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There were three guests already in Yesfir when the bell rang yet again, and Luvander was dreadfully afraid that his hair was in a state and he would never get a moment to duck into the back and check it. Thankfully, the newest addition to the overfull shop was none other than the Margrave Royston, and therefore quite unlikely to spend any money at all in the shop. It did not mean that Luvander could ignore him, of course- for one thing, one did not simply ignore a magician lest one risk being turned into a toad, and for another, this particular Margrave was an interesting fellow: supremely fashionable, useful in battles, queer as a three-chevronet and a particular friend to Adamo. Also, his Talent had to do with fire, so Luvander was predisposed to like him even without the other nonsense to recommend him.
Luvander liked anyone who could create fire from nothing. It reminded him of the old days and made him feel both sad and fond inside.
He caused a fuss over the man, for which he felt no remorse at all, and involved the ladies in his shop in a bit of theater over which shape and color hat would look best on the Margrave. It was poor treatment of an undeserving chap, but the hilarity was something Luvander could tuck away and bring out on colder, darker days when he found himself alone with his thoughts. Also, Royston was wealthy enough to spare the coin to the less fortunate; he had a lover to go home to, after all.
Dramatics finished and orders taken, Luvander watched the last of his three lady customers depart with a fond smile, the full force of which he turned upon the Margrave once they were alone. To Royston’s credit, he did not take a step back once he noticed. Instead, he gave the slightest of bows, a perfect gentleman with perfect manners.
Oh, in another time…
“Please, my dear Margrave, I insist that you have a seat. Do you prefer lemon in your tea?” Luvander tempered his fox-sharp smile with an effort made somewhat easier by years selling hats to wealthy ladies. He needn’t have bothered, and they both knew it, but the effort was nevertheless appreciated.
“Tea without lemon would be lovely.” Royston touched his cheek, the slightest hint of a frown on his face. “Do you have a cat?”
“I can’t imagine how that could possibly be relevant,” Luvander sang out from the kitchenette tucked in the back of the shop as he set the water to boil. Unseen, he touched a finger to his lips and winked at Evie, the fluffy white stray he’d adopted who was currently curled up in a basket of lace on the floor. Naughty girl. He’d have to see about a proper bed for her soon.
“Well, I’m allergic,” the Margrave said, apology in his voice. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was there, a weakness that once upon a time thirteen too-intelligent and terribly bored soldiers would have pounced on in an instant. Luvander, however, was alone in his shop and had no reason to pounce on such weakness, so he merely filed it away for potential later use. “Nevermind, I’ll manage somehow,” Royston continued. “How is business going?”
Luvander had to pause for a moment and appreciate the absurdity of a margrave with a talent for exploding things stopping into his humble little shop, patiently bearing the attentions of three fussy old ladies attempting to convince him to purchase a hat (unsuccessfully, since Luvander had not in fact been putting his full attention to the effort) and then waiting for tea, his face swelling up, pretending that an allergic reaction was no bother at all. Whatever information he was here for, he must want it badly.
Luvander checked his hair in a small mirror by the stove and spent a moment measuring tea leaves. “It’s going excellently. If I may be absolutely wicked, how is your darling little scholar? Still teaching classes? Toverre mentions him when he drops by, as he does now and again. Do you know, I think he wants to inherit the place?” He was rewarded with a huff of laughter.
“You would have my sincerest apologies,” Royston said, “If I were not utterly convinced that you deserve every minute with him.” Wickedness received and returned, Luvander thought with glee, filling up with new energy. He poured the tea into his favorite teapot, a gift from Ghislain that had sat aboard his ship for a while in favor of the much better Raphael-shaped gift he’d brought upon landing and then selfishly hoarded away in the country, the bastard. Still, the tea set was lovely and he used it at every opportunity.
“Hal’s alright,” Royston was continuing with a fond smile as Luvander brought out the tea tray and set up their meal. He went on for a bit about Hal’s studies and his questionable friendship with Toverre, which Royston felt was inevitably going to be bad for his health. Luvander made the appropriate noises at the appropriate times, letting the Margrave go on and giving him the semblance of his full and undivided attention while admiring the fine cloth of his waistcoat with some jealousy.
They had finished their first cup of tea by the time Royston approached the point of his visit.
“You know, I haven’t heard much in court about Owen’s sudden exile,” he said, running the tip of one exquisitely manicured finger along the gold design in the cup. The set was made with a dark teal ceramic, shattered and repaired with gold in a distinctly Kyril style. It was terribly artistic, and seemed to have some symbolism to Ghislain that Luvander refused to dwell on.
“Why should you?” Luvander asked brightly. “I should think the sudden tragic illness of our beloved Esar and the coronation of the Esarina should be quite enough to occupy the court’s attention.” He held the mug to his lips, giving Royston a measured and considering look over its rim.
The margrave wasn’t fooled. He returned the look steadily, and Luvander was reminded that Royston, too, was a soldier once. It was thrilling and terrifying to meet someone else with that steel and pain in his eyes, familiar and alien. Luvander had never really considered befriending the margrave Royston; for all their paths may have crossed a few times, they were meant for different paths. He wondered, now, if he hadn’t been denying himself needlessly.
Luvander smiled, inscrutable and irritating. Royston leaned back.
“The letters I’ve gotten from him don’t sound like him,” Royston explained, his voice tight. “I know there’s something he won’t tell me, but it’s not like him to refuse to tell me anything at all.” Luvander tilted his head and considered what to tell him, and Royston went on. “Between the sickness the students had, Nico being permanently asleep and Antoinette herself telling me to back off, I can’t help but think there’s some sort of conspiracy being kept from the people of Thremedon.”
As entertaining as a conspiracy could be, it could just as easily backfire on the lot of them and Luvander still had strong opinions about the lengths that Antoinette had taken to secure their silence. Luvander set his mug down on the table as carefully as he could, breathing in deeply. “If you did suspect a conspiracy, what would you do about it? I realize that our darling Esarina does not have the same, er, forceful personality as her husband, but any meaningful steps to get to the heart of this invented conspiracy of yours cannot possibly sound innocent when taken out of context.”
“I wouldn’t talk of treason,” Royston stated, simply and solidly. It was a tone that brooked no possibility of misunderstanding, and it was quite unlike him. Unlike them both, Luvander thought. “The official excuse for his relocation is that he retired, but you and I both know that’s about as likely as Tycho the brave coming to life and dancing in the streets.”
“Hilarious in its unlikeliness, yes,” Luvander agreed, fingertips tapping the rim of his mug. “Though not as colorful an example as I might have preferred. Do have a bit more imagination, next time. Are you suggesting Adamo was forcefully exiled?”
“He witnessed what happened at the Basquiat,” Royston said, covering his mouth and nose with a napkin. His eyes were looking rather puffy, and Luvander considered informing him that he was sitting in the cat’s favorite chair.
“So did I,” Luvander pointed out.
“Yes, that’s what has me confused.” Royston set the napkin down and leaned forward- he looked positively dreadful, Luvander thought with glee. “I know better than to ask what happened. I only want to be sure Owen is all right.”
Abruptly, Luvander remembered that this was Adamo’s oldest friend. The subtle torture lost its appeal without anyone there to laugh about it. He set his mug down, compartmentalizing, coming to terms with the too-empty shop with ruthless and practiced efficiency. “Allow me to put your mind at rest about that. Owen-” his lips still quirked at the name- “Very likely isn’t telling you anything because we were all put under a spell enforcing our silence regarding what happened the night the Esar fell ill.”
The way Royston gaped at him was utterly delicious, and Luvander savored it.
“A spell,” Royston managed. His look turned calculating. “Did you meet with Antoinette?”
Luvander smiled wryly, crookedly, a dimple forming in one cheek. He’d practiced in the mirror, so he knew it made him look handsome and devilish. He raised one finger, ticking it back and forth to chide Royston for his curiosity.
“He…” Luvander paused, testing the words before speaking them aloud. “He has been instructed to remain in the countryside with certain important people.” Another pause. He was rarely so slow with his words, but the barrier in his mind was painful when he ran into it full force, much like an actual wall. “Technically it’s not an exile, but a full time job.”
“And he chose this job,” Royston didn’t bother phrasing it as a question, nor did he pause before launching into a monologue. “Of course he would, the bastard has no sense of selfishness. Give him a position of responsibility and the noble idiot can’t resist it. He probably jumped at the opportunity.”
“Also,” Luvander managed to get a word in edgewise, “He’s retired.” He gave Royston a cheeky grin. “It’s a lovely property- I can’t actually say where, of course, not that you’d bother trying to visit since I’m assured the place is simply brimming with sheep. Oh, yes, he mentioned you might pay me a visit,” Luvander’s grin widened. “He absolutely forbade me to say a single word to you- silly of him, don’t you think? Personally I think he’s enjoying the countryside, especially with that lovely young woman out tramping in the mud with him. It must be like paradise, I think.”
“Yes,” Royston agreed drily. “Especially with the young lady by his side. The question is, is he enjoying her company or is he torturing himself over how young she is and how he doesn’t deserve nice things?”
“Oh,” Luvander sighed. “It’s like you know him.”
They spent a short amount of time after that sharing scandalous stories involving Adamo- one of which involved a public teahouse duel of which Luvander had only heard delicious rumors, and of course he had to retaliate with the infamous moustache incident, which, to Luvander’s intense delight, had Royston roaring with laughter. He finally allowed Royston to depart, wishing him well and committing the puffy and swollen face to memory so he could describe it all to Raphael, who would have fits of jealousy once he read the letter.
Evie, cautiously exploring now that there were no more strangers, jumped up on the counter and watched him close the shop. He hummed to her and chatted mindlessly about nothing as he tidied up. She knocked a pile of feathers off the counter in answer.
“Yes, I know,” he murmured, stopping to stroke her behind the ears. “But I couldn’t quite resist. A co-conspirator will help you hide your secrets, and our friends in Dragon Manor need all the help they can get.”
Evie closed her eyes, purring almost inaudibly.
“You never did understand strategy,” Luvander sighed, and finished closing up shop.