Youngest of the Sun

Apparently, it was someone’s birthday. Or … several someone’s?

Even as a Denerim native, Esme had less than zero interest in the current king’s Antivan bride – or her somehow even more Antivan sister. And yet. The sight of the castle all lit up and festooned with banners was enough to wake homesickness in even her cynical heart. They’d only meant to be passing through the city on their way south for a wyvern hunt.

It was foolish to attend, she knew that. Someone might recognize her from her misadventures three years ago. Or – worse yet – she might encounter some agent of her parents. Word would make it back to them, regardless. Esme planned to be gone by then, with any and all luck.

“I wonder what they did with my tibia?” She shifted in her chair, stretching out her prosthetic leg. On her left foot, she wore a dainty, beaded slipper. The right she’d left uncovered, a bare blade of spring steel etched with softly glowing lyrium. “Burned it and all the rest, I suppose.” Such a strange thought, that oh, about fifteen percent of her was dead years ago. Possibly the rest of her was too – legally speaking. Was there a Lachance grave with only a leg and foot in it, somewhere in this city? Esme wrinkled her nose and drained her glass of watered down, too-fancy wine. It had bubbles, at least. That was novel.

They sat at a small table on the highest floor, overlooking the festivities in the ballroom. The conversations and music below carried up as a mingled dull rumble. You could sort of pick out the important people by how much space was left around them, their bright clothes and the gleam of some gold or jewel catching the light. The commoners outnumbered them and the guard too, drab earth tones blurring together, no doubt praising the king for his generosity as they filled their bellies with rich foods at the feasting tables. Stomachaches and hangovers all around, come morning.

“Security seems … Well. What is your professional opinion, Byrne?” Esme nudged his boot with her foot. She was glad they weren’t working this time.

It was strange thing. Being here for the first time and it still being a clear return. Not just for Esme who was from here, and apparently lost her leg here, but Also it was the first time Caro had been out and about since the job went sideways. He'd been mostly inside and mostly just with her. He was sure he could handle it, but the thought of speaking and lying in public again made his mouth dry just now. He opened and closed it like a fish, almost missing her question.

“A tibia?” He said, his mouth agast.”it's much too large to make a necklace out of, and not as flashy as a pelvis or skull. None of the scrimshaw applications of a rib bone either.” Her answer was probably the correct answer, Not enough blood magic in ferelden to make keeping it meaninful. “Perhaps the festooned to the handle of a oar or rudder and some mariner out there is sailing the channels with your tibia even now?” Burned to ashes, had to be, only thing that made sense but what can you say. Esme didn't seem the type to be sentimental about her maiming but she had every right to be wistful. Caro had heard stories of amputees having clenched there muscles prior to losing a limb and being eternally unable to unclench their fist. Agonizing and nonsensical endless torment. He rarely mentioned her loss, and never without her bringing it up. He didn't even know where to start.

The crowd was delightfully mixed among all classes. Seemingly very little thought of assassination or even personal station. Just people meeting people, or pushing past people to get to the food, which in Caro's opinion was just about the right play. People would be here all night, but the choicest of cuts would go fast, as would the finer wines. “Security is either quite sophisticated or nonexistent as far as I can tell.” He looked back at her across his shoulder as a guard slipped by on his way to the food tables. “People either know better or just plain don't want to cause a mess.” he said before adding “Hopefully at least. We'll” he smiled, “Lets get a drink while we can yes?”

“I thought they only did that kind of thing with whale bones.” Esme winced, trying to banish Caro’s macabre suggestion of oar handles. Somehow it was worse to think about than her initial curiosity had been, though it was difficult to quite pinpoint why. Consent, perhaps? From an anonymous preserved specimen – at the worst, in her family’s possession – to a complete stranger’s stolen art piece. Ah, but all of this was immaterial in the greater scheme of things, and put away with only a little lingering dread. She’d only one tibia left, after all, and fervently hoped that she’d never see it without its skin on.

“Another one, you mean?” Shrugging, Esme drained her glass and pushed up from the table. “As you like.” She took Caro’s left arm, allowing him to steady her weaker side a little as they made their way down the many, many stairs. Stealing the occasional slantwise glance, she watched him for signs of discomfort with an interest that perhaps went beyond his recent injury. Starkhaven had changed things in ways she was still feeling out. The only conclusion that Esme had arrived at: she suspected that Byrne wasn’t scared of her anymore. And that was good — even if she could not say why there had been fear in the first place.

“It does seem the cushier job either way.” She said, returning to their earlier conversation about guarding the royal birthday party. Maybe they could do with some cushier jobs for a little while – Esme was tired of being up to her elbows in the blood of her friends. The crowded ballroom had grown much more intimidating when viewed at the bottom of the stairs; she preferred it when she’d only been able to see the tops of peoples’ heads.

“Well. See you later.” Esme crept around the edges of the room toward the banquet tables, lingering until she could snag enough choice delicacies to fill a tiny plate. She ate quickly and ignored conversation around her to the point of rudeness. Any moment someone was sure to recognize her. At the very best, she would be thrown out of the palace for sure.

But it did not happen, even though she spotted at a distance several people she recognized among the partygoers. After some time, she gave up – they were only in Denerim for the night and it would be foolish to spend it crouched in the shadows. Esme went looking for Caro again.

“Do you dance at all, Byrne?” She said, transparently waiting to be asked in return.