Maggie, their housekeeper, greeted her as she walked in the door, welcoming her into the warm, well-kept house. "Miss Lyra! Welcome back. Your father is expecting you in his study; your sisters are already there." She held her hands out, "Here, let me take that cloak for you, and your mask. I'll tuck them away." Maggie unbuttoned the cloak and lifted it from Lyra's shoulders.
Thankfully, Lyra removed her mask, breathing deeply. "Thank you Maggie, the smog is terrible today. We really need that rain storm."
"Aye. that we do. But you know it's not as bad up here, you should stay out of the lower level. We wouldn't want you getting lost." Her voice was kind and Lyra could see the concern in her eyes.
Leaning down, she slipped her hand into the cloak pocket and snatched the missive then kissed Maggie's wrinkled cheek, "Don't worry about me. I always take care to know where I am. Now, you said Papa wanted me in the study?" Maggie's eyes narrowed, knowing that Lyra was sidestepping her unasked questions yet again. Lyra was sorry for keeping her in the dark, but the missive in her hand, her business was much too valuable. If the wrong person ever found out...
"Lyra darling! Won't you join us?" Her eldest sister Ashelle's sickly sweet voice came from above. Her voluptuous sister was draped across the banister in her usual lazy way. Lyra had never seen Ashelle completely poised unless she was outside in the public eye, which rarely happened. Usually the blonde lounged around, nagging Maggie, degrading Lyra, or listing pricy goods for Papa to buy on his travels. Of her two sisters, Ashelle was her least favorite, and Ashelle knew it.
"I'm coming now." Casting a quick smile at Maggie, she hurried towards the stairs and climbed quickly. She barely heard Ashelle's "hmmmph" as she flounced back into the study, her skirt's swaying.
When she entered the study, her father looked up from the paperwork scattered on his desk. Her second sister barely spared her a glance before returning her attention to her nails. Ashelle was draped once more over the leather settee, leaving no room for Lyra to sit.
"Now girls, seeing that you're all finally here..." began her father.
"Ugh, if Lyra hadn't been running around those grimy streets this would have been finished by now." Complained Ashelle.
"...we can discuss finances. As you all know, Drakona has been invading the border, and as a result we've lost some of our trade lines to the military. This will probably be my last trip to the edge of the country for some time. Now is the time to make any last requests for new gowns, parasols, jewelry, or whatever silly finery you want."
"But father," exclaimed Ashelle, "what about the annual ball? We can't order dresses NOW!"
"They'll be out of fashion, so last season. We'll be the laughing stock of the city!" declared Harriet, finally speaking up.
"Enough!" Mercer held up his hand. "Tell me what you want, but do not ask the impossible. Pray that this invasion ends sooner rather than later." The worry lines etched into her father's face concerned Lyra. Normally he wasn't so short with her sisters.
She spent the next half hour propped against the door, listening to her sisters argue about fabrics, trims, beads, and all sorts of senseless items. Finally, when they each finished, they had three papers of requests between them.
"Well if this is the last time you're going, we have to get everything we need!" said Ashelle in response to Papa's raised eyebrow. "Surely you don't expect us to dress as peasants for the next few months!"
In a tired voice, accented by the weary shake of his head, he reassured his two daughters, "Of course not my dears. I shall do my best to bring you the finest."
Without so much as a thank you, Ashelle and Harriet left the room, still quietly bickering over which fabrics they requested.
"And you Lyra? What can I bring back for you?" Her father said, so quietly she almost didn't hear him.
Striding forward, she pulled a chair closer to the large desk and sat. "How bad is it father? How many of your trade lines have we lost?"
A sad smile crossed his face, "You know me best. Just like your mother you are." He pushed aside a few loose papers, revealing a map. "These two green lines, they are the only ones that remain open. The Draken have closed in faster than the king is willing to admit."
Lyra looked in shock at the twenty or so red lines running across the map, then back to the green ones. "How will you afford Ashelle and Harriet's demands? Surely those trade lines can't support that expense?" Quickly, she looked up to her father. His face was harrowed with anxiety.
"I don't know. I was hoping you could bring me good news."
"I haven't opened it yet." She hesitated before placing the missive on the desk. What if it didn't contain good news? What would they do then?
Her father slowly took the missive, breaking the seal carefully before reading it. "It would seem that our contacts don't have any good news for us. The Draken have successfully blockaded all merchant shipments, and they are moving to immobilize the rest. Tryndling will be landlocked...I doubt others will come to our aid this time."
Silence fell between them. If Drakona succeeded in cutting of Tryndling, it wouldn't be a war; it would be a slow and painful siege.
"A rose." Lyra said, breaking the trepid silence. Her father looked up in confusion. "Bring be back a rose."