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rainbowfic2016-05-25 04:08 pm
wallwalker) wrote in rainbowfic2016-05-25 04:08 pm
Chestnut 4, Color Party 10, Blackstar 2
Name: Wallwalker
Story: All's Fair in War and Confidence pt 2
Colors: Chestnut 4 (Signpost); Color Party 10 (Harlequin); Blackstar 2 (Blue Jean, got a camouflaged face and no money)
Supplies and Styles: None
Word Count: 2920
Rating: SFW, no warnings
Summary: Ricard and Kel arrive in Silvan to search for their partner at a big social event, but there are a few surprises in store.
Everything was bright in the streets of Confortola. The paint, the stonework, the clothes on the smiling crowds... even the signposts had been gilded with silver, a wasteful show of wealth. Ricard had not expected a city on the verge of war to look so beautiful and new.
He tugged at his collar for a moment, pulling it free of his sweating neck, then pulled his cap down further to block the sun from his eyes. He was ten seconds away from taking off that ridiculous velvet jacket and tossing it into the nearest fountain; he might actually be able to stand to wear it if it were wet. It might've been completely in character for him to do so; Rus did not have summers near as warm as those in Silvan. But it unquestionably would've drawn too much attention to himself and his supposed servant, and that might wind up being fatal.
As if he didn't draw too much attention already, he thought. He was a dandy, and all of the reassurance in the world from Kel and her friends that this was in fact very fashionable was completely lost on him. He even had a damned feather in his cap, and it was big enough to keep drooping over his face, and it tickled his nose and drove him absolutely out of his mind. He'd been to a social affair or two in Pervenche, thanks to his mother's money and his father's aspirations, but they had been more somber affairs; he looked better in the subdued blues and silvers of home than he did in purple velvet and saffron linen.
Why couldn't Kel have worn the ridiculous clothes? She'd look right at home in this getup. If she'd known even a word of Russi, he would've gladly given her the clothes and kept his mouth shut for a week. But she didn't, and so she was the one with the scarf tied around her mouth; Ricard could not shake the feeling that she was laughing at him every chance she got, and he couldn't even prove it.
She was right, though. No one had looked twice at them. Most of the Silvan population were dressed more appropriately for the weather in light silks and linens, and both men and women wore white flowers in their hair; he had caught sight of a few others in velvet, but had kept his head down, not wanting to be caught up in a long conversation that he'd only half-understand. But nowhere in this city had he seen a single soldier's uniform, and that was the most puzzling thing of all.
The dance wouldn't begin for hours, and sleeping on that ship had been all but impossible. He was definitely not ready to go dancing at this rate. “We need a place to sleep,” he said, looking at Kel. “Any ideas?”
She nodded, and he let himself fall just behind, let her take the lead.
--
There were plenty of places to stay in the city, but Kel had directed them well out of their way to a particular house. He watched as she silently negotiated with him for payment, trying not to be openly amused at watching the two sign and pantomime at each other; the person at the counter was also wearing a scarf, this one an obnoxiously bright green.
After some scribbling on paper, and a bit more signing, Kel turned to him, and he caught her rolling her eyes a bit as she gave him the terms. He scanned over them; he'd seen enough invoices to know one when he saw one. And this one at least seemed somewhat fair.
He nodded and started to reach for his money pouch, and then stopped himself, playing it off as brushing a stray bit of fluff from his jacket. Kel's eyes smirked as she took the paper back and handed it back to the servant, along with a few well-worn Russi coins. The servant bowed in thanks, handing them a key on a large metal ring before disappearing into the back. Ricard caught the sound of a loud snore as the door opened and closed; that explained one mystery, at least.
Neither of them dared break their silence until they were in their room, lying side-by-side on a large, fancy bed that had been meant for him alone. They had a small cot for the servant, and that was more than they usually received. A strange custom, that one.
"You forgot the money thing!" Kel had a gift; she still managed to taunt him even in a whisper, giving her heavily-accented Silvan the sing-song tone that never failed to make him grin. "I knew you were gonna forget the money thing!"
"Yes. Yes, I know." Speaking a language he didn't practice often was hard enough. Speaking it with an accent from another language that he didn't know well was even harder, and that was enough reason for him to practice before the dance that night, even when no one could hear them. It was a damn good thing he had never had trouble with languages, considering how often their tricks revolved around him being able to fool someone into thinking he was someone else. "I should work on that detail. Hopefully it will not be a particularly telling one."
"You sound like an old book," she said, making a face. But her scrunched-up forehead smoothed out quickly as it had come. "I hope she's there. I mean, if she's not, what are we going to do? It's all gonna be for nothing."
"Hey," he said, reaching up to tap her on the nose. "Did I not tell you not to worry? Our Sandrine will not let us down. I am sure she will be there, even if she is a mere servant."
"A servant? No way. She's probably the one running the show." The thought made her smile, at least. "I mean... she has to be alive, or none of this makes sense. I just keep worrying. It's hard to stop."
"I know. I really do. Try to sleep, Kel - I can stay awake a few hours longer."
"Don't worry about that." She yawned, stretching herself out. "I gave the servant an extra copper to ring the door bell and wake us for the dance tonight. We'll be fine."
Ricard had thought this scenario through a thousand times while they were trying to sleep on the ship. He played it over again in his mind now, as Kel curled up against him and started to doze off. Maybe Kel was right, and she would be there as a noblewoman, perhaps even the one who was running the show, as she'd put it. But he knew - and no doubt she knew as well - that it would be far easier for her to blend in as one of the indentured, invisible and speechless. She had his gift for languages, but she was easily the most careful of the three as well. He knew she wouldn't take unnecessary risks.
Surely she was going to be all right. Surely. This could not be a setup, he told himself; why would they go to such lengths to attract them to another country that cared nothing for them? He didn't have an answer for any of it. And he didn't think he was going to have one until they saw Sandrine again. It was best to do what they had come here to do, and sleep for as long as they could.
---
"Hurry up, Rick!" Kel whispered as he worked on his makeup. "We've got to be on time for this one!"
"I will be ready soon," he whispered back, brushing the last of the powder against his swarthy face. The shaving had been more difficult than this, but smooth skin was apparently the fashion in Silvani society, and he'd come a long way to attend this party. Finding a powder dark enough to fit his face had been the difficult part. "Besides, is it not more fashionable to be late?"
"Not to this one! Didn't you read the invitation? They're gonna lock us out if we don't get there in time!"
Hm. He had forgotten that. "All right," he said, putting the brushes down. "I think I am ready, anyway."
"Good," she hissed. She'd been on edge ever since the bells had woken them - thank goodness the innkeeper and his servant had done that, because if they'd slept any later he would not have had time to get ready! He had to look convincing, and Kel knew that; he would not have come so far to a dance without wanting to prepare properly. Not this man.
He placed the brushes back in their pouch and tucked it into a pocket of his velvet surcoat. "All right," he said. "Let us see if Silvani society is as fascinating as they claim."
Kel nodded, getting back into character, and led him down the stairs and out of the inn, with only a brief nod to the innkeeper's servant.
Ricard stayed close to her, ruminating over the night's work, and over his cover. He'd already imagined this man's life, based on the tiny bits of background that Kel and her contact had given him. Second son of a merchant, well-off but bored with the mercantile life, he was here to try to find something else for himself. His wanderlust and taste for worldly pleasure hadn't endeared him to his father, nor to the older brother who stood to inherit the old man's fortune; perhaps that was why they had mutually decided to leave him nothing of their business. But for now he had his own connections and his own sources of money, though they were not always entirely honest. He'd find something better than a trader's life.
It would have been nice if he could've included a young, attractive lover in his fantasy, since this man would've certainly collected a following of young ladies given the chance, but there were too many practical problems with the idea of trying to pass Kel off as a guest; she didn't have much of a gift for accents, and being a servant allowed her to pass nearly unnoticed into places where he would not have been welcome.
Odd, he thought wryly, that he felt most alive when he was living someone else’s life.
The estate loomed before them soon enough as they moved through the streets, watching others in fancy dress move with them, laughing and joking together. He did his best to relax, smiling as people nodded at him; so far he hadn't seen anyone in Russi fashion, not here. That made him a novelty, but it also meant that he wouldn't be challenged by anyone who claimed to be a native of his country, one less thing he needed to worry about.
He could see the guards at the gate, dressed in pale blue decorated with gold, with a veil attached to their helmets that covered everything but their eyes. Ricard couldn't see any weapons, but doubted that he was meant to see them; their clothes were billowy enough to conceal them, in stark contrast with the guests whose invitations they were checking.
"I feel overdressed," he muttered under his breath in Russi. Kel glanced up at him, but he just shook his head. He didn't think it would be so far beyond the pale for him to say that -
"Sir."
He turned, found himself looking into another guard's green eyes. They were certainly striking, if only because that was the only part of their face that he could see. "Yes, may I be of service?" he answered, as politely and as quickly as he could.
"I need to see your invitation, sir," the guard answered. A woman, he thought - the uniform made it difficult to tell, but the high-pitched voice was quite possibly a woman's voice. Maybe he could move this along more quickly with a few kind words, he thought, although he'd have to be careful; if he was wrong he might get himself into more trouble than it was worth.
"Of course," he said, smiling widely and reaching into his pocket to extract it. "I'd be delighted to assist my host's charming -"
She didn't listen to his attempt at flirtation, just took the invitation as soon as he held it out to her. One glance, and then she looked back at him, her eyes narrowing. "Do you take us for fools, merchant?"
He raised his hands, stepping back a bit. Kel was going stiff with alarm and fear beside him, although she kept her head down. She was preparing to attack the guard, or to flee, but Ricard tried to stay relaxed. This was no time for either. "Of course not," he said, with as mild a note of offense as he could manage to give without being overtly insulting. "This was given to me by a good friend of mine who was unable to attend. A good, trusted friend -"
"This is a forgery," she said flatly. "I would be more cautious about accepting gifts in the future."
"Ah," he said, stalling for time as his mind raced. What should he do? What would this man do? "Ah, there are such scoundrels in this world! I hope with all my heart that he was bamboozled as well, for that would be kinder than deliberate trickery."
"That's none of my concern," she said. "But I will need to know everything about your friend, and about the manner in which you received this gift, if you mean to sleep in a bed tonight and not in a prison cell."
He closed his eyes, sighing heavily and theatrically, covering up his own worries. He had no doubt that they could escape from her, once they were away from the crowd - if they could get away. Kel could knock her out, and then the two of them could ditch their outfits and get away... but then they'd have to find another cover to enter the city, and they'd both be wanted by the guards and would have to be extra cautious. Being brought in for questioning about a nonexistent friend, while not an attractive prospect, was preferable to being marked as criminals... and Ricard was sure he could spin an attractive enough story to keep them searching for a while. "Very well," he said, with one last longing look at the estate, where the guests were laughing and flirting with each other. "Of all the piteous fates to befall me! I will tell you whatever I can."
"Very good." She gave him a curt nod, pointed back down the street to a small building. "Let's not waste any time; I'll take your statement there. You and your servant must come with me."
"Of course," he answered. "Lead the way."
She didn't answer, but instead of leading the way she fell back to walk beside him. Kel, on his other side, glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow and clenching her fist before glancing back at the guard. He shook his head very slightly - not yet - as the three of them walked to the indicated house.
The guard waited behind them as they walked in, and then Ricard heard the sound of clicking locks and jangling keys as she secured the door. "There," she said, and he turned to see her staring at him, eyes narrowed. "We won't be disturbed here."
Oh, no. He'd been an idiot. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
She didn't answer, but began to approach them slowly and deliberately, reaching down to her belt. There was a weapon there, there had to be. He stepped back, taking stock; there was a table and a few old chairs, but not much else. He could grab one of the chairs, but she was probably faster than he was; still, if he could distract her....
Kel snorted, and he looked down at her in amazement as she started to dissolve into delighted laughter. "Sandy!" she managed between laughs, putting one hand on the table to steady herself. "Don't scare us like that!"
The guard stopped moving, and then she laughed herself - a low, husky, and very familiar laugh. She reached for her helmet and pulled it away, letting her dark hair fall as she tossed it aside. "I was wondering which of you would figure this out first," she said, grinning at Ricard. "Of course, I would've had my money on Kel - you do get a bit distracted when you're in character."
"Sandrine," he said, and he couldn't help but smile himself as he approached her. The green eyes were still distracting against her olive face - part of the disguise, obviously, and one that had certainly fooled him - but there was no mistaking that teasing smile. "You're all right. We were so worried -"
"I know, dears," she said, opening her arms. "I know. I'm so happy you're both here."
He almost fell into her arms in his rush, and then laughed as Kel nearly tackled them both in her own hurry to join them. He felt tears prickle at his own eyes, and kissed Sandrine on the cheek, smiling as she kissed him back, and as Kel and Sandrine exchanged kisses as well.
She was all right. Everything was going to be fine.
Story: All's Fair in War and Confidence pt 2
Colors: Chestnut 4 (Signpost); Color Party 10 (Harlequin); Blackstar 2 (Blue Jean, got a camouflaged face and no money)
Supplies and Styles: None
Word Count: 2920
Rating: SFW, no warnings
Summary: Ricard and Kel arrive in Silvan to search for their partner at a big social event, but there are a few surprises in store.
Everything was bright in the streets of Confortola. The paint, the stonework, the clothes on the smiling crowds... even the signposts had been gilded with silver, a wasteful show of wealth. Ricard had not expected a city on the verge of war to look so beautiful and new.
He tugged at his collar for a moment, pulling it free of his sweating neck, then pulled his cap down further to block the sun from his eyes. He was ten seconds away from taking off that ridiculous velvet jacket and tossing it into the nearest fountain; he might actually be able to stand to wear it if it were wet. It might've been completely in character for him to do so; Rus did not have summers near as warm as those in Silvan. But it unquestionably would've drawn too much attention to himself and his supposed servant, and that might wind up being fatal.
As if he didn't draw too much attention already, he thought. He was a dandy, and all of the reassurance in the world from Kel and her friends that this was in fact very fashionable was completely lost on him. He even had a damned feather in his cap, and it was big enough to keep drooping over his face, and it tickled his nose and drove him absolutely out of his mind. He'd been to a social affair or two in Pervenche, thanks to his mother's money and his father's aspirations, but they had been more somber affairs; he looked better in the subdued blues and silvers of home than he did in purple velvet and saffron linen.
Why couldn't Kel have worn the ridiculous clothes? She'd look right at home in this getup. If she'd known even a word of Russi, he would've gladly given her the clothes and kept his mouth shut for a week. But she didn't, and so she was the one with the scarf tied around her mouth; Ricard could not shake the feeling that she was laughing at him every chance she got, and he couldn't even prove it.
She was right, though. No one had looked twice at them. Most of the Silvan population were dressed more appropriately for the weather in light silks and linens, and both men and women wore white flowers in their hair; he had caught sight of a few others in velvet, but had kept his head down, not wanting to be caught up in a long conversation that he'd only half-understand. But nowhere in this city had he seen a single soldier's uniform, and that was the most puzzling thing of all.
The dance wouldn't begin for hours, and sleeping on that ship had been all but impossible. He was definitely not ready to go dancing at this rate. “We need a place to sleep,” he said, looking at Kel. “Any ideas?”
She nodded, and he let himself fall just behind, let her take the lead.
--
There were plenty of places to stay in the city, but Kel had directed them well out of their way to a particular house. He watched as she silently negotiated with him for payment, trying not to be openly amused at watching the two sign and pantomime at each other; the person at the counter was also wearing a scarf, this one an obnoxiously bright green.
After some scribbling on paper, and a bit more signing, Kel turned to him, and he caught her rolling her eyes a bit as she gave him the terms. He scanned over them; he'd seen enough invoices to know one when he saw one. And this one at least seemed somewhat fair.
He nodded and started to reach for his money pouch, and then stopped himself, playing it off as brushing a stray bit of fluff from his jacket. Kel's eyes smirked as she took the paper back and handed it back to the servant, along with a few well-worn Russi coins. The servant bowed in thanks, handing them a key on a large metal ring before disappearing into the back. Ricard caught the sound of a loud snore as the door opened and closed; that explained one mystery, at least.
Neither of them dared break their silence until they were in their room, lying side-by-side on a large, fancy bed that had been meant for him alone. They had a small cot for the servant, and that was more than they usually received. A strange custom, that one.
"You forgot the money thing!" Kel had a gift; she still managed to taunt him even in a whisper, giving her heavily-accented Silvan the sing-song tone that never failed to make him grin. "I knew you were gonna forget the money thing!"
"Yes. Yes, I know." Speaking a language he didn't practice often was hard enough. Speaking it with an accent from another language that he didn't know well was even harder, and that was enough reason for him to practice before the dance that night, even when no one could hear them. It was a damn good thing he had never had trouble with languages, considering how often their tricks revolved around him being able to fool someone into thinking he was someone else. "I should work on that detail. Hopefully it will not be a particularly telling one."
"You sound like an old book," she said, making a face. But her scrunched-up forehead smoothed out quickly as it had come. "I hope she's there. I mean, if she's not, what are we going to do? It's all gonna be for nothing."
"Hey," he said, reaching up to tap her on the nose. "Did I not tell you not to worry? Our Sandrine will not let us down. I am sure she will be there, even if she is a mere servant."
"A servant? No way. She's probably the one running the show." The thought made her smile, at least. "I mean... she has to be alive, or none of this makes sense. I just keep worrying. It's hard to stop."
"I know. I really do. Try to sleep, Kel - I can stay awake a few hours longer."
"Don't worry about that." She yawned, stretching herself out. "I gave the servant an extra copper to ring the door bell and wake us for the dance tonight. We'll be fine."
Ricard had thought this scenario through a thousand times while they were trying to sleep on the ship. He played it over again in his mind now, as Kel curled up against him and started to doze off. Maybe Kel was right, and she would be there as a noblewoman, perhaps even the one who was running the show, as she'd put it. But he knew - and no doubt she knew as well - that it would be far easier for her to blend in as one of the indentured, invisible and speechless. She had his gift for languages, but she was easily the most careful of the three as well. He knew she wouldn't take unnecessary risks.
Surely she was going to be all right. Surely. This could not be a setup, he told himself; why would they go to such lengths to attract them to another country that cared nothing for them? He didn't have an answer for any of it. And he didn't think he was going to have one until they saw Sandrine again. It was best to do what they had come here to do, and sleep for as long as they could.
---
"Hurry up, Rick!" Kel whispered as he worked on his makeup. "We've got to be on time for this one!"
"I will be ready soon," he whispered back, brushing the last of the powder against his swarthy face. The shaving had been more difficult than this, but smooth skin was apparently the fashion in Silvani society, and he'd come a long way to attend this party. Finding a powder dark enough to fit his face had been the difficult part. "Besides, is it not more fashionable to be late?"
"Not to this one! Didn't you read the invitation? They're gonna lock us out if we don't get there in time!"
Hm. He had forgotten that. "All right," he said, putting the brushes down. "I think I am ready, anyway."
"Good," she hissed. She'd been on edge ever since the bells had woken them - thank goodness the innkeeper and his servant had done that, because if they'd slept any later he would not have had time to get ready! He had to look convincing, and Kel knew that; he would not have come so far to a dance without wanting to prepare properly. Not this man.
He placed the brushes back in their pouch and tucked it into a pocket of his velvet surcoat. "All right," he said. "Let us see if Silvani society is as fascinating as they claim."
Kel nodded, getting back into character, and led him down the stairs and out of the inn, with only a brief nod to the innkeeper's servant.
Ricard stayed close to her, ruminating over the night's work, and over his cover. He'd already imagined this man's life, based on the tiny bits of background that Kel and her contact had given him. Second son of a merchant, well-off but bored with the mercantile life, he was here to try to find something else for himself. His wanderlust and taste for worldly pleasure hadn't endeared him to his father, nor to the older brother who stood to inherit the old man's fortune; perhaps that was why they had mutually decided to leave him nothing of their business. But for now he had his own connections and his own sources of money, though they were not always entirely honest. He'd find something better than a trader's life.
It would have been nice if he could've included a young, attractive lover in his fantasy, since this man would've certainly collected a following of young ladies given the chance, but there were too many practical problems with the idea of trying to pass Kel off as a guest; she didn't have much of a gift for accents, and being a servant allowed her to pass nearly unnoticed into places where he would not have been welcome.
Odd, he thought wryly, that he felt most alive when he was living someone else’s life.
The estate loomed before them soon enough as they moved through the streets, watching others in fancy dress move with them, laughing and joking together. He did his best to relax, smiling as people nodded at him; so far he hadn't seen anyone in Russi fashion, not here. That made him a novelty, but it also meant that he wouldn't be challenged by anyone who claimed to be a native of his country, one less thing he needed to worry about.
He could see the guards at the gate, dressed in pale blue decorated with gold, with a veil attached to their helmets that covered everything but their eyes. Ricard couldn't see any weapons, but doubted that he was meant to see them; their clothes were billowy enough to conceal them, in stark contrast with the guests whose invitations they were checking.
"I feel overdressed," he muttered under his breath in Russi. Kel glanced up at him, but he just shook his head. He didn't think it would be so far beyond the pale for him to say that -
"Sir."
He turned, found himself looking into another guard's green eyes. They were certainly striking, if only because that was the only part of their face that he could see. "Yes, may I be of service?" he answered, as politely and as quickly as he could.
"I need to see your invitation, sir," the guard answered. A woman, he thought - the uniform made it difficult to tell, but the high-pitched voice was quite possibly a woman's voice. Maybe he could move this along more quickly with a few kind words, he thought, although he'd have to be careful; if he was wrong he might get himself into more trouble than it was worth.
"Of course," he said, smiling widely and reaching into his pocket to extract it. "I'd be delighted to assist my host's charming -"
She didn't listen to his attempt at flirtation, just took the invitation as soon as he held it out to her. One glance, and then she looked back at him, her eyes narrowing. "Do you take us for fools, merchant?"
He raised his hands, stepping back a bit. Kel was going stiff with alarm and fear beside him, although she kept her head down. She was preparing to attack the guard, or to flee, but Ricard tried to stay relaxed. This was no time for either. "Of course not," he said, with as mild a note of offense as he could manage to give without being overtly insulting. "This was given to me by a good friend of mine who was unable to attend. A good, trusted friend -"
"This is a forgery," she said flatly. "I would be more cautious about accepting gifts in the future."
"Ah," he said, stalling for time as his mind raced. What should he do? What would this man do? "Ah, there are such scoundrels in this world! I hope with all my heart that he was bamboozled as well, for that would be kinder than deliberate trickery."
"That's none of my concern," she said. "But I will need to know everything about your friend, and about the manner in which you received this gift, if you mean to sleep in a bed tonight and not in a prison cell."
He closed his eyes, sighing heavily and theatrically, covering up his own worries. He had no doubt that they could escape from her, once they were away from the crowd - if they could get away. Kel could knock her out, and then the two of them could ditch their outfits and get away... but then they'd have to find another cover to enter the city, and they'd both be wanted by the guards and would have to be extra cautious. Being brought in for questioning about a nonexistent friend, while not an attractive prospect, was preferable to being marked as criminals... and Ricard was sure he could spin an attractive enough story to keep them searching for a while. "Very well," he said, with one last longing look at the estate, where the guests were laughing and flirting with each other. "Of all the piteous fates to befall me! I will tell you whatever I can."
"Very good." She gave him a curt nod, pointed back down the street to a small building. "Let's not waste any time; I'll take your statement there. You and your servant must come with me."
"Of course," he answered. "Lead the way."
She didn't answer, but instead of leading the way she fell back to walk beside him. Kel, on his other side, glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow and clenching her fist before glancing back at the guard. He shook his head very slightly - not yet - as the three of them walked to the indicated house.
The guard waited behind them as they walked in, and then Ricard heard the sound of clicking locks and jangling keys as she secured the door. "There," she said, and he turned to see her staring at him, eyes narrowed. "We won't be disturbed here."
Oh, no. He'd been an idiot. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
She didn't answer, but began to approach them slowly and deliberately, reaching down to her belt. There was a weapon there, there had to be. He stepped back, taking stock; there was a table and a few old chairs, but not much else. He could grab one of the chairs, but she was probably faster than he was; still, if he could distract her....
Kel snorted, and he looked down at her in amazement as she started to dissolve into delighted laughter. "Sandy!" she managed between laughs, putting one hand on the table to steady herself. "Don't scare us like that!"
The guard stopped moving, and then she laughed herself - a low, husky, and very familiar laugh. She reached for her helmet and pulled it away, letting her dark hair fall as she tossed it aside. "I was wondering which of you would figure this out first," she said, grinning at Ricard. "Of course, I would've had my money on Kel - you do get a bit distracted when you're in character."
"Sandrine," he said, and he couldn't help but smile himself as he approached her. The green eyes were still distracting against her olive face - part of the disguise, obviously, and one that had certainly fooled him - but there was no mistaking that teasing smile. "You're all right. We were so worried -"
"I know, dears," she said, opening her arms. "I know. I'm so happy you're both here."
He almost fell into her arms in his rush, and then laughed as Kel nearly tackled them both in her own hurry to join them. He felt tears prickle at his own eyes, and kissed Sandrine on the cheek, smiling as she kissed him back, and as Kel and Sandrine exchanged kisses as well.
She was all right. Everything was going to be fine.
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