1.9

Jewel knew that sleeping in Father’s study was improper.

But waking up to him and Mother leaving to prepare for the day was such a relief that, at least in this one case, Jewel felt she could say it could sod off with being proper.

Naturally, she was fully awake by the time Mother had stumbled off her, muttered at least fifteen things Jewel had been explicitly forbidden to ever say for herself and stumbled out the study door to get washed and dressed in something unrumpled from a night sleeping among the coils of her daughter.

Jewel gave an experimental sniff at her own scales and made a face.

The lavender scent from the bath was more or less entirely burned away.

Replaced by petrichor and lightning again.

Still, it would be terribly wasteful and rude to call up Jorge to heat another entire bath just for this subtle scent.

Jewel stretched and unfurled across the study, unbundling her loops of body and twisting her spine from side to side and around itself, getting each muscle and vertebrae unkinked and loosened. Wings next, although even with the voluminous space within the study she still needed to be careful not to flap overmuch.

Stationery and books were liable to be blown about if she did.

With a quick glance over her back and then a bit of a pawing through her mane, Jewel supposed she at least looked presentable enough for walking the halls with guests.

She would have to settle for more lavender-infused oil, unless something particularly strenuous came up with Muriel’s lesson plan.

She walked with a smooth graceful stride, undulating up and down with each step through the halls to her bathing chamber. Jorge was not in attendance, but honestly he technically did have duties other than guarding her empty tub in case she wanted a hot soak.

A glance around for any suspiciously arriving cats upon stools or that slight itch that preceded any of those hidden corners he liked to arrive from behind seemed prudent. Especially given the wizards were apparently staying here somewhere.

Satisfied she was not going to be disturbed, Jewel raised herself up so she could reach the upper shelf and retrieved the precious jug of lavender-infused oil.

It was rather large; she believed the trader had said the earthenware container had once carried wine from somewhere terribly far away and supposedly impressive.

If the usual boasting was to be believed, the waters there were full of salt, or filled with gold dust, or something equally absurd.

Jewel had at the time been quite incredulous in her four year old wisdom of just what was and was not likely.

Given that Wizards apparently were just as strange if not more so than books had implied she found herself considering the tale a bit less skeptically.

If cats could arrive from around invisible corners in your bathroom and command more power than a Countess, why couldn't waters so vast and wide be salty as tears?

Either way she had the reek of sleep to scrub through and if not wash away at least to cover up for the sake of guests and her household’s noses.

A glance over her scales left her pausing. She did not think she looked particularly less shiny than she had yesterday, but honestly Jewel could not be sure what people were talking about there. It almost always looked the same to her, and when it did look noticeably different she was told it was the same.

Vexing things her scales were.

She used the rough felted wool today rather than the polishing stone. If Jorge, her parents or Governess offered comment later she would go over to buff her scales with the stone originally meant for polishing show armor and mirrors.

A healthy dollop of oil filled the room with the sweet and (more importantly) masking scent of lavender as she carefully worked the now sopping wet rag up and down her body.

Going in smooth circular motions with whichever of her four legs was working the wool helped press the scent into the subtle little crevices between her scales where the pulse of her inner Wyrmflame would slowly burn it off.

It took two more applications from the bottle to replenish the cloth before she managed to get every scale properly lubricated and, at least to a cursory sniff, the deep caustic fizz of her own scent was properly masked.

Properly prepared for the daily activities, Jewel returned the jug to its shelf and slipped out to breakfast with her family and possibly guests.

Yesterday was a trial both surprising and terrible.

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But with the light of a new dawn just worming its way into the narrow windows of her home it all seemed a bit smaller than it had been.

She was sure Father would have it sorted.

The feasting hall was dressed back down to normal unofficial levels. There was only one household banner over the head of the table, instead of all seven that didn’t have fraying threads or moth-nibbled gaps.

Father was spooning morning porridge into his mouth a bit stiffly, going over a scroll that smelled of foreign vellum and the kind of charcoal that was easy to wash out of the pages rather than fresh ink.

Mother and Alexander were eating their morning porridge a bit more enthusiastically. Alexander had gotten a fleck on the very tip of his nose, somehow.

The Autumn and Bog Wizards were here as well, spooning proper portions from and having a staring match with their bowls, respectively.

Jewel settled onto her ‘seat’ with an internal sigh and began daintily working through her own proportionate bowl. lamenting the need to uphold appearances. Until the guests were considered a bit better integrated with the household it would not be seemly for her to lounge on the good friendly stone floor.

Still, Jewel always liked eating out of her bowl.

The thick, sturdy wood had inspired numerous complaints about its intractable and tool-destroying nature from Richard Wodseer the Carpenter. Apparently after over a fortnight of attempts, he had finally worked out that if he got hot coals from the blacksmith’s forge he could burn it to a carvable consistency without ruining the edge on his chisel.

Jewel found it resisted her claws and teeth almost as well as steel, but she still had to be careful not to scrape at it too harshly.

Not that she ever actually touched her teeth to the fine surface or more than brushed her claws on its fine finish.

Jewel, of course, used a spoon like any proper lady when she ate her porridge.

Even if said spoon was originally a wooden soup ladle requisitioned for the task.

“Good Morning Father. I-Is that the provisional contract for Lord Sorcerer Fizzbunche’s ...”

The possible ramifications from yesterday started to make her joints itch to flare out and her tail lash but she held them mostly still, or at least slowed her agitated wag to something more calm and composed.

He looked her way with a slight crinkle to his eyes and nodded.

“Apparently the Lord Sorcerer is not accustomed to the rhythms of such a rural province as Rochford.”

Which drew Jewel’s attention to something both like the cracking of twigs underfoot and bird song, yet unlike both and distinctly full of humor and frivolity.

That it was coming from the shaking shoulders of Euewyn finally clued Jewel into the fact she was laughing at something.

Tsulogothulan paused in blinking up another chunk of porridge out of their bowl and swallowed heavily before speaking, voice lilting in mirth as well despite the strangely round accent.

“The Lord Fizzbunches is not wont to rise any earlier than noon save for imminent mortal peril.”

And then the mirth became an actual chortle that somehow smelled of dew and mist.

“And in such cases I find myself deeply sympathetic to the plight of said peril that should seek to disturb him.”

Wind whistling in branches followed, to the mystery of everyone present besides apparently the Wizards, in whom it inspired another heavy snort of laughter before they both returned to their breakfast.

Taking a good few spoonfuls of her own breakfast and swallowing in a proper manner, Jewel pried a bit: “And the Knight Lothlar?”

“He chose to eat on schedule with the footmen before dawn and check in with the village for any troubles he could help them with, as a ‘spot of exercise’.” Mother spoke lightly while she wiped at Alexander’s cheek and nose to remove more errant porridge.

Jewel did not understand how he managed that. It’s not even like he was a messy or over enthusiastic eater, it just kind of ended up in places during the process in a manner that was perhaps a latent magic gift?

She was unsure.

Still, that covered the state of all of their Guests.

And breakfast continued to finish with hardly much more conversation, but unlike yesterday’s feast the silence felt cozier and familiar.

Father was busy with affairs of his position, nevermind that they were affairs directly related to her.

Mother was fussing over Alexander maybe a bit more than necessary.

The Knight was comfortably being a knight as knights always do.

And right on cue as they were mostly finishing up, Muriel arrived for her and Alexander so they could resume their interrupted study of the histories.

You could almost forget that three wizards had just arrived to completely throw into disarray the political position and the very foundational alliances that protected her home and family.

Almost.