Outside, a knight dressed in the crest of the Daliega family swept them into a carriage. All about them, the city was waking up. People carried baskets of vegetables and meat atop their heads on their way to their restaurants and food carts. Near the end of their ride the vendors had begun cooking their breakfast offerings. Scents filtered in through the windows.
“I could follow those smells like a homing beacon. Watch me float along those stink lines like a cartoon.” She mused longingly.
Adna shook her head in defeat. “What is a cartuin.” Pronouncing the o-o-n like Ewen. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll promise to try not to uncover any life-changing secrets. I’m just sick of not understanding your references. You make it hard to get close to you.”
Timbrelle looked at her companion, her friend.
“Once we find the medium. Then I’ll tell you everything. Can you wait for me until then?”
Adna studied her intently and gave the eventual smile. “Let’s hurry and find it then. I don’t know much about myself but I am certain I’m not patient.”
Timbrelle laughed. “I could have told you that.”
***
Trestovan leaned against the wall at the back of the room. He’d been much less worried about the two than Gren. Lovable Gren.
“Did you know that the Yost Proper City Guard spent the night searching for you?” Gren demanded. “And how do you spend hours on the streets without running into them?”
Bookish and perfection obsessed, most saw Gren as an uptight bore. It was far from untrue. The true allure of the studious head guard from a tiny village outpost was his constant sincerity. Angry, confused, happy, he didn’t see any point in obscuring his thoughts. This frequently led to long winded explanations of his interests and a general lack of awareness for social cues. It was also why his overwhelming drive and loyalty had only taken him as far as a desk in the periphery of Yost.
Trestovan felt compelled to step in and allow the women a reprieve. Having spent the night searching for the two alongside the city guard, he allowed them to apologize just a few more times before speaking up.
“They seem penitent, Gren. Perhaps we should let them go with a warning. No use beating the cow to get whipped cream. Let’s have lunch.” He clapped, summoning a servant. “Prepare the dining room and dress the ladies for the day. Let me show you the aviary, Grenway. I’ll introduce you to the raptors.”
Gren lightened a little, caught off guard by Trestovan’s suggestion. “Maybe after. I need to prepare for the hearing. Let go of me, sir. Sir. Sir.”
Moira shut the door behind them.
“Gren, listen to me.” He linked his arm with the slightly shorter man and lead him down the hallway. “I received a delivery from the Temple of Nerrus just before I called off the search. My dear Gren. Do you know what they sent?”
“What dealings do you have with the Temple of Nerrus?” Gren puzzled, now intrigued. “It can’t be anything good.”
“We are of the same mind yet again, my friend. But to my surprise, there was no poison or dismembered body part.” He produced a pink jewel the size of an olive. He placed it in Gren’s hand.
“Is this an aurora stone?” He asked in awe. “It’s pink; does it heal?”
“It was included in a package with a thank you note and instructions for fitting this stone into a slot in the garden. Would you care you join me for tea and a mystery before your hearing?” He kissed Gren’s hand with a flourish.
Gren laughed and slugged the young master in the arm. “Stop it. Don’t joke around like that. I know you have to channel that energy somewhere when there isn’t a pretty lady nearby, but someone might think you’re serious.” He bounded off for the gardens mentioning the time twice before clearing the doorway outside.
Trestovan watched him speed walk away. That man could be so dense. He sighed and jogged after him.
They found the setting right away. Trestovan had planned the hunt as a diversion for Gren, but Gren was the most Gren when he was nervous. He’d practically walked right up to the tiny hole the size of exactly half the pink stone.
Sensing each others presence, the gem started to vibrate and the hole began dissolving the detritus of centuries in the elements. As it vibrated, the stone seemed to pull toward the setting. It wanted this. Trestovan encouraged Gren to place the stone. He needed no persuasion. More likely, he had been politely strangling the urge to relieve Trestovan of the jewel and find out what happens when you combine the two.
Gren inserted the pink stone.
…nothing. There was no burst of magic. No flash of blinding pink light. They stood before a chest-high retaining wall of dark granite, waiting for the aurora stone to work its magic.
“I thought it would be more exciting than this.” Gren observed.
“I thought so too. The instructions claimed that it would likely be a day before we saw the full results, but I had hopes for something a little more… flashy. Oh well, we will see the results soon enough. Sandwiches!” Trestovan guided the man into a chair at a tea table. “Eat. I will assure that you are not late for your appointment.”
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Gren bit into a sandwich. “Moira makes the best egg sandwiches. You must be tired of them though, it she seems to make them for every meal.”
“I wish she would make them for me. I told her that they were your favorite. To be entirely fair to moira, they appear to be the only thing you eat when they’re offered.”
“Bere dutht tho dood.” Gren whined through a mouth of egg. He swallowed with visible effort and tried again. “They’re just so good. I can’t help myself when I see them. That’s probably why you invite me over so often. Right? So you can get more sandwiches. Don’t worry, I’ll help you out.”
“Should I tell her to expect you more often? I-I love egg sandwiches.” Trestovan tested, unable to mask his surprise.
“I think I could visit on my days off. I shouldn’t make too many visits, you’d need a whole new henhouse to support me.” Gren laughed and chomped into his second sandwich.
“Yes, yes, yes, House Daliega will fall to your excessive appetite for Moira’s sandwiches. How will we ever recover from this financial disaster?” Trestovan sipped his tea.
Gren threw a crust of bread at the rustling flowerbeds. “May I see the letter from the Temple of Nerrus?”
Trestovan handed over the brilliant white envelope. “Nevermind Moira, the gardener will have your head if you reintroduce homing moles to the gardens.”
“How do you get paper this white? It looks like it’s glowing.” He squinted at the seal. “You should have the rhinestone in the wax checked, I think it might actually be an aurora jewel.” He handed the empty envelope back.
“Nerrus is truly an enigma. Wasting a precious stone on something so trivial.”
“Addressed to your father, eh? I’m sure the tiny stone in the wax would have been payment enough… but what exactly are they paying him for?” Gren wondered aloud.
“Read it.” Trestovan nodded to the letter. “Good luck.”
“His Eminence, Lord Daliega. We, the servants of Our God, offer gratitude for the care and hospitality shown to our congregation. The Daliega Family of present does a great service to the memory of their generations past. In recognition, Our God has returned Viridiance to the Daliega grounds. May you find ascension.” Gren looked to Trestovan. “I think I understand even less than before. Did you aid their congregation in some meaningful way? Is Viridience the gem? Why would it be pink when its name means green?”
“A greater mystery, no?” Trestovan poured his company more tea. “As far as I know, I have never once had dealings with Nerrus or his people. If I’m being painfully honest, I thought it was a cult like those Jir animals. I steered clear. But let me ask you this. Do you know where we found our guests this morning? Hm?”
“No idea.” When the young aristocrat paused for dramatic effect, he pressed again. “Where were they Trestovan? Or do you only respond to ‘Tovan’ now?”
He perked up. “You know what? Yes. Only Tovan. I forbid you from using any other form of address.”
“Whatever. Tovan, where did you find Adna and Timbrelle?” Gren reminded, impatiently.
“The Temple of Nerrus, of course.” He sipped the last of his tea with a smug expression as Gren’s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull.
“You joke.”
“I assure you, I do not. We found their cab driver just before the sun came up. He repeatedly confirmed that he had left them in the street near the Temple of Nerrus. We left a guard to watch the temple. Lo and behold, daybreak brings the women out from a building no larger than the garden shed. My scout reported four additional people exiting the temple and quite literally disappearing into the morning foot-traffic.”
“Please tell me you didn’t try to follow them.” Gren groaned. “Followers of Nerrus are incredibly secretive and wealthy. It wouldn’t do you any good to find out that your neighbors are His disciples. They’ll wipe out your whole family if they think you know their secret.”
“I should start referring to you as ‘Grim’, you're always so cheery. I have no intention of uncovering their identities, but you’re wrong about one thing. It would be a very fortunate day, the day I learned who sits in Nerrus’s congregation.” Trestovan sat back, scowling at the noisy flower bed. “The moles are back with a vengeance, it seems. I’m going to sell you out if I get in trouble with the gardener.”
“Why would that be such a good thing? How do you think they would respond to you knowing that kind of information?” Gren was visibly tiring of Trestovan’s aristocratic talk. The wrinkle of annoyance between the man’s eyebrows told him that he needed to wrap up the guessing game.
“Because they are incredibly wealthy, Gren. They eat jewels and shit empires. Excuse my language. If you are in the good graces of a Nerrus devotee–” He let out a long breath, shaking his head. “Just look at the envelope.” The pale orange aurora stone peeked out from the wax.
Trestovan meant every word he said. If the temple used aurora jewels to decorate their stationary, perhaps it was time to get off his high horse and begin making connections that would bring house Daliega closer to Nerrus. It was common knowledge that the congregation of Nerrus was populated by only the ultra rich. A necessity of the religion. The real question was which of the two bedraggled guests was affiliated with Nerrus? One? Both?
He shooed the thought away when the aforementioned guests approached the garden. The smaller one, Timbrelle, held a hand over her eyes as if to shield them from the sun. A completely inscrutable action when she aimed the hand at the retaining wall instead of the sun.
“Ugh, whats with all the pink.” she asked.
Trestovan and Gren shared a confused look.
“There’s no pink, Timbrelle.” Adna chimed in.
“Oh,” she mumbled to herself, “smells freaking delicious so it’s probably one of those.”
“Sit.” Trestovan gestured to the empty seats beside them. “Try the egg sandwiches. Gren, you’ll need to eat these before they’re gone. We can go over the hearing details as well.”
He pulled out Timbrelle’s chair and attempted to do the same for the larger, more hostile woman. She gave the chair a disgusted look and opted to stand.
“May I show you something?” He asked Timbrelle, who agreed. “This is a letter Daliega received from the Temple of Nerrus. Go ahead, read it.”
“That smells really good. I don’t think I should touch-” she began in a torrent of words. Once the envelope touched her hands, the woman brought it directly to her mouth and bit the wax seal right off the paper.
“Ah shit.” The other woman, Adna, said. “I’m usually way better about that but sometimes they just, woop, slip right past me.”
Trestovan looked on in horror as the woman gagged the wax back out onto the brick. Her companion smacked her back yielding more flecks of glittering blue. Sure enough, the small orange stone was nowhere to be seen.
“Oh gods…” Timbrelle croaked. “This has got to be the worst superpower.”
“The Regurgitator.” Adna laughed. “You know, like ‘The Bulk’?”
“I told you, that wasn’t his name. It was just a stand-in until I could remember the real one.” The other woman corrected, dusting tiny shreds of envelope paper off her skirt. “Then I remembered the real one. You need to switch.”
“You spent three hours telling me The Fantastic Bulk’s story. I’m sorry. That’s his name now.”
The women glared at one another before turning their attention back to the letter. They read it to each other as the men looked on in stunned silence.
Trestovan went pale.
Gren placed a calming hand on his knee. The only sound between them, the aggressive rustling of the plants.