SWORDPOINT DIPLOMACY 30

CHAPTER 30

"That smells intriguing," Marcel said pointedly as they walked past the mess tent for the second time. It smelled edible, at least, and he was famished.

Kian didn't glance at it. "It does, doesn't it." His pace didn't slow. "Lord Karitta is ready to depart, but we are not." His tone was as bland as if that noble ponce hadn't stolen an hour from him. "I just arrived and it seems likely I will depart again tonight, so I need to prepare my kit." He sighed. "I expect you may be coming with me, and your kit seems minimal."

Marcel pursed his lips. "I could use something for water." His engraved water canister has been confiscated.

Kian grunted. "I'll find you a pilgrim bottle."

…Marcel blinked. "A what?"

There was a heavy sigh. "Either leather or a dried gourd." His tone went wry. "The tent we need is up there, I think. See the red sigil? Remember that."

"The red thing means supplies," Marcel repeated obediently. He squinted at it.

"Red thing," Kian repeated. He shook his head. "A fox rampant. Please do not refer to it as a red thing in mixed company."

Marcel kept his lips closed and promised absolutely nothing. Kian made it sound like he'd get an interesting reaction if he did that.

Kian sighed again. He held open the tent flap with one arm- and paused in the entry. Marcel nearly walked into his back. He leaned over Kian's shoulder to see what had stopped the officer in his tracks.

"Oh, hello," Marcel said to the child scrambling to get down from his seat on the table. "Found your knight?"

"Yes, sir," said Avoie. "But she's busy now, so I came to collect some effects." He gave Kian a shifty glance as he pretended he'd never been on the table. Kian took another step into the tent, far enough ahead that Marcel could see him frowning slightly at the squire.

Avoie brushed off the front of his pants and blinked as he seemed to see Marcel in full. His chin bobbed as he gave Marcel a visual examination. "Oh, you got your sword back from the blacksmith already?"

"Yes," Marcel said, injecting as much satisfaction as possible into his voice. "It's as good as new."

Avoie gave him a sunny smile. "That's good, then." He cleared his throat . "Hullo Kian."

Marcel blinked. "You're acquainted?" He gestured between the two. A twenty-something officer and a 14 year old page didn't seem like they'd be in the same social circles. "How do you know each other?"

Avoie blinked twice and frowned slightly. "Well, Kian's my brother, isn't he?" There was something a little defensive in his tone. His posture shifted.

They didn't look anything alike. Even their coloring was wrong- Kian had silver hair like one of Marcel's cousins, and Avoie's hair was nearly black.

Marcel wanted to react, but he carefully locked any surprise down. It seemed like a sensitive subject. Kian was certainly a lot less languid to see him in a room with his little brother. There was a subtle tension in Kian's shoulders and neck that made Marcel want to step carefully.

"I didn't know that," he said cheerfully. "He's been my guide around, does he always keep you busy too?"

It was the right tactic to take. Avoie relaxed. "Yes," he complained, pitch turning ever so slightly nasal. "He's forever telling me what to do."

"Because you keep leaving your shoes in the mess hall," Kian said blandly. He finally took the last few steps into the tent and therefore let Marcel inside as well. He took that as a good sign.

That meant he had a better view of the squire when Avoie turned pink and crossed his arms. "That was two times."

"Two times is a lot of times to leave your shoes in the mess hall," Marcel said, because he liked trouble. He furrowed his brow in faux concern.

"One time is a lot of times to chip your sword on a rock," Avoie shot back.

Oh, yes. Marcel shot Kian a sheepish look. He'd had to make up some kind of lie about why he had none.

Kian laughed for the first time in Marcel's hearing.

He put his hands up defensively. "Alright, alright," Marcel cried, a smile tugging at one side of his mouth. "I won't speak further of your bare feet."

"Socked feet," Kian filled in. "The washerwoman made him wash them himself, so that he'd be mindful of how much work he was creating."

"Stop!" Avoie whined, elbowing his brother. "Anyway, don't scold me. I'm here for a reason."

"You're here because the Princess is busy meeting notables," Kian said, utterly disinterested. He elbowed Avoie back, out of the way. "You're here to stuff your mouth with hardtack, gremlin beast."

"Am not," Avoie lied.  There were white crumbs on his collar.

Kian gave him a judgemental look. "That's vile," he said, grabbing a portion of said vile substance and wrapping it up in rough cloth. "Go to the mess tent and get hot food."

"I said I'm not eating it," Avoie said, obviously annoyed.

'They're definitely siblings. I see it now.'

"Liar," Kian said, tying his portion up. He tucked the square into his hip pouch and then gave Marcel a meaningful look.

Oh. Marcel took an uncertain step forward and then squinted at the hardtack, trying to judge what was better.

"I like the salt," Avoie sulked, apparently giving up the lie. "Here, Maurice, take this."

"Thank you," he said, relieved. He ignored the sharp look that Kian gave him.

"They're all the same," Kian said, and was promptly ignored.

"Is there spare fabric?" Marcel looked around.

Avoie snickered. "Spare fabric? Who are you, the king? Fabric is expensive." He blew hair out of his face. "What happened to yours?"

"Lend him yours," Kian sighed. "Ask for a replacement from the Princess." He went over to a stack of boxes and started shifting them around, opening lids and digging around.

"Fine, fine." Avoie produced a dubiously clean length of fabric for the inside of his shirt. Kian ignored the panicked look that Marcel sent him.

"Here."

Marcel barely caught the oblong leather missile. He held it up with a frown to examine what was apparently his new water vessel.

'Mine was nicer,' he thought mournfully. 'Am I going to get it back?'

He'd ask if he got the chance, but he had a suspicion that Rose would have no memory of it. She'd stripped them all of everything metal or possibly dangerous, and presumably forgot those things all existed.

'I'm starting to wonder how well we'd do with this war without any marriage…'

He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of going back on his plan with Rose, but pushed it down into his gut. This wasn't about his personal feelings, and they weren't friends. His task was to do what was best for his country. And now Rose was the head of a war machine pointed at his country, not an underdog. Could she control that situation? She hadn't been able to execute her own plan to get one man out of a military camp. How well would people listen if she called for peace? The King has been young and died suddenly - there would be questions even if there had been no foul play.

Deserved or not, the King had been killed. If that came out… There might well be dissent even if the facts were never confirmed. What if Rose's aunt, cousin, or brother challenged her for authority? The aunt, at least, was well-established.

Allying with Rose might be a very bad decision, in light of a likely succession conflict.

'We were struggling against her father, but he was experienced and respected. If she doesn't even want to wage war, we may genuinely be able to come out on top.'

Marcel kept up a pleasant attitude as Kian finished getting them ready for travel and led the way back to Rose's tent, Avoie in tow. He was preoccupied weighing the factors.

It would infuriate his parents to have their hand forced by him declaring he'd wed Rose. Was it worth it, under these circumstances? Honestly…

'Even if they manage to keep things quiet, we could do a lot to undermine their war effort by spreading the information that she killed her Father. Regicide… They wouldn't be able to wage war.'