Thorn of the Rose

“O Scourge of the Sea! Though long you have stalked me, no more shall you withhold your truth from me…

“…O Scourge of the Sea! I see the curtain has parted, your true form at last revealed to me.”

The theater troupe stayed for some days, as the Long Dark holiday was a major one for the wuyon’mari. Keelath attended every play the woman — Miri Summersong was the name, he overheard — performed in. Like their first meeting, she barely paid attention to him, though Keelath was relieved to see she treated most everyone that way. The mystery only made Keelath more intent to get to know her, however.

He tried leaving flowers and notes and other little tokens, but as Tyrric noted to him a few days later, they only got lost among the tens to hundreds of others from her fans. “You have to stand out to her, brother,” the younger wuyon‘mar remarked, putting on airs of wisdom.

“Yes, but how?” retorted Keelath. They were sitting on the hill outside the village; Keelath’s chin was on his knees. Miri and the others in her troupe were rehearsing in a curtained off section of the village square, and the brothers could just barely see them from this angle. “I swear, the only people she pays attention to are her fellow actors.”

“Well, there’s a thought,” said Tyrric, his tone suddenly shifting to one of intrigue.

Keelath eyed him doubtfully. “What are you on about?”

“We just have to brush up on your skills, first. You’re a terrible singer, so I wouldn’t recommend that. How about your acting?”

“What about my acting?”

“Well, you’re either marvelous with it or just plain stupid,” said Tyrric. “Let me give it a think over the weekend, brother. I think I have an idea.”

“You’d best hurry,” said Keelath mournfully. “They leave on the coming Tyrsday.”

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