Case 3: Being tested

One day, while Waver prepared to leave for the public baths, the door to Valor Grotto’s ranch slammed open. Valor lifted their head, instantly alert, while Pentwec remained buried in her pillow despite her attempts to stand up -- she was simply too small. Waver dropped his cloth and caddy when he saw the face of the man who confidently strode through the door.

He was a tall man, almost as skinny as Waver was, and slightly hunched over. His hair was solid grey despite his apparent youth, his eyes sparkled with vitality, and he had a long dagger in a sheath at his waist. His clothes were fine and flattering, a dark green tunic with silver filigree and darkly dyed trousers. His face was altogether far too similar to Waver’s, but with much smoother skin.

“This is a sight to behold. Am I supposed to believe you’re running a legitimate business here, when I walk inside and the owner is unwashed and his animals untethered?”

“Fichet Cove,” Waver said, flatly. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Fichet was the eldest son of the Cove family. He’d inherited his mother’s skills in close combat and his father’s ability to master social situations, which meant that his life as a petty noble was rather boring. He’d always found a way to take that out on those around him in the form of pranks. Just like now, the man would often tease and play with those around him, but Waver knew it was hollow this time.

He didn’t care enough about Waver to tease him, after all.

“Waver Cove,” Fichet echoed. “You are to make yourself presentable and report yourself to the Cove manor as soon as you have done so. This is Mother’s order, so no delay will be tolerated.”

“Under...stood,” Waver intoned with narrowed eyes, realizing his bath time had just been dramatically cut short.

Pentwec spoke up, instinctively using the dragon tongue because she couldn’t trust the ferret-like man.

Valor said. But the scion didn’t seem to acknowledge the dragons’ interjections at all.

“And... my, is this where you sleep, Waver? With the beasts, like a common farmhand? At least you seem to have spared no expense on their behalf.” Fichet examined the nest they’d made of pillows and blankets spread through a conversation pit in the floor. “Still, I’d have thought it was below you... but I guess not.”

“It pisses me off that you knew I sleep here. For all you know, there could be a bed in one of the other rooms.”

“I’ll thank you not to take that foul tone with me, farmhand.” Fichet laughed hollowly again, and sauntered out the door, taking all the noise in the room with him.

After a few moments of allowing that silence to continue, Waver spoke up in the dragon tongue. He infused the meaning of “washing up” with bitterness, insinuating that he’d only have time to wipe himself off, rather than actually immerse himself in water. He huffed once, like a horse, and then picked up his things and walked out the door. Valor waved him off with their tail, and then turned to Pentwec.

Pentwec pressed. She had finally dug herself out of the depression in her pillow and was able to properly face Valor. Valor shrugged.

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The little baize sighed, stretched her body -- she was now about the size of a cat -- and jumped out of the nest. She loped along the wooden floor and over to her wax tablet, which she dragged over to a spot in the sun. She began using a single claw to trace out the shapes of letters, which her teacher had pivoted to after realizing substitution and simplification weren’t appropriate schooling topics for their age group. Valor peered over to watch, too.

mused Valor,

Valor stared up at the ceiling in thought.

Pentwec cried out. Valor laughed.

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As insinuated, Waver only really wiped himself off at the baths this time. The weather was getting warmer, so longer baths were becoming less essential for him, but it was still one of the things he looked forward to the most. He resented that weasel of a brother for interrupting it, even if it was Mother’s order.

Waver regretted that he wouldn’t be able to bring Valor along. He didn’t know the situation at the manor, and depending on what she wanted from him, his mother could try to reclaim Valor or even take them hostage. Waver wanted Valor to be able to see their old man again, but it was just too risky. Technically, where Waver had been disowned, Valor was the missing property of the Cove estate. Even if the family had let Valor go, they probably could still make a legal case to repossess them, if they thought they could squeeze even a mote of advantage out of it.

Valor understood that all too well, so this time they settled for asking Waver to see how Valse was doing.

Waver changed into one of the newer formal outfits he’d acquired since receiving an unofficial patron. It consisted of relatively threadbare black pants and a stiff leather vest over a white cotton shirt, as well as a dark red cloak with an embroidered collar. His long hair had been tied back against the wind.

That was the most presentable Waver was capable of being, and frankly, he wouldn’t dress any nicer if he could.

The Cove manor, like the ranch, was just outside of town, but the manor was situated almost directly opposite the ranch. Waver hadn’t done that out of spite or anything; it was pure coincidence, but intentional or not, it made for a long walk. Waver caught himself staring at the dragon thoroughfare at the center of the street as he passed. He had an idea, and sidled up to a carrier spark, a variety of especially round spark-ling with strong homing ability and a larger wingspan for longer flights.

he said, keeping his dragon tongue quiet to attract less attention.

The carrier spark, who had black scales, looked at Waver and curled his tail around one of his hind legs in a gesture of good-natured irritation.

Unfortunately for Waver, he was completely one-of-a-kind in the dragon world, so it was impossible for him to gather any information surreptitiously. Every dragon in Silfmont knew his reputation, and most knew his description, too.

Waver said, tacitly admitting that he’s done it before.

the carrier spark said, turning to face the road again.

Waver sighed. He had a vague idea of what might be going on, but all he could really do is brace himself for the hard conversations.

Waver said.

Waver looked around, and indeed, other pedestrians were looking at him as they walked. Some of them whispered to their companions, and there wasn’t an ounce of warmth in any of their expressions.

“Don’t worry,” Waver said, still looking around. “I’m used to it.”

Seeing that they were noticed, the onlookers quickly turned their heads and pretended nothing happened.