« don't die so far from the sea »
Charles is reading to him in his study—Orestes is still learning the various languages and scripts of Novus—about the history of the Zolin. It is a biography, one that does not seem inherently accurate. He is deeply invested, in particular, by the chapter regarding Zolin's child soldiers when one of the other courtiers enters. The courtier, Raska, appears deeply troubled.
“Sir? There is a… man… in the marketplace…” She works her mouth, uncertain of how to proceed. “He is… or was… just screaming? At nothing? We think he might be insane, perhaps from the desert—it happens fairly often—but we don’t know. Should we detain him?”
It was the last thing he had been expecting, but Orestes supposed such things happened when one was a Sovereign. He shakes his head. “No, no. I will see for myself.”
By the time Orestes reaches the city center, there is a small crowd gathered around the acclaimed madman. He is muttering something about walls. Orestes parts the crowd and finds himself standing before a man with a knife lodged in his shoulder.
Even as a Prince of a Thousand Tides, a Keeper of Souls, and a reincarnated Prince of amorphous water horses, he is taken aback. It is the first time Orestes finds himself genuinely shocked in longer than he can remember. It takes him a moment to gather himself. Eventually, Orestes says, from bewilderment alone, “Oh my—how can we help you?”
He is squinting at the wound now, the pulsating black and gold and red that surrounds it, and refrains form asking—do you need a medic?
Of course he does, but it doesn't look like something a medic could fix. Orestes settles on the second best option. "Could we offer you some water and, perhaps, get you out of the sun?"
@Sada / speaks / notes: text text
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