She really is improbably alluring dressed like that... and with her hair cut like that, thinks Farenthar as he notices that the smell of wood polish and candle smoke has somehow vanished, replaced by no scent at all, just a sense that the air is filled with unfamiliar energy. But…
He takes hold of her forearms as gently as he can and steps back, out of her embrace.
“Who sent you?” he asks quietly. “Do they expect that I’ll be easy to seduce, because of what I do? Who I am? What I look like? I’m not particularly strong-willed, but I’d like to think I’m not that predictable. I could shout at you, call for the guards, throw you out… but that seems like the second most obvious thing for me to do. Why don’t you stay, but in the opposite corner of the room from me? And perhaps, if we talk seriously, without any more games, we could achieve something.”
“Thank you.” Farenthar stays in the doorway, keeping the candle raised to give the departing pageboy some light as far as the corner of the corridor.
Then Farenthar steps into the room and finds a table where he can put the candle and his wineglass down. The Duke may want to see me tomorrow, to report on the search… What do I want to say to him? Now that I’ve seen him with his guard down - or at least, that’s what I think I’ve seen - do I trust him? He remembers the Duke’s tone as he said good night: weary, with perhaps a trace of disappointment?
I’ll sleep on it… he thinks, and looks for a chair so he can sit down and take off his boots.
“If my room’s ready, I think I should get some sleep. Long day. Thank you for the wine, sir, and the place to stay tonight. I’ll take my glass with me, if that’s all right.”
I could tell him that he’s being too hard on himself. That this city would be a much worse place if he was as villainous as he seems to think he is. But… how to say that without sounding presumptuous? I really don’t want to make him angry again. Best to leave quietly. He’s had a bad day, and he may be telling me more than he’d normally want to…
Farenthar finally tries the wine. He has little to compare the taste against apart from memories of cheap blends served by taverns. But the flavour of this wine is complex and lingering. It takes him another sip and a third to conclude that it's also beguilingly delicious, and he doesn’t want to drink much more in this man’s company.
Is he overdoing the contrition? Is this an act to trick me into lowering my guard? Or perhaps it’s just that he’s had no more practice at apologising than he’s had at opening wine bottles.
“You’re already doing everything I’d ask for, sir, by sending your men to search for Ivaia and Karalisel.” Farenthar picks up a glass and sits down again in one of the armchairs. “But I do have a question. Earlier…” he says, gesturing towards the Duke’s study, “you reacted quickly. With detailed and precise orders to your guards. As if you’d already thought about how to deal with someone like me. Do you know anything about the sort of… abilities I may have?”
Farenthar puts the printed book of plays aside - such a luxury to read the parts without needing to decipher the handwriting of a rushed copyist - and glances first at his left sleeve and then at his right. He hadn’t even noticed the gap where the top of the sleeve has been torn out from its seam. Then he stands up and studies the Duke’s expression.
The Duke still looks unhappy and guilty, and so Farenthar takes the jacket without hesitation. “If you’re sure your brother won’t miss it. Thank you, sir. Is there anything I can do to help? If not… maybe I should go.”
Before he follows, Farenthar glances for a few moments back towards the prison cell. He was there for a quarter of an hour at most, he guesses, but there was a point when he wasn’t expecting to leave it alive. He’s not sure what he should be feeling. Gratitude? The dimly lit and mostly empty space is a scene he wants to remember, however.
“I came to ask you to help me find them. We met outside your Palace to discuss a few questions, and we were travelling in the lady’s carriage.” He goes on to describe the strange eyes of whoever was driving, and the unnatural strength that slammed the door closed. Then he hesitates and takes a deep, steadying breath before admitting that he had jumped from the carriage. “I panicked, I wasn’t thinking, I… When I stood up on the street, I was assuming they’d follow… but course I hadn’t explained what I saw, and…”
“Yes, sir, there was.” Farenthar waits while the Duke turns the key in the lock and pulls the door open, so that the noise of the hinges doesn’t obscure any words. But as soon as Farenthar can step out into the corridor, he does, and he continues speaking. “Ivaia Haldizi and Karalisel Vrae have been abducted.”
Farenthar steps forwards again, until his face is nearly touching the bars of the window. He still can’t see the Duke, whose voice seems to be coming from the right and downwards. Is this powerful nobleman sitting on the floor of the corridor?
The Duke? Here? And by himself?… Well, no doubt there are guards somewhere nearby, but still…
Farenthar stands up again. “No. No, I did not, your Grace,” he says, trying to speak as clearly as he can - this seems like a very bad time for further misunderstandings. He takes a few steps towards the door. The Duke isn’t visible through the barred window. “I only just started to figure it out. In the past few minutes. And I still don’t really know anything about it. But… I was wishing for a chance to apologise, so…” He breathes in. “I’m truly sorry. If I’d realised, I would never…”
Farenthar tries to move quietly too - he steps away from the door, returns to the bed and sits down. Hopefully the singer isn’t spotted. I’d rather not be caught talking to a strange non-guard.
As the footsteps get closer, Farenthar can tell that it’s just one person. A good sign… perhaps.
If she’s telling the truth and can get me out of here… then what? As far as the Duke will know, I’ll simply have disappeared, and he was justified in assuming I’m dangerous. I won’t be able to show my face in this city again - the guards will be given my description. And what will that do to my chances of finding Karalisel and Ivaia?
“Can you bring me paper and something to write with?” Farenthar asks. “And deliver a note so the Duke will read it? I’ll make a bargain for that. Perhaps. What are your terms? What do you want from me?”
Farenthar starts and looks towards the door. The voice is musical and alluring, eerily so. But it’s also familiar.
He stands up. Curiosity has overcome any wariness - he walks, a little shakily still, to the door and looks through its barred, rectangular window.
The woman on the other side is the singer who performed at last night’s banquet. The one who tried to do something to the mind of the Duke’s younger brother. And the one who could send Farenthar into unconsciousness just by touching him twice. He recognises her face at once, despite the changes to the rest of her appearance.
Pale strands hang in front of her eyes, but at the sides and back of her head, her hair has been cut very short. And she’s now wearing the uniform of the Duke’s guards, except that it’s tailored to fit closely to her figure.
How did she get into the fortress? Because there is no way that costume works as a disguise.
She doesn’t meet many conventional standards of beauty now, but Farenthar finds that he can’t stop staring at her, and he has no idea what to say.
Farenthar lifts his head and looks around the cell. It has all the furnishings he expected: a bucket in a corner, and a bed made from a wooden plank that folds down from a wall, supported by chains.
He stands up, moving slowly to make sure he doesn’t lose his balance again - soon, there will be bruises all over his arms and legs, and he doesn’t want to add more. While they were bringing him here, the guards didn’t seem to be actively trying to hurt him, but they weren’t gentle, either. To take him from the Palace to the fortress, they threw him onto the floor of a carriage. An unusually large carriage, he guessed, but he was still curled up and squashed between the guards’ boots. And after being pulled from the carriage, he was dragged to the fortress by at least two people holding his shoulders and elbows at all times.
My hands were bound behind my back, there was that bag over my head, and they still treated me as though I was dangerous. He sits down on the bed and crosses his arms, pressing them close to his chest. He feels cold and fragile. They take their Duke’s orders seriously, I suppose. What did he tell them? Once I’m here, no one should talk to me or even look at me? What does he think I can do? And just before he gave those orders... He had a knife at my throat - why would he care whether my eyes were open or closed? Does he believe I can harm him just by looking at him?
He believes I can harm him just by looking at him.
The prison cell now seems colder. He knows, because he sensed it. There must be people trying to flatter and cajole him every day, but he flinched from my gaze because I was doing something more. And he understands, because I told him about it myself last night. He’s cleverer than I am. I assumed it was something being done to me somehow, not by me. Is it possible? Can I influence how people think about me, how they treat me, just by looking at them? Without even realising it?
He thinks of the dream, of the letter, of Ivaia’s carriage and its driver with the inhuman eyes. Someone knows I have this ability, and they want me. Or they want it. That all makes sense now, and the Duke’s orders do too. With his power over other people’s lives, he has good reason to fear losing control. And he’s worried I can make the guards let me escape. So he’s ordered them to kill me if I talk. And they’re not even allowed to look at me.
And then what? The Duke can’t put me on trial for this, surely. But it’ll be impractical to keep me prisoner for long if the guards can’t even look at me. Is he making plans to remove the threat? Should be easy enough to manage. They could deliver poisoned wine and nothing else for me to drink.
Normally I disapprove of murder, especially if I’m the intended victim. But I can’t help having some sympathy for the Duke, even if he does want to kill me.
What did it feel like to him? Perhaps, last night, he thought I was a trustworthy person. And then… was it like an unknown force, snaking into his mind, trying to twist his thoughts? It must have seemed a horrifying betrayal after he gave me money and promised favours.
I owe him an apology.
Even though it was an accident. I want to explain that I didn’t mean any harm, and apologise.
I’ll be very surprised if he allows me to speak to him again. But maybe I can write a note. And then I can also leave a letter with an apology for Karalisel and Ivaia, if they ever make it back from wherever that carriage took them. I just need to persuade the guards to let me have pen and paper…
He moans quietly and leans forward, resting his head on his hands.
They’ve been ordered to kill me if I talk to them. I won’t even be able to try conveying a request by mime…
Farenthar tries to regain his balance, but fails and falls. The impact of his hands striking the bare stone is jarring. He lowers his head and rests his temple on the floor, which is as rough and cold as he was expecting. But it’s also solid and motionless.
What happened? Why has the Duke done this?
He hears the scrape of a key being turned, and then a clunk - perhaps a metal bar being lowered into place across the outside of the door.
He tells me I can speak freely, and I thank him, and then he’s shouting for guards and holding a knife to my throat. And giving some very strange orders…
Farenthar is very close to working it out. A DC 12 Wisdom check will determine if he’s not too distracted by his current predicament to put the last piece in its place.
Instinctively, Farenthar follows the Duke’s orders, leaning forward to place the palms of his hands on the polished wood of the desk. As he closes his eyes, he asks himself, What’s happening? What’s caused this change in the Duke? And should I be obeying him?
Maybe I should just run?
To his left, there’s the bang of the door being thrown open and bouncing off whatever stopper keeps it from hitting the wall.
Guards that way, Farenthar reminds himself. And the only other direction to go is out the window. And we’re upstairs. He sits still.
The Duke has guards, and the authority to ask questions. I have no idea how I’ll search for that carriage if I can’t persuade him to help me. He’s promised me a favour, but I doubt he’ll agree if he suspects this is foolishness or trickery. I just need to convince him to trust me.
“Thank you, your Grace.” Farenthar sits down, and lets his hands rest lightly on his knees, palms upward. Good, he tells himself, now meet his gaze directly, no flinching. Expression: sincere, concerned, hopeful. My character is of course completely honest, dependable and open-hearted, and I simply let every word and gesture flow from that. Surely my acting experience can’t fail me now…
Completely unconsciously, Farenthar uses hypnotic stare and then casts charm person on the Duke.
Farenthar takes off his jacket and his boots, hands them to the first guard and does his best to appear as meek and obedient as possible while the second guard pats him down.
The scrutiny makes him feel irrationally guilty, on top of his entirely rational guilt from abandoning Ivaia and Karalisel.
“I’m not hurt, but thank you.” Farenthar shrugs and steps away to pull his sleeve free from the man’s grasp. He turns his head, but of course the carriage has travelled out of sight around a corner. “Sorry, have to go. Need to speak to someone.”
How long has it been since I was arguing against seeking the Duke’s aid? An hour? Less?
Farenthar doesn’t recognise the street, but he thinks he’s familiar enough with this area of the city to know the fastest way back to the Palace. He starts running again, but in a different direction.
They’re not following me… Of course they’re not… I didn’t explain what I saw, and so I’ve left them in that carriage, with… whatever that thing holding the reins was…
The carriage is moving quickly. Too fast to be safe on this cobblestoned street with busy footpaths, and just a bit too fast for Farenthar to catch up, unless he can somehow increase his own pace.
Last night, when I was pursuing that singer… I found some sort of mental trick to focus on running. Can that work again?
He stops, breathes in and tries to concentrate. He realises that his hands are shaking, and glances down at them - the trembling is visible. There’s nothing to be frightened of, not here, not right at this moment.
But there are things to feel guilty about. The shame, for a moment, seems like a crushing black weight in his mind.
Farenthar doesn’t think; he just moves, reaching for the other door, flicking back the latch and launching himself sideways. While he’s in the air, some memory of stage fights makes him twist so he can land on his shoulder and start rolling. Moments later, he’s upright without even a graze on his hands from the cobblestones, and he sees the carriage moving away from him. Can those eyes be real? What happened to the driver? Ivaia and Karalisel… they’re going to escape too, aren’t they?
What have I done?
There are passersby staring at him, and some of them are walking hesitantly towards him. Farenthar dodges past and starts to run after the carriage.
Farenthar nods. He agrees with everything Karalisel just said, but he does not respond - he doesn’t want his distrust of the Duke to push him into trying to control the others. At least, not more than I’ve done already with my first reaction to Ivaia’s suggestion.
So what do we do? Should I ask to be driven to my rooms so I can collect some belongings? What would I actually want to take with me? He glances through the window and notices the carriage is travelling along a street that’s not familiar to him.
“My Lady… Where are we going? Did you even give any instructions to the driver?”
Seeing Ivaia’s frown, Farenthar doesn’t wait. He reaches up to hit the ceiling of the carriage with the palm of his hand, loudly. And when, after a few moments, the carriage hasn’t slowed, Farenthar unlatches the door and leans out, holding tightly onto the back of his seat for support. “Hey!” He leans further and turns his head, trying to get a clear view of the driver.
Farenthar can’t help grimacing. “I’m sorry, my Lady. That sounds like avoiding slavery by volunteering for it. To me, his Grace seems like a man who will ruthlessly exploit any advantage he can. Perhaps he’ll be polite and generous about it, but…”
Our ignorance leaves us fairly neatly trapped… I know one thing about whoever sent us these letters: I really don’t like them.
“If there really are people with… unknown powers, we have no idea how to protect ourselves. Or hide effectively. And we still need to eat. The Duke was generous, but the money he gave us won’t last forever. I’m already on the brink of losing my job with the company, for nearly missing the start of the second act last night. If I try to go into hiding…”
“And I’ll want some evidence that it will actually help us. I’m worried that we’re being tricked. What if that text does something… but it’s something… different?”
Farenthar glances at the bench, but he knows he’s too tense and restless to be comfortable seated. He takes out the letter from a pocket inside his jacket. “Are yours just like this?”
“I know a place - a small park, not far from here. Public but usually not busy. Our company rehearses there sometimes when the weather is good.”
In normal circumstances, I would be backing away quickly. Getting involved in any way with a rebellious young noblewoman is not a wise idea. But a chance to talk about that letter seems more important than anything else right now…
He glances at Karalisel and Ivaia to check that they’re happy with his suggestion, and then he leads them around one of the grand buildings facing the Duke’s Palace across the square. They walk over wide streets and a few narrower ones, follow cobbled alleyways between old shops, and go down a few steps to the riverside park.
“And mine completes the set, I assume. Do you have time to talk? And would either of you object if we go somewhere out of the way? I’d rather not be overheard on this particular topic.”
Farenthar sees Karalisel approaching, and he waves to her. I need to talk about that letter. Can we really trust a warning from someone who doesn’t even reveal their name? This feels like deception. On the other hand…
Will Farenthar argue in favour of following the instructions? (35% probability of Yes) Decision:1d100 ⇒ 81
Once again, Farenthar forces himself not to flinch. After all my worries and cautiousness, what made me start talking to him like that? He managed to say exactly the right thing to provoke me, and now I’m lecturing a Duke about how he should treat his brother…
Well, I suppose this gives me a chance to find out if he really is the sort of person to inflict appalling acts of vengeance on insolent commoners, or if he just enjoys acting like that sort of person.
It would be polite, at least, to give his Grace some sort of explanation for my outspokenness…
“For a long time now, I’ve… this is hard to explain precisely… I’ve suspected that it’s sometimes easier than it should be for me to persuade other people to do what I want. Or just to trust me. It doesn’t always last. And while it’s convenient… I’m left wondering whether anyone actually wants to help me or whether they’re being helpful for... some other reason. Most of the time, I would prefer to have less help if that meant less wondering.”
“I’ll comply, of course. But I don’t think, sir, that you should be trying to conceal the truth from your brother. He deserves to know everything that you do about what happened. Even if the reality is unpleasant, it’s better to learn about it than be left wondering at an implausible alternative.”
Years of stage experience allow Farenthar to stand still instead of wincing visibly. Well, it didn’t take her long to fold, he thinks.
And then he feels awful.
Karalisel spoke to protect an innocent man. Would I have done the same, if she hadn’t been here?
Eventually, I hope. But I think I might have taken longer than I should have to make the right choice.
And she didn’t mention anything about what I told her. I could still pretend I’m entirely ordinary, and slink away with a half-clear conscience…
“What she’s saying is true, your Grace. The guard is innocent. I sensed it too. Just by looking at him, the singer did something to change his beliefs or control his actions.” Farenthar stops speaking there, although there are further possible remarks in his mind. We’ve stated our case. Saying more may achieve nothing other than making the Duke angry.
Her surname is familiar - when Farenthar first arrived in the city of Tuarensi, there was one piece of advice he heard several times: If you’re ambitious, don’t ever work for the Haldizi family. No one else will hire you, for fear of offending the Duke.
The head of the Haldizi family has nieces, Farenthar vaguely remembers being told. If Ivaia is one of them, that means…
After generations of minor political feuding, his father murdered her grandfather over an illicit affair, Farenthar thinks as he looks from the Duke to Ivaia and back again. And, a few decades later, her uncle hired assassins to kill him and his brother. The attempt failed and her uncle has spent almost three years in one of his prison cells, under sentence of death.
That can’t be right, surely. The stories I heard must have been exaggerated, or completely invented. If not, how could those two people be standing there, talking politely to each other?
But then again, the aristocracy is made up of some very strange people…
Farenthar already stood up quickly - perhaps too quickly - when the woman in the pink dress approached, and he remained on his feet throughout her conversation with the Duke. He can’t tell how much of his shakiness is left over from whatever the singer did to him, and how much is nerves triggered by the Duke’s presence.
This is why I didn’t want to perform in front of nobility. Yes, the pay is excellent. Yes, all we have to do is put on a conventional entertainment that doesn’t contain any references to assassins or physical disfigurements. Easy enough. But somehow I still end the evening being questioned by a steely voiced lord who can call on guards, magistrates and the hangman. And perhaps also on stealthy urban hunters equipped with a single garrotte and a couple of shovels…
He is relieved that the woman does not seem to have noticed anything unusual about Karalisel or him - or, at least, nothing that she chooses to tell the Duke.
I have done absolutely nothing wrong, he thinks. But he knows that’s no guarantee of anything, particularly when commoners have to deal with nobility.
When the Duke faces him, Farenthar bows and then gives a rapid but bland description. He explains why he was watching the singer’s performance but does not comment on Alledain’s decision to let her lead him out of the banquet hall, and definitely says nothing about his sense that the singer had influenced the guard’s mind using powers that Farenthar couldn’t possibly understand but somehow still recognised. And he spends as few words as he can on the singer’s touch - he’d rather not admit his lingering weakness to the Duke. But…
“I must express my heartfelt gratitude, your Grace, for the assistance that your physician provided,” Farenthar says. This speech feels awkward - he’s unsure of the etiquette here. But, given the Duke’s reputation, Farenthar would have expected the nobleman to ignore the fallen actor and leave his servants guessing what to do about the obstruction in the corridor. So thanks of some sort seem necessary. “Without his aid, I probably wouldn’t have been fit to perform in the second half of the play.” Farenthar bows again. He’s shakier now than he was before he started to speak to the Duke.
