minipyre | kushiel's scions

The little wooden bridge collapses when the messenger is halfway across, dumping him, his horse, and his satchel into the river.

The poor man was in no way forewarned; the messenger falls unceremoniously into the water, scrambling madly for a gasp of breath. Shedding his cloak, which weights him down uncomfortably, he is at last able to grab on to his mount. The two of them emerge sodden from the water a fair span of time later, exhausted and dripping and despondent.

Next order of business: searching for his satchel.

Nowhere to be found. The river must have swept it away, no doubt to fetch up completely waterlogged some unknown distance downstream.

Hours and more pass before the messenger ceases his search. But in the end, he yields; of a surety, his pack is gone. He lingers, then, an hour or more, seeking to delay the inevitable. Then he gathers himself and turns his horse. Back the way they had come; back to Kusheth.

His arrival is quiet, his reception less so. Inside, he is ushered into the presence of Melisande Shahrizai. She is, as ever, the perfect picture of a D'Angeline noblewoman, with her curtain of blue-black hair and her elegantly expensive dress; but her eyes, her eyes are hard as they regard him.

"I believe you were delivering a message," she tells him cooly. He shivers.

"The bridge, m'lady," he stammers. "It washed out, and my bag with it."

When she does not explode, he breathes a sigh of relief. Instead, she appears thoughtful. "This bears considering," she says aloud, almost to herself. "If another has joined the game- well. You may go."

He flees, hands shaking. He has escaped, for now.

Melisande Shahrizai is worried.

She plays a long, long game; she knows the stakes. One of her messages is missing. Rarely does she write such missives, which put her plans into writing, in her hand and under her seal. That this one has disappeared is- concerning. She has people to investigate.

So, she investigates. Questions are asked, maps are examined, nearby villages considered. And yet- nothing. None of her agents have been questioned; no one of any note has gone near that route for a year or more. It is not in her nature to let such a question rest.

She has to be sure.

And yet- still nothing.

Finally, even Melisande concedes defeat. Nothing, nothing at all, suggests foul play. She sends word that she is to be informed immediately if the messenger's bag should reappear; her spies will keep watch. Meanwhile, she will continue with her plans.

There are games to be played.

Now, of course, there is the issue of what to do with this letter. Blatant treason, under the seal of House Shahrizai itself. A letter to Waldemar Selig, affirming that Isidore d'Aiglemort suspects nothing of their betrayal and will arrange his troops as they have agreed. Absolutely damning, if one can get it into the right hands without the faintest breath of warning reaching Melisande's ear. And how is one to do that?

Sarafiel considers the problem for about a day before she settles on Barquiel L'Envers as the most obvious answer. Not too long ago, after a lengthy investigation, she sent him an anonymous note detailing exactly why Dominic and Thérêse Stregazza must have poisoned his sister Isabel; she judged that no proper authority could make good use of the information, and that it might please him to know. It pleased him so much he sent a squad of barely-disguised assassins to rid the world of Dominic Stregazza. This time, therefore, she cannot trust any details to writing. She must meet him in person with her news, and convince him to take it to the Queen in absolute secrecy. At least he is currently in the City of Elua, which simplifies things.

So.

Barquiel L'Envers receives a second anonymous note, very like to the first. It reads thus:

Some time ago, I told you a tale of candied figs which you seemed to enjoy. I have another such tale to recount, this one rather longer. If you are interested in hearing it, you may find me any evening this week by the fountain at the north end of Rue Clavel.

Without question, Barquiel L'Envers would very much like to hear such a tale. But the Duc takes no chances, not with this. The Captain of the L'Envers guard enlists his men to examine the fountain in the evenings. He wants this knowledge, truly, but he does not lack for prudence.

The Captain eventually makes his report; though he was unable to locate the author of the notes, still he found no traps. If it is a trick, it is well-concealed indeed. The Duc considers for a day. And then, the following eve, he can be found on Rue Clavel, standing by the fountain. He appears, to the careless eye, to be consulting with some of his guardsmen.

A few minutes after the Duc arrives at the fountain, a woman in a grey cloak approaches him. The cloak is very fine, the colour of pale morning fog, and almost floats behind her as she walks. The dress she wears underneath it is a darker grey, its details lost in the evening light and the shadow of the cloak.

"Good evening, your grace. Are you here for a tale?"

The Duc's eyebrows shoot up almost to his burnouse (he is, as is his recent custom, attired entirely in the Akkadian style). He allows himself to display no other signs of surprise, instead turning smoothly to bow to the woman at his side.

"Good evening, child. I... have come for a tale. I will, nevertheless, confess to some surprise at the source."

She flashes a sharp little grin. "Many people find me surprising, your grace. Shall we go somewhere more private? This tale is not yet finished, and as an artist I prefer not to reveal my work to the world until it is complete."

"I find myself intrigued. I am willing to hear your tale, but the question of location is, shall we say, complicated. You dress as would a noblewoman, child; can you truly visit my estate, unattended as you are, and face no consequence?"

"I fear no consequences," the girl murmurs, smiling faintly.

He shrugs. "Well enough then. On your head be it." He smiles faintly. "As it is, I must assume you know the location of my retreat outside the city. Certain surprises have, of late, made a habit of appearing there. Shall we, child?"

He prefers his own territory for such things. Particularly at times such as this, faced with a girl so- eccentric.

"Yes."

The estate is not far; an hour's ride from the city, no more. And to be sure it is more private than an audience in his rooms in the palace. Still, he wastes no time upon their arrival, ushering his guest into a sitting room, calling for drinks as he does so. "Well and so. You had a tale for me, I believe?"

"Yes," she says.

"First - Waldemar Selig, the Skaldi warlord who has been frightening the Caerdicci. He sent an envoy to the Duke of Milazza with an offer of marriage for the Duke's daughter, and was refused, and now they are wary of him. But it is not Caerdicca Unitas that Waldemar Selig plans to invade. It is Terre d'Ange. For which purpose he can muster thirty thousand Skaldi, who will come through the mountain passes like a spring flood. Second - a man they call Kilberhaar, 'silver-hair', plans to allow them through certain passes to make a show of threatening lower Camlach so that he can make a show in turn of meeting them in the northernmost pass and negotiating for peace, ending in acknowledgment of Waldemar Selig as King of Skaldia and installation of Kilberhaar as King of Terre d'Ange. Already he pays the Skaldi to raid our villages more frequently. You would know this man as Isidore d'Aiglemort. Third - Waldemar Selig plans to betray d'Aiglemort and bring his armies through the northern pass in force to wipe out the Allies of Camlach and the Royal Army and conquer all Terre d'Ange from there. He conspires in this with Melisande Shahrizai, who sent him this letter."

She extracts it from a hidden pocket and holds it up, the seal intact but loose, parted carefully from the paper beneath so that the letter can be opened and read. The paper is warped along one edge, but shows no other signs of water damage.

"Do you read Caerdicci, your grace? Waldemar Selig does."

Not for nothing has his Grace spent years as diplomat to the Akkadian court in Khebbel-im-Akkad. He does not react as she lays forth her tale; he simply grows still, very still. His violet eyes, the sign of his House, are intense as they regard her. "That is a tale indeed," he tells her coolly, relieving her of the letter. "And no small accusation. Who are you, and how came you by such knowledge, and such a missive?"

"Sarafiel Fortier, second daughter of an inconsequential minor noble house in Camlach. It was that envoy to the Duke of Milazza that caught my attention. He styled himself King Waldemar of Skaldia; I thought it odd. So I looked for an explanation. I discovered that this warlord truly does believe himself a king, and he has united the Skaldi with his visions of political legitimacy."

She speaks in just the same way that she writes - brutally unadorned, like an assassin's dagger. This is of a certainty the same person who wrote the original note telling him of Dominic and Thérèse.

"From there I learned about the man they call Kilberhaar, a D'Angeline nobleman who pays them in gold to raid our villages. I followed his messengers until I learned his identity. One of the messengers I followed led me instead to Melisande, which is how I learned of her involvement. To lay hands on this letter, I arranged for a small bridge to collapse and drop the messenger in a river, then retrieved his satchel before he could find it himself, leaving him to believe it had washed away irretrievably."

His eyes scan the letter she has handed him. He does, of course, read Caerdicci; no ambassador could do less. It's less straightforwardly put, perhaps, than Sarafiel's tale, but it bears out her story nevertheless. His visage darkens, and he settles back in his chair.

"I wish to hell I knew whether or not to believe you," he sighs. "But I don't think you're lying. So tell me- what do you gain, in all of this? Why have you come?" He gets up and starts to pace. "Damn them both to hell," he mutters to himself. "What in the seven hells do we even do?"

Edited 2014-08-09 15:33 (UTC)

"I do not wish to see my country conquered by the Skaldi; a reasonable motivation, I am sure you agree. I suggest we start by informing the Dauphine. I could not achieve a private audience with her in a way that met my rigorous standards of secrecy, but I imagine you will have better luck."

"I imagine I could see my niece, yes," he says sardonically. "But why the Dauphine? And in such secrecy? You hold a letter proving your tale; you could go straight to Ganelon." He laughs bitterly. "As Isidore and Melisande did, once, to save us all from Lyonette."

"Secrecy because I am very sure that Melisande is watching for signs of opposition, and if she realizes that her plans are known, she will change them. The Dauphine because the king is old and frail and has not left his bed in a week. And because I suspect, although I do not yet know it for certain, that she may have the beginnings of a solution to the problem."

"Well, no one can argue old Ganelon's health is failing. But Melisande cannot change her plans if she has been executed for treason," the Duc points out. "Or if I myself were to take actions that were... not entirely honorable, shall we say."

She smiles. "While I admit I find the thought entertaining, please do not do anything so direct. To execute her for treason one must first capture her, which requires that she have no idea she is accused until she is already in chains. Therefore, secrecy. Likewise, if you send assassins after her and they fail, which assassins have been known to do, she will know that you have sent assassins after her and she will begin to wonder why."

"My assassins will be sad to hear of your lack of faith. They were effective enough for the Stregazzas." He looks at her curiously. "So if you do not trust that we can capture her- what do you expect to happen? It need hardly be said she must be stopped somehow."

"I could capture her, given time and opportunity - all this chasing around after secret messengers has given me plenty of practice at moving unseen. But I am not sure I will have either the time or the opportunity. And I must first be assured that once she is caught, no one will be letting her go. What I hope will happen is that someone will be able to properly arrest her without first alerting her that she is to be arrested. If that seems unlikely, however - better to leave her be and instead try to solve the problem of thirty thousand invading Skaldi."

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