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It’s strange, you muse, to see a Galsean so far from their enclave in Portsmaw. There’s a good reason for that, of course. They spent a long time as little better than prisoners, and they still can’t travel as easily as you can. That aside, you suppose that they just don’t have many reasons to roam across the land like you do. Their world is a far smaller one, save for the dreams of their lost homeland.
“Okay, you win. I’m going to mingle for a little,” you tell Elle with a sigh, feigning irritation, “If I’m not back in an hour, send out a rescue party.”
“I’ll keep an eye on the clock,” the oracle replies, leaning over to kiss you gently on the cheek, “Have fun!”
Descending from the balcony, you weave your way through the crowd and make your way towards Melinda. You get stopped a few times by some of the other guests, men and women whose faces are forgotten as soon as they turn away, but eventually you reach your target. Melinda’s face brightens when she notices you, and she raises her glass of wine in a playful toast.
“Hello there, Master Pale,” she begins, “Lovely place you’ve got here. It reminds me of the museum back home. Back in Portsmaw, I mean.”
“It feels like a museum at times,” you agree with a laugh, neatly stepping out of the way as a pair of guests move past you. Gesturing towards the ballroom, you guide Melinda through to the rear of the estate. There’s more open space here, more room to loiter around without bumping into anyone. “There’s no need to be formal, by the way,” you add as you walk, “I’m certain that I’ll be sick of hearing “Master Pale” by the end of today, so I don’t need you adding to my woes.”
“As you wish… Isambard,” Melinda replies, glancing briefly down at the floor as she notices a few people staring her way. “I very nearly didn’t make it here, you know. I almost lost my nerve,” she explains in a low, hushed voice, “This dress feels ridiculous. But someone needed to come and represent our people, and I was the best woman for the job – apparently.”
“How are things in Portsmaw?”
“Exciting times. Maybe I shouldn’t say too much, not until things are completely confirmed, but it looks like the Galsean Legion is going to be formally established. Our very own army – uniforms, weapons, officers drawn from our own people… it’s everything that Major Ionescu has wanted,” she pauses, then sighs, “Before the Lliogor, we dreamed of all sorts of things – talking with the gods, making beautiful music, even just exploring the ever-changing forest maze. Now we’re soldiers, and precious little else.”
“I’m impressed,” you drawl, “I thought I’d be the one who would ruin the good mood.”
“Oh sorry, am I stealing your thunder?” Melinda laughs, her giggle wiping away the dark mood, “I didn’t mean to say all that. I’ve just, well, not got many people I can talk to about stuff like this.”
[1]
