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The first thing Cyril notices about the Count, now that they are safe within the warmth of the Defender’s Heart and its fire, is that he talks a lot. Not in the way Nenio does when caught on an idea or the amiable friendliness of Seelah as they travel dirt roads. No, he is a man who talks as he pleases and is used to people hanging on to every word, rapt just being near him.
Cyril knows the type. Nobles holding their sycophants enthrall were no stranger to the odd University banquet or alumni soirée and they were the constant background of his life in Brevoy at his Grandfather’s estate. It doesn’t bother him. Someone else talking fills in the silence for him. All the better to listen and observe.
He cuts in at the end of a diatribe about a salacious jibe of a party against the Prelate. “And now the word is that you are deliberately trying Queen Galfrey’s patience. Is that true?”
“Does it even matter? All of Mendevian high society has declared war on me. They either despise me or they’re trying to ‘steer me back onto the right path,’ and I’m doing everything in my power to keep them on their toes. I relish the prospect of all the fun this mess in Kenabres will bring…” Daeran grins from ear to ear. “I shall either commission a song about the Great Kenabres Fiasco from a certain talented bard, or confuse the jewelers with a rather tall order — a batch of silver dragon toys with detachable heads. Give me a week, and they will be in every shop in the capital!”
The edge of Cyril’s lips twitches into a smile. He isn’t sure if the comment is meant to get a rise out of him or not. It doesn’t. What does he care for this town and its heroes? He’d come to see the Worldwound and fate had placed him at its center, the casualties were background noise. There were more pressing things catching his interest. He presses a finger to his lips in concentration and replies, “With the right balance, the whole thing could be spring loaded, head and wings popping off at once. A fun trinket for the children, I think.”
Daeran laughs and Cyril is surprised to find himself grinning back. “So be it. From now on, you are my muse.”
He would blush if he had any life in him to force the blood to his cheeks. Cyril’s smile becomes shy and he glances away, clearing his throat and moving on to the next order of business.