It has been a week and there still hasn't been any word from Yveira. At this point, Estara is used to her aunt's constant disappearances, but they have never been for quite this long. Not since Urijah was born at least. Estara can't help but wonder if something has gone wrong, and if that is the case, what will become of her and the boy?

The boy that every time she looks at a new stab of pain is sent through her, despite the intense amount of love she feels for him.

Two boys now that elicit that feeling from her. Well, three. But the third is more of a man than a boy.

It is true that Ri is far more powerful than he should be, than any natural born Lescaean is at his age, but he's still no match for any of the Mi'antiae family members at this point. The only way the boy has managed to stay alive for all this time is because of his mother's intervention. There isn't a single soul in the palace who would dare defy the fearsome woman, despite her size and bubbly demeanor. They have all witnessed how quickly she can turn into a deranged pixie far too many times to underestimate her.

Even Jaerren is still wary of her. He wouldn't dare defy her. Not yet. It's something Estara is still grateful for. She doesn't think of what he might have done to her already if it wasn't for the effect Yveira has on people.

Estara sighs, frowning as she picks at a flower she plucked upon sitting down in the garden over an hour ago. A string of dendrobium orchids. They have always been her favorite -- tied with cherry blossoms of course. Her fingers fiddle with the petals as moonlight filters in from above, illuminating the small circle in a soft glow, causing the numerous other flowers to sparkle. Usually, she finds this scene peaceful, a place to relax and clear her thoughts. She finds it hasn't been working as well as it used to.

Nothing has been peaceful since the bounty hunter -- Den De'narian, a name that has been engrained on her soul -- showed up around ten thousand years ago. Estara hasn't been able to quiet her thoughts or quite accept everything she learned in that week. She might have broken, completely. Stars, she can't handle it. None of it. She still can't quite wrap her mind around it, and has to admit that helping Yveira raise Ri plays a large role in distracting her. It's a very welcome distraction, however, one that she's happy to indulge in for as long as she can.

She never thought she would see him again. The urge to leave with him... it was overwhelming. It took everything in her to remain where she was. To not jump into his arms. To apologize for all the things she said to him the last time they spoke. To not confess everything. To keep it all in. She couldn't do it. She was so close to caving. To falling into him. But if he knew who she was... he might have turned away himself. She wouldn't blame him for wanting nothing to do with her. Not after what she said, what she did.

That dagger is still the sharpest.

Well, second sharpest. Seeing... 'Denryn' walk around with Jaerren's smirk, that is worse. So much worse. He's the only reason she stayed. The only reason she couldn't cave to Den.

Estra feels a light tug on her long red hair -- hair that everyone else sees as bright red, the color her mother's was -- before she senses his presence. A deep sigh escapes her when Ri leans his arms against the backrest of the bench she's sitting on. She lifts her eyes to him, shaking her head. He smirks at her before walking around the bench to sit down beside her.

"You look troubled," he says simply, tugging on the same strand of her hair again.

Estara swats his hand away with a disapproving stare, one that Ri doesn't even bother to take seriously. He's never really been bothered by making her mildly annoyed. She's his cousin, after all. It doesn't matter to him that she's older and therefore wiser. Tonight is no exception it appears.

"I'm always troubled," she answers honestly, going back to picking at her orchid.

Ri's eyes -- which are a strange mixture of amber and violet, a color Estara has still not gotten used to -- flicker to the mutilated orchid string in her hands. He arches a single brow at it before lifting his gaze to hers. "And you have decided to take it out on the entire floral population it seems," he notes with wry amusement.

"So it seems," she replies.

Ri sighs heavily. "Is there anything I can help with?"

Estara sighs again, and drops what remains of the orchid string before placing a hand on Ri's shoulder. She offers him a small smile, one he frowns at. "I will be fine, Ri. But I appreciate your concern."

She won't be fine. She doubts she will ever be fine again. She forced to live the life of another person, taking on the personality, the look, the name of someone else. She will never be... herself again. Yveira is the only one who knows who she is. Is the only person who can know who she is.

The moment her true name is spoken, all of this will have been for nothing. And she will be marked for death. She should already be dead. She isn't supposed to be alive.

Ri shakes his head. "I'm not as easy to fool as my mother, Estara."

Those eyes of his are far too observant for Estara's good. And far too wise for his. He's too young to have to deal with her problems. He has his own life to worry about. At least, this is what Estara has always told herself. Ri hasn't been a child for quite some time, something he set out to prove with quite the amount of determination.

A fact that every young lady within the court walls has been made aware off. He's too much like his father for his own good--and the good of the entire female population.

Stars, he looks so much like him. It hurts. It hurts so much.

Estara pats his cheek. "I know. But you have your own troubles to deal with. You need not burden yourself with mine."

"You are under the impression that caring about you is a burden. I assure you, it's not," he says with a smile. "Lucky for you, my attention is only split between two beautiful women, two who are instrumental in well, providing me life." He smirks again. "I want to help, Estara. Please let me."

Estara can't help but laugh a little at his words. "Only two women you say? And what of all the hearts you've left broken around court? Don't think for one second your mother and I aren't privy to those. If only you knew of all the nobles who have knocked on our door to tell us to keep you away from their precious daughters."

Ri smirks again, feigning a sheepish expression. "I would assume their hearts are broken because I have not split my attention to include them," he says with a wink. "But you are changing the subject," he tsks. "We are talking about you, not me right now."

Estara sighs again. "Ri, I really do appreciate that you care, but it is not something you can help with. I'm merely having a bad day, thinking about everything that I cannot change. If there was something that could be done, it would have been already."

Understanding flashes in those strange amber-violet eyes of his. He leans his head against Estara's shoulder with a mournful sigh of his own. "We'll get out of here one day," he says, absolute conviction in his tone, not lifting his head from her shoulder.

Estara pats his head, pursing her lips. The boy lives in a fantasy. If it was that easy to leave, Yveira would have gotten them out already. She has been looking for ways since she took Estara under her wing, a quest that only intensified when she discovered she was pregnant with Den De'narian's child. After what happened to Estara and her mother, Yveira didn't want to risk the same happening to her son. But they didn't have a choice. There was nowhere for them to run, no place they could go where the Mi'antiae family couldn't find them.

Besides that, Estara can't leave. Not while 'Denryn' is still alive. Not while he's still under Jaerren's influence. Not until she knows for sure that he cannot be salvaged. She refuses to believe he can't be salvaged.

She refuses. Her son is not incapable of being brought back to the light. She can't stop believing that. She won't.

"One day," Estara agrees, careful to keep the doubt from her words. Ri needs to believe that one day he's going to get them out of here and meet his father, and the uncle his mother keeps telling him about. Den and Eilon. She's not going to take that away from him. Even when she has given up hope of ever seeing either of them again herself.

Even just getting to see Den for those brief moments... of sharing his bed just one more time.

No, she shouldn't have done that. It made it worse. So much worse. It was like losing him all over again. Except this time, he was right there in front of her when she had to say goodbye. She couldn't do it.

The words couldn't come out. She couldn't will them to. She didn't want to say goodbye to him.

The lack of hope has carved a hole inside her, one she doesn't think she'll ever be able to fill again. If only Ri could infect her with his.

No, she does have hope. Hope to one day hold her son as she's been aching to since the moment she first laid eyes on him. Already fully grown. She missed his childhood. She will never get over that. That will never stop hurting. She didn't get to be there when he said his first words, took his first steps, gave his first smile.

That blade twists inside her again.

But it has been ten thousand years since she saw Den, after he was hired to kill Eilon. He doesn't even know about 'Denryn'. She couldn't tell him. How could she tell him without explaining? It crushed her, not being able to tell him. Not being able to tell him that she named him Ilorain and that 'Denryn' is Jaerren's way of mocking them.

He's never going to forgive her. Not for leaving him, not for never telling him that she was a Lescaean princess, and not for never telling him about Ilorain. She had the chance and she didn't. Of all the things she kept from him, of all the horrible things she's been forced into doing, keeping the knowledge of his son from him is the most unforgivable.

It's the one thing she can't even forgive herself for.

Hope, she's come to realize, is a fruitless emotion, one that leads to nothing but pain when it's taken away.

But the hope refuses to die inside her. It always refuses to die.

It's as stubborn as she is.

She doesn't know whether that is a good or bad thing. But it's kept her going, has kept her strong. So she'll settle for the latter. One day. One day things will get better.

Ri will meet his father.

Ilorain will be good and meet both his parents.

And Estara will get to hold Den again. Even if it's only one more time before he decides to hate her forever  

*****

Den isn't one for luxury, really, and never has been. He had quite enough of that in his early years, and was more than happy to live a soldier's life after everything was said and done.

There are certain things, however, that he doesn't mind wasting money on, and after barely a minute in the scalding waters of the spring, Den decides this place is one of them.

He wades through the entry pool, bypassing the comfortable chairs and such. When he moves through an archway, he notices--to his intense amusement--that there is a floating bar several feet away. With a wry grin, Den moves behind the counter and mixes himself a drink.

He could easily manifest one, of course, but why not take advantage of what he's paying for?

He's getting lazy in his old age, and can't say that he minds.

In moments he has a glass of spiced brandy in one hand and the bottle in the other, and he leaves the bar to look for a comfortable place to settle. The steam is bound to be more prominent near the back of the cavern, so he heads in that direction, moving slowly so as not to make waves in the water.

In fact, his passing is nearly silent, despite the surroundings.

He passes another archway deeper into the maze of pools, and pauses for a moment.

There's a scent here... he tilts his head. He knows that scent.

That wry grin spreads across his mouth again. When the girl said the springs already had an occupant, she failed to mention just who that occupant was.

One would think the chit might have warned an unsuspecting traveler that they were soon to come face to face with a deranged, emotional pixie.

Den moves to lean in the archway, sipping from his glass as he does. He makes himself comfortable against the wooden post, watching the way the water moves.

And her. He's definitely watching her.

Yveira Mi'antiae floats in the spring several feet away. Unlike Den, she didn't bother with a robe, and he can't say that he minds the view.

Her hair is longer, he notices. She's let it go--well, he's let his go too, so he has no room to talk. He rather likes it.

Den continues drinking his brandy, and once the glass is empty he stares at it for a moment, debating refilling it or just drinking from the bottle. He shrugs, not one for bothering with manners and such.

He tosses the glass behind him, taking a swig from the bottle as it shatters--achieving its desired objective. Yveira sits up, looking around in surprise.

When her eyes find him, their reddish depths alight with first shock, then excitement.

A moment later she's across the room with her arms thrown around his shoulders, and Den can only eye her with amusement, holding his bottle out of the way.

"Den!" She continues to hug him--apparently oblivious to the fact that she's naked--and he arches a brow down at her, patting her head.

"Yveira," he responds, grinning faintly. When the pixie is not deranged, she's rather adorable. And he isn't complaining about her pressing herself against him, either.

After a long moment, the princess pulls away and looks him up and down, assessing. "You look well."

"As do you." Den takes a drink from his bottle, nodding at her in appreciation--and making no secret of where his eyes roam.

"You are the absolute last person I thought to run into here," she says, her tone a mixture of thoughtful and glad.

"I wasn't expecting to run into anyone here," Den says dryly. "Not that I'm complaining."

Yveira taps her chin thoughtfully. "Well, you should have been, this is a very popular Lescaean hangout."

Den sighs. "So it seems. Alas, I only stumbled upon it because I was passing through the area."

"How lucky for me then," she says, smiling rather suggestively.

"Indeed," Den says, and spends half a second debating whether he wants to drink from his bottle or drink from her.

He's had a bad day. And he's not in a very good mood.

And he doesn't really care. At all.

So he kisses her.

Yveira makes a sound of surprise before she kisses him back, and Den decides that he should really make pit stops more often.