Atriona: Journal the Seventh

Was there ever a time when emotions were simple? When I was either content or upset, one or the other, with no gray areas to confuse and dishearten me? Thinking back over my rather idyllic childhood, it seems there must have been such a time. And yet the tumult of emotions from this journey seems to be staining backwards across the pages of my life, clouding with uncertainty all that came before.

Last night was our first night in the Prince's palace. We were forced to wait until the palace had settled as far as it ever does, until the small hours of the night, before we could seek Mallion. Even then, a serving girl followed us and Lorandara had to put her to sleep to make sure she would not interfere.

Mallion found us outside, and we told him the location of our suite so he could join us there. He already knew the news from home. I was nonplussed to discover that, while he agrees that Father was likely murdered, neither he nor 'Dara agrees that the crime was necessarily committed by Valadar. They urged caution while we investigated. My inclination was to fly out the door and north to do justice against my father's murderer that very night, but of course that was impossible. We determined to meet at the same time the next night to discuss Lorandara's trip to the Golden Order the next day.

The Prince has staged an elaborate celebration of funeral rites for our father. The whole city is in mourning, but it does not seem to have had a great effect on the entertainments planned beyond simplifying the colour scheme. The breakfast this morning was a flamboyant full-court meal, and the fête planned for this evening is a ball in all but name, though the nobles of Tobaro will be wearing only the finest shades of black known to their clothiers. Indeed, the Prince strikes me as a spoiled child, too young for a position of responsibility such as he has, and too flighty in spirit to ever settle to serious business. It is intolerable to me that lawlessness is permitted to reign both inside and immediately outside the city by this one who calls himself a ruler. He does not walk his own streets in broad daylight without an armed company to guard him, nor would he permit us to do so. Incompetents can be found everywhere, of course, but the incompetence to extend the city's influence to the D'Naufragios pirates is particularly vexing in our current situation.

We received a letter from Nana D'Naufragios this morning at breakfast, informing us that since we had seen fit to leave the home of her agent in the city, the charges against our cargo for her family's help had just increased. They now comprise about nine tenths of the value of the cargo, should we be able to get a good price for it. We consulted with the Prince's chamberlain, who indicated that no help would be forthcoming from the Prince in this matter, nor from the arm of the law in Tobaro. We have been advised by several people simply to pay her demands. Mallion, when we informed him of these problems this evening, got a look of Father at his most stern in his eyes; I would dearly love to see the expression that goes with it on his familiar elven features once again. He named it for what it was: extortion and piracy. He promised he would get our ship back, without paying the pirates. He did not indicate how he would accomplish this, but his talons flexed when he said it. How much I long to be involved in this caper! For I suspect it would be quite satisfying to be the one with the trump cards for a change on this voyage. But of course it was not to be. We went downstairs to the tasteless masque to celebrate an event that yet eats at my heart, while he flew off into the night.

We also went to the Golden Order earlier in the day. While I perused the bookshelves and attempted to engage the Prince in conversation, 'Dara spoke to the head of that Order. It would seem there is a ritual which may work for Mallion, but it is very dangerous and rarely tried. It is also extraordinarily expensive. Furthermore, it requires Mallion to have an interview with this magister and give him a great deal of information. Whether or not we will accomplish this remains to be seen. Lorandara was reticent with the truth, giving the story of Morethlaine instead.

I spent some hours this afternoon, between fittings for gowns, making use of a translator provided to us by the Prince - not to translate but to teach me his language. I now know a few phrases of Tilean. I am considering hiring a Tilean sailor to replace the one Nana D'Naufragios indicated had perished in a burst of tempers on board the ship. I must needs learn this language if we are to sail these southern seas for any time, and a sailor who knows the waterways even a little bit will be an improvement on the probability of sailing into another rock.

I long for the green solitude of Laurnedorn Forest, for the dirges of my people played gently on harps and flutes made from the living wood around us, for the soothing of the soul that comes of being with one's own kind. But the family who remain to me - whom I am willing to call family - are all but one present with me in this foreign land (Mother, what comforts are lacking to you, alone with the man who is no longer brother to me at this time!) and the dirges of the elves on our ship will sound sweeter in my ears for the knowledge that they are not also celebrating the assumption to the family title of an impostor.