Blayre's mouth went dry, and she said "The King? You told him." it came out as a croak. She had to remind herself that Rory didn't know about her Sense - as far as she knew.
Rory laughed nervously. "You saved my life, and I wished for you to be recognized properly for it. I'm sorry," He started to reach across the table as if to touch her hands, but then retracted. "I should have mentioned it to you first."
"No, no. It's fine." Blayre smoothed her already unwrinkled trousers beneath the table. "I just - The King." She forced a smile. "I've never had the pleasure of meeting him. I've seen him before but. . ." She didn't know why she was so nervous. Attention was good she chided herself. The monarch had a great deal of the influence on selection of The Twelve.
"Don't worry," Rory flashed a comforting smile. "My uncle is a decent man."
It was true, King Barton was known overall for his peaceful reign. Blayre nodded. "When?"
"Two days time." He regarded the look of panic that must have crossed her eyes. "Don't worry, I'll be present." He gave her a reassuring smile.
She felt queasy. But a simultaneous thrill rushed through her, sending her chest to bursting and her extremities to tingling. She nodded again, smoothing her hands down her thighs once more and releasing a sigh from her nose. "Okay." She conceded.
As if she had any other choice. It appeared that Rorrick Virhea was sinking his teeth into her life and not letting go just yet.
****
Blayre's booted feet stepped over the cobbled Market District streets, passing through the equal parts sunbeam and shadow that come with a clear dawn.
She did nothing to suppress a yawn, perking up at the spiced scent of baked apple tarts wafting from one of the shopfronts. Unable to resist purchasing one of the mouthwatering treats, she stopped abruptly, causing Ripley to stumble into her side, uttering curses under his breath. With Fletcher and Ainslee still at large on the previous assignment, Rory had decided that Blayre would benefit from having a partner of sorts along for her inspections.
She would have rather been on her own.
"Want one?" She jerked her chin at the slightly browned pastries lined uniformly on the countertop, while the clerk selected hers with a pair of tongs.
Ripley shook his head silently.
Blayre shrugged, "Suit yourself."
A few days ago when he had approached her at the archery range, she'd felt a tug of common ground with the unmarked mage. And though initially frustrated with Rory's decision that forced her into spending time with Ripley, she had decided this was perhaps an opportunity to hold out an olive branch and work towards a common cause. All that had quickly deteriorated when his walls had flown back up with the force of a mountain gale.
As they walked away she made a show of biting into the pastry, the filling oozing out in sticky droplets of apple-cinnamon and brown sugar. The crust was flaky and melted on her tongue.
"You sure don't know what you're missing." Blayre said, licking the stickiness from her fingers. She gave Ripley a wicked smile. He responded with one of his dour looks.
"If you're quite finished, I would like to begin the day?" He swept his arm out over the slowly filling market district.
"The day has begun already, Ripley." Blayre replied, rinsing her fingers in a spicket. She flicked the water at the ground and then dried them on her breeches.
A stormy look crossed his face, "I didn't mean your day starting with breakfast."
They were dressed in everyday clothing to look less incongruous. Blayre in a loose-fitting powder blue shirt with geometric patterns embroidered onto the sleeves and hem, and a pair of simple dark trousers. Blayre thought that Ripley couldn't look commonplace if he wanted to. Even in a simple gray tunic and beige trousers, his tall frame looked well-put-together. The shape of lean muscles showed underneath the cloth, and his clean shaven face and aristocratic profile gave him an air of superiority.
His permanent scowl didn't help matters.
"My dear, Ripley, the day of a Seeker begins as soon as her feet hit the floor." She gestured around at the increasing hustle and bustle surrounding them. "Most of my job involves participating in normal day-to-day activities, while astutely observing. The point is not to stand out."
He glowered but didn't reply, looking almost thoughtful as they strode through the Market District. Blayre had a couple of places she wanted to stop.
Everything had been a dead end so far. The dark clad attackers from a few days prior hadn't had magic for her to trace, and had left no other identifying factors. The body of the assailant she had knifed had never turned up, and they had been unable to track him down to determine if he was alive.
I liked that knife. She thought cynically. The weapons master at the palace would have, of course reminded her that weapons like that were meant to be used - retrieve when possible, but don't risk life and limb for a weapon no matter how well-made. A weapon was no good to a dead wielder.
Furthermore, she hadn't sensed the original attacker from back in Mountainvale. Not a single trace of curse-magic tickled at her senses. Blayre fingered the formerly magic-filled crystal. This was frustrating beyond belief. Not that she wanted Rory's assailant to be in the city with them. But it would be difficult for any of them to feel relaxed until they had some closure.
"If we don't find anything useful in these places you want to check, may I propose something else?" Ripley's smooth voice cut into her thoughts.
"Hm?" She nudged a rock with her foot as they walked.
Ripley shoved his hands in his pockets. "Rory was attacked in the evening, so we should perhaps be coming out later and immersing ourselves in the evening . . . culture." He said culture like it left a bad taste on his mouth.
Blayre realized that she had never met a noble unmarked mage before Lord Ripley of Arghead. Most magically gifted nobles came from long lines of mages, and were given good positions at court or elsewhere at their own estates. She wondered not for the first time why he - or someone else in his life - had made the decision to keep his magic undercover.
Maybe they were more alike than she wanted to think. The unmarked mage and the Seeker. What an odd pair. She shook her head.
"Well, we can certainly find some places to spend our time later, though I don't think relying solely on evening investigations will help us necessarily." Blayre said thoughtfully. "You do make a good point. I think we may need to change tactics - no one here so far has expressed any knowledge of our suspects. I was also thinking that we need to embed ourselves into the higher class circles. Our most recent assailants followed us from Middle District up to Upper District - they must have known the upper district well enough to travel by rooftop. And our original perpetrator - he could have been anyone, hired by anyone."
"I agree. The matter is most likely political and whether or not the person potentially paying these assailants off is someone here or someone from one of our enemy nations, there is no better place to gather information that the circles of aristocratic gossip."
****
That evening, Blayre found herself approaching the overwhelmingly gaudy Dragon Room - an establishment located in the heart of the Capital's Upper District, popular among the high class city dwellers.
She itched at the fabric of her flowing chiffon leggings and pants. Ripley shot her a disapproving look. He offered her his arm "So you stop fidgeting." He growled.
She glared at him, not wanting to be seen walking in hanging on the arm of the unmarked mage. But no one else knew he was unmarked. And he had come up with this idea. A mysterious Lord who had spent very little time in court - he was the center of attention at court and had secured a prestigious invitation to the Dragon Room. Reluctantly she slid her hand through the triangle his arm had formed, bracing herself for the magic she would feel when she touched him. She flinched, for the magic sensation was instantaneous with her touch, but she found that it didn't feel as revolting to her as it had felt to her before. Perhaps because she had been expecting it. He had been slowly leaking magic at a rather constant rate so far as she could tell, and she struggled between wanting to help him with that, and ignoring it. The man was brimming with more magic than she had ever experienced in someone unmarked and untrained - though he must have had some rudimentary training or he would have destroyed himself or leveled a forest by now.
The external architecture was lined with french doors and elaborate balconies. Mage-lit lights twinkled, illuminating flowering fuchsia and purple plants that should have only been budding this early in the spring. The Dragon Room spared no expense when it came to decor, and they'd obviously employed someone specializing in cultivation magic to produce these.
Two large guards stood at the door, and Ripley's invitation was scrutinized by them. One looked at Blayre as if she were something the cat had dragged in. She did feel a bit underdressed. Standing on tiptoe, she could see the elaborate dresses of the women who meandered about the Dragon Room, carrying glasses of wine and flirting with equally well-dressed men.
She glanced to Ripley on her left. He was quite elegant himself in a pewter overcoat, with silver trimmings. It looked good on him, she had to admit. The color set off his stormy gray eyes, and the tailoring fit his slimmer frame precisely. She was sure they made an odd pair, with him tall and slim, she average height and well-muscled.
"What?" He said crossly. She hadn't realized she had been staring.
"Nothing, my lord." Blayre snapped back, stepping into the foyer. She glanced around at the opulence, not for the first time thinking that Ainslee would have been much better suited for this task. Wherever being bubbly and social was a requirement, Ainslee excelled.
And Ripley wasn't exactly bubbly and social either. Blayre had a lot to make up for. She groaned inwardly. Her nerves were already frayed from thinking about her meeting with King Barton tomorrow. She went to grasp at the end of her braid, and then realized her dark hair was tied up in an elaborate bun and her hand dropped uselessly to her side.
When she had confided in Nuala, her mentor had been only thrilled that The Duke had taken matters into his own hands it seemed, and that as a result Blayre had drawn the attention of the monarch. "At least a meeting with the King himself is a step in the right direction, if Holt won't recognize your accomplishments properly - cranky old bird that he is - at least someone will." Nuala had said. "Assigning you to help with the trainees. Bah."
She hadn't mentioned Holt's suspicions regarding her relations with the duke. Quite frankly it was embarrassing, and - so far - untrue. She of course found Rorrick undeniably attractive - she'd have to be blind not to think so, but there was no place for the bastard daughter of a Lord next to an heir to the Crown. She barely even knew him.
Snapping her attention back to the task at hand, Blayre plastered a smile on her face as she and Ripley strode through the foyer to one of the sitting rooms of the Dragon Room. Ironically enough, the Dragon "Room" consisted of many. She noted the way that various women were transfixed on Ripley, and hid a snigger, wondering if they would feel the same way if they knew he had a personality that was prickly as a porcupine's quills - or was harboring illegal magic. Some of the women eyed Blayre with distaste, as though she had already taken away a new toy of theirs.
Play with him all you want. She wanted to tell them, and completely intended to separate herself from the unmarked mage as soon as the opportunity presented itself. They'd cover more ground divided anyway.
A tray was shoved beneath Blayre's nose, and the scent of seafood wafted up to her from what appeared to be a platter of crab-filled pastries. She took one of the proffered appetizers, thanking the servant who had presented it.
"Why, Lord Ripley, so glad to have you join us!" The voice was rich and feminine. Blayre quickly chewed on her crab-roll and swallowed it nearly whole, standing at attention. She glanced up to see a tall chestnut-haired young woman who couldn't have been much older than Blayre herself.
"The pleasure is mine, Lady Alessa." Ripley said, rudely disentangling his arm from Blayre's to grasp the gorgeous woman's ivory hand. "It is wonderful to see you outside of the restraints of the palace."
Lady Alessa was resplendent in a rose-pink diaphanous blouse and trousers that were similar to Blayre's own, but more intricate in their embroidered details. Blayre's nose wrinkled at the stench of Alessa's perfume.
"And who might this -lovely - woman by your side be?"
"Blayre, of Blumore." Blayre responded before Ripley could introduce her, displaying her most winning smile. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Alessa, I'll leave the two of you to converse though. The table of liquor is beckoning me." She couldn't tell if the look Ripley gave her was one of pain or relief. She ignored him, making sure to put an extra sway in her hips as she stalked toward the bar - she couldn't get away fast enough.
"He got it in Port Roubeles," She overheard a woman and a man conversing beside her as she poured herself a glass of honeyed mead. Sipping it while she listened to the conversations around her, she detected hints of strawberry and mint - notes of springtime infused with the sweet drink.
"...They import them from one of the outer continents. Magical power is used to propel objects. The most dreadful thing. But also fascinating. . ." Blayre's ears pricked at the conversation to her left. She moved slightly to get a better vantage point, leaning against the wall, where a pair of ladies in dresses of coral and soft daffodil conversed with a short middle aged lord.
"Yours is an unfamiliar face." The smooth baritone that interrupted Blayre's eavesdropping belonged to a familiar looking man. He wasn't much taller than Blayre herself, with ebony hair and dark southern skin. She looked up into pair of midnight eyes, slanted like a cat's, giving him an air of permanent slyness. "I don't believe we are acquainted," He said, brushing against Blayre's arm as he moved to stand beside her. He bent his knee to prop one foot up against the wall. Her Sense took in his magic, and she recognized him as Caval de Rouse - the infamous half-southern commoner who was primed to be the next Crown Mage when Crown Sorcerer Avras stepped down.
"We aren't, but I know who you are all the same, Caval." Blayre responded, slightly irked at having missed out on the rest of the conversation she had been listening to. A magical device that propelled objects? Her hand touched the crystal in her pocket. She turned to face the man, "I'm Blayre of Blumore." She said, omitting her title by habit. Since she wasn't hunting down an unmarked mage tonight, it was less important to keep out the title of "Seeker", but she left it out just the same.
"Hmmm, I'm afraid your name isn't familiar to me, though I of course know where Blumore Castle is." Caval grinned, his teeth bright white against his dark skin. Blayre decided she had never seen such a straight nose. "A daughter of Lord Darach, I suspect?"
Blayre simply nodded, wanting to get away from the mage - even if he was the legal kind. She had work to do, and Caval was impeding her. The bright mage lights made her mead twinkle golden. She swished it her glass, mesmerized as the amber liquid touched the sides of the crystal.
She glanced back up at Caval who hadn't moved, but was watching Ripley from across the room.
"You came in on the arm of that fellow over there, did you not?" Caval inquired, not moving his eyes from the unmarked mage. "He seems a bit pre-occupied."
"Well I'm not here for him, I'm here for the drink." Blayre replied, raising her glass as an example. Ainslee would have flirted with Caval. She knew that she should at least appease the man - he likely had connections to a lot of important people. People who maybe wanted Duke Rorrick dead.
She strained her ears to pick out the conversations around her, hoping that Caval would find her boring enough to leave her alone, but resolving that if he didn't, she would appease him.
"There's dancing in the other room, care for a round?" Music drifted to Blayre from down the hall. Caval was close enough that he brushed against her occasionally and she shifted away to avoid the feel of his magic.
Blayre scowled, "I don't dance." She took another long sip of the meade.
Caval responded with a wide grin, "Then just conversation then? There are some couches over there - or a patio if you can handle the coolness of the evening." He eyed her ensemble with a doubtful look.
Twelve hells, this man was insufferable. She found herself staring daggers into Ripley, hoping he would come save her. Even his broody scowls were preferable to the ceaseless chatter. At least Ripley kept his words to a minimum.
He finally met her stare, and his eyes rested on Caval beside her. She raised her eyebrows. How much information could he really be gleaning from one young woman? She groaned internally as his attentions returned back to Alessa, and the crowd that had begun to congregate around them.
Unsuccessful, she turned back to Caval who just smirked at her. "Come, let us move away from the edge of the room." He offered his arm, and she almost ignored it, but with a deep intake of breath, forced herself to play the part, even just a bit.
This was why Seekers were arranged into Triads - each member had a quality that benefited the group and created steady balance. Ainslee was the actress - she could charm a dragon into giving up its horde. Fletcher brought in tracking and heightened combat experience. And Blayre was often the voice of reason - the one that the other two turned to for decision making and a rational outlook on each assignment.
Instead, Blayre found herself floundering as she tried to make up for her missing pieces. She hoped they would return soon, but also wondered if Holt would allow them all to continue to work on this particular assignment - they had only a couple of years of experience. And finding non magic wielding thieves wasn't exactly part of a Seeker's job description. Though finding a mage who committed a crime was - whether marked or unmarked. And what if the two were connected?
She could feel the prying eyes of the women around her as Caval lead her through the small crowd in the dancing room. A piano player ran his hands up and down the keys of a piano-forte in the corner of the room, while a violinist stroked a string instrument beside the piano player, her bow creating a both sensual and lively compliment to the soft tones of the piano. Everything was saturated with vibrancy in this room - a mage lit chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and a staircase with opulently engraved rails lead up to a second floor balcony-like area.
The whispers she heard with ears accustomed to eavesdropping, were not what she expected.
It seemed the mage who was leading her onto the dance floor was not well-liked by the high-bred crowd. And she should have realized that. Caval was not nobly born - but he did have considerable magic - not quite as much as Ripley, but strong nonetheless. A strength that typically only showed up in nobility. He was about five years Blayre's senior, and by the time she had begun her schooling in the Capital, Caval had already begun his mage-specific training.
She remembered how the other students had whispered about him then too. Seekers and Soldiers could be anyone - but magic wielding was usually inherited, and so strong mages often came from families of other strong mages - though it had a tendency to skip generations. So mage-families had been less than pleased when this common-born boy had turned up at the palace doorstep with enough magic to put him in contention to be the next Crown Mage.
It seemed that not much had changed, though she gave him credit for coming straight into the viper's anyway.
But those whispers were not the ones she wanted to hear. Blayre wasn't interested in what the ladies of the court thought of the commoner-turned-mage. Or what they thought of his little-known dance partner. Blayre's Blumore sigil ring - the face of a wolf with two sapphires for eyes, gleamed on her right hand. There was no mistaking her for a commoner, but even though she was guaranteed the same rights as her "legitimate" brother and sister, she was still a child out of wedlock, and she had avoided life at court by taking on a career as a Seeker.
Turning to face her, Caval grasped her right hand and waist then swept her seamlessly into the small crowd of dancers. She met his eyes for the first time since he'd approached her at the beverage table. There was amusement in them, and a smirk emphasized his sensual upper lip. She decided that he wasn't classically good looking, but it seemed he had enough going for him that the other ladies here still stared, no matter the qualms they had with his heritage.
Idiots. She thought, tuning out the tingling of magic that thrummed at her fingertips, and the small of her back where he touched her.
Blayre's attention shifted, glancing around for the sorbet colored dresses of the women she had been listening in on earlier. The one in yellow was dancing now with the man they had been conversing with.
Sucking it up and allowing Caval to bring her to the dancing room might pay off - if the pair in question was continuing their earlier conversation. She doubted it, but regardless she might have enough to go on for now.
It seemed their conversation had long since turned to uninteresting talk of land and money, so, disappointed, Blayre shifted her attention yet again.
"You know what I like about you?" Caval's voice interrupted her focus once more.
She didn't honor him with a vocal response, simply raising her eyebrow in question.
"You don't say much," He said, looking intently into her eyes, "But I can tell from your eyes and your expressions that you're always thinking, and carefully considering your next move. And while that's enough to scare at least six out of the twelve hells from most men, I find that I look forward to hearing what you will say next."
She pursed her lips, holding back a smile, despite her resolution to be brooding and irritated towards the mage. "Oh?" Was all she managed at first, "Well it's too bad that I have nothing enlightening to bestow upon you."
"Perhaps you will someday," He said, flashing her a grin. "But for now, I think your scowling friend would like you to be returned to him. Though as you said, you are not here for him, are you?" His eyebrows moved upward.
"Definitely not," Blayre agreed allowing him a small smile as he let go of her hands and dissolved into the crowd of upper class.
"Have you done anything useful tonight, or have you just been wasting time flirting with that scum?" Ripley said dryly when she approached him.
"Scum?" She inquired, raising an eyebrow. "If you think you have legitimate reasons for that comment, I'll be glad to hear you out on our way back. And you're one to talk, this is the first i've seen you apart from Lady Alessa all evening." Someone bumped into her as they passed behind in a waltz. "Dance with me, before we get trampled." She suggested, not giving him time to decide as she grabbed the unmarked mage's hands and pulled him into the thrall of dancers.
"Have you picked up anything interesting?" She inquired, realizing that Ripley was more expert a dancer than she expected, though she supposed he had been exposed to all types of dances growing up the son of an Ambassador.
His gray eyes gave away nothing though he gave a near-imperceptible shrug as they moved fluidly around the dance floor - or as fluidly as Blayre could move at any rate, with two left feet. "Just murmurings of how interested many of these people are in seeing the Duke Vihrea now that he has made his long awaited return to the capital." The way Ripley said "people" gave Blayre the impression that he actually regarded them as little more than varmints.
"I understand that the court likes to have things to gossip about but..."
"The ladies of marriageable age and the families of those eligible ladies are happy that his grace is suddenly so accessible." There was venom in Ripley's voice.
"Well we know that we can eliminate any of those people as having a motive to want him dead." Blayre forced a laugh. She didn't see why he was so annoyed.
He just gave her one of his dark looks.
"Well I think I may have found something that might be useful - at least in regards to the magical assault." Blayre was sure to keep her voice low enough to let the murmur of the crowd drown it out. She resisted the urge to reach into her pocket to touch the crystal. Suddenly Ripley's hand on hers felt hot and itchy and she wanted to let go.
When the unmarked mage showed no reaction, she went on. "Someone was talking about a - a magical device. That can propel objects." She paused to let it sink in.
Still no reaction.
"There was mention of Port Roubeles." She said, naming the most distant coastal city.
Ripley only nodded. Slowly. Subtly.
Blayre blew out a long sigh through her nose, then glanced around the room. "Are we done here? I've got an important day ahead of me tomorrow."
Ripley's mouth twitched into a slight smile. "That you do." Not waiting for her to respond, he turned on his heel and swept out of the Dragon Room in true mage fashion.
She had never desired to turn in an unmarked mage as much as she did Ripley.
A/N:
I'm not entirely sure how I feel about these chapter breaks lately, so that is up for discussion! If you have any feedback on that, please provide it!