She'd make up stories in the between times, fantastic tales of a father she did not know and did not know her. In her dreams and in her wanderings, he would return to the Red Lion, discover her, and snap her up to safety somewhere warm and safe and with no hands to hurt her. Sometimes he was black haired, sometimes blonde, sometimes brunette but he would appear heroic and always kind and always gentle. She would spend hours weaving together the stories in her head of how he would charge in and take the Vagabond to task and sweep her out of the hell of her life. He would teach her instruments and music and songs and words and give flight to all of the stories and songs she wanted to spill into the world but lacked the skill to. He would give her advice to protect her and shelter her when she was sad or hurt or lonely. Boys get discovered as winter melts Flowers competing for the sun Years go by and I'm here still waiting Withering where some snowman was Mirror, mirror, where's the crystal palace? But I only can see myself Skating around the truth who I am But I know, Dad, the ice is getting thin It never happened. Her mother never dropped another clue. The Vagabond and the other girls never mentioned him. The tales that had been elaborate and heroic when she was younger faded into painful thoughts, too precious and fragile to touch. Cardinal left them there in the back of her mind, untouched, the withering fairy tales of childhood and young adulthood that gave away to the painful reality. When you gonna make up your mind? When you gonna love you as much as I do? When you gonna make up your mind? 'Cause things are gonna change so fast All the white horses are still in bed I tell you that I'll always want you near You say that things change, my dear When you gonna make up your mind? When you gonna love you as much as I do? When you gonna make up your mind? 'Cause things are gonna change so fast All the white horses have gone ahead I tell you that I'll always want you near You say that things change, my dear Never change The only one who was going to rescue her, was herself.

The Rules
Cardinal, December 1882

The rules were simple for Cardinal's world. 1) Nobles are better than you. 2) You are not good enough to be loved. 3) Do not argue with your betters. Do what they say. 4) Music is life. Until they were no longer simple. Rule number one. Until Robintan simply stared and raised that eyebrow that meant she should be thinking of something, seeing something that she was missing. He had not said anything else, asking her why she listened to Lady Orlov. "Because she's a noble?" Are you bonded to her?" "No?" The look. Rule number two. Until you were sleeping with nobles. Until they said they loved you and the words made little sense and how were you to deal with that? Until Maelie's soft kisses and Victor's arms and the gentle, soothing touch of Donatien's hand said otherwise. Rule number three. Until Miranda apologized for putting her in the middle of an argument. Confusion swam in Cardinal. She hadn't wanted to be between Victor and his sister on this matter but she had tried her best to smooth it over. She was not sure it had worked and then there was Lady Orsei...apologizing. To her. Rule number 4. At least that one still made sense.

Unmasking
Cardinal, Dec 1882

Cardinal hung the red silk gown back on its hanger in the closet and put the slippers away. She loosened the corset laces and wormed out of it, shivering in her chemise and closing the closet door slowly. She was deeply worried about Dona - but there were already enough people around Dona tonight. And Dona was more concerned with Maelie's state anyway. They'd gotten closer than she realized and she didn't begrudge it - far from it - but it left her in an awkward spot for the evening. It would, in time, sort. Maelie's room was empty. She did not know where her lover had gone to but she knew she was probably somewhere safe. Doubtless, Nevermore had taken Arinelle home since they'd arrived together. Lukas was long gone as was Miranda. Nel was rightly taking care of Dona. Everyone was exactly where they were -supposed- to be and taking care of who she wanted them to take care of. But it still stung just a little to trudge up the stairs by herself and hang the gown and put away the momentary pretend of being part of all of it. Cardinal closed the open window and reclipped the peregrine charm to her necklace, touching it gently. "I promise it won't be a fifty year wait to stretch your wings again," she scritched Tinte's ears and sat down to undo the pins from her hair. That was when Nevermore knocked on her window. --- Later, much much later, Cardinal lay with her head on Victor Orsei's shoulder, flush with warmth and pleasure and a heady sense that the world had tilted right off its access. Relief hadn't been a strong enough word and he had been confused by it. How could she explain? How could she say that she expected nothing but cruelty or dismissiveness from nobility? That she had been so wary of Sir Orsei's kindness but wanted to trust it? To find that the person who had saved her was the same meant she had not misjudged. That here was someone rare and special. Everything in her screamed that she should not be here, cradled in the arms of a nobleman. Cradled in the arms of -this- nobleman. But every other part of her knew and trusted Nevermore. And the two were one and the same. Secrets she had told only Maelie tumbled out. Vagabond. The Lion. What she had done there, regardless of her willingness or lack thereof. His lips had traced the scars on her back like only the skin beneath them mattered. "We all have scars." She knew he couldn't stay long. But he promised to wake her when he left. She would never live like that again, someone using her and then leaving without a word. For now, she curled into the warmth beside her and slept, dreamless and deep and safe.

Ya wanna play?
Cardinal, December 1882

(Cont from prior post) "Hey...uh.. you okay in there?" A head poked in the door, female, human, blonde, adorable right to the twinkle in her blue eyes. A fall of blonde bangs fell into her eyes and she huffed it out with a breath. Seeing no one else in the room, the young woman wandered in. She was dressed in light blue, sparkling ribbons. She wore braids in blue, aqua, and rainbow dangling from her belt. A taller man peeked his head in over hers, long curly brown hair falling into the woman's face. She swatted at him. "Edward!" Cardinal stared, mortified and trying to quickly wipe her face clean. "Yes m'lady. I'm fine." It came out in a spill of nervous words and a tightness that revealed her tension. She had no right touching the piano. She hadn't been trained on it. Maybe they needed the room? Maybe she was supposed to book it somewhere? Had she been too loud? "Whoa hey, it's all right," the man soothed, scooting the girl into the room. He also bore Journeyer braids in purple, yellow, and blue. "We were just passing and heard you ...and then we stopped to listen... and...uh sorry that was probably a really private moment but it was really...really good." "Sweet Sephira, you are so ill-mannered," the woman shoved him gently and affectionately. "We're sorry for eavesdropping. I wanted to make sure you were all right. Piece like that can really take it right out of you. I'm Christine Snow. Hummingbird." She held out a hand to Cardinal who shook it weakly. "This giant oaf is Edward Leonhart. He goes by Crane...in case you can't guess why." She gestured to his gangly height. "Cardinal," Cardinal murmured softly. "FUCKINGGORATHSBALLSCHRISSYSHESTHEPROT-" "Shuuuut uuuuup" Chrissy thwapped Edward's arm none too gently and he stopped, looking meek. "Sorry. We heard about you. It's really great to meet you. Uh..no pressure. Sorry. There's a lot of rumors." "There is?" "Uh...yah lets...this might not be the best time to go over that," Edward admitted, handing her a handkerchief out of his performance doublet. He was wearing a similar matching outfit to Chrissy and had a guitar case slung on his back. "Did you write that? It was fabulous. You've got a great voice - though your were a fiddle player and not piano?" Chrissy enthused. "I ...guess. And I just wanted to try it out." Cardinal gestured to the piano. "Try it..out." Chrissy repeated carefully. She glanced at Edward who mouthed "PROTEGE" to her and Chrissy sighed. Cardinal shifted uncomfortably. She had no idea why being Robintan's protege was such a big deal. Greta had mentioned he was the best of the best but there was more than one amazing bard here and she certainly was not the only natural musician with a good ear. "Well.. weeee were going to the market to play. Ya wanna come? I'm guitar, Chrissy dances. We could always have another with us? Your violin?" Edward gestured to her case sitting by the piano. "Might be good to lighten it up after that?" Cardinal hesitated. She rolled through the usual questions in her mind. Was all her course work done? Yes. Had she practiced her reading and theory today? Yes - twice. Did she have any scheduled performances? No. Would Master Robintan frown on her playing with these individuals or in that location? No. He had specifically instructed her to meet other bards. It had been a challenging instruction. There were a handful of apprentices that would speak to her and one or two journeymen but she was avoided by several of the formed cliques and groups. More of the issues with the protege rumor, she imagined. Cardinal did her best to just remain kind and approachable and tried to make friends where she could. "I..that would be really nice. I can follow whatever you play. I know most of the standard popular dance tunes and if I hear it I can usually keep up." "I had no doubt," Edward replied both seriously and kindly. "C'mon... you should -see- Chrissy dance...she's as good as Sephira." "Oh stop," Chrissy blushed and the two bards - obviously partners in more than one way - lead the way out of the room. Chrissy looped her arm around Cardinal's waist as they walked and together the trio headed to the market.

Catharsis
Cardinal Dec 1882

(Specifically using the Synthesis version of Bring me to Life by Evanescence and My Immortal) The week of lessons with Master Robintan had been, in some ways, normal. Precise, expectations of perfection and endless, bone-grinding repetition. He was never cruel but he was exacting and when it wasn't right, she knew to just do it again until the glowing feeling of his nod of vague approval occurred or until he abruptly changed to a new task or topic. There was never a compliment. How can you see into my eyes like open doors? Leading you down into my core Where I've become so numb Without a soul My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold Until you find it there and lead it back home Cardinal supposed that Maelie or Alex or any number of others might find it unacceptable. But she didn't. She knew what sufficed as approval and he was not abusive to her. If she was legitimately tired, there was a break to rest. There was always a pitcher of fresh water if she got thirsty. It was a long road to walk - and she had work to do. And the work was all she'd ever wanted and so she bent to it with the determination born of years of denial. Robintan did not revisit the topic of Monday on Catharsis, but she now understood that she was to put her own emotions back into her music. She had started there, but there had been weeks of simply getting out of her own way and letting the technique speak. Now, there was a sense that she should re-invest that energy and the pieces they practiced were a wider range of emotions. He did not revisit the shadowy, dark piece that had originally inspired the conversation though they did visit a few others. He did not ask her - yet- to re-bare those wounds in the notes she played. Wake me up inside (save me) Call my name and save me from the dark (wake me up) Bid my blood to run (I can't wake up) Before I come undone (save me) Save me from the nothing I've become Now that I know what I'm without You can't just leave me Breathe into me and make me real Bring (bring) me (me) to life Wake me up inside (save me) Call my name and save me from the dark (wake me up) Bid my blood to run (I can't wake up) Before I come undone (save me) Save me from the nothing I've become Bring me to life But she understood that she was to open them herself before they swallowed her whole. A few days later, she found herself in one of the larger practice rooms. She hated using her violin to explore this. The instrument, a gift from Maelie, was a fine instrument - the finest she'd ever owned. It was also her freedom, her love, her joy, her passion. And she wasn't ready yet to rip open her past and bloody the thing with it. Instead, she wandered the practice room trying to test out how best to delve into these feelings. She ran her fingers over the harp strings and shook her head. The guitar and lute she had never touched or really watched anyone play. She stopped at the piano, gently running her fingers over the keys in a soft trill of sound. She tested it again. One note per key. The concept made automatic sense. She closed her eyes, recovering the image of Robintan's hands moving smoothly and elegantly over the keys. She sat and tested the instrument, tentative at first. A pedal to dampen the sound. One that made them ring out in echoey reminder. She played a few scales, testing the weight beneath her fingers and ...then started playing. Cardinal did not question where it came from. She never did with her music. She just played. Snatches of tunes Robintan had played while she was waiting in his office that melded into her own piece after a few moments of getting used to the instrument. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HobMgs3uklM (Unraveling - Evanescence) Finally, she felt confident enough and started to play in earnest, adding her voice in lyrics she had written in some dark corner of her memory. She could write them down now, slowly and carefully, but she was not certain she was ready to share this. I'm so tired of being here Suppressed by all my childish fears And if you have to leave I wish that you would just leave 'Cause your presence still lingers here And it won't leave me alone If she cried, there was no one to see her. There was no Master to watch the breaking of her heart. There were no lovers or friends to worry if she would be well. As always, it was her and the music. These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real There's just too much that time cannot erase When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears And I held your hand through all of these years But you still have all of me Her voice chased the tune, rich and lyrical. They hadn't even moved on to voice yet but she knew she could sing well enough. She did what Robintan said and got out of the way of her own hands, letting them create. You used to captivate me by your resonating light Now, I'm bound by the life you left behind Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me. She had never considered that all of those events might make her grieve. Sometimes she felt betrayal and anger - though rarely. Mostly, she had felt tired and afraid when she thought back to the Lion, to her mother, to Rose, to the Vagabond and his rough hands and his flashing knife. Peeling that back to the grief beneath hurt anew and it burned like fire inside her, needing to be released in a flurry of wailing notes and tears. These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real There's just too much that time cannot erase When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears And I held your hand through all of these years And you still have all of me Because when it came to it, she had not left the Lion in her mind. Cardinal was ostensibly free - a new home, a new career, a new path. But every dream was haunted by the memories, by the pain, by the bewildering loneliness. Every time she woke up alone in the night she had to chase the phantoms away. Every time a noble looked at her, she was reminded she was less. Every time a cruelty was leveled her way, she reminded herself that it was correct but that if she could have her music, none of it mattered. All that mattered, that had ever mattered, that had ever been solace was these notes, this emotion, this soaring feeling of her soul creating. For that, she'd suffer the Vagabond a thousand times. I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone But though you're still with me, I've been alone, I'm alone When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears I held your hand through all of these years You still have all of me ah, me ah, me ah The last note lingered in the air and she sat at the piano, gulping for breath as tears streamed down her face when a very quiet knock came at the door... (tbc)

Don't think, just run.
Cardinal

Four years passed in a blur working at the Lion. The Vagabond never seems to get bored of me like he did the other girls. Then again, I’m the youngest by a decade at least. Every few nights is another visit and another set of bruises or scars. I’ve stopped caring. I’ve stopped caring about most things. I do what I have to do to survive each night, each customer or customers, to ignore the aches of my body. I’m off duty tonight for once - I got sick this morning and Rose and the Vagabond poured medicine down my throat to kill any child I might be growing. It’s awful - but less awful than the thought of carrying the Vagabond’s baby. Instead, I’ve slipped out back of the inn and am working with my fiddle. I do a few warm up tunes and then launch into some new pieces that have been rattling in my head. I can’t write them down but at least I can play them. The old, broken fiddle groans in protest but it tries. It’s not as good as a real instrument - but it’s all I have. Despite the nausea - and the occasional bouts of throwing up - the medicine induces, it’s good to have the night to myself. Me, the stars, my fiddle. “You’re very good,” a quiet voice interrupts me and I turn to see a lady dressed in pale violet at the alley entrance. “Nah, m’lady. I’m just practicing.” “That makes you not good?” “On this old thing?” I manage a smile. “Probably not.” “Despite that, you make it sing.” I try not to listen to the intrigue in her voice. If the last few years have taught me anything it is that kindness is rarely kind and a lady is a class above what I am. Respect them but don’t get close. I don’t live like them and I’m not as good as any noble and that’s my lot. “Thank you,” I mutter. “Are you in the bardic guild? An apprentice?” I snort a laugh and then remember myself. “No, m’lady. I work…here.” I gesture at the Red Lion behind me. “You’re a ..ah. I.. did not know this establishment had a musicker.” “I’m not a musicker, m’lady,” I duck my head politely, averting my gaze. “I see.” For a moment she stares at me, stares through me and then smiles. “I apologize for interrupting your practice. I’ll be on my way.” She nods her head politely and I marvel at anyone dressed that nicely being that polite to me at all. She’s gone before I can reply. “Right. Random noble slumming it,” I shrug and go back to my tunes. The night won’t be near long enough for me to play as I want but any spare moment is better than none. It’s well into false dawn before I head upstairs, exhausted but happy in a sort of way I don’t usually feel anymore. A night full of fiddling has put me in a good mood. I stop immediately when I get to my room though. The door is ajar - it shouldn’t be. Gods please not him tonight… I try to supress the shudder that racks through me. If he’s there and sees it, it will be worse. On the bed is a leather case and a piece of paper. I can’t read the paper so I tuck it to the side after seeing it doesn’t bear any mark I recognize from anyone at the Lion. It has seven stars on it which I recognize as the mark of a goddess, Sephira? My knowledge of the gods is scant at best. The case is good leather, supple but hardened into a rectangle, stained dark brown. I open it and have to close it again. It can’t be. I’m dreaming. I pinch one of the bruises on my thigh and the pain lets me know I am not. There’s a fiddle in the case. Not broken. Not a rich man’s instrument either but a serviceable, not-broken plain violin and bow. A few extra strings are tucked into the lid. There’s a square of real rosin, stinging pine pitch smell strong when I hold it to my nose. Tucked beneath the neck of the instrument is a cloth bag. I peer inside and the glint of silver greets me back. I make sure the door is closed and shove the chair under the knob and pour the silver into my hand. 100 silver pieces. One gold. It’s enough to rent a hovel for a month, to feed me for a month, to get me a busker’s license. It’s enough for freedom. For a moment the logic of needing a roof and security crowds my thoughts. My mother. The girls who are at least something like a family. And then the silver glints at me like it’s laughing at my fears and I remember that gold piece from two years ago. Enough to be anywhere else but here. I grab the money and tuck under my corset and secure it for safe keeping. I take what little clothing I have. I leave the broken fiddle after taking the strings off it and the spare bow. The small pack, the case weighs almost nothing as I shimmy down from the window. Don’t think. Don’t think of the risk of being found. Don’t think of where you will go. Get away from the Lion. Away from the Vagabond. Away from this life. Anything, anything is better than this. Even if you die trying. Just. Run.

A familiar taste of poison
Cardinal, December 1882

Cardinal smelled Rose before the woman entered the room. There was a certain note to the perfume, some sort of musk underneath the rotten petal scent. It was a smell she would never, ever forget from the Vagabond's second favorite whore. She smelled it. Then she heard the laugh, fake and throaty. Cardinal did not wait to see the faces of the women she hadn't seen in almost a year. She didn't wait for them to see her. She didn't even bother with the ale, leaving it on the table. Or her friends. Whom she ignored. She ran. Straight out the back door. When Sir Orsei called to her on the street she made up an excuse about homework. She walked until she was certain she was out of sight of the traveler. And then she broke into a sprint. Not toward the Skybound. Not toward the colllege, toward the Warrens. Up and down twisting streets, dodging left, right, doubling back. She hid and waited in corners and then ran again. She did not stop until false dawn threatened on the horizon. Until she was certain that none of the whores - or their master - had followed her. In hindsight, she reflected on what she should have noticed while watching the show. She had gotten lazy and stupid and too trusting. The Crimson Tiger, the brothel in the play, was too similar. Of course he was branching out into new areas, new ventures, new businesses. The Traveler would never be safe again. If they found her, she would never be safe again. What would he do? Tell the Rooks that she had ran off with money? Indenture her back into service for debts owed? Simply kill her? No... no he wouldn't do that. She would suffer first. She knew that. So she waited until she was absolutely certain that no one was following her. Until even her panic had given up and she was sure the only footsteps on the road were hers. Only then, did she trudge back to the Skybound, exhausted and knowing she'd pay for it in her lessons that day. But no matter how much Robintan scolded or corrected or scowled, at least there was no monster on her doorstep.

Reading lessons
Cardinal November 1882

Cardinal had barely slept the night before her first classes began. Her schedule was full, as much of an attempt to get caught up as was reasonably possible from a lifetime of no education. Robintan would meet with her at least three times weekly- more if he saw fit. Each day held a different, lengthy class - and she had signed herself up for additional tutoring for help with both reading and theory. She vaguely understood that most people might groan from the idea of so much learning but Cardinal could hardly contain her enthusiasm. She had wanted these gates unlocked for so long that it was impossible to feel dismal about it. Until she walked into the reading skills class. Other than two older teenagers in the corner, most of the room was full of younger students. And suddenly she understood just how behind she was in comparison to most of the apprentices. After a moment, Cardinal took herself to the front corner of the room and sat down, away from the teenagers that stared at her suspiciously. The children didn't really seem to care, although one or two of them snickered about how she must be stupid if she didn't know how to read yet. She kept her mouth shut. Cardinal took out her primer from Sasha and studied while she waited. The words in it were becoming easier to recognize on sight but she still used it to help her decipher bigger words. The teacher came into the room and Cardinal immediately stood. All of the students stared at her. Blushing, she sat back down. "Quite all right, Miss Loralen. Would that everyone had manners," the Tiefling bard shot a look at the teenagers. "That won't be necessary however." How did everyone know who she was? "Excellent, this is our first day of Reading Skills. The younger students will be retained with me all semester. Older students will be moved out of the class once proficiency is demonstrated. Before we begin, my name is Master Marina Cintros. You may call me Master Cintros or Ms. Cintros as you prefer. I will not tolerate any disrespect to other students." She shot a look at the teenagers. "You are all here either because you are apprenticed at a young enough age to require language instruction, have a learning difficulty of which I would be happy to address and assist, or have not engaged in appropriate schooling despite the national laws." "National laws?" Cardinal blurted out before she could stop and then blushed, looking down. "Yes, Miss Loralen. Despite Eisen's best efforts to mandate childhood education, there are...unfortunately gaps... in the system." Cardinal nodded mutely. She had never considered that not only had she not had schooling, but that she was actively kept from it. Rage coiled inside, surprising her. She had hated them... but she had never resented them so much before. With a sharp shake of her head, Cardinal tried to refocus on the here and now. "So. To begin I will give you all a brief test to determine your current abilities and we shall see where we are at!" The tiefling smiled and passed out several papers to each student. Each of them received a pen to work with as well. Cardinal bent to the task as best she could. ---Hours later--- Cardinal did not know how ones brain could feel tired, but hers did. Letters ran together along with the names of parts of words and how they worked together. Master Cintros had said that she just needed time and practice but had a good ear for phonemes - the word parts that make sounds - and should progress quickly with practice. Practice was the key though and so she had read...and read... and then written...and then read. The teacher was slowly going to work all of the terrible grammar out of her if it was the last thing she did. Still, she was able to read sentences by herself without needing to say them aloud today, and that was a victory. They hadn't been complex, but she had done it and felt proud of herself for it. She passed the teenagers, still snickering, with her head high.

Much the Same as Another (CW)
Cardinal, November 1882

(Content warning: Assault, mental manipulation) It was the tone, the way he would smile charmingly with that beautiful face and then undercut it with cruel words. The way that his voice lifted at the end in question, like ‘of course this is your fault and you do realize that?’ with every cutting remark. Of course, he was the one that would be her Master. What had seemed like freedom now looked like the cage that it had always been. She could run. Right out of the hall at this second. She could flee again, somewhere else, some other town, some other place. But the gold was spent and there was no more and there were no friends waiting to help her in another city. So she stepped into the cage and closed the door behind her and accepted what always should have been her fate. She would always be the pet of someone cruel. At least here she could play. Even if he belittled it. Even if he shredded every note and ever chord, the guild wouldn’t let him take away her music. --- “You done that scraping on that useless instrument?” “Yes, master,” she replied softly, stowing the old, broken fiddle away. “You’ll never amount to anything with it, pet. Come here. There is still something you’re good for.”His fingers dug into her arm hard, leaving more bruises. --- “Have you considered…cabbages?” He had sneered a little, the superiority writ large on his features, and he sauntered off into the market square, leaving her trembling. Milton was shaking with anger near her. She just studied her shoes. Milton didn’t understand. You did not talk back to the master. He cut deeper if you did. He was a bard, she was certain of it. No one else could’ve heard the slight sharp to the C-string. It would have hurt less if he had taken the violin and smashed it to pieces in front of her. And the look on his face – he knew it. --- “Master, please,” she sobbed. He held her down, the weight of him still crushing her from above, still aching from his use. She felt the knife dig another delicate line into her skin. He knew how to twist it to hurt and she screamed in pain. She could feel him smile, feel his excitement again as he started over. --- Cardinal stared at the man who would be her Master in the bardic guild. Keep the posture. Don’t falter. Would it just be cruel words? Would it be knives? Would it be her body she gave up again and again to try and please him? In the end, it didn’t matter. It would always be another cage, another master, another string of abuse. She was born to it, the daughter of a whore, as worthless as the cobbles beneath her feet. And Master Aeryin Robinton was not going to let her forget it. Music. Just focus on the music. On the notes. Like breathing. Like life. Like color. Like joy. She squeezed her eyes shut and accepted the shackles again.

Would Anyone Notice
Cardinal, November 1882

Cardinal traced the memories of the last few days like fingers dancing over frost patterns on a class pane. Tentative, testing, watching them shift and change beneath the gentlest, warmest touch. The room that was sumptuous to her. The laughter of friends in the inn. The snow crunched beneath her new to her winter boots. They were second hand but good quality along with the thick cloak and fingerless gloves that kept her snug against the freezing night air. Would anyone notice If tonight I disappeared? Would anyone chase me And say the words that I need to hear? That I'm no burden Not so worthless She rounded the corner to the street where up until a few nights ago she had lived. She looked in the door of the empty hovel, cold and dark, dusted with a scattering of snow. She made her way over to Gracie's door and knocked softly. Bent so much that I just might break All-consuming So confusing The questions that keep me awake "You're okay," Gracie pulled her into a hug that crushed her bones but Cardinal let her and returned the hug fervently. "You're... looking good," Gracie said softly. "I saw that masked one take you out but.." "He's a friend," Cardinal reassured her gently. "A friend?" "A friend." She took out a pouch of gold and handed it to her. "It's not much. I sold the violin." Would anyone care, would anyone cry If I finally stepped off of this ledge tonight? Would anything change, would you all be just fine? 'Cause I need a reason to not throw the fight It just might save my life "I have another. I sold the older one. For you. For the kids. I'm going to get you out of here. But until then, I'm going to make sure you get through this winter." "Cardinal you don't owe me nothing." Would anyone want me If they knew what was inside my head? Would anyone see me For the person that I really am? I won't lie So hard to hide I've never felt worthy of love "Yes, I do. You were the first person who saw anything in me. Who let me stay. Who made no demands. My first friend. You saved my life." Just like he did, Cardinal thought. I would give up Everything I have Just to feel good enough Would anyone care, would anyone cry If I finally stepped off of this ledge tonight? Would anything change, would you all be just fine? 'Cause I need a reason to not throw the fight It just might save my life If you're dying inside Sick of being alive "All I did was charge you too much rent for that room," Gracie said gruffly. "You saved my life," she repeated simply. "In every way that matters. And I'm going to return that favor. I promise." She knew Gracie didn't expect it from her. But she would do it anyway. The giant half-orc of a woman hugged her again and if she cried into Cardinal's shoulder, Cardinal didn't mention it. She may not be able to repay Nevermore. But she could help someone else. Let me in, let me share in your pain From my lungs through the dark Spoken straight from the heart Let me give you a reason to stay If you're out there still lying awake If you're out there still wondering Would anyone care, would anyone cry If you finally gave up and turned out the light? The world would be changed if you left it behind You can't be replaced, no, tonight is the night You take back your life Take back your life She remembered waking in the warmth and comfort, the way the mask tilted to regard her. She remembered the fever dream of him wiping her brow. She remembered kindness that was unexpected and gentle and understanding. She walked away from the Warrens for the last time because of it.

Upgrades
Cardinal, November 1882

Sometime later that evening... Cardinal closed the door behind her, looking around. She slipped the key Lukas had given her into her pocket. She'd requested the simplest room he had - but this had a front and back room and an attached bath. She scowled but she'd take it up with him later. She expected most of the resident spaces at the Skybound were in this configuration. The furniture was simple and sturdy - and nicer than anything she'd ever owned or hoped to. The front room contained a small table, a basket she assumed was for laundry, and a closet for her clothes. She peered curiously into the next room and found the same simple plaster walls, a desk. and a bigger bed than she'd ever hoped to sleep in. She tested the mattress with one hand - not quite as soft as the one in Nevermore's hideout but then that had almost been too comfortable for her. It would take time to get used to sleeping on a mattress. A small fireplace kept the room warm and was already glowing merrily. She put the trunk down and looked at Tinte as he crawled out and began exploring. "Definitely fewer rats," She said softly, peering out a window into the alley below. It wasn't a good view - he'd given her some concessions to her request - but it would be good if Nevermore wanted to stop by. "Yup, you've gone raving mad. Let's just let the masked noble into your bedroom. Fabulous idea Cardinal," she muttered to herself. Slowly, she toured the two small rooms again, staring at the bathtub like a pile of gold had landed in her lap. She'd never had a private bath in her life and just the thought of soaking in hot water seemed too good to be true. In just a few more gold she could go to the guild and audition and if all went well they'd cover her board and minor expenses. She would have finally broken free - if not of the memories - than at least of the physical suffering.

Hollow Moon
Cardinal, Oct 31, 1882

Late at night When the stars don't look quite right In the darkness Slowly crawling over my skin Whispers at the door "Let us in, let us in" Cardinal sat on the blanket palette clutching the violin and Tinte to her. The little cat was both enjoying the warmth and aware that his friend was upset so other than an occasional tentacle stroke to her cheek, he did not move. Cardinal stared at the door, waiting for something to go through it, to open it, for some pleasant looking thing to turn horrible. I'm a fool I've been howling at a hollow moon There's something burning in the Empty room inside of my head Fill it up with doubt Let it in, let it spread I won't be sleeping There's too many monsters in the backyard And I feel them creeping Closer, closer, closer Cardinal buried her face into Tinte's sleek, soft fur and held back another sob. She hadn't been able to stop since she'd hit the city border and the field was far enough back that she was at least reasonably certain she wasn't being followed. She remembered the rooms. The mirrors that showed you how beautiful you were and ensnared your mind. The beast hunting them in the forest. The scroll of sins she could barely read. The slow creep of age. All of that had been awful. But she remembered those stitched up bodies in the beautiful gowns and the way her voice and her music simply ceased with the most dread. I'm afraid Is this a bunker or a shallow grave? Either way I'm left Holding onto the shovel and rope Digging in the dirt Finding bones, finding ghosts I won't be sleeping There's too many monsters in the backyard And I feel them creeping Closer, closer, closer There wouldn't be any sleep tonight. No matter that she had to play in the morning or she wouldn't be able to pay Gracie her rent. She had to play. But every time she closed her eyes it was like the silence descended again. At least awake she had the soft rumble of Tinte's purr, the sounds of The Warrens, the snores of Gracie that could be heard over the entire street. At least awake she knew she wasn't -there- again. But if I made my bed Did I make the demons in it? Set 'em free from my head Did I make the demons in it? But if I made my bed Did I make the demons in it? Set 'em free from my head Did I make the demons in it? So Cardinal stayed awake until the dawn broke and then she dragged herself into the light of day, thanking the Gods it was bright again.

Triggers
Cardinal, October 1882

Content warning: Abuse Sareena stood up the street from the tavern in the pouring rain. Her coat was tucked around the violin case to keep it safe but she let the water drench her from head to toe, plastering her hair and the dress she wore to her skin. She panted for air, trying to breath through the sense of overwhelming panic. Her hands were chapped from washing dishes at The Skybound, a kindness that would keep her alive but that broke her heart. Her music... she was supposed to be able to do this with her music. But her hands knew the rote and role of scrub and clean very well. She had done thousands of dishes growing up. She had thought maybe tonight would restore some of her spirits and had gone along with Ama Illum and Sir Orsei on a whim. A dangerous, dangerous whim. ***** "Ya never talk back to your betters girl," Her mother chided, brushing out her own deep auburn hair as she stared in the cracked mirror of her room. "Those nobles got more gold in their blood than you'll ever see. You respect that. They're better than the likes of us." "But Vagab-" The brush swung faster than she could see it, striking across her temple and sending her flying with a tiny cry. "Don't you ever let 'im 'ear you say that," her mother snarled. " "e's noble, you got it girl?" "Yes mama," she whispereed. ***** She tipped her head back to face the sky, letting the freezing rain hit her eyelids and take away the tears with a sting of cold water. There was no reason to be thinking about this right now. No reason to think that Sir Orsei or Ama Illum were anything like that but every instinct screamed at her to obey all those years of training and blows. What would happen if she didn't? **** "That last patron didn't think you did so well, Sareena," he drawled, flipping a coin along his knuckles. The Vagabond's dark eyes would be handsome if they weren't so cruel. He stared at her and she put down the tray she was carrying. "And why is my little flower doing chores? That's the bar maid's job. Not the whores." "I'm sorry, sir," she said softly, averting her gaze. She knew the stance. Make yourself small. Look away. Don't make eye contact. Speak quietly and don't give insult. Never disagree. This was the list of rules for dealing with customers and with nobility. The Vagabond counted as nobility. These were the rules. "Sir?" "Master!" she spit out hastily. "M'lord master," she scrambled backward. "I think you need a reminder of the rules." And he reached for her. **** Gods why had she disagreed? Why had she let herself think they'd be kind? She wondered what coldness could lie behind the noble's eyes and the cleric's kind words. No, none of them had earned her trust yet. Not yet. Lukas had. Nel had. No one else. It was all still a dance and she had to be certain that none of them would ever make her that small again. She couldn't survive it again. Hugging the violin to her, she ran for home.

Mosaic Stars
October 1882, Cardinal

t's been raining in Novandria most of the past two days and by the time Cardinal tripped into the temple of Sephira it was both extremely late and she was extremely wet. Walking even from the central ward took time and though she'd run most of it, she wasn't fit enough to do it without stopping. She stepped into the quiet ampitheater that served as the main temple and sat on one of the benches in the back. The thought of going back to the hovel right now was unbearable, a mark of her shame and her bad choices. The roof was closed tonight due to the weather so she contented herself to look at the constellation mosaics on the walls, counting the stars and tracing the patterns over and over again. Finally she took out the violin, resting it in her lap, trying to ignore the dress beneath it. ratty dress. She ran her fingers over the worn wood, too oft repaired. off tune It was the truth though. Lukas' work was good but the constant temperature shifts and breakage were taking a toll on the instrument's sound. She didn't have the heart to re-tune it again tonight. For months she had focused on one goal - get into the bardic college. Survive while doing it. But tonight she wondered if she had made the wrong choice. She'd have a roof over her head, decent if not wonderful food, someone to hold her hand, if she were back a the Lion. Was the abuse worth it? The pain? The humiliation? But then tonight hadn't exactly been missing in any of those things either. She had fooled herself into thinking that someone from another class could care about her and she had been harshly reminded that was not the case. She knew the temple keepers wouldn't mind her spending most of the night here. Sephira's followers were often fond of the dark. So she tucked herself into a corner, head against the bench, and counted the stars in the mosaics until her numbed mind finally let her sleep.

Almost there - nope
Cardinal, October, 1882

Cardinal practically bounced back to the edge of the warrens before she modulate her pace to something more reasonable and careful. Seventy five gold! She had almost enough to join the guild and most of it was from a few odd jobs and some adventuring. It had been dangerous - but it was thrilling and gave her fodder for stories and songs. Seventy five gold. She had never felt rich before and it was a heady feeling. She turned the corner to her alleyway, checking for lurking robbers as always and stopped short. A man stood outside of Gracie's shack at the end of the row. The half ogre was talking low and furtive to him and looked upset. She kept shaking her head and gestured inside where Cardinal knew nine sleeping half-orc children lay. "You owe us, Gracie. We leave you and your kids and this street be and you haven't paid up in three months. It costs money to keep you all safe." "Washings been slow," the half-orc said somewhat desperately. "I'll get it." "You got nine little ones Gracie?" The half-orc froze, real terror crossing her features for a moment. "Yes?" "One of them could be a runner... or we need some kids to take care of the pit dogs." The way the man sneered it wasn't clear if that meant feeding the dogs or being food for the dogs. "I don't have sixty..." "You got ki-" " 'ey Gracie," Cardinal jogged up. "Sorry it took me so long to run it down. That blighter didn't want to give what 'e owed you but I convinced 'im the kids needed feedin' too." She felt in the interior pocket of her dress and pulled out the gold coins, feeling their weight in her hand with half-regret and half-hope. Gracie had been good to her. What little she had, she shared and she was a fierce and protective mother for her children. She was what little "family" Cardinal had in this part of the world. And even without that, Cardinal wasn't about to let the Syndicate or anyone else get a hold of the kids. She passed the sixty gold to the man and, as an afterthought, added one more. "To make sure the count's right." She said blandly. "Nice doin' business with ya Gracie. See ya next month." Whistling jauntily, the man headed out of the alley and Cardinal looked at Gracie. The giant half-orc had sagged against the wall and looked shaken. "Why didn't ya tell me?" "What? You can afford to help? Cardinal you've got no more than the rest of us on this row." "No..but together..." She shrugged a little "They all love your little ones, Gracie. They'll 'elp. 'ow much a month that bugger demandin'?" "Five gold." Cardinal whistled lowly and exhaled. " 'ere." She passed Gracie ten more. "I'm workin' jobs now and adventurin in addition to the busking. It seems to bring in a good 'aul. You let me stay 'here when all I had was a fiddle and a name. And...I don't want anything happening to you or the kids. Warrens folk stick together, aye?" Gracie looked at the ten gold in her hand and shame-faced, slid them into her apron pocket. "I know you're workin' to get out of here Cardinal." "Aye. But right now I'm 'ere. So.. we're 'ere together. We work together." She grinned a little slanted. " 'sides. I wouldn't feel right 'avin' all that in me pocket and you worryin' about the bratlin's. I'll get there." Gracie nodded a little and gave the much smaller woman a gruff hug before going inside. No other words would be exchanged. "And someday when I'm outta 'ere, I'm gonna get you and those littles out of 'ere too," she said to the night air. She didn't know how yet. But she'd figure it out. Bards always did.

Starting Out
Cardinal, Spring 1882

I’d spent hours trying to figure out where to set up for performing. I knew you needed a license in Novandria to perform - one of the passing musikers had explained it to me that it was five silver a week. Five silver a week. Twenty a month. Twenty for rent. I was already going to be forty out of my 100 for a month. My stomach churned at the thought. What if I couldn’t do this? What if I just starved to death on a street corner? “Better to starve than continue to live in hells,” I muttered to myself. I’d worry about next week and next month next week and next month. For now, I stomped my way up to the doors of the most noble society of bardic arts on Guild Hall row. It hadn’t taken long to figure out which house was theres - music came out the doors and windows. I looked at the sign over the door, trying to puzzle out the letters. I could make out bard easily enough but the rest didn’t make any sense. How was I ever going to become a bard if I couldn’t even read the sign? Someone behind me cleared their throat in annoyance, forcing me to step onward. That, too, was another problem for the future. “Busking license please?” I asked the clerk at the desk. The owlin looked up at me and blinked slowly. “Area?” “Uh..fiddle and voice?” I squeaked. I’d never seen an Owlin before - they weren’t typical dock workers. “Of town, my dear. We don’t particularly care what you play so long as the noise ordinances are observed.” “Oh uh…” I didn’t even know how to answer the question. “You’re new?” the owlin hrrred softly, his head swiveling almost all the way around to look at me more closely. “Ah yes. We’ve not seen you here before. I would suggest the market areas if you are so inclined. They’re populated and busy and can support more musickers than most.” “Yes, m’lord,” I had noted the metallic braids and the harp medallion dangling from them on his left shoulder and I dropped my eyes to the floor to avoid meeting his gaze. “Hm. Curious. Your name?” “Sareena Loralen, m’lord.” “Ah. Performance name?” “Performance name?” “Goodness, has no one told you a thing?” The ownlin hrred again and his feathers fluffed in irritation. “Yes. Most of the musickers choose some sort of bird moniker. I’d be insulted but its older than I am for tradition. It’s a lovely separation of your identities if you rise in rank later. Oh. You’re not even an apprentice are you?” He peered at my arms, looking for the braided cords of the bardic guild and I kept my eyes fixed on the tile floor. “Hm. No. Well. Pick one anyway. Consistency is preferred. Perhaps something for your lovely hair?” “C-cardinal?” I said softly. I tried to dispel the feeling that this was a client I was trying to please, tried to find the confidence I knew I had. But he was a master of the bardic guild and the thought that I knew nothing was still gnawing at me. “Cardinal. Excellent. Five silver please. I recommend paying weekly so you do not cut yourself short, dear.” I slid the five coin over carefully and he slid back a small gray ribbon I could pin to my clothes to mark myself as paid for the week. It had the month and week number printed on it. “When you return for next week, we will collect that before you can be given your new pass. Be sure not to lose it,” he chided. “Yes, m’lord.” He hrrred again. “Master, my dear.” I felt like I was going to throw up and nodded. Did he know? Could he see? Did he know about the Lion? I tasted bitter copper as I bit my tongue, trying not to cry. He couldn't possibly and I could tell he had no idea what he was making my thoughts turn toward. I knew what bards and guild ranks were called. Why was this bothering me so much? It was still too fresh, too new, and my embarrassment at being caught off guard was turning my anxiety into a living, breathing thing. “My apologies, Master.” If he noticed my voice quavering he didn’t say anything and he turned back to his work as I rushed out and found the nearest shrub to get sick in.

I follow fires
Cardinal

I took the bag and the new fiddle and secreted the silver into a waist belt and I bolted as fast and as quietly as I could. The docks ain’t the best area of Novandria - but at night they are downright dangerous with thieves and ne’er do wells. Not that where I was aiming for would be any better. I didn’t have much in the way of learning but I knew the city well enough. Vagabond and Mama had sent me on errands more than once. The nobles quarter was across the bridges to the east. No point in even heading that way - I wouldn’t make it past the Rooks if I tried. I headed west first, hitting the merchants quarters and the shining row of the guild houses, all lit up aglow in the night before I turned south and followed the more subtle glow of hearth fires and open fire pits in the low, squatting buildings that lay there. The Warrens is a good name for the poorest part of Novandria. It’s as easy to get lost and hurt there as it is to trip over a cobble in the road. But at this hour of night, even the Warrens would be quieter. The buildings and houses got closer together and dwindled into smaller shacks and hovels as I went but my shoulders unhitched the further I walked. If I stayed well clear of the docks, there was little chance any of the Lion’s staff would find me. I hadn’t been on my own this long ever outside of running errands. It was nearing dawn, stars spotting the horizon until the little lights blinked out and the sky turned pink. They were a comfort, like they were dancing for me but I didn’t have any time for poetry or songs right now. The Warrens was starting to come to life, poor workers trudging off to their jobs wherever they were. No one paid me any mind and I kept my hood up and my head down and clutched the fiddle case tight. I had no idea where I should even look for housing - or whatever passed for it here. There were no street merchants here or musickers - everyone here was too poor for that sort of thing and what little coin they had went to a roof and a cheap meal. I spent the entire morning just watching, looking for patterns in the movements of people, at where they went and where they came from before I managed to find a narrow alley that had small, one room “apartments.” An old half-ogress was sitting at the end on a stoop, a chicken bone stuck out of her mouth as she gnawed on it. She eyed me suspiciously. I eyed her. “You looking for something?” she growled finally when I didn’t seem to move or cause any ruckus. I guess falling into habits is easy. Sometimes not moving means not being noticed. “A..place to rent.” She nodded toward one of the shacks. “30 silver a month.” I almost agreed instantly but caught myself. Haggling. That was normal and expected. “10.” I countered, putting on my best smile. “25.” “20 and I’ll play a tune each night for your littleuns to sleep,” I could hear the babes squalling in the small house behind her. Her eyes narrowed. “You any good on that thing?” “Good enough for a lullaby.” I tried to sound confident. It must have worked because she nodded after a moment “Fine, but no scraping on that thing after sundown. These folks have to sleep too.” She held her hand out and I dug into the cloth belt under my blouse and passed the coins to her. 20 a month. Figure a few copper a day for a meal… another 5 silver for busking fees each week… it was manageable. If I was -very- good at playing I may even be able to squirrel away some money for the bardic guild fees. I tried not to think of that right now. The tiny hut was dirt floored but dry and didn’t seem to have many rat droppings. It smelled mostly of dust and must and nothing too bad. It would do - though it would be drafty as the hells in Winter and I’d have to figure out how to get a fire pot or brazier to keep warm. It was, most importantly, mine. And mine alone. And there was no Vagabond outside my door.

First night on the job (CW)
Cardinal

(Content Warning: sexual assault, abuse) I never liked the Vagabond. Not as a little, not now that I’m grown. I see the way he looks at me when Mama isn’t in the room. I know that today is my birthday and I’m an adult now, even for a half-elf. I do my chores slowly today. There’s no party to look forward to - I heard some folks do that in normal families but Mama barely wants to acknowledge I exist, let alone celebrate when I was born. I can’t really blame her given I ruined her life. The sweep of the broom on the tavern floor makes another tune start in my head and I try to focus on that instead of the gnawing pit of worry in my stomach. I’ve seen the way the Vagabond looks at me. I’ve heard him talk to Rose about how much money I’m going to bring him. Up until now, even he wouldn’t break the law on the age of majority for sex workers but tonight… I don’t think I’m going to be given the option to hide in the attic and scrape at my instrument during the late hours. Usually, my evenings are full of serving patrons ale and - if I’m very lucky - trying to memorize whatever tune the musicker for the night is playing. When it gets late enough that all the patrons are with the girls, I go up to the attic and try and re-play the tunes on my fiddle. It’s not a good fiddle - the sound box is cracked and the gut strings are worn but I can at least practice the fingering. The floor is swept. The bar is restocked for the evening. The chairs and tables are arranged. We open after noon-tide break in an hour and I try not to cringe when Rose takes my hand. “C’mon honey. Let’s get you ready.” I try not to panic. Aren’t they supposed to ask? Sex work is legal in Novandria and Eisen but its supposed to be people who choose it. I don’t. I don’t choose this! My hand is sweaty and slips out of Rose’s grip. “N-no. I don’t want to.” She just looks at me with something like pity mingled with annoyance. “You ain’t got a choice, honey. He ain’t going to feed and house and clothe you for nothing. Now c’mon. It ain’t that bad a life.” “I don’t want to,” I squeak. I try to anyway but no sound comes out and Rose takes it as assent and guides me into her room. Shouldn’t my mama be doing this? Getting me ready for my first night on display? But no, Mama is drunk and sleeping through the break again. I sit numbly as Rose curls my hair and paints my face. Most of the girls wear exaggerated make-up to cover the stress and their true ages but she puts very little on me. I’m still young and fresh-faced. She shoves me to stand and pulls off my linen shift and pulls on a frilly underskirt and corset. I’ve never worn a corset before and I grunt as she pulls the laces tight without any mercy. The dress she slides over my head is one I’ve seen before - a pale rose colored silk. It’s only used for “special” girls on special nights and my stomach clenches harder. “I’m going to be sick,” I whisper. She smacks my face hard with her hand, shocking me out of my nausea. “None of that. Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. We have a whole -guild- in Novandria.” But it’s not my guild, not my life, and I know that none of the Vagabond’s girls are actually guild members anyway. That costs too much and he would never tolerate any of the guilds messing in his affairs. Rose pulls me in front of a mirror so I can see myself, primped and painted like a whore. Because that’s what I am. In another scant few minutes I will be paraded down stairs and someone will pay the Vagabond more silver than usual for my first night. Not a bard. Not even a street busker. A whore. I can’t even bring myself to think of the words “sex worker” because that would imply I want to be here and I don’t. I don’t. I don’t. Rose looks like she might slap me again and I keep my mouth shut. She hands me a vial of something and I drink it down. All the girls drink this now - it’s the concession that the Vagabond made to our health and not having to raise another brat under foot like me. Satisfied, she leads me back downstairs. At the bottom step she seems to have a moment of sympathy and gives me a quick hug. “You’re over-thinkin’ girl. Don’t worry. It can even be fun. Just -relax-” She spins me by the shoulders and gives me a little shove so I stumble into the line where all the other girls are. The Vagabond sits in his chair at his table and looks me over with a tiny smirk. I know that look. It says it won’t be long until he visits my room. But not tonight. The inn doors open for the evening and the dock workers stumble in from a long day at work, smelling of sweat and fish and, in some cases, stale ale from where they started drinking early. Some of the “Favorites,” including my mama are snapped up pretty quick, pulled into laps with squealing laughs. At least five or six men are staring at me. I clench my jaw trying not to throw up again. They head over to the Vagabond’s table. Gods not … but I can see them haggling and realize there’s a small mercy that it will only be one of them. Eventually I see a gold piece change hands. A -gold- piece. I’ve only ever seen them when the Vagabond counts money. The rest of the girls are all staring at me with narrowed eyes now, even my mama. A gold… If I had a gold piece I could leave with my fiddle and figure it out. But I only have three or four coppers to my name. A man I don’t know is standing in front of me. He licks his lips, features ruddy with lust. He’s at least younger but he isn’t handsome. He looks like a naval officer maybe? The dock workers can’t afford a gold piece. He fumbles for my hand and hauls me up the stairs after him like an animal on a leash. I stumble, fear and dread making usually reliable limbs clumsy. There’s no preamble as he comes into my room. It’s been cleaned - or at least most of my personal belongings seem to have been shoved in a drawer somewhere. I look frantically around for my fiddle and spot it tucked under a chair. Relief hits like a wave of coolness but it goes away as quick as a jack rabbit. The sailor is offering no preamble. He pushes me on the bed and pulls the rose silk off and cuts the strings of my corset. I’ll have to pay for new string. I know that from mama. The Vagabond doesn’t give anything extra. When his hands hit my skin I jump and he laughs like he likes that I’m scared. “Ain’t nothing to worry about girl. I’ll take care of you.” But he doesn’t. There’s no kisses (don’t kiss them, Ree. Kisses are for love). There’s no gentleness. Just hands and fingers where I don’t want them. Pinches and little slaps and bruises as his fingers dig into my thighs and shoulders. And pain. I close my eyes to it, willing my mind to anywhere but here, finding solace in a bit of song. He slaps me because I’m not “doing anything and just lying there” and I learn how to pretend in that moment. After, he tosses two copper on the pillow “for my tip,” snorts how I was a shitty lay for a virgin, and stomps out while fastening his trousers. I do not go back downstairs until Rose comes in and sees me lying there crying. She rolls her eyes in exasperation, puts the dress back on me after re-lacing the corset and making me clean myself up, pockets the two copper to pay for the shredded ties, and nudges my bleary limbs back down the stairs. It’s late now, later than I realized and the floor is empty except for the Vagabond. He just smiles and takes my hand and pulls me into his room behind the bar. I’ve known him since I was head high to the tables and now I know why the girls avoid him and scuttle to his every command. I wish I didn’t. As I lay there in the dark, hurt and bruised and he laughs at my muffled sobs, I wish I didn’t know any of them at all.

Humble Beginnings

(Background Summation) Sareena’s earliest memory was of sitting at the knee of a lovely person in long skirts who let her strum the strings of the harp they were holding. She remembered the sound, the smell of lilac, and the laughter of the woman. She remembered, just as swiftly, the beating her mother gave her for bothering the downstairs entertainer and slipping out of the room she was supposed to stay in at night. Sareena’s mother, Jaira, was a prostitute in the Red Lion, a whore house near the docks in Novandria. The Lion was run by a man named The Vagabond - Sareena knew him by no other name and knew only that he was cruel and cunning and possessive. He had little tolerance for wayward brats born to his whores by accident - and even less use for ones that were too young to put to work. Sareena had no idea of who her father was - her mother never talked about him. She knew he had been at the house and that he was an elf - which is why she looked a little different than the other people. The Vagabond also preferred human girls to work in his house. The Lion was not an upscale whorehouse. It occasionally got an entertainer for the downstairs room but most of the patrons were here for cheap alcohol and cheap prostitutes. Sareena knew, from listening to the women, that her father had been a bard that had stopped by for some quick coin. He and her mother had a brief affair, and she was the result some nine months later. Sareena only knew that Jaira did not seem to care for her and she avoided her mother as much as possible. Sareena was able to get a scant bit of training in music from a variety of traveling musicians that stopped by the house. She picked up a fiddle left by a musicker because it had gotten broken. The instrument had very little tune and sounded terrible but it was a fiddle nonetheless. She had natural talent but no opportunity to learn more, or to learn much at all. Her schooling was erratic at best and sareena remains currently illiterate.She practiced as much as she could on the broken fiddle in the late hours when most of the girls and the vagabond were distracted. Her efforts were not appreciated by anyone in the household when she should have been doing chores and it earned her more than one beating from her mother and the Vagabond. Unable to read, to write the songs and stories buzzing in her head, or to really launch herself into music as she wanted, it was no wonder that when The Vagabond pushed her into employment when she was at the age of majority It didn’t go well.

Sareena Loralen

Sareena Loralen (a.k.a. Cardinal)

Physical Description

Special abilities

Apparel & Accessories

Mental characteristics

Personal history

Education

Employment

Accomplishments & Achievements

Intellectual Characteristics

Social

Contacts & Relations

Religious Views

Hobbies & Pets

Wealth & Financial state

Two Sareena Loralen-Orsei, October 1884

Aftermath Sareena Loralen-Orsei, October 1884

Enacted Sareena Loralen, September 1884

A Mockingbird's Spite Sareena Loralen, 1884

The Duke's Grace Sareena Loralen, 1884

Twisted Sareena Loralen, August 1884

Kintsugi Sareena Loralen, August 1884

Showing Off Sareena Loralen, August 1884

Not a breakthrough Sareena Loralen June, 1884

Mementos of Ghosts Sareena Loralen, June 1884

Gifts Sareena Loralen, June 1884

Close of the Day Master Bard, Sareena Loralen, May 1884

Outer Gold (part 2) Master Sareena Loralen, May 2024

Inner Gold (part 1) Sareena Loralen, May 1884

What you want

Orpheus

Could have, should have, would have been Sareena Loralen, March 1884

In the blood Sareena Loralen, March 1884

What You Know Sareena Loralen, February 1884

Back Against The Wall Cardinal, February 1884

The best laid plans Sareena Loralen, January 1884

Behind the facade Sareena Dec 1883

Journeyer Adventurer

Morning After Sareena, December 1883

The Silver Season Sareena Loralen, December 1883

A plan November 1883, Sareena Loralen

Narrowing Options Sareena Loralen, November 1883

A cunning plan Sareena Loralen, October 1883

Who do you belong to? Sareena Loralen October 1883

Cease Fire Sareena Loralen, October 1883

Time stop

Too Small Sareena Loralen September 1883

This is fine Sareena Loralen, September 1883

I need to see a man about an electric cello... Sareena Loralen Septebmer 11, 1883

The Red File Sareena Loralen, September 1883

Flowers and Ribbons Sareena Loralen, August 1883

The Celestial Sareena Loralen, July 1883

Now what? Sareena Loralen, July 1883

Interlude: The Old Guard

New Truths Sareena Loralen, July 1883

It'll be just fine Sareena Loralen, June 1883

Measure of A Man Sareena Loralen, June 1883

Honk Sareena Loralen, June 1883

Rumors Sareena Loralen, June 1883

Worth of a dream Sareena Loralen, June 1883

So far Cardinal, June 1883

No place like home Cardinal May 1883

If I just... Cardinal, May 1883

Secrets on all sides Sareena, May 1883

Elsinore Cardinal May 1883

Voice Lessons Cardinal, May 1883

What would you change? Cardinal, April 1883

A story's start Cardinal, April 1883

Sanctuary April 1883, Cardinal

Pinning A Master Cardinal, April 1883

Returning Friends Cardinal, April 1883

Moving Forward Cardinal. March 1883

Field Trip Cardinal, March

Stumbling February 1883, Cardinal

Missing Something Cardinal, February 1883

Panic Cardinal, February 1883

A little bit of glamour Cardinal, February 1883

Observations Cardinal, February 1883

Dreams too small Cardinal, January 1883

Two
Sareena Loralen-Orsei, October 1884

Aftermath
Sareena Loralen-Orsei, October 1884

Enacted
Sareena Loralen, September 1884

A Mockingbird's Spite
Sareena Loralen, 1884

The Duke's Grace
Sareena Loralen, 1884

Twisted
Sareena Loralen, August 1884

Kintsugi
Sareena Loralen, August 1884

Showing Off
Sareena Loralen, August 1884

Not a breakthrough
Sareena Loralen June, 1884

Mementos of Ghosts
Sareena Loralen, June 1884

Gifts
Sareena Loralen, June 1884

Close of the Day
Master Bard, Sareena Loralen, May 1884

Outer Gold (part 2)
Master Sareena Loralen, May 2024

Inner Gold (part 1)
Sareena Loralen, May 1884

Could have, should have, would have been
Sareena Loralen, March 1884

In the blood
Sareena Loralen, March 1884

What You Know
Sareena Loralen, February 1884

Back Against The Wall
Cardinal, February 1884

The best laid plans
Sareena Loralen, January 1884

Behind the facade
Sareena Dec 1883

Morning After
Sareena, December 1883

The Silver Season
Sareena Loralen, December 1883

A plan
November 1883, Sareena Loralen

Narrowing Options
Sareena Loralen, November 1883

A cunning plan
Sareena Loralen, October 1883

Who do you belong to?
Sareena Loralen October 1883

Cease Fire
Sareena Loralen, October 1883

Too Small
Sareena Loralen September 1883

This is fine
Sareena Loralen, September 1883

I need to see a man about an electric cello...
Sareena Loralen Septebmer 11, 1883

The Red File
Sareena Loralen, September 1883

Flowers and Ribbons
Sareena Loralen, August 1883

The Celestial
Sareena Loralen, July 1883

Now what?
Sareena Loralen, July 1883

New Truths
Sareena Loralen, July 1883

It'll be just fine
Sareena Loralen, June 1883

Measure of A Man
Sareena Loralen, June 1883

Honk
Sareena Loralen, June 1883

Rumors
Sareena Loralen, June 1883

Worth of a dream
Sareena Loralen, June 1883

So far
Cardinal, June 1883

No place like home
Cardinal May 1883

If I just...
Cardinal, May 1883

Secrets on all sides
Sareena, May 1883

Elsinore
Cardinal May 1883

Voice Lessons
Cardinal, May 1883

What would you change?
Cardinal, April 1883

A story's start
Cardinal, April 1883

Sanctuary
April 1883, Cardinal

Pinning A Master
Cardinal, April 1883

Returning Friends
Cardinal, April 1883

Moving Forward
Cardinal. March 1883

Field Trip
Cardinal, March

Stumbling
February 1883, Cardinal

Missing Something
Cardinal, February 1883

Panic
Cardinal, February 1883

A little bit of glamour
Cardinal, February 1883

Observations
Cardinal, February 1883

Dreams too small
Cardinal, January 1883

That Girl
Cardinal, January 1883

Learning
Cardinal, January 1883

Progress?
Cardinal, January 1883

Courting
Cardinal, January 1883

How I ended up in your room
Cardinal, January 1883

Winter
Cardinal, January 1883

The Rules
Cardinal, December 1882

Unmasking
Cardinal, Dec 1882

Ya wanna play?
Cardinal, December 1882

Catharsis
Cardinal Dec 1882

Don't think, just run.
Cardinal

A familiar taste of poison
Cardinal, December 1882

Reading lessons
Cardinal November 1882

Much the Same as Another (CW)
Cardinal, November 1882

Would Anyone Notice
Cardinal, November 1882

Upgrades
Cardinal, November 1882

Hollow Moon
Cardinal, Oct 31, 1882

Triggers
Cardinal, October 1882

Mosaic Stars
October 1882, Cardinal

Almost there - nope
Cardinal, October, 1882

Starting Out
Cardinal, Spring 1882