She intended to meet her uncles, whether her father liked it or not.
The hall outside Loretta's room was thankfully unguarded, and Sparrow flitted down the halls unimpeded, her light skirts swishing as she raced toward the banquet hall. She would do well not to enter there, she knew--not while her father was there, at least. He wouldn't be pleased with what she was doing tonight, not in the least, and Sparrow wasn't looking forward to what would happen if he discovered her out of her rooms in spite of his orders to stay. She guess what the punishment for this disobedience would be, but she knew it wouldn't be anything she wanted to face, and so she steered clear of it, opting instead to head them off.
Assuming neither Frost nor Idris was particularly prone to snitching, her father would never have to know.
It was Idris who she found first, tucked away in yet another tower of the massive palace she called her home, and she was grateful to see that his retinue either mistook her for a messenger of her father's or else recognized her and permitted her passage out of ignorance of her father's rule. When she entered the tower, he was alone in the room, not a single servant in sight, and Sparrow was thankful for that; the less ears overheard this meeting, the better. But he was distracted, and he had yet to notice her entrance; his eyes were on the trunks stacked in the center of the room, as if he planned to begin unpacking but was uncertain how to begin without the servants' help.
"Uncle," she said softly, and he looked up at her, startled.
For a moment, he merely stared at her, and she wasn't surprised by the reaction. They had never met before; she doubted the man had so much as caught a glimpse of her in all her years, locked away as she was by her father's odd and wholly unwarranted jealousy. Finally, though, he seemed to recognize her, or else to guess the only name she could possibly be. "Sparrow." She nodded eagerly. "I... hadn't expected to see you. What are you doing here?"
"You wouldn't have seen me," she answered. "Father doesn't wish us to meet."
Her uncle's eyes bore into hers, and Sparrow had the distinct impression of being searched; what the man was looking for, she couldn't have guessed, but she had nothing to hide from him nevertheless.
"Do you know why?" he asked finally, and the question surprised her.
"Because--" She struggled to come up with the answer, and part of her wondered if perhaps the query was some kind of trick. "I don't know. Do you?"
If what she saw in his expression was actually the pity she took it for, she couldn't understand why it was there. "Does Octavian not want you at the banquet tonight?"
"No. He doesn't."
Idris nodded, and he appeared to be thinking deeply, lost for a moment in some secret thought. "Then you shouldn't be here."
"I don't care what father said," she protested quickly. "And if you're worried about it, you don't need to tell him what I've done. It's not your fault, in any case. I only wanted to meet you--and Frost."
"You haven't yet, though, have you?" Idris asked.
"No," she answered honestly, wondering why--if--it mattered. "I found you first. I intend to meet Frost next, before the banquet if I can. If I can't, perhaps afterward. I don't intend to let him leave without introducing myself, no matter what rules my father inflicts upon us all."
Idris' dark eyes were unsettling, far too speculative while his tongue held his secrets in silence. "Why does your father not want you to meet us?" he asked again.
Sparrow felt uncertainty sinking into her mind like an oil absorbing into skin. "I couldn't guess," she answered. "It's one of many decision I don't understand. Loretta and Nadia are permitted to go, and I can't imagine what makes them different from myself. Perhaps I've displeased him in some way--unless it was the two of you."
Far from taking an offense to the implication of her words, Idris gave her an approving look. "I doubt you have," he answered evenly, and it sounded distressingly like a dismissal; she wasn't ready to go. Who knew how many years it would be before she could meet with him again; a few moments every few centuries wasn't nearly enough. "You should go see your uncle before someone catches you out of your rooms."
The Rape of Persephone [2/?]
The hall outside Loretta's room was thankfully unguarded, and Sparrow flitted down the halls unimpeded, her light skirts swishing as she raced toward the banquet hall. She would do well not to enter there, she knew--not while her father was there, at least. He wouldn't be pleased with what she was doing tonight, not in the least, and Sparrow wasn't looking forward to what would happen if he discovered her out of her rooms in spite of his orders to stay. She guess what the punishment for this disobedience would be, but she knew it wouldn't be anything she wanted to face, and so she steered clear of it, opting instead to head them off.
Assuming neither Frost nor Idris was particularly prone to snitching, her father would never have to know.
It was Idris who she found first, tucked away in yet another tower of the massive palace she called her home, and she was grateful to see that his retinue either mistook her for a messenger of her father's or else recognized her and permitted her passage out of ignorance of her father's rule. When she entered the tower, he was alone in the room, not a single servant in sight, and Sparrow was thankful for that; the less ears overheard this meeting, the better. But he was distracted, and he had yet to notice her entrance; his eyes were on the trunks stacked in the center of the room, as if he planned to begin unpacking but was uncertain how to begin without the servants' help.
"Uncle," she said softly, and he looked up at her, startled.
For a moment, he merely stared at her, and she wasn't surprised by the reaction. They had never met before; she doubted the man had so much as caught a glimpse of her in all her years, locked away as she was by her father's odd and wholly unwarranted jealousy. Finally, though, he seemed to recognize her, or else to guess the only name she could possibly be. "Sparrow." She nodded eagerly. "I... hadn't expected to see you. What are you doing here?"
"You wouldn't have seen me," she answered. "Father doesn't wish us to meet."
Her uncle's eyes bore into hers, and Sparrow had the distinct impression of being searched; what the man was looking for, she couldn't have guessed, but she had nothing to hide from him nevertheless.
"Do you know why?" he asked finally, and the question surprised her.
"Because--" She struggled to come up with the answer, and part of her wondered if perhaps the query was some kind of trick. "I don't know. Do you?"
If what she saw in his expression was actually the pity she took it for, she couldn't understand why it was there. "Does Octavian not want you at the banquet tonight?"
"No. He doesn't."
Idris nodded, and he appeared to be thinking deeply, lost for a moment in some secret thought. "Then you shouldn't be here."
"I don't care what father said," she protested quickly. "And if you're worried about it, you don't need to tell him what I've done. It's not your fault, in any case. I only wanted to meet you--and Frost."
"You haven't yet, though, have you?" Idris asked.
"No," she answered honestly, wondering why--if--it mattered. "I found you first. I intend to meet Frost next, before the banquet if I can. If I can't, perhaps afterward. I don't intend to let him leave without introducing myself, no matter what rules my father inflicts upon us all."
Idris' dark eyes were unsettling, far too speculative while his tongue held his secrets in silence. "Why does your father not want you to meet us?" he asked again.
Sparrow felt uncertainty sinking into her mind like an oil absorbing into skin. "I couldn't guess," she answered. "It's one of many decision I don't understand. Loretta and Nadia are permitted to go, and I can't imagine what makes them different from myself. Perhaps I've displeased him in some way--unless it was the two of you."
Far from taking an offense to the implication of her words, Idris gave her an approving look. "I doubt you have," he answered evenly, and it sounded distressingly like a dismissal; she wasn't ready to go. Who knew how many years it would be before she could meet with him again; a few moments every few centuries wasn't nearly enough. "You should go see your uncle before someone catches you out of your rooms."