As they waited for the mistress of the house to join them, Terry watched with more than a little satisfaction as Gilvane became increasingly nervous. He did keep his amusement on the inside, though. While he might be willing to talk to the woman, his goal remained the same. He wanted to get out of the pseudo-castle and out of the town more than ever. He could almost feel the jaws of unwanted destiny snapping closed around him like some kind of malevolent celestial bear trap. He hadn’t fled the stupidly pretty people’s unwanted destiny just to get snared in some alternative, but equally bad, one that required gnawing off his metaphysical foot at the ankle. Although, that would be right on goddamn brand for Chinese Period Drama Hell.
Gilvane shot him a couple of looks that Terry chose not to notice. The man could certainly cause him trouble, but it was pretty clear where the power rested in this house. Terry just needed to make nice enough with the lady to flee unmolested. Plus, if he acknowledged the other man’s frustrated looks, there was the distinct possibility that the other man might talk at him. It was easier to play the laconic wanderer if silence reigned than if he had to actively ignore questions or think up answers with a minimum of syllables. It honestly didn’t take the woman that long to approach, it just felt like forever to Terry. She gave him a curious, assessing look before she fixed a much sterner glare on Gilvane, who tried to straighten his already ramrod-straight posture even more.
“Introduce me,” she commanded.
Gilvane bowed to her. The man straightened his coat, locked his eyes somewhere in between Terry and the woman, and fixed his gaze in the middle distance.
“May I introduce Heletina, the Lady Silventar. Lady Silventar, this is,” the man hesitated, “Terry.”
Heletina gave Gilvane an expectant look like she expected a lot more information from him. Information that Terry knew the man didn’t have. Gilvane got a searching look on his face before inspiration apparently struck.
“Terry of the Adventurer’s Guild.”
Heletina fixed Gilvane with a look that said she was not at all amused by this dearth of useful knowledge about the man who had been all but dragged into her home. She kept that look on Gilvane until a bead of sweat trickled down from the man’s brow. Sighing, she turned a friendlier look to Terry, who had felt no compulsion to intervene with any of that extra information she was looking for. Gilvane had made his own bed, he should be happy to lie in it while his boss set it aflame.
“Terry,” she said in a musing tone that he didn’t trust at all. “That’s an unusual name. I’ve never heard it before. Where is it from?”
“North,” said Terry.
He supposed it was even sort of true. As he was the only one with that name in this world, apparently, and he had come from the north, that meant that the name was also from the north. He suspected he was engaging in some kind of logical gymnastics that bordered on the land of pure sophistry, but he found his conscience unbothered by that fact. It was also an answer that still served the purpose of shutting down too many questions. There was that pesky war in the north. Refugees might not be flooding this part of the nation or empire or whatever carnival shitshow passed as a form of government, but Terry had to believe that at least some refugees from that conflict existed. If he implied he was one of them, politeness should keep highborn personages indoctrinated in manners from pressing too hard. It seemed that this Lady Silventar was one of those types.
“Oh, I see. What’s happening there is a tragedy for many.”
“It is,” Terry agreed.
It’d be even more of a tragedy if I have to go there. Still, he was happy to see the plan worked, because she immediately changed gears.
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“You’re an adventurer?” she asked.
Terry nodded.
“What’s your rank?”
“Three,” he answered.
She gave him a much sharper look at that. He could feel that she didn’t believe him, so he fished out his badge and showed it to her. She frowned at it like she thought that maybe it was fake, but ultimately just nodded.
“Are you on a contract now?” she asked.
It sounded like an innocuous question for a split second, but Terry froze. Something told him that the question was a trap. He just didn’t know what kind of trap. He vacillated in his head. He wasn’t sure what to say. His instinct was to lie through his teeth and say yes. That way, he could plead urgency and hopefully speed up his departure. Except, he wasn’t a very good liar. He had an intuition that this woman was probably a better liar than him and probably well-practiced in spotting deceit. Knowing my luck, she’s got some skill or technique that helps her spot flagrant lies. If he said he wasn’t on a contract, though, he’d have a harder time convincing anyone that he had urgent business elsewhere. He’d already implied he was from the north, which probably meant that his family was there or had used to be if he stuck with the refugee story. Saying he was needed in the South would draw questions. He’d need to make up a story, and he was back to his original problem of not being a good liar.
He also had to remind himself that the Adventurer’s Guild might spill the truth about whether he was on a contract or not. The guy at this local branch had seemed alright, but it was one thing to sneak Terry out the back. It was something else to say no to power. That was especially true if they applied a carrot-and-stick approach of money and threats. Terry was just a stranger passing through, guild member or not. That guy was stuck here. If their roles were reversed, Terry would probably sell that guy out like a scalper with Taylor Swift concert tickets. Hell, that question wasn’t even that suspicious. They might be asking because they wanted to hire him directly through the guild for some adventurer work. Shit, he thought. They might not even need to threaten or bribe the guy.
“No,” Terry finally answered. “No contract.”
“Excellent. In that case, given the appalling behavior of my daughter and servants,” she shot Gilvane another look, “you must stay for dinner.”
“That’s not necessary. Just a misunderstanding,” said Terry, probably a little too fast.
“I insist. It’s the least we can do to make up for your mistreatment,” said Heletina.
Fuck me sideways. I think I just got checkmated by civility. As badly as he wanted to go, she had neatly boxed him in. If he insisted on leaving, he’d be the one giving offense by being rude after her attempt to make amends. He thought hard about it. Part of him thought it might be worth angering them to get away sooner. Terry tried to remember every British period film he’d ever seen. He didn’t even know what a baronet was. Was it like the diet cola version of a baron? Not that it mattered. He didn’t really know what a baron was either. The only thing he knew for sure about nobility was that dukes were high mucky mucks. Everything below that was just a hazy impression of hereditary power in his head.
They were in this relatively small town. He wondered if that made them minor nobility. Of course, minor meant different things to different people. Minor here might mean they only had fifty soldiers to hound him instead of two hundred. For one him, traveling alone, that difference was academic. He might be able to fight them off fifty soldiers or even two hundred soldiers, but he didn’t know. What if all their soldiers are like me? I’d be screwed seven ways to Sunday. I’m going to have to play along. He offered her what he hoped looked like a genuine smile and not a resigned, sickly, deathhead rictus.
“I could use a meal,” he muttered.
“Wonderful,” she said before clapping her hands.
A woman dressed like some of the other servants seemed to appear from nowhere. It was so abrupt that Terry found himself looking around and trying to figure out where the hell she had come from. The new woman offered a deferential nod to Heletina, quirked an eyebrow at Gilvane, and gave Terry a neutral look.
“My lady,” she said.
“Terry here,” Heletina said, gesturing at him, “will be joining us for dinner. Please escort him to a guest suite and see to it that he isn’t bothered until then.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Terry, this is Amaline, my personal servant. She’ll take excellent care of you.”
“Thanks,” said Terry, not trusting himself to say more.
Feeling trapped with no graceful way to escape, Terry just nodded at the new woman. It’s just going to be a wildly awkward dinner with people you don’t know and never wanted to know. It’ll suck for a few hours, but then it’ll be done. While Terry would rather shave with a manual cheese grater than endure such a meal, he still thought it was marginally better than fighting his way out of the city. He didn’t need more enemies. How bad could a meal really be, after all?