*Varice*

Varice suppressed a shudder.

It was cold in Ryonic castle, as it always was. The duke was a hard man and wouldn’t allow the waste of heating such a large fortress. There was also the more significant factor of him deliberately choosing to present an overly austere façade to his enemies. The creeping chill pervading every inch of the fortress wasn’t what inspired her hastily covered shiver though.

Instead, it was the presence of her liege-lord’s son.

Estan stood behind her, leaning one arm against the door in what he no doubt thought was a dashing display of masculine confidence. She thought he looked rather like a spoiled noble brat. Hard to look like anything other than what you are.

She sighed, folding a small scroll back upon itself and placing it on the side of her small desk. She stood and turned to face the young man, raising a single eyebrow in question and folding her arms across her stomach.

She watched his eyes travel up her figure and nearly shivered again. The only thing preventing her from beating some respect into him was that if she ever called the sick little prick out on his behaviour, he’d surely say something that would force her to kill him there and then, and the duke would never forgive her for his son’s death. Even if she privately thought that he might understand it.

“Yes? I assume there’s a reason you are here?” She asked. Just because she couldn’t kill him didn’t mean she needed to play along with his delusions, however. Her curt tone was clearly lost on the man though, as he dropped his arm and slunk into the cramped room.

“My lovely Varice! Such a small room you have here – my father clearly doesn’t understand the value that you bring to him. On my heart, I vow I will treat you better when I inherit his responsibilities.”

“It is functional and keeps me out of the way of visiting dignitaries. I don’t have much time for distractions.”

Predictably, Estan didn’t get the hint, instead doing his best to look interested as he looked around her small office. He couldn’t quite seem to keep the disdain from his face though; that perpetual sneer in evidence even while attempting to be charming.

“Well, my office is always at your disposal should you wish it.” He said, turning to face her. He had managed to manoeuvre himself so that she stood between him and door, as if she had visited him in his chambers instead of the reverse.

Varice sighed internally, deciding to be even more direct. “Why are you here?”

Estan sighed dramatically, speaking in such a weary tone it almost seemed like he had the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders already.

“My father is struggling, Varice. He hides it well, but I see the lines that stress has carved on his face. The Marchlands have flourished under his rule, and yet the peasants are less than grateful. The Sultanate has extended an arm of friendship, but it is a delicate offer to receive, as the Sunset Court is more divided than ever. Such problems are well within his ability to handle, but I fear the realm of foreign policy has taken too much of his attention as of late.”

Varice had grown up as the third daughter to a minor baron in the Marchlands. Her father wasn’t rich enough to have much influence at the Sunset Court but was still important enough within the Marchlands that she couldn’t be allowed the freedom to choose her own path. That was as much a death sentence for a smart woman as the axe. And yet, despite that upbringing, she’d not heard a bigger cartful of shit in her life.

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“Speak plainly, Estan. What is it you want?”

“I wish to help reduce the burden my father bears. I know he keeps you within his confidence – for good reason – and I wish to work with you to accomplish his aims.” Varice once again restrained herself from rolling her eyes, but his next words caused her to focus again.

“I know you have sent the Lions after the Butcher of Sternsbridge.” It was a heavy statement, dropped into the space between them as a stone into calm water. He looked at her intently, as if trying to read from her face any falsehood or surprise.

And surprised she was. She hadn’t expected the fop to know anything about what was happening beyond the edge of his wine glass, but her face betrayed nothing. She was spymaster to the most powerful man in the Western Marchlands, and he would need to uncover more than that to get a rise out of her. Besides, that was the cover story of their real plan – it was designed to be seen and scrutinised.

“Interesting. I didn’t expect your interest to extend beyond our borders. I won’t deny what is clear to all; Yes, we are aiming to bring the Butcher to justice.”

Estan’s face lit up like he had unveiled some ancient secret from the jaws of a dragon, rather than noticed an obvious move made known to many within the Sunsets. Still, surprising he had noticed at all. She would have to have one of her people investigate his movements for a time – her open contempt for the man may be biasing her in this respect, but she was convinced that he hadn’t discovered the move on his own. If someone was helping him…Varice would need to know about it.

“Excellent news, and a worthy cause if there ever was one! Tell me though; how did my father know where to send the Lions? I’ve heard reports that the Talons dispatched have not reported in, and that can only mean that they have met the Butcher on the field.”

She nodded to herself, now certain they had stumbled upon the true reason for his visit. “I am not able to discuss the details, Estan. You will need to convince your father to share that. I have received no such orders.”

He hummed in thought, as if turning the pieces around in his mind until they fit the pattern he was hoping for. She doubted he was doing any such thing, simply hoping his presence would somehow force her into spilling secrets he was unsuited to hold. Better luck with the barmaids and air-headed aristocrats he surrounded himself with.

“If that is all? I have work to return to.” She stepped aside and gestured to the door. He took the time to look her up and down again before sauntering out, looking back over his shoulder at her as he rounded the corner. Prick.

She turned back to her desk, making sure to lock the door first. A deep breath, and then she activated her first skill, the one that had set her on her current path. Complex sigils appeared in the air before her, outlined in the glow of her infused spirit. Neon green lit the room with a soft light, and she reached out a hand to select three of the two-dozen sigils in sequence, rotating and dragging them across the air and into place.

A faint click, and then a seam of green light split the air, parting reality like a curtain being opened in the middle of the room.

She stepped forward into her Tower of Secrets, and searched for the correct book, taking it off a meticulously organised shelf and carrying it to a writing desk in the centre of the liminal space. She sat down and began to write, filling the blank pages with the new information she had gained, and the possible implications she could draw from it.

Time passed, and she returned to the real world, the green glow fading from the room. Another flex of spirit, and another skill was activated. A sleek purple raven was conjured forth from the aether and spent a few moments staring at its master.

“Share with Duke Ryonic my concerns: his son is sniffing around where he should not, and appears to be receiving information from somewhere else. I suspect Escribar, but it is hard to know. He appears to have no knowledge of The Seer, but I do not wish to risk it. I’ll leave some hints pointing towards our deal with Demitrious in Storm’s Harbour, and hope he takes the bait.”

The raven cocked its head to one side in that unnerving way that uncannily smart birds possess, and then took flight, ducking out of reality in a burst of purple feathers that floated slowly to the floor before vanishing themselves. Varice smiled to herself, remembering fondly her younger self’s flare for the dramatic.

Some may consider the extravagance a waste of spirit – an unoptimized skill – but she found it a fair price to pay for the reminder of who she once had been. Her steely eyes rose from the stone floor and back to her desk, and she sighed.

More work to do.