Thanks all, for the comments. I know it's been AGES, but I really do treasure each one (unimaginable amounts!) and intend to finish (sooner than later!). This bit is a little, um, darker. I'm back in a writing place after a year of really not being in one. Let me know what you do or don't like about it... this story's been plotted out in my head for a few years now, so comments aren't too likely to change the "Who Done It" bits, but it will definitely help me get there. And probably with more style! Hope you enjoy. xoxo Fenella.

Postcards From New Hope
(Or How to Grow a Woman from the Ground)

Part VIII

Orwyn accompanies Hope on the climb back to the Upper Bounds, to the Jesslaw's townhouse. Hope admits, if only inwardly, that the girl's company is a welcome distraction. The masked revelers, once a joyful curiousity, have taken a brash, almost sinister tone.

"I owe you an apology," says Orwyn. Her words come in a rush, causing Hope to turn and stare.

"Whatever for?"

"I misjudged you," confesses Orwyn.

"I should be the one apologizing. It wasn't fair to treat you as I did."

Orwyn shrugs. "Accepted. I understand that your behaviour wasn't aimed at me."

Hope grins wryly. "Yes, I would have been unforgivably horrible to any unfortunate soul that Will happened to hire. Not all of them would have the ability to win me over, mind you."

Orwyn smiles a little in return.

"Gods," says Hope after a short silence, and not without some unholy admiration. "I can't believe you followed us into the crypt."

The serving girl blushes, and smiles.

"This is good," says Hope, equal parts relief and song, uncommonly carefree. It's as if the night's events - festival and crypt - have lifted a weight from her shoulders. Hope has prepared for the tangible proof of her Mother's life and death, but the night has failed to deliver. "I could use a friend."

Hope finds that her fingers are tracing the outside petals of Strahan's rose, tucked in her hair. It's soft, almost velvet; a comfortable reminder of his quick smiles, and easier friendship. The gesture doesn't escape Orwyn's notice.

"I think he wants to be more than friends, that one."

Hope arches an eyebrow. "Strahan? He's like that with everyone. He's a player."

Orwyn makes a disbelieving noise. "He's sweet on you, Lady."

Hope laughs self-consciously. "Not likely."

Orwynn reaches up to touch the flower in Hope's hair. "Where did this come from, then? It really does spell an entire realm of indifference and loathing."

Hope's about to rebuff Orwyn's foolishness when the large wooden door of the Jesslaw's townhouse springs alive, opened from the inside. Will freezes, mid-step, on the front stoop; one foot swaying dangerously, mid-air, mouth agape. His eyes swing slowly between the two girls, Hope smiling sweetly, and Orwyn's hastily retreating hand.

"I thought," begins Will, choosing his words with delicate precision, and stops to clear his throat. "I'm glad to see that you're getting along."

Hope continues to smile and slings an arm around the other girl's shoulders, the way she's seen Strahan do, in a familiar gesture. "Orwyn is the loveliest," she says.

Will continues down the steps, fidgeting with his suit-coat as he goes. He brushes the bridge of Hope's nose with his index finger, like he would have when she was nine, and teases, "I'm so glad I have a son."

ttt

A silence stretches from the South, across days and weeks. The mystery of the bones from the canal site fades, and gives way to newer stresses and daily excitements. Jasson's mages prove to be a wealth of information and their presence begins to creep further into the city, met by a cautious acceptance.

The result is promising; structures are built upward, taller, and with more efficiency; the inhospitable soil slowly gives way to richer crops, and the canal is slowly filled with rocking boats, battling the winds and whitecapping waters. A festival celebrates the end of construction on the waterway, and the smell of fish begins to permeate land and air.

Kel works her way through the crowd of familiar faces, lit by lanterns and the last light of the day. There is evident pride, widespread, over New Hope's hard, steady, work paid in dividend. She stops to talk, share a joke or smile though she can feel the pull of Lerant's steady gaze.

Lerant is tucked to the side of the sloped market square, deep in conversation with the Prince. When Kel glances over, as she attempts to inch closer, Lerant's stare inevitably is there to meet her own, and his mouth curls into a smile.

"Hi," says Kel when she at last reaches Lerant and Jasson.

Lerant's grin stretches indefinitely.

Jasson looks between his companions, and decides his presence is unnecessary. Downing the last swallow of ale in his tankard, he clasps Kel on the shoulder.

"Nice work, Sir," he says, giving her his most charming Conté smile. "This is a thankless posting for you, the rest of us, and well beyond the sight of the realm. I want to assure that the Crown is both grateful and proud of your work."

Kel watches Jasson's retreating back disappear into the crowd.

"I want to strangle him," she says between gritted teeth, and turning back towards Lerant.

"Yes," says Lerant quietly, and he bends to kiss Kel on the mouth. "But not as much as you did a month ago."

"No," she admits, wrapping her arms around his neck, fingers tangling in the ends of his hair.

Kel is surprised when Lerant steps back from their kiss, takes her hands in his own. She raises her eyebrows expectantly, and waits for him to gather his words.

"I have a question for you," he says slowly, and Kel's heart skips a beat in response to his voice.

She licks her dry lips, Lerant's eyes following the movement. "What is it?" she asks.

"I was going to wait," Lerant breaks off. "I love you, Kel."

Kel smiles. That's not a question. "I love you too."

Lerant nods, eyes bright with excitement, apprehension, something.

"Will you marry me?"

It's Kel that steps back this time, her smile faltering. She wonders in the split second that follows, a moment she'll remember for the rest of her life, how those four words can leave her more beaten the the worst fall, strongest lance or most brutal sword; how the words of one man can carry so much expectation.

None of the agonizing conversation that ensues can compare to the look that settles on Lerant's face in that brief moment.

ttt

Will and Jocelyn surprise Hope by inviting her to accompany them to the fourth night of the Hollyroses. Jocelyn spends the day fussing over gowns for her ward, and takes the time to braid the ribbons into Hope's hair herself.

"I remember seeing your Mother once, when I was little," admits Jocelyn while her hands are busy, weaving ribbon and hair. "She brought her mount to be reshoed by my father."

Hope is surprised both by the softness of the moment, and that Jocelyn has never mentioned it before.

"She brought a basket of apples by way of thanks. In truth, we should have been thanking her - my father started losing business to the farrier cross-town when news spread that I was gifted. My parents adored her."

Hope turns to look Jocelyn square in the eyes. "Do you know who my father is?"

"Oh my love," sighs the older woman. With her usual flair for the dramatic removed, Jocelyn looks tired, though more beautiful for the lines around her eyes and mouth. "If I did, I'd tell you. Though I'm sometimes glad I don't."

Hope presses the point, "But you must have suspicions."

Jocelyn gently turns Hope's head to face forward, and ties the end of the length of ribbon, before starting on a new braid. "It's almost as if your mother went out of her way to start rumours, so no one could say for certain."

"There surely must of been one man she favoured over the others?"

"Yes," says Jocelyn. "She courted a man belonging to the King's Own for a considerable amount of time. But that was years before you were ever born. They were apparently quite besotted."

"Do you think she loved him?"

"I imagine she did."

"What about my father, do you think she loved him?"

"I don't know, Hope. Do you think she did?"

Hope shrugs, pulls at the gold and ruby locket around her neck. "Maybe. She loved me."

"Well obviously," teases Jocelyn, and envelopes Hope in a sisterly embrace. "Turn around so I can finish your hair, else Will may leave without us, and trade us for a new family altogether!"

"Yes Mam," retorts Hope.

ttt

Lerant will resign from the Own, he says. He wants to raise their children.

This is a problem, says Kel, because she doesn't have plans to be a mother.

Lerant tries to take it back; he loves her, things can stay the same.

Kel shakes her head. He will still want those things. Someday Lerant will meet a girl whom he will love, who will want those things too.

Lerant closes his eyes and wishes this nightmare gone.

They agree to stay together, a couple as they have been, until the Own leaves New Hope. It's inevitable, but each day stretches into a year, and each touch lasts longer than the one before. Even Neal learns to knock before barging into Kel's office in the guard house.

"I'll never love anyone like I love you," are the words that Lerant kisses into Kel's skin.

ttt

The fourth Hollyrose is much busier and more extravagant than the one that she and Strahan had illicitly attended only days before. Hope's own dress and gown are among the finest.

Will and Joclyn are swept up by the tide of dancers, moving in a current from one side of the yard to the other, beneath the strings of coloured lights. Orwyn and Hope are left by one of the bronze fountains, staring at each other from beneath their respective masks.

"What now?" asks Orwyn.

"I'm supposed to meet Strahan in the manor in a few minutes," admits Hope.

Hope can see Orwyn twitching with impatience. "Hope! Milady. I can't let you do that. Lord and Lady Jesslaw will be worried, not to mention furious if you disappear."

"Which is why we need to switch gowns and masks..."

Orwyn's eyebrows appear over the top of her mask. "That will not be happening."

Hope giggles, then laughs. "I'm only kidding. Calm down and enjoy the party."

It's two full hours later before Orwyn is relaxed enough to leave Hope's side, and dance with young man in a blue, striped tunic and a yellow mask. It's a decision that Orwyn regrets when she returns to find Hope tight-lipped and withdrawn.

"What's wrong?" asks Orwyn for the fourth time, and still she is met with no meaningful response.

Hope shakes her head. "I'll tell you when we get home."

But when Will and Jocelyn, tipsy with wine and merriment appear ready to leave in the early hours of the morning, they bid Orwyn to go home - for her to accompany them to their townhouse and return to Lower Town is pointless. Will offers to walk her home, even, but with an apologetic look to Hope, she declines.

ttt

When news from Corus arrives, finally, it's in the form of two people (plus accompanying squires and riding party) that Kel - under any other circumstances - would have been thrilled to see.

"Don't tell me," jokes Merric, starring between Prince Roald and Lady Alanna. "That you're the only two messengers who were available."

Neal coughs dryly, as the joke falls flat into a deep silence. "Well that must have been a fun trip."

Which is when Prince Jasson steps forward. "Brother, Aunt! Welcome."

Roald smiles at his youngest brother, while Alanna looks for Kel. "We should talk."

"Yes, of course. I apologize, if I'd known you were coming, we would have prepared an appropriate welcome."

Roald shakes his head, and asks if there is time to meet, immediately.

Despite Alanna's insistence that the personnel involved be on a need-to-know basis only, Kel's office is packed tightly with knights, mages and commanding officers of the King's Own.

Lady Alanna clears her throat. "The first piece of business is that the King's Own are being called away, effectively immediately to flooding farmlands in Corus' grain belt - the company can no longer be spared."

Kel avoids looking at Lerant, who is present at Roald and Alanna's request for the second item on the agenda, and instead looks at Dom. He looks apologetic, but his shoulders are squared with instinct, much like a dog would point at a duck flapping around a shallow pool of water, Kel can't help but think.

She nods, "Continue."

"This next bit is a little more, ah, complicated," beings Roald. "It's regarding the records you requested."

Alanna takes the pause in Roalds speech as an opportunity to stare down every individual in the room, "Please know that this is extremely sensitive information. If you have a problem with discretion, leave now, or I will personally castrate you at a later date. Which you may find inconvenient."

"The date, or the castration?" asks Neal.

"What?" asks Dom.

"Which one will will I find inconvenient?" stresses Neal.

"Both." Alanna smiles wolfishly at her former squire.

Neal pretends to consider. "Ok, I accept your terms." He turns to Roald, "Continue."

Roald smiles, a thin smile that reminds Kel of Wyldon of Cavall. "According to the last census and land survey done in the final years of my grandfather, the late King Roald's reign, there was a small village situated on this land. Part of a larger network of nomadic hunting villages."

Tresler's eyebrows shoot upward in consternation. "You're not suggesting that these people hunted other people. Are you?"

Alanna rolls her eyes at Jasson's mage. "No. I do remember, though, in Maren-"

"Eugh," says Jasson, with the look of someone who knows where Alanna's story is headed.

"- No, we're not." Roald interrupts both the Champion and his brother abruptly, and Alanna briefly looks annoyed. "It's no less horrifying, what I'm about to suggest. After the Coronation Revolt, there is no record of anyone living in this region of Tortall."

"So, what?" asks Merric. "They left? Where did they go?"

Roald sighs. "What if they didn't leave?"

There's a beat of silence in which Kel looks between Alanna and Roald. "Is there any evidence to support what you're suggesting?"

"What are you suggesting, exactly?" asks Neal.

Alanna grimaces. "When Jonathan used the Dominion Jewel to quell the uprising, he called on the power of the land. You can't harness power from nothing - there's always give and take."

"It hurt all corners of the country," nods Jasson. "It caused drought and famine in some places."

Roald inclines his head. "Places with much more hospitable terrain than the North."

"But there are only men's skeletons," says Merric evenly. "Where are the women, if this was a village?"

"It's only a theory, of course," says Roald.

There's a grim silence before Dom speaks out. "What I want to know, is how this has anything to do with my men, and why Eldorne has been called here."

Alanna and Roald exchange a glance. It's Alanna who turns to address Lerant.

"Your Aunt, Delia."

"Yes," Lerant doesn't speak so much as growl.

"She has apparently come forward to say that she has relevant information."

Lerant laughs bitterly. "Come forward in her cell? What does this have to do with me? I have no desire to speak with or know my Aunt. She's a traitor to my country."

Roald speaks, apologetically. "She's saying she'll only speak to you, or your sister."

The silence is deafening, and Kel feels her eyes dragged to Lerant's face. He looks young, and ancient, and scared.

"You don't have to do it," says Kel. "It's your choice." She wants him to say no, to tell Alanna and Roald to go jump of the mountain pass.

Of course, that's not what he says.

"One more thing," says Roald turning to his younger brother.

"What else could there possibly be," snaps Kel, and Neal gives her a look.

Alanna removes a pouch from her belt and throws it at Jasson, who catches it without any hesitation. It lands in his opened palm with a thump, and as his fingers curl around the soft velvet he frowns.

Neal looks between Alanna and the youngest Prince, his eyes wide, and whistles softly.

"That's not the-"

Kel interrupts curtly. "Don't be daft, Neal, of course it is."

ttt

Once she's in the safety of her room, Hope removes the heavily feathered mask from her face, and drops it on her bed. Without taking off her gloves, she removes the object that she'd tucked into the bust of her dress, hours earlier, at the Hollyrose festivities.

When Orwyn had left her side, Hope had been approached by a petite woman, with a simple feline mask. Her clothes had been less ornate than Hope's own, though beautifully tailored. The woman had quietly said her name, and after a moment of hesitation, Hope had nodded. Upon confirmation, the woman had pressed something into her hands and smiled kindly, before disappearing into the night.

Hope would think that she's imagined the entire thing, except for the second time in as many hours, she has unwrapped the simple black cloth to reveal what she suspects to be nothing less than the Dominion Jewel.

Fenella '11