The Marquis of Serault was not having a pleasant day.
First thing that morning, there was a theft at the Glassworks. The thief was found and dealt with, but the incident left the glassworkers on edge. Next, a herald of some lord or other came bearing long-winded tales of his time in Val Royeaux and some shiny bauble meant to impress him. Rislain considered himself a man of learning, and was not so easily swayed by such blatant attempts at flattery. Even so he had to respond to the gift somehow so he sought to outdo the foolish man by gifting him with several pieces of the finest Serault glasswork, silencing the whispers of Serault's lacking finances. The baffled look on the herald's face eased the pain of parting with such expensive products.
Now, as the sun began its descent, Rislain found himself surrounded by courtiers, minor nobles and other tedious individuals. He was sure they had some good reasons to be here, but he hadn't heard a single one yet.
He wished nothing more than to return to his study. The discreet messenger he'd sent out yesterday had returned, and he was eager to read what his porcine-inclined friend thought of his assertions on Arl Thomain's rule…
"My, but don't you look bored, your Grace."
A man slid out from the crowd gracefully to stand beside Rislain. He was a bard, if he remembered correctly, one who tended to travel and yet always returned here to Serault. Rislain was familiar with his uncle, an elderly knight who was much more knowledgeable than he made himself out to be, but he knew little of the bard himself. He was tall and lithe, with a well kept beard and charming smile.
"Perhaps," he reluctantly admitted, "but that is the way of life for those such as I. We brave the depths of boredom for the sake of the realm."
The bard's smile grew. "Ah, yes, 'tis the noble's burden." He looked out into the crowded hall. "They are not so burdened, these fine folk. That fellow there," he gestured to a balding man that Rislain vaguely recalled as a herald of a nephew of his, "has an almost uncanny interest in goats! And she," a minor lady of little beauty, "has been balancing three lovers!"
Rislain wondered if the bard's ramblings had a point. "How… interesting."
"Indeed! Of course, such upstanding folk could not possibly be spies, or assassins! Why, Maker strike me down for even thinking that perhaps one of them could possibly be a maleficar!"
What… is this? Is he warning me?
Rislain searched the crowd himself. True, he knew very few of the attendants of this little gathering, but to suspect them of such on the word of one man?
But that one man was a bard. A bard with blood ties to a friend of his, and no reason to turn on Serault now.
Well, better safe than sorry, or dead. I was tiring of this anyway.
With a few murmured words to the staff and guards, the little party was broken up swiftly and without incident. Rislain caught a glimpse of the bard as he left. The man gave him a cheeky wink.
He would have to watch out for that one.