As with all things in life, Bryva was an ironic political conundrum. While Elsie was a Bedim Knight, her oath sister was a Hemic Knight and the two titles couldn't be more opposite. To become a Hemic Knight one had to be Untalented, skilled with both pistol and blade and pass a grueling four-month long trial hosted by a compendium of Witch-Born. The trials were very secret. Bryva refused to discuss even the smallest detail of what she'd been through. Traditionally speaking, however, a Hemic Knight was used as a commander in the field of battle. They answered to their Witch-Born Nobles alone. This seemed a moot point since there hadn't been a war between the Houses in centuries.
"Lord Feverrette returned to his room and did not leave it for the rest of the night," Bryva reported.
Elsie remembered the main task she had this morning. "Thank you."
"He's handsome in an arrogant sort of way, don't you think?"
"He's tolerable until he opens his mouth to speak," Elsie moved around the counter and to the back room. "I need to consult the Archives about him."
"What? You mean right now?" Bryva glanced at the shop door. "What if someone comes in?"
"Tell them I am busy."
"What if they're adamant?"
"Then knock on the door. I'll hear you." Elsie grinned at the petulant look Bryva gave her and closed the door to the back room, latching it behind her.
Fabrics and candles and half-finished garments occupied the two tables that stood flush against the eastern and western walls. With practiced efficiency Elsie moved to switch on her large, clunky, and loud sewing machine. Copper pistons bobbed up and down, turning the small iron crank that pushed the sewing needle, and the humid scent of steam immediately oppressed the room. Confident that the machine could cover any sounds her magic might create, she turned back to the room. Avoiding the three dress forms stationed in the center of the room she moved to close the shutters, relying instead on the flicker of her light fixtures. The sudden lack of light forced her to toe at the floorboards, searching for the one that dipped upon touch.
Finding the board she was looking for she knelt and pressed one edge down. The other end of the plank teetered upward, and she reached beneath the floor, dragging out her box of supplies. After she had replaced the board she opened the box, revealing seven candles and one jar of salt. She made a circle in the center of the room with the salt before spacing the candles around the circle and lighting them one by one.
She listened to the front room, making certain no one else was there, before stepping into the circle and kneeling down. With her palms flat on her thighs, she stared at the candle in front of her and took three steadying breaths. Each breath pulled magic into her circle; the first raising the flames of the candles to unnatural heights, and the second causing a whirlwind to connect each flame, encircling her with fire. The third breath made the floorboards rattle under unseen pressure.
Then everything was still, the flames paused, the world outside of her circle was suddenly distant and magic awaited her command.
"I am Elsie Varene Delgora, Heir Apparent," she stated with clear authority. "I come seeking knowledge. Find for me Father Shroder of the Archives."
The candles lifted off the floor, the fire separated from their wicks, and directly before her, kneeling just as she was, Father Shroder appeared in his own circle.
"Ah, Nessa, it has been too long since we have spoken." His kind face bubbled into a smile as he fussed with his smock and settled into a more relaxed position.
"It has been three months, Father. I was afraid I'd been too greedy with your time."
"Oh, nonsense, I am alone most days. History and such are not utilized as much as they ought to be. Tell me how I can help you."
"Lord Saldorian Feverrette has come seeking the Bedim. The Triad have suspended his contracts, but I fear his life is still in danger." Elsie frowned as she remembered Artimus's face just before he'd walked away. "Anything you can tell me of the man will be helpful."
"Saldorian Feverrette ... " Shroder cocked his head to one side and became pensive, accessing that part of his mind that was the archives. Leaflets of paper began to show themselves around Shroder's circle, hovering mid-air, appearing suddenly and sporadically as more and more information was located about the young lord. "Saldorian Dominic Gregorian Feverrette," he repeated.
"That's the one."
"How very interesting," Shroder smiled at her again. "It appears there is a dispute as to young Feverrette's parentage. His mother, Jessamine Feverrette, is the House Witch of Feverrette at present, but should retire very soon and hand the command of the House to her daughter Caresse. But the Consort of Jessamine Feverrette ... one Aubin Gaetan Feverrette, is not Saldorian's real father."
"The House Witch had an affair?"
"Indeed. According to both rumor and report, she had an affair with Lord Rorant Orzebet, the byproduct of which was Saldorian Feverrette."
"Why did she not send the boy to his father?"
"Her affection for both the boy and his father were such that she could not bear to part with him." Shroder tapped his chin, his eyes moving off to the left as he found something more to tell her. "Lord Orzebet did not openly speak against Lady Feverrette's decision, but he did require the boy have the same opportunities as her First Son, Gaetan."
"Which no doubt caused a bit of animosity between the two half-brothers," Elsie grimaced. "Not to mention between the Consort and Saldorian."
"Indeed." Shroder frowned and shook his head. "Saldorian appears to be an anomaly. Second born of Lady Feverrette, but first born of Rorant Orzebet. Magic bestowed Talent to the boy when he was born, informing Lady Feverrette that the mark of the Fates was with him."
Elsie heaved a brooding sigh and shook her head. "Bedim Hunter," she said. "Is it recorded anywhere in the Bedim Archives that the Consort or his son employed the Bedim to take care of Saldorian?"
Shroder paused for a moment, the leaflets of information whizzing by as he switched to access the Bedim Archives. To his left a page stopped and flipped open. Elsie glanced at it and waited, patient as the Father read and remembered. "Yes, it is. There are actually three different employments in regards to Saldorian Feverrette."
"So many?" She didn't hide her surprise. "It's a wonder he is still alive."
"The first contract was from his brother Gaetan, no surprise there." Shroder rolled his eyes, which was a rather youthful thing for the man to do, but Elsie didn't comment. "The second is from Alois Orzebet, First Son of Rorant, though their rivalry had something to do with a lady."
"That's not much of a surprise either." Her stomach knotted just thinking about the way he had looked at her, possessive and certain as he leaned against that log, a debauched smile on his face.
"Oh dear." Shroder's face paled and his mouth opened in surprise.
"What is it, Father?"
"The last contract deals with the lady again, only it was ordered by her brother," Shroder looked her in the face, obviously not wanting to part with the knowledge he had just found.
"Father?"
"Her brother is Artimus Berkuska, Bedim Knight."
***
"Where are we going?" Dorian surveyed the road with distrust and made a play at adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. He had been a fool to follow the Skirt last night. The light of day could not make sense of the path before him; it was a wonder he had managed to find his way back to the Manor at all.
Lady Leona smiled up at him, all brightness and warmth and his unease settled a bit. At least today he was not being led into some haphazard trap. He watched as she opened her white, frilly sun umbrella and lifted it over her head. It was an elegant move, but he knew instinctively that she was not attempting to attract him. This woman had an absentmindedness when it came to him, as though she were curious as to his intentions, but not so much that she really cared.
She was in love with someone. Dorian could tell these things without the help of magic.
"I'm taking you to see Nessa Gelgova," s
he informed him, "the best tailor and seamstress in all of Delgora."
"Such high praise," he said as they started the trek into the village.
"She deserves it," Leona smiled and kept her eyes on the road in front of them. "She used to be my personal seamstress, but I thought a talent such as hers should be shared. I released her from her servant-hood. Though I still refuse to let anyone else do my sewing."
"How very magnanimous of you," Dorian tried to pay attention to the direction they were walking.
He'd thought the town impressive at a distance, but standing in the middle of it, trying to make sense of the weave of trees and buildings was irritating. At one point, they passed through the center of a tree, its trunk half-hollowed to permit three grown men to walk through side-by-side.
"I even purchased her shop in town. Mother was mortified when the villagers tried coming to her in the manor." She sighed about that, then smiled again, unable to hold her spirits in so heavy a state for long. "I remembered, however, that you said you needed to hire a tailor. I'm certain Nessa would be more than happy to make something for you." She gasped as a thought hit her. "She could even make something for you for the Winter Tournament. You are going, are you not?"
"I hadn't planned on it."
Her steps faltered, and she blinked up at him. "But I thought all nobility were expected to be represented there."
Dorian hid his hands behind his back and clenched his fist, smiling while taking a controlling breath. "Do not worry, Milady. House Feverrette will no doubt be represented at the Tournament without me."
There was a puzzled look that passed Leona's face, but after a moment she seemed to accept his answer, shrugged and continued their trek through the town. Dorian relaxed a little after that. His family was a sore subject, but one that could not be avoided from time to time. Today appeared to be a lucky day, however, because her conversation turned to the weather and the greenery around them. Or at least the morning portion of it, he corrected. He had a meeting with Vicaress Reonne in the afternoon and it was unlikely he could deter that woman's curiosity so easily.
Leona strode through the village as though she owned it, clear and thoughtless at the same time. She nodded to some people and completely forgot about the rest, her mouth informing him about everything in Delgora at a constant rate that began to agitate him. Still, he smiled when she looked at him, polite and civil as always. When she looked away he drowned her out, focusing on the turns of the town, the placement of the sun, and any abnormal structures that could map his way back to the manor.
Something dark and distinctly human shaped ran across the rooftop of a nearby building.
Dorian squinted up at it but, as per his luck, it was nearly mid-morning and the sun blinded him, blocking out whatever had caught his attention. It was just as well because Leona had made it to their destination and opened the door to a quaint, almost secluded building. It was almost secluded because it was dwarfed by two large mangrove trees on either side of it, their branches reaching out in giant circles and so thick with leafage that the ground could bear no grass. A cobbled path had been cut through what would otherwise be mud, and he wondered exactly how he had missed walking up it.
"Here we are," Leona beamed as they stepped through the threshold.
It took a moment for Dorian's eyes to adjust from the sunlight to the sheltered room but he still managed to catch the look on the servants face when she saw them. Startled, horrified, with eyes wide and an unsteady smile, the girl greeted them and glanced at the closed door behind her.
"Bryva," Leona rose to her tiptoes with barely held excitement. "Do tell me that Nessa is here."
"She is, Milady, though she asked not to be disturbed this morning."
Leona waved an imperious hand, "Oh, posh! Fetch her for us. I don't think she'll be angry when she sees that it's me."
"Of ... of course, Milady," Bryva turned to the door and lifted the latch.
It was locked on the other side and she threw them both an embarrassed smile. She knocked twice and waited.
There was no reply, though by the sounds of things there was some sort of machinery working on the other side of the door.
She pounded on the door this time, and Leona looked up at him with confusion.
"Are you quite certain the girl is in there?" He asked.
"Absolutely certain, Milord," Bryva said and struck three more times, rattling the door in its hinges.
From the room beyond they could here a startled gasp, some scuffling about and something hard hitting the floor. This was followed by a low hiss that Dorian could only imagine was a curse of some kind. The lock turned, the door opened, and the Skirt gave them all a harried and flushed smile. Whatever she had been doing before being interrupted had effused her face with a bright, healthy glow. Dorian might have been unaffected by this fact had not her eyes locked with his again, the golden hue radiant with carefully held secrets. Her smile fell when she caught sight of him.
"My Lady," Nessa turned away from him, her smile back as she greeted Leona. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Whatever were you doing in there, Nessa?" Leona peered around the girls shoulders.
Nessa stepped aside and allowed the Lady to pass, flashing him a glare of utter distaste when her back had turned. "I fear I did not clean up last night, and I hated to think of you walking in to a mess, milady."
Dorian smiled; pleased to see the seamstress so flustered as he moved to follow Leona into the private room. At least he had a name for her now. Calling her Skirt just reflected the fact that he'd spent too much time with Gremor. There was a familiar scent as he moved further into the room, avoiding dress forms and tables and general clutter. It was almost like candle smoke, but the candles present were unlit on the tables. Lady Leona must have insisted on the electric lights that thrummed warm light into the room. Such a luxury was normally reserved for the great Houses.
"Well its no wonder it was a mess, you have no light to show you the problem areas." Leona said, moving to open the shutters. "Those electric lights just don't seem to do the trick."
Morning light poured into the room, revealing the colors that adorned the gowns occupying the dress forms. There were purple beads on one, he noticed that, but the others did not much matter to him. What he did take interest in was the odd twinkle of white spread across the floor. And there was a crunch underfoot as he made his procession across the room.
"There now," Leona turned and clapped her hands together. "Lord Feverrette has troubles with buttons it seems. I thought you were just the person to help."
"Buttons?" Nessa asked. "Pray tell, do you have trouble keeping them closed or just keeping them on?"
The servant Bryva made a sound from the doorway. Dorian remained unfazed, smiling at the Skirt before making his answer. "Keeping them on, I'm afraid. I rode too far and too long and neglected my overcoat."
From the corner of his eye he saw Leona move to the far table against the western wall. If she'd caught on to the undertone of the conversation, she made no outward acknowledgment of it. "I also thought he might like a new waist coat made, something lighter, to help him survive our weather."
"Very thoughtful of you, Milady," Nessa stayed near the doorway. "Does His Lordship have the article of clothing that is missing its button?"
"Dash it all," Dorian shook his head, "I do not. You'll need to contact my servant Gremor for that." The thought of this girl being forced to sew for him suddenly appealed to his baser nature, and he smiled. He deserved a little payback for her behavior in the jungle last night. "Lady Leona, you have won me over. I think I shall have to commission Miss Nessa for two such outfits."
"Oh, good!" Leona looked at them both before getting distracted with some of the garments on the table.
Nessa's mouth pinched tight for a moment before she brought out her civil smile again. Dorian was having far too much fun at the woman's expense. "Where do we start," he asked.
"Oh! At the market, of course," Leon
a answered.
"Market?"
"To find the materials you want," Leona moved to his side and Nessa stepped back. "I know, I know, you are going to be like most men and say you haven't a wit about what fabrics look best. I insist on buying them for you." She turned her smile to Nessa, "I also insist on choosing them for him."
"Of course, Milady."
"Come, let us go now." Leona drifted out the door with an excited giggle.
When he went to follow, his elbow was captured by a firm, unyielding grasp. Nessa glared up at him with real heat. "Why are you still here?"
Prying her grasp off his elbow he replied, "By all appearances I should say I was shopping."
"Are you coming?" Leona called from the outer room.
Dorian passed the seamstress, taunting her with an arrogant lift of one eyebrow. "What of it?"
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was an effort for Elsie to hold on to her temper. Feverrette - blast his hide - walked arm in arm with Leona, that devil-may-care smile on his face and a half-amused expression that told her he was not leaving anytime soon. The stupid man was going to get himself killed just to spite her. And then the Houses would demand retribution for his life - or at least his mother would. With so many contracts out against him she couldn't see a grand army of close friends coming to avenge the man.
Large, colorful birds flew by overhead, squawking at each other and adding to the headache that had taken up residence in her temples. The market was a gaggle of movement; vendors shouting, people milling about, baked goods wafting their scent through the little square and Elsie made an inward groan. This was precisely the wrong place for Saldorian Feverrette to be. The Bedim did their best work amongst crowds. History and training had taught her that much.
"Nessa, darling, what do you think of this one?" Leona held up a length of fine cotton. It was already dyed an obtrusive teal color, very bright and very feminine. "It's a becoming color."
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