They were curious minds, and he wished he could have talked with them for hours more. Wes was the one who dreamed up the shapes, Kel was the one who transcribed the spells, and they built the most fascinating constructs together. The one Wes had shown off was proof of their stories. And the way they proclaimed to have made it was a revelation. The clockwork mechanics were inspired, but the spellwork even moreso. Kelnry’s poetic inclinations extended to magic as well. Rather than the mathematical-like-formulas that resulted in motion, Kel had stumbled upon the same result while entertaining herself over winter.

There were countless tales of mages chanting in strange lyrical prose from the ages past. Most considered it to be a crude and ineffective way to cast, if it worked at all; a relic from less advanced practices that were an interesting footnote at best. And in the dead of winter, with no pressing matters, Kelnry and Wes had gone about making a toy for their only cousin using that outdated and questionable method. The whimsy of a clockwork doll come to life with magic words was what drove them, and the curiosity to know if it was possible.

Not only was it possible, it was just as effective as the standard formulas. Or, it was for Kel. Wes had minimal success trying to make the revived spellform work, whereas Kelnry took to it like a fish to water. From her explanation, it seemed that the difference was just the way the energy flowed from her and through the piece she was enchanting. Lines verses curves, was the way she’d put it. It was easier for her to find the connection points in the curving poetic runework than the standard equations. Yirel had felt something close to the same thing with his patchwork. Though it was born from need and not exploration, he had found that in some ways the mixing of the mineral and metal almost encouraged the magic to flow where he willed it.
Wes described it as trying to walk upstream in a hard current. The difference to him was that he was so used to thinking of magic in terms of set rules that thinking of it like loose concepts was too alien. So he let Kel scribe the spells, and he focused on the physical form of the clockwork. He had the dedication and patience to fit together tiny gears and springs to make the most delicate of creations. The bird he’d brought to the ball was one such. He’d cast the gold frame and gears himself.

Not only was Yirel impressed, he was inspired. That conversation had given him a glimpse of something he’d thought was unattainable until now. There was only so much he was capable of as a mage, according to his tutors. But that was only through a narrow lens. If his patchwork and Kel’s poetry could produce working results that weren’t just a fluke? He smiled to himself, and with a sigh leaned back in his chair. He turned the ring in his hand, looking at the fading blue line of runes before flipping up the magnifying lens. The tingle of magic tickled his fingers holding steady. It was a start, and it was promising.

~*~


He poured as many hours into the ring as he could, but in the end it wasn’t ready for the tea party. The illusion was imperfect and moved seconds slower than he did, but it was closer to success than he’d ever achieved. He supposed that was somewhat to be expected. After all, this was only his first real test of the idea. Maybe if he’d had more time it would have worked, but that was in the realm of wishes.

So it was with no small amount of trepidation that he got ready. He even took an extra two hours just on his face; applying cosmetics with exacting precision he hadn’t practiced since his first outing. He’d relied on the soft mage lights to help disguise himself at the parties he’d attended, that and the wine. There would be no such safeguards today. Once more he had Lizzie help him, and it was with her assurance that Darling was as lovely as ever that he was able to climb into the carriage at all. As the door closed, Yirel swallowed hard. He’d stumbled into Cavish’s trap completely unaware, but this felt like walking brazenly into an ambush.

In some ways, it was.

Lady Galaden Keirn’s manor was just as impressive as Cavish’s, in the way that all Old Blood manors were. Not that he had much time to appreciate the stonework. As soon as he was out of the carriage a servant was at his side and leading him around to the back garden. He tugged his gloves on tighter and made sure the wide brimmed hat was secure as he followed. The path followed the perimeter of the manor; the ivy covered walls growing more untamed the farther away from the front of the house they moved. Tall trees left to grow in whatever shapes they pleased were scattered haphazardly through the natural space. It didn’t seem right to call this a garden. A park maybe.

He heard his host before he saw her. Her joyous laughter rang through the air and just under that the lilting notes of flutesong. Sitting under the dappled shade of an oak at an ironlace table were Ladies Kerin and Vasor. The servant stopped and bowed while they were a bit away, before leaving Yirel to approach alone. Galaden stood with a gracious smile and came to meet him on the path. “My Darling Lady Quaice! I am so pleased to see you again!”

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Keirn,” he said, dipping into a curtsy, only for Gala to reach down and pull him back up.

“Oh none of that now. Formalities can be set aside here. Come, sit, sit. We’ve just poured the tea and the cakes are on the way.” Pulling him along by his hand, Gala drew him to the table and deposited him at the only other seat before taking hers.

Kelnry smiled at them and lifted her tea cup. “Welcome, Lady Quaice, I was hoping you’d come today. Our conversations were invigorating, and I was of a mind to continue them.”

“As was I,” Gala said as Kel poured Yirel a cup of tea and passed it over. “There was only so much that could be covered the other night, and with your engagement to Rhindov it’s only right that we have a cozy chat,”

In a daze, he sat and smoothed out his skirt. Only three chairs, so it was just them. He’d been expecting a slightly larger gathering, maybe some of Lady Keirn’s contemporaries and such. This was a much more private and intimate affair than he’d envisioned. He picked up the cup and called a smile to his face. “Of course, only right.” he said, taking a sip of the floral drink. His heart was pounding in his chest.

Kel pressed her lips together in a poor attempt to keep from smiling, though her eyes fully betrayed her. “Gala, you’re doing it again.”

Their host gasped and looked between them, before settling on Yirel. “I’m sorry, I do tend to rush into things.” Then she broke into a bright smile once more. “You see Lady Quaice, I was quite honest before when I said I found your spirit commendable. I’ve been intending to invite not only yourself but a few others I’ve had my eye on to a private gathering for some time.” She shrugged and lifted her cup, gracefully using that to accentuate her speech. “However it’s been a devil to organize between my other ventures and making sure not to ruffle feathers unnecessarily.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, despite it only being the three of them. “Not that they don’t need some ruffling. But it must be done carefully.” Galaden laughed and took a drink.

“That is to say that your engagement with Rhindov -no matter the circumstances- has given us the perfect excuse to have a chat,” Kel added. “And if I am not mistaken, that fits nicely with your own wishes?”

Yirel nodded, “Oh yes, very much. You’ve both known Rhindov for so much longer than I have, and there are things friends know and will say that the person in question might not,” he said. “Not that I’d ask you to betray any confidences.” Had her eye on him? And who were the others? Yirel felt a flare of panic in his chest. Just how ignorant had he been of others’ intentions?

“We never thought you would, Daring,” Gala said with a smile.

“Our impression of you is more favorable than that,” Kelnry chimed in.

Yirel ducked his head and took another sip of tea as the other two women chuckled. “I’m quite flattered ladies.”