It was like striking a gaggle of geese dead all as one. Countess Pace's simpering little retinue all fell quiet at the newcomer's challenge. Oh sure, he was offering the noblewoman to test him, but to demand something in return, to engage her as something even approaching equals... The audacity! The nerve! As for the senator herself, she too said nothing for a moment. There was a strange light behind the brown eyes, something conflicting. She was clearly thinking.
"Very well," she finally said. The noblewoman looked cool and collected, and showed nothing but amusement at the ifrit's impudence. "Please leave myself and Sir Geminus alone for now."
This was met with something approaching lamentations from the entourage. To reward this debutante's insolence with the senator's intimacy? Why, was there no justice in the world? Clearly he had nothing to offer her or anyone else. Clearly...
"I said I would not reveal the Grand Prince's exalted and that's that. And I certainly will not reveal a senator's vote in the open. So please - vacate the premises."
A beaten dog could not offer a sadder sight as these sycophants limped away with their tails between their legs, defeated. Riveh caught more than a few hateful glances thrown his way as he was left behind, alone, with the countess.
"Well?" Pace asked, with an impatient smile. "Who is it you believe is due to join our ranks?"
An odd little regular thumping reached the ifrit's ear. It took him a second to realize that it came from the noblewoman's gown: beneath the layers her heeled foot was tapping on the marble.
Riveh watches the dismissed courtiers go with some obvious satisfaction. Only his first real day in the political game and here he was, already picking and choosing who stood where. It was a rush, no denying it, to play this game on a higher level then these people who have been maneuvering for years. Still, Riveh checked himself at spotting the cunning look on the Countess's face. She was no naive young girl, taken in by a promise of exchanged promises. The woman was probably ready to lie directly to his face. But lies could have value as well, if detected.
The ifrit pauses for a dramatic moment as the Countess Pace taps her foot. Not long enough to annoy, but enough to show the young nobleman is not rushed. His eyes sweep the elegantly appointed room, the tapestries, the flower bouquets, the fresh coat of paint on every door. Enough wealth in sight to buy many a town. Riveh glances over at Lady Coufas to see if she is watching.
Then Riveh coughs and says, "I have heard it might be.... Kalbio of Breezy Creek. How close to the mark am I?" The ifrit deliberately does not include rank (or lack thereof). A test, to see if he can see her surprise or mind trying to place the name. He had his suspicions but it was always best to be sure.
Now came the tricky part, when she 'answered' him. A lie? Probably. But still.....
As he revealed his cards, Riveh did his damnedest to read the countess's face, a task hindered by the layer of thick makeup. Still, he saw no recognition in her eyes at the mention of Kalbio of Breezy Creek.
"Well, aren't we well informed? Yes, precisely he. I applaud your skill at sussing out rumors, Sir Geminus - your own, or that of your knowledgeable master..."
What? What was that supposed to mean? Senator Pace was wearing a superior smile, the sort the clever detective before an audience of dunces might adopt at the end of a novel when they had uncovered the whole mystery.
"I tease, I tease. So then, you'd like to know how I intend to vote on the Princess's proposal? You presume much in asking a senator her vote, but I will appease you this once, in recognition of your insight. Why, I'm going to vote for, of course. Why wouldn't I? Do I not stand to gain from it myself?"
No. No, if it wasn't for the fact that both conversationalists were fragrant as a nymph's pit, the ifrit would say this statement stank to high heaven. The noblewoman wasn't speaking truthfully. In addition, she seemed to have made some assumptions about Riveh, quite likely in error.
"Does that satisfy your curiosity, Sir Geminus?"
Riveh smiles inwardly when Countess Pace pretends to know who Kalbio is. Part of him is tempting to jerk on the baited hook, asking her what she knows about the named man or his 'house' in Breezy Creek. How the made-up woman would squirm! But all it would do is upset her and earn him nothing. Besides, despite her annoying behavior she hadn't done anything negative...yet.
Then he frowns, when the Senator mentions 'knowledgeable master'. What did Pace mean by that? Did she guess that Lady Coufas was Riveh's backer? Or was it something else she merely pretended to know to be the center of attention? She seemed the type. Still, Riveh felt a strange trickle down his spine.
The ifrit shook it off and smiled when Senator Pace 'explained' the reasons for her vote.
"Of course, but we both know politics is not all that simple." Riveh smiles and he means it, enjoying the give and take. "I am not one of those little puppies you sent away. I know full well that you might vote for something that goes against your pocketbook to satisfy some deeper political game. Who knows what higher goal you aim at then mere personal....profit." Riveh says the last word with studied noble contempt.
Here they were, two conspiratorial kittens leaning into each other to whisper their little scoops and schemes. It hadn't escaped Riveh that they must look identical to the fair few surreptitious circles of conspirators he'd spied down corridors here in the more sparsely populated servant's area. If nothing else, he supposed he had proved he could plot with the best of them. And then again, perhaps not.
The countess smiled and nodded at the ifrit's prodding, but he could sense it coming before the fact: a wicked delight was evident in her eyes before the noblewoman stated, rather icily:
"My dear Sir, I have no idea whatsoever of what you speak."
She spoke louder now, shrill voice rising so that others could hear.
"I am a senator of Taldor. If you are insinuating that I have any goal beyond serving the nation, then you insult me. I suggest you run off to your taskmaster and report your failure. Senator Pace cannot be bought. And question my honesty again and I'll inform the guards. Good day, 'Sir'."
And with that she turned her back with a mighty rustle from the enormous gown and walked away, heels clacking against the marble.
Riveh watches the woman retreat, frowning slightly as his bubble of self-confidence deflates a bit. Clearly he had come on too strong. Riveh reminded himself he was a virtual unknown here which, to experienced operators like Pace made him both unimportant and dangerous. She had marked him as a hired blade working for some rival. Did she know it was Lady Coufas? The woman' tone indicated she knew who Riveh's patron was.....and the ifirt also had a growing suspicion that lady Coufas was more then she appeared.
The young man shook it off and shrugged. No real harm done, and nothing he had promised Martella had been compromised. Riveh guessed Pace would be voting against the law change but that was simple hunch, nothing to report. Speaking of report...should he approach his patron? She was alone and despite wishing to avoid spy business, might enjoy hearing the wine job had gone off smoothly. Of course, Riveh could also circulate a bit more....or even head to greener pastures.
The ifrit nodded and headed for the Senate Floor. Before diving in, Riveh circled like a hawk, scanning the terrain ahead.
The Senate Floor. There were few places in Oppara quite as hallowed as this vast circular amphitheater of tiered seats. This was where every law and regulation in Taldor was put to the vote, and had been for at least one thousand years. As befitting such an societally and historically important site, the senate floor was largely free of the ostentation that defined every other part of the senate tonight. The naked marble instead lent the place a severe beauty. If these stones could talk...
Well, then they probably couldn't be heard over the noise, unfortunately. The people currently occupying the floor were regrettably rather robbing the place of its dignity. Normally closed to the public, the gala guests were taking the opportunity to engage in power fantasies of sorts. The deep steps were full of would-be politicians and senators engaging in lively debates and issuing mock legislature. Riveh overheard quite a few discussions on Princess Eutropia's proposal, one of which ended with a bellowing (and slightly inebriated) declaration that from this day hence Taldor was to be divided between two castes: one being all those with mustaches "reaching no less than to the bottom lip', and the other everyone else. The former would hold all political power, and this the speaker insisted with no small amount of triumph would ensure the nation's fortune. "No womenfolk or milksop Andorans" would ever come to power under this system he said, only red-blooded men. The display drew laughter and applause.
The din being what it was, however, the ifrit wasn't able to make out many nobles of any importance here. In fact, his search might have been a total bust if he hadn't suddenly recognized not a person, but the clothes said person was wearing.
Although the amphitheater was unadorned, its outer columns were not. Between several of these were suspended massive tapestries, some reaching 15 ft. in height. Every one was unique and depicted a different scene from the nation's history in mind-boggling detail. The art that had gone into them was astounding in both imagination and execution. But what drew Riveh's attention was a figure walking beneath them. He was a young man, not terribly tall, perhaps somewhere in his early twenties, who ambled around alone somewhat awkwardly among the tapestries' many admirers, though never leaving them. Beneath the simple brown hair (which looked to never have met a professional barber) was an earnest, wide sun-burnt face, very different from the aristocracy surrounding him. But what the ifrit's eyes had jumped on were his fine clothes. Because these were remarkably similar to Riveh's own. He recognized that cut. They were from Thread Rare. Was this him then? Kalbio of Breezy Creek, the Grand Prince's chosen? Riveh looked to the man's trousers which hugged the scrawny rear rather flatteringly. Yup, Thread Rare.
But beyond the exalted himself, there was one other noteworthy person. Standing a head taller than most was a handsome bear of a man. He was no spring chicken, appearing to be at least brushing up against his fifties - the sensible hair was shot with grey, although his horseshoe mustache was still thick and black. And even at a distance Riveh could spy the insignia of the Taldan Horse, the military's mounted division, adorning the powerfully built chest. It seemed the ifrit had found his Baron Okerra.
Riveh gazes out over the sunken bowl of the Senate with a strange mixture of emotions, all vying for his attention. At the top floated the obvious. Pride. Pride of being part of such a gloried and honored past, of political traditions handed down for centuries. The finest empire the Inner Sea had ever seen, reaching down from time immemorial.
Under that pride though was an uneasy feeling, which was growing as Riveh interacted with the great and powerful. Was this it? Was the enigmatic Lady Coufas, the eccentric Pace....was that the nobility? Were they really the inheritors of the great Senate, of that grand past? Surely not, surely others, more esteemed were really what story held. Wise, just and powerful. But the doubt was gnawing at him.
Lastly, there was a bright burning stream of jealousy. Here he was, a scion of one of the greatest and noblest houses in Taldor, with a pedigree reaching back millenia but because of a political maneuver and blind racism was relegated to being a mere page. Riveh did not consider himself overly prideful but the fact that some sunburned basket weaver was going to outrank him rankled the ifrit. He had half a mind to descend to this Kalbio and....do what? Humiliate him? Maybe.
Then Riveh shrugged to himself. That was not why he was here. Instead he turned his gaze on Baron Okerra, staring down at the uniformed solider. An impressive man, whatever his political leanings. The ifrit wondered what hold Lady Coufas had on him, and also wondered who Lady Coufas really was. Mayhap this interaction might prove it.
The ifrit decided that caution was warranted here, and set to observing the man that was his next mission before approaching him. Using the glittering crowd for cover, he followed the Baron around for some minutes to get a better measure of him. And one of the first things Riveh gathered was that he was here alone. No escort, retainers or hangers-on clung to Okerra. He merely wandered the Senate Floor at a leisurely pace at odds with his otherwise wide, purposeful gait; in truth, he seemed almost merely to be killing time. Every now and again he was approached by someone (always they to him, never the other way round) who seemed to recognize him, generally older folk.
Regrettably, the ifrit caught little of anything said, though he got the strong impression that everyone greeting the Baron were highly esteemed - they had a way of parting the crowd that spoke to this. However, despite everyone appearing glad to see him and Okerra greeting them with the professional politeness so indicative of the military man, these conversations were invariably short-lived. There would be some shaking of hands, some smiles, and then... conversation just seemed to sort of peter out. It never took long before his company moved on, although always amicably and with more shaking of hands. Riveh had been warned that his target was the stiff type. Was it possible that he was just kind of... boring?
'Good evening!'
This was nearly the end of the Geminus line right there and then, as the ifrit was terribly startled by a familiar voice suddenly ringing out inside his head. Honestly, this was the sort of thing that gave lesser men heart attacks. He had been so occupied tailing the Baron that he hadn't noticed the bronze badge on his chest growing warm in warning.
'Just checking in on my agent,' Martella went on, 'I trust you've made it to the Senate? Any difficulties?'
Even as the bright voice of his patron manifested itself into his mind, Riveh saw Okerra stop to listen in at one of the more lively debates, although he did not engage himself in any way. Unless the ifrit was much mistaken the deliberation centered around Taldor's responsibility to uplift the rest of the world to the highest standard of civilization, this of course being their own.
Riveh grits his teeth in frustration when he can't get close enough to eavesdrop on the Baron. The Senators are simply too many (and used to large bubbles of personal space) to move freely among the austere stone steps on the forum. Still, at least he can eliminate his concerns about an entourage or bodyguard. Maybe he can just walk up and....
The ifrits musing is abruptly interrupted Martella's words.
After a moment to settle his jangled nerves, Riveh mentally replies, 'Inside, all is well. Some trouble at entrance. Information?"[/b] The young man pauses, eyes sweeping over the glittering, assembled nobles.
[i]'One job done. Currently at Forum. Any change of plans? All well with you?'
Martella replied at the speed of thought.
'Quick work. Excellent. Hope you appreciate package. No change of plans. All is well. Find me in the Servant Area should you need me. Carry on.'
Riveh shrugged, but was happy to hear the ordeal at the door had been Martella's idea. He wished she had informed him first, but the noblewoman seemed to enjoy secrets. No matter, there would be time for that late. Now, now was the time to talk to the Baron.
Seeing Okerra was alone, if idly chatting, Riveh decided now was the time. Without any stealth or maneuver, the ifrit marched right toward the large uniformed man. Riveh was polite but direct, sliding past others with only the barest courtesy of a nod or bow. When directly in front of the Baron, Riveh realizes he barely comes up to the man's shoulder. Slightly intimidated the young man gathers himself and bows, but not too deeply.
"Baron Okerra." Riveh says smoothly, "I am Riveh Geminus, a recently added aide to the Senate. May I please speak to you alone? I have business you may be interested in, and tidings from a poltical ally."
Riveh leaves it vague, hoping to entice the man (and possibly avoid the mystery of Lady Coufas's name). The young man does, quite deliberately, use his own last name however, curious to see the effect on the Baron.
The Baron had already turned from idly following the debate to facing the approaching young man by the time Riveh reached him, speaking to a keen situational awareness most likely gained through his military service. That, or being a head taller than most just helped Okerra see these things in advance. One thing certainly gained in the military, however, was the perfectly rank posture, with which he felt truly towering before the slighter ifrit. True to first impressions, the Baron was a large man - even the well tailored dress uniform could not hide his powerful physique, though Riveh noted a bit of a gut at the belt, this of course not being unusual for men his age. A longsword in a polished scabbard, peace-bound with cord as was required, rested at his side. Up top Okerra's sensibly cut hair was going silver, but the rather impressive horseshoe mustache remained thick and black. Strangely, it were the eyes that surprised Riveh up close. Despite the commemorations hanging of the chest, the Baron did not carry himself with that dogged pride that defined so many other nobles here. Instead his face appeared open and patient as he waited for the young man to speak his business.
It was then unfortunate that his expression darkened significantly when Riveh did just that.
"No. No, I think not," his baritone voiced rumbled.
"I'm sorry, young man. But if we, or whoever you represent, cannot speak plainly, then I'd rather not speak at all. These clandestine politics... I don't approve of them. They never lead to any good. You will not be the exception. You're young; I suggest you get out of this environment while you still can, Mr... Geminus?"
The grey eyes suddenly went wide. It would seem that the Baron did indeed recognize Riveh's name.
What feelings it stirred in him, however, was a bit more difficult to say. Not dismissal or anger, certainly. But something conflicting, maybe even... regretful? Regardless, Okerra merely stood there staring at the ifrit a few seconds before finally saying:
"... Lead the way, Sir Geminus."
Riveh is so surprised by the man's change of attitude, his mouth almost drops open in slack-jawed surprise. Just at the mere mention of his name the Baron had went from polite if cool indifference to...what? Interest? Understanding? A trace of regret?
As Riveh leads Okerra to the maze of empty Senate offices, his mind works. What was it that had changed the Baron's mind? Could Riveh perhaps hope this man had a lingering affection for the Geminus family? He, or at least his family, had once been vassals of Riveh's family and such ties did not die easily. Perhaps the Lotheed's were not loved by all they had inherited? The possibilities bubbled in Riveh's mind.
Riveh finds a likely looking waiting room, quiet and dark. The young man opens the door and then glances back at the Baron, "Unless you like another? I wouldn't want to think I am leading you anywhere in particular, My Lord." Riveh tries his best to inject a light sense of jest into the phrasing. "This will be, I hope, merely a conversation between political allies."
If the Geminus heir had hoped to put Okerra at ease with some banter, it unfortunately didn't seem to work. Beneath the mustache, the Baron's mouth was as tight as the eyes above were intent - perhaps he truly was every bit as humorless as the rumors had foretold. Or perhaps the former soldier had some reason for looking so somber at this meeting. Regardless, he made no comment, merely gave Riveh another weighty look laden with some meaning, and stepped into the room.
Said room, named the Stavian I Waiting Room by a helpful plaque, was a small, very tasteful, office space. Dark wood paneling covered the walls here, with a comfy sofa and large desk being the only notable furnishings. Outside another gold-rimmed window, night was slowly falling on the Gilded City; fireworks illuminated the sky. The wooden door closed behind the ifrit with a satisfyingly sturdy thud. It muffled the sound of the gala quite well, leaving the two to speak in confidence. Riveh now stood alone with the Baron. Okerra was watching him intently, and appeared if anything even more intimidating in size within this smaller setting. Gods above, to know what he was thinking right now.
"I..." the Baron started at the younger man's hope of a political alliance. It seemed to take him a second to find the words, but when he did he spoke slowly and confidently. "You shouldn't hope for too much from this conversation, Sir Geminus. I'm not one to make accords outside a court of law. I want to hear what you have to say because I feel my duty bids it. I owe your family that at least. Please, speak your piece."
Riveh pauses at the door frame at the Baron's words, temporarily caught speechless.
Slowly he says, "Your words and feelings do you credit, My Lord, and are well said. As the heir to that noble house, I am touched at your memory of past relations and willd o by best to uphold that noble memory."
Riveh coughs and says, quite plainly, "I have been sent by my patron, Lady Coufas, to remind you, in light of the current inheritance debate, of certain debts you owe her. She does not make any firm claim on you, but merely to mention the matter to you, and certain expectations on your behavior and words, which carry great weight in the Senate."
Okerra initially offered nothing more than a nod to the young man's words, as if urging him to move on to whatever it was they needed to talk about. Tempered sympathy, that was what glowed out of the intent eyes, Riveh now realized - it was the look of a man who knew he could ill afford his own emotions. Hopefully this goodwill would last long enough for the ifrit's purposes. Because when he did broach the matter he was ostensibly sent here for, the Baron's thoughtful features turned into a great big mustachioed frown.
"I see. So you've thrown your lot in with... that woman. Lady Coufas. Hmph."
The retired soldier didn't appear angry, however. Nor even annoyed. Well, not overly so. Unless Riveh was much mistaken, he seemed almost embarrassed. And vaguely disappointed?
"You may tell your patron that I haven't forgotten my debt. I don't think I'm known for forgetting those. My word is my honor. She needn't have sent you. Was there anything else?"
Riveh thought he meant this. Well, that was a relief. The job he had dreaded most had turned out extremely straight-forward. But it was strange. While Baron Okerra still seemed willing to listen to anything the ifrit might have to say, there was something different in his demeanor now. He carried himself well, former soldier that he was, but there was a certain agitation behind the eyes now, as if he was wrestling with something. Was it something Riveh had said? What to do now? Probe deeper? Ask the Baron's favor? Make friends?
Riveh's very first reaction to the man's words are relief, not by his calm reaction but by his recognition of the Lady Coufas. He had started to think the name had been entirely false, perhaps conjured up to embarrass the ifrit. The Baron however did not seem the type to take part in such court games.
Second, he felt a stab of guilt. Here the Baron was, a seemingly upright honest man who felt ties toward his old family of loyalty and did his best to act honorably. And what was Riveh? Swimming through the muck of inneduo and political maneuvering.
So, on a whim, he decided to be honest with the imposing Baron.
"Need must when the devil drives, My Lord." Riveh says with a weary, rueful smile. "As you have very politely indicated, my family is not what it once was. When faced with that....I am sure even a good man like yourself may stoop to dirty his hands to re-gain the family honor?"
Riveh shrugs, "I do fully admit the Lady Coufas does not seem to be...well, you know what they say. Politics make strange bedfellows and allies will be what they are."
The young ifrit smiles again and says, "It was a much unexpected pleasure to speak with you, Baron Okerra. Thank you for your time, and I am at your service if I can do anything for you."
Honesty, so often said to be the best policy, was nevertheless in short supply among the colluding aristocracy of Oppara. But Baron Okerra seemed the sort of man to accept nothing else, and so Riveh's candidness was clearly well received. But this left the question of how the ifrit would take the Baron's words when, after another thoughtful pause, he proceeded to answer him in turn.
"That's what you're out for then? Restoring House Geminus? Young man, I appreciate your situation, but..." He let a very dour look fall to the floor before finding the words. "I implore you to think on the meaning of that word, 'honor'. Because I fear that when you speak of restoring the family, what you're really seeking is political power. And I'm sorry to tell you that these two do not always go hand in hand."
The former soldier paused again, clearly annoyed at his inability to express his thoughts. Respected though he was, this was no practiced orator. But this was by all appearance important enough for him to go on.
"I hope you have considered what this is worth. Because the sense of honor that compelled me to hear you out is not the honor of... of... people like Coufas. There is no shame in the life of the common man, Sir Geminus. Or, if it's honor you truly seek, the military would happily take you in. Ask me and I'd put in good word for you at the Taldan Horse. Why, given enough years in the service, you'd win all the recognition one can hope for. It... wouldn't likely restore your family's status, but you'd be able to look even the Grand Prince in the eyes with pride. And the opposition you're facing..."
It was obvious the Okerra himself did not believe he could convince Riveh to abandon his mission; he merely felt obliged to make the attempt. And at least part of the reason why was made clear by the Baron's next words.
"If you set out to challenge the Lotheeds, just know you face a great many obstacles. Myself included. I told you that my word is my honor, Sir Geminus. I am sworn to the Lotheed family. They are my Lords. If you oppose them, then I am duty-bound to oppose you. And I'd rather this not be the case."
Ah. Presumably this was the regret Riveh had detected in the man earlier because it was glowing from him now, even as he tried to maintain a stiff upper lip. The Baron was clearly not happy about any of this. However, he was obviously every bit the military man the ifrit had heard: duty came first.
"One other matter," the tall man interrupted Riveh before leaving. There seemed an internal war within him for a moment as he struggled to decide how much he could say, before: "Your Lady Coufas - she is... Coufas is not her true name. Don't ask me to say any more. I will not betray her trust, but to not tell you this much would be... too great an injustice. Goodbye, Riveh Geminus."
For one long moment, propelled by the Baron's plain words, Riveh can see a different path for himself, one not overshadowed by historical rights or wrongs. A life where he is free to do what he wants, free of family obligations or self-imposed duties. A world where he strives for his own good, on his own two feet. A life of perhaps simple but real victories, pleasures and satisfaction.
It hovers in front of the young man for a moment, like a mirage. Then it flickers and vanishes, and Riveh lets out a long sigh.
"Perhaps if I was wiser I would follow your good council. I doubt I will hear any other words as fair and honest as yours in this place." Riveh offers the Baron his hand, the ifrit's looking small and weak compared to the Baron's powerful muscular grip.
"As for your Lord being by foe, well, I am sure they would not consider it unexpected news." Riveh says and then he smiles, "If you fight for them, well, I could not imagine a more worthy foe. But maybe that day will not come as you suspect, My Lord. The world often moves in strange ways, both good and ill."
Riveh raises an eyebrow at the Baron's warning about the Lady Coufas and says, "As much as that, I suspected, but it is good to hear it confirmed. Better payment then a scheming politician like myself deserves. Thank you and good day Baron Okerra. "
The Baron's large, tanned hand bore every sign of having carried weapons for years on end, but thankfully he did nothing so crass as crush Riveh as the two shook hands in departure. The meeting had taken an almost melancholic turn. Two amicable men turned ostensible enemies by circumstances beyond their control - It was the stuff of great plays. Okerra himself was clearly affected and once again didn't quite know what to say when the ifrit wished him all the best. What was appropriate in a situation such as this? In the end he simply nodded, and gave an affirmative murmur.
Riveh stepped out of the waiting room first, leaving the Baron to think, and was soon back in the bustle and noise and glitter of the gala. Going back from the private, intimate conversation to this was like a sudden submerge underwater; the senses had to go back on guard. And not just from the lights and sounds. It was the deceptiveness one had to look out for. Fake smiles and false laughs amid real gold and genuine jewels... Okerra had been refreshingly honest. It was perhaps not surprising then, that the ifrit decided to find another private one-on-one discussion. He would seek his patron.
With Martella herself telling him where to find her (and him having already spotted her earlier), Riveh quickly located the noblewoman. She was sitting exactly where he'd seen her earlier. At a table set up against a wall by the edge of the Servant Area, Lady Coufas sat perfectly alone with a glass of sparkling wine in one gloved hand. Nothing seemed to have changed since he last peeked at her. She still seemed content in merely watching the crowd, not engaging with anyone passing by, and still wore that serene little smile in doing so. To be frank, she was just a bit otherworldly - a graceful nymph sitting in her own oasis of calm amidst all the hubbub of the party, unapproachable by and unwilling to approach mere mortals. The ludicrously ostentatious decoration of a thousand gold plated roses behind her might be helping that impression.
However, this illusion broke as soon as she spotted the approaching Riveh. The noblewoman's serenity turned to clear anxiety at the sight of her agent, and she was immediately alert and present.
"Sir Geminus?" she said upon the ifrit reaching her, speaking in hurried tones. "What's wrong? What's happened?"
She seemed to have assumed that Riveh was here because something or other had gone terribly wrong.
Riveh Geminus shakes off the strange pensive feeling he gained after the meeting with the Baron. This was no time to dwell on paths un-taken or branching roads of fate. He needed to stay focused, he was treading in a garden of vipers, which was no time for the mind to wander.
And speaking of vipers....Lady Coufas.
Riveh waves a hand, "No problem. I merely saw a woman sitting alone at such a great party and wished to ask if she needed anything." The young ifrit gives a courtly bow, hoping his patron approved of the good clothes or, more likely, took them for granted.
"Also, all is well and taken care of. I hope that tidings gladdens your heart on this already joyous of days?"
Well, here was a new one. So far Riveh had really only seen his mysterious benefactor as either cool & collected taskmaster or strangely chipper noblewoman who may-or-may-not be a front for the aforementioned cool & collected schemer. But that was not the figure sitting before him now. Lady Coufas had one expertly maintained eyebrow raised in disbelief even as the subtly shaded lips stood half-open and curled somewhere between surprise and delight. Something the ifrit said had apparently taken her off guard.
"Why, Sir Geminus," she said, a playful light winning over the incredulity in her dark eyes, "Were you concerned about little old me? Was the charming young man all set to sweep the lonely noblewoman too timid to join the festivities off her feet? Was this you coming to my rescue?"
Martella laughed lightly, a tingling sound not unlike that the pearls in her hair would make should they come loose.
"Well, you certainly look the part. Look at you, Sir Geminus! Very smart! Thread Rare did right by you. The chartreuse suits you. Go on - sit if you think you have the time. I'll be the envy of all with such a dashing courtier by my side."
Any and every sign of the concern she had initially greeted him with had disappeared, and the Lady Coufas before Riveh was once more the sprightly young noblewoman she apparently wished to present as.
"Forgive me if it seems I'm teasing you, Sir Geminus, but you gave me a bit of a fright when I told you to find me should you need my help, I honestly didn't expect you to contact me in any other circumstance. When I saw you approaching so early, I assumed something had gone wrong. Although some commendation is in order!" She smiled and raised her glass to the ifrit. "Well done in completing your little tasks so swiftly. I trust the good Baron was amicable?"
At this she reached into some invisible pocket in the dress clearly not designed with utility in mind, and placed a metal object on the table. It was the mechanical cricket Riveh had seen earlier. Its internal workings went to work quickly, and soon enough it was chirping softly, once again ensuring the pair's privacy.
"Pleasure as it is to see you, Sir Geminus, I was also surprised you chose to check in with me. There's no need for you to be here. More to the point, you shouldn't be here. You should be out making contacts and charming the rich and powerful. It's why you're here, isn't it? The evening is still young, but I don't want you to feel like you've wasted this opportunity with myself."
Although still smiling, Lady Coufas seemed... oddly serious in saying this.
As usual, meeting with the Lady Coufas totally wrong foots the young ifrit, which causes his new-won confidence to wash away like a sandcastle in a tide. Why was she...concerned about him visiting her? She did not seem worried or overly bothered by his stopping (which had vaguely entered his thoughts) but this odd...concern for his political hob-knobbing was unexpected.
What was bothering her?
Inwardly frowning, the young man shrugged easily, "Fair enough. He seemed like a decent man and one who did not begrudge favors done." Then Riveh frowns slightly and says,s till casual, "I do wish you had told me what passes between you, might have made things less awkward."
It was a gentle reprove, but still daring and Riveh wondered if even this careful jibe would incite anger.
Going on he says, "This was just a short social call, and to update you on progress. I do not intend to waste this glorious chance." Riveh then adds, casually, "Oh, Lady Pace is probably voting against the chance of inheritance but that is just a hunch. Sorry I couldn't do better, but such is the way of extra credit."
"He is," the Lady said at Riveh's assessment of Baron Okerra. "He is a decent man. Very much so. To both his own credit and detriment. There's a lesson for us schemers to learn in him, Sir Geminus."
A deep sip from the sparkling wine followed, marking what could only be a very intentional pause on Coufas's part. Was this a reproach on the Baron? Admiration? A bit of both? Or did she want her agent to think on this?
"I do wish you had told me what passes between you, might have made things less awkward."
"That is for me to know, Sir. And not at all for you to find out."
The elfish smile never wavered, but the ifrit couldn't help but notice the noblewoman's otherwise warm eyes growing just a bit sharper. He got the distinct impression that Martella didn't exactly mind the question, nor even any frustration on his part. If all her agents were on this stringent need-to-know basis, she must be used to such grievances. In fact, if her smirk was anything to go by, she might actually approve of the inquisitiveness. Nevertheless, this was all she said on the matter. Riveh managed to surprise her yet again, however, upon announcing his encounter with the senator.
"You investigated Lady Pace?" The woman's features cycle through a few expressions before settling on approval. "Is that what you're doing, Sir Geminus? Earning extra credits from teacher? ... Well done. I should reprimand you for interfering with what became another agent's mission, but I approve of the initiative. And appreciate your opinion. Yes, she will most likely vote against."
She paused again for a few seconds, as if in thought, before softly sliding the chirping clockwork cricket across the table over to Riveh.
And in doing so, he couldn't help but notice how the noblewoman's hand was... well, not so noble. It was certainly not the rough appendage of a farmer, to be sure, but neither was it the soft, doughy hand of someone who could rightfully be said to never have worked a day in their life. The brown skin was marked and lined by numerous minuscule scars and cuts now healed, some of which seemed recent. The ifrit had seen something similar with skilled tradesmen working with sharp objects, such as chefs or metallurgists.
"Keep it. I believe in rewarding my agents."
Riveh looked up from the woman's hand to understand that Martella was offering him the brass contraption. This was no mean reward either. Even outside its use in clandestine work, any fusion of engineering and magic such as this was surely worth a pretty penny.
"Am I to understand then," Lady Coufas went on, "that you are interested in earning some 'extra credits?' Because a situation has come up that I could use you to handle."
"There’s a young woman here: Malphene Trant, the daughter of Senator Trant. You should be able to recognize her easily enough. She’s not much older than you, and tall. Very tall. She's not the most pleasant of company, and something of a bully. If she’s here, I fully expect her to intimidate one or more of the junior senators into backing her father. If you could keep an eye on her and... quietly intercede should she try, I would be quite grateful. She is most likely hanging about the Senate Floor."
Riveh wonders what the Lady Coufas meant about the Baron, as she describes him as a 'decent man'. The young ifrit guesses she is being sarcastic either about him being decent or that that quality is intrinsically good or worthwhile. There are many ways such a straight forward man might rub a natural schemer like Riveh's patron the wrong way.
About Lady Pace Riveh merely shrugs, "You said not waste this chance so I spoke to a Senator, on the topic of the moment. Just because I decided to share it with you, does not mean I did not have my own ends in mind."
Riveh takes the cricket with a nod, feeling the heavy weight in his hand. The young man wonders who made it, and a glance at the woman's hand suggests a candidate. She refused to answer that question a few days before, so he did not bother asking again. But that old sayings, 'Beware a Taldane bearing gifts.' rang in his minds. A creator might hide any function in such an ingenious device. Still, it looked quite useful so he pocketed it gladly.
As for Trant....Riveh decided a show of independence may be required. The young man gathered himself up, and bowed again. "If chance and time allow, Lady Coufas. Although I do not look forward to having to arm wrestle a Senator's daughter. Have a pleasant time alone and thank you for the gift."
"I'm glad to hear it," was all Martella Coufas had to say at the ifrit's assertion of engaging Senator Pace for his own ends, but her smile tightened noticeably upon him not fully accepting the new assignment.
"... Very well," she said, taking her dark eyes off the young man in favor of the glittering crowd. "I will pass the job along to other agents. Should you not find Dame Trant, if you decide to pursue her, assume that she has already been dealt with. Ah, right on time! Hello, Zaryah dear."
A bespectacled young woman with the unfortunate facial features of a nervous mouse had tripped her way over to the Lady's table. Although dressed for the occasion, the new arrival was significantly less so than most others Riveh had seen at the gala; she appeared rather uncomfortable in her gown and said nothing at the sight of the ifrit, instead looking to Martella as if for guidance. One feature they shared however, was a senatorial aide badge.
"Don't worry, my dear. Sir Geminus here was just leaving. You can give me your report, and I'll have another small task for you afterwards. Thank you for stopping by, Sir Geminus. Your company is always welcome. Best of luck."
----------
Once he had left the two, Riveh set upon something perhaps long overdue. He would sate his curiosity and see whether anyone in the noble masses could tell him who, or indeed what, Lady Martella Coufas was. This was a task requiring a light touch, of course; there was no telling how far the noblewoman's influence reached or how quickly she might catch wind of him asking questions. Gods only knew how his mysterious benefactor would take to that. The next quarter hour was spent carefully plying the gathered aristocracy with attendants for information, an undertaking that went relatively smoothly thanks to the ifrit's natural charisma. The results, however, were disconcerting.
Baron Okkera's statement that Coufas was not the noblewoman's true name seemed true. In fact, as far as Riveh could tell there was no House Coufas. While a few simpering sycophants would claim to know of the family during his questioning, the ifrit was fairly sure that these, like Lady Pace, merely said so for fear of appearing ill-informed. Appearances were so very important. Everyone else he had spoken to professed to having no knowledge of the name.
Almost everyone. The man standing before Riveh was an Earl Gahez Varima. The two had fallen in talk at the border of the Senate Floor, and he was supposedly the Taldan ambassador to Vudra, the Impossible Kingdom. He certainly looked the part, clearly being part Vudrani himself. The Earl was a slight man, with light brown skin and long, well-maintained, thick inky-black hair. He wore bright orange silk clothes of an exotic design unlike any others the ifrit had seen here, and had a kindly air about him - despite clearly being well into his thirties, Varima had youthful features. Most importantly, Riveh had seen him positively startled at hearing the name Coufas. It was obvious he knew something.
"W-well now, um... No, no, I don't think I've heard of, ah... of that family before. Are they, um, a relation of yours?"
The Earl was clearly just making polite conversation in preparation for bailing the conversation.
Riveh wonders what is dancing behind Martella's unreadable eyes as she jests at him. Clearly there is something swirling under her perfect mask of concealment that even Riveh noticed. Noting certain however except the woman does seem a bit annoyed at Riveh's flourish of independence.
The ifrit sizes up what he presumes is another agent.
But he is distracted not only by her poor clothes but by Martella's cool glare. Clearly his patron does not want her agents chatting with each other. Hardly surprising.
Riveh smiles at the Earl, inwardly going through his thoughts at a breakneck pace. What did this man know? Did he had a key to the growing riddle that was Lady Coufas? Or had it just been an innocent twitch that Riveh was over-reading? He needed more information, and could not let the ambassador leave.
"Realtions? Heavens no, Sir." Riveh says with a smile, 'If they were, would I be asking about them. No indeed!"
Then the ifrit lowers his voice and cocks his head, with the air of a man telling a interesting secert, 'Inf act, quite the reverse. I think there is a conman out there using the name. I was....approached by a man in the market the other day, using the name. They dressed like a noblewoman but I haven't found a trace of evidence. Promised me all sorts of benefits if I turned on my current patron. I said no of course..."
A dramatic pause, as if Riveh had thought of a horrifying thought, "You don't think it was a forgien agent of some type, do you? You know the wily ways of our foes, could this have been some trap?"
"Oh. Oh yes, I see."
To say that the Earl looked relieved to hear Riveh's fib would be an understatement. He looked like a field mouse watching a hawk's shadow fly away.
"Well. In that case... Well, listen," he continued after a slight pause in thought. The anxiety had not left the ambassador, but there was a definite shift towards something more determined in the slight man.
"You seem a bright young man, and I'd hate to see you taken advantage of. And ah, well, I have a soft spot for my, um, fellow mixed countrymen. There are few enough of us among the good society, eh?"
The ifrit could only assume that the nobleman was referring to their shared skin tones, both of which were quite a bit darker than the national average, to say nothing of the positively pasty faces gathered here at the gala.
"This Coufas, she didn't introduce herself as a Lady Coufas, did she? Martella Coufas? Because if so I have to admit to, eh, some untruth earlier as I do recognize that name. It's an alias, you see. Hardly the best kept secret in our circles, you see, and I had a run in with her myself a few years ago. Well, quite a few years ago now, actually..."
Earl Varima appeared lost in thought a few seconds. Riveh thought he looked into his drink with a certain sadness.
"Well, never mind that. It's an alias set up by the Lotheed family, you see. I assume you're familiar with them?" Riveh's pulse quickened. "It's used by their bastard daughter, Martella Lotheed." Every muscle in the ifrit's body went as tense as the fibers of a race horse hearing the starting shot.
"So not a foreign agent, not to worry. Although I'd still recommend you to steer clear of her. Trouble has a way of following her. She fancies herself something of a spymaster..."
Riveh suddenly feels both rooted to the smooth marble floor and as unsteady as a tree in a great wind, swaying wildly. His mouth goes dry as the weight of the words wash over him, his stomach turning to ice. Indeed, his vision even flickers for a moment and he looks like a sick man.
Waving to the ambassador he says, voice choked, "Thank-...thank you." And stumbles away, unseeing.
He nearly collides into a knot of assembled Senators (and earns the ire of their bodyguards) as he shuffles away, but he doesn't even notice mind awhirl with new knowledge.
He had guessed Coufas was the patsy of some great family of course, perhaps unwilling or perhaps not. A front, in a sense, to hide some prestigous name from the muck of common politics and dealing with lowly people like Riveh. Indeed, by now he had expected it. But...but Lotheed?
What did this mean?
Was Riveh so negligible of a threat that they amused themselves by ordering him around? Was it all just a clumsy charade to humiliated the last Geminus? Or had Riveh just been randomly caught in a net, and his oath of vengeance meant nothing more to the Lotheed family then the curses of a particularly spirited fish?
Riveh reaches a fairly quiet corridor just as a new idea hits him.
Could Lady Coufas be using him against her erstwhile family? Her tasks so far, did not seem to coincide with the larger family goals. The wine had been Lotheed, or at least the label had indicated. And the Baron...perhaps Riveh's quiet words had reminded Okrrea of his allegiance to Lady Coufas instead of the Lotheed clan at large. Was Riveh caught in a personal war of bastard daughter against her family? Or, if not a war, a passing rebellion?
Or was this just all a figment of his mind, desperate for a solution that did not make him a helpless patsy of his greatest foes?
Without caring how it looked, the young ifrit sat on the floor against a wall, head in his hands.
What should he do?
Somewhere behind him, Riveh was distantly aware of Earl Varima saying something or other as he departed, but the words might as well be coming from the ambassador's far-away Vudra; they didn't register with the thoroughly shocked ifrit. Everything had gone rather topsy-turvy, not least himself. Riveh had gone from believing himself an up-and-coming political power player, to unwitting pawn in another's plot. And perhaps worst of all - he couldn't even discern what that plot was.
It was a crestfallen last Geminus that slid down a cool wall in one of the less traversed corridors. He wasn't even entirely sure where he was, the feet having taking to wandering on their own whilst their owner was preoccupied in thought. The ifrit couldn't help but notice, if not care, that he was causing a bit of a stir with those few noble lords and ladies lounging about here. They must think him drunk. Some might be able to get away with such behavior, but a man of his appearance? They must think him unseemly and shameful.
Footsteps approached. Without looking up, Riveh knew that this would in all likelihood be either a servant asking if their assistance was required, or a guard seeing if the drunk was going to be trouble.
"Uh, you awlright there, sir? You was walkin' all cattywampus, so I thought I'd come see, but I don't smell no drink on ya. Do you need a fixin'?"
The ifrit looked up. He had to. He couldn't think of any waiter or royal guard who spoke like this. And true enough, the anxious face staring back at him was unlike any other at the gala. Wide, simple and tanned to the point of his freckles standing out pale, it was a young man of approximately Riveh's own age. Honest brown eyes looked with worry at him beneath a shock of similarly brown untamed hair. Riveh recognized this scrawny man, who looked nothing so much as a common villager showed into a courtier's clothing. For that was exactly what he was. It was Kalbio of Breezy Creek, the Grand Prince's chosen, this year's exalted. Apparently he had followed the ifrit.
"Uh, I hope you don't mind me sayin', sir, but you look like you been 'et by a wolf and shat over a cliff. Uh, 'scuse me language. What's got you so perturbed?"
For a moment Riveh doesn't even look up, he is sitting so deep in his despair and confusion. It was so nice to sit here, eyes closed, feeling the cool stone....never getting up would be nice.
But that accent was not one easily ignored and sounding even more out of place after the cultured, effected tones of Senators and aides. It was as if someone had set up a hayrick on the Senate floor.
The young ifrit drops his hands and looks up to see.....Kalbio of Breezy Creek, supposedly the next Exalted. The tailor was even less impressive up close then he had been from a distance, when Riveh was watching him wander the Senate floor, as out of place as a cockroach in a nobleman's truffle risotto.
A thousand retorts spring to mind, to take out his frustration and anger on this man, and what an easy target he would be. How many unkind words float to the top of his mind, dance on his tongue.
And yet....why? What had this man done to him? Was he note in a somewhat similar place? Someone from outside, suddenly thrust into this dagger filled world of politics?
Still sitting, Riveh says, voice thick and slow, "I have recently learned all of my efforts, schemes, plans and assumptions were actually pleasant fictions I told myself and I am actually so unimportant I don't even know how unimportant I am."
A pause and then, "I doubt it is anything you, or anyone else, can fix easily." Honestly he adds, voice still miserable, "I do appreciate the offer. "
Glancing back up and meeting Kalbio's eyes, "My name is Riveh Geminus. You are Kalbio of Breezy Creek, I presume?"
Poor Kalbio, already clearly out of his element among the glitz and glitter of the gala, only appeared increasingly clueless at the ifrit's grandiose admission. He looked about as confused as a magpie at the aluminum foil tennis championships.
"Oh. Oh, well, that's, uh... that's somthin'. Gee, mister, I'm real sorry to hear that."
Bless his simple heart, though; Riveh thought he actually meant it. Whatever gears this commoner possessed, they were clearly whirring inside the anxious head, hard at work trying to find something to say to this despondent stranger in comfort. He even scratched his ear in thought. Finally a relieved smile lit up the honest face. He had apparently hit upon something.
"No need to get all torn up about it, sir. Like the ol' general said: 'Never confuse a single loss with a final defeat.' There's no beatin' the guy who doesn't give up, right? 'Cept it wadn't the general who said that. At least I don't think he did. That's what my Pa says 'bout me. Too dumb to know when to quit, he says. Heh."
Riveh could only assume that the 'general' was General Arnisant who had risen to the status of folk-hero since his death many, many, many years ago. The General's heroic sacrifice in the Shining Crusade was still a matter of pride in proud Taldor, as he had effectively saved the entire world when he gave the Whispering Tyrant a damn good thrashin'. Or at least so it was taught in Taldor.
"So don't you worry none! You just get back on yer feet and I'm sure things will turn 'round with the, uh... the schemes and whatsit. Darkest before the dawn, right?"
At this the Grand Prince's chosen extended a rough, bony hand to help Riveh rise from the floor, and he was visibly gratified at seeing the ifrit do just that. The following introduction, where Riveh revealed his familiarity with the weaver, also had him happily surprised.
"Oh, have we met before? No, I reckon I'd recognize you. Never known a Saracen before. Not that you being a bit swarthy bothers me none! No sir! Ma always said it wadn't right to treat people different. She used to get real mad when people would say things 'bout me, on account of me being slow and all. It ain't right. So, ah... I-it's a nice party, huh?"
The young man was by all appearance happy to have made an acquaintance. Awkward and out of place as he was, Riveh couldn't imagine that many were willing to engage with him.
"How's about that?" Kalbio suddenly said, looking down at the ifrit and grasping at any conversation topic. "We're wearing the same cut of britches. How you, uh, finding them? 'Cause I gotta say, they're comfy and all, but if Ma saw me in these... She's say these pants are so tight people can see my religion. Speakin' of tight pants..." The young man looked a bit conspiratorial and embarrassed. "Do you know when food's served here? I'm telling you, I'm so hungry I could eat the north end of a south-bound goat."
By the ifrit's estimation near two hours had passed since the start of the gala. A light meal would most likely be served quite soon. And food did have a way of easing conversation and friendship.
The last thing Riveh wants to do right now is face a table heaving with the sometimes overly inventive gastornomic creations of the Taldane court. The ifrit's stomach heaved at the mere thought of stuffed dormice swimming in gravy, braised lark's tongue or jackdaw stuffed owlbear. Didn't nobles like a simple bit of bread and cheese?
Still.....
Riveh looks up at Kalbio and after a long moment, grasps the bony hand and heaves himself to his feet. The young man is still unsteady and his mind still races but at the very least Kalbio was a distraction from his own problems. And that bit about being 'slow'....Riveh had always disliked people being set on because of their nature or being. Such unfairness rankled him in a deep way.
The ifrit smiles and says, voice lower to no embarss the tailor, "No offense, my friend, but I gather you are unused to the ways of court? While I am not an expert, I do think perhaps we should ease up on the country sayings? Most nobles wouldn't know one end of a goat from another."
Then, voice more normal, "Perhaps a bit of food will put my problems in perspective. Even a pawn of the great game must eat.I have no more idea then you do of where it might be found, but that can be easily solved."
Riveh waves down a passing servant, partly out of habit and partly to impress Kalbio with his 'easy command of the servant class'.
"Could you tell us the manner and location of any refreshments provided, my good man?"
"No offense, my friend, but I gather you are unused to the ways of court?"
"That'd be one way of puttin' it," the lanky youth grinned. "This is my first time in the big city. Any big city, that is. I mostly just stay home with the loom. I'm purdy good on the loom. Not used to, uh, to all this fancy stuff. Not like you, I'm sure. Sorry. I'll try to behave."
Despite the deference, the young master weaver seemed happy, nay, positively relieved to have found someone willing to give him the time of day. Perhaps the adage on nothing being lonelier than a crowd held true.
As for Riveh's inquiry, he quickly managed to flag down a waiter in a pristine uniform, who he thought he might have seen earlier in the kitchens. Said servant was quick to inform his better that the buffet, featuring hot, cold and finger foods, was due to be served in just fifteen minutes. Kalbio appeared very pleased at this news. For a moment the ifrit finds something strange in the broad grin splitting the sun-beaten face, but he quickly realizes what's at fault: he had seen so many false smiles this evening already, that he almost failed to recognize a genuine one.
"That's a relief! Hey, you know, if we hurry, we could be first in line! C'mon, some food'll take yer mind off yer troubles. And if not, well, then a load shared is a load lightened. I mean, if you wan't to share. I-I'll help if I can."
The offer, like everything else about the young man, seemed honest.
Riveh finds the lanky man growing on him, or at least he finds the low chance of being stabbed (both physically and metaphorically) enjoyable. After the convoluted, blink spiderwebs of the Lady Coufas (he still uses this fake name mentally), it is nice to interact with a sane, simple person.
"I am not sure my mind can be taken off my troubles of if that is wise. No all problems vanish when you turn your back on them, Kalbio." Riveh says, shrugging, 'Sometimes one must endure being trapped among them."
"Still, even the lost and hunted must eat. Let us try the arcade, it looks pleasant enough to walk among?" Riveh offers, doubting Kalbio would enjoy the gardens or the archive.
As they walk Riveh says to the young man, "So, you are a weaver?"
"I am not sure my mind can be taken off my troubles of if that is wise. No all problems vanish when you turn your back on them, Kalbio."
"No denying that," the weaver nodded in deep acknowledgment. "Heh, you're smart, Riveh. Pa would say you got horse sense. Whatever troubles ya got keeping you down, I'm sure you'll figure 'em out."
Were they on first name basis already? Regardless of whatever proper etiquette might dictate in these situations, the commoner appeared blissfully unaware. The ifrit guessed that he probably wasn't used to addressing anyone but his parents and maybe the village priest by title.
"Let us try the arcade, it looks pleasant enough to walk among?"
"Your druthers is my ruthers," was all Kalbio said in reply and soon enough they were off. The two casually navigated the crowd to reach the other end of the magnificent building, and unless Riveh was much mistaken, the noble-to-be was endlessly relieved to have found someone to talk with. And talk he did. Kalbio was eager as a child in the circus to gush about all the wonders he'd seen since arriving at the capital. "The golden roofs, Riveh! Did you see the golden roofs? I mean, wow!" By his account, the young man had spent most of his brief time in Oppara as a ward to the royal palace's staff. He had wanted for nothing, but admitted to feeling a little lonely; he hadn't actually met the royal family. Still, he had much enjoyed his guided excursions into the city. "The Basilica was all... How can a temple be that big, Riveh? I swear, that temple could hold ten of our church back home! At least!" So impressed was the young man by the capital, that the ifrit had to repeat his question on weaving twice before it really registered.
"Huh. Oh yeah. I like weavin'. I made those."
Kalbio gave a noncommittal wave towards the ornate tapestries decorating the perimeter of the Senate Floor, the same ones Riveh has spied earlier. The two were just passing them. The wall hangings were enormous, some reaching the height of three men, and painfully intricate. Every one was unique and depicted a different scene from the nation's history. The one the pair walked beneath now showed a smiling infant surrounded by an entire pride of staggeringly life-like lions. The detail on display was mind-boggling; the ifrit could count individual strands of hair in the lions' gold-threaded manes. The image was, of course, a depiction of mythical Taldaris, founder of Taldor who according to legend was reared by lions out on the grass plains of the nation's heartland. It was difficult to believe that something of such beauty could have been created by someone so... humble.
"I guess they're purdy good."
More difficult still was Kalbio's indifference. Whether due to humility or something else entirely, the weaver didn't seem to think much of his own work. This was certainly and obviously not a sentiment shared by the many viewing the tapestries, as Riveh could attest to. Watching the people gathered here, he thought he could hear quite a few asking who the artist was and where they might meet him.
He failed, however, to catch sight of someone observing them. Riveh and Kalbio continued on their quest to fill their bellies, and in so doing passed by the courtyard. Or would, rather, if they hadn't been stopped.
*tink, tink, tink, tink, tink*
The sharp sound of silverware on finest crystal could be heard far and wide. In the middle of the exquisite gardens, a woman clinked spoon and glass together to draw the masses' attention. It worked. She was tall and pale, with a conservative dress to contrast her smokey eyes, and judging by her fluid motions perfectly comfortable under a spotlight as she effectively was now. But this smiling woman initially said nothing, instead offering another, somewhat younger, woman her hand to get up on a chair, a task she managed deftly. Only then did she speak.
"Ladies and gentleman, your future queen."
Oh my. It really was her. The slim, athletic woman now standing taller than anyone else was Princess Eutropia Stavian I, only child to the emperor. Even if Riveh hadn't recognized her distinctive Stavian cheekbones from paintings, the clothing and jewelry marked her as royalty of one of the richest nations on earth. She gave the crowd a resolute, even defiant, look before speaking in a calm, measured tone.
"My friends, colleagues, and assorted enemies, it is wonderful to see you all out in your finery beneath the beautiful stars tonight. With any luck, the weather will be the only thing that refuses to change this evening. We have all gathered here tonight to honor Master Kalbio of Breezy Creek..."
Her majesty extended a gloved hand in the ifrit's direction and Riveh felt a hundred eyes turn his way, or rather to the awkward figure half-way hiding behind him. Kalbio gave a few clumsy nods.
"... a master artisan and true patriot, for his exquisite skill and service to our glorious empire. Master Kalbio demonstrates so eloquently that a heart may be noble regardless of the stature of one’s birth, and while it may be premature, I hope to be the first to congratulate you, sir, on the exaltation you will see tonight and welcome you into the ranks of Taldor’s long-lived aristocracy. But we gather here to discuss matters of state, as well. And..."
Riveh didn't quite catch the rest of the Princess's speech, despite the fact that she clearly had something to say. Something else had caught his attention. Something alarming. The courtyard had a small apiary housing the bees that pollinated its many flowers. But unless he was very much mistaken, he had just seen a waiter lift the roof off one of the nearby beehives to place something within. Something smoking. What in the world?
Sniff. Why did it smell faintly acidic?
Riveh looked on the tapestries with open wonder. This was a thing worthy of comparison with the golden roofs and gleaming columns of the senate. It was so magnificent, Riveh barely had the context to fully appreciate it, having never touched a loom in his life. The planning, the practice...Riveh could only vaguely imagined the effort behind such a banner. And yet, the ifrit glanced at the seemingly nonplussed Kalbio beside him.
The young man didn't seem the planning type. How had the young weaver made this? Was he some sort of savant, touched by the gods?
"They are a marvel, Kalbio. You are talented beyond words and I am in the presence of genius." Then, after a pause he adds, "tell me, how did you learn? What great weaver taught you to do...this?" he waved his hand at the expansive tapestry.
Riveh is distracted fromt he Queen's speech by the odd behavior near the bee hives. He had watched servants and peasants deal with bees of course, his manor estate had been pathetically small by Taldane standards and could hardly miss most labor. In fact he had found it oddly relaxing, the hum of the bees, the careful work removing the honey, wafting the smoke.
But that smoke had been aromatic, carefully designed to lull the bees into complacency. This smoke was harsh, acidic. What was going on? Surely someone wasn't going to irritate the insects, not with all these people around? Was this a plot? Or just a stupid servant?
Riveh leaves Kalbio and strides quickly toward the beehives, intending to question what was going on.
"Oh, my Ma and Pa got me an apprenticeship when I was real little," Kalbio said in response to the ifrit's query. "Worked themselves to the bone to pay for it. We ain't rich or nuthin'... But they wanted to, um, to make sure I learned a trade, you know? They worried I wudn't be able to support myself when they were gone. 'Cause I'm not smart and all."
The weaver spoke of his early life easily enough, but one had to be blind and dumb to not notice the melancholy behind the words and Riveh was neither. One had fallen from grace while other was rising out of nothing - yet neither had apparently had the perfect childhood. And only one had felt pressured to barter with eldritch forces to revert their fortunes.
"I'm real glad though," Kalbio said with an awkward smile. "About the Exaltin' and all. Once I'm noble, why, I'll make sure my Ma and Pa won't have to work another day in their life! I can't thank the Grand Prince enuff. Yeah... Wonder if I'll have a big house when I'm noble? Do you have a big house, Riveh?"
By the way he uttered 'big house', as one singular noun, the ifrit could only guess he meant to refer to a manor.
----------
Riveh continued to stare at the white-painted apiary. No, this surely wasn't right. Leaving behind the weaver to investigate the now smoking beehive, the ifrit navigated the multitude listening to the Princesses's speech. He reached it in seconds, but not before the servant responsible spotted the approaching figure. And if he had been wary earlier, then Riveh now saw reason for alarm. Because the serving girl looked outright terrified at the sight of him and fled the scene as quickly as etiquette allowed. Something was definitely wrong here. Obviously so, as the smoke was offensively harsh in his nostrils now that he was up close, and the bees were working themselves into a frenzy. This was not going to end well. A veritable cloud of insect soldiers were already flying into formation. Everyone present was liable to get stung within the next minute! What was he to do?
Riveh's concern turned to outright alarm as he watched the bees become agitated. His mind flashed to the face of a gnarled old peasant on his mother's estate, when the pitted man had told the young ifrit of a child who had tormented the bees, got stung and swollen up so badly he couldn't breath. The imagine of suffocating had terrified the ifrit for years and he had never forgotten, even when he discovered he didn't have such a dangerous reaction to bee stings.
So yes, a swarm of angry bees was unlikely to be deadly, but then again, who knew who might be prone to such reactions here?
Without thinking he shouted, "Stop that girl!" and pointed at the fleeing servant girl. Next he waves his arms in arcane signs and cast Burning Hands hoping to burn the bees right in their nest, nipping the problem in the bud.
"AAAAAAHH!"
It was difficult to discern what came first in that decisive moment when tension broke into action. It rarely ever was. Was it the bees, now in a swarm every bit as dark and angry as a thundercloud, that set of the screams? Or was it the veritable geyser of flame that sprang from the attractive young man's hands? And which of the three, the shouts of Taldor's finest, the insects, or the fire, stopped the Princess's speech dead? It was too difficult to say what begot what in this cascade of unhappy events, but then it hardly mattered in the moment - Riveh was keenly aware that the pertinent matter right now, was him standing in front of a few hundred very ornery bees whose compound eyes were all on him. His fire left many tiny roasted honey-gatherers in the immaculately cut grass. But more remained.
Well. Should this go horribly wrong, he had at the very least directed the insects' attention away from everyone else. Lords and ladies were rapidly fleeing the garden, leaving Riveh behind, while the furiously buzzing swarm approached. The ifrit, however, was quicker.
Riveh clenches his fists, the last flickering flames snuffed out with the action. The scent of burned bees and singed beehive fills the air, along with the growing buzz of hundreds (thousands?) of angry insects. For the moment the ifrit ignored the crowd behind him, focusing on the task at hand. Unless he thought quick, he was about to be covered in a very painful cloud of venomous stingers and biting pincers.
Unfortunately, he has little to aid him. His mind races through the items Martella smuggled to him at the front gate. A sword, a stimulant and illusions. Useless. His own spells were no better and only his innate fire had helped him so far. Ironic, that he had traded so much away to those dark unknown shapes....
His eyes flick on a nearbye decorative lantern. If he could not summon fire himself....
"Get back!" He shouts to the crowd, grabbing a lantern and throwing it at the beehive.
The throng of aristocrats has no trouble following Riveh's instruction on stepping away from the scene, and indeed did just that. This was not to say that the ifrit stood alone, however. Those brave or just foolish enough to consider themselves safe at a distance were watching, creating a bizarre little gladiatorial ring of nobles with the last Geminus in the middle. Now if only he was been fighting something a little more sensible than an angry constellation of insects.
Yanking a gorgeously crafted lantern away from its lion paw shaped holder, Riveh lobbed it straight through the swarm and into the beehive. The lamp exploded into a small shower of sparks with a rattle, cracking open the already smoldering apiary.
This left the actual wax construction within, this magnificent system of hexagons as made by the honeybees, exposed. The ifrit could see many more of the bees there, busily flitting about, whether in rage or fright he couldn't say. What he could say was that the item now visible at the very top of the hive did not belong there. It was a small clay urn, spewing out a heavy, almost purple smog that cascaded down the entire structure, bleeding out of the apiary now that Riveh had broken it open.
Of course, this did nothing to deter the swarm diving at him like a hundred miniature missiles.
A cloud of buzzing so loud it began to resemble a rumble descended on Riveh. Every inch of exposed skin seemed to light up in pain as stingers perforated him at every opportunity. It felt like being eaten alive one tiny spoonful at a time.
"Sir! Step away from the beehive!"
What was this now? Through eyes narrowed against attacks, the ifrit saw two figures emerge out of the crowd. Royal guards? No, these two, a man and woman, both relatively young, were dressed like guests, with all the finery this entailed. Well, almost all - the woman was wearing trousers. He was very understandably having some trouble gathering his thoughts what with being attack by a hundred bees, but even then Riveh found this bit of fashion detail very incongruous. Both were also carrying longswords. Were they here to help?
Riveh was in agony, with every square inch of exposed skin covered with stinging, swarming bees. That was bad enough but his ears, nose and eyes were covered with the crawling, biting things. It was like being devoured by a suffocating blanket, pressing in from all sides. Would the last thing he heard be the spiteful buzzing of insects?
Then he heard the stern voices behind him. Swiping a hand over his eyes (which earned him a number of painful stings) he saw two armed people emerge. Friends? Foes? It didn't much matter as swords would be useless here.
Instead, Riveh charged forward, still coated in bees, to grab the small clay urn. Grasping it (and killing a number of insects gnawing on his palms) he tries to throw it away from the beehive. Maybe the bees would calm down without this strange acidic smoke in the air?
Despite the uncomfortable feeling of the clay pot squirming under his grasp, crawling as it was with more bees, the ifrit managed to yank the offending item out of the apiary and fling it onto the grass. As it flew through the air trailing purple smoke, Riveh was in position to actually see how every insect caught in the smog stream was agitated further, buzzing with all the fury of a bandsaw. What the heck was in that urn?
No answers were found upon the thing shattering on the ground. A great big cough of the smoke escaped its confines, but these immediately diminished - apparently the viscous liquid now quickly coagulating into a rough gel upon exposure to the air had been the cause behind the smog, but the chemical compound only functioned within its urn. It released some wispy steam before becoming inert and, presumably, harmless. More amazing was the immediate effect on the bees. Without the smoke, their aggressiveness did not diminish exactly, however, they reverted to the honeybees' natural response to danger, namely protecting their queen. The roaring cloud harassing Riveh thinned considerably, with most of the hundreds returning to the apiary. Although the ifrit still suffered a few stings from marauding soldiers eager to defend their hive, he understood that he was no longer under any coordinated attack.
"Sir, get on the ground, now! You won't get another chance to surrender."
The two armed, authoritative and strangely well-dressed people approached the Geminus heir with their swords first. What was this now? Had Riveh worked his way out of the frying pan into the fire? This was all terribly unfair. The man and woman were trying to circle him under the apparent belief that he might run away. Ignoring his aching wounds, the ifrit tried to asses the situation. These two were obviously familiar with each other; their coordinated approach spoke to that. They had also both adopted the same combat stance, sword held in one hand with the other hand splayed. Were they perhaps magical practitioners, choosing to keep one hand free? Their steely gaze certainly spoke to some experience in combat. And... huh. The woman's skirt - Riveh had thought her clothes seemed odd, plain trousers coupled with embroidered finery. His first thought had been that she had perhaps ripped off her gown at the first sign of trouble, wearing the more practical garment beneath. But he now noticed the tiny clasps lining the hem of her clothing. Who the heck went to a gala with a tear-away gown?
Riveh stands silent for a moment, breathing hard, trying to ignore the pulses of pains radiating from his savaged skin. Already the sharp pain of bites and stings were receding to a dull soreness that would probably last for days, unless he had it magically healed. In fact it made the young ifrit slightly light-headed and he blinked a few times to clear his head.
He eyed the two 'guards' closely and wondered if they really were the fabled Lion Blades? If they were, even Martella might have trouble getting him out of their clutches.
Gingerly Riveh lowered himself into the sweet smelling grass at their command saying, "Is this how you reward a hero? It might have gone very poorly if those bees had attacked the Princess." Then he glances around, "Did you catch the serving girl?"
Amazingly, a fair bit of the crowd voiced their agreement with Riveh's defense. "Hold on now," a monocled man said. "The young man was first to quell the little beasts." "Yes, yes exactly!" said another. Others seemed doubtful. Most had evidently had trouble discerning what exactly came first in the panic - had the ifrit attempted to stop the bees, or had it been his fire that set them off? This immediately turned into a heated discussion among the aristocracy, with some insisting Riveh was a hero, while others called for his immediate arrest. Kalbio was visible in their midst, ardently defending his 'big city friend'.
"Agents? If I may?"
An imperious voice suddenly cut through the chatter. And as it turned out, it was the only voice that mattered. From his position down on the grass, Riveh managed to see the low hem of an exquisite gown part the noble crowd like so many blades of wheat: it was, could only be, the Princess. Looking up, the presumed Lion Blades were clearly conflicted for a moment - could they allow themselves to kneel before her considering they had a captive to watch?
"Your Majesty, please stay back. This man..."
"This man has done nothing wrong. The most he can be said to be guilty of is using excessive force in protecting his countrymen. I had a higher vantage point than anyone else during the commotion, and can confirm that he acted upon the bees' aggression, not the other way round. Let him go."
"Your Majesty, be assured. We will question him thoroughly, and should we find..."
"Agents." The Princess's voice had grown cold as the dark side of a gravestone in winter. "I will not see you harass a citizen of the nation without some evidence against my account. Accustomed as I am to repeating myself, I do not enjoy it."
This seemed to settle the matter as assuredly as any amount of evidence could. After a brief and rather tense moment of hesitation, the Lion Blades acquiesced. "Of course, your Majesty." Much of the aristocracy voiced their approval, with those not likely to agree presumably not daring to speak up. The agents offered their hands to the ifrit to help him rise.
"Our apologies if we treated you unfairly, sir." said the male one, a debonair man with a slightly stressed look. "We hope you can understand, given the circumstances."
"May I?" asked the female one.
Perhaps to make amends, the Lion Blade uttered a strangely melodic incantation and then placed her hand onto Riveh. He immediately felt a pleasantly cool sensation run through him, as the bee stings faded into his skin. Two seconds later they might as well never have been there at all.
"You understand we must still ask you for a statement. Just to help us understand what exactly happened here."
These proceedings were interrupted by the arrival of several royal guards. They could be said to be rather late on the scene, but in truth, all of the hubbub had transpired over scant seconds. What was more interesting was who they brought with them: holding her practically by the scruff of her neck was the waitress Riveh had seen earlier, looking absolutely terrified.
"Sir? Is this the servant girl you mentioned?" one lion blade asked.
Riveh happily got to his feet, brushing the bits of grass and dirt that clung to his new robes, as well as finding a few lost bees. One gives him a nasty welt for his trouble, buzzing back toward the ruined hive.
The ifrit sighs happily as the Lion Blade's (?) healing magic soothes him, banishing the painful, sick feeling the dozens of bee stings left behind. He nods to the female woman saying, "Thank you, I only wish I could have intervened less....excessively."
Riveh does his best to bow correctly to the Princess, hoping he performed the move correctly. It wasn't as if his upbringing had really prepared him for such august company.
"Thank you, your Majesty." he says simply, "Your generosity and intelligence will serve Taldor well when you ascend the throne." Riveh throws the last part in on purpose, hoping to test the political waters. "Riveh Gemninus, at your humble service."
When the guards bring the servant forth he nods, "That's her, she is the one who agitated the bees. Do you recognize her? Is she a real servant, an unknowing patsy or perhaps a clever agent merely disguised?"
Riveh's open admission of political allegiance to the Princess drew a light murmur from the gathered aristocracy; controversial politics were still just that and rarely aired openly. Her Majesty, however, offered no response to the young man's supplication, none beyond a simple nod in recognition. Was that haughtiness he saw in behind the stoic expression? Was she too superior to speak with him? Or was it resigned exasperation he was seeing, an experienced political player tired of meeting obstacles such as this bee stunt at every opportunity? Whatever the case, she turned and departed immediately afterwards. Well. At least she had acknowledged him. Perhaps the Princess simply knew that the ifrit would be occupied with the gala security for a while. But he did take note that her pale companion, the smirking woman who had introduced the speech, spent a fair few seconds observing him with her smokey eyes before following the Princess.
And on the topic of departing, the securely held serving girl looked like she wished to do nothing else.
"That's her, she is the one who agitated the bees. Do you recognize her? Is she a real servant, an unknowing patsy or perhaps a clever agent merely disguised?"
"Rest assured that we shall find out. Guards, you know where to take her," said one of the Lion Blades, addressing the royal guards. "We'll be with you shortly to question her."
"No, please!" cried the waitress as they did just that. "I didn't know what it was! I didn't know! I just did as I was told! Please..."
If the woman really was a malicious agent in disguise, then she was a damn good actor. Looking at her now, Riveh couldn't help but suspect that his theory of someone using her as unsuspecting patsy was most likely. What followed was rather tedious: the immediate area around the apiaries was cordoned off by royal guards, while the ifrit got to enjoy a stiff ten minute questioning by the Lion Blades. They were never rude and happily asked nothing too personal, wanting only to know the exact specifics around the incident, but they were very insistent. Riveh found himself having to repeat himself a few times. Throughout the whole ordeal, he could see Kalbio patiently waiting behind the guards. And he wasn't alone either. It seemed a fair number of people wanted to greet the great artist and chosen exalted now that they knew who he was.
"Well then," the female Lion Blade finally said. "That will be all, Sir Geminus. Thank you very much for your cooperation. We hope you have a pleasant, and uneventful, evening."
They exited the scene quickly.
"Riveh!" The lanky form of Breezy Creek's favorite son could be seen waving the ifrit over wildly as soon as it was clear he was free to go. "That was amazin'! That was amazin'! Quicker than a bee in flight, that's what they're gonna say about you now. Oh, this here Riveh Geminus. He's my big city friend."
This last was addressed to those nobles who had been speaking to Kalbio, a fair few of which it now became clear had also waited to congratulate the brave young man who had stepped in to protect everyone gathered.
"Well done, knekt!" said a blonde giant of a man who could only be Ulfen, as he gave Riveh a vigorous pat on the back. "Yes, indeed. Well done," others were quick to chime in. The Geminus heir got to spend the next few minutes comfortably at the center of attention as aristocrats congratulated him on being acknowledged by the Princess (they evidently did not find her curtness rude), thanked him for his swift action, and inquired on the connection between himself and 'the young genius'. In these conversations, Riveh pinpointed two persons of particular interest to his own mission of winning favor with the powerful.
One was the Ulfen man who, very unlike his brethren, had no beard whatsoever to cover his great big pink face. He went by Landgrave Ogvai Jarlbjorn, and far from being a member of the Ulfen Guard, the king's famous personal guard, as one might expect, he was actually a senator. The other figure was if anything even more unusual. Going nearly unseen between the aristocrats' knees was a gnome. Perhaps to compensate for her slight height, she was dressed extremely extravagantly, with her hair and even her long eyebrows being dyed every color of the rainbow. She stood out, to say the least. What's more was that she, the Marquess Tanasha Starborne, also proved to be a senator. Female senators were rare enough, but a nonhuman one? Very curious.
Riveh can't help but smile at Kalbio's over-done reaction. His dealing with the bees had been showy, but not particularly amazing, any low level magic user could have done it. Indeed, many might have avoided the many stings entirely.
"Don't over-sell me Kalbio, this is your moment to shine anyway. The next Exalted!" Even as he says this though, his quick eyes spot the Ulfen and the gnome senators just outside the immediate circle of people. An interesting set, both outsiders that had gained power in Taldor. An omen...or an opening for the young ifrit?
Riveh claps Kalbio on the shoulder, "I'll be around, I think someone is trying to catch my eye. We will need to grab something to eat, I haven't forgotten."
Then he heads off toward the gnome, Marquess Tanasha Starborne.
The young ifrit bows politely, "I just wanted to say thank you for your kind words, I did not have a real chance, with the crowd and all. I am glad no one was really hurt." The last part is honest enough at any rate, even better if he had dodged his own painful stings.