Seeds

[The International]

Seeds

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Maelle stood before a slightly distorted full length mirror, face bronzed, auburn hair washed nearly blonde, turquoise eyes betraying her extreme discomfort. She looked good. She always looked good. That wasn’t the problem. On this late afternoon, she was stricken at what looked back at her in that mirror as she swayed on the main deck of The International. T’was a less than subtle seductress, low cut blouse beckoning the eyes to her cleavage with every ruffle, maroon leather underbust corset accentuating the curvature of her midsection, tiered black and red skirt completing her hour glass vision, a vision ripe for rude interruption by a familiar pair of female hands cupping her breasts and jiggling away.

“Now that’s more like it, Sister! Let the puppies speak for you!” Her little sister, Ludivine, stepped away with a vigerous smack on her ass, creating such a clap of thunder that it seemed to echo above the hum of commerce and the chugging of steam boats along the mouth of the Kachuck River.

“The Lady doesn’t like it.” Maelle said, cinnamon freckled cheeks flush with embarrassment, buttocks burdened with the pain of a thousand beestings.

“The Lady has no choice in the matter.” Ludivine said as she ruffled through her personal jewelry box on the floor of the main deck, rocking side to side as the ship gave way to the small river waves. She couldn’t even use her own accessories? Ridiculous. “Mother wanted me to dress you for tonight with specific notes in mind – bring the flirtation of your confidence schemes out in your ensemble for the banquet.”

“This asset and I have been corresponding for almost a year now.” She said, examining the choices Ludivine held up for her, a black pearl necklace and a golden fox head amulet. She pointed to the pearls… Ludivine gave her the fox. “The legwork for the extraction is done. Why is this necessary?”

“This great Coronian farmer of farmers is about to leave everything he holds near and dear to his heart and risk his life doing it,” Ludivine turned back to the jewelry box with a whip of her raven hair. “And all because of the letters he exchanged back and forth with a famous merchant’s daughter. I think – correction: we think he deserves to have a bit of topping on his cake, even if he can’t have it because it’s twenty seven year old celibate icing.” She cast an icy glare at Maelle, glacial blue eyes leaving a lingering chill on her spine.

“I am not celibate.” She retorted hotly.

“Please. You put all your lust into your confidence schemes.” Ludivine said as she returned to the jewelry box. Perfect. She’d miss all the profane gestures Maelle would send her – like this one, and this one, and that one – before she returned to her proper self.

“Just because I’m not as promiscuous as you or as loud as our parents doesn’t mean I haven’t done that.” They both froze in unison, creating a vacuum of silence until…



“…You mean fuck?” Ludivine belted out without checking her volume.

“Yes.” She stuck her nose in the air. “Just ask Vespasian.”

“You would trust our little brother with that information over me?” Ludivine said as she approached with a pair of ruby earrings and a decorative hairnet, but Maelle’s attention was on the loss of sarcasm younger sister’s voice and the split second pout in her pale cheeks. She was trained to see these things. Ludivine was hurt, for there were two things she was good at, murder and sex. She was like a praying mantis that way. Maybe Maelle should have confided in her just this once, but maybe Ludivine could learn from Vespasian.

“He doesn’t judge, Lu.” She said with a shrug of the shoulders.

“That’s how he gets the two of us around his finger, you know.” Ludivine said as she draped the ornamental net on her hair.

“I do, but when there’s only one person in the world like that... Mother judges. You know all too well.” Maelle grabbed her sister’s hand and locked eyes with her. It was on a day like this eight years ago when Ludivine lost her virginity – on a mission of all places – and suffered a humiliating verbal admonishment from their mother. Ludivine got her sharp tongue from the matriarch Alix Villeneuve, so it was a beatdown of a deeply cutting nature, thus imbuing Ludivine with the ability she couldn’t contain now – a dark mist to hide her from the judgment of others. It was time to change the subject before the black sheep of the family ran away. “Father’s over protective when he’s angry and vague when he’s not.”

“True.” Ludivine said with a faint smile as the mist evaporated. “The only subjects you can get straight from him are espionage and sailing.”

“And you” Maelle gripped tighter. “belittle with sarcasm and snipes!”

“Use this chain for the amulet. It’s longer.” Ludivine revealed a polished brass chain so polished it resembled gold. The black sheep of the family was running away, even if it wasn't with her feet. Maelle let her go.

“Why does it need to be longer?” Maelle asked, bewildered.

“So it can wrap around your clavicle a few times before it takes a plunge into that deep valley of yours.” She stretched up on her toes to look down Maelle's cleavage like a deep well. “Now you are set.” Maelle felt Ludivine’s eyes up and down her body. She shook her head. “If only..”

“This isn’t as great as it seems, Sister.” Maelle said, flattered as she placed a hand on Ludivine’s shoulder. “What you have is beautiful in its own right.”

Ludivine’s face turned sour. “I was going to say if only you had my body. Lithe, flexible, strong in soooooo many ways.” The whistle of the early evening train made them realize how late it was, calling their eyes to a stone clad Etheria Port drenched in the citrus glow of a setting sun. Ludivine walked across the deck, and hopped up on the bronze railing of the ship, nose pointed to the white pillar of smoke rising from the other side of town. “I only have an hour to get to that train.”

“You have work in Ettermire?” The High Graf Schynius of Ettermire had all five of the Villeneuves working for him, so it didn’t surprise Maelle, but it certainly concerned her.

“No. Kachuck.” For someone else? “Still for the big dog, though.” There was the answer to that.

“Do I need to know more?”

“Absolutely not, but you are concerned, right? We all should be.”

With the matriarch restoring an old mansion and a few acres of her new property up north, the patriarch leading counterespionage operations in the Mountains of Dawn, the baby brother insisting on keeping his whereabouts hidden, and Ludivine heading to Kachuck, when she could have stayed in Etheria Port to protect Maelle… “The High Graf is splitting us up.”

“And succeeding, but that’s why he doesn’t know we have these.” Ludivine revealed a pale purple diamond on a silver chain before she jumped off the rail of the ship. The next thing she said was literally on Maelle’s mind. Keep it in your hidden pouch at all times.

”I love you.”

Eww… Love you too.

Maelle couldn’t stop the muscles in her face from turning to a smile, her heart warming from the declaration, but then she couldn’t stop a frown from showing up immediately after, her mind taking her vack to the last time Ludivine said it – when they were in grave danger and she saw absolutely no way out. It was with a heavy heart and a plagued mind that she set the snares and booby traps on the ship and took leave to her mission, a mission most fundamental to being an interloper – recruitment and extraction.

A walk and a rickshaw later, Maelle stood in the gilded atrium of the Borsch Manor, a large grey stone residence not far from the ever beating heart of the Port, barely earning the title of ‘manor’ with a quaint fourteen bedrooms and at best half an acre of cramped urban land. Pearl and gold were the colors of the venue, every piece of furniture, sculpture, wall adorned in one, the other, or both. Even the twenty seven guards located in every strategic location were dressed in the flamboyant colors. For the first time in half a year she was surrounded by Humans, a people neither she nor her family jumped to claim, but she took true comfort in the class of Human attending the party, merchants. Most of the seafaring merchants in Althanas were Humans from Corone, so her best cover was no cover.

“Maelle Villeneuve!” A tall Human male with dark eyes and sun kissed skin –like hers– greeted her with a hand across his shoulder and a shallow bow. A Coronian salute. Disgusting. Did he not know where they were? Luckily the abhorred look on her face was interpreted as confusion. “Carter Borsch! The last time I saw you, you were this tall, and this small. Your hair was in a little pony tail. I shan’t expect you to remember me. T’was ages ago.”

“Sir. Borsch, I deeply apologize for my fleeting memory.” She did remember, but better to be underestimated, even by bystanders. “I have half the mind to believe my parents sent me in their stead to refresh it in the most blunt way imaginable. Forgive me.”

“Ah.” He waved it off. “Nothing to forgive. I trust you will take ample notes during the lectures to relay back to them, although they’ve been doing what they do for quite some time now.”

“Indeed they have. Indeed they have.” Seven thousand years… indeed they have.

“Feel free to make yourself at home. We will be leading all of our guests to my main hall in about half an hour.” Borsch began to turn away, but before he did. “And inform your parents we should dine one evening, just us two families. In a land of the Dark Elves we Humans need to stick together.”

Once again, Maelle let her face answer for her, dimples arising from amusement of Borsch’s weakness, eyes glimmering in pity for his ignorance. A true man need not fear being the only one of his kind in the room or in the country, but as she looked around the room she saw that merchant took it a step further. Not one Dark Elf or Dwarf in the room. All were Human, or at least apparently Human. She knew more than most that looks could be deceiving, but nevertheless she wanted out. The faster she could meet with her protection and find her asset, the faster they could leave.

[Itera]

Several days ago, Itera Namyuul got up from a table in a little shop on the corner which was rather well known as a place to go to if you just want to be left alone. She was tipsy on expensively fruity liquor that Mr. Carter had bought her. He wasn't aware of the whole buying business or he might have enjoyed a post-divorce outing, but she did resolve to put his content-free money pouch back under his pillow once she remembers which boarding house he lives in now that Mrs. Carter is named Mrs. Verdenthrup.

She over-tipped the bar's tip jar, per her usual idiom, and made her way out of the door into the early dark of the moonless night. In a few days, she's supposed to be going to a fairly posh party. A posh party called for going in a posh outfit, according to the bits and pieces of inaccurate lore about this world that Itera had gathered from the mouths of drunken idiots in taverns. And posh outfits, according to the same sort of people, required jewels and not very much cloth. Mountains of jewels piled over every bit of the naked flesh and around this point the stories got incoherent and there was a whole lot of nudging and winking for some inexplicable reason. Nevertheless, the message was clear that Itera needed to wear some shinies.

Midderson and Sons had already gone to bed that night after locking up their decently-sized shop. Itera looked at the solid door, all the iron in the locks and bars, and grimaced in the shadows. It wasn't that she chose a particularly shadowy corner of some kind to hid in; it was more that she was still holding her big, pink, lacy parasol over her head and spinning it gently while thinking. A pair of lanterns, their respective night watchmen in tow, made their way down the street and then paused.

DING DING. DING DING. Went the brass hand-bells of the watchmen.

"It's nine o'clock of the night and all's well!"

DING DING. DING DING.

They walked on, coming across a breathless, stunned Itera who was staring unseeingly up the street towards them. They stopped, curious.

"Hey, you alright, miss?"

The ringing stopped as they tried waving their hands in front of her eyes.

"Miss?"

"What? Ah... where? Yes! I'm here and you're you and this is ... eh... now. Yes, I'm just... fine."

"You shouldn't be out so late, miss. Some unsavory sorts could be about. Where do you live?"

"Here, of course." Itera managed to refocus her mind away from the memory of the bells and opened with one of her really brilliant grins.

"What, Old Midderson's place? I thought young-"

"Shh," she said, putting a finger conspiratorially to her lips, "It's one of those romantic es-ca-pades."

That seemed to satisfy them, as they nudged each other in a considerably brighter mood, "We ain't seen a thing. You just enjoy yourself now, miss. Good evening." They proceeded onwards.

A short moment later, a purple rift drifted under the crack of the door in Midderson and Sons' and Itera regally clambered back out of the temporary pocket. There was just the barest hints of starlight and distant lanternlight filtering in through the shuttered windows, just enough to cause a hundred glimmering, twinkling facets to guide her way. Itera set to work picking out the perfect pieces to match her clothes, because there wasn't a force that could make her change her mind about the clothes that defined her.

In the morning, Maltham Midderson came down the stairs and found his store untouched, every piece in place, and a girl in a frilly purple-and-white dress asleep on the floor beneath a pink parasol. He was, admittedly, somewhat confused because this didn't seem like the usual quality of homeless beggar and the door was also still locked and chained. He woke her and shoo'd her out, there was a business to open.

That was a mistake. Nobody rudely wakes up Itera Namyuul and gets away with it. Midderson would be in a real pickle tomorrow when he discovers that the custom-ordered piece that he had just finished, with the big water-ruby in the center, has gone missing.

For the time being, the gold-filigree wreath, speckled with diamond flowers, and its centerpiece water-ruby was resting on a long chain in the center of Itera's breast. It didn't attempt to achieve anything remotely like the effects that some of the ladies at the party were trying for, since Itera's dress about as much cleavage as a cassock.

She did not have an invitation, but the fairy never needed an invitation for anything. Earlier that day, she had passed by the Borsch Manor from outside of its fences and glanced through what few windows weren't drawn. She discarded the idea; this was one of those times when she was supposed to not be seen entering in an unusual way, so to speak, and someone might suddenly come around the corner at the wrong time. Ten minutes ago, she had passed by again, glanced at the Manor and the sporadically occupied balconies, and tore a hole between the easternmost one and an unremarkable wall in a backalley somewhere. She stepped through, pushed the doors open, and strided in just like she belonged. This was partly due to the fact that, in her mind, a fairy belongs anywhere she happens to be in because that's part of what being a fairy is about - force of nature.

No parasol this time, but Itera did have her fan. From her face half-hidden behind it, she pointedly ignored every look of confusion and non-recognition thrown her way from those who bothered to notice. There, the girl was there. Well, that was half the bet won already. Her alleged employer had wagered that she won't even be able to find the Maelle person whom she was to escort.

Itera was quite well aware that she was being played, maybe baited. She didn't much care, because this might just turn out to be amusing. The fairy made her approach with all the subtlety of an octopus. It was actually quite circumspect and she sidled up to speak her piece.

"The stock of game for piers is sooner found ready. Range keepers, I believe, will protect whichever path you choose. When we go again, will your spaniel proceed to hunt immediately?"

Maelle had been watching the overdressed stranger's progress ever since she had entered from the balcony doors alone without seeming to have gone out the balcony doors in the first place. She answered, a thin, pleasant party-smile covering her reaction to finding out that her supposed bodyguard was even smaller than herself, didn't look like any kind of fighter, wore a most offensively frilly dress that left everything to the imagination, and was grinning enormously from behind an open fan..

"I doubt I am going to the hunt on other days. I have not been seen trying at target and riding."

Itera's grin continues to try to burn its way through her fan from behind. In the space between the top of the fan and the bottom of her cab, her amber eyes wandered off of Maelle and started hunting through the room for something. The thought had occurred to her that she should be paying attention to her charge, at least until the end of the conversation. She filed away that thought in a little mental bin alongside other nagging little thoughts which had no business applying to her.

"You've seen his picture, though? He gives pretty airs."

Maelle fished a kerchief out of one of the recesses of her dress that didn't involve exciting any of the men around. She passed it over to Itera without another word and moved to catch up, because the other had already spotted her objective and was moving off to assault the hors d'oeuvres.

[The International]

“I’ve seen portraits of our friend,” Maelle said as she hastened her pace to keep up with her unlikely protector, plucking from a plate of sweet meats as she passed it by. “But you know how flattering portraits can be.”

“No.” The frilly clad girl said with a shrug of the shoulders as she floated across the floor with a careless stride, folding fan failing to hide those giant doe eyes. “I don’t.”

And Maelle believed her; those gifted with uncommon beauty, such as this golden haired, ornately dressed body guard, often lacked the ability to see the world through objective eyes. No one had popped her ‘beauty bubble’ yet, as was made even more obvious by her manners, or lack thereof.

“Do you have peaches? I want some peaches!” The girl blurted out to a tall servant as he approached, bypassing the curtsey and omitting the hello, ready to pitch an adolescent fit when he told her they were out of season, eyes growing even larger than they already were, arms flailing out in a quizzical gesture, little mouth open and ready to release a torrent of insults and expletives.

“Sundried apricots!” Maelle stepped in between the two with subdued alarm, the scene evoking a montage of embarrassing memories of little sister Ludivine. “Bring her sundried apricots. They’re just as good and preserve well.” The servant opened his mouth, wurely preparing to disappoint them again. Not on Maelle’s watch! “I know the master of this estate, good sir,” Barely. “And I know he has an appetite for them,” She didn’t.”So if you would please make an attempt.” Pretty pretty please!

As the servant stepped away, and the girl deflated, Maelle released a sigh of relief.

“It is quite possible to grow peaches in parts of Alerar.” A playful masculine voice rang from a man to their right, parting from a group of sailors in formal dress, holding a flute of effervescent white wine in one hand and a plate of petite pastries in the other. He took a shallow bow, donning a familiar goatee framed smile. “Your portrait does you no justice, Mademoiselle Villeneuve.”

She curtsied, smiling, genuinely, because his certainly did, catching her a bit by surprise. Snowy gray eyes betrayed excitement, pale skin betrayed fear, simple hair betrayed haste, and an awkward smile… was just awkward. It seemed as though he even made a point to wear the maroon frog buttoned longjacket with the white ruffled collar, perhaps fearing Maelle would not recognize him. “Martell Davies, it is an honor to finally meet your acquaintance.”

“Hah. I feel as though we already know one another.” He said, rising.

“A year of letters will do that.” She said, rising.

“Enough!” Maelle’s golden haired partner finally said with the impatience of a teenager. “Enough of the small talk.” Maelle looked to her with wide eyed concern. Was she about to discuss the mission here, in public, amongst hundreds of Human Coronian Nationals? “The peaches…” Thank the gods! “Can you really grow them in this land’s clay, correction: soil?”

Maelle laughed, partially in relief. “Martell, my people though it necessary to bring along some company. This is…”

Please say something.

[Itera]

Names have power. One of the first lessons that a least fairy learned is that life is short and brutish because all the other fairies picked on all the other fairies. One of the second lessons was that having a name was powerful and knowing a name was also powerful. Having a name differentiated yourself from the morass of incarnations of forces of nature that buzzed around the place. Having a name was the first step towards catching the Monarch's notice and maybe getting a favor or two. Itera had found that in this world, unlike in Tenger Jerhal, people didn't put much stock in using names as anything other than a label.

That was a relief. It would be terrible if, say, Isylle grew a flower whose pollen was allergic only to people named Itera. Or Idièth changed the luck of a bunch of children so that they kept running stickily into people named Itera. Of course, a thorough thrashing would sort them out, but having to take the effort was annoying.

"Itera. Itera Naymuul." She followed onto Maelle's trailing uncertainty after having carefully thought over whether or not to use a pseudonym. This thinking consisted of deciding that she was too lazy to try to keep track of one.

"I am charmed." Davies had started to make a shallow bow in Itera's direction but thought better of it when she suddenly started paying attention to the tray of a passing servant. "I'm sure that that your people's confidence in Miss Naymuul is well-placed. Her mind is certainly nimble."

To herself, Maelle wholeheartedly agreed that Itera was an airheaded showpiece save for the mystery of her entrance. To Davies, Maelle smiled and gestured towards the direction of the foyer. "I'm sure that we'll be able to rise to all occasion. I saw something rather interesting in one of the rooms and would value your opinion on it. Won't you join me, Mister Davies?"

Itera turned back. The plattered turned out to simply have some sort of shellfish paté encrusted over thin pastries formed into the rough shape of peach slices. Highly disappointing and worthy of outrage over the apparent deception if she wasn't already fascinated by the strange things that people here do with food. Her conversation went back on its own rails, completely ignorant of what had just been exchanged.

"The peaches, Martell? When do they grow here?"

Confused irritation crossed Davies' face for a moment, though only Maelle was in a position to see it. Davies turned around to face his interrogator, "Not here, Miss Naymuul. No cultivars of peaches will grow around here and produce fruit; it is simply too warm and it doesn't get cold enough to make the flowers bloom. However," He looked at the small woman's but-you-just-said expression and hastened to add, "further north, especially towards the mountains, there are peach orchards. They bloom late, though, and right now we're not quite in season yet. Given this year's almanac, another month or so and the first of the crop should start arriving. Last year an early frost and a mild winter gave us early peaches. Not many ripe, though. There was a cool summer. Perhaps we should find a more suitable place to discuss this, Miss Naymuul?"

Maelle began to think of creative things that were not necessarily nice. This was an extraction mission and now they were discussing peaches. Peaches! She was pleased to see that Davies understood the need to keep moving and could apparently handle and steer their supposed protection. Just past the foyer, the door, the gate, and then she can give the girl some choice words.

"I take it that you're enjoying yourselves?" Carter Borsch's baritone ambushed them as they approached the foyer side of the hall. Maelle turned towards him with a pleasant smile pasted on her face. Davies never stopped looking friendly, if now a little startled. Itera had just relieved a flute of champagne from a platter and had turned around with her fan opened securely over herself.

"It's a gathering of fine fellows, sir. In fact, Mr. Davies was just now telling me about his line of work. Very fascinating, that."

"It's marvelous, I tell you. Where do you find these lovely ladies, Sir Borsch? I must know."

"Now, that sounds very much like a trade secret to me, Mr. Davies, and I shall certainly have to keep it. Actually, I have someone that I'd very much like to introduce you to, Miss Naymuul. It will only take a minute, I will try not to detain you." A moment of worry flashed in Maelle's thoughts. Detain? He never uses the word detain. And such an odd word to use here.

He added, "Miss Villeneuve and Mister Davies are welcome to come along, as well."

Itera let her airheadedness smile and nod at her supposed host while something inside went, How does know that name?

Maelle recalled the distant front door where three guards were standing, then smiled encouragingly at Martell. She turned to begin to say that she'd love to come along.

"I'm sure that Maelle and Martell would want to keep their engagement with others. I can always find you again later." Itera interrupted before the first words could form in Maelle's throat. From the side, Maella could see a wide grin behind that fan. It was a bit creepy, actually. "Shall we, Sir Borsch?"

Maelle stared after her departing protection. Davies replied, "She'll be alright. Sir Borsch is a gentleman. Shall we?"

---
The door to the study closed and the guard stood in front of it. Sir Borsch paced around to behind the desk and faced his new guest. "Itera Naymuul, I'll be direct. Let me know when you're ready to tell me something."

"Yes~." She looked amused, the nerve of that girl.

"I composed the guest list."

"Well done, sir."

"I personally know every person invited to this party."

"Yes, sir."

"All of the doors to my manor are guarded or locked."

"I wouldn't know, sir."

"I have never seen you before in my life and yet here you are, tonight, in my party."

"That may be, sir."

Sir Borsch didn't explode so much as gently inflate, "Stop mocking me, spy. Who do you work for? Why are you trying to spy on the Villeneuves? I'll have you know that they are particular friends of mine and I will not have them harmed. I dare say that you know the penalty for trespass in my house."

"I do not know, sir." Itera was having a lot of fun, but at the same time, she had to divide her attention into maintaining the tiny rift over Maelle's shoulder.

---
"What do you mean?" Maelle repeated herself to the doorsmen. The one to whom she was speaking had the wits to look apologetic and the guts to remain adamant.

"It is a specific instruction by the master, Miss Villeneuve. It can be tiring and dangerous to walk and look for a cab, miss. We will send for a cab to pick you up here. Please enjoy the party a little more and reconsider staying with us. The master will be most pleased if you would stay."

"How long would that take?" Maelle plowed through the requests. Everything was going smoothly and then everything went wrong at once. First Borsch had singled out her protection and taken her. Now they're being delayed at the door.

"I guarantee that it will not be more than a quarter hour, miss."

Fifteen minutes. A lot can happen in fifteen minutes. Maelle glanced at Martell's face, which was starting to have a thin gleam of sweat on the forehead, and calculated. If they were being delayed until someone could arrive, then they were already blown and they should run for it. If not, then running for it would surely attract undue attention. There were other doors to the manor, isn't there?

Martell spoke up, "Let's wait for the cab. I could do with a little more of the wine, actually." He guided Maelle away from the door, smiling, then the moment they were far enough he whispered, "We can try the-"

"Back door, yes. I don't think they mean anything, yet, but we can't risk it. We can't trust a cab that they pull up, either."

The two set off for the opposite side of the house, the service-peoples' entrance where the daily purchases and laundry and such are brought.

---
The slap was hard and loud. Borsch did it again, his hand smashing into the wood of the table. Itera started and nearly lost concentration.

"Then I will tell you. You will be arrested, I am entitled to that. I am also entitled to use whatever force I find necessary to subdue a trespasser or burglar, short of lethal force. Now I am not suggesting that I would stoop so low as to injure a lady, but my guards are very enthusiastic about their job. They love their job." He glanced and locked eyes with the door guard, whose expression Itera could not see on account of not having eyes on the back of her head at this moment.

"Eventually, you will be handed over. I can insist on higher justice. Do you know that they don't care for human criminals, very much? Prison is so much trouble to maintain. They will just cut off something important, like your hands, brand you, and set you free. Freedom can be a terrible thing."

Itera nodded mutely, still concentrating on the sight of Maelle and her charge navigating their way through the corridors below and preparing a larger rift. This nod and her blank expression was taken for frightened submission.

"Whoever you work for has no use for a cripple. They'll disavow you, Miss Naymuul. But maybe if you tell me who they are and why you're here, I'll go easy on you. Why don't you start now?" Borsch said, triumphantly.

---
After receiving puzzling looks from the kitchen staff, Maelle and Martell came to the side door. She pushed it open, preparing to answer the guards' questions with a quickly fabricated story. There were no guards in sight, just a helmet and two halberds laying on the ground outside.

"Good, they're on break." The two pushed through the side-gate, closed it behind them, and looked to flag down a cab. Maelle ignored the inherent insanity of both guards going on break at the same time.

---
Itera focused and looked up at Borsch, her big, amber eyes watering up and her mouth in a sad, frightened pout. "Sir... I have to... the lavatory... it..."

"What?" This took a moment to filter through the man's head. Then he preened inside; this was something that only legendary warriors did! Granted, this was a slip of a girl and hardly an opposing army, but it was still something. "Oh, right. Take her to the lavatory, then lock her into the third guest bedroom. I'll deal with her later."

The guard complied. Ten minutes later, when he thought that the lavatory was simply too quiet, he opened the door and found the room completely empty. There wasn't even a window.

---
The cab came to a stop at the two people's waving. Maelle forced herself to walk calmly to the door and pull it open. In the darkness, big, amber eyes gleamed at her from over a fan.

[The International]

Maelle couldn’t help this reaction, her already high cinnamon freckled cheeks rising to form little dimples, framing the pearl white teeth that opened up to release a laugh that couldn’t be stopped, the kind that came from the diaphragm. That pair of eyes, those huge doe eyes, once a symbol chaos that put a wild card to shame, were now that of a mistress mage that had given them a mysterious way out. Where the guards were, Maelle didn’t know; Maelle didn’t want to know, but Itera had done her job so well that Maelle didn’t have to witness it. What made her laugh, however, was none of this, but the simple fact that she should have damn well known better, having a younger sister who was just as unassuming in presence as Itera, and having a younger brother who was just as peculiar as itera. It was her own hypocrisy that Maelle couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Mr. Davies.” She said in between chuckles as she allowed her baffled asset to help her into the carriage. “Let us be the first to welcome you to the Kingdom of Alerar.”

A preoccupied Martell sat in the seat across from the ladies, his once snowy eyes now steel and set on Itera. “Thank you, Mada-“

“Please, Maelle will suffice.” She said with a halting hand up as she sat. “So what will Alerar’s newest citizen be-“ She stopped, eyes wide, mouth open, as she looked down at the alien source of weight and heat on her crotch – Itera’s oversized head. “Five silver tins t’go divin’ fer oysters, Mi Lord. More if ye want m’ta do ya simultaneous-like.”

Martel bit his lips as she looked up at him, surely in an attempt to hold back a laugh. She winked, giving him the go, and he burst out just as the carriage rocked forward, his hyena cackle perhaps scaring the ox that pulled it. “T’was the best impersonation of a Radasanthian prostitute I’ve ever heard!”

“Methinks the lady possess much hubris.” Itera said as she puffed Maelle’s black skirt like a pillow, ignoring her protests whenever she squeezed her thighs. “I wore myself out just a bit back there.”

“Say, speaking of such.” Martell’s steel look returned. “How did you manage all that?”

“Have you ever pulled a rabbit out of a hat, sir?”

“No.”

“Ever guess another’s card correctly?”

“…I can’t say I have.”

“Have you ever…” Itera’s eyes hit the wood paneled ceiling of the carriage. “Pulled hundreds of yards of tied together cloth out of your mouth?”

“Unfortunately –“

“Work with me here, Peachman!”

“I believe I… pulled a coin out of my niece’s ear once.”

“Ah. Thank you. My secret…” The little guard leaned forward pressing her right cheek into Maelle’s knee. “Is tea. Lots and lots and lots of tea. Those guards had to relieve themselves so badly they’re likely to request personal piss pots from their master.”

“In other words.” Maelle said, partially relieved; something had to be sacred for the girl. “It’s best we not know. So, as I was saying, What do you look forward to doing most in Alerar, Martell?”

“Ever since I was a little boy,” Martell leaned in with a befitting gleeful smile. “I’ve wanted so badly to see a balloon race on this nation’s Parachute Day.”

“Which is coming up quickly I believe.” She nodded, remembering this Human’s fascination with everything Dark Elf, recalling every fervent stroke of the pen in his letters when the subject came up, and seeing it now in his smiling eyes, his proper poster barely managing to contain it all. “We shall have that arranged, but not before we discuss your title here in this country. Do you know what an Elder is here?”

“The bureaucrats, scientists, and engineers of the nation, correct?”

“Yes, and with this title you will be in good company. Most well off Humans here are Elders.” The image of the young genius, Lillian Sesthal, popped into her head. “Ironically one is a Human girl of only seventeen years. She saved the country on numerous occasions utilizing her intellect.”

“And do you know of any other Human Elders?”

“Yes. My brother and I.

“And what of your mother and father, the famous merchants upon whose name you stand today?”

“They are both Nobility here.”

“Grafs?!”

Maelle nodded with a proud smile. “And my sister a Ritter.”

Martell leaned back and covered his gaping mouth. “Your parents are Grafs, your brother is an Elder, and your sister is a Knight. And you all came here as merchants?”

“Yes.” … and moonlighting as spies.

“You see, this… This is why I’m here. Such freedom! Even in the so-called republic of Corone, one had to be of noble birth to hold such titles. I know this country has its… ‘designing’ ways, its shadows, its flaws.” He looked out the window, searching for his words in the twilight sky, when his eyes turned from misty conviction to confusion. “Wait. What is our next destination?”

“We are on the next train to Ettermire.” Itera said with a yawn.

“No!” Davies ran his hands through his hair, nearly pulling it out. “No. We must go to the inn that I was staying at. I left something there.”

“Martell, we cannot.” Maelle said with a soothing but authoritative voice. “Letters such as yours and mine are very easy for third parties to intercept, meaning that there are people here, in Etheria Port, who will stop at nothing to keep you a Coronian.”

“Who?” The farmer’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “I just plant seeds.”

“Coronians.” Itera said.

“I understand.” And it seemed as though he did, judging from his voice. It wasn’t about how plain she made it, but about how she made it plain. “Nevertheless, the reason Alerar will take me is there. What will happen when I get to Ettermire and I’m empty handed?”

And here Maelle thought it was because of the deal she had made with the land’s highest noble, High Graf Schynius, that got him here. This was not that great a surprise as much as a disappointment, seeing as she helped open a line of communication between the two when the Villeneuves came to Alerar months ago. It was Itera, who voiced Maelle’s final thought on the matter in her own words. “More hat tricks it is then.”

Maelle ordered the change of course, and they were off to Cortera Inn, and surely into a trap.

[Itera]

"What do you mean, gone?" Sir Borsch seethed at his guard, angry over having been taking out of a particularly juicy conversation in order to listen to this unhappy report. The two were at the foot of the stairs.

"Just gone, sir. There's no way out of that room, I swear it!" The guard had shrank on himself as soon as he had finished searching the bathroom and now really wished that his bones were collapsible. "It must've been magic or... or something."

"Well, go and question the door guards. She must have left by now. Someone must have seen her. Now leave me." Borsch worked to get his hospitable smile back onto his face before re-approaching the throng.

"Trouble, Carter?" The leader in the conversation asked amiably. He was a sharp-eyed man, lean in figure, and had noted the unhappy expressions when his host had abruptly been led away by a guard.

"No, no trouble, Arthur. A minor infraction on the premises. Maybe a hoodlum at the doors. The guards'll take care of her." His tone was steady, but the suddenly half-drained glass of brandy in his hand was telling. Arthur noticed this, but said nothing.

"Well, thank the heavens nothing came of it. I shudder to think that crime in this city has worsened so badly. Arthur was just telling us about a most peculiar theft from Midderson, the jeweler. You remember him? Did the Haversons' wedding rings?"

---

Cortera Inn was a coaching house some distance removed from the Borsch Manor. The rattling of paving stones beneath the cab wheels gave away to the rattling of cobbles. Inside, there was an awkward, amiable silence. Martell and Maelle stared across at each other, glancing occasionally down at Itera sleeping pillowed on Maelle's knee. She had been quite insistent that people stopped talking so that she could get some shut-eye.

Maelle would have refused it earlier in the evening, but right now she's sure that she should be grateful for something, if she still wasn't quite sure what it was or how it came to be. Martell, for his part, was staring fondly out at the city through a thin gap in the curtained windows. He had a complicated expression on.

---

"A blond-haired, yellow-eyed girl in a frilly, white and purple dress?" Sir Borsch repeated, gaping at Arthur. His hand shook so hard that the brandy's surface looked like a miniature of a storm at sea.

"Yes. A very bold one, sleeping like that in the middle of the store and simply walking right out in the morning. She must be foreign; no records of anyone like that in my files." Arthur sipped at his soda water while eyeing Borsch appraisingly. "Something the matter, Carter?"

"Gentlemen, if you'll please excuse me." Borsch swallowed the rest of his brandy, "I'd like a word with you, Arthur. It is important."

He had hardly arrived in his study before the poor guard arrived again, "Nothing, sir. And... Alec and Charles are both missing. They left their halberds, sir."

"Missi- Who's at the servants' entrance, then?" Borsch asked, already dreading the answer.

"Tom is, now. But that was after I found that there was no-one there."

Borsch glanced quickly towards Arthur, who was interestedly looking at the doorframe and apparently not paying attention to the loudly whispered conversation a few steps away. "Damn. Look, George, put two on that door. Be on the lookout. I need to talk to someone."

George hurried out, closing the door behind him. Arthur turned towards Borsch, "I think that you should make an inventory of all of your papers and possessions as soon as you can."

Borsch was half furious and half terrified by now, "A thief! In my house! In my study! And she got away! George isn't stupid, she must... must have magic, or help."

Arthur had crouched down by the floor, staring at the polished wooden boards, "Magic. She can fly, is a skilled pickpocket, and knows exactly what she seeks. She was after your papers."

"You know her?"

"Don't be silly, I told you that I have never seen anyone like that before."

"Then-"

Arthur straightened, holding up a single long, blond hair between two fingers, "She did not step in the imported gravel in your carriage-way before entering this house. Her fingers grasped that champagne flute on the side-desk in a grasp characteristic of legerdemains - you can see the prints from some kind of pastry there. She took one thing, a secret thing, from Midderson on the one day when it would be ready but not delivered. Lastly, the panel hiding your safe is slightly tilted."

Borsch blinked, "How do you know where the safe is?"

"You glanced at it when I mentioned checking your papers."

"Oh, well, uh, that panel's been tilted ever since I banged it a bit ago. Can't trust any carpenters..." Borsch itched for his safe key now, but suppressed the urge.

"Don't worry, Sir Borsch. I have all of my resources on the lookout for someone of her... unique... description. I'm confident that I will have her within the next two days."

"I would be eternally grateful, Detective."

---
Cortera Inn was one of the better-reputed coaching houses in Etheria Port. The building at Number 20 Pencilvine Avenue had bought out Numbers 19 and 18 over the years, torn them mostly down, and turned into a rather sprawling building taking up half of the block. It had brick walls plastered over in a pleasant eggshell white on all three of its stories and the respectable green copper roof of an old establishment. Two banners waving in the street announced its presence and thick wooden gates to the side led to the stables built over the remains of Number 17 Pencilvine Avenue.

There was a traffic jam on Pencilvine Avenue. The beer delivery wagon from the Treetop Brewery had overturned right out front and sent kegs going all over the place. Traffic was lined up all the way back to the last intersection, which is where the cab found itself waiting at while irritated men righted and re-loaded the wagon. It was also a time for conversation.

Itera had woken up by now, but was busy not showing it and simply enjoying the warm lap-pillow. Maelle, unable to resist the worry over the impeding operation, started whispering with Martell.

"Which room is it in?"

"Third floor, room 8. I had mentioned nothing to the keeper, to give him the impression that I was going to continue staying there."

"Good. If they're waiting for you, and I'm almost certain that they are, then it would be difficult for you to set foot in the inn without attracting them. I should go. Give me your key."

"No, I've hidden it among a lot of other things. You wouldn't know what to get. Besides, wouldn't they notice whomever went into my room?"

Maelle thought on this a moment. This was true, partially, and it was a rather large risk to have her identity linked. A candle lit in her mind.

"I can go in the laundry below and get a maid's uniform. They won't suspect it."

"You're far too beautiful to be mistaken for a maid. Besides, you still don't know what to get."

"I'll... I'll just get all of it. Put it in the laundry basket, maybe."

The carriage rolled forward as the jam finally cleared. From Maelle's lap, Itera suddenly spoke up. "I'll bring you both in there if you promise to keep your eyes closed the whole time. And give me the room key."

"... how long have you been awake?"

"Long enough." Itera sat up before Maelle could decide to do something more physical than a huff. She pulled out a brush from somewhere and handed it to Maelle, "I think I'm a little mussed up. Do me?"

While Maelle stared and then seized the brush, Martell asked, "How are you going to be able to do that?"

"Do you remember what I said about tea?"

"... yes."

"It's like that, except completely different. Not so hard!" Itera winced as the brush hit a few snags while Maelle struggled to suppress either mirth, fury, or exasperation.

The cab pulled to a stop and the driver announced their destination and price. "Now, both of you close your eyes and keep them closed until I tell you otherwise. This is very important. You'll be safe from everything as long as your eyes are closed. Try not to talk, either."

The two passengers squeezed their eyes shut and nodded warily. Itera delicately tore a purple-edged rift open under each of them in turn, grinning all the way.

Maelle suddenly sensed that she was falling, that the seat and floor were no longer underneath her. She almost opened her eyes, remembered Itera's repeated warnings, and instead reached out with her hands to feel nothing but passing air. This all lasted just a moment.

Poof. Maelle landed in what felt distinctly like a large, comfy, feather-filled bed. She heard another Poof and felt the bed vibrate a little as something large landed next to her.

"Martell?" She whispered.

"Maelle." He whispered back.

It was quiet here; there wasn't a single sound except for an extremely small and distant impression of a busy street, of brief conversation. There was no feeling of wind and no warmth of light. She had an oppressing sensation of being watched from every direction at once. In this world, she edged over the bed towards the only other person for some assurances of reality. He did, too.

---
Itera stepped from the cab, dropping a few coins into the driver's open, leather-stained hands. She was hiding a smile behind her fan again. The smile grew wider a few seconds later as the driver descended his step and looked for the two nonexistent other passengers. She stepped through the doors into the lobby.

A dirty-clothed boy ran out of an alleyway just past where Itera had descended from the cab. He went directly for the Borsch Manor, the thought of reward money dancing in his head.