The Gilded Gleeman

[Lawrence Monday]

She expected the sweet-cheeked Gleeman to turn tail and cower away. Most would mutter incomprehensible apologies and duck from sight before they were thrown over the walls. Instead, he faced the heat of Akari’s scrutiny with composure. Lythia was impressed enough to watch with more than idle interest at this point. It hadn’t escaped her that despite his thorough visit with the dirt, he wasn’t too visibly wounded. A small wince made the wound known while the blood on his mouth made a lipstick of his lips. Despite her proximity to warders and Asha’man constantly honing their bodies and minds to perfection, Lythia wasn’t fond of the taste of blood-flecked kisses. If his lips were shining, it wasn’t out of lust that she leered at them. He spoke with little adaptation to his voice. He didn’t rummage around the injury with his fingers or squirm at the sight of his own blood. Instead, he was relatively undisturbed by the whole ordeal. Either he trained more than the average gleeman or he was accustomed to visiting the dirt, and by his own admission, he always got up.  So how often was he thrown down? She just had to ask him.

She looked at Akari with a placating smile. “Tar Valon would be the place to find the seeds of legend. Perhaps he should interview yourself, Gaidar?” She asked knowing full well the Kandori would be more likely to subject herself to that torture than to refuse actual torture. “If he interviews me, that should suffice for the loophole in security,” she added. “And the Tower is far more comfortable than a stuffy table at a city inn. The views are better too.”