by A C Rae
Eira slipped past them unnoticed into the refreshment room, which was blissfully empty. She fought to keep her knees from buckling, and placed a fist in her mouth to choke off the impending sob. While her father had not explicitly mentioned blackmail, she was now convinced Lord Cassian was controlling her father. She wanted to run to him so much. But in doing so she would endanger Quinn and risk any chance they had of finding a way to release her father from the blackmail.
She focused on the task in hand. She now realised that although she had spent ages training Quinn in passing himself off as a nobleman, they had completely forgotten that she would need to pass herself off as a viable manservant.
She closed her eyes, trying to picture what a tray would look like. She had seen her father's manservant arrive with one many a time. Sadly all she could picture was a pot of tea. She jumped as the door opened and Lord Cassian' manservant breezed in.
Eira tried to look casual as she watched him pick up a glass of brandy, a napkin and a small pastry, and placed them carefully on one of the trays.
Trying not to look too obvious, she copied him. Draping the napkin over one arm, she managed to balance the tray and open the door- something Lord Cassian' manservant had made look easy.
She closed the distance to the Lord's box rapidly, pausing only to mop up a splash of brandy that had wobbled out of the glass. She made a mental note to practise the art of balancing a tray.
When she walked into the Lord's box, she was surprised to find Quinn apparently at ease in the centre of Lord Cassian' circle. She halted, casting her head low as she passed her father, who was absently nodding at something someone had just said. He looked drawn and miserable. Her heart throbbed painfully as she stepped on.
She held out the tray to Quinn, who took the glass of brandy and waved her to the side where all the other manservants were waiting patiently.
Taking a glance around at the other men, she picked up the pastry and stuffed it in her mouth. She savoured the taste. Tallynberry twist. She hadn't had one of those in weeks.
One of the manservants had noticed and frowned in her direction. She stared resolutely ahead as she swallowed an uncomfortably large amount.
Quinn picked up the glass of brandy in mid flow of conversation. He sipped at it but had to school his expression. He would rather have a nice large glass of ale. He smiled at Lord Cassian while fantasising running him through with his sword. Or shooting him with his pistol. His fingers itched.
Lord Cassian had not taken long to invite him into his inner circle. Here at least anyway. Quinn seriously doubted that any of the men he was currently entertaining were ever entered into his true confidence. As Lord Framwich had not been to the theatre, or even Aelin for many years, he was immediately an object of curiosity.
Quinn was surprised when Lord Winsworth had arrived in the Lord's box, and for a brief moment had expected him to point his finger at him and declare him as his daughter's kidnapper. But Lord Winsworth had merely bowed to him with a polite glance before sitting down.
Lord Cassian looked every inch the nobleman. He sat with the easy grace of a nobleman but Quinn could only interpret it as the easy grace of a cat calculating how best to catch all the mice. Where Quinn's clothes were cut in the latest fashion and the finest fabrics, Lord Cassian' clothes were taken to another level. The lace ruffles poking from under his sleeve were worked with embroidery in gold thread. Rubies twinkled along his waistcoat. Even his boot buckles were gold, studded with diamonds.
Quinn drew his attention away from Lord Cassian' shoes back up to his face. Thankfully they stayed away from the topic of languages. He would not have been able to keep calling Eira across, not with her father sat a few paces away from him.
It might have been a spectacular opera, but Quinn didn't hear much of it. It appeared that the sole purpose of a nobleman to visit the theatre was to socialise and debate over the show.
At times Lord Cassian laughed, a deep bellowing laugh that seemed to cut across the theatre and down, out doing even the talking amongst the groundlings below.
Despite all his study, Quinn was still surprised to find that he was able to hold his own in making discussion. He made Lord Cassian laugh with his own comments a couple of times.
They only appeared to realise that the show had finished when the groundlings started to move in one huddle towards the exit, pushing, shouting and laughing in a roar that interrupted one of the noblemen loudly discussing a wing of the Temple he had paid to have renovated.
Lord Cassian stood along with Quinn. Quinn provided him with a low bow, as was fit for his station.
“I trust you will be coming again in a couple of days, Lord Framwich?”
Quinn nodded. “Of course. I am their new patron after all.”
Lord Cassian smiled, a slow lazy smile. “Excellent. I am of course dying to hear why you have decided to come to Aelin after so many years of seclusion.”
Quinn reddened, caught off guard momentarily despite all his preparation. “I was affected with what was thought to be an incurable disease. It has taken this many years for me to finally find a cure.”
Lord Cassian smirked. “Ah, of course. Such a shame. Glad to hear you are cured.” He snapped his fingers, at which point his manservant appeared out of nowhere with a cloak, cane and a pair of gloves. He put them on and swiftly exited the box.
Quinn desperately wanted to exhale deeply the breath he had been holding. Their cover story had sounded so flimsy when spoken in front of Lord Cassian. Instead, he waved for Eira, who had thankfully already retrieved his cloak and gloves. Putting them on as hastily as he could, he left the box, politely saying goodbye to the remaining Lords on his way out.
Finally able to take a deep calming breath, he smiled at Eira, and surreptitiously passed her a piece of card.
She looked at him quizzically, and turned the card over. Reading the looped writing on the card she beamed at him. He had already managed to secure an invitation to Lord Cassian' mansion- to a masked ball.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Ah, the masked balls. The things that go on in there are downright scandalous, and hence worth writing about, because there are few things more interesting than reading about the Avarrian nobles getting up to no good….”
Book II, A Guide to Avarria
Sitting outside on the coach driver seat, Pryce yawned. He placed the book he was reading face down and stretched. He was starting to get cramp in his legs but he didn't dare leave the coach unattended to go for a quick walk to uncramp them. He had borrowed the coach from a cousin who mended coaches, and had promised to return it unharmed. It was his cousin who had made the Framwich coat of arms and fixed it in place of the real owner's. For a fee of course. It was lucky he had stashed some of the highwayman gold- not so lucky it was his retirement money they were spending.
It had just started to get dark but the theatre district was one of a few that had street lighting. He watched a young man walk along the street, lighting the lamps with a long pole and lighter.
He strained his ears to listen for the groundlings leaving the theatre. It would be around then that Quinn and Eira would be leaving as well, and he would be expected to be waiting outside the theatre so 'Lord Framwich' was not kept waiting, nor would be walking far to get into his coach.
Certain he could now hear the sounds of a large crowd filling the next street, he slowly moved the carriage forward, tucking his book into a leather bag under his seat.
Several minutes later, trying to manoeuvre a large carriage against a stream of people coming the other way, he decided he did not miss his old job one bit. Thank the Ancestors he was not relying on a job like this for his livelihood. He was already late to pick up Quinn, and if he was a real Lord he would have likely been sacked on the spot.
Finally he came closer to the Phoenix. Quinn was stood outside waiting with Eira. Evidently Eira had warned him to look impatient and angry, because he flashed Pryce such a look of disgust before climbing into th
e coach that Pryce almost felt wounded. That boy was an amazing actor.
He waited until Eira had got on her stand before rolling the coach forward. He was relieved Quinn was alright, but had to resist the urge to pull over and quiz them both on what had happened.
Quinn sat in the coach, feeling his heart pound with a mix of relief and elation. A strong part of him had doubted that their plan would work. He smiled, pulling out the invitation to the ball to gaze at it again.
Reading the gold leaf writing, he gasped. He had a problem.
He waited until they had got back to the house before he told Pryce everything that happened.
Pulling out the invitation with a miserable face, he explained his problem. “Pryce, the ball invitation insists on a plus one to keep numbers even. I don't know any women who I could pass off as a noblewoman for this, let alone one I could trust!”
Pryce smiled. “Why not take Eira? She is a woman after all, and you wouldn't be expected to take a manservant to Lord Cassian' mansion.
Quinn blushed as Eira winced. “I cannot go.” She ran her fingers through her short hair. “This would draw attention to me for all the wrong reasons.”
Pryce smirked. “What if I told you I knew a way for your hair to grow the length it was in a matter of seconds.”
Eira almost glowed. Running to Pryce she stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Really?” she beamed. “I've missed my long hair. But do you think I would still be suitable? I could still be recognised, even in a mask. Lord Cassian has not met me yet but others I know could be there.”
Quinn tapped his foot. “I will not put Eira in danger.” he insisted. “I already think she's been exposed to more than enough danger posing as my manservant in front of Lord Cassian and her own father. At least she is less recognisable as a young man!”
Pryce looked at Eira. “How would you feel about being a blonde for the day?”
Eira subconsciously raised her hands to her hair. “I suppose I could manage for one day.”
Quinn interrupted. “Just how are you going to manage this anyway?”
Pryce shuffled his feet on the threadbare rug. “My sister, the mad witch of Aelin woods.”
Pryce was not looking forward to seeing his sister, so was sullenly quiet on their ride to Aelin woods- even though it was his suggestion in the first place.
As always, Quinn rode on Bessie. They had managed to acquire a horse for Eira. She fell in love with the grey mare almost immediately and had spent a large portion of the journey patting and talking to her.
Quinn meanwhile, rode Bessie deep in thought. In his mind he was formulating a plan. Lord Cassian would have to be blackmailing Lord Winsworth with something tangible and it would have to be something he would keep close- perhaps even in a safe in his study. Worse, he could be keeping it on his person.
The only way to be certain would be for them to search his mansion. The masked ball would provide an excellent opportunity as there would be guests meandering all through the house. Most of the bedrooms would be difficult to gain access to, and he was sure that his study, a likely place for a safe, would be strictly off limits. But Lord Cassian's attention would be focused on keeping the guests entertained.
Pryce would have to be the driver once again. There was still a risk that he would be recognised, and he didn't want that.
They came off the main road and headed for Jacob's house. There was no certainty that Pryce's sister would be there, but Pryce knew Jacob would know where she was.
At the rope for the bell, Pryce gestured for them to stop. He pulled the bell. Eira watched curiously. She stroked her horse, who had become restless with the wait. Bessie waited patiently, as always.
A few moments later Jacob appeared, seemingly emerging from the leafy foliage as though he had been part of it. He looked at Pryce. “She's here and knows you are coming.” He looked at Pryce apologetically. “And she's not happy.”
Pryce baulked, and his grip on the reins tightened ever so slightly.
Jacob led them through the bushes to his wooden and mud house. Eira inhaled deeply, savouring the sweet scent of herbs in the air. Much better than the stench of Aelin.
When they dismounted, Quinn went to follow Jacob and Pryce indoors but was stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder. Jacob gazed at him intently. “I really recommend that you wait outside with Eira.” His gaze burned deeper as he saw Quinn really wanted to come inside to support Pryce. Eyes glowing a deeper green, he spoke softly but with great insistence. “Stay outside with Eira.”
Not understanding his sudden change of mind, Quinn drifted like a sleepwalker towards Eira. “I am to stay outside.” He said in a flat voice.
Eira squeezed his hand, shooting a glare at Jacob that warned she had noted his use of magic on Quinn.
Quinn frowned. For some reason his thoughts felt scattered like blown dandelion seeds. He sat down on the ground with a thump.
Jacob shrugged his shoulders apologetically, and shut the door behind him.
A few moments late a mass of shrieking in a high pitched voice burst from the window, cursing in languages that even Eira had never heard before.
When Pryce walked in to see his sister, he knew she was going to be angry with him. Yet nothing had prepared him for the stream of curses that came his way.
His sister had descended on him in a fury of burning blue eyes and brown hair flying in all directions.
After several minutes of enduring cursing, his sister drew a deep breath before launching herself at him. She gave him a sudden and sharp slap.
Pryce could feel her hand print burning on his face even as she drew back. She truly glared at him then. The glare of a witch was said to be able to burn flesh off men's bones.
Pryce was physically intact but mentally he felt as though his insides were being scorched.
Finally, his sister stepped back and spoke Avarrian. “Why did you bring Quinn here? You know he must stay away from me.”
Wincing, Pryce tried to choose his words carefully. “I brought him here because he needs your help. Francine, please...”
“I cannot help him. I have foreseen the trouble that will come of us meeting face to face.”
Pryce swallowed. “He is your son, surely you can do something to help protect him.”
She hissed at him. “Keeping him away from you would be a start!” She lowered her voice. “You swore you would stay away from him, leave him with his father in peace.”
“His father is dead.”
Francine looked truly sorrowful for a moment. “I know.” Jacob padded across the room and squeezed her shoulder softly.
Pryce, emboldened, continued. “His gift is manifesting on its own.”
She physically winced. “Without any instruction?”
Pryce nodded, once.
Terror rose in her eyes. “Then he is still in danger. I thought by keeping myself away from him he would be safe. I thought he had avoided his fate.”
Jacob spoke softly. “He already uses his power instinctively. I've seen it.”
Francine stared hollowly at the fire. “So I have merely delayed him from being targeted.” After staring at the fire a few moments longer, she straightened. “I still cannot see him, not yet. That much is clear.”
Smiling slightly, Pryce moved forward and squeezed her hand. “You do not have to. It is his companion, Eira, who you need to see.” Pryce explained their problem. “Quinn has sworn to release her from the threat of Lord Cassian.” He added to her glare. “Despite my insistence it is a terrible idea. He would do it without my help if I tried to stop him!”
“Then I will see this Eira but she must be blindfolded. She must not recognise me as Quinn's mother.”
Pryce nodded and went to go get Eira. He paused. “Thank you for placing that warding spell on me. It saved my life from Lord Cassian' bullet.”
“Anything for you, my brother. Although I wish you wouldn't go gadding about as a highwayman in the first place.”
P
ryce's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “It is the only talent I possess.”
Jacob interjected. “You make a great Uncle, even if Quinn isn't aware of who you truly are. You make the best of protecting the headstrong lad.”
Pryce shook his head as he passed through the door.
Eira and Quinn were sat outside playing cards when Pryce went to fetch her. They automatically rose together but Pryce held out his hand to indicate that Quinn must stay. Puzzled, Quinn turned to Pryce. “Why am I not allowed to watch?”
“It is dangerous for people to see the spell being performed. Even Eira has to go in blindfolded.”
“Then why are you going in?”
Exasperated, Pryce held up his hands. “Because. My sister is not known as the mad witch of Aelin woods for nothing. I cannot change her mind on this.”
Disappointed, Quinn sat down with a thud. “I thought I was going to get a chance to see some magic.”
“Tough luck, boy.”
Quinn pulled up some tufts of grass in frustration.
Eira was led into the room blindfolded. The scent of herbs was particularly strong in here. Her sight obscured, the scent seemed almost overpowering and quite disorientating.
She was directed to sit down by a gentle guiding hand. She crossed her legs and shifted until she felt more comfortable.
A cup was lifted to her lips. She sipped the contents until it was taken away.
She heard low chanting that seemed to spin around the room as she felt more and more drowsy. She slipped backwards but the same gentle hands guided her to lie on the floor. The sound of chanting echoed in her ears as she fell asleep.
When she awoke, her mouth felt dry. She turned from her side until she was lying on her back. She opened her eyes. She was in the room in which Quinn had stayed.
She heard a low groan next to her on the floor, which she recognised as belonging to Quinn. She smiled, watching him sleep. He mumbled something unintelligible and shifted onto his side facing her. A lock of brown hair fell across his forehead.
