Cyrene drummed her fingers on the edge of her desk, using the sharp staccato clicks of her nails on the hard wood to punctuate her irritation at Esari -- just in case the woman missed it. She wouldn't put it past her. Sometimes she wondered if this woman was really, truly as dense as she made herself out to be, or if it was all a clever act.

"Thirty-five patients were discharged yesterday," Esari -- she refused to think of her as 'Lady' Esari -- continued her report after a short pause. "And the foreman said that electricity would be returned to the hospital in another few days. By then, only the critical patients should be left, and they will be allowed into the facilities of the Medical Center."

"And our resources?" Cyrene asked quietly, forcing Esari to look at her. "How are they holding out?"

"We have just enough to last us through most of the treatments, but we will have to import more casting gauze, and produce fifteen percent more anti-biotic treatments if we want to last through every patient."

"I see." Cyrene smiled grimly. "I take it you have a proposal as to how we are to get these extra resources?" Her fingers halted, bringing dead silence to the room.

"Yes," Esari replied, placing her sheaf of papers onto the desk. "As a matter fo fact...... I do have a suggestion, my Queen." She waited, but when Cyrene didn't break the silence, she went on, clearing her throat. "It has come to our attention that Shevat's alliance with Kislev is...... stagnating."

Cyrene raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"It was suggested that, if we lend a small portion of our military power to their cause in Aveh, we might be able to barter for the supplies we need. They would not be able to refuse, if they saw a true motion of support, such as that." The young noblewoman crossed her arms over her chest, jaw clenched as she watched for a reaction.

**She's certainly not much of a diplomat. But at least she knows when to keep quiet.** Cyrene leaned back, regarding her subordinate over steepled fingers. "A plausible plan of action. However...... has it not occured to you that Kislev's goals in Aveh are a lost cause?"

She blinked. "With our military power --"

"With our military power, they will be able to do nothing. Gebler will not let their stronghold on Ignas go so easily; if we send even a remnant of our depleted forces to the surface, we will only be weakening our chances of survival." Cyrene paused, biting back a sigh at the expression on Esari's face. More ill favor in her court -- as if there was not enough already! "We cannot ask more of them at this time. I hope the Council can be brought to understand this -- you included, Esari."

The younger woman stared at her for a moment in silence. Then, "That's it? Is this what I'm supposed to tell them?"

Cyrene hardened her expression. "I'm sure you'll tell them exactly what you feel they need to know." The girl would have to be watched; if anything would prompt her to bring her misgivings into the open, these orders would do the job. "However, I expect you to give them the truth -- now is not the time for political infighting. If I hear even a whisper of this before this situation is over......"

Esari bowed, not quite able to hide her anger with the motion. "As you say, my Queen." She turned her back and walked from the room without so much as waiting for a dismissal.

**Arrogant child.**

What would it take, she thought, to hold the loyalty of so small a court? What would she have to trade, in order to secure her nobility, and for once hold the upper hand? Her soul?

But no -- she had already traded that, along with Sophia, to Solaris.

Pathetic, that she could barely control her 'higher subjects'. Terrible, that she could not keep the prejudices of Solaris from tainting even the younger generations in her city. Worse yet, that she could do nothing to stop it. Nothing, and she was their -queen-.

What use was the title, if she could not lead her own people? Was the preaching of Solaris all that would reach their ears? **Dreadful thought......** If so...... well, she might as well surrender the city now, and let them see the hard way that the only supporters Solaris wanted were its own.......

The thought was sorely tempting. Even sending just Esari and her little clique...... but of course, that would be murder, and as much as she disliked them...... well, it was not reason enough.

Yet. She was fast running out of patience for their 'insubordinations'......

"I take it Esari was her usual self?"

Cyrene looked up from her contemplation, managing to hide her surprise by a narrow margin. Synclair stood in front of the double doors to her study, still and perfect, as he always was. A slight crease marred his forehead, but nothing else betrayed his current state of mind.

"If you mean arrogant, and hollow as Babel Tower, you've guessed correctly." She smiled slightly, tensing when he drew a few steps closer, to stand at the center of the room. "I could swear she means to wear this mantle herself...... but of course, even she has to know she would not make a fit queen for this country."

"No," he said softly. "No Shevat-born citizen will ever make a good ruler for this country." He bowed correctly, gracefully. His coat -- blood red, she noted in grim amusement -- made of the bow something elegant, with its symmetry.

What a silly thing to notice. She was here to do her work, not stare at her ministers. "Have you come for something in particular, Synclair? I thought you were with the team investigating Kaminoshi's case."

"We've hit the usual snag. Solaris's containment field has been modified yet again; our equipment can't penetrate that kind of dynamic shielding without extra power." She kept her eyes steady to his, but he never blinked. "I've come," he continued, with another minute bow, "To request access to the secondary generator for this project."

"They couldn't scrape up the courage to face me themselves, hmm?" He cracked a smile, and she shrugged. "Permission granted. In fact, I leave that responsibility to you from now on. There is no need to make such an issue of this -- it is under your command now."

"They're going to love that," he replied, his normal, dry tone returning along with the same, sardonic smile. "Forgive me, but may I have this in writing? I would appreciate nothing more than the privilege of stuffing this down their throats......"

Cyrene laughed; she couldn't help herself. The image of Synclair doing just that suddenly appeared in her mind, and she could no longer contain her mirth. Given leave, and immunity, she thought he might actually do it.

She was tempted to let him.

"Is that a yes, my Queen?"

"Some other time, perhaps." She took a deep breath, a smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth. It was rare, to find something to laugh about these days. Rare enough that she wanted to take the precious time to savor it. "I'll have the order in your office and on the list tomorrow morning." But, of course, she had no time for such small pleasures.

yrene reached down into a file drawer, drawing out the sheaf of papers she would use to assign the task to him. It was -- as was usual with such things -- a nightmarishly thick stack of paperwork, all of which required her signature. Added to the rest of the day's work...... well, it didn't appear that she would be getting much sleep tonight.

"Care to foist some of that off on one of us?"

Cyrene looked up again at Synclair's soft question, startled to find him still standing there, before her desk. The sheaf of paper she placed in a box at her elbow, to be left for a later hour. What -was- he still doing in her office? They both had work to do, and no one could afford to slack off while refugees were still crowded in the palace like so many cattle.

"No......" She tried to smile. "Believe it or not, this actually serves to take my mind -away- from my stress."

It was true enough -- after so long -- five hundred years -- these tasks had become as much a part of her as skin, or hair. She wasn't sure there -was- anything else there, at times. Work, rulership, was her life. All that was worth keeping, in any case.

**All things can be shed. Even humans shed skin, and hair, throughout their lifetimes. Supposedly.**

"Of course." So dry, that tone.

"You're too outspoken for your own good, Synclair." The words had no effect, except perhaps the smile that flitted across his face like a moonshadow.

"It's in my nature......" This time she was sure he was repressing a grin. But he sobered immediately. "I apologize for that. Sometimes...... I suppose I am not as diplomatic as I could be. I never did like to waste my time with flowery words." A pause, and silence thick and heavy between them. "It's a wonder I've survived this long."

Was this an apology for......?

"I apologize for my words at our last meeting. If you'll forgive me...... I'll do my best not to repeat the mistake." He bowed yet again, his forehead nearly touching the surface of her desk.

All Cyrene could do, for a moment, was stare at the slender lines of her Minister of Defense in shock. In all the time that she had known him, she had never once heard such an apology leave his lips. Not once.

Oh, he had apologized for various missteps and minor failures in his time, but ever anything so...... sincere. It was the only word she could come up with, for his tone, his eyes...... And such a strange one, to apply to so sardonic a personality. Loyalty didn't explain it, not exactly.

Sometimes...... sometimes she wished she had not cursed herself to solitude. For a queen, Cyrene knew she was woefully lacking in social skills.

And in turn, reading people.

"Formality from you scares me, Synclair......" she said, finally breaking the long stretch of silence. "Apology accepted."

Synclair rose, meeting her eyes with his strange, quicksilver irises, and an espression that was for once smooth and serious, devoid of his usual sharp-edged sense of humor.

"I know." She stood, to meet him on a more even ground. "You meant every word of it, and perhaps you were right; but if you expect me to change overnight, with that kind of motivation......" Cyrene shrugged. "You know me better than that."

"That I do. We're all set in our ways...... Five hundred years has not done anything but freeze us in our mold......" He glanced aside, to the window, eyes catching the light like silver.

"Synclair?"

His eyes lingered on the window. "Would you mind terribly if we took this conversation out of the office?"

She blinked. "Out of the office?" She shifted her shoulders, adjusting the heavy weight of velvet cascading down her back. "What did you have in mind?" He didn't reply. "Jorun?" She uttered his real name for the first time in...... ages, hoping it would jar him out of his apparent trance.

He did finally turn to her, hand outstretched. "Will you join me for a trip down to Aquavy?"

If he was trying to throw her off balance, he deserved a medal. She stared at his hand as if it were somethign alien, for a moment, the robes still trying to pull her shoulders down. "A trip to Aquavy?" She nearly winced; what an idiotic response.

A brief smile flashed across his face. "Yes, a trip out of the city. Without escort."

Uncertainty stabbed at her chest, making her feel sick for a moment. Leave the city? Why? The danger involved...... She stopped the thought abruptly. **A child's worry. Yet......**

He seemed to understand exactly what she was thinking. "I will protect you, Cyrene." His hand was steady, waiting for her to take it. "You have my promise -- on my honor."

Another old phrase, straight out of the history books. After all...... who relied on honor anymore, these days, when it was easier to stab people in the back?

Cyrene lifted her hand, and gingerly placed it in his. His fingers curled around it, almost protectively she thought, making it seem as small and slender as a child's. She suddenly felt very young, very fragile....... she had no idea why, but the simple act of holding his hand......

She trusted him. She really, truly trusted him, and...... and....... Cyrene pushed the rest away.

Hopefully...... she would never regret it.

(Summary: Cyrene confronts the leader of discontent in her court, and finally admits to herself that she trusts Synclair.)