A Grand Affair

[Nesrin Aziz]

  

"Lady Eisheth" and Rosalle Winther

Winther Estate, Caemlyn

The carriage would be waiting in the oval courtyard outside. Lilis cared little for the petty concerns of Andoran nobility, of course, but she would act to protect the security of her place here, which meant overseeing House Winther’s fortune and standing to some degree. Matias did not often make messes, and this one had involved ingredients Lilis spun to ruthless advantage – schisming distrust in the city for the Black Tower itself. However given her imminent travel north she would rather shore up the loose edges before her departure. Matias was angry still, and Mishael Vanditera was a shrewd politician with a grudge soaked in blood. Silence would be easily secured with a marriage finally brokered between their Houses, which Lilis found an appalling archaism as much as an easy investment. Pathor had even been betrothed to a Vanditera before.

The Taravin’s ball would be the couple’s first outing since the announcement of the engagement, and it would draw the wellwishers; context she could put to good use. But it was ancillary to Lilis’ expenditure of time. She was a shadow at these functions usually, if she attended at all beyond keeping her face in general circulation amongst the court. It was the way the Queen preferred it anyway, given the manner of their association. Even Matias did not question Lilis’ longer absences – she ensured it. But such methods were only ever employed when she needed to use them, for Compulsion could make for the kinds of sloppy holes she preferred to avoid. For the most part, the privacy of a widow was respected with incurious good grace, and that suited Lilis fine.

Tonight her dark hair was secured in a simple chignon, decorated with only a few jewelled pins; fittingly subdued arraignment for a widow on the eve of celebration. Likewise the neutral cut and adornment of her dress fell into the neat realm of acceptability, neither the height of fashion nor remarkably plain. She adjusted a simple earring as she walked the hallway, and considered the evening ahead. Not with relish it had to be said. Or at least, it was likely to be dull. But it was also a good place to plant seeds, and the quicker such fruits could be harvested, the better. Lilis alone knew of Arikan’s unwelcomed return for now, but the moment the others caught wind of it, the war pieces would begin to move against him. She meant to survive the carnage, but she was not convinced of the Chosen’s victory. And certainly not of their shield. She intended other allies.

Her pace slowed, then. Lilis was rarely unaware, moulded by too many long years spent in the kinds of places it was unwise to lose focus. One did not master the Dream otherwise. Though this was unlikely to be a threat: the child was pressed against a decorative cabinet topped with a seasonal floral arrangement, her hands pressed tightly over her ears and eyes squeezed shut. She was all but obscured but for the ghostly puddle of her nightdress peeked out from the shadows of her hiding spot. Easy to miss, and easier to ignore.

Lilis heard her because of the sobbing.

Despite herself she paused. A nursemaid should have been watching over all the Winther children, who'd been corralled to the estate of the High Seat whilst the Taravins entertained the Shienaran send-off. The older cousins would have revelries of their own no doubt, to placate them for missing out. But this one was only small. Lilis had little enough to do with Matias’ grandchildren, or even the offspring of her own late husband; just enough to know their names, as she knew everyone who lived in or visited the household, down to the lowliest refuse servant.

“You should be abed, child,” she said sharply, just as the girl crawled to her feet and rushed with abandon to wrap herself about Lilis’ legs. She suspected any adult would have done for the succour, but she placed her hand to the child’s dark curls nonetheless. Whatever cries of protest or explanation issued forth, they were muffled within the heavy fall of skirts, and Lilis only shifted patiently to lead the child back to her room. Rosalle’s hand slipped into her own with effortless trust. She stuck close as a limpet, and irony at the source of her comfort tonight flared some amusement within. But Lilis didn’t smirk. Eisheth wouldn’t have.

She said nothing of reassurance as she helped the girl back into her bed. Rosalle seemed entirely reluctant to be abandoned within the plump pillows and blankets despite how docilely she was led. Her palms still cupped protectively over her ears as she snuggled obediently down, eyes wide, sniffling her fear.

In the shadows it could almost be any child.

Lilis perched beside her, quiet in contemplation. “Where did you hear such a tale?” she asked. Despite the girl’s genuine fear, she'd almost laughed the moment she realised what Rosalle had been talking about before. The merihem, a Blight abomination; the one legend feared to slip right into the sleeper’s ear, slick and wriggly with its poisons. Instead she pressed a palm to the girl’s head, brushed the loose hair gently free where it caught beneath the damp clutch of her small fingers. “I think it very unlikely that the Lady Misaki has smuggled one of the beasts south in her jewellery box, Rosalle. In fact, I see no monsters in this room at all.”

Lilis’ gaze caught on her own hand as she smoothed Rosalle’s hair. Several rings adorned the left, plain for the most part, including the wedding band. “But if you are afraid of the dark, child, my advice is to make a friend of it.” This time she did smile, a secret one; more Lilis than Eisheth in truth, but the child was hardly to know. None in this household were sworn to the Shadow, not even Matias himself, and all were ignorant of what they harboured at their heart. Lilis twisted the ring from her smallest finger, pulled the girl’s grip firmly away from her ear, opened that sticky palm, and closed it back over the offering. It was nothing, just a bit of silver forged into pretty patterns. Purely decorative. “A talisman, to keep you safe. You are marked now, by your favourite aunt. I am scarier than any monster, I assure you.”

---

"Lady Eisheth"

Taravin Estate, Caemlyn

Some time later, their carriage pulled up for the tiresome pomp and ceremony Andorans favoured. In the ballroom Lady Winther melted away with her youngest son and his soon to be bride, accepting the congratulations and undoubted ripples of gossip for what they were presenting as the rarest of jewels: a love match. The Vanditera girl took it all in stride; not just her proximity to Caemlyn’s courtly heart, for her House had long been on hard times, but the devilish deal made to secure her place here. It was not common knowledge of course, but Lilis doubted her to be ignorant of the truth of who exactly bore responsibility for her older brother’s murder. In other circumstances, Lilis might have taken more interest in such a character. But tonight must be about other priorities.

Her place on the campaign to Shienar did not sit easily with her, but she deemed it a necessary risk, for such close weeks of travel would make the hand of friendship a more welcome prospect to Nicole. Trepidation would not be hard to feign. A widow was a natural choice for the motley entourage sent to accompany Lady Graciela and her daughter home; easily spared, and young enough in appearance that she might possibly spark some political match whilst out there. And of course a suitable chaperone for more clandestine affairs. In any case the Queen had not been difficult to convince of the merits of releasing her so far from her usual service; truth was the south really did believe the Blight as quiet as a sleeping babe, and burn Raviel to the bloody Pit for letting the Armendariz woman loose to cry and plead so loudly for aid. Should Lilis be recognised in Fal Sion, and she didn't plan to be, it would offer some valid explanation of her presence to rectify his mistake. She was tasked to send word back after all, as she ever directed the flow of information in and out of Caemlyn. But if she was forced to it, it would reveal too much of her identity here too. This was a face she had worn many long years now. She did not want to compromise it. She did not want the Chosen to know she was in Andor at all.

After a polite amount of frivolous conversation she made her excuses from Matias’ company to circle the room. For now she drifted. Pity begat the tragedy of her story, but the nobles were unfalteringly polite, if she sometimes wondered that they thought the affliction catching. Meanwhile arrivals were still being heralded. She kept a discreet eye on Leodon, who she imagined to be waiting for the very same thing.

[[In the timeline, this is set slightly before Larnair's murder or the Tower coup]]