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[Cezanne Abella]

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“YES!! A person of my very own!!” Cezanne laughed at the very notion as Kaylor took his place by her side. The auction continued, and she boggled at some of the prices paid by those who apparently very desperately wanted a person of their very own as well.

Cezanne glanced sidelong toward the man standing next to her, finding the gaze returned by piercing blue eyes. The dark-haired knight didn’t flinch, so she looked away, wondering what she might have gotten herself into. Minutes passed in slow procession, then an hour. Stolen glances toward this person of her very own were met with questioning, curious, even suspicious eyes.

Before she knew it, the party was winding down, and it was time to return home to the theatre. Home!? Cezanne blanched. What do I do with a person of my very own??

Small talk was made, and awkward ice was broken. She could use a little help around the theatre with the remodeling and dusting off of rafters. But she hadn’t bought a slave, she’d bought a person. Of her very own. For two whole days. She'd heard that he cared for a lady in Stonegate, and knew well that he greatly respected the Oracle. She had watched him, indeed even as she watched everyone else. What would people think if she took him home with her? What would he think if she refused? She wrung her hands in contemplation before finally inviting him to the Bramble Rose Theatre to mark him a rune.

Away from the hustle and hum of the crowd in Buccaneer’s Den, she found Kaylor to be the charming, kind soul she had observed on so many occasions before. There was no hint of regret or hesitation in his voice as he spoke openly with her of his life in Stonegate and her life as a gypsy troubadour.

As the night hours grew long, she knew it was only fair that she send this dear soul home to Stonegate. There was no reason why anyone should have to question his integrity, and no reason to make his lady fret over his absence overnight. She offered him a room at the inn upstairs, but knew it was better for him to go, at least for tonight.

Cezanne took up a candle and blew out the lanterns on the stage as Kaylor made his way out the door and disappeared into the Umbran night. But once he was gone, she sat down at a table and opened the worn black leather notebook from her pack. She deliberately took her time flipping through pages by candlelight until she found a leaf already half-full of ink, bearing the elegantly scripted title “Kaylor.” She paused to brush the soft plume of her quill across her lips thoughtfully, then smiled as she began again to write.

[Cezanne Abella]

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Two days just wasn’t long enough. Cezanne’s mind railed against the notion that forty-eight hours were drawing to a close. Outwardly, she eagerly soaked in every word, every gesture, every sigh as Kaylor illuminated a world so very foreign to her, and yet now so very familiar, as well. She caught herself trying to imagine the world he had come from, his days on the battlefield. The yoke of responsibility thrust upon him at such a tender age.

Where Cezanne grew up, children were free to be children. To run barefoot on summer days, ribbons and skirts afly as they sang songs and told stories till dusk. And ‘round the fire at night, their parents told the stories and sang the songs that the children themselves would paint with shades of firelight in the decades to come.

And then, the night was gone. Reluctantly, Cezanne acknowledged his necessity to return home, and Kaylor quietly agreed. A solemn note hung in the air between them as for a moment neither spoke another word.

“One last thing,” Kaylor said, his voice soft and noble as ever. He pulled out a slip of paper and laid it on the theatre's tavern bar. “Because our friendship can never be bought.” With that, he leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Good eve, Lady Cezanne. Until soon.” One last, sweeping bow, and he disappeared out the theatre door again into the Umbran night.

Cezanne took the slip of paper and carried it to a table in the corner, where she sat in silence for the better part of an hour, until she again heard footsteps outside on the cobblestones. A light tap on the stone arch announced the arrival of Adrian, bearing a crate of cloth and tapestries for the theatre.

“Ceza girl!” Adrian looked her face over suspiciously. “You’ve met someone.”

Cezanne could only laugh. “You could say that, yes. A person of my very own.”

Adrian’s keen blue eyes narrowed and unfocused as he turned to his mind’s eye for the rest of the story. “But he’s taken.”

Cezanne chuckled and nodded. She pulled out her black leather notebook, which fell open to the page entitled “Kaylor.” She looked at the slip of paper he had left behind as he retreated into the night, a check for one million gold pieces. The same price she had paid for two days of the knight’s company. A bargain she wouldn’t likely find again in a thousand years. She pressed the check between the leaves her her notebook and bound it tightly shut.

She sighed softly and smiled. “What can I say, Adrian? Always a day late, and a dollar short.”