Mourning shrouds one's view of the world in drab, and colorless attire. The Capital of Emares, which had at once been the epitome of bright color and liveliness, was now somber and grey, And the colorful stalls of the Market District now seemed muted to Blayre, like something bled of the vibrancy of life.
Rorrick had set an even more urgent pace back to Emares City at the news of King Barton's death. Illness meant there had been time. Death meant that preparations needed to be made. The death of the King meant that Rorrick was now the next heir to the Crown, and that his whereabouts and safety were more important now than they had been before.
The stakes had never been higher. Every nerve in Blayre's body screamed, Danger! Danger! Danger! As she followed her duke through the winding city streets. This felt eerily similar to a time once before when she and Rorrick had galloped full speed through the city streets. She honed her Sense, feeling for something - any type of magical current that could be a threat. People scurried out of their way, or simply stared forlornly.
"Rory!" She called ahead to him. Many were likely to recognize his mess of red curls as they bounced to and fro with the gait of his horse, but it was best to keep as many in the dark on the subject of his identity as possible. Dove was falling behind Rorrick's gelding, and Blayre felt that it would make more sense for her to ride ahead to choose the paths they took through the city.
She threw a glance behind. The others had all but disappeared, though she could feel Caval and Ripley's presence not far behind her. "Rory! If you do not stop now!" She did not have enough breath in her to finish the sentence. But apparently he had taken heed of her words, or else logic had finally stopped eluding him. She saw his gelding slow, saw the change in his posture, but he didn't turn, didn't look at her until she rode up beside him, panting. "Rorrick for your safety, you need to let me choose the way. Recklessness is not going to help anyone - least of all you."
He said nothing. Just stared, wordlessly past her as Ripley and Caval caught up.
"Where have Lady Alessa and Lord Durrighan gone?" Blayre inquired, wiping the windblown hair away from her face, and taking a swig of her water skein. Her stomach growled as the smell of fresh bread wafted to her from somewhere nearby. She longed for the food in the mess hall. They were so close.
"They decided to take a more - dignified - route to the castle." Fletcher answered. She hadn't notice him and Ainslee as they rode up. "Nuala and a couple of the soldiers are with them."
"Alright. Let's get going," They were taking up too much space in the street, and the people forced to go around them were giving less than appreciative glances. Blayre urged Dove to turn around, but with the bodies now pressing around them, rather than fumbling to get out of the way as they had when two riders had been racing at a breakneck speed toward the palace.
Blayre wondered how quickly the palace had been transformed from a symbol of brightness and fortune to one of mournful silence. A funereal quiet hung over the courtyard like a suffocating mask, as the group dismounted and Rorrick was ushered quickly into the building, face creased with emotion. She watched his form disappear through the archway and into the building, shoulders sloped in a slouch, Ripley on his heels.
With a pinched breath through her nose, Blayre turned to her horse, whom she began to lead to the stables near the barracks. She could feel the presence of her friends around her, and for a moment, a weight suppressed her shoulders. When they finally reached Dove's stall, the familiar musky scents of horse and fresh straw filled her nose and inflated her lungs. Blayre began to brush the gray mare, methodically rubbing the curry comb in circular motions with the grain of Dove's coat.
Dove tolerated her master's ministrations with a relaxed demeanor, tilting one hind hoof in repose, while she was nose-deep in the feed trough, wuffling softly. Blayre leaned forward, burying her face in Dove's satin neck. She could hear Ainslee and Fletcher engaged in murmuring conversation - quiet enough to be respectful of the mourning that was taking place at the palace, but still sounding light hearted and normal. Life could go on for some, even though it had been abruptly halted or redirected for others.
Their voices silenced briefly as they passed by her, and when Blayre made no move to pull away from the horse, they decided to move on as she had hoped.
Blayre felt a sudden pang of loneliness. She missed her home - well, the aspects of home that she had liked. Seaver had always been there to talk when she was upset - which had been often, living under the same roof as Marianna. She could hear him now: "Spend some time in the stable when you're upset - that's what I do. The animals can sense your emotion - and they won't judge you, so long as you bring them something to snack on."
Blayre sighed and gave Dove one last pat, "I'll leave you alone. You deserve some rest." She said. "Though I'm half tempted to curl up with a blanket in your stall." The thought of entering the dormitory building was like to grabbing onto a branch full of thorns.
But she couldn't avoid the rest of the world forever.
"This is so - dark and depressing." Ainslee commented, tugging at the hem of her black tunic.
"I think that's the point, Ains." Blayre said softly.
"Well, all I have to say is, that when I die, I expect you to wear bright colors to liven the mood. None of this dreary black nonsense."
Blayre smirked despite herself, "Whatever you say."
She pulled on her own black breeches and tunic, rubbing her thumb along the raised dragon symbol embroidered on one of the cuffs. They were to report to Holt's office as soon as they were presentable.
"Ready?" Ainslee asked, tying back her red-gold curls.
"I suppose." Blayre shrugged, strapping on the last of her weapons.
Holt's office door was closed and voices could be heard from inside as they approached. Fletcher was seated in one of the chairs in the hall outside, slouching, long legs stretched out in front of him.
"Sit up, you dolt," Blayre hissed at him. "You'll wrinkle your mourning uniform."
"As if the black would show any wrinkles as it is," Ainslee grumbled slouching in the chair next to Fletcher's.
Fletcher sprung from his chair and motioned for Blayre to sit. "I'd rather pace." he told her when she began to argue.
Blayre was busy tracing the swirling green accents on her tunic when the door opened and Nuala strode out. "Ah, there you are my little ducks, come in, come in." She said, waving them forward, words cheerful, but voice raw and edged with sadness. Blayre noticed that the colorful beads in her hair had been switched out for black.
So much black. So much bleakness. Blayre was inclined to agree with Ainslee - she longed for color.
Commander Holt was standing by his office window, staring out into the courtyard beyond. When he turned to them, lines creased his forehead and he rubbed the corners of his eyes in exhaustion. Blayre imagined that the past week's events had taken a toll on everyone at the palace - what with upping security.
There was a brief stretch of silence as Holt moved to his desk and motioned for the rest of them to sit. He straightened a sheaf of papers - one that had not needed further straightening in Blayre's opinion.
Blayre smoothed the hem of her uniform tunic, the fabric pulling snugly against her shoulders.
"Nuala has briefed me on most of the details of your mission."
A surge of nervousness waved over her. What if Nuala had said something incriminating? What if she had decided that being honorable to the Crown was more important than keeping the secret of someone who she wasn't all that personally invested in.
If someone ever found what Blayre was concealing, and then discovered that Nuala had known about it, and had done nothing about it - they could both lost their positions, or worse - be arrested for withholding information. She didn't want to think of what might come after arrest - but she was pretty sure the council would do more than simply imprison them.
The unmarked mages she had apprehended - most were drained of their magic, stripped bare as a tree whose bark has been blown off in a lightning storm. Then they were either sold into indenture, or killed.
Blayre felt a wave of nausea, as Ripley's face appeared in her mind. No wonder he hated her so much.
This is not the time to start questioning your job. Blayre chastised herself. Mages who didn't follow the laws and restrictions put in place were a danger to themselves and others. They were unpredictable, and prone to leaking magic which could cause mage-sickness. Though so far Ripley hadn't seemed to affect anyone around him, and Rory certainly spent quality time with the unmarked mage. While he discharged varying degrees of magic, he had some ounce of control for his wasn't quite as bad as some she had encountered.
"Blumore," Nuala was saying her name, she realized, and she blinked stupidly, trying to regain her bearings.
"Sorry, I didn't sleep well last night." Blayre said, though it was a poor excuse, especially for someone with her training. She fixated on a whirl of wood on the table, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the persons in the room.
As it turned out, Nuala hadn't seemed to have shared anything regarding Blayre's hidden talent for sniffing out mages - or if she had, Holt hadn't let on. But she willed herself to stop overthinking, instead just answering the commander's questions as simply as possible. The dragon scales, the weapon. No, no one had seemed to be ready to attack the Duke on their journey. Yes, the dragon scales could hold magic - Caval had corroborated that - Holt had seemed mildly affronted that she had brought an 'unauthorized' mage into Letecha's 'shop' - or whatever an illegal fortune telling room was called. But Nuala calmly and professionally talked him through that little bump in the story, arguing that Caval as a future Crown Mage, was perfectly secure, as he was already serving the crown to an even higher degree.
And then, the conversation turned where Blayre had hoped it wouldn't go.
"Your next assignment," Holt began, tapping his fountain pen gently on the edge of his desk, back still board-straight in his chair, "Will be to return to Mountainvale to find these crystals - or to find a possible source of these scales."
Blayre was chilled at the very mention of returning - even if she'd known already. She tried to ignore Ainslee's poorly suppressed grin. Of course her friend was excited to return - she was sure that visions of Blayre's brother were swirling in her mind.
"Because of the recent death of the King and the impending coronation - I am delaying this assignment"
"But, Sir..." Blayre's own sigh of relief was contrasted against Ainslee leaning forward in her chair, palms pressed on the desk in front of them.
Blayre rested a hand on her friend's thigh, in an attempt to silence her. Ainslee was almost always the one to speak out of turn.
"Seeker Ainslee, I am fully aware of the importance of this assignment, however, having higher security for the coronation of our new Queen is of a higher priority to me right now than chasing after these crystals." He tapped a sheaf of papers on the desk with all five fingertips.
"If any more attempts are made on the lives of the royal family, magic or otherwise, we are going to have a much larger problem on our hands. Someone wants them out of the way. And we cannot. Let. That. Happen." He tapped his fingertips in time with his enunciated words.
"Seeker Ainslee, we know you and the rest of this triad are dedicated to results. Unfortunately we need to protect at home before we can worry about protecting elsewhere." Nuala explained in the calm soothing manner that had made her a mentor and trainer.
Blayre could feel her friend's barely contained anger in the trembling beneath Blayre's hand. She met Commander Holt's eyes. "Understood, Commander. What will our responsibilities be during this period of time?"
"As a triad, you are expert at blending in. I want you to blend with the crowds. To report on any suspicious activity. And stick close to the Duke and his cousin The Queen."