Part Five, Chapter Three

Zevran was still required for business. With the spring came new contracts, and the housemaster and his colleague were tasked to sort through the many stacks of notices and select which they would negotiate for. Taliesen also had a fresh sense of direction now, owing from newfound tutorship under Eoman's influence. So together, the pair began the tedious process of which errands best fit with the House's and Talon's needs.

The young man might have felt slightly left out had he taken the time to question, if he could even muster the desire to care. Zevran's absence in Rialto meant he was not privy to new information and rumors about public affairs. The housemaster was negligent to fill him in too, which left open misunderstandings of what was considered important.

Taliesen was at least easing his comrade back into the process, though. In fact, he was all together too caring in his interactions with Zevran, and it was enough to make the young man uncomfortable. He did not want pity. He had little enough time to grasp where to place his anger, let alone how he felt about his friend as a result of the fallout during Santinalia. The Shem's motivations were still muddled in a mix of stories, and Zevran had to question what intentions the other truly carried. What was the purpose of forcing him to lie about his involvement over Rinna's death?

The thought of his past lover made him flinch, and the young man dropped the parchment he was reading to place a palm against his tired face.

"It is late," the housemaster declared, glancing at the candle nearing its wick. They declined the offer to the tavern earlier for the closeted space of Taliesen's quarters. The door and window were shuttered, the lone candle providing only minor illumination in the cool space.

"We can finish this tomorrow," he said and Zevran did not respond, instead opting to finish his wine. Taliesen began to stack the letters where they were organized, mentioning casually along the way, "There is to be a gathering for us."

"A gathering," Zevran repeated, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"Aye, the Grand Master has received tributes from across Antiva for our recent," he paused to mull over the best manner to say it, settling with a wince, "ventures. He would like to reward us."

The young man shook his head, contemplating what he would like to say to the audacity that they might be given a prize for cold-blooded murder, "Nigh am I concerned."

"You must be, Zev." There was finality to his words, and the younger looked up to see the graveness in the housemaster's face. It was enough that all the brethren in the House knew of their troubles, but their strained relationship had not yet caught on with the rest of the Talon. Zevran was merely tending to other duties or minding the House while the housemaster was away, or so Taliesen said.

"Eoman nigh gifts praise lightly," there was another pause before he continued, "We must accept this with grace."

Zevran wanted to argue but knew there was nothing to be said. With notoriety came the burden of duty, and the Duel Strings were on a quick path to ascension. Fidelity to their cause was without question, lest other means to were sought to ensure their compliance.

It was ironic to the young man that he should see all his effort over the years, his personal toil, his embellishment of personality and enhancement of his perceived skill – all for respect from his betters – as a waste of time now. In fact, the lack of motivation spurned his resentment further, no matter how carefully hidden it remained.

There was in fact a grand effort between several Crow and Merchant Houses to recognize the pair. The soiree was to be held at House Mele, a famous Merchant House and close business partner with House Valisti, among others. Zevran distantly recalled the villa, as the old Master would sometimes frequent the manor when he was a child. The guest list included Claudio Valisti himself, Houses under his jurisdiction by Royal decree, other members of the Royal Court, select Houses under the Arainai Talon, two Guild Masters, and the committee overseeing the Vancor. There was rumor that the Onesta might also appear at some point in the evening, although the failed publicity of her supposed heir was still too fresh in a few minds. Of course, there was no love lost between mother and son, at least to the public, and therefore, it was only appropriate to invite the Courtesan to such a highly promoted event.

So much pomp and flare caught the Duel Strings by surprise. Even Taliesen was at a loss about what was expected of them when they were called to fittings for a fine set of attire they were to wear when presented before the Royal Court. The housemaster was quick to take the offering with a smile though, and enforced his protégé to stand just as tall. Zevran did as he was told, and although his gut strongly desired to flee the room, he could not help the lax smile that appeared from all of preening and attentiveness afforded to him. It was something he could get used to if he were allowed such things.

Thankfully, they were not required to bring anyone with them, and Zevran's fear of involving the Courtesans was alleviated. The thought of speaking to Sinette after all of the upheaval to their Houses caused a mix of anxiety and shame he did not know how to process. Taliesen most assuredly would have brought Nell, were she still by his side.

Soon enough, the evening of the gala came to bear. Zevran stood at the verbose entrance of House Mele and pondered what exactly he was doing. He recalled how as a boy he sat at the foot of these very steps and waited for the Master to exit. Only once was he permitted within the outer foyer during an overbearingly hot summer day. The maid even gave him a cup of water. If he tried hard enough, perhaps he could still envision the shadow of that child watching as people entered with a sense of wonder scrawled onto his face. How he pitied that child now.

Merchant homes were elegant places. Antivan summers were oppressive and ranged in weather from the dry early days to a continuous stream of monsoon storms that swept off the coast later in the season. In the winter, the air was crisp, windy and cool. The buildings in the City were often set up to allow an open breeze throughout the entire structure, and the larger villas had open atriums in the center that acted as both a courtyard and foyer to greet guests. The atrium for House Mele was relatively small, but no less extravagant. Eight marble columns lined the edge of the forum, next to each a servant stood dutifully to take cloaks and offer refreshment before guiding the guests to where the actual event was staged.

For a moment, Zevran felt out of place as he undid the clasp of his cloak and handed it to the Daedric retainer, only briefly making eye contact before accepting a goblet of wine. He drank deeply.

"Careful," Taliesen tutted in a hushed tone as he accepted his own glass, "You seem nervous, yes?"

"I seem thirsty," he replied, flitting a bland smile.

The housemaster sighed, agitation slipping through with his concern, "Can we simply take the evening as it is? I'd nigh dare ask you to forget, or even forgive for that matter, but neh is this the place for remorse. Let it stay on the steps."

There was a plea given, and Zevran nodded only to appease his colleague of any further trouble he might unwittingly cause. The action seemed to ease Taliesen enough as he took a long swig from his goblet and marched forward without another word.

As pro forma, it was customary to be fashionably late to evening parties, which was at distinct odds with how business was done during the day. Promptness of a deal was paramount, but the art of negotiation meant more refined power plays were often at hand. The later the guest, the more important they were, and so as the Duel Strings made their way to the partially exposed veranda, it came as a shock to Zevran how many people were already present. The soft harmony of lutes plucked in the background above the low conversations of the room. The vast majority of the attendees neither recognized, but Taliesen ignored the awkwardness anyway, heading straight toward two familiar figures on the balcony.

Eoman and Gynn both turned to the pair as they approached, the Grand Master's expression comically countering that of the Guild Master. The young man felt the disdain before he even saw it, Gynn's frown deepening when Eoman grasped Zevran's shoulder.

"I am glad to see you again," he said more to Taliesen than his partner. The housemaster welcomed a firm hand to the shoulder in kind.

They chatted briefly about the state of the assembly. There were many people to introduce them to, particularly among members of the Vancor and House Valisti. And of course the host of the evening, Luis Mele, who was attending to a last minute detail in the kitchen. Zevran kept his line of sight to the Guild Master, who all the while busied himself with his wine and a bowl of olives on the terrace railing.

Eoman was a talkative man. And like any good showman, he knew how to work a room. As Zevran was drawn away from the balcony and paraded from group to group, he could not help the gnawing feeling creeping up his backside that he was no better than a pawn being moved to its appropriate place. His success was truly Eoman's success, and as such it was a continued boon on behalf of the Talon for which he was contending.

Everyone welcomed the Duel Strings with varying degrees of politeness. Zevran comprehended already that someone who was too polite was probably intending to insult, but he was unsure if Taliesen knew how to read such things. The courtesy was daunting, yet with a stream of wine and music, it was becoming easier to forget the stabbing pain in his heart every time a nameless person mentioned the reason why they were there.

They were well into their circuit when something caught Zevran's eye. At the entry of the room was a woman, dressed in finery that might rival a courtier. She wore a brilliant blue gown, embellished with crystals that reflected the lantern light like sun off the sea. Her jet hair was finely combed over one shoulder, a cascade of curls held in place only by a massive golden pin on top covered in an assortment of gems. Her caramel skin amplified the shadows along her defined neck and curve of her arms as she stood calmly, taking in the crowd with a knowing expression. It was the hint of a smirk when she looked at him that snapped the young man's recollection.

"Zev," Taliesen nudged and he turned back to the matter at hand. The housemaster issued a withering glare when he caught sight of the woman before motioning toward the direction they were headed.

In the corner, a small group amassed around one man. The Shem was tall and gallantly dressed. The plaits of his doublet wove into a deep red brocade that starkly contrasted the dark sleeves and leather guards that covered his arms and legs. He was an older man, entering middle age, and the etching of his life had already begun to leave their lingering marks around his eyes and mouth. His beard was well groomed, as was the rest of him. Deep blue eyes came alight when he realized who was parting the crowd to join them.

Eoman chuckled as he leaned forward to lightly embrace the man. He straightened himself again with a broad smile, waving a hand across the pair as though they were presents, "Claudio Valisti, may I introduce you to the duo behind our rally, the Duel Strings."

"So this is the fabled protégé I keep hearing about," the prince boasted with a tip of his golden chalice. Glancing around their small group, he spoke with their attention in mind, "For a Daedric, you have managed to do quite well over such short years. Neh a passage through Tern neglects to mention your name, Zevran Arainai."

A blush crept to his cheeks unbidden, and the Crow replied with meek smile and bow, "I can only make claim to what I have learned under the watchful tutorship of Arnii."

"Well, the merchants seem to sing a tribute to you far better than your House," Claudio acknowledged, "Quick wit, charm, and luck are on your side. You've captured the Antivan heart, I would say."

He did not know how to respond. To receive such a strong compliment from the head of an esteemed House once was a long-sought dream. Now that he was faced with its realization, he stumbled on his own words.

"Aye," Taliesen was quick to fill in for him, "We may as well have found Andraste's ashes to have him. A pure talent to be sure!"

Claudio turned his attention to the housemaster, "We have you to thank for taking him as an apprentice them. Your father would be proud, I think."

Zevran glanced over and caught the subtle hitch in his friend's breath. Never had anyone mentioned his family before, and Taliesen was quite guarded about his past. As far as the young man knew, he was the only one who had knowledge of the housemaster's Fereldan origins, let alone how he landed portside. He swallowed thickly and regained his composure, "Thank you."

After their initial introduction, the discussion moved to more esoteric topics, and the pair was eventually released from the Grand Master's procession to mingle for themselves. Taliesen immediately moved to follow after Eoman, eager to partake in the rare opportunity to garner favor with those far above his station. Zevran on the other hand, stood by as he always had done when he attended functions with the housemaster. After all, his role was always that of the wallflower, to listen and recall later. And now that he had the chance to participate, he found himself with little desire to do so.

"You are alone," a feminine voice called at his side. The evening was late, and the party was only beginning. Dinner had long since been served, and idle chatter was becoming louder as the brandy was opened and shared among the guests. Zevran found himself seated on the edge of the terrace railing, watching the moonrise over the bay. The sky was clear and the bright disk cast a dim light onto the City before him. The woman leaned onto the ledge, clasping her hands under her sharp chin, and sighed longingly into the night air, "What a pity."

The young man glanced over, "I've seen you before."

"Have you, now?" A smirk surfaced.

Zevran shifted on his precarious perch to face her, "Nigh over a fortnight ago, you were at a tavern in Tern. You wore a blue scarf and knew an rather unsettling trick."

The woman straightened and turned to prop onto her elbows, her eyes widening in the dark, sparking the faux surprise that flashed across her painted face. The artistry of the makeup did not suit her, Zevran thought. She was far more attractive playing the barmaid with nothing marking her save the tint on her full lips.

She bit her bottom lip and played coy, "And do tell, what trick was this?"

He gave a disarming smile of his own, resting an arm on his knee and taking a sip of his brandy, "What is your name?"

"Rather forward are you, no?"

"If I had to guess," he considered her attire before continuing, "I would say you are the wife of one of the merchants here."

"Well considering I am the only woman here, for the moment," she tapped her finger in the air to emphasize her point, "I suppose you might be right."

"You are Luis Mele's wife then, yes?"

"Smart one, you are." She clapped gently for him with the bloom of her smile, "My name is Isabela. I already know of you."

Zevran snorted and turned his attention back to the view of the City. For the while they sat quietly, one faced outward into the darkness, the other facing inward toward the festivities. The young man took some time to think about the troubling realization around the woman beside him and how she might know of his meeting with Stil. The best solution was to confront it, he decided.

His voice was smooth, seductive from the start, "Tell me, do you nigh find it odd that someone of your status should remove her finery for Dockside?"

Isabela shook her head from side to side, the sparkle of her pin scintillating off the stonework. She raised a manicured brow, "Is it any more odd than the great Charm of Tern to be neutered by a woman?"

There was a punctuated silence as Zevran tried to figure out an appropriate retort to such a candid reply. The brandy was halted halfway to his mouth when he finally glanced down at the lady still staring into the salon.

He was tired of hiding his anger for the evening though, and Zevran put the chalice down, his refined face closing off into a sullen scowl, "What do you know of it?"

"What they did was wrong," she said, her expression dull as she turned up to the young man. Her tone was just as flat, "Neh, anyone here would say such, but it is the truth."

"The truth," Zevran said lightly, a huff escaping him and spoke out into the night, "The truth says I killed a rouge heir aimed at upturning the balance of our fair City in the name of my House."

Hearty laughter filled the air, and the man jolted off the railing, his drink tipping over the edge. Zevran winced internally when the glassware landed onto the stone terrace below with a resounding crack. No one inside seemed to notice, though, and Isabela looked over the edge into the vines below before glancing back at him, "Oops! Oh kitten, neh a porter believes that yarn! And it neh matters anyway."

Zevran bristled, "Who are you to make such claims?"

"I believe you have too much heart to do what they say," she dared to lean forward and cup his face. Zevran recoiled, out of fear of being caught with the host's wife on the balcony, he dared not question. Isabela chuckled, turning to dance with the music emanating from inside instead. After a moment, she scanning the space around them and peered at the young man over her shoulder. Mocking her intrigue, she questioned, "Murder your lover for what? This?"

"Nigh is it so strange in the history of this City," he spat, readying himself to leave.

"Oh yes!" Isabela returned, "Betrayal and love go hand in hand. So does gold and power."

"Why were you at Kilne the other night?"

She smiled ruefully, "I have my reasons."

But then she caught on to the implied accusation, and the woman took this moment to step in front of Zevran's exit back into the brightly lit salon, "Oh, but nigh do you need to be concerned, sweetness! Your presence was a special surprise."

Flustered, the young man rounded on her, "What do you want?"

"I'm curious," She tittered, grabbing onto his shoulder and tilting in conspiratorially. Zevran's tolerance for beautiful women would normally see him playing into her game, but the circumstances were too conspicuous. Her words were too cutting, no matter how unintentional they may have been. She gushed, "I have heard so many stories about the Golden Boy, and I simply had to inquire for myself."

"Your husband is but a stone's throw from us," he countered, "Do you nigh consider this rather poor manners in front of your patrons?"

Another bound of laughter burst forth. Zevran could nearly tasty the brandy on her breath, she was so close, "They do have you on your toes, yes?"

"Please," mustering every ounce of chivalry, the young man pushed the hostess by the small of her back toward the entry. A serious expression crossed him as he searched for Taliesen in the crowd, "Perhaps we should return, then."

"The pressing question, of course, is what you plan to do about it?" He was cornered with the assertion and he paused in his step. Isabela turned back to see her husband welcoming the very late arrival of the Onesta. The elderly woman was accompanied by a harem of young courtesans behind her, foreshadowing the evening ahead. The woman hummed, and returned to Zevran, speaking offhandedly as she finally let him go, "Will you truly let them get away with the murder of an innocent girl all for the sake of politics?"

He was stunned and in a very unfortunate situation. Isabela indeed let him be after her final words, but just in time for the housemaster to gather him again and toss him into the fray. He grabbed a decanter and poured himself a serving of port followed by another when the first did not calm him.

"You are shaken," Taliesen observed and suddenly, the housemaster was very close to his side, "What happened?"

Zevran grimaced with the shake of his head, "Neh a thing."

An entire bottle of brandy later, and the evening was more of a blur than what he could recall. The man awoke in a soft bed with someone cuddling close to his side. A headache was brewing, and he peered down into the coverlet at a mop of dark hair and the pointed tips of ears. Scenes surged forth in his mind about how he got to this place, and then Zevran wanted to beat himself senseless. The buddle in his arms was one of the most beautiful Daedric he had ever laid eyes on. And her presence was seemingly meant just for him as she sauntered forward and gazed deeply into his amber pools with a tropical sea of her own. It was as though the Crow was under some spell when she traced the length of his face and gifted a captivating smile. What was he to do?

He should have known better, but the distraction was all consuming. Mixed with drink and heady air, it was too easy to fall under her will. And women were his weakness, or so he was known. Thus, what ever she needed, he gave her with reverence.

In the vivid morning light, however, the regret sank back in. Zevran took a moment to rest his cheek against her silken tresses before gingerly untangling himself from the covers.

He was awake before everyone else, blessedly. Without a sound, he managed to grab a loaf of bread and dried meat from the kitchen and headed back down to Dockside for his morning routine. Taliesen would be along eventually, if he was still around at all. The housemaster somehow disappeared in the night and the young man could not remember why or where. He feigned interest in women easily enough, but Zevran recognized by now where his appetites lied. His path was a lonely one indeed.

Sympathy was not something he wanted for the housemaster, though. He deserved what he got, Zevran considered. Where did the protégé of Arnii really stand with regard to their supposed friendship in the face of ascension in the Crows? Taliesen confided in him, trusted him, cared for him out of some hidden fondness he would not dare tell another, and yet he chose to hurt the young man in the most heinous way. What was the point of it all? The housemaster had everything to gain from their recent folly, and that notion alone crushed the young man.

"Sod him," he muttered as he unearthed several tinctures from within the confines of his crate in the attic. Rinet was only one of several salves Zevran had developed for the House over the years, and he eyed his supply before wrapping the sampling carefully in a linen cloth. He would make his delivery to Ignacio, but at his price. If the Hound did not wish to pay his share, then his little knives could die from infection for all he cared.

With a set resolve, he made his way down the back alleys in the direction of a gate with a faded red flag.