It was as lovely a prison as anyone could ever hope to be held in. And Lord Ashe stood in the shadows that rested in the corner farthest from the bright and sunlight filled south facing windows that overlooked the distant harbor of the city of Ghlow watching the handsome man who sat in the overstuffed low chair by the exit to the heavily barred balcony.
Make no mistake, the gray man in black and silver livery thought to himself …this prison cell may be one of the most well appointed cells in the kingdom, but this is still a cell.
The room was beautiful, and filled with all of the appropriate comforts for a well regarded political envoy visiting from a country with which Rhiada and its king wanted to talk trade. With furniture too heavy to move, much less to throw at unsuspecting guards or other functionaries, made to the most meticulous standards of style and fashion. The food laid out was all cut to simple, bite sized pieces, no knives or even spoons needed to stuff ones’ self with a delightfully prepared meal, and chilled wine and water sat in beautifully worked pewter ewers, with matching cups near at hand.
Ashe would admit, the ewers and cups were something that could be used as weapons. Though, they could not be wielded well… not to great effect, at least.
Even the fireplace against the far wall was gated off inside the wall by an ornate iron grill, and servants would tend to the fire from an adjoining side room that this room’s occupants could not reach to cause harm nor mischief.
The man sat. Staring into the play of light on the gently moving reflective surface of the wine in his little pewter cup. Ashe noted it was a white wine, from the scent in the air, probably in imported sweet, mild, fruity wine from one of the near the southern coast of Jheddo. This batch, Ashe considered, had made a very long journey to slake the thirst of a stunned Parthiqueen diplomat.
His head was well proportioned, and well shaped, with smooth skin that had to have been tended to and oiled daily to gain the level of basalt statue-like shine and darkly even surface. He could tell this because the intricately braided hair the man had been sporting when he and his people had arrived now sat on one of the other chairs in the room, a wig. The sprawl of braids peeking out from the mass of cushions reminded Ashe of some of the many armed sea creatures he had seen over the years in various ports. He doubted this particular many-armed horror would be nearly as tasty as those others.
“You were introduced to Lord Baison and myself as Odilien, a member of the Parthiqueen nobility sent here to engage with our King and his ministers to create a trade deal, is that true, sir?” Ashe waited as the dejected man digested this.
After a moment, in a scratchy voice that had screamed too much, for too long, and too recently answered with a barely audible “To which part do you refer, my friend?”
“For the moment, let us just start with your name, shall we?” He kept his voice steady, not wanting to further spook the man, and send him into a recalcitrant silence. “I would like to just speak with you, and knowing the name of those with whom I speak is the basest of courtesies.”
“I am Odilien, as I said to you in the courtyard. Brother to Ocelia. Second son of the Marquis Limron Uscat and Her Highness la Reine, Diere of Parth.” With this, he slowly stood, turned to Ashe, and flowed into a graceful bow.
The man still wore the tunic of richly dyed silk under a draped chiton of a contrasting color of silk. Ashe could see a few spots where blood, and other things, had stained the fabric. Odilien looked tired, and stunned, by what had happened in the receiving room before the king. Possibly by the event itself, or by the number of people who had been killed around him. He may just feel shocked that whatever the plan they had been trying to enact had been so thoroughly batted aside.
Myrl is better at defensive spells than I am. He thought as he looked at the rumpled clothing and haggard expression of the Parthique representative who stood bowing before him. It made a sort of sense to Ashe, he had taught Myrl to defend himself first and foremost before erer teaching the boy a single offensive spell. In Myrl’s frustration and chafing under the restrictive yoke of a cautious teacher, he had worked to turn some defensive spells and charms to the offensive.
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Often in innovative and terrifying ways… Ashe had to stop himself from smiling at the thought. He needed to arrange another lesson with the boy this week. We need to regularly drill on the basics.
“Lord Odilien, please sit. I am just here to see that you are doing well after… the incident. And that your needs are being met.” He tried to look concerned, though Ashe would be the first to admit he wasn’t the best at controlling his expressions beyond such expressions as “Stoic” or, more often, “Disinterested Anger.”
As Odilien sat back down, he looked up at Lord Ashe where he stood in the darkest corner of the room. “My lord, I am obviously at your and, by extension, King Myrl’s pleasure. I realize that what transpired in those chambers have sealed my fate, and that of all the members of my party.” At this he looked down at his hands, now folded together in his lap.
Ashe took a moment to gather his thoughts. He didn’t want the man to view him as an enemy, but Odilien and his party had committed the worst breach of political etiquette, to attempt an assassination sloppily, and publicly, with no chance of turning suspicions to another party. He exhaled a slow sigh to show his displeasure with the entire kerfuffle.
“Lord Odilien, please be assured that We will be looking into this incident, and working to discern exactly to whom it is We owe the current sense of displeasure our King is feeling.”
Odilien never looked up at Ashe as he said this. Ashe didn’t blame him overmuch. It was an intolerable situation to find oneself in.
“If you would like to direct my inquiries in any productive direction, I would be appreciative.” Ashe said.
Odilien chuckled quietly at this. “My lord, as I am currently at the mercy of the young King’s pleasure, I feel horrified in presuming so much. But, if I may ask…”
“Lord Odilien, it is my understanding that your sister, Lady Ocelia, is sleeping peacefully in a special warded and reinforced room, and is under the care of the King’s personal physician and the Court Mage, who will ensure that she remains healthy while she heals. No harm will come to her. Three members of your party were unharmed, and they are now resting in the other rooms in this very hall.” Ashe paused for a moment. “Three members of your party were beyond saving, sadly. We will need the details of your country’s faith traditions to honor them in their passing. The remaining four members of your party were injured to one degree or another, and are being seen to by our healers.”
Ashe watched as the man’s breathing changed, and he began to gently cry. He tried to repress it, but was unable. Ashe didn’t remark on it, he didn’t want to embarrass the man. Ashe’s own people, long lost to him, would openly cry, or laugh, or even sing if the mood took them. The people of Rhiada, and Parthique for that matter, thought men couldn’t be “MEN” without repressing themselves until they damaged themselves emotionally.
He had attempted to raise Myrl better, but he also tried to raise Myrl to be a proper King to his people.
As he turned to the door to leave, stopping at the threshold he turned back to Odilien. “An odd thing, Counsellor. When I sent a few of my people to ask some questions of the captain who had brought your party to Rhiada, they had already left port. The captain of the Nuages D'argent had apparently yelled out orders to cut themselves away from the dock with axes, and set sail at all available speed a mere hour after your party had left the ship, from reports.”
Odilien’s head whipped up at this news. “What?” The man was more than just surprised, he was angry.
Ashe was pleased to see this news had, at the very least, surprised the man. It meant he didn’t expect it. It meant that Odilien most likely wasn’t knowingly a part of whatever this plot entailed. It meant that Ashe needed to look elsewhere for more substantial answers.
“Don’t worry, my lord. My king has some excellent naval talent to call upon. We had two ships out and set after the… “Silver Clouds” and her captain. They will be back with us within a few very short days, if they don’t find themselves Feeding the Leviathan, as the sailors say.”
Ashe stepped through the door, and made his way to the next room across the hall. He needed to talk to the surviving herald who was chanting during the party’s introduction to the King.