"So who is ready for a night on the town?" Caval drawled as they re-entered the townhouse where they were staying. He was in the parlour, puffing on a sweet smelling cigar with tendrils of smoke rising lazily around the air above him. His midnight clothing contrasted against the jade green wall of the staircase behind him. Blayre wrinkled her nose as she entered the room and took the cushioned seat furthest from him. Though she had found during their trip to Port Roubeles that conversation with Cav was far less painful than her first impression in the Dragon Room had given her, Blayre had had quite enough of aromatic smoke that day in the market.
"When in Port Roubeles, one must experience the cigars of the Southern Isles at least once." Cav smirked at her, inhaling again on the cigar. He hadn't missed her expression then.
"Is there more where that one came from?" Fletcher inquired, taking the seat beside the Mage.
Blayre rolled her eyes at them. Ainslee flopped dramatically on the sofa beside her. Rory and Alessa entered the room, the former talking animatedly while Ripley followed not far behind, and a servant scurried through, carrying the packages containing Lady Alessa's new purchases. Blayre's gaze followed them as they reached the staircase behind Caval and Fletcher, and when Rory glanced at her, she quickly looked away. When she picked up her head again, they had gone up the stairs.
"She's a bold one, isn't she?" Fletcher whispered, rather too loudly Blayre thought.
"Who?" Caval lit a second cigar and handed it to the Seeker who took a drawn out puff, his eyes closing in what appeared to be extreme satisfaction.
"Ahhhh... just as I remembered. My father keeps quite the stock of these." He took another puff. "Black-hair I mean." He jerked his thumb toward the staircase.
"Oh really? I hadn't noticed." Caval's voice was dripping with sarcasm. He looked at Blayre, shaking his head.
"If I were the Duke..." said Fletcher.
"And you're not.." Blayre interjected.
Fletcher waved her off "If I were the Duke, I wouldn't have let her pull me around like that."
"Yes, well Fletch, I don't suppose you have a lot of experience with beautiful ladies of the court." said Ainslee from the couch.
Fletcher shot her a hurt look. "My statement stands. I suppose it wasn't so bad anyway though. Of course, you were the ones who got stuck looking at all the foreign clothing."
"I didn't mind the clothes." Ainslee said.
"You're the one who suggested the place." Blayre put in, though now she wondered if that had been deliberate on his part - given the outcome. She wasn't about to bring it up here in the open. She stood, and straightened her tunic. "I think I'll go upstairs for a bit before we leave again."
"I should too." Ainslee said, though she made no move to get off the sofa.
"I will look forward to seeing your lovely countenance soon." Caval said, grinning at Blayre.
"As long as it's without those cigars." Blayre said with a sniff, though, as she ascended the staircase, she secretly thought to herself that the aroma wasn't so bad.
"I thought you'd never come up here, Blumore." A male's voice chuckled.
Blayre nearly jumped out of her skin. She hurried to shut the door of the chamber door behind her, then braced her back against it as she turned to face Rorrick.
Rory, in her chamber. Sitting relaxed and casual on her bed as content as a tomcat. The curtains rippled behind him in a breeze that came through the open window.
"What if I hadn't been alone?" Blayre demanded in a hiss. "What are you doing?"
Rory's eyes narrowed slightly, "We have barely had a chance to talk since we left the capital."
Perhaps because you have spent your time flirting with Alessa. Blayre thought with a hint of bitterness. "You're right, your grace, we haven't had any time to speak privately. What is it that you wish to discuss?"
Nagging in the back of her mind were Holt's words. His insinuations of what he thought had gone on between Blayre and Rorrick. Forbidden love and all that horseshit. And now the blasted man was alone with her in a private chamber in the royal family's townhome.
"Gods I hope no one walks in on this." She muttered. "Where's Ripley?"
"Guarding the hall of course."
"Ah." She had felt the unmarked mage nearby. But had assumed he was in his own room sulking, or whatever it was he did when he was by himself. Blayre moved to the small table on the far side of the room, putting more space between herself and the duke. She poured two glasses of water infused with fresh fruit. He hadn't started speaking yet so she turned back to him, "Well, go on." She encouraged.
He was looking at her strangely though, as she approached, offering one of the glasses to him and seating herself in the small chair across from the bed. The room was certainly more luxurious than her own back in the capital. But far less practical - decorated with entertaining guests or relaxing in mind.
She glanced back up at Rory. "Rory. Spit it out already. Why are you here."
He moved his palm in an "s" motion across the lavender coverlet, staring at his own hand, as if entranced. Reminding her of a young boy, too shy to speak to a pretty girl.
But that's not who they were. He was royalty and she was everyday nobility. He stood, and began to pace the room.
"That - thing in the shop today. Do you think..." His voice trailed off and he turned to face her. She sipped at her water. "Do you think something like it could have projected the object that hit me when Ripley and I were travelling back to the capital? When we met at the Three Archers?"
As if she could have forgotten that the two instances coincided.
Blayre stared into the glass, at the little flecks of fruit that floated around in the liquid, making it seem less than pure, but giving it a sweet, citrusy flavor.
"I considered it, when I first saw it. Rory, I didn't ..." She couldn't tell him. Moon and Sun. How was she supposed to convey that she hadn't felt anything magical from the object? Without actually saying that she hadn't felt anything magical. Twelve Hells. She paused to think.
"It looked like it could be a weapon that meets the qualifications. But I didn't see anywhere a crystal could be placed."
"Good observation." The duke continued to pace, touching various objects and surfaces as he passed by them in the small room.
"There were crystals. In Mountainvale. Ainslee and Fletcher came across them after we left."
Rory's expression suggested that this was the first he had heard of this. And for some reason, she wasn't entirely surprised. It seemed that the whole thing had been swept under the rug and they had been sent off on an ill planned trip.
"The reports were given to Holt. But I kept the one Ainslee had." She tossed it onto the low table in front of her chair, along with the one that had been embedded in Rory that fateful night when curiosity had brought her into his room.
"They look the same - except for the color." He murmured, crouching down so he could inspect them more closely. He reached a hand down, but pulled it away abruptly as he got close to the objects. As though he thought they might burn him.
"They're both empty of magic." Blayre said helpfully. "They won't harm you."
He didn't question her word on the matter, and picked up the pink one that Ainslee had brought back, inspecting it against the sunlight that came through the window.
"I wonder if there even is a connection here."
"If there is," Blayre said standing, "It seems obvious. But I haven't figured it out yet."
"But that's why you're here. To figure it out, while I pretend to be someone I'm not, in order to impress Lady Alessa and her father, the Ambassador to the Southern Isles."
The air left Blayre's lungs slightly at that in relief. Silly though it was, she was glad his outward feelings for Alessa weren't entirely authentic.
"I'm not sure why you need to impress them. You're the one of royal blood after all."
Rory ran his fingers through his hair. Looking at her with those eyes that matched the ocean waters. Waters that she could hear faintly rushing to the shore, even now, in this house.
"My uncle sees Alessa as a prospect."
This time Blayre went cold. "Oh."
"I'm only playing the part right now. I'm not ready to commit to anyone." He looked at her and his face softened. She wanted to reach out and smooth the lines of tension - the furrow of his brow, the clenching of his jaw. It wasn't fair.
Before she realized it, the distance between them had shrunk to nothing, and he was there. Right there in front of her, his gaze down and hers tilted up so that they met in the crossfire. And then he was leaning down, his lips so close she could feel the heat from them...
A knock sounded on the door.
They sprung away from each other, as though burned by hot cinders. Blayre's heart fluttered, wings beating in her chest.
"It's Ripley." Blayre hissed, striding over to the door.
"How do you know that?" Rory asked.
Her heart fluttered. "Because even his knock sounds sulky." She snapped, cracking open the door. Though of course the unmarked mage's style of knocking had nothing to do with it.
"He needs to get ready for the evening meal with Lady Alessa and Duke Durrighan." The unmarked mage said simply.
Blayre opened the door more widely and flourished her hand in a way that suggested Rorrick should go.
"We'll discuss this again... another time?" Rorrick asked, broad shoulders taking up the entire doorway.
Blayre spoke over the lump in the back of her throat. "Of course, your grace."
She closed the door, and in the moment wished that she could shut the door on her heart just as easily.
****
A briney haze hung over the Moras District - constructed of narrow alleys and businesses equal parts dingy and bawdy. Blayre wrinkled her nose at the smell of tobacco and stale alcohol. A scowl threatened to break through her carefully constructed facade of empty smiles and overdone cosmetics - a face necessary for tonight's mission of embedding themselves into the night life convincingly enough to gather intel on the crystals and magic-flingers. Blayre glanced at Ainslee whose small frame glided along beside her like a rust colored bird bedecked in a lavender silk top paired with loose-fitting pants that bunched at the ankle. Fletcher and Caval flanked them - Fletcher playing the part of protective guard and Caval the watchful escort.
"Oh let's stop here." Ainslee cooed, clinging to Blayre's arm. A very burly, very rough looking man stood at the door of the tavern and game room in question. His fists were each nearly the size of Blayre's head, and what skin wasn't covered in leathers, appeared rough and scarred. Blayre was glad of the knives strapped to her thighs, concealed beneath her pants and the switchblades built into each silver wrist cuff. Deadly adornments. Fletcher might be acting as their guard, but Blayre was not actually defenseless. And neither was Ainslee. She felt a small bit of magic building behind her - Caval preparing for the worst, and felt even more secure.
"Ten crowns to enter." Blayre had not even noticed the slight, far more attractive man standing in the shadows to the bouncer's right. He held out a hand calloused as hers were, from the use of a dirk, she thought.
Ten. She thought with disgust. This place was not worth one crown to enter. The smell of tobacco smoke that wafted from the open door was even more concentrated and it nearly made her gag.
But Ainslee only giggled and reached into her purse as the man's eyes roved up and down her small frame. Blayre decided he had been assessing her friend's wealth rather than her potential for bedding. She felt Fletcher tense uncomfortably behind her.
Well, it wasnt their money. She reminded herself. But these - these thugs were stealing from the Crown in more ways than one.
"Enjoy your evening ladies." The man's voice was serpentine as his dark eyes met Blayre's.
She couldn't resist "Oh I believe we shall." She flashed him her best wolfish grin - a talent all those with Blumore blood had, and followed Ainslee inside, Fletcher so close behind her, she thought he'd step on her.
"You're of Blumore, my girl. You do not simper and bow before those who do not deserve your servience. Do you know what our symbol is?" Darach of Blumore traced a finger on the hilt of the dirk he held in his hands, while young Blayre sat on his knee, watching with wide golden eyes. When she shook her head as solemnly as any other child would, he replied simply "A wolf, my girl." And he bared his own grin at her. White teeth framed by a beard black as ebony.
"Sheila says wolves are nasty creatures that steal the livestock."
One of her father's fingers went firmly to her chin. It was rough from years of hard work. "They are only doing what they must to survive, Blayre." Lord Darach said sternly. "Wolves are loyal to their leader. And if what is theirs has been taken from them, they are relentless in finding other means."
How Blayre wished that she were back in that warm study rather than this fumid gambling house. She squinted under the bright intensity of the mage-lights after the dimness of the alleys in the Moras District, breathing delicately through her nose as if it might filter out some of the fumes.
From the outside, the place had looked like every other dingy and decrepit building in the Moras. On the inside it was a palace. Its decor rivaled that of the Dragon Room back at the capital. Tables lined the ground floor and a highly trafficked bar was nestled into the back of the room. Men and women sat around tables where painted crystals were dropped and holding brightly colored cards in their hands, with the scent of incense heavy in the air, and tendrils of smoke wisping around them.
Blayre ignored the corners of the room where people were engaged in various passionate acts - not full out fornication - that was what the uppermost rooms were for of course, but enough to make her clench her teeth.
And the tingling of magic. So much that it was difficult to sort out at first. Blayre took a calming breath, sliding her facade back into place, eyes following the bobbing red curls in front of her. Ainslee had always been the better actress. Blayre the better fighter. Blayre was cunning, but Ainslee could play any part - no matter how disgusting. Blayre cringed inwardly at the thought of what they would likely need to insinuate. She scratched lightly at the exposed line of skin on her torso. This smoggy air would probably give her a rash.
Fletcher had a half-smirk on his face and she glared at him, wanting to throttle for being allowed to wear his weapons as conspicuously as a bloodstain on a white tunic.
She scanned the lower level room with her Sense - sifting through each magic like sand, cataloguing each individual grain: This one smooth and slippery, that one coarse and burning. That one - Her eyes trained on a man who ascended the staircase, a voluptuous brunette beside him dressed in peacock green silk of the same style as Blayre's accoutrement.
His was mysterious as though shrouded by a veil. A veil of smoke? Water? Vines? Blayre inclined her head at Ainslee, her cascading raven hair sliding over one shoulder blade like an obsidian waterfall. Ainslee's gray eyes met Blayre's and they ascended the steps a short time after the offender, Fletcher silent as death behind them.
She was a wolf, and this mage was her prey.
"A Diviner. Five foot eleven. Dark hair, graying at the temples. The finest clothes money can buy in this dung-hole of a city." Nuala's voice reverberated through Blayre as she prowled up the staircase, linked arm-in arm with her red-headed friend. She was not as inclined to agree with the "dung-hole of a city" part. But apparently this man knew something of the crystals, and they needed that information - any information - badly.
When they reached the top of the first set of stairs - the balcony overlooking the first floor secured with a mahogany rail - Blayre traced her quarry to the back of the floor, her golden eyes watching as a cerulean curtain fell back in place over a wide door frame. Blayre had not missed the glimpse of silver-gray robes a moment before. A man nearly as large as the bouncer at the gambling den's entrance stood between the two curtained doorways. Blayre let Ainslee take the lead as they strode around the open plan of the second floor.
There were four round mahogany tables set up where people played cards while they waited for their turn in the diviner rooms. "I think we need a number!" Ainslee exclaimed excitedly, leading them over to a woman who sat in a shadowed corner with a fountain pen and a worn looking notebook.
"Two crowns for a tarot reading, Three for a palm reading. Six for the crystal."
The woman's voice was like gravel.
Blayre sniffed, "Expensive." She complained, glancing at Ainslee, crossing her arms.
"Well then you don't have to play, girl." The woman sneered.
Blayre glared at her, feigning insult. Well - half feigning. "How dare you." She snarled. Channeling the spoiled Lord's daughter that she had never been.
"I'll cover the cost of the Crystal for the lady." A deep voice put in from behind them. Blayre relaxed as Caval pushed up behind her.
"I don't need your charity." Blayre said with a lift of her chin, and a wild smile. She felt invincible as this character.
"It's not charity where lovely, ferocious women are involved." Caval quipped, matching her feral grin. He reached a brocade silk arm between Blayre and Ainslee to hand six crowns to the money collector.
"Your name for the waiting list?" The woman asked.
"Bidina Blackwater," Blayre informed her without pause. "I want mine done by the diviner in the blue curtained room."
"We don't take requests. First come first serve, girl." The woman said icily.
Blayre bristled. Cav stuck his hand in again, "Not even for an extra crown?" He smiled crookedly, the long dimples in his face deepening with that smirk
The woman scowled, but took the gold piece quickly, depositing it somewhere beneath the small table in front of her.
Blayre accepted her crystal reading ticket marked 29, and followed Caval to one of the card tables.
The next couple of hours were spent with Caval teaching Ainslee a card game that Blayre refused to learn, grousing that gambling was a waste of time and money. The best way to play a character, was to stick as close to your true character as possible.
"You are in a gambling den." Cav pointed out, flipping a card from his hand onto the mahogany tabletop.
"Only because she has been dragging me about the whole city." Blayre rolled her eyes at Ainslee.
The red-headed girl pursed her lips. "You like this city." She pointed out.
"Not this part of it." Blayre said with a shiver. A real chill went down her spine at the thought of the variety illegal activities being practiced in the Moras district. Aside from the unmarked mages, all other activities were the responsibility of the city guard. Not her problem. But it made her feel uneasy nonetheless. But there were so many unmarked mages here that she wished she itched to seek them all out for apprehension. And for now there was one particular one that she and her crewmates were on the hunt for.
As if to remind her, the woman at the desk called out "Number twenty-seven!" And a broad-shouldered man giving off an air of importance rose and approached the blue curtained door, passing by the blue curtain's most recent patrons - a pair of middle aged women dressed gaudily in silks and lace, a whiff of hair dye following in their wake as they passed Blayre's table.
"Perhaps we didn't have to bribe after all." Ainslee cooed, squinting at her hand of cards. "Though no telling what service twenty-seven and twenty-eight paid for - oh blast it, I hate cards!" She complained, tossing her hand onto the table and causing the three strangers sitting opposite them to flinch and scowl.
"No matter," Caval smiled like a cat with a fat juicy mouse. Blayre realized much of him reminded her of a jungle cat - the sly attentiveness, the slanted eyes, the fluid grace as he languidly stretched an arm over the back side of the bench, to rest just over Ainslee's shoulders. "Why is it that you are so particular about which room you go in." That predatory gaze was focused on Blayre and her mouth went dry, hoping it was the acting and not his real feelings ebbing through. Ainslee answered swiftly before she could gather up a response of her own.
"I have it on good authority that he is the very best." Ainslee leaned in conspiratorially.
"By good authority, she means her merchant father." Blayre put in, regaining some of her composure. Caval cocked an eyebrow and narrowed his unsettling eyes as if he had momentarily forgot the parts they were all playing. She averted her gaze from him, staring down at the whirls of wood grain on the table.
"Blayre's father passed away recently." Ainslee said quietly, but loudly enough for the strangers to hear. "She wants to know - if she did right by him - in the end."
Blayre felt a cold chill at the statement - it felt like ill luck to pretend her father was falsely deceased.
"Ah well," One of the men across from them had an expression of sympathy. "Morty is a good one then. But I'd not say he's the best."
"Morty?" Blayre asked delicately.
"Well you ladies probably know him as Mortimer - that's his given name. But here in the rogue community we just call him Morty."
Rogue community.
"Number Twenty-nine." The man standing between the two curtained doors called out. Blayre had lost track of time playing the card game. She glanced at her ticket then held it up. "Well that will be us. Thank you ever so much for your kindness." She said to Caval, giving him a peck on the top of his head as she sidled out from behind the bench.
Blayre and Ainslee approached the blue curtained room. The gaze of guard standing ominously nearby followed them like a burr. She procured her numbered ticket.
"Only one can go in." the guard rumbled.
"But - I need her with me. My father recently died and..."
"Save me yer sob story sweetheart." He growled at her, engulfing the young women in a cloud of foul breath. "Only the one who purchased the ticket goes in."
"Technically speaking, sir. I purchased the ticket. And paid extra so she could have her preferences met." Caval stepped up beside her. Blayre wasn't sure whether to tense further or relax.
The guard breathed heavily through his nose, a bull ready to charge. "Then ye can go in with the wench."
Blayre felt a pulse of magic from Caval. For him to be losing control was a lot. She pressed down her own rage. "Fine, let's go." She nodded to Ainslee who stepped back to stand with Fletcher.
With Caval at her heels, she crossed over into the rogue mage's domain.