The boating trip.

You wake around dawn. Some lonely part of you had hoped Sarah would be willing to share your bed again, but it wasn't to be. You weren't the type to **** the issue, especially after what you'd asked of her the night before.

Pausing to splash some water on your face, you stow your knife in your boot, then leave the villa proper, heading to the boathouse on the water's edge, where you'd agreed to convene with Garnier and Emmanuelle.

The first to arrive, you take in the craft moored within the elegantly finished wooden structure. Though Gunnarsdottir was the expert when it came to ships, the thing was well-crafted to your eye. Apparently designed by Garnier himself during his time at the University of Copieux. It was a yacht, about fifty feet in length, with a small cabin, and enough room for a small handful of people. You imagined it was perfect for cruising around the lake.

With nothing to do but wait, you sit yourself down on a nearby crate, and take a procession of deep breaths, attempting to steel yourself for what is to come. There was no doubt in your mind about the necessity of what you were going to attempt, but even so, it rankled. To say nothing of the act itself, hiding your blade, your identity, your true aims. You'd always thought the shame such deceptions aroused in you were because it did not become an honourable warrior. Lately, you'd begun to suspect you hated it because it made you feel like him. Your corrupt and careless father.

You hear footsteps from behind. You notice you're clutching your hands into fists. Releasing your grip, you will a more genial expression across your features, and turn to face the approaching royals.

Just as you planned for, Emmanuelle is nowhere to be seen. Only Garnier, tired and stressed, and Madeleine, her restless energy doubtless a large contributor to her father's fatigue. With them is a second man, lean and wary, no pampered Sinnabarrovian noble, this is a man who works for a living.

"Garnier." you nod to the prince. "Is everything well?"

"To tell you the truth, Bryce, it is not." Garnier admits. "It's Emmanuelle. Last night, she... She suffered another seizure, her condition, you see... It was, rather more serious than the spell you witnessed back in Itheria."

The crown prince face bears the darkness and discomfort of it for all to see.

"How dreadful!" you say, putting a hand to your mouth. "Will the queen be well?"

"In time." Garnier suggests. "But she is presently incapable of leaving her bed."

"Perhaps we shouldn't sail today." you venture.

Just as you expected she would, Madeleine takes umbrage with this.

"No!" the child scowls, pulling her hand away from Garnier's and stomping forward. "We came to our lake and sail and that's what we're going to do! I want to, so we're doing it!" she points angrily at you.

"Only three and already a tyrant." you observe.

"I can't say no to her." Garnier shrugs. "Emmanuelle would understand, it's the only thing that'll keep the girl quiet."

"Very well, if you think it proper." you agree.

"This is Maurice, ground and boatkeeper of the estate. He'll accompany us. La Dévouée requires two people to sail, and one of us should keep an eye on Madeleine." Garnier says, obviously trying to focus on the particulars of the ship, instead of Emmanuelle, and the discomfort and confusion she must be in back in the villa.

"Your Majesty." Maurice nods.

"I don't need anyone to look after me!" Madeleine protests. "I'm old enough to help you sail!"

"In a few more years, enfant." Garnier smiles sadly. "Come."

With Madeleine sitting impatiently on the sidelines, the three of you set about preparing the yacht for its jaunt.

It doesn't take long, evidently the crown's staff keep the prince's prized ship in good working order. Maurice does depart temporarily, fetching a length of rope for the sail, leaving you and Garnier alone.

Casting an eye around, to ensure Madeleine isn't watching, the prince reaches into his pocket, withdrawing a pouch of something white and painfully familiar.

"Care to join me?" Garnier says, offering you the Jitterleaf powder. "Emmanuelle doesn't like me taking the stuff when Madeleine's around, but I need something. Haven't slept since we arrived, you know?"

Not wanting to arouse any suspicion, you accept the offered narcotic. As you take a brief snort, feel the familiar exhilaration coursing through your bloodstream, it occurs to you what the old-timers say is true, the Jitterleaf originally manufactured in Sinnabarrow is orders of magnitude less potent than that which lets the coalition carve a path through half the continent.

Garnier follows on from you, the powder perking him up. It will also make him hastier, more careless, both factors you can work with.

Maurice returns and in short order, the four of you are away, guiding the ship slowly out of the boathouse and onto the water. You assist in the operation of the boat as best as you are able, helping Garnier with the sail, and taking the rudder as you head out into the crystal blue waters of the Lac d'Givre.

You feel a growing discomfort. Something's wrong, but you're not sure what. Pain, shivers, an encroaching migraine. Could it be the Jitterleaf? Your body was hardly accustomed to it, after all.

"You sail well, Bryce." Garnier says, offering a smile as he pats you on the shoulder. "Even better than I expected, yes?"

Contrary to what you'd told him, you'd rarely set foot on a ship during your childhood. But when you'd joined up with the Serpent Queen, she'd eventually shown you the ropes.

"It's noth-" just as you're about to give the prince an evasive answer, stabbing pain pierces every particle of your being. It's as if your spirit is being wrenched from your body. You slump down, clutching the taffrail and gritting your teeth.

It's Sally. It has to be. She's found you, and it trying to wrench you from the moment. From Bryce. You can't let that happen. You fight back, with every bit of your will and magic. After a few terrible seconds, the **** seems to cease.

"Bryce?" Garnier, full of concern, has his hand on your shoulder. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine." you tell him. You take in a deep breath, willing yourself to focus on the freshness of the lake air, the feeling of the yacht beneath your feet. This is where you are, not some musty old crypt.

"Perhaps just a little hungry?" you suggest.

"Have no fear, we'll dine as soon as we're back in the villa." Garnier smiles. "Maurice will help you up, if you need to rest, head down to the cabin, yes?"

Garnier departs, to the bow, where Maurice and Madeleine are taking in the sights of the lake. As Garnier joins his daughter, making sure she doesn't throw herself over the rail in excitement, Maurice gives them some space, heading over to you.