Chapter Text
His name, Beau recalled, was Bren Aldric Ermendrud. It had to be. The man striding across the room towards her was the only one present at the gala matching the description Dairon had laid out in their briefing. Pale, blue eyes, shoulder-length hair and neatly trimmed beard, both a shocking red. Weird-ass geometric tattoos running up his forearms. Odd bulges to his silhouette that she could just now see as he drew near were books, tucked into special pockets sewed in the lining of his high-collared suit coat. Beau was technically a librarian, and even she found that a bit excessive.
Bren was practically on her, now. He strode up, eyes glinting, grin cocksure. Beau set her glass of champagne down on the table with just a little more force than she needed to, and the still-full glass sloshed all over her hand and the neat white table cloth. She cursed under her breath, searching desperately for a waiter or a cloth or something to fix this before he noticed, but it was too late.
“Expositor Lionett, I presume? May I be of some assistance to you?” His polite words were undercut slightly by the amused glint in his eyes as Beau struggled with her now-sticky fingers. Asshole.
“No, no”, Beau smiled through gritted teeth. “I have everything under control, thanks”
“I insist, please. It is no trouble at all” said Bren, and with a flick of his wrist, the broken glass and liquid vanished from the table and her clothing. “A simple cantrip.”
Beau’s smile got tighter. She turned from her awkward hunch over the little round party table thing to give him her full attention. Time to play nice.
“Thank you so much, Master Ermentrude.”
His eyebrows crept up half a centimeter. “It seems both of us have done our research for tonight. Please, call me Bren. I do not have a title nor position nearly as prestigious as yours, after all, Expositor.”
Now that she was more focused, Beau registered something she hadn’t initially picked up on when Bren started to speak. He had a thick Zemnian accent, the kind people got when they only started learning common after going away to school. Her dad would never have let her play with a kid who sounded like that, growing up. It marked him as coming from a distinctively poor, rural area. Not at all what she had expected.
Bren continued. ”I have to say, I am honestly delighted to be meeting your acquaintance tonight. I followed your trial against Adon Zeenoth very closely. I found your essay on internal transparency and the proper application of the Soul’s resources to root out corruption moving and well-thought out, as well, though I can’t say I agree with you entirely on the importance of institutional transparency.”
Beau narrowed her eyes. ”You read my thesis?
“Of course I did! If we are to be, ah, collaborating, over the course of The Soul’s audit on the Assembly, then I want to have done all the research I can into the woman I will be working closely with. Surely a member of an institution that holds knowledge so dearly can understand that?” He was fucking with her, now. Testing her temper.
Beau bit back, “Of course I can. I’m only sorry I wasn’t able to return the favor. I can’t say that I know much about what exactly it is you do for Master Ikithon. That whole thing about institutional transparency, again, you know.” She smiled sweetly.
“The assembly often finds it helpful to operate under a certain level of discretion, Ja. We may be willing to share certain pieces of information, however. Provided proper incentive, of course.”
“And what kinds of things are you willing to share?” Beau couldn't help asking.
Bren took a step closer, and leaned in. She couldn’t tell if the gesture was meant to come across as intimidating or companionable. Maybe Bren would’ve been happy to be taken either way.
“What would you like to know, Expositor?” The question caught Beau slightly off guard, and she blurted out the question she’d had in the back of her mind all evening.
“What's the deal with the ink?” Fuck. Bren raised his eyebrows, and for a moment she worried that he was offended. Then he grinned, stepped back, and rolled his sleeves up his arms. Double fuck.
Bren closed his eyes, balled his fists in concentration, and muttered a word in Zemnian that she didn't catch. Nothing seemed to happen at first. Then there was a spark, and twin lines of flame shot up his arms, perfectly following the intricate black lines as if he had inked his tattoos with kerosene. His fingernails, which Beau noticed only now were painted a deep red, caught fire as well. Out of the corner of her eye, Beau could see the other gala attendees shifting subtly to avoid their position at the back of the room. Eyes flitted to them quickly, then glanced away again. No heads turned. No fuss was raised. Whatever it was that was being communicated to her, a threat or a warning or the drawing of a line, it was obviously standard operating procedure around here.
Bren stepped forward again, still smiling, and reached out a hand wreathed in flame. She looked at him skeptically, but did not step back.
“Let’s make this partnership official, Lionette. I assure you, the flames will not burn anything that I do not yet wish to harm. To a mutually beneficial collaboration, eh?”
“Of course”, Beau answered, and took his hand. She looked him in the eye as she did so, half to show him she was not afraid, and half because she thought that if she watched what she was doing she wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Bren was right. She was not burned, but as his grip on her wrist grew more firm, she could feel the flames licking up and down her knuckles grow ever so slightly hotter.