“That will be all, Osbert.†Lord Jeulerand Rezhenne dismissed his servant with a wave of his hand, not even looking back as his bedroom door closed quietly behind him.
The Elezen set his quill aside next to the bottle of ink, his hand going to the glass of red wine set on the table. Taking an idle sip, he lifted the recently penned letter, holding it next to the candlelight, looking over the document once more. The noble knew that it had to be well worded, lest he draw more displeasure from other Monetarist nobles. He had been trying to regain the favor that he had lost somehow with the faction loyal to Lolorito, if his recent encounter with Taeros in the operetta was any indication.
Lightly blowing on the wet ink, Lord Rezhenne smiled. Surely, the promise of new business and increased wealth would get him back into Lolorito’s good graces again. He would not be associated with the likes of Mumuqaru, another house rumored to have also gained some ill-will with Taeros. Setting his drink back on the table, he laid the parchment down carefully, when the flame of the candle flickered once more and the door creaked open quietly behind him.
“What is it, Osbert? Did you forget something?†the Elezen asked without turning around. His personal valet had been known to bring him last minute night caps, or fret over the crispness of his sheets before slumber.
So when the strangely scented rag suddenly appeared, covering his nose and mouth, the Elezen noble could only desperately claw at the unrelenting grip that had, just as suddenly, constricted around his neck and face. The wooden chair he was sitting in shook violently, the noble’s feet kicking at the table, knocking over the wine glass. The crimson liquid soaked into the parchment and began to blur the inked letters, as the dancing candlelight threw stretched shadows of the struggling noble and his assailant against the far wall.
Soon the silhouette of the noble began to slow in his movement, but he kicked out one last time in desperation. It only managed knock over the candle, its flames fizzling out as it was drowned in the spilt wine. Then the room was plunged into darkness.
The gold locket spun in the air, its small but gilded surface catching the late morning sunlight just right to lend it a warm glimmer.
Brynnalia Callae was leaning on a cushy divan with her feet propped up on the coffee table. She twisted the thin chain between her fingers, idly watching the jewelry spin this way and that. With a flick of the wrist she swung it up and caught it mid-flight. She pried it open with her thumb and brought it before her eyes.
Within was a tiny portrait of an olive-complexioned Highlander with dark raven hair and striking green eyes. It was as if she was staring at herself, except that the woman within the picture was at least ten cycles older than she was now.
“As you have endeavored to share elements of your world with me, thus do I attempt to do the same in kind. Unfortunately, the majority of my experience is with gilt and finery attempting to conceal rather less impressive contents. Perhaps with this, you may keep something hidden and close at the same time. I find that helps. Happy Starlight.â€
That was the note that Gideon North had attached to an unexpected gift--one that he had prepared for her before a certain card game. Brynn wondered what possessed him to get her a gift in the first place. Was it their awkward drinking outing that warmed him to her? Or her flirtatious teases every time they encountered each other? She often enjoyed the challenges that came with rattling men’s composure, and more stoic or staunch their resolve the better. And when it faltered, there was a swell of pride that fed her arrogance and brought her a certain amount of satisfaction--something akin to a hunter that had finally cornered its prey.
It was just a game after all, and one that she enjoyed playing quite a lot.
And yet…when he gave her the gift, she was taken aback. She had just ambushed him and her old acquaintance, Shaelen, at that card game a few suns past. Both he and the smuggler were livid at the deception, and Brynn knew that her bridges had been burnt--perhaps for good--with Stormchild. But North was someone who she was going to continue to work with for Taeros, so she talked herself into the challenge of gaining his forgiveness even after lying and deceiving him. It was another game, right? She did not want to admit that she did find the rare glimpse of his dry wit endearing as well.
So why did the gift unsettle her so? Brynnalia studied the small portrait of the woman within the locket. Her mother was the last person to give her Starlight gift, and that was many cycles ago. Since joining the Resistance, then eventually gaining employment under Taeros, she had successfully kept everyone else at bay, using them for what she needed, whether it be pleasure, distraction, or profit. But never had she received or expected a gift, especially on the charitable holiday. She gave none and expected none in return. She had no use for sentimentality, after all.
And yet here she was, wearing the locket close to her heart, with the picture of the person that had meant most to her in world. This doesn’t mean anything, she told herself again.
The kiss on Valentione’s Day didn’t mean anything either, Brynn quickly added as a reminder. She was amused, not bothered, that Gideon had received chocolate from some anonymous admirer--although she herself suspected Crofte since no one else knew of his new charge, Wilhelm. Brynnalia teased him about his numerous lovers--obviously he had to have more than one, since he did not know who sent the chocolates-- and then she surprised him with a kiss just because it was something he was not expecting. She smirked even now remembering the ruddy hue that colored the valet’s cheeks and the sudden speechlessness that overtook him.
But it was her turn to be surprised when he “returned the favor†only a few suns ago. Brynn had scolded him and dared him to do live a little lest he go to his grave with regrets. That was when he pulled her in for a kiss, one of quiet intensity. Much like the man, it was heated but controlled. When he pulled away, Gideon wore his same usual composed expression again.
“Perhaps you were correct. Less regret than I expected,†the valet observed matter-of-factly.
Brynnalia grinned as she recalled her retort then, “I didn't know ye as well as I thought. But don' mind being wrong just this once."
With a quiet snort of amusement, she tucked the locket back under her tunic, just as a red colored linkpearl chimed quietly. When she plugged it into her ear, the tidings she was given made her scowl immediately.
“Jeulerand Rezhenne?†Brynn blinked as she repeated the name. She narrowed her eyes. “Aye, I know of the man. Taeros will want tae know all ye found. Prepare a report. I’ll be right there.†With a displeased grunt, she uncrossed her ankles and pushed herself up from her seat. All previous leisurely musings were dismissed as her thoughts took a darker turn. What had been reported to her by a Brass Blade on the 'pearl did not bode well for Taeros, or his business dealings.
And that meant things did not bode well for anyone else around him either.
The Elezen set his quill aside next to the bottle of ink, his hand going to the glass of red wine set on the table. Taking an idle sip, he lifted the recently penned letter, holding it next to the candlelight, looking over the document once more. The noble knew that it had to be well worded, lest he draw more displeasure from other Monetarist nobles. He had been trying to regain the favor that he had lost somehow with the faction loyal to Lolorito, if his recent encounter with Taeros in the operetta was any indication.
Lightly blowing on the wet ink, Lord Rezhenne smiled. Surely, the promise of new business and increased wealth would get him back into Lolorito’s good graces again. He would not be associated with the likes of Mumuqaru, another house rumored to have also gained some ill-will with Taeros. Setting his drink back on the table, he laid the parchment down carefully, when the flame of the candle flickered once more and the door creaked open quietly behind him.
“What is it, Osbert? Did you forget something?†the Elezen asked without turning around. His personal valet had been known to bring him last minute night caps, or fret over the crispness of his sheets before slumber.
So when the strangely scented rag suddenly appeared, covering his nose and mouth, the Elezen noble could only desperately claw at the unrelenting grip that had, just as suddenly, constricted around his neck and face. The wooden chair he was sitting in shook violently, the noble’s feet kicking at the table, knocking over the wine glass. The crimson liquid soaked into the parchment and began to blur the inked letters, as the dancing candlelight threw stretched shadows of the struggling noble and his assailant against the far wall.
Soon the silhouette of the noble began to slow in his movement, but he kicked out one last time in desperation. It only managed knock over the candle, its flames fizzling out as it was drowned in the spilt wine. Then the room was plunged into darkness.
~
The gold locket spun in the air, its small but gilded surface catching the late morning sunlight just right to lend it a warm glimmer.
Brynnalia Callae was leaning on a cushy divan with her feet propped up on the coffee table. She twisted the thin chain between her fingers, idly watching the jewelry spin this way and that. With a flick of the wrist she swung it up and caught it mid-flight. She pried it open with her thumb and brought it before her eyes.
Within was a tiny portrait of an olive-complexioned Highlander with dark raven hair and striking green eyes. It was as if she was staring at herself, except that the woman within the picture was at least ten cycles older than she was now.
“As you have endeavored to share elements of your world with me, thus do I attempt to do the same in kind. Unfortunately, the majority of my experience is with gilt and finery attempting to conceal rather less impressive contents. Perhaps with this, you may keep something hidden and close at the same time. I find that helps. Happy Starlight.â€
That was the note that Gideon North had attached to an unexpected gift--one that he had prepared for her before a certain card game. Brynn wondered what possessed him to get her a gift in the first place. Was it their awkward drinking outing that warmed him to her? Or her flirtatious teases every time they encountered each other? She often enjoyed the challenges that came with rattling men’s composure, and more stoic or staunch their resolve the better. And when it faltered, there was a swell of pride that fed her arrogance and brought her a certain amount of satisfaction--something akin to a hunter that had finally cornered its prey.
It was just a game after all, and one that she enjoyed playing quite a lot.
And yet…when he gave her the gift, she was taken aback. She had just ambushed him and her old acquaintance, Shaelen, at that card game a few suns past. Both he and the smuggler were livid at the deception, and Brynn knew that her bridges had been burnt--perhaps for good--with Stormchild. But North was someone who she was going to continue to work with for Taeros, so she talked herself into the challenge of gaining his forgiveness even after lying and deceiving him. It was another game, right? She did not want to admit that she did find the rare glimpse of his dry wit endearing as well.
So why did the gift unsettle her so? Brynnalia studied the small portrait of the woman within the locket. Her mother was the last person to give her Starlight gift, and that was many cycles ago. Since joining the Resistance, then eventually gaining employment under Taeros, she had successfully kept everyone else at bay, using them for what she needed, whether it be pleasure, distraction, or profit. But never had she received or expected a gift, especially on the charitable holiday. She gave none and expected none in return. She had no use for sentimentality, after all.
And yet here she was, wearing the locket close to her heart, with the picture of the person that had meant most to her in world. This doesn’t mean anything, she told herself again.
The kiss on Valentione’s Day didn’t mean anything either, Brynn quickly added as a reminder. She was amused, not bothered, that Gideon had received chocolate from some anonymous admirer--although she herself suspected Crofte since no one else knew of his new charge, Wilhelm. Brynnalia teased him about his numerous lovers--obviously he had to have more than one, since he did not know who sent the chocolates-- and then she surprised him with a kiss just because it was something he was not expecting. She smirked even now remembering the ruddy hue that colored the valet’s cheeks and the sudden speechlessness that overtook him.
But it was her turn to be surprised when he “returned the favor†only a few suns ago. Brynn had scolded him and dared him to do live a little lest he go to his grave with regrets. That was when he pulled her in for a kiss, one of quiet intensity. Much like the man, it was heated but controlled. When he pulled away, Gideon wore his same usual composed expression again.
“Perhaps you were correct. Less regret than I expected,†the valet observed matter-of-factly.
Brynnalia grinned as she recalled her retort then, “I didn't know ye as well as I thought. But don' mind being wrong just this once."
With a quiet snort of amusement, she tucked the locket back under her tunic, just as a red colored linkpearl chimed quietly. When she plugged it into her ear, the tidings she was given made her scowl immediately.
“Jeulerand Rezhenne?†Brynn blinked as she repeated the name. She narrowed her eyes. “Aye, I know of the man. Taeros will want tae know all ye found. Prepare a report. I’ll be right there.†With a displeased grunt, she uncrossed her ankles and pushed herself up from her seat. All previous leisurely musings were dismissed as her thoughts took a darker turn. What had been reported to her by a Brass Blade on the 'pearl did not bode well for Taeros, or his business dealings.
And that meant things did not bode well for anyone else around him either.
