Author Notes: Alright, Chapter Three. It's a bit shorter than my other chapters, about 10,000 words, but I didn't especially have anything else I wanted to accomplish with it that couldn't wait till the next and I really wanted to get it out for you guys. Again it's un-betaed so sorry for errors. There will no doubt be a few but hopefully they aren't too invasive. You've waited way too long as it is. Just wanted to say I have a Briar/Evvy OneShot, Surprises, if you want to take a look at that. Also thank you to all my wonderful reviewers! Karma Kat 281, my sentiments exactly, I'm really glad you like Heinz! I know people tend to be wary of OCs. Riz, here's your chapter 3, I'm sorry it took so long, and thanks for the compliment on my OCs! Thank you, RorieAngel, no Briar in this chapter, unfortunately, but there will be some next chapter, I've already got a scene partially written up! HannokiKaen, thanks for the compliments, I really try to capture Tammy's style will still being true to my own, I'm glad you think I've succeeded so far, hope you like the new chapter! Arkeus glad you like it, and I know, it seems like there are so few Circle fics *cries* we need to work on recruitment or something. Kaze-Tsuki Tris is one of my favorites too and she feature's prominently in this chapter, I hope you enjoy it!
Again, thank you all my readers, hope you enjoy the chapter!
Chapter Three
Sandry sat in the office that she, her uncle, and Baron Erdogun fer Baigh, her uncle's seneschal, used for running the country. She was in the midst of working through the stack of documents that pertained to the keeping of His Grace's household, signing, denying or otherwise doing whatever each document required of her, when she sighed for about the fiftieth time. Erdogun knew—he'd been counting.
"Lady Sandraline," the Baron interjected unhappily, slapping down his pen onto the stack of reports he'd been trying to get through for the last half hour. "Please enlighten us as to what you've been brooding over all morning or I swear I'm going to go crazy with all this sighing."
Sandry blushed, now feeling embarrassed that she'd so annoyed Erdogun. The stitch witch hadn't even realized she'd been sighing, she'd been so caught up between doing her work and pondering the state her most sensible sister was in, and how to go about remedying it. Even dedicating herself to going over every acquaintance she could think of the night before hadn't uncovered anyone half-good enough for Tris, not even just for a round of casual dates. Everyone was just either too stupid, too immature, or too afraid of her. Most of Sandry's acquaintances already knew Tris, at least peripherally, and most everyone in Summersea knew about the four young mages who'd been involved in every major event taking place in the city the last decade or so, from earthquakes and pirate attacks to a plague. It was hard to find someone who didn't carry the stigma—even harder than Sandry had thought it would be.
"I'm sorry, I didn't notice I was doing it," she apologized to the two men. "I'm just very concerned about something Briar, Daja and I discussed yesterday."
Duke Vedris and Baron Erdogun exchanged looks over their paperwork. They knew the four mages, though very close, still occasionally fought, and when that happened Sandry, the most tender-hearted of the four, was usually the one who felt it the worst, even if she wasn't the one involved in the fighting. A spat between her siblings could leave her depressed for as long as the rift continued. When that happened the Duke got worried and Baron Erdogun usually ended up with more work.
"What happened, my dear?" the Duke asked concernedly over steepled hands resting on the desk in front of him.
Sandry wrinkled her button-like nose in thought, wondering if she should really say, but upon further consideration, she realized that her uncle had known Tris as long as she had, and nearly as well. He respected her a great deal and the two even shared reading material. He would want to know what was going on with Sandry's adopted family for their own sakes, not just Sandry's. And while Baron Erdogun didn't have as much interest, he could keep a secret, and had also struck up a kind of friendship with the weather mage, as odd as that might seem—the two shared a great deal in common, as far as personalities, and they generally had similar view points. He also valued Tris's political opinion and would sometimes ask Sandry to mention certain issues with the red-head when she visited next so Sandry could report back with the information. The two men could be excellent co-conspirators in the three mages' plans.
Making up her mind, Sandry began to speak. "Oh nothing happened, we all just talked about how we're worried for Tris and decided to actually do something about it." Sandry then explained to them all what Daja had told her siblings and about the things she'd noticed about her sister, and then talked about their plans to find her a potential romantic interest. "And so," she concluded, "I've been trying to think all evening and morning about who might fit with her and I'm having a wretched time of it. No one seems quite right."
Looking at the two older men for their reactions, the Duke had a large smile across his face that he was trying to hide behind a hand. Erdogun managed to keep a straight face for about five seconds before he burst out laughing, nearly falling out of his chair.
"I'm serious," Sandry pleaded, eying Erdogun in particular with irritation; her uncle could smile at her like she was a naive child, but she'd be damned if she'd let anyone else do it. "Tris needs someone and urgently. We need to find her love before it's too late!"
"Because you've done so well finding it for yourself," the Baron criticized with rolled eyes once his laughing had quelled. He flapped a hand at Sandry dismissively. "Leave her alone—it'll happen when it happens, and good luck to the poor sod."
Sandry scowled, turning up her noble nose at him. He could be just a little more sympathetic, not that she ought to have expected it. Erdogun could be as scathing as Tris. Worse, even.
"Sandraline, dear," the Duke said kindly, gaining Sandry's attention immediately. "I believe what Erdo is trying to say, is that while you and your friends have good intentions, you can't rush these things. She'll find love in her own good time, as will you."
Sandry returned the Duke's smile, feeling somewhat comforted, both for Tris and herself. She had felt a bit discouraged the past couple years as the months went by and she hadn't been able to meet anyone who could make her heart race or her eyes go soft. Sometimes she feared she'd never find love and maybe, just a little, her fears for Tris had been a reflection of those she herself carried.
"I appreciate what you are saying, Uncle," Sandry told the Duke. "We aren't looking to have Tris married by next fall or any such thing, we just want her to have a positive romantic experience to prove to her it's possible. If the two decide they just want to be friends after a few outings, then that's alright. At this point, Briar, Daja and I are afraid that special-someone might come along and Tris would be too afraid to do anything about it, so assured that it could never work out."
Vedris pondered this. He could see Sandry's point. Erdo broke in after tapping his chin in consideration, "Now that I think about, I'd thought she was a bit sweet on that lad Alzander—turned beet-red whenever the fellow stepped foot in the same room with her. Never made any moves toward him, though. I'd thought that a bit odd at the time."
Sandry sat straighter in her chair, excited by this revelation. "Alzander? His Grace's Secretary's son, Alzander Roberka?"
Erdogun nodded. "The boy that's been taking over for Midos occasionally for the last couple years—more often now that his arthritis is really getting bad. He's a good secretary, we may have to hint to old Midos that it's time for him to retire soon and give his son the job permanently."
"That might be a good idea," the Duke agreed.
Sandry's mind raced. That 'boy', Alzander Roberka, was actually twenty-four, and had always been the picture of courtesy and kindness to Sandry, her siblings, or indeed anyone she'd ever seen him interact with. The man was very diligent and good at his job, not prone to the sorts of rashness that boys their age seemed to get into, no, he was mature and took things seriously. Tris had only ever had positive things to say about the young man and since Erdogun had brought it up, she too realized that Tris had acted uncharacteristically shyly around the man whenever they'd crossed paths. Sandry had always liked him, though not for herself; he was a little too dry, a bit like a young version of her cousin Ambros in Namorn, but then Tris had always got along with that type of person and liked Ambros, dryness and all. He might just be good enough for her sister.
Now, this is a very promising development, Sandry told herself, But what does he think about Tris? I ought to find that out before I do anything else.
Actually, she was pretty sure she'd seen him at old Midos's desk earlier before she'd come in…
"Oh, just go talk to the boy already so we can get some actual work done!" Erdogun demanded, throwing up his hands in defeat after guessing what Sandry was thinking by that mischievous look on her face. The Baron and Sandry had often plotted behind the Duke's back, arranging ways to make sure he didn't overwork himself. As a result, he knew exactly what such a look meant and he actually felt a bit sorry, both for Tris and Alzander. The two wouldn't know what hit them.
Sandry huffed indignantly, but rose from her seat, back straight as a rod, chin high in the air as she floated out of the room with all the dignity she could summon. As she left, His Grace chuckled warmly and Erdogun shook his head, muttering, "Women and their damned matchmaking…"
Sandry called back, "I heard that!" before exiting the room.
Chime made scolding noises, presumably in response to Calyra's abrupt exit, while Tris eyed the pamphlet in her hands. The weather witch was still sitting where the paper mage had left her to dash back to the printing house at top speed.
Examining the paper, she found it advertised the services of Master Lampblack—translation, authentification, document and book restorations and appraisal, custom calligraphy and inks, and other magical services. Also mentioned was Calyra Karpander herself—paper crafts, custom stationary, fine printing papers and other magic services. Times were listed when they were available for walk-in consultations, the prices being negotiable. The address was for Hawthorn Road, a good part of town, if a little older than Cheeseman Street and crowded with more foot traffic. It wasn't that far away.
Tris did fancy the idea of meeting a book mage and learning about the magic that could go into something as incredible as a piece of writing. Just as her friend Daja could forge a gold chain, link by link, and come out with something beautiful that noble ladies would scramble to drape around their necks, so a writer put together a piece of work, word by word, sentence by sentence, filling pages that, once you read them, filled your mind with visions of far away places, new ideas, or reawakened one to the world around oneself.
It was it's own kind of magic, no less incredible for being so humbly contained within a front and back cover that could fit on a shelf. It didn't sparkle or glow, not on the outside. It was only when you opened it up, looked inside, familiarized yourself with the contents, reading it cover to cover, did you come to fully understand the beauty of it, the appeal. Tris loved beautiful things, and just as good as something that could attract the eye, maybe even better, was how a thing could attract the mind, transport it, even transform it, elevate it into something higher, if only for a brief moment. Books had that power; she'd never known anything else on earth that could claim the same.
It's on the way to the mage's supply shop, she realized. Even if he isn't there, I could take a peak in…Tris frowned behind her brass glasses and shook her head to clear it. And risk looking like a thief or stalker, peering in through the window of a house belonging to someone who was conveniently not around? she scolded herself, The Provost's Guard would probably shoo me off anyway.
She set off down the road towards her former goal, determined not to be sidetracked anymore. Calyra was nice, but she didn't know what Tris's full powers were, she just thought of the redhead as an accomplished academic mage, not the prodigy Trisana Chandler who wielded unmatched power over earth, water, air and lightning. Surely she'd turn jealous and resentful if she knew—well, maybe not, she seemed a good sort, but in Calyra's case Tris suspected she would probably become discouraged in her own magic, feeling she could never match up. The girl had already seemed as if she was disappointed in herself for not being further along in her studies, Tris didn't want to make it worse. It would probably be better not to get too close to her. This of course meant she should stay away from her master, too.
Tris sighed resignedly. She'd gained a lot of things living her double-life at Lightsbridge, but many things still eluded her. She couldn't let people get too close or her illusion of mediocrity would crumble. Tris would trade being hated for being liked, or at least given a chance, any day, but her close friends other than her foster family were few and far between and they'd have to stay that way if she wanted to retain that acceptance.
Coming to the busy intersection of Hawthorn Road and Cherry Street, Tris had completely meant to choose Cherry Street, walking west, but by the time she realized what she was doing, she was already halfway down Hawthorn and swiftly closing in on the address of the pamphlet. Chime made an inquisitive noise as she realized they were deviating from one of their usual paths and began to look around interestedly from between Tris's braids.
I'll just take a peek, just a quick one, Tris allowed herself, reaching up to stroke the glass dragon.
She came to a stop in front of Number 11 Hawthorn Road and eyed her surroundings cautiously, trying to remain as inconspicuous as a plump, bespectacled redhead could possibly be standing in the middle of the street, peering intently at a house upon which she had no business doing so. Chime followed suit, and made a crystalline whistle that Tris swore sounded impressed.
"Yes," she agreed aloud.
Even if Tris hadn't known the house number, she would have known which one on the street belonged to the mage because it blazed in her magical sight with protections and wards. The thing was a fortress of magic power, more than discouraging everything from burglary, breakage and fire, to dust, grime and sun-bleaching.
She knew people who would kill to have something that good cast on their homes. Tris thought that she could duplicate it in terms of power, but she wasn't sure if she had the know-how to do warding this advanced. They only taught that sort of thing at Lightsbridge in the upper-division shielding classes, which she hadn't taken. Her specialization hadn't been on advanced protection spells.
The house itself was on a decent plot, larger than that which Tris and her siblings had, and the ground floor took advantage of that (and the lack of a forge) by having a sprawling ground floor, probably surrounding a courtyard, though the third row of windows suggested that floor wasn't as extensive as the one belonging to her house. One end had a mysterious cylindrical attachment topped by a domed cupola and lined with windows all down the facade, but the glare from the sky made it impossible to see inside. Surrounding the plot were tall stucco walls interrupted by iron fencing, the space between the bars too thin for even a small child to fit through, with orange and lemon trees along it, adding a pleasing scent to the air. Other shrubs and flowers were planted around the building to provide shade, privacy and ornamentation. They looked healthy and well-trimmed but not quite as nice as something Briar could have done. There was no one in the house, Tris's ability to see magic proved that. No bright crucible of power belonging to a Great Mage glowed in there, it was just a building.
A building that probably houses hundreds of books, Tris's imagination told her. For a moment she could see it in her mind's eye—that curious cylindrical offshoot encircled by shelves spanning all three floors, and every one crammed with books…it was a glorious sight.
Wouldn't that be something, Tris thought with wonder, then smirked self-deprecatingly at her own daydreams. There was no reason to think that end was a personal library. It was just as likely a house shrine or any other thing. Besides, she wasn't getting in there any time soon.
Suddenly Chime launched into the air from her shoulder and flew to the other side of the fence, chirping playfully as she performed acrobatics.
Tris blanched. "Get back here you silly creature!" she scolded. "That's trespassing, you know better than that!"
The dragon made an annoyed sound but returned to Tris obediently, which the mage rewarded with a rub of her eye ridges. "I know you just wanted to stretch your wings, but some people are peculiar," she reminded the dragon, "You can't be too careful if you want to avoid trouble."
After another moment to imagine the treasure trove of reading material that must be somewhere inside the house, Tris forced herself to let go of the iron bars she'd been pressing herself into and start towards an alleyway that she knew cut through to Cherry Street and the supply shop she'd been trying to get to all afternoon. She was a little disappointed that she didn't see anything worth while, but Tris had to ask herself what she'd actually expected to find. Lightning didn't exactly strike her house at all hours even while she wasn't there, it was only natural that it was just a building, no matter who lived there.
Turning the corner as she exited the alley onto Cherry Street she was busy estimating the time she'd lost already today, and trying to arrive at an estimation of when she'd return home, when something flew past her head, whipping up her braids. She barely had time to register it as a magpie before Chime let out an ear-splitting screech like shattered glass and gave chase to the bird.
"Chime, get back here!" she called after the dragon angrily, hiking her skirts and dashing after them, but the two winged creatures were fast, zipping down the street and around a corner with Tris barely keeping up.
Tris cursed the dragon in every language she knew. Chime despised the tricky magpies and their cousins, crows, probably because the birds were so quick to taunt her. Ordinarily Tris would let the dragon have her fun, confident she would return in her own time and give Tris some peace while she was gone, but they had a rule, and the glass dragon knew it—there would be no such displays in public, especially not in busy streets near ground level. There were plenty of people around who might want to steal the one-of-a-kind magic-made animal if they saw her flying about with no obvious owner or protector. Others might try to harm her if she made a nuisance of herself by shrieking, whether they realized she was a special creature or not. It just wasn't safe for her and it had caused no end of trouble for Tris in the past, hence the rule.
I'm going to hang that dragon by the tail from a well! Tris promised, borrowing one of Rosethorn's favorite threats as she weaved in between foot traffic on the street, sending winds after the thing to keep pace and let her know where Chime was even if she got away. Her efforts were made more difficult as people stopped right in front of her, wondering at the hullabaloo going on above their heads. She tripped into quite a few gawkers and had to make hasty apologies before continuing after her companion. Loud caw!s and sharp chink!s continued to rent the air as Tris tried to catch up but still found herself falling behind as she caused her own ruckus by calling after the dragon and running into people in her hurry to convince Chime to stop fooling around and come back.
Unfortunately the two were getting away and she knew it, even as she developed a cramp in her side and her breathing became labored. Up ahead, the magpie and it's pursuer disappeared behind a corner and it took some time for her to do the same, and she feared, even as she reached the end of the last building, that she'd lost Chime and would have to wait for her to come back on her own—plenty of time for someone to try and net or cage her, or just throw a bucket at her in hopes of shutting her up.
She skidded around the corner so fast she would have fallen over if she hadn't been paying close attention to what her feet were doing. This however, meant she wasn't looking at what was right in front of her and the weather witch ended up barreling face-first into something so hard she bounced off with a cry of surprise and pain.
Her arms flailed and her spectacles were jarred askew on her nose as she staggered backwards into the ground and finally landed on her hip in a heap of skirts, unable to slap the earth quite as she'd been taught because of the odd angle. Her hands, which had instinctively reached out to catch her, were scraped raw from loose gravel scattered over the road, and her left wrist throbbed painfully and might be sprained. Tris's nose was a bit sore as well from where the nose pieces of her glasses had been smashed against her face, and her lungs felt like they were on fire after all the running, her legs a quivering mess. She sat there on the ground a moment where she had fallen, catching her breath and listening to the pounding of blood in her ears, so loud she could barely hear anything else.
I ran into someone, Tris realized belatedly, analyzing her memory of the impact and the sounds of the wind being knocked out of a person, scuffling as they tried to regain balance, and the clatter of things falling over when they were unable to. Her cheeks, once colored by exertion were now red with mortification, guilt and shame.
In the past when others had picked on her or she found herself in the wrong, she'd used anger as a defense mechanism and it was still her first instinct. Tris's temper boiled to the surface, and she wondered spitefully why someone would be so stupid to stand just on the other side of a corner like that where anyone could walk into them, but she realized from experience that this was her anger talking, and this was no one's fault but her own for being so careless.
Quickly the mage regained control, breathing meditatively to suppress the telltale miniature lightnings that sprouted from her eyes and hair whenever she became enraged. I'm going to have to apologize for this, aren't I? Tris thought. I hate apologizing.
"Gods, you practically flew head first into the ground! Are you alright, down there?" Someone asked. At first she thought they might be talking to her, but as Tris sat up stiffly and fumbled to right her glasses, she realized the voice was speaking to someone else.
There was a groan and then a dismissive response of, "Yes, yes," followed by the rustling of clothes and pressing against the ground as if the fellow were trying to sit up. Not a second later and there was a thump as he hurriedly lay himself back on the ground and said, "Oh. No, actually. I think I'll lie here a minute more before attempting to right myself," with a strain-filled voice.
"Vertigo?" the questioner supplied.
"Quite," the victim said morosely.
You've got to be kidding me, Tris thought with a scowl, recognizing her victim's voice. Sitting up, her world was a blurry mess of fuzzed-out color as she readjusted her spectacles attempting to bring the world into focus again. Hurriedly she blinked until her sight seemed to be working properly and looked up, only to find some complete stranger invading her field of view.
He was rather short for a man, perhaps about Niko's height or an inch shorter, she could tell that by the way he didn't have to fold himself in half so she wouldn't break her neck looking up at him. He was rather handsome with long, wavy dark blond hair tied away from his face and a short beard circling his mouth, looking to be in his mid-thirties. His clothes were well-made and understatedly stylish.
"And you there, Mistress, are you mad?" the man indignantly, brows furrowed expressively. His voice had a very enthusiastic ring to it, as if whatever he said would carry that extra bit of drama. "What were you thinking dashing around a blind corner like that?"
I was thinking no one would be dumb enough to stand directly on the other side of it where anyone could just walk into them by accident, she thought cuttingly, but immediately felt horrible and held her tongue. This was her fault, not this man's, she could admit that much. And oh, Gods, everyone who saw me, she realized, the idea horrifying her. She hated to look the fool, to be the one in the didn't matter that she didn't know anyone on the street, they'd all seen her shameful spill and assault on a bystander, no matter how unintentional. No doubt they were judging her, thinking the same things she would in their stead, that she was rude and inconsiderate for being so careless. She couldn't imagine the outrage she'd feel if the same had happened to her.
"I'm sorry, very sorry," she assured the man, resisting the urge to curl up in a corner and die.
I need to get out of here, Tris thought, trying to stand up on her ankle, which hurt a bit but seemed to hold her up well enough when she managed to right herself in a fluster of skirts. Especially if the man on the ground behind her accuser was who she really hoped he wasn't.
"Geo, are you speaking with what hit me?" the drawl voice piped up behind the man.
"Quite right I am, Heinz," the blond man answered. It was spoken in the sort of exasperated humor that one uses with one's close friends. "Now be quiet and lay there like a proper invalid while I handle the girl," he commanded.
Heinz—because it just would be Heinz—sat up slowly from the ground against his friend's command, rubbing one knee as if perhaps it had underwent a similar experience as Tris's wrist and ankle. The man looked much as he had the day before, in clothing that was well-made and of good fabric, but more serviceable then anything else. His starkly black over robe was of the kind they wore in northern countries and made him appear melancholic and drab. She couldn't be sure if he'd had the bag, a large, worn leather thing with a strap that crossed his chest, but as she suspected it was his mage kit, it blazing silver as it did, she assumed he probably had even if she hadn't noticed it.
"You mean it wasn't an elephant?" he asked, frowning confusedly at thin air. The words were spoken groggily as if he weren't entirely aware of what was happening around him. Assuming he wasn't faking it for some reason, Tris must have really knocked him around in their accidental collision. She almost felt bad about that. The operable word being almost.
"No, a diminutive redhead," the other man corrected and offered Heinz, who seemed determined to stand no matter what his blond friend suggested, a hand up to his feet.
Tris responded with a glare, watching the man test his footing and brush the street dust from laying on the ground from his clothing. Not only was she compared to an elephant but now she was some kind of midget?
Sensing her temper rising, the mage had to tell herself to take a breath. It doesn't matter, Tris, she thought to herself, just apologize and leave. Just spit out a hasty "I'm sorry," bob one of your infamously terrible curtsies, and scamper as far away as you possibly can before your face surpasses your hair for being the reddest thing on her head and maybe start spitting lightning and biting people's heads off. Just say you're sorry and you'll be done, that's all anyone can ask of you.
Ready to initiate this plan, Tris opened her mouth to speak but before a sound came out Heinz finally looked up from dusting himself off to see his accoster and unfortunately he recognized her immediately.
"Oh, it's Mistress Trisana," he said in a mild, cheerful voice that shattered something in Tris's brain, so bizarrely incongruous was it to the situation, "I should have known."
Tris scowled without even thinking. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.
Heinz made an inquiring face as if it should have been obvious to her. "Well, you are a redhead."
She blinked. Tris didn't even know what to say to that. Instead of trying to figure out the snarl that must have been Heinz's thought process, she addressed another issue. "And I prefer to just be called Tris. I believe I told you already," she spat through gritted teeth, even though Tris knew she really ought to be getting on with that apology. But what could she say? Heinz just really brought the vinegar out in her.
"Did you?" he said, irises at the corners of his eyes as if consulting his memory. After a moment he shook his head, dismissing the issue. "Have you read the books yet?" he said, changing the subject.
"No!" she snapped indignantly, crossing her arms as she glared at him. "I do have other responsibilities, you know. I haven't time to complete two books in one day," the mage said waspishly before pushing her glasses up with a jab of one finger. The effect was to imply that obviously he didn't know anything even approaching responsibility, if he had the nerve to ask such a question.
"Oh, yes, of course. Couldn't possibly have had the time yet," he agreed, apparently unconcerned by the implied insult imbedded within the outburst. "But do tell me the moment you do."
Tris ground her teeth angrily. She really could not believe this. "You're the one who came up with that ridiculous arrangement," she spat uncharitably. "I had nothing to do with the matter, so what makes you think I have any intention of even reading those books?"
"What?" he raised his eyebrows in innocent confusion. "Who buys books they have no intention of reading? That would be quite peculiar of you." He said this as if she was somehow the strange one here when it was clearly the other way around.
Smoke was practically coming out of her nostrils.
"Heinz! Introduce me to your friend, won't you?" the other man suddenly interjected a little too enthusiastically, almost physically stepping in between them as he drew forward. No doubt his intention was to stop Tris from committing assault on the other mage.
"Oh, certainly," Heinz said apologetically. "Geoffrey, I was introduced to Mistress Trisana just yesterday by Master Nelsin. She is a frequent patron of his. Trisana, this is Geoffrey Crato, Master Cartographer, surveyor, and owner of this establishment behind us."
She was about to object to once again being called 'Trisana' after just asking him not to (obviously this was intended harassment!), but the man, Geoffrey, gave her a sweeping bow over her hand and kissed the air above it. Tris's eyes narrowed suspiciously as she watched him perform the deed, forcing herself not to yank her hand from his out of sheer surprise.
"Pleased to meet you, Mistress. A friend of Heinz is a friend of mine," he said sincerely, and bizarrely it felt respectful rather than sarcastic or sleazy. Tris starred down her long nose at him for a moment, uncertain what she ought to say. People didn't do this to her. To Sandry, yes, but not to her. Even completely polite people rarely treated her like a 'maiden' rather then just a stranger who happened to be female.
Eventually she grudgingly said, "Pleased to meet you," not at all certain she was. Retrospectively she wished she'd thought to say something more insulting, but she'd been caught off guard and for some reason her mind immediately supplied her mouth with something polite. Or maybe not, it wasn't this man's fault his friend was an ass. Not a second later it occurred to Tris to wonder that she was suddenly seen as Heinz's friend when she didn't even like him.
As Tris was turning this around in her head, the situation abruptly morphed from a confrontation to a friendly interaction before her eyes as Heinz turned to Geoffrey and conversationally said, "Trisana just returned from studying at Lightsbridge, or so she said yesterday to Master Nelsin."
Geoffrey raised his eyebrows excitedly as he regarded her, rising from her hand. "Did you really?"
Tris narrowed her eyes in suspicion—what was going on here?—but nodded reluctantly to the question, mostly because she couldn't think of anything else to do.
Geoffrey exclaimed, "How wonderful! I studied there—not magic, I'm no mage—but surveying." He rubbed his goateed chin thoughtfully. "A complicated business, surveying. Is Master Earthspike still teaching Geology? I used to hate his classes, he was so exacting, but nowadays I look back on those lectures fondly, even though they were constantly interrupted by 'Crato! Pay attention!'"
Geoffrey laughed at this reminiscence and Tris found herself inwardly smirking as she pictured Master Earthspike, a strict, solid, middle-aged man, stopping mid-sentence in a lecture to thunder just that at a younger version of the man before her, slumped over a desk. She'd seen it happen often enough to her fellow classmates.
"Yes, I had a few of his classes," Tris admitted guardedly, pushing her spectacles up her nose even though they didn't need it. She was utterly bewildered at the speed with which she'd suddenly been drawn into a conversation with someone she didn't even know, practically against her will. It made her feel nervous. Even people who didn't know who she was usually took one look at her sharp expression, plump figure and unfriendly gaze and decided they'd rather talk with someone else. Not to mention she could have injured this man's friend and wasn't exactly acting respectfully about it.
Tris regarded Heinz, certain there must be some kind of subterfuge going on here, though for what purpose she did not know. No one ever wanted to talk to her, and they especially wouldn't after what just happened. Heinz, however, remained as annoyingly impenetrable as ever, his neutrally gloomy expression could be anything from a cunning facade to the truth. She instinctively leaned toward the former, but admitted she had no evidence other than a gut feeling to prove it.
I am so confused, she thought.
"What did you think of him?" Geoffrey asked with seeming genuine interest.
"I liked him," she answered Geoffrey slowly as she kept an eye on the other mage. "He knew what he was talking about, and he treated all the students fairly."
"That he did, that he did," Geoffrey nodded agreement. "Those were good times, yelling and all. And there was a lot of yelling, from Master Earthspike, at least." The man brought a finger to his chin as he got a thoughtful look in his eyes and said, "It feels somehow that all the teachers did a great deal of yelling at me, actually….am I remembering that correctly, Heinz?"
"I really couldn't say."
"Oh, right," Geoffrey said. "I was already working in the geology department. We didn't even know each other then. Besides, you were taking all those language classes. You wouldn't catch me dead in one of those!"
A pulse of realization swept through Tris's nerves. She rounded on Heinz, propping her fists on her hips. "Wait a minute, you went to Lightsbridge?" she glared up at him through her brass spectacles. "Why didn't you say so yesterday when you found out I had?" Tris vehemently demanded.
Heinz looked confused. "Should I have?"
Tris narrowed her eyes at him. "Yes!" she snapped, barely aware of what she was saying, just feeling a slight panic coming on.
She hardly even knew why she was angry, she just felt, well, betrayed somehow. She'd been operating under the assumption that Heinz had gone to some other University then her own and now she found out he might have been walking the halls the same time she'd been there? Gods, Tris mentally shuddered, I could have traipsed right past him going to class at any point back then, and everyone there basically knows my identity now. I'm on more dangerous ground then I thought.
"You always seem to have outraged people following you, Heinz," remarked Geoffrey, thoughtfully. "It must have something to do with your social skills."
"Eh? What's wrong with them?" Heinz asked innocently.
His friend shrugged. "Well, I'm sure I don't know, but when redheaded spitfires run over you and start firing off accusations, it gets a fellow to wondering what you've done to warrant it from her."
"I haven't done anything that I'm aware of," was Heinz's response.
"You can't be serious!" Tris interjected, her fists snapping to her hips and she glared balefully from behind her glasses. "If you haven't done anything then what do you call yesterday's little fiasco?"
"Fiasco? I'm certain I have no idea what you mean," he told her, but leaned in as if interested to hear what kind of story she was about to come up with. It pissed her off.
"That bet! After you practically stalked me in the bookstore, acting like a know-it-all whenever I pulled out a book, you got all offended when I expressed my doubts and then made that ridiculous offer to pay for my books if I didn't like them but force me to read one of your choice if I did!"
"What? Really, Heinz, again?" Geoffrey asked his friend with a disapprovingly raised brow. Ha! So he was a serial bookstore stalker, was he? She ought to have suspected he was a multiple offender, a know-it-all like him could be nothing else.
Heinz appeared quite taken aback at her passionately negative feelings. As if he didn't already know how she felt! He seemed to be a pretty good liar in her estimation. "Well, it sounds quite horrible when you put it that way…" he admitted. He appeared shameless in the face of his companion's frown, merely surprised at her interpretation of events.
"Yes, it was, and it's put me in a bad mood ever since," she snapped.
"We can see that," Geoffrey deadpanned. By the way he was looking at her, he didn't seem to have a high opinion of the weather mage anymore, despite the fact that he seemed to be sympathetic to her claims of harassment. Fine, Tris didn't care, she didn't need people to like her she just needed them to get out of her way.
"Then I must apologize," Heinz said and bobbed his head in a short but respectful approximation of a bow.
This drew Tris back a moment. She'd expected him to get angry and start a shouting contest with her. An argument was something she could win. An apology was, well, somehow it was a real disappointment. "Good," she finally said, her sharp nose in the air.
"I meant no disrespect, Mistress."
"Oh, I'm sure you didn't. And for the last time, it's Tris!"
"Tris, yes, of course," he said too agreeably.
She narrowed an eye at him, pushing her brass glasses up her nose with a jerk. "So you'll drop this silly bet business?"
"Oh, hmm…" Heinz trailed off in consideration, appearing very reluctant. She really couldn't imagine why. She was saving him money and hassle. Tris really couldn't imagine what brought him to make such an overture in the first place.
"Well?" Tris demanded, her arms crossed in front of her as she tapped her toe expectantly.
"If you really don't want to read anything I suggest to you, then I suppose I can't force the issue," he said, sounding very disappointed. Tris rolled her eyes. That was as close to a retraction as she would probably get.
"Excellent," she snapped. "I'm glad that's settled. I'll be going now," she said, about to storm off leaving the two men to whatever they'd been doing before she interrupted them so unceremoniously. She stalked two steps before remembering something. "Oh, and I apologize for running into you, it was very rude of me," she bit out, bent into a jerky curtsy, before turning on her heels and strutting off down the street as fast as she could.
As she turned another corner in a fury one of the breezes that followed her like a trained dog caught the beginning of their renewed conversation.
"Jeez, touchy lady," remarked Geo's disembodied voice.
"Do you know? She professed to hating Romances yesterday. I was quite looking forward to her expression when the book I chose for her turned out to be one," Heinz's voice chimed in mournfully.
Geoffrey's laughter rang clear as a bell along the wind's path. "You're a masochist," the other man informed him.
Tris scowled and batted the conversation away. Bastard, he would have chosen a romance novel. She felt a sense of deja vu when she thought to herself that she didn't want anything to do with that Heinz ever again.
Sandry was about halfway down the hall before she realized it would by really strange to just come out and ask Alzander his opinion of her sister.
She bit her lip anxiously, Oh dear, I'm afraid I hadn't quite thought this through. She slowed her pace to a slow walk to give herself more time as she sifted her brain for ways to bring up Tris. Actually, scratch that, she needed an entire plan or she might end up in trouble. She didn't want to flounder it and somehow lessen Tris's chances, not that she knew how that might happen, but it would be really horrible if somehow it did.
Alright, what were her goals? One, engage the target in conversation without appearing suspicious. That was a given. Two, find out the man's romantic status, verify that he liked women and was available. Goal four, finding out his opinion of Tris. Five, arrange a meeting between the two from which love would arise! So first things first, she had to cultivate a convincing excuse to loiter around his desk.
The perfect idea came to her almost immediately. I'll ask for a file, she thought, one in the archives across the palace, a really obscure one that will be difficult to track down, and suggest he send a page for it instead of going himself and then wait with him until it arrives. That could give her a good half hour or so, probably.
She snickered under her breath. You're a devious one, Sandry old girl!
Now, how to figure out if he was available. She considered a moment and hit on a truly brilliant idea. There was a sort of soiree later in the week, not a big one like those thrown everyday in the Namornese court—Duke Vedris wasn't one for ostentatious displays or wastes of taxpayers' coin—but one of those necessary get-togethers of important people across Summersea that her uncle threw every once in a while to appease the nobles' and guild masters' need to strut around and look important. Emelan was much more relaxed about class distinctions than Namorn, and Master Roberka was a high enough class and rank in the government that he would have received an invitation, though he would never attend, being an old man with little interest in such trivialities as parties. Sandry would make it known to Alzander that the invitation was open for him to attend in his father's place—Sandry's uncle wouldn't mind, he might even applaud her for thinking of it, they always needed more young people at these things, and well-off, well-behaved young men of good reputation were hard to come by—and then inquire as to whether or not he would bring a guest.
And by guest, she meant female company.
Sandry practically squealed. And if he says 'No' I can make plans to give him and Tris alone-time during the party! Sandry concluded. Tris and her friends were always invited to these parties, and not just because they were her friends. They were rather important figures in the city these days. They didn't always attend the parties, especially Tris who would rather be reading alone in her room than attend any kind of public venue where she would be expected to socialize with people she found boring, but Sandry was certain she could convince her to show up, if only by guilting her into it by suggesting they hadn't had any fun together in a while.
Yes, Sandry was a genius. She tried not to look too pleased with herself as she entered His Grace's Secretary's office.
The door was open, so she hovered just outside it a moment so she could peek in and asses the occupant of the Secretarial desk to make certain Alzander was actually there. It would be pretty embarrassing if she'd went in and found old Midos sitting at it instead. He'd ask her what she needed and Sandry would look quite foolish when she had to say, "Ooh, nothing," and walk right back out.
But today her memory hadn't failed her and at the desk, entrenched in documents stacked up to his ears, sat her target, Alzander, frenziedly working, sorting, summarizing and organizing reports from across the kingdom into something that was ready to be presented to the Duke. It put into daunting perspective the amount of work that a monarch's secretary had when one realized that every scrap of paper that passed through the Duke's desk had been on this one first, and more besides had been concentrated down to a more manageable level before passing muster, the original-length reports filed away.
Luckily the secretary usually had a few assistants. Unluckily, Midos was rather frail these days and his arthritis could cripple him for days in bad weather or if he had been working too hard, and he often couldn't come in, and as Alzander himself was one of those assistants, and the other was on leave visiting a sister and her new child, this left Alzander to shoulder it all himself until his father was feeling better and the other assistant returned. The man definitely needed a pay-raise and an extra pair of hands. Sandry made a mental note to recruit some more secretaries to help him out, especially if Uncle was going to insist that Midos retire and promote his son to the position, leaving the office understaffed.
Hearing someone enter, he leaned back in his chair and maneuvered until he could actually see at her, and she him, around the desk's contents. "Oh, Lady Sandrilene," he said from behind a stack of documents as high as he was, and hurriedly stood up to greet her. "What can I do for you?" he asked.
Alzander Roberka was a tallish, willowy young man of twenty-four with owlish amber-brown eyes framed by spectacles perched on an average nose and a clean shaven, very pointed chin. His dark honey-colored hair was straight and trimmed medium-short at about two inches in length. His hands were large with long, elegant fingers and his posture perfectly straight, even sitting at a desk and working. Secretaries didn't wear the palace livery, and as such he wore his own clothes, which were very well-tailored in breaches of a fawn brown and a white shirt and brown vest embroidered sparingly with copper thread, but also utilitarian and practical for his post. If one could get passed the fact that he appeared exactly what he looked like, a secretary, then he was quite handsome, and the fact that he had a very warm and amiable smile didn't hurt either.
Sandry grinned. In her head she might very well have been cackling, but she'd never admit it. That would be unladylike.
"Sorry to bother you, Master Roberka, you seem so busy, I'll just come back later," she told him, turning to leave the room, failing to suppress her excitement from her face as soon as her back was turned.
"No, no, Lady Sandrilene," he hastily said, shuffling papers away and waving her back in. It just was not done to leave nobility waiting, and she felt almost bad for praying on his fear of displeasing her, but at the same time he must know neither she nor her uncle would dismiss him simply for being extremely busy with the work they had hired him to do. "I'm at you're disposal, what is it you need, my lady?"
"It's just a small thing," she said, and then detailed the document she was using as cover, inventing a viable reason for needing it.
Alzander tried valiantly to hide his dismay at the prospect of wasting so much time on the errand, but he didn't completely manage to look eager, or even completely neutral, upon hearing her request. "Of course, I'll find it for you immediately," he volunteered anyway.
"Oh, but on second thought, you really do have so much work here," she said, eying the stacks with genuine appreciation. "It's really unfair for me to ask this of you when a page can do just as well to ask the archive clerk for it. I'll send for one."
"That isn't necessary," he said, but it was a token hesitation and they both knew it. He really was very relieved.
"I insist," she said and tugged on the bell-pull mounted in one corner that alerted the staff that someone was needed. Usually she would seek a person out herself but her plan was to stay with Alzander, so she went ahead and used the bells.
Soon a servant appeared with a bow and a "my lady?" upon seeing who had rang. Sandry promptly detailed what she needed (or actually didn't need, in this case) and also ordered some refreshments to the room. Seeing Alzander plodding away at his work when she came in, the noble highly suspected he hadn't stopped to eat midday. She gave an inward sigh and an eye roll. Men, she thought.
The man gave a "Right away, my lady," and bowed out of the room to go about his tasks.
That done, she was once again alone in the room with Alzander. The man, shuffled a few papers around on his desk, keeping an eye on her as if wondering when she would leave so he could get back to work. Well that just wouldn't do.
When Sandry moved to the other side of the room where there was a cluster of chairs for small meetings and discussions, she plopped herself down on one of them. Not appearing as if she planned on vacating it anytime soon, Alzander followed her a moment later, sitting down and managing to not look too forlornly at the piles on his desk. Obviously she intended to talk to him, despite everything he still had to do today, and what Sandrilene wanted, Sandrilene got. Being a noble and the duke's niece was an afterthought compared to that single fact.
"Once I'm certain you've had a meal, I'll be sure to round up a few lads to help you with this mess," Sandry assured him, indicating his overflowing desk. It's more than one person could possibly manage, what with the Elder Master Roberka and Master Eppart absent."
Someone really should have thought of that earlier, she'd see that it got done. Aside from that she was keeping him from his work on, essentially, a whim, he probably needed a break or he'd go cross-eyed. The clerks would help take up the slack later.
Alzander looked like he might fall over in relief. "That would be very appreciated, my lady."
"And be sure to take care of yourself, otherwise you'll have health troubles in your old age, like your poor father," she warned him sincerely. "When I go into town tomorrow I'll ask my brother for some arthritis aides. The healers might not be able to do much, but herbs should help some, I think. Until then, give him my and Uncle's best when you see him tonight, won't you?"
"Of course, thank you, milady," Alzander said with a bowed head, the line of his mouth slightly tense in gratefulness and worry for his father's condition. Years of writing for hours and hours everyday had taken a toll on his hands, and Sandry knew that often it was painful for him to even hold a pen properly. Healing was expensive and the arthritis couldn't be fixed with magic, it could only temporarily ease the pain, so it wasn't worth it on a daily basis. Herbal medicines would be a better bet for repeated use, and outside of Winding Circle, Briar's were the best.
Sandry gave a somewhat exaggerated sigh as she mused, "It seems unlikely he'll attend that party later in the week now, the poor man. Not that he ever had much of a taste for such things anyway." She shook her head disappointedly at the unfortunate matter, then moved to eye Alzander consideringly, pretending to hit upon an idea.
"You know, as our acting chief secretary at the moment, naturally his invitation passes to you," she informed him brightly. "All of us younger attendees would be thrilled for some company." She gave him her most expectant smile and infused her cornflower blue eyes with hope. "Won't you consider coming?"
It was lucky that the tea and food tray she'd ordered up hadn't arrived yet or the man would have choked on whatever was in his mouth. "Oh, me, my lady?" he said, flabbergasted at the request. It probably hadn't occurred to him that he was actually eligible for this sort of thing, being merely an assistant. These were somewhat unusual circumstances, though.
His eyes were wide with shock for an instant before his sharp mind began turning again and he started considering the idea. Of course when one attended these parties, they had to pay for suitable clothing (which would be expensive) and 'mingle', and of course the party itself created certain reputations for anyone who attended, one possible being that he was uppity, looking to replace his father (though this was by no means the most likely of any impression one might come away with upon knowing that he had attended).
"Well, I don't know, I couldn't—" he began, hedging. Sandry could clearly see he was leaning towards a polite 'no'. Not the party-type apparently. That was perfect, neither was Tris.
"I insist," she interrupted before he could talk himself out of it. "You need some relaxation after all of this work. You'll give yourself stomach ulcers at this pace."
Obviously he couldn't say no if she insisted. It was what she had been counting on. "Well, I suppose…" he amended.
Sandry smiled brilliantly at him. "Excellent." It was all going according to plan.
At this moment a maid entered, bearing cool tea with mint and lemon to compliment the spring weather outside, and a platter full of fresh fruit, cheeses, sliced meats and bread. They both thanked her sincerely and the girl curtsied herself out of the room with a smile for both of them. As soon as Sandry had moved to layer a bit of cheese and a piece of thinly sliced ham on a some bread and take a bite, Alzander did the same, savoring his first bite with much enthusiasm. It was probably the first thing he'd eaten since dawn, which was some hours ago. Sandry suspected if she hadn't called for the food he'd have gone without and fainted a few hours later.
He was a workaholic type then, she deduced. It was a flaw, to be sure, but it also argued for responsibility and dedication. And that wasn't a bad thing at all. Maybe all he needed was a woman to remind him what was important…
Sandry picked up their conversation where it left off, casually saying, "I'll tell the coordinator to plan for another attendee. And of course you may bring a guest. Do you have anyone in mind? A female companion, perhaps?" She asked, innocently.
He was surprised again. "Oh, a guest? I'm not exactly sure…" he pondered for a moment, then voiced, "My sister, maybe. Would that be alright? She's very interested in government, and she's quite mature. I think she'd like it."
Sandry grinned, which probably confused the man, but it didn't show on his face if so.
A sister, perfect, she thought, Tris would have no competition. If he'd been engaged or courting someone he would have taken that woman, and it was common to invite a friend (or 'friend') of the same sex, so it argued for preferring women. It also spoke of his kindness, as he considered his sister's interests and feelings when making his decision. So far, so good.
"Wonderful!" Sandry said, clapping her hands together. "Then it's settled. I'll tell all of the younger set that you're coming." On a spurt of genius even greater than she would have previously thought to attribute to herself, she added coyly, "I'm certain my sister Tris will be happy you'll be there."
Alzander raised his brows. He knew who her sister was, even met her on brief occasions, but there wasn't any obvious reason that she would think this way about him. "Eh? Why is that?" he asked Sandry.
Hook, line and sinker. "Oh, you know, she finds social gatherings so tedious," Sandry explained, flapping a hand as she took a sip of her tea. "She only really goes to these things because I expressly ask her to, for me. I know she holds you in high esteem, she'd be happy that there will be someone attending with whom she can converse."
He tilted his head in thought. "Really? Forgive me, milady, but your sister Tris always seemed a bit…" he paused, trying to find a diplomatic way of saying she always ducked her head with red cheeks, avoided eye contact and pursed her mouth closed, never speaking, whenever he so much as entered the same room as Sandry's redheaded mage-sister. "Distant in regards to interacting with me," he settled on. Apparently he interpreted Tris's behavior to be active dislike. Oh dear.
"Oh, she's just a bit shy," Sandry said, which was actually sort of true, at least when it came to men.
Alzander didn't look completely convinced, however, so Sandry added, "On the contrary, she considers you to be quite intelligent, mature and responsible." This was also true, though she couldn't have said that Tris had actually said it in so many words.
"She does?" he seemed honestly gob-smacked, rethinking all of their interactions. "Well, I…I'm flattered," he eventually said, and it sounded sincere. Confused, but sincere. This was encouraging in Sandry's opinion.
"She's quite difficult to impress, you know," Sandry added, just to drive the point home how appreciative he should be to have gained such regard.
"I had suspected as much," he said thoughtfully.
Just then someone knocked and a page came in, bearing the document she'd requested. Oh darn, time was up.
Sandry stood to accept the file from the page and he scampered off to run more errands. Alzander had hurried to stand as well as soon as she had, but she waved him back down. "It's been a delightful chat, Master Roberka," she told Alzander, the unneeded document tucked under her arm. "Now, you finish eating and I'll go speak with Baron Erdogun and see if we can't find a clerk or two to help with this great mountain, hmm?" she said.
"Thank you very much, Lady Sandry," Alzander said with a bow.
"Not at all," she told him with a smile, and left the room with courtly poise and grace.
As soon as Sandry was out of sight, she pumped a fist in the air in triumph. Plan Get-Tris-With-Alzander was commencing exquisitely!
Sometimes I really do impress myself, Sandry thought before setting off for her uncle's office. Just wait until she told the others!