Blue Eyes [ closed ]
Vera expected to travel directly to the South Tower at Faxril's side. He said they would sail as soon as he set foot on his ship and he wasn't the type to ride down elaborate, circling routes. So Vera had no idea why they were in the center of Trone, in the heart that pumped the cold blood of the golden city -- Pentioch Stretch. After leaving Anantal Manor, stone and marble buildings were like solemn phantoms lining the paved road. Wealthy merchants and lords passing on the street moved too perfectly, too silently. Even blossoms falling from the trees into small lawns were clean and neat, never out of place. Everything was frozen even in the warmth of the sun as if the Underworld was meant to be buried in beauty instead of soil. Faxril wasn't phased, but Vera felt Dinaden's hooves struck the road so loudly that the entire city would hear her. That whatever devil inhabited the beautiful statues and fearsome stone guardians of buildings would emerge and tempt her to draw her sword.
Faxril came to a stop in front of the larger buildings and dismounted. His dark cape flared out behind him as he dismounted.
"This is the house of Naevain Auvraeshel," he said. He tied his horse off at the curled iron railing in front of the home. A servant peered out the large wooden doors of the home as he did. "She is a elvish merchant and a very wealthy one. She is the daughter of a famed shipmaker from the floating cities of the Sun Elves. The heart of this mission revolves around the deal I am going to make with that elf. Lady Naevain is considered his voice to the world."
"What deal are you going to make?" Vera asked, looking past Faxril and towards the stone steps that led up to the house. When she glanced back at her brother she frowned. He wore the smile she hated most -- the slight upward curve that he only allowed to itch at the corners of his mouth when he knew more than she did. A subtle reminder that though Vera had crossed more miles than he, he remained superior in his own way.
If only he used his smile for kinder purposes, Faxril would have been a far better ambassador than she.
"I’m sure you will understand quickly enough just through listening. Come on," Faxril nodded toward the opening doors. "She knows we're here."
This was a show for the residents of Pentioch Stretch. The Lord of the South Tower visiting any merchant was a big to-do, but when he came without a traveling party or any of the political pomp that was expected in Trone? It was as if he were reporting back to Eistocene without sending a messenger. He merely wore his uniform and retained a White Rider at his side. Vera grit her teeth underneath her mask. Here soldiers were looked upon as being servants of the country. Owned by the country as one might own a household staff. The rich didn’t recognize rank or skill. Soldiers were not viewed with honor or gratitude. Those were qualities that one had to pay for in Trone. That Faxril hadn’t paid to show up properly was a message as loud as a clarion trumpet.
Vera had kept her mask on even once inside the front hall of Lady Naevain's stone home. The anonymity her uniform offered was welcome after the burning of Anantal. She didn’t need to control her expressions and no one could immediately identify her. On the street the mask was necessary, but in here...well. She hadn't needed to keep her mask on.. It just felt right. It felt safe. She remained quiet by Faxril's side as he spoke to the servant. He was the first aspect of this home to surprise her. Many lords and rich merchants used slaves in Trone and it was a disgusting practice, yet one she was often forced to tolerate as a White Rider. From the sharp intelligence in the man's eye and the way he held himself, however...and his clothing was too rich, his posture showed a degree of pride and he smiled too easily in Faxril's shadow. He was no slave.
Vera then took note of the front hall and found it to be equally unorthodox for a rich life in Trone. No ornate furniture, no busts of dead family members, no ugly rugs. Just mirrors and sheer, bold colored curtains hanging down from high ceilings. Light bounced off the mirrors and got stuck in those curtains, giving the hall an ethereal endlessness. The servant led them into the colorful storm, his path eased by a passing breeze that came from up ahead.
She had never met a Sun Elf. Vera heard more of this race from humans than other elves. Vera realized, as they entered a large, bright room, that she was curious for the first time in a long time. Faxril didn't look curious at all. She frowned. He knew a great deal more than whatever she would hear now. This was another political game. And Vera couldn’t stomach being a piece in that moment, even if that was all she could be.
"Please wait and relax. Lady Naevain will be in a moment," the servant said. He bowed, turned on his heel and left the room.
Faxril stood still for only a moment. Then he looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Is the mask truly necessary?”
“Is keeping me in the dark truly necessary?”
“You’re here. From where I stand the room is very bright.”
“I’ve had enough intrigue!”
Though the harshness of her words was contained in a whisper, it carried through the carpeted parlor as easily as a shout. Vera froze. Her brother’s face was a mask of cool annoyance, but nothing more. His lips were set in a neutral line. She hated that she couldn’t discern if he was angry or patient in that moment. There was no room to ask. Lady Naevain stood at the opposite end of the room with a jar of tiger lilies in her hands. The flowers were the first thing that caught Vera’s attention. The blue silks that draped over the woman’s shoulder and the glittering skirt were next. There were so many colors around them already, so many beautiful things that the elf wore, but the thing that struck Vera most was the woman’s eyes. An odd, electric shade of blue green. Vera had never really seen eyes like that.
Faxril straightened his back, the sour expression disappearing from his face. Vera didn’t know how he couldn’t. Even Vera straightened up when she saw her. She was beautiful.
“Intrigue is frustrating, isn’t it? I don’t particularly like politics, but because it runs so closely with business, I find myself caught up in games far too often,” Lady Naevain said. She paused a moment to set the jar down on a small table before gesturing to a small table with three chairs. “Your companion seems wounded, Lord Faxril. Won’t you both sit?”
“I’m not wounded,” Vera said.
“Her home was recently destroyed in a fire--”
“Faxril--”
Faxril pulled out a chair for her and would not move until she sat.
“--but as you can see, she is a strong-minded individual. Lady Naevain, this is my sister. Lady Vera of Beit-Orane. She will be lending her assistance to me in the matter we’ve discussed. It was a last minute decision on my part.”
The elven woman sat down after Faxril. Though Vera was glad for her mask, she wondered if it made any difference at all. Could this elf see right through it? Was she only enduring her as her brother was?
“I am sorry, Lady Vera, to hear about your home,” Naevain said. Her voice was quiet, but there was steelShe was quiet for a moment. “I have met White Riders before, having kept a home in Trone for many years. I have a great deal of respect for you.”
“Thank you,” Vera said. She folded her hands in her lap. “We often send Riders to Trone.”
“The streets can be as dangerous as they are ‘paved with gold’. I wish my problems were only confined to the streets of this country,” Naevain smiled. “I am speaking with both of you against the wishes of those who govern my home city. As any sea-faring person would know, the Axes of the Sun are neutral cities in this broken world, floating through a combination of science, magic and grace of the divine. Though inhabited mainly by Sun Elves, the Axes trade with almost every remaining nation. We both thrive and survive on trade. An alliance with anyone outside of our sister cities would color our dealings in an unfavorable way.” She gestured to the beautiful parlor they now sat in. “And image in business is everything.”
“I visited Axis Betelgeuse some months ago,” Faxril told Vera. He nodded to Naevain. “We went together. The Axes of the Sun are no stranger to pirates, but Axis Betelgeuse is plagued by an unusual amount of them. Our father sent me on a good will mission to offer aide. We were unfortunately denied for the reason Lady Naevain named.”
Vera frowned. All of the Elves she‘d run across in her journeys were proud people. They tended to be self-assured and condescending as well. It seemed odd that elves would take help from a human nation, much less in a place that seemed to be their element. “Well surely you have your own navy.”
Naevain smiled, as if responding to a joke. “I see you aren’t very familiar with us.”
“No,” Vera said, her voice short.
“Being neutral requires more than merely standing on the sidelines, Lady Vera. We do not want our trading partners to think we have our eyes on anything more than trade. Our navy is small, fast and purely defensive. Normally that would be enough against pirates, but as Lord Faxril said…they are too numerous.”
“Your government doesn’t seem to think so,” Vera pointed out. Faxril looked angry with her and she supposed she deserved that. She, however, was not going to enter into a shady agreement between nations without knowing why. “Aren’t you taking a great risk?”
“My government is afraid,“ Naevain said, her voice sharp and low. She set her hand on the table. “While I understand such fear, trade can not continue if our ships lack reliable routes. Seeing our goods and ships in the hands of pirates is far worse than asking for help. My father knows this. It is why we are reaching out to your country, alone.”
Vera shifted in her seat as she watched Naevain unroll a small piece of parchment. The movement was graceful and slow, but there was a small tremor in the elf’s fingers. It seemed that the elf was also wounded in a way, but Vera was not one to pry into the personal hells of someone else. She didn’t ask.
“My father, Nimudrim Auvraeshel, will build the Free Cities six flag ships and forfeit the designs in exchange for your assistance. Should you agree, one ship sits in the harbor of Trone as an advance on your payment.”
“Six?” Faxril asked.
Vera looked at her brother. There was surprise in his voice. Later she’d have to ask him if it was fake or real; his dark eyes were too complicated and guarded for her to tell.
“Yes, Lord Faxril. We hope that is enough reward for this task.”
“There must be more pirates than I thought.”
Naevain only smiled.
Faxril pinned the parchment down with one finger and turned it toward him, reading the fine calligraphy twice over. “You said nothing about sailing with a ship from your navy.”
“We would like a guarantee the actions of the Free Cities remain aligned with the interests of our city,” Naevain shrugged. “And you may need help adjusting to your new ship.”
“I think I will handle the ship fine on my own,” Faxril said with a tight laugh.
Vera wondered how insulted he was. Perhaps he wasn’t as used to dealing with elves as she thought. She peered at the parchment, feeling the eyes of Naevain on her, and then sat back in her seat. “You should sign it,” she said to her brother. “They are purely defensive, as she said. I am sure they won’t get in your way as long as what killing you do benefits their interests.”
Naevain’s eyes narrowed. Finally, Vera thought. A reaction that didn’t make her seem so damn perfect.
“Intrigue is annoying, isn’t it? Let‘s cut around it then,” Vera leaned forward. “You want us to rid you of pirates. There is only one way to do that and we both know it. We will kill so your people don’t have to. I am sure Lord Faxril will sign your contract and agree to a monitor, on the condition that no one gets in his way.”
The quiet that followed was tense, but Vera knew she got under the elven woman’s skin. She stared Naevain down as the moments passed, her gaze as steady as it’d been in the heavy rains of Tyrus. It was only a matter of seconds, of breaths. She could make monarchs spill ink as easily as she could spill blood. One day Vera would thank the Beiten-K’danav for beating the skill of negotiating into her.
“Agreed,” Naevain said, cooly.
Faxril nodded.
Vera sat back in her chair and watched her brother sign the contract. They would leave in two days, he told Naevain. They would sail after modifications were done to his new ship and meet the other pieces of his fleet in the Western Sea. He was right about getting her into trouble. She would have to send word to her Captain. She wondered how mad Agrippa would be for her running off this time without asking to have another Rider along. She smiled, feeling better almost instantly. It was good she had her mask.