the_lioness | (no subject)

"Pigs might fly!"

You've said that before, Faithful puts in from the shoulder of the bristling, irate red-haired squire stomping through the Temple District. But not at that volume. Have you forgotten what George said about being followed?

Alanna halts, forcing Faithful to dig in his claws at the jolt. She grumbles a curse and carefully removes the cat from her tunic, glaring at him with stormy eyes. Just when it looks like she'll explode, Alanna puts Faithful on the ground and paces a few steps forward, a few steps back.

Sister Dear

It had started with the letter from Thom. When she arrived at the Dancing Dove earlier in the evening, Alanna had been in a decent mood. A pleasant mood, even. She'd joked with 'Fingers and the other thieves about her drink of choice (lemonade) and laughed when they'd named the Prince's birthday as their cause for celebration. "It's not even midnight! Does he know you're so loyal?"

He will. She'll tell him. He'll have a private chuckle about it the next time 'Johnny' visits the Dove.

A few laughs, some good-natured ribbing, and Alanna had followed George up to his rooms to discuss business and to relax. Because she could relax with George. She had always trusted him. He is her friend.

"Hah!" Alanna snorts, stalking back to Faithful and letting out another annoyed huff.

The letter. Yes, she should think of the letter.

Sister Dear,

I trust this will serve adequately as Trebond's honorarium on the occasion of his Highness's birthday. Are you trying to break my treasury? Just don't forget to mention my name. I did as you asked and put some protective spells on shirt and belt. In fact, I put the strongest on them that I could find. The Masters questioned us for days, trying to find out who used so much magic without permission. I knew you would want the best.

Was that snide? It might have been snide. Alanna frowns, recalling the curves and lines of Thom's script on the paper before she burned it, ink and words disappearing into smoke. No, not snide. Proud. He had every right to be. She wasn't alone in her determination and dedication, and Thom's path undoubtedly contained a few hurdles as well. Luckily they have George to relay messages, so they can speak openly about topics they dare not otherwise, like Roger.

George. What was he thinking? Alanna scowls, clutches the package containing the silver mail closer to her chest, and resumes pacing. The castle is in sight, but she's not ready to go back. Not yet.

Sister Dear,

Her hand comes up to rub the spot over her heart.

Once again questions about us are being asked in the City. I think at least one of the new servants hired here in the Mithran Cloisters is also being paid to keep an eye on me. So I play twice as stupid, and I'm being very careful. Perhaps you'll say I worry too much, but I believe you did something to make your "smiling friend" nervous. Think about it. Give my regards to the dishonorable George, and of course formal regards from the Lord of Trebond to the Royal Family -- you know how to handle that sort of thing.

Thom.

Think about it.

She should think about it. About Thom feeling the need for caution, about Roger testing her magic and having her followed --

about George having her followed

-- about how she all but hired Tortall's King of Thieves to spy on the situation in Tusaine.

But what's really irritating her down to her bones is that she can't concentrate on anything except what happened just before George left her at the edge of the Lower City -- after he'd spouted nonsense about love and romance and city dwellers marrying as young as fifteen.

He'd kissed her.

"Pigs might fly!" she cries out again, as she did after his lips -- softer than she'd have thought, but firm and warm -- left hers and curved into that mischievous grin.

"I should have stabbed you!"

"No. I wouldn't let you stab me and ruin our friendship. Will you be afraid to face me after this?"

"I'm afraid of no one, George Cooper! Especially not you!"

"Until next time, then."

Alanna groans and sinks into a squat, Jon's present crushed between torso and knees. She buries her head in it for a moment, indulging her embarrassment and anger. Faithful lets her as long as he thinks it's safe, tail twitching in silent amusement she is sure she can sense. This is no place to spend the night, he points out at last.

He's right. A deep breath centers her somewhat, and she juts out her chin as she stands, adjusting parcels and tunic and sword back into a semblance of order. She lifts her head high, resuming her quick walk to the palace. Midnight isn't far off. Soon it will be Jon's birthday, and she'll have more than enough to distract her from certain thieves who take certain unwelcome liberties with a certain someone carrying a certain sharp sword!

Breathe, says Faithful, trotting along at her feet.

Alanna gives the cat a curt nod and sucks in air, composing her features as the first guard comes into sight. She'll worry about that thief the next time she sees him. As Thom said, she needs to think but not about that. Of all she has to mull over, George Cooper and his strange talk and warm kisses is at the very bottom of her list.

The very, very bottom. Below Roger. Below Jon. Below Tusaine, birthday balls and even what type of pastry to expect for breakfast in honor of Tortall's prince.

Only later, after her candle is extinguished and she's tucked into bed, once all other topics have turned traitor and fled from her mind, does she think:

It wasn't so bad to be kissed.