Tyr Sychi did not dismiss Mefuno or Rasheeka immediately after relaying his wishes to the archon. Instead, he put the archon at ease but ordered him to stay. Now, the tyr sits in one of the chairs, his fingers steepled before him, his thoughts closed in. Occasionally, he will glance to the curious not-quite-tapestry stretched upon its stand. The silence lengthens, unbroken.

Mefuno is ill at ease, a man itching to act but constrained. He does not pace, but he looks as though he'd like to. Rather, he settles into a chair, exhales, lays his head back, and closes his eyes. If he has slept since the disaster, it doesn't show; it seems like it would be a miracle if he could manage to sleep now.

The long silence gives the waiting slave a chance to calm her nerves. Earlier she had been manhandled, accused of treason, and yelled at such that even now she finds herself on edge and jittery. She remains in the chair she was tossed into by the tyr, quietly contemplating what to do if she's further called upon to answer questions.

Sychi breaks the silence. "Mefuno."

The archon's eyes flick open. "dynatos tyr?" He injects a great deal of reverence into those two words.

"Someone wants this girl dead. Someone who holds no respect for my authority. Someone willing to wreak havoc to see her dead. Is this what you believe?" Sychi asks.

Mefuno hesitates before answering. "Yes. But I can't prove it, my tyr. I could be wrong."

"Dalus would tell me it's her doing. That the explosion and fire were caused by a foreigner. If not by her, then because of her. If not because she engineered it, then because some foreign enemy of hers wishes her demise." Sychi's black eyes rest on Rasheeka while he speaks. "And she tells me that it is he who would be her murderer."

The circular argument is nothing new to Rasheeka. She has lived it for the last few weeks as well as being a spoke in that particular wheel. Obvious to herself alone is the fact she did not cause this disaster of her own volition. Amongst the casualties is the majority of her would-be family. Deaths she brought upon them by ignoring Archon Mefuno's warning, though their demise was not a direct action of her own. Indeed it was she who was targeted to die. The others were apparently "casualties of war" in a assassination attempt against her. These are thoughts that have occupied Rasheeka's mind since the disaster struck. Though rarely has she given them their full due, being painful as they are. Having had to review them now has darkened her mood considerably and when she's not cowering she spends her moments frowning, a dark and saddened cast to her expression.

The warrior shifts in his seat, restless. "Dalus isn't the only one, dynatos tyr. She's from across the sea. And, who know, maybe they're right. Maybe she's a spy. Maybe she's here to destroy us. I don't know, my tyr. If you think she's a threat, lock her away. Kill her. What is she? One emene. What does she matter?" His tone is flippant as he speaks, but with an undercurrent of anxiety.

Rasheeka blinks at the suggestion to kill her, so casual was the comment made as to surprise her. She turns to look up at the Archon watching him now instead of the floor.

The tyr stands, his right fist clenching. "Indeed. What does she matter?" he repeats. "Someone is trying to control me. I am the tyr of Sychi. I will not be manipulated."

Archon Mefuno is watching his lord, not the slave, as the tyr begins to pace. Sychi stops in front of Rasheeka, looking down at her. "What have you left out?" he asks her, suddenly.

"I d-do not understand the question, dynatos tyr," answers Rasheeka abruptly. The sudden question is especially startling when her nerves are already frayed, and she doesn't happen to see the tyr approach. She had been trying not to meet his gaze since he threw her around.

"Then let me put it another way, Rasheeka. Why should I believe you, a foreigner, over the advice of my longtime counselors? Are you hiding something from me, girl? To fall from kyrios to slave you must have had enemies among your own people. If you fell." The tyr's tail lashes from side to side; his face is impassive, jaw clenched.

Rasheeka looks away from the archon, though she can't quite manage to face the tyr directly. She keeps her eyes on his feet instead. "No, dynatos tyr, I am hiding nothing that is not th-there to be seen. It has become apparent to me t-that in these long years since Laos Enosi last met with the world beyond the sea, that-" the little feline dips her head in a bow trying to show all-due respect when her words might be considered impudent, "-that Laos Enosi has forgotten the ways of outsiders. In my land a noble can become a slave so easily as I have, and a slave who speaks so many languages as I would be terribly difficult to find or train. That is why the Captain purchased me, I was to replace his ailing translator. I was n-not meant to be gifted at all."

Moments trickle past as the tyr watches her. "No. You were not." He turns to Mefuno. "Someone wants her dead. I will not give them the satisfaction of succeeding. She will be kept safe."

"Yes, dynatos tyr." Mefuno gets out of the chair to kneel, and Rasheeka gets the impression of a level of language she doesn't comprehend, as if the tyr's statement was, in actuality, an order to the archon.

The slave breathes a sigh of relief. She was uncertain the answer would meet his approval, and with Archon Mefuno suggesting her death as an option she most certainly was fearing her answer being taken the wrong way.

It seems strange to Rasheeka that so often she finds herself missing a communication detail. Not too long ago had she been confident in her understanding of the nuances of language – now she almost feels as clueless as any other slave that could have been dragged to this foreign land.

The tyr still paces. "She will stay here," he announces.

Mefuno looks briefly nonplussed. "Yes, dynatos tyr," he answers reflexively, then something seems to click. "You mean – here? In your chambers?"

Sychi gives him a crooked smile. "Can you think of anywhere safer?"

Looking almost as surprised as Mefuno the young slave blinks again. This time she does look up to the tyr, for the moment forgetting her fear of him in light of this strange revelation.

The archon is slow in answering. "No… " he admits, finally. "Not really. But… "

Waiting for his warrior to continue, the tyr has a satisfied look to his features, as if pleased to have confused the other man. His vulpine tail swings from side to side, leisurely. "But?" he prompts.

He hasn't confused just the Archon, either. Rasheeka continues to stare at the tyr for some time with her ears slightly askew and whiskers twitching. This was most definitely not a turn of events she had expected. And beyond that the tyr scares her.

"'A Theon may make his own rules,'" the archon finishes, at length.

"Yes. But you may do better than that, Mefuno. Go ahead. Tell me I am unwise. Tell me my people will distrust me for letting a proditos inside these chambers. Tell me of the resentment it could cause. Go on, Mefuno," the tyr encourages.

The archon is still kneeling, one arm crossed before him, but he glances to his lord at these commands. "Why should I? You just did."

"The hundred and fifteenth year afixi Theon, Theon Endre," whispers Rasheeka to herself. Remembering the time, date, and speaker of the quote makes her feel rather proud. Until now she hadn't had any idea at all as to these sayings of the Laos Enosi – but not anymore. As a warrior may find triumph in slaying a great enemy, so does Rasheeka find satisfaction in meeting the history of a forgotten people.

Beyond her brief pride at having understood the till-now obscure sayings of the Laosians the young slave also finds something curious in the tyr. His challenge to his Archon reminded her of something a young man might do, and she begins to wonder if this inscrutable man might well be younger than she had believed.

"True. Do you think I am wrong?" the tyr asks.

"I think you are determined," Mefuno replies.

"You are testing my patience, Sanuros, and it is thin enough already. Do you think I am wrong?"

The archon looks at the floor. "I … think she would be safe in a cell, with trustworthy guards. But, given the nature of these attempts … yes." He sounds defeated, and reluctant to admit it. "There is none so trustworthy as the desechyro. If you are determined to keep her alive, that is the best way."

Even Rasheeka questions the tyr's logic – though in a much more internal fashion. She has been suspected of being a saboteur, of being dangerous to their whole country and now the tyr wants her very close by. The old saying about keeping your enemies close comes to her mind, but even with it she still wonders at the logic. Wonders how a ruler could be so rash. It makes her wonder again if he might be a young man, one out to test his limits as she has seen done countless times during the parties her mother used to throw.

Though Rasheeka is no judge of age among humans, she has noticed that their furless skin seems to wrinkle on the hands and faces of the older ones. By that measure, the tyr could well be a youth – his complexion is flawless, unmarred by blemish or wrinkle. He looks tall and strong enough to be a grown man – but how can she determine such things on a person whose very species was hitherto unknown to her?

The tyr is contemplative after the archon's concession, standing motionless at the center of the room. He reminds her, now, of the tyr as she first saw him, statue-still and mysterious. "Diabaino," he says at last, and gestures for the two to go.

Rasheeka casts a glance between the two men for some indication as to what she should do. After all the tyr had just suggested she remain in his own chambers, while the archon offered another suggestion. As hard to read as the tyr can be, and lacking the archon's instinctive sense of the ruler's desires, Rasheeka can only look confused.

The archon stands, and beckons to the uncomprehending slave as he opens the door. The tyr turns away from either of them, pacing back to the window.

Rasheeka bows quickly once the archon gestures, finding the indication that she seeks. She quickly stands and hurries to the archon's side.

Once they are outside the smaller room – but still within the grand suite that seems to be the sole provenance of the tyr – the archon closes the door behind them. He glances about the larger, but empty, chamber, and gives a heavy sigh. He looks at Rasheeka, and shakes his head. "Never, ever, tell anyone you saw him without the mask." His voice is quiet, as if he feared being overheard despite the empty room. "Not here."

"Of course. N-never," swears Rasheeka. Seeing the tyr without his mask was a great shock to Rasheeka. Not simply because it was a first, but because believed it had far-reaching implications that she did not yet have a full grasp on. Somehow, she knew, it was a breech of something sacred. "I w-would not have looked, but … I d-did not expect … "

Mefuno puts a finger to her lips, silencing her. "Enough. You'll stay here. Rasmus'll find a place for you, I suppose." The archon's face is lined by the furrows on his brow and the twist of his mouth. If the tyr's unmarked face meant he was young, then at this moment, Mefuno must be old indeed.

Again Rasheeka bows to the archon. She wonders what the steward will think when she finds her, here, ordered to be here by the tyr himself.

"Come along. Best to let him know now." The archon gathers himself and strides across the open floor, Rasheeka in tow. Halfway across the room, he stops and turns to her.

When the archon stops suddenly, Rasheeka looks up to meet his gaze attentively.

"If you lied to us, girl. If you had any part in causing what happened at the Hearth. If you are hiding anything from me … " The large human would tower over her even without trying; now he looms. "If you cause one scratch in harm to come to him – then I will make you long for an easy death in a fiery inferno." He is more completely serious than she has ever seen him.

Rasheeka shrinks away from the warrior as he threatens her, such that by the time he is done her ears end up flattened to her head and her expression has gone from attentive to wide-eyed intimidated. Her whiskers twitch involuntarily on her face, and she fidgets with her clasped hands.

Mefuno rests his left hand on the hilt of his short sword. "Meh. You'd better be just what you seem to be, girl."

He turns from her and continues his walk to the door.

Even after the archon has finished his warning and moved on the slave continues to stand frozen, watching him. For the moment she forgets she's supposed to follow. She wonders how anyone could think she's so very dangerous. Surrounded by a thousand people more dangerous than herself, and yet the court of Sychi worries over her. Worries enough to cause an old soldier grief. Her whiskers twitch again at the thought. Laos Enosi is strange indeed.