The Phantom shrugged. His alternative had been the Grey mansion. "I didn't mind," he said. "It was...fitting. Phantom Grey. The Keep. I was too busy to care if it wasn't perfect."

He scuffed a boot in the dead leaves, making them rustle. A brief gust of wind picked up the broken fragments and whispered through them. "I'd rather go back there than go to the Grey mansion." He grinned briefly, down at his boots. "They can't have me back anyway. It's problematic when people return from the dead."

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The gust made Silvryn hug her arms a bit more tightly around herself. The dress was lighter than the traveling clothes that she was accustomed to wearing, and she hadn't thought to grab a cloak. It was not unbearably cold, of course, but the air still had an edge to it.

"It happens more often than you might think," she said casually. There was yet another pause. Silvryn had mastered many of the social graces, but small talk still utterly eluded her. She was never sure how to fill the long gaps in a conversation.

The breeze whispered through the branches again, the only sound in the otherwise silent garden.

At her words, the Phantom remembered that Silvryn herself might as well have risen from the dead. He nodded. "Aye. Perhaps."

The same gust that ruffled her skirts made the leaves above them shift and sigh. The Phantom noted her shiver and moved closer. If he looked up, her eyes met his. He didn't know where his next words came from. "Silvryn," he said. "The rebellion is over. Phantom Grey...Phantom Grey is dead."

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Silvryn leaned a bit closer, grateful for the additional warmth."Yes, I was there," she replied slowly. She hesitated before continuing, searching for the right words.

"The Regent went about it poorly, but... you do realize that it was necessary, yes? The Phantom is a symbol of the rebellion, of division. Kytana needs to mend that rift if we are to have any chance against Raen's forces."

"And what about Phaerin Grey?" demanded the Phantom. "Phaerin Grey had his funeral. Phantom Grey is dead." Every time he said it, he felt as though he were making it more true - carving the words deeper. Phantom Grey is dead.

What did that make him? The Phantom closed his eyes. "I didn't know it would be like this," he said into the rustling darkness. If he'd known, would he have done it? Of course he would have. Suddenly his own chagrined self-pity turned around and stared at him with uncomfortable frankness. Had he hung? No. Was he really dead? No. Was Silvryn still beside him?

Yes. But for how long?

The Phantom swallowed his next complaint. "No. Never mind."

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"I had a funeral as well," Silvryn pointed out quietly. "Does that make me any less alive? Phantom Grey is finished, yet here you stand, alive and in reasonably good health. The Phantom would not have existed if Phaerin had not first. It was Phaerin Grey who first found me, who took a stand when others dared not. I would not consider him undeserving of a second chance."

She tilted his head up toward her. "The rebellion is over - we always knew it would be, one day - but the fight is far from ended. Do not be so eager to write yourself off just yet. Kytana still has need of a hero."

"Elves are better in the business of heroes," returned the Phantom, dropping his voice to a murmur, but it was empty resistance. When she let her hand drop, he still gazed up at her face, framed by dark leaves. The darkness kept him from quite knowing her expression.

Phaerin Grey. He was a very different entity from the Phantom. Was Phaerin Grey capable of heroism?

He took a long breath of the crisp air, and when he raised a hand to cover hers, he found her fingers cool. They could have remained so indefinitely, but time was slipping through his fingers. "What else ends here?" he said. Just then he would rather not have known her expression. "You must go to the elves, sooner or later."

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"I know," Silvryn whispered, staring back out into the dark garden.

She'd always known. Known that it could not last forever, known that eventually they would go separate ways. Even when there had not been the issue of separate kingdoms, she'd known that it could not work. She was royalty - it had always been understood that she would marry whomever would be most prudent politically. She had never expected to have the option of falling in love.

Abruptly, she realized that that was the first time she'd dared apply that particular term to her situation. Was she falling in love? She hardly had sufficient past experience to be certain. She had no idea what it even felt like. But based on the past few times that they had been alone, it would seem that they were at least heading in that dangerous direction.

"Lord Adaniar..." she began, only to cut herself off. He did not need to know of Adaniar's concern, the many well-intentioned but slightly redundant warnings that she had received already. They were both well enough aware of the complications they faced. "Lord Adaniar does not believe that Raen will attempt an attack for at least another month, perhaps longer. I will be here for that long, but after that...."

She trailed off, willing herself to say what had been on her mind for several days already. "There will be no shortage of work to be done in the meantime," she said at length. "I imagine we will both be quite busy. Perhaps... perhaps it would be best if we were not unnecessarily distracted."

He'd expected it. The Phantom - Phaerin? - nodded silently. She would have work to do. As for him - well, he was inconsequential. "Perhaps I won't stay," he murmured, half to himself, staring off at one pinpoint of lanternlight over the gardens. He had combat experience; perhaps the militia. Possibilities floated like torn thistledown through his mind, disorganized and disjointed. There were places he could go.

The fantasies persisted only until he looked back at her. "Ah, Silvryn," he said.

On impulse - and with a strange sense of limited time, as though before long she would merely disappear and leave him alone - he reached up to pull her down from her seat. She fit comfortably beneath his chin, slim and small; elflike.

"You're right," he murmured into her hair. It smelled fragrant. "Adaniar - whatever he said - is right." When he let go his hold to step back, to study her, it was Phaerin Grey who was speaking. He tried a rakish smile, and touched a fingertip to her nose. "Don't forget. I'll never be far away."

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Since it's been months since I said it, this is interesting. ^_^

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Silvryn made a half-hearted attempt at returning the smile. "I know," she repeated, still only barely audible. Dark gods, she didn't want to do this. She wanted to still be leaning against him, wrapped tightly in his arms. She wanted to kiss him and not worry about who might be watching. Far from the first or last time, she felt rather acutely the limitations of her position. If it were any different...

Not daring to look up, she instead fixed her eyes on one of the distant lights. "Phantom - Phaerin... This is not... I don't..." She paused, struggling to form a coherent thought. Finally, she met his gaze. "This would not be my choice, were our circumstances any different. If we were not in the middle of a war, if there were not so many diverse factors that went into it...."

She trailed off. It was not different, they were in the middle of a war, and there were so many factors that trying to think of them all at once made her head spin. Wishing that something could be rarely made it so.

She took a step forward, even as she mentally berated herself for being selfish, for making this harder for both of them. Before she could change her mind, she took on her toes and gently kissed him. Then, leaving it up to him whether or not he would follow, she turned and left.

----------

Kjan was just finishing up his meal when Silvryn returned. Without the Phantom. "Where-"

"He said he would be coming shortly," she said before he could ask. "I suppose there has been no word?"

Kjan sighed and shook his head. "None. You weren't gone very long, but even still. How long can it take?"

"It is admittedly a rather large decision," Silvryn pointed out. "Especially now that he knows that we have someone who could steal the throne from him. He will want to carefully weigh every option."

"It was unwise to reveal that particular fact so early," Adaniar said, looking in Jate's direction. "You may as well have placed a target on your back."

"We will have to be especially cautious," Silvryn agreed. "I know from experience that the Regent is not above assassination of those who inconvenience him."

Jate looked up as Silvryn entered the room, then went back to contemplating his plate. Despite the richness of the food, and the lack of even decent food up until this morning, half still sat there. The conversation with the Regent had left him feeling like a chicken about to be plucked for dinner. Adaniar's comments were not helping.

"Yes, I realized," Jate said as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. He had seen the look in the Regent's eyes, had felt a chill of fear. "It kind of came out. Ah..I would assume we're not going to just let him keep the throne?" Looking with some hope and trepidation at the two, he continued. "I didn't really have a study in politics, you know. Some basic advice would be appreciated. Like when to not talk."

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going on a journey through my old claims

"The Regent will keep the throne at least until Raen ceases to be a threat, ideally," Silvryn said. "I do not agree with him on many points, but I do acknowledge that he has ruled this kingdom for nearly ten years. He is better suited, for the time being, than a young, inexperienced king. Soon after the war, however, it will be yours."

That would give them a month, maybe two, if Adaniar's predictions were correct. Time during which they all would already be incredibly busy. Two months to teach Jate what had taken her sixteen years to learn. Even if he proved to be a natural, there was no way that it could all be done.

It was a daunting task. It was not that she had an especially low estimation of Jate, but she was realistic about how much he could take in at once. And if they would be starting with subjects as simple as when it was appropriate to speak one's mind....

"We will start tomorrow, in what spare time we have," she decided. "For the sake of expediency, I will have to assume that you have at least a basic grasp of diplomacy. Even Kjan-"

"I resent that."

"-knows how to conduct himself in court. We do not have time to cover the minutiae of protocol."

Kjan leaned back slightly in his chair. "Dante, you used to study diplomacy, right?" he asked. "I bet you could be helpful in that particular field."

Mid-protest that teaching an annoying young noble the fine arts of diplomacy was <i>not</i> something he was interested in doing, Dante stopped and raised his eyebrows suspiciously at Kjan. Being volunteered to <i>teach</i> Jate was a strange sensation. Previously Dante had just tagged along, been a useful asset times perhaps, but mostly just an unnecessary piece of baggage. He'd resented the rebels and all their exclusive knowledge. He'd resented the fact that even inexperienced Ash and stubborn, silent Jate were called upon more than him. The implications of this change of status were sudden and overwhelming. And very, very sweet.

"Helpful," he scoffed. "Eight years I spent, my head buried in protocol and politics. I met and observed diplomats from other nations, I studied under international scholars. I sacrificed eight years of my life to diplomacy, and you think I might be helpful?"

He snorted. "Of course, you can see the good my efforts brought me. I'm now grouped with a lot of ex-rebels who are never sure of their next plan. I'm going to try to cram eight years of knowledge into a few sessions for numbskull young sap." Gesturing sarcastically, he sighed, "Ah, to now enjoy and reap my rewards."

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<center>
"The piano is able to communicate the subtlest universal truths by means of wood, metal and vibrating air."

Phaerin stood under that same tree, watching her as she went, and staring in the same direction even after he could no longer see her. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and crunched through the carpet of dead leaves, scattering them to the wind until he was once more wandering down the winding path.

A sentry's soft, rhythmic footsteps went by on the distant walltop. Light gleamed from several of the palace windows. For a moment, he imagined himself finding a side gate and merely slipping out, just to leave it all behind. Phantom Grey would not have considered such a thing.

The feeling of empty apathy persisted as he let his feet carry him on whatever winding route they would. What was the point of it all? The rebellion was over. No one, least of all him, wanted them loitering about the palace. It wasn't as though he could advise Jate - he knew as little about ruling as the boy himself. Soon Silvryn, too, would be gone.

Except that it was he who had told her she needed to go. He'd done everything but say the words: it's over. Why should it matter to him? Because perhaps somewhere, deep down, he believed in the whimsical happy ending that every hero - excluding him - got? Glory for all and a kiss of true love?

He snorted. But it took willpower to turn his feet from approaching the wall and wandering along it in search of a gate. Balanced between responsibility and temptation, he stood there a long time before turning toward the palace. It loomed over him.

By the time he'd dragged himself up through torchlit halls to the double doors of their suite and could hear the low murmur of conversation - Silvryn's precise treble, Dante lower and Jate in between - Phaerin had steeled himself. He need only wait until the Regent made a decision; then, as long as Jate did not need him, he could be gone. Gone.

His fingers paused over the doorknob. Everything was changing.

When he slipped inside, it was to retreat to the same corner, half listening to the others talk and half staring out the window.

He tried not to hear the music of Silvryn's voice above the rest.

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Silvryn looked up briefly as the Phantom - Phaerin - entered, then forced her attention back to the conversation. They had made the right decision. She would not allow herself to feel regret already. "That would be immensely helpful, Dante, thank you," she said, pointedly keeping her gaze on the cartographer and not the figure in the corner. "We can begin first thing tomorrow, then, and work whenever we are not occupied with negotiations."

This decided, the rest of the evening passed mostly uneventfully. They waited on word from the Regent for hours, until finally they resigned themselves to waiting until morning and went to bed. Despite the late start that they'd had, within half an hour the only sound in the quarters was that of muted snoring.

----------------------------------------

Kjan was rather rudely awoken the next morning by loud banging on his door. He opened his eyes and promptly groaned. It was barely even light in the room. Whoever was doing the pounding sounded quite insistent, though, so he grudgingly forced himself to get up. When he stumbled into the common room, he saw most of the others already gathered - including Adaniar, who looked the most unsettled Kjan had seen the elf up to this point.

"There has been a complication," Adaniar announced flatly as soon as everyone was present. "The Regent is dead."

In the stunned silence that followed, Silvryn's mind was already reeling. This was precisely what they had been trying to avoid, the primary reason that they had not taken the easier option of simply replacing the Regent. The possibilities of who could have done it were endless - a disgruntled citizen, a mercenary, perhaps even someone from their own ranks, though she doubted anyone would be quite that stupid. Or it could have been Raen. She was inclined to believe that one, but it was far too early to tell.

Any further musings or response were cut off by the doors of the suite bursting open. In strode a thunderous Commander Sorian, followed by a company of soldiers. "He dismisses your charges, grants you housing in his own palace, provides you with more than sufficient food and clothing, even signs your little treaty, and this is how you repay him?" he growled, glaring at each of them in turn. "I warned him. I told him your sort couldn't be trusted. Do you have any idea what you've-"

"If you intend to accuse us, commander," Silvryn interrupted coolly, "you had best first tell us what the charge is."

"The Regent is dead."

"So I gathered. Do you think we are any happier about it than you are? We did not risk our lives to come here and endure tedious negotiations for the sake of appearances. It was crucial to our plan that he remain alive, and now your men have failed to protect him. Do the people know?"

The commander appeared to be struggling to keep his tone even. "I would imagine some do. He was hanging from a noose in the main courtyard."

"Then why are you standing here?" Silvryn demanded. "Try to find any witnesses, have them talk and make sure they do not spread the story further. No, you can point fingers later; I assure you, we are not going anywhere. Unless you wish for the entire town to be in an uproar by noon, you will deal with this first. Have your soldiers ready for any complications. And gather the advisors, officials, anyone of remote importance in the main hall. Quickly."

There was a moment's hesitation as Sorian seemed to weigh his options, then the commander was gone, leaving behind a handful of soldiers.

Silvryn turned back around, her gaze automatically falling on Jate. Dark gods, Jate. She'd been doubtful of how prepared he would be after a month of training - he was not ready now, by any means. But unless the Regent had named a competent successor - unlikely - they had little option now. They would simply have to hope that he learned quickly.

"Do we have any idea who might have done this?" she asked, looking back to Adaniar.

"I have my suspicions," Adaniar said. "Likely the same ones that you have. It is the most logical answer."

Silvryn nodded wearily, rubbing at her temples. "He must have decided to cooperate. That is the only reason Raen would have done something so drastic."