the salt is on the briar rose,
the fog is in the fir trees.
the fog is in the fir trees.
Every time her eyes meet his he feels that same nudge of recognition, of having seen that specific shade of slate-gray before - and not just the color but the way it measures him. Only he knows for certain he’s never met a Foster, never met any of the wealthy families of Terrastella at all - they liked to keep themselves separate, even at the festivals. In fact, his only brush with that kind of power (and more) had been a few months ago, when he’d turned to find Queen Marisol joining him on the cliffside above the turquoise sea.
He prefers his people, rough-edged and rowdy and with no idea how to weaponize manners. And why would they, when hooves and teeth and (sometimes) wits could settle any dispute?
Though Caspian was keen enough to see through her smile, the bit of humor in her question seems genuine. “No,” he replies, a grin tucked in the corner of his mouth. “Not unless you really really mean it.” When she repeats his name with an ellipses clear behind it, he makes no effort to respond. He could make up another name, could pretend to be something other than what he is - but why? So he lets the silence hang, just a moment like the trough of a wave, until she continues.
Now his interest turns keen, sharp as the lines of ink on the creamy parchment. “Easy enough to ignore roads you don’t travel,” he quips, watching her expand the map to include the alley they stand in. He squints, blue eyes traveling the lines, ticking off the ones he recognizes and wondering just why the nobles might suddenly care about the city’s less trafficked areas. He could think of a few miscreants who might not be happy such a map was in their hands - but who would be happy to have it themselves.
He could also think a few miscreants who were morally inhibited enough to consider kidnapping a Foster, a possibility that could become quite real depending on which districts she intended to explore alone.
It’s an unsettling thought, but one that gives him an idea.
“An admirable attitude,” he says sunnily, “but time is money, as they say. I know these back routes pretty well, myself - if you want a guide.” Caspian regards her through his long lashes, trying to look as boyishly convincing as he can.
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