Some hours later, with a gentle knock on the door, Elevel arrived. One of the maids answered and when she stepped back to reveal Shylmenra, the young attendant’s breath caught briefly in his throat. Shy’s long hair, typically braided and pinned, was down now, coiling about her face and shoulders in gentle waves of freshly fallen snow, glinting and pristine. The chosen gown was rather simple, but eminently flattering. Amethyst silk fell in clean lines from matching chiffon straps, criss-crossing in the back, leaving the bulk of her arms and shoulders bare. The neckline plunged to her cleavage, revealing just enough to entice, though a small chiffon cross-piece provided modesty (a minor alteration Shy herself had insisted upon). Delicate silver ear clasps, winding filigree around ample elven cartilage, matched the chain about her neck. The quiet comm-pendants rested there, glinting upon her breastbone: mute testimony to her connections outside of the City.
“M’lady,” he whispered, “I am here to escort you to the Archmage’s high tea”. At that, the maids nodded and abruptly vanished the way the attendant had come, leaving the boxes of bath-goods and dresses where they lay for the arcanist’s pleasure. As soon as they’d gone he approached her, eyes leveling upon hers. “My lady,” he began, conspiratorially, “if you have any need of me, merely touch this and say my name, and I will be by your side.” A slightly shaking finger reached out to tap her Collective comm pendant, and it flashed with blue light for a moment.
Peering down, she blinked. “You surprise me, Elevel. Your concern is noted, appreciated, and...assuredly misplaced. It’s merely tea.” The words were throw away comments as her mind latched to his spell, categorizing it.
The answering look he gave her was almost comical. Shaking his head slightly, he brushed an errant lock of his cerulean hair from his face. “Don’t misunderstand me. You will not come to any bodily harm. But surely we both realize that a Highborne high tea is not ever ‘just’.”
Waiting for the gravity of that double-sided word to sink in, he was rewarded by the furrowing of her brow. “You truly worry,” she murmured, once again meeting his gaze. “You know something, as if more than just a pleasant chat is afoot.”
Boldly taking her hand, the attendant gently led her to sit upon her chaise - an echo of Lord Starsong’s insistent tug upon her when she first arrived. Lips pursed in annoyance at the temerity of these Shen’dralari men, she exhaled and waited.
“Permission to speak freely, Lady Whitespire?” At her tentative nod, he continued. “You must understand that you are one of few who...escaped.”
“Escaped!? I studied here for most of my life until I was sent to follow my family in service to the greater good of Azeroth. I never felt in danger here. In fact, I wish I could have stayed....”
The lie left her lips and floated upon the air, a well-scripted exchange that seemed rehearsed even to herself. A pang of fear tugged at her. His words of caution called forth unpleasant memories which she had compartmentalized, such as the quiet bones of Kariel Winthalus, and she felt her ice answer. Encasing her in a layer of permafrost, she quickly grew more numb and distant with each passing second.
He gasped, the delicate hand in his rapidly growing cold in contrast to his warmth. He was losing her! Carefully considering his reply, he swallowed as the fire he hid within himself blossomed to his clutching fingers, seeking to meet her in kind. “Yes. We all know of the Whitespires. A family of enchanters and conjurers, your line is ancient, powerful, and bold; even feared.”
Her expression of surprise rewarded him. He was keeping her present, and so he ventured onward. “The knowledge amassed in Eldre’thalas is vast, much of it unique in all the world. But if not tempered with keen awareness, it can also serve as a distraction. There have been dark happenings in these halls, which our people would just as soon forget.” Fidgeting a bit, he cleared his throat and allowed his flames to fully bloom, licking harmlessly up and around their conjoined wrists. “M’lady, your being here is no coincidence. The Archmage had been in Darnassus for quite some time, lobbying for Highborne-Kaldorei relations; and yet, now he is here. As you are here. Something may not be wrong, but something’s not quite right.”
Shy took a long moment to study his flames, fluttering like a baby bird in their palms, allowing his words to sink into her cold exterior. Grossly overstepping the bounds of being an attendant, Elevel was sharing opinions which could put him in danger. Likewise, he was sharing his magic with her - another misstep, should any find out. She knew that he was earnest, and she shifted to a more calculating mode, though her mouth moved first toward the topic more comfortable. “You’ve been training. How?”
At her question, he smiled, and the flames travelled up the length of her arm, caressing her cheek before winking out. Tiny droplets of water - defrosted condensation - remained. He sat back with a slight grunt, spent from the effort but trying not to show it. “I would be happy to tell you anything you wish to know, in good time. I am clearly now at your mercy, Lady Whitespire. I trust you and adore you and despair of you, as an exquisite creature is meant to.” Unlacing their hands, he produced a kerchief out of nowhere and brushed the dew off her arms, handing it over to allow her to blot her chest and face. “However, we must get you to tea, as the hour has already passed.”
Standing abruptly, he sketched a bow as he helped her rise. “You will be fashionably late, and it will fit the mystique all the more. Allow me to take you, and we will talk again if you wish, and soon. Just promise to be careful and make every response a measured one.”
