Yirel enjoyed the silence. It wrapped around him and offered a place to contemplate without judgment. He’d had the best night of his life. It felt wrong to say, but it was true, somehow. He should hate everything happening to him, and Rhindov most of all. And he was angry to be sure. Being paraded around like a puppet on invisible strings and more..! It boiled his blood. But he couldn’t deny that being Darling last night had been wonderful. He’d felt beautiful and the laughter had been so real.
Yirel felt his face heat with a blush. Holding his breath he slipped under the water and shook his head. And oh ancestors, Cavish. He wanted to slap him, curse him, and wanted the bastard to pin him against a wall again. Lifting out of the water with a gasp, Yirel slapped the water. “Gods damn you..!” Just remembering had him tingling. And he was too tired to think of any excuse for his behavior. He sighed. “Damn me.”
He left his clothes crumpled on the floor and walked dripping from the bathing chamber to his bed. Falling onto the plush surface he wrapped himself in the blankets and closed his eyes. He just wanted to sleep, and forget about these things that shook his own understanding of himself. But he couldn’t. He lay there for hours, resting but not truly sleeping. And his mind churned. What did it mean when he hated being treated as someone to look down on, and in the same breath loved the way Cavish treated him? How could he claim to have pride at all if all it took was a look from Cavish to make his knees weak? He didn’t have comforting answers, just uncomfortable truths.
~*~
The sounds of people moving around downstairs and the smell of breakfast called him from his bed and to the day. He rose and dressed slowly. No epiphany had come to him, and none seemed forthcoming either. But he’d expected that, and it was time to get on with things.
Over coffee and porridge Yirel ordered his schedule. He also puzzled over a problem he doubted Rhin had given much thought to, or one that he’d delegated so thoroughly to Yirel he hadn’t thought to mention it. He’d put Darling in the path of the Old Blood in hopes to scare them off his trail. How in the seven hells was he supposed to hide from them? The only reason Darling had been so successful before was that as fascinating as she’d been, she’d been so inconsequential that even burning curiosity wasn’t enough to spur an investigation too deep. His pockets were padded enough that he’d been able to keep the girls quiet and vague in response to questions, but who knew how well they would hold up to a brute hired to find answers.
He could be overreacting. But he doubted it. And that was just one facet of the issue. If he were to assume there would be more eyes watching Darling now, and there was no reason not to, then the measures he took to hide the truth would have to become that much more severe. Like getting Darling into and out of the city. She couldn’t just show up, or leave. That would be too convenient. So he had arranged to “pick up his cousin” in an undisclosed location that was actually an abandoned hunting shed about a half day’s trip from the city. Sprig came along too, packed under the seat to act as Darling on the return trip, and the reverse when it was time for Darling to return home. His driver was the lynchpin for the whole scenario, like the girls were here at home. If anything he was moreso. Theodore was a quiet fellow, and to those who didn’t know him he seemed slow. That was just a ruse however, else Lizzie wouldn’t have loved him as hard as she did. To say he counted on his people to keep him safe was an understatement. He needed to make sure he wasn’t just protecting himself, but the pseudo family he’d made around himself as well.
He sighed and put his head down on the desk for a moment. What was he going to do? He couldn’t keep chasing his thoughts in circles like this. It was all just too much. He was in over his head and struggling to tread the current. Was he destined to be swept away then? Lost forever in someone else’s machinations? No.
The resolve crystalized in his heart. He would not let himself become a pawn, or a plaything; would not lose the people he cared for. Yirel raised his head and rolled his head around his shoulders with a deep breath. It wasn’t hopeless. He wasn’t as lost as he felt. Maybe if he said that enough times he’d feel it truly.
Refocusing on the myriad of papers spread out before him, Yirel picked up the topmost. An invitation to tea. Darling had received many of these over the course of the years. And each one had been politely declined on various grounds. This was one he could not refuse. Not when it came from Galaden. Not when Darling was engaged to someone in her personal circle. He could juggle the meetings between himself and other minor lords and well off merchants with relative ease. But stepping out in daylight as Darling? The letter under that was from Cavish, the promised list of items he wanted Darling to have and the times he’d be calling, with a note that those were only the times he knew for certain yet. The implication that he could, and most likely would, show up unannounced whispered between the lines. Yirel frowned and ignored the way his body shivered.
He shuffled the letters together into a tidy pile and set them aside. Those he could take care of later, thankfully. But that just meant he had to spend the rest of his morning and into the afternoon penning responses to those aforementioned minor lords and wealthy merchants. They were used to Yirel becoming more distant when his ‘cousin’ visited, and with the news of her and Cavish courting it would be no surprise that Yirel would be even more distracted than usual.
And for the handful that were closer to friends than not, well... He did feel a twinge of guilt for lying to them, but it was for the best. And it wasn’t as if they were as close as Cavish and that group seemed to be. He’d never been that gifted when it came to connecting with his peers as himself. As Darling it flowed naturally, and yet in his day to day life he felt the need to be so much more reserved. Perhaps when this had all blown over and Darling left never to return, he would attempt to bring her energy to his own life. For now he promised a lunch to catch up and discuss business, once his schedule cleared enough for it.
Scooping those, the list he’d copied from Cavish’s letter and the response to Lady Keirn’s invitation into his hand, Yirel stood and walked out to the front of the house. It was a bright day, with hardly a cloud in sight. He paused on the front step to let his eyes adjust. The street was quiet, and still smelled faintly of the morning dew that clung to the shadowed places. He took a deep breath and looked around with a small indulgent smile. His was just one in a row of townhouses, each its own small patch of humble personal comfort. The strong and graceful lines of the stone and the shadows that fell around them were familiar, as were the assortment of carved creatures standing at the edge of the street, one or two to a building.
There was no rhyme or reason to what manner of lesser golems were utilized, just the personal tastes of the owners. Everything from ferrets and rodents to elegant humanoid shapes and even standard dogs or cats. The one commonality was the size; at least large enough to carry a parcel but no larger than a pony. Of course the Old Blood had more than enough magic to burn to power larger beings, and more.
Yirel called his attention back to the moment, tapping the letters in his palm before walking out to his own golem. The enfield sat eternally patient, waiting for a spark of magic to give it life and purpose. He sent it off and watched it trot across the cobbles with steady clicks of stone on stone with no small bit of trepidation. He’d faced uncertainty before, so he would again. He just wished it were easier. He hovered in indecision for a moment before turning back into the house and calling Eliza to him.
“Yes Sir?”
“My Darling cousin is in need of a tea gown tomorrow.” Yirel leaned against the door and crossed his arms. “What do you think of altering the rose linen? Can that be done in time?”
“That… could be possible. I would suggest looking at the chiffon and the lilac cotton ones as well. A tea gown though?” The worry was plain on her face and in her voice.
Yirel nodded. “Yes.” He took a deep breath and tried to smile. “I can’t beg off this one, so we’ll have to make sure that everything is as perfect as can be.” The attempted smile vanished and he leaned his head back on the door. “As my luck would have it, Lady Kerin is one of Cavish’s compatriots.”
“Oh. That does tangle things,” Lizzie said with a shake of her head. “Well, we will do our utmost as usual.” She squared her shoulders like a soldier preparing for battle. “Of course this means you’ll need a hat as well. We’ve gloves that are suitable…” She tapped her chin and leaned her head to the side. “If you ate beforehand and wore a veil-”
“It’s Lady Keirn, Lizzie. I cannot show up to tea and not partake of the spread.”
“No, I suppose not. Drat.”
Yirel leveraged himself away from the door and sighed. “You and the girls work on the dress. Hopefully this will be the only one we’ll need to deal with on such short notice. Cavish has taken it upon himself to outfit Darling further, and sundresses are one of the many things included in his list this time. Like it or not, Darling is going to be much more of a presence during this year's Season.”
“Is that wise, Sir?”
“Not in the slightest, but I’ve no real choice in the matter, so-” He shrugged. “Try not to fret too much, Lizzie. I’m doing that enough for the both of us.” That got her lip twitching, and that was good enough for him. “Besides, I’ve got a few tricks left up my sleeve.” He hoped. “Let’s go look at the dresses, the rest can wait long enough for that.”
~
In the end, the lilac dress was the one decided on. It was airy enough and the color was suitable that turning it into a day gown was a relatively simple matter. While the girls took care of that, Yirel retreated upstairs to his room. Sprig waited on its docking station while another, even more basic automaton went about preordained tasks assigned to it.
He ignored them both and took a seat at his small work desk, pulling out his inscription tools and one of the various pieces of jewelry he’d been trying to enchant. The piece of petrified wood sat in the drawer, half carved into a relief of a heart. But for now his attention was on a small ring that seemed to be red gold and tiger’s eye twined around each other.
Buckling on a set of lenses and flipping down the smallest, he picked up tool and ring and set to work. The focus required was about the same as working on Sprig, but the scale was so much smaller that the physical aspect became more difficult. The iron tip of the inscription pick bit into the gold with relative ease, and with miniscule adjustments Yirel continued the rune chain. It was the blue glow of the magic more than his strength that pressed the esoteric shapes into being, pooling in the completed rune for a moment before dissipating.
This was not the first time he’d attempted to make a glamor enchantment, far from it. All his past attempts had failed, for one reason or another. It wasn’t for the lack of magic available to him, it was a minor illusion he was aiming for and well within his abilities. And considering his tinkering with Sprig and the successes he’d had there, it made no sense that he should fail at this. Not logically anyways.
But that assumed that magic was logical. The common thought was that the arcane runes and spell forms were the superior, refined versions of the raw energy present in the world. They were standardized by the great mages of P’oreya and then shared for the betterment of men. It was from those teachings, passed down as tomes and grimoires that he’d been taught from as a young man, by a tutor who had gone through the same. Tried and tested and true, magic was a tool to be used in specific ways for the best results. Ways that he did not have the skill for.
So instead of completely replacing the spell matrix, he’d patched it. It had been an act of desperation; The melon sized crystal ‘brain’ was cracked through in four places and only barely holding together. The shadows of old spells drifting across the surface were so faint as to be invisible. He’d worked all night to force it back together and imbue it once more; directing gold and silver to flood the cracks. After that he’d reinforced the spells by etching the crystal, filling the voids with powdered gem dust and gum resin. The resulting patchwork would have made his teachers weep. It was ugly, far from elegant or simple. But the buzz of working magic was undeniable.
And once the automaton was put back together and working as it should, it was only natural that Yirel would want to check in on his ragtag work occasionally to make sure it was still functioning. That had led to further tinkering and refinement, more patchwork spells. Now Sprig was filled with a mismatched assortment of odds and ends that skirted tradition and bent the standard rules of magic. And Yirel was reminded of the conversation he’d had with the Vesor twins.
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