The Baron sat in his sizeable overflowing chair. The cushions compressed to death underneath him as he sipped at a large flagon of what smelled like spiced wine. The giant grin on his face as I entered the room distracted me for a moment, but only for a moment. My father was seated in an opposite corner next to a young girl, his body language screamed protection, but something about it was wrong.

Of course, that was when my mother tapped my side with the flat of a dagger.

My rebuke for my mother's games was cut short when Snowy charged into the room, bodily pulling me out of 'danger.' My mother, dressed as the handmaid that I hadn't even noticed, had followed us to the Baron's meeting room. Raising her daggers and shaking them as if to draw attention to the weapons, she trailed us into the room. My mother's features blurred and shifted in my mind, her disguise as an unimportant maid trying to take over my vision. The giant grin as she playfully attacked Snowy said everything about her. The Baron and my father didn't move, watching as my mother charged, even remaining silent as Snowy grabbed the nearest chair to defend herself.

I could imagine the mess that the pair would make in the room, my mother with her [Distracted Combat], and Snowy with [Improvised Weaponry]. Before the two could clash, I yelled, my voice and the violence leaving the young woman my father was guarding a shivering mess.

"Damn it, mom! Stop attacking Snowy!"

It wasn't until after the room grew silent that I realized my mistake.

"Snowy?" my mom asked, her face still obscured, but the smile slipping out all the same.

"Snowy?" the Baron repeated, his face like a granite cliffside.

Flushing red, I looked to Snowy as she questioningly mouthed the word 'mom?' in my direction. Despite the sudden calm, she still brandished her impromptu weapon at my mother.

My father simply grinned, his smile unchanging, but I swore that his eyes twinkled slightly at my predicament.

"Damn it, mom! Do you always have to pull this crap?" I asked, while my emotions roiled.

Slipping her knives away, my mother casually walked over to me while ignoring the large woman with the chair she had been threatening moments before. "You know I do it for your own good," she said as she kissed me on the cheek then nearly bounced in childlike glee to her husband.

To my surprise, mom didn't flounce into my father's lap as I expected. Instead, she circled around the young woman's chair and took up a position behind her. This was so out of character that I stared in confusion. My mother couldn't care less for propriety when she wasn't acting a role. She behaved like she existed beyond or outside the rules of any society, dipping into them to act out a part and then abandoning it when she no longer needed them. If she continued to act the role of a maid, she would have sat demurely to the side, never flinching from the perfect handmaiden. Since she abandoned her act, I was expecting her to throw herself at my father and snuggle into his arms. I was glad to be spared from their usual amorous behavior, but there were only two reasons she would skip that kind of thing. She felt there was danger, or she was still working a job.

With that hint, I knew to look twice at the young girl - which might have been the point of my mother's actions, hinting at what I should notice.

At first glance, she appeared to be a young girl, but I was wrong. She wasn't of noble birth, but she showed some of the signs of constant Skills on her heritage. Her hair was thick and long, her fingernails trimmed and well cared for, skin smooth and blemish-free, but it was the eyes that gave it away. The other signs could have been from simple care and comfort, unlikely in someone so obviously thin from lack of food as to almost be emaciated. Still, the eyes showed clear signs of a bloodline Skill. I wasn't familiar with her markings; for some, it was an obvious adaptation like a slit pupil or a bright color, but it could also be subtler. The visibility of an adaptation said nothing to the Skill's power, the King's family bloodline marking was to simply have larger than average eyes. The woman's eyes - and she was a woman no matter how the smaller frame and oversized clothing hinted otherwise - were marked by four rings of color. Subtly the shifting colors moved from an odd sickly yellow to deep vibrant green in four sharp circles. Beyond the colors, I could see something in those eyes, huddling in the near shaking form.

Anger. She was furious. Her rage was barely constrained by an iron band of control.

Snowy grumbled as she turned her chair around and collapsed into it. Her movements drew me out of my introspection and the realization that I had been silently eyeballing the young woman while everyone else watched.

My mother gave me an exasperated grin in response to my look. Father continued the silent vigil, while the Baron's growing smile said it had been more than long enough for everyone to notice, and that it was beyond inappropriate. Snowy suddenly shifted her chair slightly further from where I hovered awkwardly in the center of the room.

Glancing around, I grabbed the nearest chair and then placed it on Snowy's side of the room, trying to signal where my support lay. My mother let free a small tinkling laugh at my expense, which made Snowy grin for some reason. In the space of the few seconds of moving a chair, my mother - who had pulled a knife on her! - was now suddenly Snowy's friend, or at least they would be working together. I never claimed to understand women, and I was convinced I never would. Sharing a look between us, my father subtly rolled his eyes to show he understood how I felt, though I noticed he did it out of his wife's line of sight.

"Good. If you are done playing games with my daughter, Jezebella?" the Baron asked, his voice proclaiming that it wasn't a question.

For a moment, my mother shifted into her act again, her body language screaming subservience. She tightened her hands where they rested on her peasant dress, shoulders hunching slightly as they drew in, and head dipped. It was a master class in [Acting] in a single moment. Then the moment was gone, and the smile was back, and her carefree movements laughed at us silently. Still, I was having trouble separating the outfit from my mother; the disguise and her Skill leading me to forget they were the same woman. It had been long enough that I was starting to lose the knack for ignoring the outfit and seeing the person underneath. There was something deeply wrong about not being able to recognize the features of your own mother.

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With a flash of [Meditation]'s passive insight, I realized that was one of the reasons I disliked Mason's disappearing act. It reminded me of my mother's Skill, how it messed with my head, and that his was the only Skill I'd seen that outclassed my mother's for hiding. My mother might be able to fit into any crowd, but Mason could disappear in an empty hall. I took pride and comfort in the thought that no one could hide like my mother, and knowing someone who could best her did not sit well with me.

Grumbling, the Baron took a larger swig of his spiced drink, forcing everyone to wait before he continued speaking.

"Mason returned from his little trip, dropping off Abigail here. He'll be back soon, but he is off on another mission for me," The Baron began, before he snorted for a moment and continued, "Yet again. So much for retirement. I swear the man almost whistled when I sent him off," he said with a headshake.

Turning to his daughter, he said, "The men reached the fortress, and as you thought, it was abandoned, and all the men were killed. They even left slaughtered animals in the keep to add to the undead's growth! Bastards. Smart Bastards. They also left everything of note there, so I couldn't use magical tracking to find them. Somewhere on my lands, I've got a small mercenary troop ready to rip into me the moment I move to shove a dirk in Mard."

Interrupting him, Snowy leaned forward, her hands gripping on the table, "So, it was Mard? Are you sure?" she asked while she smiled a vicious grin.

Nodding, the Baron tilted his head toward Abigail, "This one is proof enough of it. Mard is playing some deadly games, and this one was part of it. As long as she is alive, I've got enough of an excuse to put him down," he said, then looked to his daughter, "I might be able to grab Mard's lands."

At this, the young woman hunched her shoulders. She was not happy being the center of attention for the room.

"So, who is she?" I asked into the silence.

I was not happy with the Baron's eager smile.

"This is Abigail. I want you to take her hand to start your noble house!" the Baron said, his voice rising into a happy exclamation at the end.

The room was a study in contrasts at that moment. My father frowned. I could tell he disliked the high handed behavior of the Baron. Whatever was going on, he was against it, but he was making it clear he refused to act directly. It was likely he just disliked my being forced into marriage. He viewed marriage as sacred, he would be on my side in this conflict. That being said, something was keeping him from speaking. That something was, likely in part, my mother. She had an almost manic look of glee on her face. I knew what she wanted. She wanted grandchildren and didn't care how she got them. She was convinced that I should be searching for a woman and that it was long past time that I settle down. I was nearly twenty and far too old to be without a wife or two. The Baron looked like he had found a solution to a long vexing problem and was glad to be done with it.

Glancing from the corner of my eye, I noticed Snowy's knuckles whitening as they gripped the table.

Rising from my chair, I shouted, "Absolutely not!" I didn't even require [Acting] to express my annoyance and anger. I knew these kinds of marriage negotiations were common, but this was still unacceptable! Technically, since his noble title was higher than mine, and I resided in his domain, he could present women for my consideration. It was even considered polite to ask him for assistance in finding a wife or when seeking the introduction of a daughter. Still, this was a bit cold.

"Even if I will pay her dowery? How about a thousand gold, a knighthood, and a small plot of land around one of my mines? Hmm?" The Baron asked, the sum leaving me speechless.

A thousand gold was a staggering sum, likely a good chunk of the Barony's operating expense for a year or more. Adding a knighthood and land with rights to a mine, even something like a tin mine or coal mine, was so overwhelming that it left me open-mouthed in surprise.

"What is she, the King's bastard?" I couldn't help but exclaim in the rudest way possible.

Flashing me a look of disgust, Abigail remained silent while her thin crossed arms clutched tighter to her sides. The shift in body language made her look like she was afraid, but I had looked into her eyes: it was anger she was hiding.

"Oh no. This one was a prisoner of the Assassin's Guild, or at least what was calling themselves an Assassin's Guild. But it's not who she is that is interesting. It's her Skill," the Baron said.

I'll admit that piqued my interest. The Skills that assassins had were always exciting in a morbid kind of way. So what Skill could be so valuable that the Baron would offer me such a bribe to take her? Not that her being a part of an Assassin's Guild made me more likely to marry her, just the opposite.

Smiling in a way that made it clear the noble knew he had me hooked, he said, "She has [Poison Fount]"

Shrugging, I returned to my seat, unfazed. The ability to produce a poison on demand from your body was a useful Skill, but hardly unheard of for a professional assassin. It was rather typical, in fact, right up there with [Poison Resistance].

At my disregard, the Baron's smile widened, and Abigail's teeth clenched.

"Noble's Bane," the Baron said as if he had delivered the final nail to his argument.

In one sense, he had. Noble's Bane was a poison that would eat away at those with a large number of Skills and was where it gained its name. The toxicity, the skill disruption, of the poison was worse with nobles because they often had so many Skills, but it would work equally well on a skill trainer.

Or a mage.

The laws for Noble's Bane were odd, mostly since it was a favored weapon of the nobility. Producing Noble's Bane was perfectly legal, possessing it was not. Of course, like any law, this did not apply to the rich and powerful. In effect, having Noble's Bane in any amount would be a death sentence for anyone without power. By her appearance, Abigail lacked that power.

With her under my control, the Mages would want my head on a stick. But, I was a Skill Trainer, so they already wanted me dead. She would also be a carrot for the noble houses and Guilds, and so they could become a shield from the Mages. A relatively cheap source of Noble's Bane was not a small bargaining chip. They would pay me just to keep Noble's Bane off the market or to be able to buy it themselves. The ingredients were hard to find, and the process required a Skilled alchemist with knowledge of the procedure, a costly prospect.

I found myself eyeing the young woman, considering her worth, but visions of her stabbing me with an oil-coated dagger while I slept floated through my mind. Shaking my head, I looked to the Baron while I tried to ignore Snowy's growing agitation.

"It occurs to me that you're without a wife, my Lord," I said with a smile.

The Baron's grin fell while Snowy startled slightly then glanced between the woman younger than herself and her father.

"I wouldn't live out the season, and you know it. It's one thing for me to hold ties to a Skill Trainer who can produce a supply of Noble's Bane. Another thing entirely for a Noble having the same access," The Baron said before he took another swig from his tankard, this time larger than before.

Which was the heart of the matter. The Baron had a gold mine, with no way to extract the gold without a mine collapse. This would seem to be a perfect solution to multiple problems.

My father came to my rescue then, his deep voice resonating from his chest like the rumble of a landslide.

"She could be his apprentice instead."