February 19 - Day 1
Love is in the Air / Weakness
Fiorenze had always been a little arrogant, but never unkind or callous without reason. Keranna frowned as she turned her own simple comm between her hands like a worry stone, a physical manifestation of the last few hours turning over in her mind.
Yesterday the Lady had been laid low with a terrible migraine — not uncommon, but they did tend to follow large acts of spellcraft on her part. The ferocity of this one stood out; it had been a while since a migraine had been so painful as to cause vomiting spells. Decades, perhaps.
And yes, sometimes those migraines made the Lady hazy a day later. It could be harder to get her attention or she would be a little slower to answer.
Even recalling the word made Keranna’s eyes narrow. ‘Servant’. The consonants were poisonous in their own way, lilting in Fiorenze’s pretty voice. Keranna had never been her ‘servant’. She could recall with clarity the day the wet nurse handed Fiorenze over to her so Cosima could have time to rest after her birth. As her governess and god mother she had presided over occasions and holidays, tutors and appointments and the joy and sorrow that came with raising a precocious little girl into a woman that could hold her own in Quel’thalas’ court of nobles.
The Lady had wanted to know what all the flowers and gifts were, artfully arranged around her bedroom. Fiorenze knew. No migraine would ever cloud the joy that gifts brought her. Keranna watched her study the cards that had come with them — the pinch in the Lady’s brow as her eyes glossed over the scrawling Thalassian script. The indifference with which she was handed them and told to reply with thanks to the suitors who had sent them in an attempt to vye for her attention.
‘Set up an appointment with the one I like best, would you?’
If Xylaes had sent anything, it wouldn't have come here. The man avoided the Estate like it would give him some kind of plague — and they’d been together for months out in the Isles anyway.
And then the Lady had moved to pet Rue, the blink cat that had become her familiar. The creature had lived with them for some years now, going between the Estate and the tower in Dalaran as Fiorenze pleased. Keranna had never seen the cat make a harsh move toward anyone; only curiosity and care.
The hiss and swipe toward the Lady’s outstretched hand was enough to cement Keranna’s thoughts and banish whatever doubts she’d otherwise had.
She stopped her fidgeting and typed out a couple of messages, sending them with a mental apology for the utter oddness of the situation.
<<Pyraelia, come home. I need to confer with you on a matter regarding your sister, it is urgent. I will not discuss it over the comm.>>
<<Mr. Qin’oril, this is Keranna Zerine, Fiorenze’s head of house. You have seen her the most out of anyone lately — has she been acting off or odd? Please think about it and get back to me. You can add my number if you wish.>>
Theirastra huffed in displeasure at the woman in the mirror, holding up the spell tome with years of work scrawled margin to margin, “Explain.”
Fiorenze shrugged impertinently, not particularly in a mood to do anything of the sort, “There’s nothing to explain, Architect. I wrote everything in Thalassian; it’s not my fault you arrogantly assumed that you’d be able to read the language after being trapped in a mirror for tens of thousands of years. You picked up on the spoken language quickly during our time together, congratulations.”
Theirastra seethed, the fury evident on her stolen face, “How dare you.”
“How dare I, what? Set you up for failure if you double crossed me? I would encourage you to put down that chair; after all, who will teach you how to read if you smash the glass? Instruct you on the names of the people who work here so you can maintain your cover? You are bound to me still, if you want this to work for you, you need me,” Firenze crooned from behind the glass, palms pressed flat against the surface.
The terror was still there, but she had spent her whole life projecting confidence. Clarity of purpose. This had all gone so wrong, but she wasn’t wrong. She needed time to stall. To come up with a plan.
Theirastra set the chair back down next to the work bench with a harsh clatter, “Your lady in waiting. What is her name? I offended her this morning because I didn’t know what to call her.”
Fiorenze smiled pleasantly, “Her name is Keranna. What did you call her?”
“Servant. It is what she is, is it not?”
“Yes, I suppose,” Fiorenze lied with ease, “but you would do well to call her Keranna or Ker from here on out. We have a familiarity.”
That made the Architect scoff with displeasure, “Familiarity.” The tone of the word oozed with disgust.
One of those Nobles, then. Fiorenze sat down in her small void, the yawning, infinite dark behind her and the window to her home in front. If she had a heart here, it would be racing.
Keranna would call Pyraelia as soon as she had suspicion, wouldn’t she? That was the logical progression of steps. Pyraelia would come when Keranna called. If she helped Theirastra, she might keep the lights on in the sanctum. If she kept her down here, Keranna and Pyraelia may come looking. If she helped a little, it would buy them time to figure something out.
“In an effort to rebuild the shattered trust between us, Theirastra, I will offer this next bit of knowledge freely: My sister’s name is Pyraelia, she visits frequently,” another smooth lie buried in some truth, “I do not know what day it is, or what time it is, but expect her sometime this week.”
( @xylaes & @pyraelia mentioned)
