XIII. Isla Yura

"Young Lord Frederic Nightray, I presume?"

A bare hand touched my shoulder, which gave me quite the start. Certain customs I was unused to in this foreign society, particularly the lack of gloved palms during social events; among the circles I run in at home, one would never see a gentleman without a fitted pair of kidskin gloves: to do without them at a gathering was a mark of uncouthness.

Upon turning around, wine glass in hand, I nearly bumped foreheads with the shallow-looking fellow and took a step backwards. Again, some customs I needed to become adjusted to…

"Pardon me," I excused myself, giving a nod of the head. "And you are…?" I had been twenty-five, still rough around the edges when it came to distant excursions from my mother country, and it was my first mission to this land in particular. Their people had suffered a massive earthquake around the time of the Tragedy, and I was attending a function with His Ambassadorship to commemorate the rebuilding of one of their nation's cherished monuments, which had toppled during the catastrophe.

I couldn't help but stare at those long, curved fingernails as the gentleman flounced forward. His too-bright eyes pinned down on me in the most discomforting manner as he continued his introduction.

"Isla Yura," he said, extending that same naked hand in my direction. Out of obligation, I shook it, and could feel his clammy skin through the thin leather of my glove. "Scholar, scientist, and head archivist to the national library." Upon grasping my hand, Yura took the opportunity to further shorten the distance between us. "You are the Junior Assistant to the Head Delegate to His Ambassadorship, aren't you? I've heard so much about you."

His breath smelled uncomfortably of herring and wine. I tried to maintain composure and disengage my hand from his; unfortunately, Yura remained quite firm, and he then placed his other, damp palm to top of mine to entrap my limb between them.

"Heir to the Nightray Dukedom, I heard. Oh yes, and your father, a brilliant pioneer in Chain research."

"I-indeed." I glanced around and spotted my superior on the far side of the ballroom. "Excuse me," I said in a tense tone, "I believe I am being summoned." In a move that seemed more a yank than a forceful withdrawal, I reclaimed my hand and immediately departed to seek the company of the rest of the delegation.

Thankfully, that was the only encounter I had with Isla Yura that evening. My glove remained suspiciously dampened from that untoward encounter, however, and I ended up discarding the pair from my wardrobe entirely.