All of it existed as strange, hollow background noise in Socair’s mind. The only time she felt in control of her thoughts were the times Meirge came to her to point at maps and ask how they ought to fight against the hippocamps. She had not prepared a speech, it occurred to her. All the words that came to her mind were apologies for events the people would have known nothing about. And if the Binse learned that a girl in Socair’s charge had done the work, Meirge said there’d be no end to the complaints. Even without that knowledge they had made a dozen attempts to come and speak their minds of her appointment. Meirge assured her that the paperwork had all been in order. Deifir had been careful to see to it all.
Práta put a hand on her shoulder and stood from the couch. They exchanged soft smiles and Socair retreated back into her own mind. She had spent only a little time with Deifir. There must be some core things which made a Treorai. Something which made the decisions easier or more plain. The Binse seemed to do little more but quibble and fight over the slightest deviations to what they felt was best, even if it would serve the realm. That very thing had put the hippocamps at Innecarnán, rather than held along the edges of the province. Or slowed, at least. Perhaps that was her own wishful thinking.
Rún came and sat across from Socair as her mind struggled through the maze of her future life.
“You do not need to wear such a face for this work.” Rún’s words seemed to be built of the concerns in Socair’s mind.
“What face?”
“There is no need to be so coy. Your love there will not say it, but I lack for tact. Besides, if I am to make a place in your heart beside her, I must do the work.” She laughed. Somewhere behind, Práta let out an annoyed huff. “She does not like me, you know. Yet.” Rún smiled wide. “I like her though. Very much. She is all that her father was not. But you will need more.” She looked past Socair to Práta. “I mean no offense in that, I should say.” She looked again at Socair. “But it is true. I know this life. Not from the periphery. It does not change so much, no matter the heights of one’s title.”
Socair was not sure what to make of Rún. She had not been before. Their encounter had been such a brief thing that it was hard now to understand why she had come.
“You’re wondering why I am even here, are you not?”
“I do not like how easily you do that.”
“Your face is a book, Socair. One with very large print. I was helpless against it. I fell in love.” She laughed again. “And that is why I am here. You are special. Deifir knew it, our dear Práta knows it. I knew it before either of them.” Práta came back and sat on the couch, sliding close to Socair. Rún smiled, leaning forward in her seat. “She is jealous. But I want her as well.” She leaned back. “But, no… I fear I am being distracted by the both of you.” She straightened in the chair. “Have you thought of what you will say? Jokes and fun are all well and good, but one must be prepared.”
“I have not.”
“Hm. Well, what would you say if the speech were this very moment?”
“I… I have not thought of it.”
“Yes, I know. But if you had to speak, just now, what would you say?”
Socair shook her head.
“Well… not something you can learn in a day, I suppose. It’s fine. If it’s you, I have no doubt you’ll find the words in the moment. Don’t you agree, Práta?”
“I do, in fact. And if you acted as you do now, I would not find you so hard to bear.” Práta gave a pointed smile.
“And if you kept people below Socair’s station from speaking over her, I would act as you like more.”
Práta raised her voice, leaning toward Rún. “She can speak for herself. You should not presume that she wishes you to nag at everyone who needs something of her.”
Rún came to her feet, yelling again and Práta did the same. “She must learn that if she allows them to take from her at their leisure, she will have nothing left.”
The bickering pair fell again into the background of Socair’s mind. She stood, ignoring them, and went for the door. They asked after her, each blaming the other for her decision. There had been enough talk, she decided. There were things she wished to see.
Outside the door, far on the south side of the Bastion as it was, she could hear the noise of the city as never before. They sang and chanted. A river of sound that coursed through the halls, making its way to her. Socair followed it as if in a trance.
She came to the main hall. The former Binse were there, watching her with cold eyes. They whispered between themselves, but Socair could not bring herself to care. She watched the main doors, mouthing the words to the song that came from the other side. Meirge came to her.
“We are not due—”
“We will begin now.” She did not look at him, but she saw that he bowed his head and went about his work.
Socair stayed where she had come to stand, in the middle of the grand hall, the dark grey around her alive with sound. The doors opened and the Binse saw themselves out. The singing continued. Songs that stirred her heart. Songs of her home. Práta put a hand on her shoulder and Socair smiled back at her. She walked for the doors.
When she passed through them the song died in
