Atop the Terrace...
Watching her great-grandnephew making his swift escape, Lady Mae’riel Lysira’ril slowly lowered herself back into her seat. Her anger fading as her sharp mind pondered all she had discovered this day. From the corner of her eye, she could see her granddaughter El’ retake her seat; she too, looking lost after the boy gave voice to his pitiable plight.
“El’, what do you make of young Lurian?” she asked, tapping her nails on the table's edge. “You’ve observed him most of the day, and I would have your opinion on him as Vel’lon to the line of Querkus.”
The young ‘na-fae crossed her legs, her eyes drifting to the sky as she seriously deliberated the question. “It is as you said, Matriarch. He is sharp, he is strong, and he has this reckless arrogance about him that is as dangerous as it is fascinating.” She paused, frowning as she considered how to better articulate her meaning. “It’s as if the world owes him a debt—that he would see paid—even if it kills him in the claiming.”
Mae could not help but chortle at the girl’s apt description. “Well said, my dear, though I do distinctly remember describing it as pride and not arrogance that drives the boy.” She sighed, waving a hand. “But—I suppose the flavor of hubris matters little... the result is often the same...”
Suddenly—
“He is handsome though...”
Hearing this, Mae’s head snapped to her granddaughter, her eyes searching her face for any hint of early infatuation. When none was found, she thanked the Faiths in her heart and relaxed into her seat.
“Just remember, my dear. He is not for you. I can’t have you falling for the first pretty face you see, the moment you break free of my guiding hand,” she said, before feeling a cheeky smirk slowly bloom upon her face.
“Well... maybe a little dalliance wouldn’t hurt,” she added. “But see that it becomes nothing more, else there be consequences.”
The girl flushed a wonderful shade of pink. “Please—don’t tease me, matriarch. Besides, he’s not my type—and I’m to be promised to another.”
Mae raised a single brow. “Since when has something as minor as an engagement ever stopped a lady of my blood from getting whatever she wants?”
Mae couldn’t help but grin at the sight. Oh, how she loved teasing her granddaughters. Watching them squirm; it was a wicked pleasure, truly, the way she could unravel their composure with nothing more than a raised brow and a whispered suggestion at scandal—was simply delicious.
There was a fragile beauty in the way they tried to guard their hearts and reputations; so fiercely convinced that such a thing as their virtue—or the lack thereof—was the most serious of matters, when in truth it was but gossip to the court. Besides, given their long lives, even the greatest of scandals will be all but forgotten given a decade or two.
‘Ahh, to be young.’ She supposed it her duty then to test them; to ensure they remained sharp and wary, else they end up a piece on someone else's board.
‘Besides, a girl who couldn't handle a bit of teasing was simply no fun at all,’ she thought, a wicked smirk blooming on her face.
As the embarrassed girl’s protests died down, her gaze flickered longingly to the wooden tray the boy abandoned in his haste.
Noticing the girl’s not-so-subtle swallow despite her composed exterior, she playfully rolled her eyes and said with a chuckle, “Take it, girl; with me here—I doubt he’d risk coming back for these morsels.”
Amused by her granddaughter’s antics, she sipped at her wine while watching the girl jump at the chance at a second supper.
But her smile slowly faded, only to sigh when her mind returned to the events of the day. So many truths hidden from her eyes. She began making connections by piecing together the snippets of information she managed to gather...
The implications were chilling; unnerving even her with her near two centuries of life...
That hungry, clawing ball of malevolence, that festered within the boy’s core; that feasting parasite; that curse on his very blood. It should have seen his life ended years ago. She couldn’t fathom how the boy survived with such a blighted spirit.
She hungered for more information, and she knew exactly where to find it. She rose, her silk robes whispering against the polished marble, and settled her expression into one of cold, iron authority. “El, go back to your chambers; I will be paying a visit to our gracious host. For I find myself in need of answers.”
“Yes, Matriarch,” El answered, looking forlornly at the tray of snacks she just secured on her lap.
Mae’riel sighed, a flicker of genuine fondness softening her expression. “Just take them with you—girl. By the Faiths, you act as if I’ve starved you.”
The young fae flushed. “Yes—matriarch.” She rose, offering a perfect bow, before scampering off with her spoils.
Seeing this, Mae chuckled. The girl was always so mature, only ever showing such a childish side to her and her daughter: the girl’s mother. Waving her hand, the table and chairs returned to mist, as what remained of her own supper was magically flung off the side of the terrace.
‘The Drop... What a fitting name,’ she thought, taking a moment to admire the view before turning on her heel and marching off to find their host.
Confident that soon she would have her answers...
“Fate is a bitter mistress, while we—we are but puppets on her strings. She seems so kind, so loving, but she weaves her vast tapestries with ample misfortune and suffering; sure to spite all souls who do not share in her limited favour. Though we may struggle, the design is predetermined. Its change—only possible by those with power vast enough to tug tight her strings.”
— Lurian Ven'nirous