Talia let Grigori sit until mid-morning, before paying the spy a visit. Having a chair set in front of his cell, the Viscountess sat while the guards ungagged the man, Talia showing only the smallest hint of surprise (a raised eyebrow) when she first saw Grigori's state.
"Ah. I heard you received a visit from our Spymaster. He's very good at pulling on nerves, wouldn't you agree?"
"I'm sorry there will be no breakfast. There will be a quick trial, and given the evidence we've uncovered, you'll be sentenced to death."
"I should tell you, however, that your legacy will live on. There is a song making the rounds already - I believe it is called Grigori the Fool. It describes the hapless spy who brought his culpability with him. You will be an important part of Fairhaven's story, Grigori From Nowhere Special. So, you can take comfort in that as your neck is bared for the axe."
Grigori says nothing, but his eyes don't leave the kukris as they clash in front of his face. If he has any reaction to Vosil's 'deal' he does not show it.
Grigori simply stares straight ahead as Talia has her say. When she is finished, he finally speaks.
"Spy? I am no spy! You didn't say it, but you didn't have to...I take it you found that contract from that fool Drelev. I took his parchment, yes, and I took his money. But I am no spy!" He shakes his head vigorously.
"I came here for a new opportunity! That's what you are giving here, right? I heard about you, so I came. But when I arrived I saw issues that needed to be brought forth, things I felt were injustices to the people. Is that so wrong? Are you such a weak ruler that you cannot stand a little criticism?"
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Talia waves the guards out of earshot, and leans in closely, letting the seconds tick away, as she stares down Grigori.
"Yes."
Rising quickly, the Viscountess makes her way for the exit, showing the guards just the slightest of smiles as she passes.
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Gavriil remains aloof during most of the hub-bub surrounding their new friend in Fairhaven. He just couldn't find himself to care about the man's silver tongue. The others were outraged and offended, the people were listening to the man, and the man... well he was just letting out hot gas daily.
Maybe it was just Gavriil's hate of anything even remotely resembling work or maybe because he thought that some of what the man was saying rang true. At least when it came to him. Did he go off with Talia and the others to increase his purse? Yes! Why else would he risk his neck away from the safety of home? Did they become friends with a witch-woman? Well, Talia did, but she is technically an acquaintance to him. Did he not want to do work and allow the commoners to work to fill their pockets? All the gods in the heavens and bellow know he does, but he knows that'll never happen unless he could get Bokken to start pouring love potions into the ale taps.
So during all of the privvy council's scheming and maneuvering, Gavriil does what he does best: Nothing.
During dinner, he sits and eats with the others right up until Edric has his... "episode". When Edric turns to him for help, Gavriil empties his goblet of wine to buy himself some time before Talia leaves. After she storms out, Gavriil stands and says to Edric, "I believe that it's probably in our best interest to keep our mouths shout for now. Lest we fall under the ruling of sedition. Know this, though, friend: Talia knows what she's doing, whether bluffing or not. It's not in our best interest to confront her on this right now, but maybe we can find a way to persuade her without breaking the dinning hall in front of our guests and scaring the servants."
With that, he leaves the castle all together and heads for the tavern. Once there, he pulls his lute out and starts to play bawdy tavern songs and drinking with the usual suspects at the bar. Several times he has the bartender open the casks to everyone in the tavern and lets the ale flow on for everyone. He doesn't speak about the fat man and if the topic comes up, he quickly changes the topic with a new song or a lewd joke.
That is, until Vosil comes downstairs and starts waving a scroll around, showing it to everyone that'll look at it. He glances at the paper and announces to everyone in ear shot, [b]"Disn't good forda fat man. If I were'im I'd be taking a quick jaunt to the nex'town!" and lets out a drunken guffaw.
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The Next Morning
Gavriil wakes up face down in the hay in the stables for the tavern. He swears under his breath as he tries to identify whether the brown smear down the front of his jerkin was mud or manure. A quick sniff brings on more swearing as the latter is confirmed.
He removes his soiled shirt and tosses it in the water trough before heading back to the castle. Along the way, he is stopped by Rachel and buys a pie from her with a wink and a smile... and 5cp. Apparently his charms weren't as good as he thought when he smelled like a horse's rear-end.
Once back at the castle, he moves to his chambers, shoveling pie in his face the whole way there to get changed and a quick bath to wash away the stink. He purposely changes into the gaudy royal purple and gold outfit that he had picked up from the elven keep and checks himself in the mirror before heading out the door.
He heads through the hallways, nodding to guards and smirking at maids, all while still shoveling pie into his mouth. He descends down to the holding cells just in time to hear the discourse between their prisoner and Talia. He looks at one of the guards and whispers, "Is she busy? She sounds like she's busy... It's ok, I'll wait"
He continues to eat his pie as Talia talks with the man, smiling at the guards with teeth blue from the blueberries in the pie. Finally, Talia emerges after her dramatic flair and smirks at the guards. He returns her smirk and raises an eyebrow at her, "I can hear him crying out in the town square 'Your leaders are weak! I know! They told me!"
He nods to the viscountess and walks to one of the guards, slipping the key-ring off of his belt, "I need these for a moment. I need to talk with our guest privately and I'd prefer not to have to look down at him the whole time. Don't worry, I'm armed. You two can wait just outside of the jailing area. Tal... I mean, Viscountess, you may join me if you like, but I'd request you play along if you do. At least until we get out of here, then you can make up your mind on what you want to do."
With that, Gavriil steps through the cell door and locks it behind him...
He looks at the fat man and smiles, "Gregori from Nowhere Important! I've heard so much about you, but I don't think we've been properly introduced yet. I am Gavriil Niktosky, Grand Diplomat of Fairhaven and also the man you've been raving about out to the townsfolk." He pauses and moves to the man, fumbling with the keys until he produces the right one and unshackles the man. He places one small piece of pie, barely able to be called a slice, before the man and says, "This was one of Rachel's finest pies. I'm sure you'll enjoy it."
He moves back away to the other side of the cell and leans up against the wall, "I'm sure they've put you too it. I'm sure they've threatened you, maybe beat you, probably already made it abundantly clear that you're going to die. All the horrible things people do to try and get people to talk. I'm not going to do that, because I've been in your shoes before. I've been stuck in a cell awaiting higher powers to decide my fate and I know that the pain doesn't make you want to talk at all.
"So I'm not going to stoop to their level. Quite the opposite, actually. I want you to live, and I want to give you a job, a slice of the pie so to speak," Gavriil smirks at his own little joke. "I watched you talk the other day in the square, you out maneuvered both the viscountess and our general quite easily with that silver tongue of yours. You had the people eating out of the palm of your hand. It was impressive. And I don't want that impressive skill to go away. I want to put it to good use. I would like you to come work for me as a diplomat, no I daresay an ambassador for Fairhaven. It's simple, you'll come assist me in my duties until the point we set up an embassy. At that point you'll be Fairhaven's first ambassador. It's easy days for good pay. Can't say no to steady coin and no rope around your neck I always say.
We found your scroll. We know you have been paid to undermine us so that silver tongue has a price. All we have to do now is negotiate what that price is. We want loyalty and information. You want to live and probably to keep making money. It seems pretty cut and dry to me."
Gavriil smiles at the man again and says, "I don't know about you but I know I wouldn't want to become a martyr over a handful of coins."
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"But, perhaps in my lifetime as well. Did you imagine, when we first met on that dusty road to Oleg's, that we'd one day sit here, in a castle?"
"I had imagined it, to be honest. But I'd imagined myself somehow more... better, I guess. Better at this."
"You're the smartest man I know, Naralesh. How do I be a good ruler, just and fair, and protect our realm from those who are not? It seems an impossible task, without becoming a Surtova, or one like them..."
Naralesh doesn't respond right away. He takes the offered glass and a sip of the sweet wine, taking his time before he replies. "I don't think I could have foreseen this with the strongest of magics," he begins, swirling the liquid in the glass. "The reality of it is that rulership is hard. Edric sees the world in shades of light and darkness, as his faith has taught him. Every action is 'good' and should be honored or 'evil' and must be reviled. In truth, it sounds a lovely world to live in, to be so simple." He takes another sip of the wine, meeting Talia's gaze in the soft twilight. The dying glow of the day's sunlight casts long shadows throughout her chamber, but even with one eye the elf can see clearly in the dim illumination. Not for the first time, he is reminded by her of another woman whose personal strength had captivated his attention and bought his loyalty.
A long silence waits between the two. He takes a larger gulp of the wine, finishing the glass as his gaze avoids the Viscountess. "I never wanted to rule, Talia." He sighs, looking out the window at a nation so improbable that its very existence seems a miracle. "In truth, I never truly wanted to come back from our expedition to the Stolen Lands. I told myself I was helping the people of the nation I'd chosen as my home, but when we signed the charter, it was a way out of a world I no longer loved." His gaze wanders until it meets Talia's and is caught there, looking into her eyes. "I found new hope along that journey. This fledgling nation we've formed... it could not hope for a stronger leader." He sets the wine glass down, his tone passionate. "You are nothing like the Surtovas you revile. I know you. What you do, you do for Fairhaven and her people. It is that strength I borrowed from when I thought hope was gone, and it is that strength that will see us through this trial and others like it."
Grigori stares at Gavriil. "What are you offering, money wise? As in: how much?"
Gavriil smirks at Grigori's question, "That really depends on a number of things. First of all, most of our 'great wealth' that we lord over people comes from our 'flights of fancy' as you put it. So we would have to discuss how much we could pay you with our treasurer so we don't hurt the people. Second, it depends exactly how much you can do for us. If you don't have any real useful information to give us, then the viscountess may think that just your life may be your prize and then you can work for us for your income. Which brings me to my final point: the others are not happy about you. I'm sure even Edric who defended you in a way at dinner doesn't like you or trust you. So it will take a bit of convincing, but I'm sure I can manage it, IF you can prove loyal and useful to us. Most likely starting with attempting to reverse the damage to our reputations with our people and retracting your statements."
After thinking for a moment, Grigori has an answer. "I guess I'll wait and see. Understand Gavriil Niktosky, Grand Diplomat of Nowhere Important, all you are doing by keeping me here is proving what I've already said to the people. The longer I wait in here, the more your people will realize the truth of you. 5000 gold pieces, and I disappear, never to be seen again. Otherwise..."
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Gavriil laughs at Grigori, "Otherwise you get exiled from this country at best, and executed for sedition at worst. You don't get it do you? You're really in no position to haggle like that. Yes, the longer we hold you the longer people will stew over you, but as soon as you're out of the picture people will start to forget. You don't get to be a martyr. Yes, people will remember and whisper about that poor fat man who spoke against the council and how it was awful what happened to him. And even that will be remembered by a few. Grigori of Nowhere Important will disappear from all of history."
Gavriil starts for the door, "I tried to help you. I gave you an out and you spat in my face. And because of that you're fate is now solely in the hands of one royally pissed off fiery red-head. May the gods have mercy on your soul."
Gavriil storms out of the cell and waves the guards back in. "Chain him and gag him again," he says in passing before heading towards the Privvy chambers to meet with the others.
Grigori gives Gavriil an impertinent smirk as he leaves. His eyes bore into the Scoundrel's back as he walks away...
Talia grimaced as the barrister - an old drunk named Lamarsh, who apparently left a small town under unclear but possibly scandalous circumstances, mangled the council's evidence. Still, he was the only barrister in town, at this point. Pinching her nose, Talia made a mental note to make sure he had some competition in the near future.
Vosil glowers as the drunkard's trembling hands drop the papers yet again, turning Vosil's meticulously researched notes and carefully crafted arguments to a convoluted, incoherent, rambling mess.
Stepping forward he bends down to pick them up, doing his best to tidy the bundles into the correct format. "Perhaps you would like to try presenting that argument again," he suggests politely. And do not fail us this time, his glare adds.
He wonders if it is possible to scare someone sober.
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Dawn, 7 Sarenith 4708
The slow beat of the drum echoes through the still morning air, heavy with humidity. Not uncommon for a summer morn on the shores of the Tuskwater, the moisture dulls the sounds on the streets of Concord. A wagon rolls across the cobblestone streets, wooden wheels clattering on the stone. The guard detail marches alongside with their halberds at the carry. A crowd lines the street to watch the procession pass as it heads for the town square.
As Marshall, Dregan rides at the head of the column, while the rest of the Council rides behind. Talia leads, followed by the rest in two lines, followed by another squad of guardsmen. Barod grumbles under his breath about the cost of all this nonsense. "Better ta just chop 'is head off in tha dungeon..." but he is cut off by a look from Darrick.
Grigori stands in the wagon; hooded, gagged, and chained to a post to keep from falling over as he rides to his death. As the wagon passes, most of the citizens give him a disgusted look, but there are some who seem angry as he passes...and not with him. There are notable whispers and dark looks as the Council rides by.
The trial was not a clean as one would hope, but in the end, the evidence was damning. Grigori offered the defense that was being framed for speaking the truth, that he was an innocent victim of an oppressive government, but to no avail. In the end, he was dragged from the courtroom screaming for the people to open their eyes before it was too late.
The execution procession rounds the corner to turn into the square, and the wagon with its guard turns right, while the Council moves to the left where they will be seated to view the proceedings. Despite any misgivings they may have, all members are present, it being deemed prudent to show a united front in this. "After all," Darrick suggested sagely, "we do not know how much unrest may still be out there. We do not want give anyone a crack to try and work with."
Jubal was tasked with observing the crowd, also at Darrick's suggestion. His people were not visible in the crowd, but the sly rogue could be seen in his typical position, leaning against a wall at the edge of the crowd. He gives Vosil a quick wink and a smirk as the Spymaster climbs the steps to the viewing stand.
The drum continues its slow beat as Grigori is led from the wagon to the gallows that had been erected in the night. The escort leads him up the steps to the platform, where he is guided onto a small block and the noose is placed around his neck. Marshall Dregan checks that all is properly set and then turns to where Talia sits among the Council. The drum stops, and all eyes turn to the Viscountess on her modest throne.
Talia keeps her jaw set as she rides through Concord, trying not to let the shows of dissent bother her.
Yet, they do.
She would have to do better. And her subjects would have to be better. They needed something to combat the words of false prophets, flatterers, and deceivers such as Grigori From Nowhere Special. Education. A means for self-betterment. A library perhaps, or a school.
Settling into her throne, the Viscountess gives Grigori a long look. She has nothing more to say. With a nod, she watches the spy drop, and stares until the twitching stops. This was what she wanted, after all.
The drums roll in a rapid rattle as the executioner approaches. They stop abruptly as he kicks the blocks out from under Grigori. Gasps and and exclamations follow the man as jerks to a short stop. A woman in the front faints. Grigori kicks, struggles, but mercifully it is soon over.
A long silence follows. A horse stamps and whinnies, but the people stare at the dead man.
Then Dregan steps up once again to confirm he is dead. With a nod to the stand where the Council sits, he confirms it. Slowly, surely, the crowd begins to quietly disperse.
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Over the next few days, there are rumors of disgruntled people speaking of the unjustness of Grigori's execution. There are no overt actions, but there is an undercurrent of discontent.
So what's the plan after kingdom building, so I can get ready.
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The holiday known as Seven Veils, which takes place on the 23rd of Neth in most realms of the Inner Sea region, is a celebration of the region's diversity—a time when social boundaries break down even further in a day-long event filled with dancing, feasting, and courting. The evening traditionally closes out with the Seven Veil masquerade, a ball wherein the participants wear disguises that hide their race or gender (often using minor magical trinkets and spells) or disguise these features as entirely new characteristics. At the end of the ball, the participants remove their disguises to their partners, often with unpredictable and sometimes delightfully awkward results. Traditionalists and conservative minds often find the Seven Veils masquerades to be scandalous or off-putting, yet they remain particularly popular in most of the larger cities of the land.
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A long silence waits between the two. He takes a larger gulp of the wine, finishing the glass as his gaze avoids the Viscountess. "I never wanted to rule, Talia." He sighs, looking out the window at a nation so improbable that its very existence seems a miracle. "In truth, I never truly wanted to come back from our expedition to the Stolen Lands. I told myself I was helping the people of the nation I'd chosen as my home, but when we signed the charter, it was a way out of a world I no longer loved." His gaze wanders until it meets Talia's and is caught there, looking into her eyes. "I found new hope along that journey. This fledgling nation we've formed... it could not hope for a stronger leader." He sets the wine glass down, his tone passionate. "You are nothing like the Surtovas you revile. I know you. What you do, you do for Fairhaven and her people. It is that strength I borrowed from when I thought hope was gone, and it is that strength that will see us through this trial and others like it."
Talia follows Naralesh's gaze out the window. There, in the summer air, still some sounds of revelry, mostly inaudible, the singing of drunks on the wind. Something about a fool... Talia thinks, idly, before looking again to Naralesh.
Grabbing the bottle, Talia tops off the wizard's wine as he tells her of those early days, of his plans for a one-way trip into the Stolen Lands. The Viscountess raises her hand to brush the hair covering the elf's temple, a comforting touch - and then pulls it down, blushing at the thought of what lies under the wizard's eye patch, or rather, what doesn't. "Be careful what you wish for," she says, mumbling.
Looking into her wine, the Viscountess swirls it twice, and takes another sip, and a thought, one that had been bubbling near the surface of her consciousness for some time, sharpens her focus.
He's smart. He's wise. He's calm. He tempers your worst qualities.
It wasn't the most theatrical gesture in the world, or even the Viscounty most likely, hardly due a storybook ending or the climax of one of the great bard's romantic comedies. But the timing was right. Talia smiles and stares back at Naralesh, and this time, her voice comes clear and warm, as she folds her hands over his and holds them.
"Marry me."
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The days grew shorter, the nights crisp. The last few months had seen the founding of a second town, despite Oleg's protestations, and more emigres to their kingdom. Still, Talia was consumed with a nervous energy. Once again, they would leave the safety and comfort of home, on the morning. It was a tough time of year to be away in the wilds, and then, her last night in town, there was this blasted ball to attend. Sighing, Talia attached her mask, an abstract thing of black and purple and feathers, and waived her hands over her hair and skin, uttering a quick arcane syllable. Her fiery red locks grew dark, her skin tanned, but she'd leave her green eyes alone. Talia was too fond of her eyes to ever change them, Seven Veil masquerade or no.
Shrugging off her worry and nervous energy, the Viscountess made her way to the masquerade.
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Gavriil smiled as he looked into the mirror in his room. While most everyone had forgotten about this holiday until it was upon them, Gavriil had seen it coming from months away. There were so few times that they could officially have a party throughout their new lives, that Gavriil actively looked forward to them and planned, at least to amuse himself.
While some of the others had minor magics to aid in their disguise, Gavriil had only mundane ways to blend in, and blend in was exactly what he wanted to do tonight. He scratched at the beard he had allowed to grow in ever since they had returned from the elven keep before smearing lather over it and began to sheer it away with his razor. He then took a pair of sheers and cut back his long hair to be close cropped to his head. He took ashes from his fireplace and mixed them with a bit of water before slicking back his hair, giving his normally brown hair a grey-black look.
The man standing in the mirror could hardly be recognized, even without the mask. He dressed in simple, but nice clothes, much different from the loud expensive clothing he had been wearing since he had the money to distinguish himself from the lower classes.
Finally he donned his mask, a simple ivory-colored mask slight delicate violet swirls that just accentuated the mask.
He knocked back one last glass of wine before heading down to the court to join the party. Thank the gods that they still got time to play!
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"Marry me."
Grabs popcorn and settles in.
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Naralesh's world fell out from under him with those two words. Those many months ago, a heartbroken elf had set out from the human lands he had chosen as his home, chasing the promise of an escape from a life then defined by the absence of one who had once given that life meaning. The hero's quest to the Stolen Lands - a fool's errand at best. Never meant for anything grand, the founding of a kingdom, the making of new friends, and the discovery of a reason to live in a world without Rebeccah.
His mortal wound, and moment of nearly passing into Pharasma's embrace, awakened him to the stark reality of his situation. He had come to these lands to die, and upon knocking at death's doorstep, he realized his journey was not yet meant to end. Those early weeks, traveling ensnared by shame for his recklessness, he found he could only think of what he had forsaken and what had been taken from him. In the faces of his human companions, he saw old friends, now wizened and dying miles away. In the face of one companion in particular... he saw her. The fiery red hair that drew every eye in the room to her. The smile that showed an uncrushable confidence in her actions and her words. These similarities fascinated him, but drove him to keep his distance. Each day had been a struggle not to project the feelings of loss onto the budding infatuation with a woman for whom there were far greater concerns than a wounded elf's regrets.
Months had passed. Naralesh grew in strength and in wisdom, and Talia did as well. He watched as she assumed the mantle of leadership, of power. He grew to admire her for her own strength, an ambition not for herself, but for her people. The challenges of governance were different from those of bandit-slaying and exploration, but she met them with a confidence he could never hope to match. The days between when he thought about Rebeccah grew farther apart, and for the first time in the decade since her death, he had begun to feel a sense of belonging once more.
Now, on the eve of what might have been her greatest struggle, and facing infighting among her closest allies, the woman who had taken over his world from afar, aloof as he tried to be, approached him and took his hands in her own and spoke two words. In that moment, as all else faded away.
In that moment, Naralesh didn't think about Rebeccah at all.
"Of course I will," Naralesh replied, as a true smile the likes of which Talia had never seen broke across his face.
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Edric goes and, very cautiously, knocks on Talia's door. "Talia. Vosil is back - he said he needed to speak to you. I'm sorry."
A few minutes pass and Talia slips out her bedroom door, opening it just enough to slip through before shutting it firmly behind her. "Thank you, Edric. I am sorry too. Today was a stressful day. Let's see what our spymaster has to say, shall we?"
The Viscountess' breath smells of wine; she rubs her eyes as she walks down the hall. Entering the council room, she slips into her seat, and sends a guard to wake the others. Yawning, Talia stretches, and looks to Vosil. "I assume, given the hour, you have news, for better or worse?"
-------------------
After Grigori's execution, Talia calls a meeting of the Privvy Council. Settling into her chair, the Viscountess looks around the large wooden table. "I have news." Slightly nervous, Talia clears her throat, straightens her dress, waits for the wine to be poured. Once the servants have left the council room, Talia continues.
"Naralesh and I are to be married. It seems that Grigori's ultimate gift to us was to unveil what was there for awhile now, under the surface. His sacrifice ultimately makes us stronger."
"But, Vosil's eyes and ears tell him that Grigori also did much damage. There is discontent. I do not wish my - our - wedding to be seen as an attempt to distract our people from their dissatisfaction. I'd like to wait until fall or winter to announce a wedding for the spring. Hopefully, things will be calmer by then."
"What do you think?"
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After Grigori's execution, Talia calls a meeting of the Privvy Council. Settling into her chair, the Viscountess looks around the large wooden table. "I have news." Slightly nervous, Talia clears her throat, straightens her dress, waits for the wine to be poured. Once the servants have left the council room, Talia continues.
"Naralesh and I are to be married. It seems that Grigori's ultimate gift to us was to unveil what was there for awhile now, under the surface. His sacrifice ultimately makes us stronger."
"But, Vosil's eyes and ears tell him that Grigori also did much damage. There is discontent. I do not wish my - our - wedding to be seen as an attempt to distract our people from their dissatisfaction. I'd like to wait until fall or winter to announce a wedding for the spring. Hopefully, things will be calmer by then."
"What do you think?"
Vosil has brought, as is increasingly his habit, a sheaf of papers into the meeting; as Talia speaks he stops writing and puts his quill pen down, but does not look up.
Finally, he puts the papers to one side and looks up - but at the ceiling, not at the Viscountess. Without opening his eyes, he speaks.
"By my projections, by the end of this year we will control - and I use that in the loosest sense of the word - almost 2,400 square miles of territory, having only one (1) uncontested border; and that with a nation which only exists in the diseased minds of the Surtovas, may the Gods rot their shrivelled souls. Our two settlements will have between them nearly 8,000 people, with another 5,000 or so scattered across the remaining lands, operating some half a dozen sawmills, a quarry and two mines. Our annual GDP will be in the region of three-quarters of a million gold crowns, which is even more exhilarating when you realise our outgoings, infrastructure commitments and other liabilities. In the space of eighteen months, we will have moved from an agrarian, subsistence farming model to a proto-industrial society."
"Of course, those projections are somewhat out of date - as is - because the only assistants I have who can reliably count beyond ten without taking off their socks are all committed to clearing up from the Grigori affair. Nobody in the benighted North appears to have any idea of Taldan administration techniques: I have had to teach them the fine arts of double-entry book-keeping, compound interest, and indeed the concept of GDP itself. I have also had to put together a rudimentary cypher system so that our clerks can communicate with one another without our information becoming public knowledge."
"And yet, despite all that, the one uncontrollable has been my worry that your House would affiance you to someone who would not understand what we do here, who would try to interfere and whom I would have to ... re-educate. You ask me what I think?"
He looks, finally, directly at Talia. "I think, you could not have chosen better than you have; and I think you have earned the respect and loyalty of those around you. I think, too, that whatever is currently going on, the people will accept the timing of both the announcement and the wedding itself, whenever you offer it to them. But, on a personal level, I suggest the New Year - it has a symbolism to it that appeals to me."
He pauses, for a moment, before smiling warmly. "Our personal dealings have been, and doubtless will continue to be, fractious, Talia of House Khavortorov: you are stubborn and headstrong, and I am acerbic; good at 'pulling on the nerves' as you put it. But if I may put that to one side, for an instant, I should like to offer you - both of you - my most sincere congratulations."
Right. Enough mushiness. His eyes sparkle with mischief: "And now, I have to attend to-" running this place "-some paperwork. If anything needs naming, I shall be sure to send for you..."
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Gavriil sits in his chair of the council chamber with his feet up on the table and his hand attempting to block the burning glare of a thousand suns that seem to be bursting through the window into the chamber, while his fingers gently massage his temple, trying to ward off the hang-over headache that was pounding new songs into his head. Thankfully, Vosil doesn't seem to be in a chatty mood this morning, and is engrossed in his paperwork.
As Talia walks in, though, the headache is alleviated somewhat. Not just because he knew there was explaining to be done about how he remained quiet during the outburst and that he needed to be sharp for that, but also because she just had that effect on him. It was a terrifying effect to a man who had never had that happen to him before, but a somewhat welcome one. He smirks at her as he sees that she too had been drinking heavily the night before.
But then she starts talking.
And the world stops as he hears those seven words: Naralesh and I are to be married.
There's a slight cracking sound that only he can hear, that drowns out the rest of what she says. The small cracking sound that you dread when you walk out onto an icy pond for the first time. And like the ice, his heart splinters, then shatters, dropping him below into the icy depths of the waters. He always was a horrible swimmer.
How? When? Was I blinded by the small things for so long that I didn't see what was developing right before my eyes? Did I blind myself to all of this? It was too much for him. And he couldn't let any of them know. What was he going to do? Challenge Naralesh to a duel for Talia's hand to marriage? That was impossible. Naralesh was his friend and that would only push her further away from him. He could speak up about all these feeling he's been too scared to put into words, but even if that worked it would end up with Naralesh devastated and a friendship ruined. Even as bad a man as Gavriil was he didn't want that. He was trapped in a hell he didn't know how to escape. The one long con that the mighty Scoundrel of the Greenbelt couldn't talk his way out of.
Luckily, Vosil had been talking at length, giving Gavriil time to process this. No, he would not even peep about this to them. He couldn't. He played off his shock, with a wide grin at the two of them. He quickly got up and went to the door to summon a servant to fetch wine for them quickly. He came back to the table with the bottle and glasses just as Vosil finished up speaking. "You can take care of your paper work later, Vosil. Even though we are keeping this secret, it's still a time for celebration amongst ourselves!" He pours out the wine for everyone and raises a glass with a huge smile across his face, "To the happy couple! May they live a long life!" And then he downs his wine.
God it felt good. And he was going to need a lot more...
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23 Neth 4708
The Seven Veils Festival. The night of the masquerade draws nigh. Will there an announcement?
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Talia raised her glass to Vosil. Even the man's backhanded compliments couldn't dent the Viscountess' mood. "The New Year is the perfect time. As ever, your counsel is sound and reasoned. Thank you, Spymaster."
Gavriil's toast, however, did dent Talia's mood. The truth was, she'd always been, and always would be, fond of the Scoundrel of the Greenbelt. But the man had abandoned her once, and was way too prone to chasing his whims. If Naralesh was best suited to temper Talia's worst qualities, Gavriil was simply best suited to them. They would make a miserable couple of royals. That acknowledgement didn't make the Viscountess feel any less guilty, however, at the smile - way too large - plastered across her Grand Diplomat's face.
Talia forces a smile and returns Gavriil's gesture, raising her glass. "Thank you, Gavriil, your blessing means the world."
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Edric, standing quietly in the corner as usual had actually bought his own piece of paper to the meeting for once, Talia's announcement however had him tuck it back into his belt as a huge, beaming smile broke out across his face. He resists temptation for a few moments before striding across the room and swinging Talia around in a great bear hug. Naralesh gets a hearty backslapping and Edric's grin just doesn't lighten up, illuminating the room almost as much as his powers often do.
"That's wonderful! You'll be fantastic together, and New Year will be perfect! This is wonderful, wonderful!" He dies off at this point, clearly immensely happy but seemingly run out of words. He accepts a glass of wine with the others, one of the first drinks any of you have seen Edric accept in months, since the drinking contest with the dwarves in fact. Even his happiness doesn't obscure the fact however that Gavriil is clearly unhappy, despite the huge grin that matches Edric's own.
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After the council meeting is adjourned, little business being conducted following Talia's announcement Edric gives the Viscountess and Naralesh one more congratulation and then follows Gav, knowing that the man is going to need someone to talk to/drink with/possibly punch. Gav has helped me out enough before now. My turn to do the same.
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Seven Veils
Edric tried to find a costume, he really did, but being six feet tall, with shoanti colouring and an increasing tendency to glow slightly at unexpected moments made the whole attempt almost utterly futile. Abandoning pretense he simply dresses smartly, in a dark doublet woven with silver thread in the many of his beloved night sky and wears a similarly silver-chased domino.