Warst 17, L.E.Y. 3252

Ivy. 

Thamine had always been a timid creature. Now she was downright panicked.

"Go away!" the mousy maidservant trembled at me, "the hour is too late, the mistress is not at home, and I have no instructions for you."

"Not at home?" I repeated, my surprise making it a question. It was past midnight and most of the world was asleep. It took a quarter bell to rouse even Thamine to the door. "Do you know when she will return? My news can't wait."

"I do not," she said, eyes wide and darting. "Please, just come back in the morning."

I scowled. Thamine thought me the very worst sort of vermin, and I considered her little better than a slave. Even so, there was no reason for her to be cringing behind the door the way she was, as if I would barge in against her will.

I only did that once.

"What's going on here?" I asked suspiciously. "You look like I just caught you burying the bodies." It was meant in jest, to break the tension, but Thamine squeaked and slammed the door in my face.

"Another time!" came her muffled shout as the deadbolts slid home.

"Bloody hells," I told the door, "my ears are round if she isn't hiding something." The door didn't answer.

I considered breaking into the house to see what was going on; I was even wearing the right outfit. But I wasn't in the mood, and convinced myself it was none of my business. I had bigger questions to answer—like what to do now.

I wandered aimlessly through the dark ward, carefully avoiding the watch. Clasicant's fall was so unexpected, I probably wasn't in the best frame of mind to talk to Orluz anyway. She might be thrilled, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I needed an ale and a few hours, so I walked toward the harbor lost in my thoughts.

The Church was working itself into a frenzy. War with Migar was looming, and those weird red capes were suddenly everywhere. They meant something, but damn me if I knew what. If I was smart I'd leave town before the city goes up in bloody flames. Maybe with Clasicant gone there was no reason to stay.

I passed the last watches of night in my room, staring up at the ceiling. When the suns finally showed their faces, I was still awake to hear the first bell sound. I got up stiffly and made three purses of Balina's coin before stuffing them into my shoulder bag. Working for Balina Orluz there was always someone to bribe. Her mood swings and sense of entitlement had grown unnaturally, but she paid well and I liked gold in my pocket.

I yanked on my street leathers, quashed my hair's wildest offenses and belted on my scimitar. Looking just like any other adventurer who called Dragoskala home, I set out for the day. Commoners gave me wide berth because adventurer meant trouble—no reason to go looking for me 'less they had something to sell. The dark look on my mug kept even the bravest at bay.

In the Palace Ward, nearing Kings Road, a large building seized my attention. I stopped and glowered at it for a while.

Even on Palace Wall Street, where estates were large and each more impressive than the last, Ill'Enniniess Tilwen Society Hall was a sore thumb. I didn't know how old it was, but its odd shape was meant to resemble the Tilwen halls of Old Oak and Ludenbrone in the Forest of Light. Its columns flared in from the street in front of the building, and out again at the top, reminiscent of silverleaf roots and branches. There were no windows—a defensive choice, maybe—and the entire facade was a monumental portrait of sylvan life in paint, sculpture and mosaic. It was so cleverly done that from a distance it was impossible to say which parts were rendered in oil pigments, and which were sculpted into the stone. As I walked, the eyes of animals, forest spirits and even tilwen in the painting seemed to follow me down the street, steady and unblinking.

Oddly, the forest scene wasn't a hunt or a battle. It wasn't a depiction of great acts, the gods, or the creation of the world. It just was. Deer ran and birds flew. Proud unicorns were shy and stalking wolves bold. Tilwen walked among the trees, friends with all the forest's creatures, speaking with them and dancing in the wind. Gemstones were strategically placed throughout, their sparkle giving eyes life and sunlight its gleam. Silver or gold inlay made hair shine and weapons or water seem real. The tilwenii depicted were all noble, of course, with willowy bodies and silvery hair. Copper leaves cascaded unevenly around the tops of the columns, giving the building's roofline a patinated season alternating between summer and fall, depending on your point of view.

The facade was unnerving. The creatures in the mural seemed waiting their chance to carry me away to some Tilwenic hell. Their hollow eyes challenged me to enter and see what all the fuss was about, if I was brave enough. If I entered, would I suddenly be swept up in the eternal orgy of Tilwen life, corrupted, and never the same again?

I didn't care what went on in that place, I told myself. I wasn't anything like the tall, ethereal beings within. But I did have questions of my own, and almost before I'd made up my mind, my feet had carried me to the door.

I knocked and waited at the feet of two enormous figures flanking the door. One held a river that flowed down his left shoulder, from hand to hand and back into the forest. The other held an oak and a cluster of acorns. Time and the Forest of Light, I supposed. Faynitil and Solori; the Elders to whom the hall was dedicated.

I huffed in irreverent impatience under their stony scrutiny.

The door opened without a sound, and before I knew he was there, a blonde tilwenor child peered up at me in the doorway.

"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.

"I'm looking for Pertuli Ill'Enniniess," I said, almost, but not quite, calling him 'flower boy.'

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You look like you're undecided."

"Listen kid," I snapped, "my frame of mind is none of your business. Is he inside or not?" I have never been good with children. To my surprise he grinned, like what I'd said was a great joke, but didn't move to let me in.

"He might be inside," he teased, "but you should probably rest up a bit ... when 'wenna'i come looking for him, they're usually more tired when they leave ...."

Heat rose to my face, and I was about to really let him have it, when he suddenly disappeared, yanked out of place by a beautiful tilwenna in a gossamer cerulean gown ... and I don't use words like gossamer to describe things lightly. Or cerulean, for that sparking matter.

"I mean it, Hilanthyus, do not let me find you abusing visi—oh!" her words cut off as she saw my face, but she recovered with dignified grace. "That is quite a scowl, sister. He's only an imp."

"And I don't need to be accused of promiscuity quite so early in the morning," I barked, smoothing my face with some difficulty.

"Isn't that the best time?" the girl laughed, and opened the door wider. "Why don't you come inside?" she invited. "No sense in loitering under Faynitil's skirts, if you have business to attend to..."

Confused, I looked up, and was instantly sorry I had.

"Oh but you do blush so prettily," she giggled (giggled!) again, taking my arm and leading me within. I kept my eyes down in case any other kilted gods were standing inside the doorway. "The sculptors left nothing to the imagination, did they?"

I was surprised by the room we stepped into. After the full effect of fae art outside, I was surprised to find myself in a very traditional upscale Dragoskalan waiting room. It was moderately sized, at maybe ten paces wide and deep, carpeted with a fine rug, and furnished with plush velvet chairs and polished oak. On the walls hung scores of fine oil paintings.

"Mundane, isn't it?" she asked, seeing my interest in our surroundings. "The receiving area is maintained in this dreary state so as not to frighten guests."

"Ah," I grunted. That wasn't what I was thinking at all. As a moderately experienced art thief, I recognized styles of art that had died out centuries before, and were extremely rare. I was sure the room's furnishings were just as valuable, which meant it would take less than an hour to loot the place for many thousands of gold scales. Probably magically protected, I thought, calming myself into sensibility.

"My name is Saliiah balfni benron Ill'Enniniess," the girl said in that irritating way some Tilwen have of not asking questions. "I am the portal keeper, here. Refreshments are available if you are weary."

Her eyelashes batted distractingly in the silence that followed. Clearly she wanted to know what my purpose was. I'd thought of her as young because of her wide-eyed, empty-headed appearance, but she was taller, and if she was a guard I may have underestimated her.

"Ivy," I said simply. "Is Pertuli Ill'Enniniess at home?"

Saliiah's eyes widened, and she looked me up and down. "Oh ... I believe his pro bono work for the week is done, but I could ask," she mused infuriatingly.

"Nevermind," I growled, "I'll just go look for him myself."

"Regrettably, visitors are not allowed beyond this room," she countered, without her amused expression changing in the slightest. Her tone lowered to a conspirational whisper, as if some higher power had handed down the rule, but if it were just us girls things would be different.

I didn't buy it.

"Stop me," I dared, backing my words with my most withering scowl.

She didn't even try. I crossed the room and took hold of the door latch and pulled. Then tried again. Kungdreel's shriveled teats!

"The door doesn't work for non-members," she laughed musically as I turned, my lips still covered in crow. "It makes my job so much easier." She drew out the word 'so' as if the floozy had so much to do.

"You say 'member' like anyone can join your family," I snapped. "What does it really take?"

"Glad you asked!" Saliiah bubbled, sultry lashes and gleaming teeth everywhere at once. "You need to be Tilwen of course, which you have covered. You need to vow to keep the peace, which is silly because who would want to break it in a building full of family?"

She hasn't met mine. "That it?"

"You can't have been exiled from the Forest of Light, and ...." I noticed a subtle shift in her saccharine smile as she paused. "There is a small fee of two hundred scales, and the upkeep of thirty scales per moon."

She thinks there's no way I have that kind of coin.

I pulled three round purses from my shoulder bag with a smirk and tossed them to her, each larger than a Kaden apple. She nearly dropped them—together they weighed almost three stone in gold and silver. Premonition told me I might have to bribe someone that day, and I'd just found her.

"That's enough for membership, fast paperwork, and three months in advance," I said preemptively, "I've never been to the F.O.L., and I vow to keep the peace while under this roof—I guess that makes us family?"

The pleasure I feel at her suddenly horrified expression is entirely perverse, but I take the time to enjoy it anyway.