"Are you certain your cheek is alright?" Talia asked, eyeing my face with a concerned expression. "It looks like it hurts."

"I've had worse. My leg, for one," I said, gesturing to indicate my walking stick as we walked down the busy street. When I'd gone back to Tucat Keep to pick up both Talia and my longsword, I'd decided to change clothes, though I'd kept the cane.

Talia adjusted her hold on my arm and peered over at the cane, and she wrinkled her nose at it.

"That's another thing - why have you been walking around with that lately? I thought you'd made a full recovery. Has your leg been bothering you again?"

"What, this?" I held up the cane and eyed it critically. "You mean, people actually use these things to help them walk? The only reason I picked this one up was because I heard it was the latest fashion. You don't think it makes me look particularly courtly and suave, darling?"

She chuckled softly at that, and held my arm a bit tighter as we walked. I resolved to make more statements of that nature in future, especially if they kept resulting in that sort of thing. Having a breathtakingly beautiful woman on your arm is a wonderful thing in and of itself, but having that same breathtakingly beautiful woman smile and pull herself closer to you, well, it's in a category all its own.

I smiled, and we walked, neither of us talking much. The silence between us was a comfortable one this time, much more so than some of the strained, awkward silences I'd encountered recently. The night air was sitting somewhere between 'warm' and 'cool', and the breeze was so gentle that it barely caused the street lamps to flicker. A perfect evening. Life was good.

For me, it was the second time I'd walked down this particular road today, though now that the cool blanket of night had settled it was hardly recognizable as the same street. Lamps were burning brightly on either side of the roadway, and the only carts in sight were of the push-cart variety, belonging to the dozens upon dozens of merchants who were busily hawking their wares.

Echoes of my morning's activities still resonated in the streets, and had been ever since we'd begun our journey. The streets were also abuzz with rumors that the prince had been robbed, though the stories varied from street to street.

As we walked through my territory and people figured out who I was, they would come out and thank me, or cheer, or praise my name, or offer me tokens of their esteem in the form of, well . . . whatever they thought I might like. Many times they'd offer these same tokens to Talia, who would often raise an eyebrow at me, smile at my tenant, and then graciously decline whatever she'd been offered. She hadn't remarked about any of these happenings at all so far.

The Harvest Festival was a mere week away, and, as always seemed to occur, farmers and other countryside folk had already begun pouring into Harael, and the 'pre-festival' was well underway. The street smelled of summer sausages, and lamb, and fried pastries, and flowered mead, and a cacophony of other things that resisted my attempts to describe it, the overall aroma changing with nearly every step we took.

In addition to the farmers, there were street clowns, musicians, puppeteers putting on shadow plays, you name it. In fact, we'd just come from a street-corner performance involving five similarly-attired ladies performing acrobatic feats that made onlookers gape, occasionally contorting themselves into pretzel-like configurations that seemed to defy logic and reason. Once, both Talia and I had been convinced that one of the girls had actually managed to break a limb while twisting herself through an impossibly small metal hoop being held at waist height by two other girls. In the end she seemed to be fine, and had a smile on her face that I would have found impossible if I'd attempted even a third of what she'd just put herself through.

Though the quantity of entertainers was less than what would be frequenting the city during the actual Harvest Festival itself, the informal street festival beforehand was not an inconsiderable event. Streets were transformed, with restaurants and cafes setting up tables and chairs on patios and, in some cases, right on the streets themselves, all so that diners might be able to eat a meal and not miss any sudden festival-inspired spectacle, should something of that nature spontaneously happen. It was all part of the last big 'hurrah' before winter came, and there were no lack of things to see and do - no shortage of ways you could part with your hard-earned gold, or grey, or copper.

Talia didn't seem interested in doing anything specific, which meant lots of walking, and taking in the sights, arm in arm. Which, of course, was fine by me.

"So," I said after a while, my voice dripping with nonchalance, "your birthday is in just over a month, is it not?"

"Well that certainly came out of nowhere," Talia said. Her eyes narrowed. "Are you ever going to tell me how you found that out? Hardly anyone knows the actual day."

"I've got to have some secrets," I said, flashing her a quick grin. Then I feigned a look of suspicion. "You haven't been snooping around that room I told you to stay out of, have you?"

"Of course not," Talia said, sounding as though she was bored by the question. "And yet you keep asking, which I can't help but think means you want me to become intensely interested by the contents of that particular room." She gave me a look. "Do you really think me the sort to sneak down the night before Yule and sniff around my gifts so I might know what I'm getting before I get it?"

"Why not?" I shrugged. "I've known people like that."

"Oh? Like who?"

"Like me."

"Really?" Talia looked surprised at first, then appeared to think about it. "Actually, I do suppose that's consistent. It does drive you a little crazy to learn there's something out there you don't know."

"Well, if I hadn't recently gone to incredible lengths to find out when your birthday was, I might be offended by that," I grinned. "But yes, I freely admit it. I was eleven. The presents had been wrapped, and mine were such an unusual shape that it drove me crazy. It just seemed like I needed to know what was under the wrapping, and waiting two whole days before knowing was just too much. And so, I snuck down one night, a couple of days before Yule, and I opened them."

"You didn't!" Talia gasped.

"Yup. I spent a whole day covertly oiling the nails in the wooden floorboards so they wouldn't creak when I went down the stairs. I even had one of those cheap lamp-stones filled with cave moss, so I wouldn't have to mess around with candles or lamp oil, or anything that might give off an odor. That, and a few other things. All told, I came up with quite an elaborate plan for how I was going to go about it all. Elaborate for an eleven-year old, at any rate."

"Elaborate plan?" she asked in mock surprise. "You?"

"Truly hard to believe, I know."

"And so, what did you find?"

"Honestly, I can't remember now." I furrowed my brow, looking up at the evening sky. "The only thing I actually do remember was the next day, feeling like it was going to be the worst, most miserable Yule ever."

"Because you knew what you'd be getting," she nodded. "There'd be no surprises."

"Yeah," I said. Then I gave a light laugh. "Or at least, that's what I thought at the time."

"Oh?"

"Well, as it turns out, my father wasn't completely inept, nor would he allow himself to be outwitted by a mere eleven-year old. Yule morning, I went downstairs into the sitting room, feeling lousy and pleading illness. I didn't even want to open my presents at first. Finally, once everyone else had opened a couple, one of mine got handed to me. I opened it . . ."

Talia looked at me, raising an eyebrow. "And?"

"And I unwrapped a big wedge of chimney peat."

There was some silence, and then Talia threw her head back and laughed. I started smiling as well, albeit a bit ruefully.

"Oh gods!" she giggled. "Oh, to have seen your expression! All your presents had become chimney peat?"

"All of the wrapped ones, yes. Jillian started laughing so hard that she collapsed on the floor, and was rocking back and forth on her back." I gave Talia a smile that was probably a tad wistful. "Dad was looking so confused that at first I'd suspected we'd been burgled by some other Lord, until I noticed how hard he was struggling with the corners of his mouth. Even Mom was playing along, feigning shock. Eventually Dad relented, laughing and pulling out my real present - a longcoat I'd been eyeing one afternoon in the summer while he'd been talking to a tenant. I didn't even think he'd seen me admiring it," I said, grinning a little. "Then he lectured me on the subject of patience. I certainly learned that lesson, let me tell you. I don't know what was going through my head, thinking I'd outsmarted him like that."

"You must miss them. Your family."

I looked at Talia. Her eyes were staring into mine in a way that was both intent and tender.

"More than I could ever put to words," I said, softly, giving her another sad little smile. "The Harvest Festival always reminds me of them."

And of other things, I mused. Like rose blight. And isolation. And scars, and pain, and death. And a shadowy, faceless murderer responsible for all of it, still out there, somewhere.

A few seconds later, I realized that we'd both stopped walking. I hate getting distracted by my thoughts sometimes.

Looking around quickly, I made a 'let's go this way' sort of gesture with my head, and began walking toward the side of the street. I noticed that Talia was no longer holding my arm at the elbow, but had somehow managed to take my hand in hers at some point. Our fingers weren't intertwined, but were simply clasping, though I thought I could feel her thumb tracing over the scar on the back of my hand as we walked. I tried not to feel uncomfortable about that.

It could be she was picking up on whatever troubled vibe I was trying to keep suppressed as we walked among the carts and the patrons, making our way through the shouting and the merriment. The Harvest Festival was a difficult thing for me to reconcile, it being the very holiday that marked the first appearance of rose blight at Tucat Keep. It's not exactly a mystery why I'd have mixed feelings about it, all told.

Then again, visiting the aforementioned festival while holding hands with a lovely woman could probably do wonders when it came to changing my opinion of it. We'd have to wait and see.

Eventually we walked past a jewelry store I was familiar with.

"Lord Tucat!" I heard a voice call out. The owner of the voice - a squat, thick-haired fellow with the most amazing black sideburns I'd ever seen - waved at the two of us as we passed.

"Uh-oh," I murmured out of the side of my mouth. "You're not going to like where this is probably headed."

Talia gave me a confused look, but said nothing.

"Mister Lord Tucat, sir!" the man, whose name was Varileer, called loudly. "Ohhhh, I know I've already said so, an' I know you're probably tired of hearin' it by now, but my missus'd skin me right proper if'n I didn't thank ye again for what you've done for us one more time." He ran up to the two of us, his right arm extended so that he might shake my hand.

When he was three feet away, he noticed I wasn't reaching out to return his gesture, and looked a tad puzzled. His eyes locked on my right hand, as well as the other hand it was currently holding, and then followed the rest of Talia's arm all the way up to her face, as though he were slowly piecing together some new discovery.

"Varileer Shoebury, I believe you've already been introduced to my keepmistress, Talia?" I said.

"Aye, aye!" The shopkeeper swung his hand around and clasped it in Talia's own, unhindered right hand, pumping it heartily once he'd managed to grip it firmly. "Last summer, when I had that storm damage that I'd come to ask ye about. Honor to meet you again, Milady. Forgive me for interuptin', but I just had to-"

His eyes locked on Talia's throat a moment, and he seemed to gape, as though he'd just been witness to some sort of miracle.

Talia looked a tad uncomfortable and self-conscious, but managed to continue smiling anyway. She looked a question at me.

"Don't move!" Varileer said, finally, pointing at Talia with his free hand, already moving backwards way from her . . . despite the firm grip he was still maintaining with his other hand. A quick tug later, and he abruptly realized what he was doing, let go of Talia's arm, spun in place to look at me, then her, then back to me, all while backing away from us and heading back towards his shop. "Don't you move - you stay right there! I know just the thing!"

And like that, he was off, turning around completely and bolting back into his shop.

"Ooookay," said Talia after a moment. "So, what-"

"Oh, don't worry," I said. "He'll be back. And . . . he knows just the thing, too."

She stared at me, then shook her head, laughing lightly.

Before long the animated, sideburn-adorned fellow was running out of his shop and back towards us just as fast as his stubby legs could carry him.

"Milord, Milady, I'm back! I just . . . I mean, this is perfect!" he panted as he rushed over, approaching Talia while carrying something small in his thick-fingered hands. He gestured impatiently for Talia to hold out her own hands.

"Uhm," she began, looking to me a moment for help. "I'm . . . thank you, but I don't really-"

Her voice gave out completely once she saw what she now held. I could make out a glitter of green and gold.

"See?" Varileer said, beaming up at her. "With that dress?! And those eyes? Here, take it! Come, come!" He began motioning upward gestures at her with his hands, as though willing Talia's own hands to begin rising up as a result.

"Oh, no!" she said, aghast. "No, no, no . . . I couldn't!"

"Take, take!" he said, sounding as though just the act of her declining his offer was reason to become twice as cheerful. "My missus would skin me right proper if I didn't give 'at to you. Made for you, it was! Come, let us see! It's just the thing!"

Talia's eyes fixed on me, and she seemed to silently plead for some form of help. Her hands, I could now see, were holding a fine golden chain. At the center of the chain were three lustrous, glittering rings of green. Each loop of emerald was the size of my pinkie-nail, and were interlocked with one another . . . which probably meant that they had once all been part of the same stone, cut apart into linked circles and shaped by expert hands.

"No, really, I can't!" she said, sounding a little more desperate.

"It won't work," I singsonged. "He's just like this."

"Come, you love emeralds, I can tell!" said Varileer, impatiently taking the necklace from her hands and fiddling with the catch, intent on putting it on her himself. "These three will be your favorite, neh?"

After a few more feeble protests, Talia finally allowed him to put the necklace around her neck. Once he did, I knew exactly what the shopkeeper was talking about - it suited her perfectly.

"It's . . . lovely," she said uncertainly, looking down at her throat, drawing the fine gold chain through her fingers, "but I'm sure I can't afford-"

"Bah, afford?" He made a gesture, as though waving her concerns out of the way. "Meaningless. It is a gift. For you and my Lord Tucat! For the gift he has given me! Two gifts, now. It was made for you - it's perfect! Look at how beautiful it- . . . oh, wait! One second. Stay right there!"

Varileer ran off to his shop a second time.

"He's not going to let you say no, you know," I said, smiling. "Trust me . . . I've been through this before. If you're truly concerned, I'll break into his shop tonight and return it, though he'd be devastated if he found out, I'm sure. If you'd prefer sparing the poor fellow's feelings, I can break into his shop and leave some money for him instead." I furrowed my brow at her expression. "You seem a bit miffed. You're not cross with him, are you? Or me?"

"Well, it's nothing really. It's just . . . well," she fixed me with an exasperated look, "why must everyone assume that I like emeralds merely because I have green eyes?"

"You don't like emeralds?"

"Oh, no! I love emeralds! They're my favorite." She gave me a look I couldn't quite place. "But why must people always assume?"

I laughed at that a little, and soon Varileer returned with a reflecting glass that allowed Talia to see the necklace she wore. Her eyes widened appreciatively once she saw them against her neck, and she doubled her efforts to convince the shopkeeper to take back his gift. She may as well have been talking to the air.

Varileer invited the two of us back into his shop, but I knew from experience how that would have ended up going, so I declined the offer, pleading some tenant meeting that I had to attend soon. He refused even a small token in exchange for the necklace, as I knew he would, professing himself devastated that he was going to be denied the chance to find some additional pieces of jewelry to hang from Talia to compliment her new necklace. Eventually we left the maniacally generous fellow, who told us that we'd have to return to his shop, and soon, or his 'missus would skin him right proper'.

As we were walking away from his shop, Talia fixed me with a questioning look.

"Is this what you intended, bringing me out here tonight?" she asked. "So you could find some clever way to finally give me jewelry?"

"Hmmm?"

"You know, so I'd be walking arm in arm with a man who was the toast of the neighborhood, and end up getting showered by gifts and jewelry and other things designed to impress me?"

"Are you impressed?" I asked.

She pressed her lips together, unable to entirely conceal her smirk, and she daintily fingered the gold chain around her neck. "Possibly."

"Honestly, that wasn't my real reason for coming down here at all." I looked around at the myriad of shops lining the streets, the dozens of smiling, happy faces around us. "I think I'm doing this to feel a little bit better, actually. Unwind a bit."

"Is it stress?" she asked.

"That, and some bad memories associated with this time of year. But this . . ." I waved a gesture to indicate the people on the street, "I don't know. I've never been in this situation before, and I find that I rather like it. Being a Lord can be a very difficult sort of thing. It's a position that automatically draws ire and resentment. I go to my tenant's places of work, and I'm instantly regarded with caution or suspicion, like I'm up to something. Now, people come out of their houses just to thank me. Every time they do, I'm reminded of the fact that I've done something positive and unexpected for them, perhaps even helped shape their lives a little. Despite what this whole thing is costing me, I'm rather enjoying it. Everything about it just feels, well . . . good."

"I see. And that one woman in the startlingly low-cut blouse who ran out to give you a hug earlier - did she feel good?" Talia asked archly.

I forced a frown of confusion onto my face. "I'm afraid I don't have any clue what you're talking about."

"Oh? You don't recall? She had nearly half of the street gawking at her as she trotted over to you. No, not 'trotted' exactly. What's the word?" She put a finger to her lips and looked up, considering. "Slinked, maybe?"

"Hmmm. Not ringing a bell, I'm afraid."

"Blue dress, dark hair? Tremendous . . . assets?"

"Nope, still nothing."

"You're sure you don't remember? She's the one who pressed herself up really, really close and kissed you on the cheek."

I pretended to look startled. "Do you mean that one old hag by the dress shop?"

Talia snorted. "Hag? She's younger than I am!"

"Really? I didn't notice," I said, no longer able to conceal my grin. "Oh, wait . . . I do recall a moment where you grabbed my arm a little tighter, perhaps a tad more possessively. Was that the encounter you were talking about?"

She gave a light laugh. "Maybe."

"You know, we should go back that way, perhaps to jog my memory or-"

"No," she said, patting my arm gently, "that's okay. Let's continue along this way."

We got about halfway down the block when I noticed two uniformed fellows in purple cloaks up ahead. They were facing us, but it appeared that they were busy inspecting other people as they passed by them, and hadn't spied Talia or myself.

"Whoops," I said, steering her to one side. "Let's go down this way for a bit, maybe head dockside for a few blocks."

"Hmmm?" Talia looked puzzled, then followed my gaze until she saw the two Crown Knights. Her eyes narrowed, and she sighed. "Oh dear. You've done something rash again, haven't you?"

"What, that? I'm sure it's nothing - I just treated two Crown Knights to lunch this afternoon, and I fear that word might have spread. We'll just politely avoid them for the next little while, if that's alright. My most recent policy changes have cost me enough already - I don't need the entire palace staff coming down and mooching dinner off of me."

Talia shook her head a little, smiling to herself as we briskly made our way to one side of the street, found an intersection, then headed down the smaller side street. There were fewer shops, and fewer people milling about, but it seemed like there were just as many smiles being directed at us from passers-by, people seemingly coming out of the woodwork just to pass along a quick hello and a word of thanks.

"You know," she said, "I'm not quite used to all this attention yet. People coming up and saying hi, wishing both of us well, all that. It's a little overwhelming."

I snapped my fingers. "We could purchase two huge identical false mustaches! That'll throw them off our trail!"

Talia threw her head back and laughed, seeming to cling a little tighter to my arm as she did so.

"Nothing that drastic, I hope. Maybe just a hooded cloak. I know we've got some of those back at the keep." She looked me up and down, as though indicating my current attire. "You seem to make a splash wherever you go, though, regardless of what you're wearing."

"I can't help it - I'm famous. Although, now that you mention it, I'm starting to suspect I may not be even half as famous as you are."

Talia looked startled. "What? Why do you say that?"

"I catch hints of people talking about you as well. Both of those guards I'd treated to lunch today, in fact. When one heard I was courting you, his eyes nearly fell out of his head, which leads me to believe that he's familiar with you."

Her eyes narrowed at that. I couldn't tell if she were intrigued, angry, or embarrassed.

"Familiar in what way, exactly?" she asked.

"No idea." I held my free hand up in a 'who knows?' sort of gesture. "His partner mentioned you by name, and the poor fellow's head nearly exploded. Seems you have many admirers among the guardsmen - he seemed very impressed. Doubly so, given my obvious handicap."

Talia frowned. "What handicap?"

"Why, these grotesque scars of mine, my dear," I chuckled, gesturing at my face with my blighted right hand. "Surely you haven't forgotten about these ugly things. To be fair though, the fellow didn't actually come out and mention them, and I'm pretty sure he felt terrible about almost bringing it up in the first place, but sometimes saying stuff like that is just automatic for people. I'm used to it."

Talia furrowed her brow and looked at me. "Do you know why you do that?"

"Eh?"

"You're very self-deprecating when it comes to your scars. You bring them up, sometimes before anyone else even has a chance to, and you make jests, say horrible things about them, stuff like that. I'm wondering if you know why you do that - if you understand it."

"I've lived with them for half a lifetime, Talia," I said, gently, patting the back of her hand. "It's not exactly like I'm unfamiliar with-"

"Not the same thing," Talia interrupted, shaking her head. She looked thoughtful a moment. "I have a cousin who accidentally had four of his fingers cut off, right at the first knuckle of his right hand. He-"

"Would that be your cousin, Jimson?"

"It . . . how-" Talia stared at me mouth slightly agape. "How the deuce did you know that?!"

"Oh, just a lucky guess," I said, smugly. I gave her a nonchalant shrug and smiled. "Please do continue."

"First my birthday, and now this," she said, eyeing me suspiciously. "I suppose I'm going to have to torture the information out of you later, find out how it is you know so much."

"Torture? Sounds lovely," I leered, single eyebrow raised.

"Anyway," she said, scowling playfully even as she tried to hide her smile, "Jim lost his fingers in an accident, and it upset him for quite a while. He was angry, scowled a lot, joked around less. Later, he began smiling a bit more, and seemed to be getting better. About this time he also acquired the nickname of 'Lefty'." She caught my wince and nodded. "So dreadfully clever, I know. Some laughed when they heard it, others got uncomfortable. Do you know who it was that saddled him with that particular name?"

"Someone who didn't much care for him?"

"Close," she said. "He did."

I wrinkled my forehead at her, and she continued.

"He was full of anxiety, and the missing fingers bothered him all the time. He'd have nightmares about them. The nickname was part of a dozen things that happened all at once, ways he could bring his fingers up to people right away, or point it out to them. You could mention having seen a tightrope walker at the fair, and he'd tell you how he had to give up his dreams of tightrope walking because he was no longer properly balanced, and then he'd hold up his hand and waggle his fingers at you as proof. He found countless ways of doing that.

"I thought at first that he enjoyed making people feel uncomfortable, but I realized that wasn't it. He figured if he stole other people's thunder - if he found a way to make a joke about his missing fingers before they did - he'd remove any power they had over him. He even thought that by doing that he'd perhaps learn to become okay with it. But he was missing the most important thing, something that it took him forever to learn."

"Which was?"

"That no matter how much power he thought he was stealing from others, in the end it was those missing fingers that wielded power over him. And honestly, for almost everyone he knew, the fact that he was missing fingers was incidental. It wasn't the most important thing, or even the first thing that people thought of when they thought of him."

The parallel she was drawing was fairly obvious.

"I see. Do me a favor for a moment, will you?"

"Hmmm?" Talia regarded me intently.

"Close your eyes."

Frowning, she did so.

"Good," I said. "Now, picture me in your mind's eye and tell me what you see."

Her frown deepened slightly, but she answered. "Bright blue eyes, looking constantly amused. Long blonde hair. A mouth that becomes a wry smirk from time to time. And yes . . . your nose, with the scar that starts high up on-"

"And don't you wish it wasn't there?" I asked. "Isn't it just so easy to simply imagine it away, so that you're suddenly staring at an unblemished face? Try it."

"It wouldn't be you without it," she said, her eyes fluttering open and locking on mine. "You know, you think everyone's looking at it. Judging you. Most people are too worried about being judged themselves to care overmuch about something like a scar on someone else's face."

"Which is why I've never heard people jest about that scar, or noticed them staring at it," I mused, sarcastically. Then I looked at her, as though confused. "Oh, wait! Yes I have."

Talia flushed slightly and set her jaw. "What about that one, then?" She gestured at my cane. "What about that scar . . . your injured leg? There's got to be a scar from that - I helped treat your wound that night."

"As you'd expect, it left a rather red, angry scar. Two scars, in fact - having a sword shoved through your leg will do that. What of it?"

"You don't bring up those scars the same way. Do you pay them the same sort of attention? If they were somewhere more visible, would you feel differently about those scars? Honestly?"

Quite honestly, I was beginning to get very uncomfortable with this whole conversation, but didn't see any way to steer it away from the current subject.

"Look, perhaps we can just head back and-" I began.

"Please," she said, "just tell me - do you think differently about those scars on your leg? Would it trouble you as much if someone saw a scar you got from a sword fight? Be honest."

"You want honesty?" I asked tightly. "Okay, fine. Those scars are just a few among dozens - a couple more pebbles on the beach, a few more cracks in a wall already splitting apart with age. And would you notice those cracks among dozens like it? No. You merely notice that the wall is crumbling!

"I've got scars you've never even seen, Talia - dozens of them! What would you do upon seeing them, hmmm? Would you gasp and stare, looking all concerned? Or would you look me in the eyes and ignore them politely, pretend they weren't there? What you perhaps don't realize is neither would matter, because no matter what you do, acknowledging or ignoring, you're reacting to them! It makes no difference if you glimpse them and look away, stare at them openly, or make as if you don't see. People see them, and that makes them do something. It doesn't matter what, it's always something."

"So, I'm trapped by your clever logic, because nobody can truly 'win' in your mind," she said, thrusting her chin out at me. "Nobody can not see them, and thus no matter how they react, they're guilty of reacting to them in the first place. The fact that you're so sensitive to people's reaction to your scars is proof that they have more control over your emotions than you do!"

"Look, can we maybe just drop it?"

"Why?"

"Because, quite honestly, this conversation is starting to piss me off a little."

"And why do you think that is? Honestly," she asked, her voice a little bit quieter. "Concisely, plainly . . . why does this conversation upset you?"

I caught myself framing a rather sarcastic and angry retort about honesty, and I stopped myself mid-breath. I wanted to be angry with her just then, but something in her expression stopped me from being able to.

And so I just stared at her for a while, mulling over what she'd just asked.

Why was this conversation pissing me off? The question seemed ridiculous and meaningless, even as it seemed to make a troubling amount of sense. I quieted my thoughts, and I tried to find the words for what I was feeling. It was harder, and took longer, than I expected.

All the while, Talia just watched me, her compassionate eyes locked on mine, waiting for an answer.

Finally, I seemed to find the words.

"Because I can't change it," I said, my voice bleak. "Because it's a source of pity, or disgust, or horror, or revulsion, and none of these things have anything to do with how I think of myself. That, and they're a constant, ugly reminder of what it is I've lost . . . what I've been through, and how angry I am for it. And every day I see them, and I've got to control my anger and be every inch the witty, clever Lord, one who comes armed with a plan or a scheme, a smile or a jest. Maybe I am doing the exact same thing as your cousin, Jimson, bringing them up all the time. Maybe I'm doing these things I do - burgling and other spectacles - so that I feel people will have something else to talk about when they see me walk by. Maybe it's because I'm afraid."

"Afraid?" she asked, voice barely a whisper.

"They mean so much, and I don't want them to! And yes, maybe I'm afraid - afraid that people see them more than they see me. Afraid because I don't know what others see when they see them, but when I look at them I hate them for what they mean to me, and I'm afraid that if others look at them and feel even a small fraction of the hate for them that I do, then maybe they'll end up hating me, even though they're not me, and-"

I stopped suddenly, realizing that I wasn't completely in control of my mouth at that moment, the words just seeming to tumble out, one after the other.

"They are you," Talia said softly, eyes deliberately lingering over the scar bridging my nose for a good long second. "Would you like to know what I think of when I see them?"

I felt some sort of bristling armor inside me snap hastily back into place.

"You think they're sexy? Dashing, maybe?" I asked, bitterly.

She gave me a flat, disappointed look.

"Once, I when I was younger," she said, "about nine or so, I was playing on a fence I had no right to be on. I forget what game I was playing at the time, but I was so wrapped up in my play that I didn't notice a rather large nail jutting out from one of the fence-boards. It caught me on the shoulder." She gestured at her bared left shoulder, which looked to be free of blemishes or marks of any sort.

I'd been about to make a bitingly sarcastic remark about how nicely her shoulder had healed, but she held up her finger, interrupting me before I could interrupt her, and she continued.

"I ran home, upset. I'd gotten blood on my blouse, and when my mother peeled it away and I saw the cut, I wept. I'd seen scars before, but by some small miracle I'd never been cut myself. Maybe I'd been a touch too proud of that fact, I don't know. And so when my mother asked me why I was weeping and carrying on, I told her it was because I'd now have an ugly scar on my shoulder. She laughed, and she asked me if I even knew what a scar really was. I was nine - I shook my head 'no' . . .

"So she sat me down. 'When we get cut, or damaged,' she said, 'our body knows something's wrong, and it tries to fix itself. But it's never the same as what was there, true. When you see a scar, what you're seeing is the essence - the soul - of a person rebuilding itself. It's a tiny glimpse of how we think we should look, or could look. How we tried to be. No wrinkles, no freckles . . . just a smooth, fresh start.'" She looked into my eyes meaningfully. "Small wonder you're sensitive about them. You're showing the world more of who you really are than anyone else around you, and you're afraid that it's ugly."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing. She took a breath and continued.

"You know, some Lords might have carted me through their territory, soaking up adoration and reverence, thinking that since it made them feel important I would be inclined to believe it as well. But I've watched you, Vincent. You're happy for them. You feel good, here," she tapped my chest lightly with a finger, "deep down inside, where you know yourself. Your soul - that perfect idea of you, sitting inside yourself, struggling to be seen. I'm impressed because you're not trying to impress me. You're simply impressive." Her eyes lingered over the scar on my face once more. "All of you."

Wow.

I began thinking thoughts that seemed to flutter just outside my grasp. Words kept fighting for my attention inside my head, but none of them seemed to form sentences that made sense, or capture what I was thinking. I didn't really know what my thought process was - I was simply looking at her, watching her look at me.

I briefly wondered if I should kiss her.

It seemed a perfect moment for something like that, but the instant I thought it I was filled with a fear like I'd scarcely felt before . . . a feeling that here, standing before me, was a woman who somehow knew me - someone who could lay my soul bare with a few words and a story from her childhood. While leaning forward and pressing my lips to hers seemed like the only thing I could possibly want in all of the world, it was also suddenly the scariest thing in all the world.

Should I? What was there to fear? I was a Lord, for crying out loud!

A Lord who had overlooked her for years. One who had not yet earned the right to be with someone like her. One who was still waiting for some sign - a signal.

Or . . was this it? Was this the thing I'd been waiting for all this time? The sign that she'd been waiting to send me?

It looked like she hadn't moved at all, but somehow she looked closer to my eyes than she had a moment ago. Had I moved closer to her? Her to me? Her perfect chin was raised ever so slightly as she looked up at me, her lips pursed, her eyes larger than I remembered them.

I asked myself again - should I kiss her?

Quite suddenly, the decision was taken out of my hands.

"Is that . . . it is! Over here!" a deep voice cried, and I heard the sound of boots hurrying over nearby street cobbles a moment later. "Lord Vincent Tucat . . . you will stay right where you are!"

It was oddly silent, just then.

I've had things of value stolen from me. I've had people scheme against my interests, try to ruin me. I've even had people try to kill me, and attempt to do violence upon those I care about more than anything else in the world. I've been angry before . . . very angry.

None of it had prepared me for how startlingly angry I found myself right at that moment.

I just stood there, trying to breathe. It felt like my teeth should be chattering.

"Vincent?" I made out the sound of Talia's voice, and realized that I was still looking at her. Her eyes possessed the very same green that spring pine needles do, and were staring at me, full of wary concern.

A gust of wind whistled by, sending a stray piece of ribbon scuttling over the dark cobbles beside my boot. I heard something else - a voice, but sounding as though coming from a great distance away.

"Lord Tucat, you will surrender any weapons you have on your person to me immediately. I have orders to-"

Every single bit of me wanted to explode with anger, to destroy the person who had defiled this moment. It was my reason for existing, suddenly, and the mere thought of that sort of violence made more sense than any idea I'd ever known. I could turn around, destroy these two, or four, or eighteen-dozen knights, and when I was done that-

I was back again, pulled out of the fires of my imagination, and staring at those lovely green eyes. A big bunch of 'me' seemed to bubble to the surface of my forebrain.

Right.

Talia had once told me she wasn't impressed by things like macho posturing. Exactly how impressed would she be by a bloodbath?

I forced myself to calm down and relax, inch by inch.

"Did you hear me, Tucat?" a haughty, arrogant-sounding voice asked, although in the interests of being completely honest, the last remnants of my berserk rage may have colored his tone to my ears ever so slightly.

Slowly, carefully, I held up a single finger to Talia in a 'one moment' gesture, and I gave her a look that tried to say 'I'm sorry about this' and 'I'm trying to remain calm' and 'I'll be right back' all at once. Then I turned and slowly walked toward the source of the offending noise - the two purple-cloaked knights that stood twenty feet or so away, swords still in their sheaths. Both had shoulders that were fairly wide, and even from that distance, they seemed to tower over me. One was still talking, though I scarcely noticed.

By the time I'd walked up to them, I realized my hand was still holding up a single finger, the rest of it balled up into a tight fist. I looked at the knight who was talking down at me, and then raised my finger and pressed it to my lips.

"Shhhhh," I whispered to him.

Taken aback, the speaking knight stopped talking mid-word and took a moment to look surprised.

"There. Better," I said quietly, keeping my voice low and even. Standing where she was, I doubted Talia would be able to hear what I was saying at that volume. "Am I to assume that I'm being placed under arrest?"

"Yes," the other knight said, a shade too loudly. Then, looking abashed and glancing around, as though suddenly feeling self-conscious about how loud he'd spoken, he whispered in a hushed voice about as loud as my own, "Yes, we're placing you under arrest."

"I see. I have a proposal for you two. The woman over there," I gestured behind me with a quick flick of my head, "is a fair ways from home. We've been walking rather a lot, you see. We're on a date. I would propose we find a carriage, arrange for it to take the four of us back to my keep, where I can see her safely back to where she belongs. After that, I shall be at your disposal, and will allow myself to be taken wherever you will, without a word of complaint or protest."

The one who I'd interrupted sneered a little. "We've already been warned about you. Sod that! Our orders-"

"Let me see if I can put this another way, one that you'll perhaps understand more readily," I continued, my tone still quiet and even. "I am presently very angry. Very, very very, very angry. I am the kind of angry that bards sing about, and that poets attempt to describe with epic prose. What's more, I have a sword . . . one that has seen use from time to time. You've probably been warned about that, too. So, I believe it's fair to warn you that I don't give a mottled copper what your orders are - if you don't allow me the opportunity to end this date on a proper note," I looked at each of them in turn, "I will draw my sword, and I swear by the gods of hurricanes and nightmares, I shall use it to chop you both into tiny, tiny bits.

"And then, once that's done, I will be very sad . . . for I was hoping the lady would not have to see me doing such horrific things. I will escort her home, calm her down, and then I will turn myself over to some other knights to be arrested for whatever it is you've come to arrest me for, as well as for the vile, terrible, and unjust murders of two Crown Knights matching your descriptions. I do not care if this results in me being offered a chance to buy something from the executioner's table - I will do it, and with a smile on my face. We will all walk out of this alley and find ourselves a carriage, or some of us will not be walking out of it at all. Look me in the eye and tell me I'm lying."

Both knights stared down at me, but neither spoke.

"Now," I continued, "is there anything in your orders specifically preventing you from taking me and the lady to a carriage, escorting her home, and then escorting me to the jails? I promise to speak to no-one else, and will do nothing but what I've told you already. What's more, I would consider myself indebted to you both, should you allow me this single courtesy."

The quieter of the two knights looked to the other meaningfully, raised his eyebrows as if to communicate something, and then turned back to me. "Lord Tucat, would you allow us to escort you and your companion back to your keep?"

"At once!" I said, nodding. I slowly removed my hand from the pommel of my sword, turned, and walked back to Talia, feeling distinctly better.

Though Talia claimed not to be impressed by macho posturing, I did have to admit that it was the sort of thing that felt good to do sometimes.

Talia was standing where I'd left her, and her eyes were wide with concern as well as a few other things I couldn't readily recognize. The moment we'd been sharing was long gone, and what's more I was actually thinking once again.

I'd almost tried to kiss her!

Baal's beard - I could have ruined everything right there! This was the woman who had sat me down, shut me up, put me in my place, and flat-out told me what would be required to prove I was worthy of her attention. She'd also told me that my own arrogance and self-love would be what kept me from doing so.

And I had almost presumed to kiss her just now! What could be more arrogant than that?

What in Hades name had I been thinking? A straightforward, no-nonsense woman like her wouldn't mere drop hints for me - she'd come out and tell me! Of course she'd give me a sign, an obvious one! She certainly hadn't been shy about telling me what she'd expected from me, after all.

Gods, but I can be stupid sometimes!

Maybe I actually owed those two knights an apology. Perhaps they'd stopped me just in the nick of time.

Hanging the handle of my cane on my forearm, I reached down with my free arm, took Talia's hand in mine, brought it up to my lips and kissed it. Then I looked into her eyes and gave her a wan, apologetic smile. Her own expression was unreadable, though her eyes were bright and shining.

"I'm terribly sorry to have to do this to you - it feels like it's becoming something of a habit. But," I waved airily at the two knights behind me, "it appears that I must be going to jail again."