SPONTANEOUS UPDATE! RAAWWWW!
...A great big thanks to Random Flier for all your reviews! :D Hot-diggidy-damn, I've surpassed 200! I'm so happy! *gives everyone a hug* Love all y'all!
And now it's time to introduce a new antagonist :3
~25~ The Exile
"My lady."
Ofelia Merlino raised her eyebrows but did not shift her eyes from the gradually expanding mosaic on the table. She fingered a smooth jade stone, then moved to instead take up a shard of ruby quartz. Around her, the pristine courtyard garden created a warm, homely atmosphere, the sun beaming down gently from between the latticework and the soft hum of bees adding to the lonely whispers of the wind and birdsong.
The handmaiden said nothing more, wringing her hands anxiously in her apron. She knew it was against proper etiquette to report anything before the mistress graced the reporter with her icy hazel eyes. So she stood there, palms sweating as a minute trudged past, and then another. The handmaiden was on the brink of clearing her throat, in case Ofelia had forgotten that she was there, but then the lady finally glanced up.
"What is it, Rosabela?"
The handmaiden managed not to squeak. "Your son, J-Julius, had returned, my lady. He brings word of his success."
Ofelia, loathed to reveal her own emotions to lesser blood, merely nodded once in understanding. She stood, allowing the silkiness of her dress to fall naturally about her.
"Good. I should like to enjoy some tea with him. Bring him to the parlour, Rosabela."
"My lady." The handmaiden curtsied, but Ofelia was gazing down at her mosaic creation, a project she had been toiling at for over two years. Each piece had to be flawless and precisely placed, the clay free of lumps and pebbles. It was being created to impress lords, after all, and anything less than perfection condemned the artist to the shadows of inattention. And to Ofelia, inattention was like a rusted knife being drawn across her milky throat by her own hand.
The mosaic consisted of Lord Renaldo's family crest, a scarlet boar's head on a light, violet field. Two spears, each bearing coils of grapevines along their shafts, crossed behind the grotesque head. As of yet, Ofelia had only completed a corner of the field, most of one spear and the beginning of the boar's snout. To many, such an endeavour would have been abandoned long ago. But Ofelia's patience stretched beyond the horizon, and her determination even further.
"Rosabela?"
"My lady?" The handmaiden poked her head back outside.
"Summon Rodrigo as well. I am sure he would take pleasure in hearing my son's story as well."
"As you wish, my lady."
Julius was staring out one of the many vast picture windows of the parlour, hands behind his well-dressed back. His hair had recently been washed and trimmed, and so he looked the proper gentleman when he turned upon Ofelia's entrance.
"Madre."
He strode forward to embrace her, and upon pulling apart, she kissed his cheek.
"Welcome home, my son," she said, permitting herself a small smile.
"It's good to be home. If I ever have to return to that frozen northern rock..."
"By God's grace, you never will again," Ofelia said softly. "Come, sit."
They each took a seat on the plush armchairs, enjoying the warmth of the ageing sun through the windows.
"I have such a story to tell, Madre," said Julius, ignoring the servant who came forward to pour them tea.
"And I should love to hear it," the lady replied, before leaning to her other side and beckoning with a hand. "And I think Rodrigo would as well."
Julius squinted into the shadows cast behind the open door. He blinked as a figure shifted, then drifted into the light like a wraith.
Rodrigo Salvini was a dashing man, a slash of raven-black hair reaching down to shade a portion of his face. Lean, but with shoulders that bespoke of admirable strength, he was as lithe and deadly as a panther. He wore tightly-fitted black leathers, adding to the lethal cat appearance, as well as a deep crimson cape. In his belt were three knives with which he had sentimental attachments, and over his right shoulder, a recurve bow was visible, black like a sliver of midnight.
To the uninformed, Rodrigo would appear to be one of the infamous, notorious and renowned Genovesans, the deadly assassins whose honour remained strongly tied with the highest bidder. To be true, he had been trained for many years by the shadowy order, until he betrayed them.
"Rodrigo," Julius said, nodding his head in an effort to swallow his surprise. He had not known the man was there, and wondered how long he had been.
"Julius," Rodrigo returned, with a lesser nod. He glanced around, seemingly bored. "Where is Niccolò?"
The physician shrugged. "I don't know. He can take care of himself. Will you...join us?" He had been on the brink of saying, "excuse us," but if there was one thing he learned about living with a Genovesan exile, it is that one must stay polite and courteous in their presence. If they didn't have the inclination to kill you for impudence, it would be a drop of poison in your drink to leave you bedridden for a month.
Eerily silent, Rodrigo padded forward and accepted a seat on Ofelia's other side, sitting on the edge of the chair. He left his bow and quiver on, Julius noted with slight contempt. A paranoid soul, was Rodrigo Salvini.
"You found a Ranger, then," he said candidly.
Julius felt his back straighten with pride. "We did. And we brought him here in one piece."
"He has the cloak that renders him 'invisible?'"
"Of course—"
"Is he as skilled as they say Rangers are?"
"I have not seen him in action, no—"
"Then how do you know if he was worth it?"
Julius' brow furrowed with impatience. The panther may be more than a mere guest in Villa Merlino, but under no circumstances did he have the right to be so insolent. "His name is Will Treaty. I'm sure you've heard that name before."
Rodrigo met the glower with one of continued stolidness. It struck Julius that he had never seen him smile. In fact, he's never seen him laugh, weep, or even frown. The man had two emotions – impassiveness, and outright anger.
"Will Treaty," the exile said. "Interesting."
"Interesting," Julius replied mockingly. "Yes, very interesting indeed."
Ofelia, having been silent through the feisty exchange, lifted her arms in disgust. "Boys, come on, now. This is no time for childish bandy. Drink with me."
Stiffly, Julius accepted a cup of tea from the platter, but Rodrigo merely stared at the offering servant until he squirmed and shuffled away.
"Now," said Ofelia. "This Will Treaty. Do you believe his prowess an equal match to Rodrigo's?"
Julius met the panther's emerald eyes. "Yes. Succeeds it, even. If the stories are true, a Ranger could outfox a Genovesan exile any day."
For the first time that day, he saw the enraged daemon that truly dominated Rodrigo's soul, and smirked. It was so easy to rile him, to exploit his weakness. Another reason to root for the Ranger.
Rodrigo's hand lifted towards his own throat, reaching for something, but whatever it was, Ofelia noticed him doing the same and snapped.
"Stop this at once! Rodrigo, don't you dare."
Curbing the beast within, the panther's hand dropped back down to his lap. Julius, though curious about what might be hanging at the man's throat, relaxed back into his chair. As fun as prodding the bear might be, one must know when to stop.
Ofelia, having calmed the brewing storm, grew sweet. "Be calm, my love. There will be time enough for that later. And not with my son. This is meant to be a pleasant reunion, not a petty alpha quarrel."
Rodrigo met Julius' eye, the enraged sneer smoothing back into his signature deadpan mask. The physician simply ignored him.
"Lord Aetius will be most pleased, Mother. We did just as he asked. Father will be seen in good light again, as will you."
Ofelia tittered, something she rarely permitted. Humour, after all, should be expressed sparingly. "Oh, Renaldo will remain in the shadows with his arrogant pomposity, my son. But you, you shall be rewarded. Even Lord Septimus could not have accomplished what you have done."
"Septimus—"
"May have funded the expedition, but you caught the Ranger. With the wealth you shall be bestowed with—"
"It was never about the money, Mother," said Julius, leaning forward. "My father fell from grace with his so-called atrocities, but the Aetius will notice him again once he hears the full story, will remember what a valuable asset Father and our family really was."
Ofelia felt a surge of warmth for her son, and smiled softly, lifting a hand to gently brush his cheek.
"You remind me of him, your father. This fire was the reason why I fell in love with him."
Julius flicked his head at Rodrigo, but did not look at him. "But now you have him, and Father has—"
"What? Rodrigo? Oh, don't be silly, my son!" Ofelia simpered with a laugh. "He's part of the family, but not through that. He saved your life once, remember."
The physician snorted. "Only because he nearly ended it. Why you keep a poisoner in the villa of a healer is beyond me, Madre. Dogs belong in the dog house."
The jibe was not enough to arouse the panther's daemon again, but Julius basked in the small triumph while it lasted.
"By the by," Ofelia pipped, "had he not known what you had so curiously tested, you would be lying next to your grandfather in the family crypt. Now, let us speak of business matters."
"You're entering the games," Julius said immediately, gazing flatly at Rodrigo.
"Of course I am. I wouldn't be interested in your little 'expedition' otherwise," the exile replied stiffly.
"You mean to kill the Ranger."
"I mean to prove myself."
"But why a Ranger?"
"What makes you think he's the target?" Rodrigo snapped impatiently. "I will kill them all, including your slinking friend, if I have to."
Julius gazed haughtily at him. "There are other ways to prove your worth, Rodrigo. The Genovesans—"
"Are a rabble of foolish cowards who spend their lives with their backs to the wall, forever believing themselves worthy enough to have their own assassins hunting for their blood. I will give them something to fear. The greatest tool they wrought shall be their greatest nightmare."
In actuality, Julius thought him frightening enough, but could not help but be contemptuous of the panther's boastful, overweening arrogance. And fearful for the Ranger.
"If you say so," Julius simply replied with a shrug.
The daemon stirred again, but Rodrigo did his best to curb it before it lashed out with tooth and claw. It would not look good in Ofelia's eyes if he killed her only son. As though sensing the close call, she gazed witheringly at him, warning him with hawk-like eyes. Then Rodrigo realized that his hand had gone back up to the miniature blow pipe hanging at his throat. Pretending that he was merely placating a pestering itch, he then lowered his arm to his lap once more. Julius was taking a sip of his tea and had not—or chose not to—notice.
What a pawn, Rodrigo thought disdainfully, resisting the urge to sniff. How he wished to have allowed the lethal vapours, concocted of a few poisonous plants, to suck the life from Julius' lungs forever. But had he done so, he never would have fallen into Ofelia's graces, or her bed. Thus, winning the honour to fight the foreign Champions would be nigh on impossible, despite his admirable skill as an archer, knife-wielder and poisoner. He was sure that, through Julius finding and capturing one of those Champions, Ofelia being his mother and Rodrigo's secret lover, the exile would be able to get in.
And once the last Champion is squirming in his death throes at my feet, they all shall come to revere and fear my name, he thought in delight, keeping his face deadpan.
Niccolò withdrew from the parlour door, stealthily padding down the corridor until there was a comfortable distance between himself and Julius, Ofelia and Rodrigo. Once around the bend, he sighed in relief, resting his back against the wall. Across from him was an alcove with a bust of some unfamiliar face, which seemed to be scrutinizing Niccolò, chiding him for his eavesdropping.
He never liked Rodrigo. The slippery man was always cloaked by an aura of dark intent, and when he looked at Niccolò, the youth felt like he was being regarded by a lithe cat, waiting for a chance to pounce. When away from Villa Merlino—which he never felt was his home, despite growing up there—it still seemed like the Genovesan exile was out there, somewhere, watching him.
It wasn't true, of course. Rodrigo seldom left the villa's grounds, and if he did, it was on his horse, galloping away the day in the countryside. He spent most of his time experimenting with his poisons, practising his archery, or honing his blades until they could cut shadows.
Niccolò always feared him, but hearing the conversation in the parlour made him outright terrified of him. And terrified for Will.
I thought he would have a chance in the Munerian Games, he thought, shaking his head morosely. But with a predator like Rodrigo in the ring, he could be dead before he had a chance to lift a hand in defence.
After Will was dropped off in Romena in the dead of night, along with Julius and a few others, Niccolò had taken the first opportunity to get off the Sterna Argento and return to Villa Merlino. It's been two days since then, so Will must be at the Arena already.
I have to warn him, he thought, perking at the revelation. I have to warn Will Treaty. Even if it was only to forestall his end, at least there's a chance he would be prepared for Rodrigo, prepared enough to defeat him.
Yay, Niccolò! :D
I don't know about you guys, but the name Rodrigo fills me with foreboding...*quirks eyebrow* Though it does have a slight sexiness to it. It's like Alejandro, Antonio, Orlando...All those 'o' names...