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Chapter Nine: Meeting Fiora
The carriage was comfortable, if a bit plain by the standards of a major noble house. Regardless, the cushions were clearly of high quality, and the whole interior was scrupulously clean in the manner of something bought out of storage for the occasion. The driver and the guard were impressively disciplined, their stony expressions not betraying even a hint of emotion as they loaded us in and set off.
So...House Laurent...what do we know about them? Morgana arched a curious eyebrow, setting her identical invitation down.
I sank into the cushion slightly, racking my mind as I hummed in contemplation. A sudden clack startled me out of my reverie as I sprang to my feet. Magic flared from my fingers, briefly illuminating the interior as I swept the interior for the source of the noise. The light dissipated as thin fingers came to a rest on my forearm, and my gaze swept downwards to Morgana's sheepish expression and followed her other arm to the heels now haphazardly strewn on the carriage floor. They were a style coming into fashion all over Valoran, and while the heels were fairly modest in height, I still winced in sympathy.
"I don't know how anyone wears these for so long," she whined as she stretched her legs out and wiggled her toes as though to check they were all still there.
I chuckled as I sat back down and earned myself a swat across the forearm.
They're an old noble house, I answered after several moment's silence, Not on the same level as the Crownguards, but still one of the more powerful houses. The current head is Fiora de Laurent, youngest daughter of the previous lord.
Morgana's head tilted in curiosity, the unasked question hanging in the air.
Demacian politics at its most brutal. She was to be wed to a minor member of House Crownguard. She rejected him at the altar, and Demacian law demanded House Laurent pay in blood, I scratched my chin, I'm a bit hazy on what happened afterwards, truth be told. The end result, though, was the previous lord being executed in a duel with his youngest daughter, who became head of the house through an ancient Demacian law.
An unpleasant shadow passed over her features and vanished as suddenly as it came.
As you can probably imagine, House Laurent has seen better days. Their holdings are still quite impressive, and their coffers have only increased, but it's all overshadowed by that scandal.
Fiora de Laurent was by no means an unattractive woman. Despite her house's near-fall, her ruthless political acumen and beauty bought a long line of suitors to her door. Stories of her brutal rejections were a source of great entertainment at the Institute of War, and one enterprising member had gone as far as to compile all the accounts and articles into a single volume. One of my earliest assignments with Institute Intelligence was to assist in tracking down and destroying the volume; we had given up after numerous confiscations only to find even more copies in circulation and simply made it policy to hide any copies when the Institute hosted visitors.
"Madam de Laurent," I bowed deeply, "To what do I o-"
"Come," the Grand Duelist growled in her distinctive accent, "We have little time, and none to waste."
She pivoted on her heel, crossing the foyer in a few long strides. I looked at Morgana, shrugged, and turned to follow her. The servants had retired to their quarters, and only a token guard force patrolled the corridors even during the daytime, so we had only the dim candlelight and the even clicking of Fiora's boots for company. Even the link had fallen silent; anything that needed to be said was said on the carriage ride over.
"Though here," Fiora slowly opened the heavy wooden door and ushered us inside, "I have instructed the staff to touch nothing."
The room had clearly not been used in a very long time, judging from the stale dusty air that assaulted my lungs as I cross the threshold. I coughed into my sleeve, struggling for breath as I conjured up a sphere of light in my free hand and tossed it down the length of the room. I tried and failed to suppress a low whistle as I scanned the space before me: the light traveled for at least thirty meters before finding the far wall, and I couldn't see the side walls at all. Rows of dark shapes that I could barely make out were rack upon rack of weapons from every corner of the world ran the length of the chamber.
I sincerely doubt she called us all the way just to show off a trophy collection, Morgana slid into the room behind me.
"This room has not been opened since..." Fiora's expression momentarily faltered, "This room has not been opened for a very long time. I couldn't even begin to tell you what could have been taken, Summoner Jin."
I scratched my chin, a feeling of wrongness settling into my stomach as I set another few spheres of light throughout the room. I knew very little about Fiora de Laurent: what information the Institute had on her that wasn't otherwise publicly-accessible filled a few pages at most, and she had no ties—public or otherwise—to the organization outside of her friendship with the Grandmaster-at-Arms. Still, I knew enough about the proud duelist to know that she wouldn't call upon the Institute's Summoners for a simple break-in.
"I know this is not just a goodwill visit. You are here to investigate the recent caravan attacks, are you not?"
I suppose our silence was all the confirmation she needed. Fiora learned against the door frame, arms crossed and seemingly waiting for the other shoe to drop.
There's only one entrance to this room, Morgana gasped suddenly, and I turned to face her before we both pivoted to face Fiora, And the only path here is a corridor straight to the foyer.
Which means the only other way in here… I craned my neck upwards to confirm my suspicions.
There was indeed a row of skylights, having gone previously unnoticed due to the new moon and the cloudy night, built into the vaulted ceiling. I quickly scanned down the row, located the missing skylight, and followed the line downwards to the floor below. Morgana was already several steps ahead of me, applying a minor hovering spell to her feet and silently gliding towards the broken glass.
It's been cut, Morgana motioned as she bent down, careful to not actually touch the shards.
I leaned in for a closer look. The edges were slightly warped, but the cut was clean and ruler-straight. There were two possibilities I could think of: chemical torch…
Those are rare even in Piltover, Morgana interjected.
Which left only the second possibility: magic, and particularly vicious magic at that. Frankly, that possibility raised more questions than it answered. Small spells were fine, but a spell capable of cutting sheet glass would send every magehunter in the city running. And there was still the question if how the thief got onto the roof in the first place.
A sharp intake of breath broke my concentration, and my gaze snapped to the source of the noise. Morgana silently floated towards the center of the broken glass, slowly bending down as though to pick up an object before she realized where she was. She hastily withdrew her hand, shaking her head several times to clear her thoughts.
The object had nearly gone unnoticed in the pale light. A downy feather, too large to be from any bird and white as fresh-fallen snow.
I shot back up to my feet, stumbling for a moment as all the blood rushed to my feet. I took a second to reorient myself and bounded towards the entrance. Fiora stepped away from the door frame, tilting her head and raising a curious eyebrow.
"Madam de Laurent," I bowed slightly, "With your permission, I would like to bring in a team...probably half a squad at most. The situation is...potentially quite complex."
"Do what you need to," she nodded, "The foyer should be large enough for your teleportation spell, no?"
I simply nodded, fishing out a communication orb with one hand and a teleport beacon with the other.
A/N: So more of my unsolicited musings about this AU. The way I see things, the Demacia in this universe is significantly more hardline when it comes to mages, since the Institute of War is practically on their doorstep. At the same time, the Institute is a bit of a pressure outlet valve, since it's a convenient place to send banished mages. It's a relationship built largely on tooth-clenched acceptance of one another. The Institute was founded to prevent the kind of nation-obliterating magic that was used during the Rune Wars never again sees the light of day, and Demacia recognizes that any assault on the Institute would only end in disaster even without the Summoners intervening. After all, the complex is high up in the mountains, and while the peacekeepers aren't as numerous as Noxus' armies or as well-trained as Demacia's, they make up for it with mass adoption of chemtech firearms.
