Power Struggle

A gentle breeze, warm with the scent of vanilla, lifted the blue gauze curtains until they floated high  above marble floor, reflected in its black, polished surface as clearly as a mirror.  Nearby, a woman sat at a delicately carved walnut desk, signing her name to a formal letter that bore the seal of the Goldsail family; one of the seven ruling houses of Everist.  Finishing her signature with a careful flourish, Bellicaste sprinkled the page with a bit of sand and patiently let the indigo ink dry before carefully tipping the sand back into the small ivory bowl.  She gently cleaned her quill as she re-read the document, nodding with satisfaction at the results.

The letter was an official invitation to a notable sorcerer within the newly created Ring, and an ally who, among other important dignitaries, would be visiting the capital for the purpose of diplomatic relations and exchange of knowledge.  As the leading professor of necrotic arts in the city, and a member of the Goldsail family, Bellicaste's role was to play host to Varen Stonehammer during his time among her people, showing him the splendor of th capital and hopefully, learning something from him and his brethren in the meantime.

Privately, the necromancer had her doubts and expected to be disappointed.  Having spent her whole life among her own kind, she had learned about the other races through historical documents and hearsay; some primitive races seemed to be a waste of effort to her mind and she wished she was free to reject this particular assignment for something more interesting, such as scouting their newly-accessible allied lands.  However, one of the obligations of her social status was to play the role she was assigned when public relations demanded it of her.

Sighing heavily, the dark elf pressed her ornate crest into the warm, red wax that sealed the correspondence, then stood up and strode across the room to pull on a braided velvet cord.  Somewhere on the ground floor, three stories below, a servant hurried to respond.  Bellicaste stared at the creamy yellow parchment of the envelope as she walked slowly towards the arched, glass doors that were thrown open to enjoy the summer evening.  Stepping out onto the small balcony, she turned her face up to the moon, imagining that the cool rays bathed her dusky black skin.  The breeze lifted her hair playfully and swirled her skirts against her legs, and for a moment, she forgot that she would soon be force to entertain a human who's reputation was likely exaggerated to the point of embarrassment.

“You rang, my lady?”

Bellicaste turned and smiled at her butler. “Yes, Hedar, this needs to be sent via courier immediately.” He took the letter from her outstretched hand, his own hands clad in white silk gloves.

“Very good, my lady.  Was there anything else?”

“Has there been any word from Faine?”

“I'm sorry, my lady, no.”  The butler paused, eyeing his mistress for signs of irritation that Faine often seemed to cause.  “Would you like me to send another summons?”

“No.  He's being impertinent. I won't play his game by asking twice.”

Hedar, sensing her temper, bowed and quietly left on his assigned errand, leaving Bellicaste to brood in privacy.  Slim fingers curled around the fancifully curling gilt metal banister as she stood alone on the balcony, surveying the sprawling, well-tended grounds beyond the city walls that blended artfully with the endless waters of the north.  From here, there was no sign of the war that threatened their power.  Her home, like those of the other noble families, was situated near the city's heart, shielded from seeing that which they did not want to see.

Irritated as her thoughts dwelled on gloom, Bellicaste turned away from the view and padded back into her office, her bare feet making no sound on the cool tiles, before she went through the adjoining door to her bedroom.  The floors here were covered with exquisite silk rugs and the room was elegantly furnished with shining woods and rich fabrics, dominated by a large bed whose  delicate hangings were tied back to reveal heavily embroidered covers and heaped pillows.  The noblewoman did not see any of it, however, for there was a man sitting in one of the armchairs by the small, round table, eating from the bowl of fruit there.

“Faine!” She gasped, startled, but trying not to show it.  It gave him smug satisfaction to surprise her.    

“I'm sorry, darling, did I interrupt something?  I wouldn't want my impertinent games to interfere with your important diplomatic affairs.”

Bellicaste scowled and walked to the table to pour herself a glass of sparkling wine.  The honey-coloured liquid sloshed over the lip of the crystal goblet, eliciting a raised eyebrow from her guest, which she ignored.  Turning to him with a frown, she sipped her wine before she spoke.

“I told you not to sneak in here like this.  You know I hate it.”  

“Which is why I do it, of course,” he replied, grinning and unrepentant as he popped a grape into his mouth.  “Why did you ask for me?”

“I forget.  Doubtless it was unimportant.  You may go.”  

Piqued by his cockiness, Bellicaste turned her back to him, intending to return to her office, but a second later, his arms were around her, holding her firmly against the hard length of his body.  Unwillingly, she felt herself relax in his grip, feeling goosebumps rise on her skin where he breathed against her neck before murmuring into her ear.

“I think I know why you summoned me.”  

His voice was low and husky, sending a delicious shiver down her spine.  It annoyed her that he could affect her this way, every time.  Turning in his arms, she pressed one hand against the leather that stretched across his chest, lifting the wineglass between them like a barrier.  He plucked it out of her fingers and put it on the table before she could protest, then covered her mouth with his in a hungry kiss.  She responded with warmth before she remembered herself and pushed him away.

“Damn it, Faine.  I needed your services -”

The thief laughed, throwing his head back with an abandon that had once charmed her.  She waited until she had his attention again before retrieving her wine and taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“I want some information about the delegates coming next week.”

“Ah, I see,” he replied knowingly, his handsome face creased with a smile.  “A little ammunition before facing the horde, hmm?”

“Just do what I ask of you,” she snapped, putting the glass down again

Faine was unaffected by her temper and became serious as he approached.  Bellicaste did not move, caught by his amber gaze and the same magnetic appeal that had attracted her the first time she saw him at some boring social function.  It had not taken long before she knew who and what he was, then hired him for some minor information gathering.  It was not long after that when he had become her lover, and an invaluable asset to her ambitions.

The thief stood in front of her, reaching up to release the delicate gold net that held up her mane of rich, silver hair.  The wavy tresses spilled over his hands to fall heavily to her waist before he lifted a curl to be kissed.  She slipped her arms around him and he clasped her perfect face in his hands, simply drinking in her beauty for a moment; he wondered at the dark eyes that reflecting his image, but revealed nothing beyond that which she chose to show him.  As though sensing what he was thinking, Bellicaste closed her eyes and kissed him in an invitation that could not be denied.