*Jon*

        Jon wasn't sure whether or not to be impressed with the Warlord. He was used to powerful people either shunning him or fearing him, but the Warlord did neither. In fact, Jon had already a decent conversation with him, regarding naval tactics. 

        But all that changed when they reached the Warlord's palace on the sea. The granite structure, sprawling and luxurious, never rose higher than two stories, completely surrounded by verdant gardens, plentiful orchards, beaches and canals. Rows and rows of armed troops stood at attention on either side of the road, bowing as their ruler passed, staying on one knee until the last packmule had gone by. 

        Jon decided that the man who could win the undivided loyalty of these hundreds of men, so much so that they were willing to wait in the desert heat, just to intimidate foreign dignitaries, was a man to be respected, and, of course, even feared, at least within reason. 

        A beautiful stable, surrounded on three sides by sprawling pastures, was the first building they came to. At the gates, the Warlord dismounted, handing his reins off to a waiting stableboy, and the rest of the party coppied him. 

        "Little man," the Warlord's deep voice interrupted his thoughts, and Jon turned, bowing to the other man. "Do you like the mare?" 

        Jon turned back, and studied his sand-colored mount. The delicate mare nuzzled his pockets, searching for treats. She was as tall as most horses, but her barrel was thinner, her build more spindly. She was well suited to a man of his stature. 

        "She seems like a good horse," he said carefully, wondering what the Warlord was getting at, and wondering if he would like the outcome. Rulers seldom did anything without reason and on impulse–Elizabeth being the obvious exception to that generality. 

        "The desert people breed them to be strong and swift," the Warlord said, resting a hand on the mare's shoulder. "She is a good size for you. On her back you are as tall as any man." 

        Jon wanted to laugh at that, but there was no mocking or judgement in the other man's gaze; all Jon could see was a sort of sad understanding. "I gift her to you, little man," the Warlord went on, surprising him yet again. "Every man deserves a mount who suits him perfectly." Jon couldn't agree more. 

        He grinned, and the Warlord winked at him and strode away, to Elizabeth's side. "Thank you, Radiance," Jon told his retreating back. 

        Turning his attentions back to the mare, Jon cast an approving glance over her wiry frame. She really was a gorgeous creature, with an ink-black mane and tail, and a tan coat. Jon vaguely remembered that this coloring was called "Buckskin", but it was so rare to find it in Valoria that nobody bothered to remember the name. 

        An hostler took the mare's reins and led her into the stables. Jon stepped up to Elizabeth's side, sliding between the queen and Archer. The spymaster raised an eyerow as Jon bowed to the queen, but, thankfully, kept any cutting remarks to himself. 

        With an ironic little bow, the Warlord offered Elizabeth his arm. Frowning, the queen took it. The Warlord's son Aimar escorted Maile, the only other woman in the party. The rest of the Valorians were left to follow them.

        The Warlord led them through gardens, parlors great halls, courtyards, and hidden alcoves, pointing out this and that, joking with Archer and Prince Aimar. 

        Jon watched it all, half-relieved not to be included in the contest of wits that passed as polite conversation. Instead, he listened to the Warlord flatter and tease, and the queen respond in kind. 

        They crossed a courtyard whose centerpiece was a six-tiered fountain with half-naked, brown-skinned children playing in the lowest tier. At the far end, a passion-flower vine twined around the outlines of an open-air archway. From inside the room beyond the arch the sound of a harpsichord mingled with the song of a high, sweet voice. 

        The Warlord led his Valorian guests through the arch and into a small room, it's walls knocked away, with a balcony at one end hanging over the edge of a seaside cliff, simply furnished with but a harsichord and a music stand. A middleaged woman sat at the harpsichord, a young girl in a Valorian-style dress opposite her, the singer. 

        Listening the the child's singing, Jon thought he'd never heard anything so sweet. Though he couldn't understand the words, he felt, in his bones, a sadness as vast as the ocean, a crushing desperation. Her voice soared to reach a high note, trembling, then faded into silence. The final strains of harpsichord melted away, and, as if they were coming out of a heavy daze, the spectators began to applaud. 

        The girl looked up, startled, eyes wide, poised, as if to flee, on the balls of her feet, arms stretched slightly behind her, tipped forward, like a bird about to take flight. The woman at the harpsichord stood gracefully and bowed, hands crossed on her shoulders. The girl sank into a wobbly curtsey, her cheeks flushed in embarassment. 

        "Yasmìn, you've once again turned out a peerless singer!" the Warlord exclaimed, kissing the woman chastely on both cheeks. The woman smiled softly and looked over at her student. 

        "I am sure they would all be even better if they practiced," she said, rather threateningly, with a pointed glare at the little girl, who had retreated into the far corner of the room. Yasmìn's voice was rich and heady, with a slight lilting accent, and a bit of a hoarse squeakiness that came from years of singing for a living. 

        "Yasmìn is right," the girl said gloomily. "I have no talent for dancing. I do need to practice more if I want to perform Opera." She tucked a strand of night-black hair behind her ear. 

        "Opera?" Elizabeth asked, and Jon heard the surprise in her voice. In Valoria, Opera was vastly unpopular, and few would deign to watch. But these cultural differences were not where his mind lay, and Jon could not bring himself to think much on them. 

        He watched the girl, eyes narrowed. She was small, delicately built, her bones showing beneath her skin. Her gray eyes were set too deep, and her cheeks colored too easily. 

        "Strangers' Queen," the Warlord cut in, his voice strangely gentle and regretful. "This is Princess Grace, my ward." Jon watched with apprehension as Grace Roth sank into a deep curtsy. She was so young, so sickly. If Elizabeth decided she had to die it would be cold-blooded murder. Glancing at his queen, Jon saw that she knew it too, and she was trying to decide how to proceed. 

        Yasmìn solved all that. 

        "Run along, Princess," she said tartly. "I'm sure Master Lita would not appreciate it if you missed your lessons." The little princess's worried expression disolved into one of relief, and her gray eyes flickered gratefully to her teacher's face. Yasmìn grinned impishly at the girl, and Jon wondered if the two were more than just teacher and student, if, perhaps, their relationship was more than just educational. 

        With a whispered, "Excuse me, Radiance," and a dainty curtsy, princess Grace fled the room. Elizabeth watched her dart away, eyes narrowed, and Jon waited for his queen to speak, feeling the wave of nervousness that had settled over the Valorians. 

        Finally, Elizabeth spoke. 

        "Who is this Master Lita, and why should he care if the girl misses her lessons?"

A/N: First update of anything in a week. I'm really sorry, guys, but I have finals starting tomorrow, plus rehearsal every night for the WORLD PREMIERE OF MADHOUSE!!! Luckily, next week is the beginning of winter break, and I'm off for about 3 weeks, so I'll definitely update as often as possible, with the exception of the 23, because I think I have rehearsal all day that day...

Also, I've decided to permanently move Opening updates to Sundays, because I always end up finishing the chapters on Saturday, and then I have to edit, which I'm really bad at, sorry, and then I have to type it all up, because the whole thing is on paper... 

So yeah... Sorry... 

But I'm so excited! We're already on chapter eleven, can you believe it? And everything is only just starting to get interesting! Also, I'M MAKING A MAP for this story, and when it's done I'll add it to the glossary... YAY! So let me know what else you want/need me to put in the glossary, and I'll get to that as soon as possible (since it's easier for me to add to the glossary than to write a new chapter I'll probably be able to work on that more often). 

So yeah, stuff's been insane, but I'm finally getting caught up, which means more updates of everything! Who's as excited as I am?!? 

Anyway, PLEASE VOTE/COMMENT. It means a lot to me, to know how you guys feel about certain characters, and why, and what you want me to fix/embellish in the story, and also if you want me to make a spin-off of this series, a prequel, as you will, about Aelin's Conquest (see glossary) and how the Roths came to power, and stuff...