Jazmyn Kallarya

The Countryside of Delacourt, Arnland

FROM ACROSS THE CARRIAGE, Roslyn examined Jazmyn with a critical eye. It wandered from her shoes to her dress to her hair, her eyes, and then finally, her chest. She stared for just a moment, and then shook her head. "You should have chosen a dress that showed more cleavage. You're a full breasted woman, Daria. There's no shame in letting the world know as much."

Jazmyn wasn't crazy about being called Daria tonight, the name the Gatekeepers assigned her to protect her identity, but she would learn to live with it. She looked down at her bosom, teasingly hidden beneath a veil of white lace that trimmed a purple velvet bodice. The top of her breasts were somewhat visible, enough to show she was indeed a woman, but not enough to show she wasn't a lady. Jazmyn frowned. "I thought the dress I chose was fine."

Roslyn rubbed her finger and thumb together. "You must learn to take advantage of every resource you're given, Daria. Every resource. A man's mind will loosen given two things: a strong goblet of wine and a teasing glimpse of a woman's figure."

Jazmyn had always thought her greatest resource was her mind, her wit, and her thirst for knowledge. It had gotten her far within the ranks of the college. But then again, that was in Valdor, and she wasn't in Valdor anymore. She was to play by a different set of rules tonight. Roslyn's rules...

Roslyn herself wore a slim sparkly blue dress that was loose around the torso, so loose that Roslyn's own breasts were practically spilling out. Her décolletage was like a valley of untouched snow, an invitation for those bold enough to explore her slopes. Her hair was done up in a bun, swirls of dark red hair resting atop the back of her head. A few loose strands rested over her forehead, and her face was soft, slim, and pale. Her cheeks were rosy with blush, and her eyebrows were full and shapely. If Jazmyn were being honest, Roslyn was perhaps the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen.

"How do you know all this?" Jazmyn asked. She was smart and educated in many subjects, and the college would vouch for every course she took. The arts of seduction and deception, however, were unknown fields to her. Like many Valdorians, Jazmyn was comfortable with sex. The people of Valdor viewed sex for what it was; a natural process in the world no different than sleeping, eating, or breathing. It was no secret that everyone born to this earth was a product of sex, and yet, the other kingdoms viewed it with such taboo and timidity. Weaponizing this natural process, as Roslyn suggested just now, was simply bizarre to Jazmyn.

Roslyn's lips formed a sly smile. "A woman must do whatever she can to survive a man's world. That is what Arnland is, scribe. These kingdoms are the kingdoms of men, but a man's mind can be shaped and molded with the right tools." She gestured to her breasts with a wave of her hand. "I've learned to work with the tools I've been given."

The wheels of their carriage groaned as one of them struck a rock.

"How so?" Jazmyn asked with a raised eyebrow. She was curious to learn. These subjects were strangers to her. Valdor, from the home to the court, was governed by a matriarch. They were ruled by women, and such concepts had no place in the Empire.

"If a sailor is to hone his craft, where do you imagine he'd look for work?"

The answer was almost so easy, Jazmyn thought it might be a trick question. "On a ship at sea?"

Roslyn nodded. "Exactly. A chef would have a better time learning to cook in a kitchen rather than at an armory. As it was, I honed my craft in the brothels of New Barleis. I started as a lowly prostitute working at a brothel that smelled like urine and body odor. I was just one golden talon above being a whore. That's the difference. Prostitutes are paid for their time, whores are not. After two moons, I was a courtesan honing my craft in New Barleis' richest and most frequented bordellos. It was there I caught the attention of the grandmaster."

"Is that how you came to work for the-"

Roslyn's hand shot up, silencing Jazmyn. She shook her head in a way that reprimanded her for almost speaking the organization's name outside of their sanctum. "Yes," Roslyn said slowly. "That is how. The grandmaster paid for two hours of my time, which was not a low sum, mind you. I of course knew who the man was, even before he dropped his hood. I thought I was to bed the second most powerful man in Arnland. Instead, he made me an offer that changed my life. I was to work for him, and learn from the loose tongue nobles whatever information I could. Who'd cast what votes in parliament, who'd donate how much to who's campaign, who planned to marry off their son to who's daughter. You'd be surprised to learn what a man will let slip when his mind is clouded by his seed and his liver is drowned in wine. The prospect of climbing in between my legs would make a man give me whatever it was I wanted. I took the name 'Alayne', and soon enough, I was the most popular courtesan in all of New Barleis."

Jazmyn never viewed sex like that, as a method of extortion, or a means to an end. She was no stranger to it, of course. She was a scholar, and scholars were naturally curious people, practically about everything. Many lovers had found themselves in her bed, and she in theirs. Still, sex had never revealed itself in this light. As Roslyn spoke of it, it was almost a weapon.

Roslyn turned her gaze outside of the carriage. The green country hillside bounded and lulled as they strolled past. Fireworks boomed in the distance, and the faint sound of music came into Jazmyn's hearing. "We're getting close," said Roslyn. She turned her gaze to Jazmyn. "Let's run through it again. Who are you, and what is your cover story?"

Jazmyn took a breath, and recalled the memories of her briefing. "I am Daria Ahli, the firstborn daughter of a Valdorian noblewoman, Kamara Ahli. I am seeking a potential suitor tonight, as my mother wishes for me to marry an Arnish noble, though as in keeping with Valdorian custom, I am allowed to choose whom it is I may wish to marry. You are my companion, and an old friend from my youth. You are here with your consort, the son of an Arnish nobleman whose name, for some reason, constantly eludes me."

Roslyn nodded approvingly. "And why are you really here?"

"Before Irving returned to the College, his last known source of contact was Lord Jean Dellaire, patron of House Dellaire and an emeritus professor for the Arnish Academy of Natural History. I am to find him, and learn what it was that led Irving to return to the College of Nazor. I'm also to obtain any other information that might help me in my search for the Crown of Ardellus."

"Very good," Roslyn said. "Very good indeed."

The sound of music and laughter was louder now. Outside, Jazmyn could hear a valet directing the carriage to where the passengers were to disembark.

Roslyn's eyes snapped to meet Jazmyn's. "Do not blow your cover tonight, scribe. If you do, we never met, and my organization will ensure every loose end that might connect you to us will be taken care of. Is that understood?"

Jazmyn took a deep nervous breath. "Yes, Roslyn."

Roslyn shook her head. "Tonight, I'm Alayne. You must remember this, Daria."

Jazmyn nodded, her nerves alive and tingly inside of her. "Right, right, I'm sorry."

"Say my name."

"Alayne."

"Good," said Roslyn. "Do you remember the saying?"

Jazmyn nodded. "Even the darkest of nights fears the early dawn's first light."

"Use that whenever in doubt of whom you're speaking to and their relationship to our organization. If it sounds like nonsense to them, leave them be. If they offer the rest of the phrase, they're one of ours."

She reached for something in her bag. She fished out two delicate masks; one that was black and trimmed with gold, and one that was white and trimmed with silver. They were large enough to cover a decent part of their eyes and forehead, but the masks would leave their mouths and chin exposed. "Here. Wear this tonight. Do not take it off, unless otherwise told to, by me and only me."

Jazmyn nodded, and set the black masquerade mask on her face.

Roslyn gave her one more look over, her eyes darting around from within her mask. Once again, her gaze lingered on her chest. She shook her head. "You really should have shown more cleavage."

Just then, there was a knock on the carriage door, and Roslyn parted the carriage curtains to reveal their portly carriageman. "My ladies, we have arrived!"

Roslyn smiled kindly at him. "Thank you, kind sir. If you would, please."

The carriage door swung open, and the carriageman offered his hand to help Roslyn from the carriage, and then Jazmyn. Roslyn laughed at something the carriageman said, and placed a soft delicate hand on his shoulder. The carriage man's eyes lit up, and he bowed his head to her, and savored one last look at her as they left.

Dellaire's Manor was a splendid thing, sprawling along the countryside beneath a sky littered with shining stars, exploding lights and a plethora of different colors. Outside were other guests and party goers dressed in splendid attire of silks, velvet, and fur beneath masquerade masks of all sorts of different creatures. Jazmyn spotted one man with a white fur-lined cape howling at the moon, sloshing around wine from his goblet. The other guests he was with laughed at his jest, and carried on a quiet conversation. One woman was wearing a mask of a fox, and she danced and laughed with a man wearing a mask that Jazmyn couldn't quite tell if it were a chipmunk or perhaps a squirrel. The guests out here were having a party of their own, it seemed. That only made Jazmyn more excited to see the party happening within the manor itself.

Jazmyn's stride must have slowed as they approached the manor, because Alayne grabbed her hand with a delicate but firm touch. "Do not dally, Daria! We mustn't miss the good wine or else tonight will have been for naught!" The inflection in her voice was cheery and lighthearted, so unlike the cold and calculating woman Jazmyn came to know. She's Alayne now, Jazmyn remembered. She's somebody else entirely, someone new. She's a mask, a show, a facade. How easy it is for her.

Roslyn's hand shot up in the air in a manner of recognition. "Oh, Mathieu! Over here!" She caught the attention of a man wearing a mask that resembled an elf, but it was demonic in nature. It was a red face with a long slender nose and pointed chin with two long ears that sprouted on both sides of his head. He looked over to Roslyn, and waved back. "Alayne! How good to see you!"

Roslyn took off in a cute little trot, and embraced Mathieu like the two were long lost lovers. "You smell absolutely divine, what scent is that?" Roslyn said as she peeled away from their embrace, but not too far. There was no mistaking the flirtatious placement of her hand on his chest, or Mathieu's own wandering hand exploring her backside.

"I forgot you had the nose of a bloodhound," he said in a voice thick with charm. "It's Evanescent, from House Charboneau. You know Valerie, and her penchant for crafting the finest fragrances. She never fails to impress."

Roslyn giggled, and to anyone else, it was the sweet giggle of a young woman named Alayne, who had not a care in the world, high on life, wine, and music. But to Jazmyn, who knew her as Roslyn, that giggle was perhaps the most unnatural sound she'd ever heard. "That she doesn't! I haven't seen old Valerie since Spring's Turn. I believe I'm overdue to visit Aldergate and help myself to a taste of her vineyards." She spared Jazmyn a glance. "Oh, where are my manners? Mathieu, this is my old friend Daria! She came all this way from Valdor to visit me, isn't that kind of her."

Jazmyn could see a smile break out beneath the mouth hole in his mask. It made for a disturbing sight. "Pleasure to meet you, Lady Daria." He took her hand in his and kissed it softly.

Time to be Daria...

Jazmyn smiled brightly. "The pleasure is all mine, Lord Mathieu. I must say, the cool breeze and lush green forests are certainly a welcome change of scenery from the deserts regions of my homeland. And don't even get me started on the food and the wine, oh! The Arnish palette is far more refined, I must admit."

Mathieu laughed. "Your kind words are most appreciated, but I fear you do your home country a disservice. I've visited Valdor quite a few times, and yes, there are deserts, but I've found the beaches, jungles, and palm trees to be absolutely breathtaking. What your people do with peppers and cheese is nothing short of magic."

Jazmyn smiled. So often her home was painted with broad strokes as a place of sand and unbearable heat. It was refreshing to hear from an outsider how truly diverse the lands of Valdor were. "The next time you find yourself in Valdor, please feel free to visit! My family owns a large villa in Sunkar, we'd be happy to host you."

Mathieu gave a slight bow of his head. "I'd love to, my lady."

Roslyn laughed. "That's Daria for you, gods bless her heart. Her home is yours for just a sweet few words." Roslyn placed her hand on his arm. "She's in the market, you know. Her mother sent her here in hopes she might find herself a rich man of proud Arnish blood to take her hand."

"Oh, is that so?" Mathieu said devilishly. "I might know a friend or two who'd be worthy of her attention."

Roslyn gestured to the manor. "Should we foray inside and find them?"

"I think we should," Mathieu agreed.

"Lead the way then, my handsome lord. You know how much I savor the look of you from behind."

Mathieu seemed surprised by the forwardness of her remark, but it was clear the surprise was pleasant.

Jazmyn sensed her chance to say something in character. "Why Alayne, what's gotten into you?"

Roslyn laughed and traced Mathieu's forearm with her finger. "Nothing." She flashed a dazzling look at Mathieu. "Yet."

Had Jazmyn not been there, she was absolutely positive the two would blow off this party to find some quiet alleyway to make love in. But then again, this wasn't really Roslyn, this was Alayne. What she said tonight could not be taken as the truth. In another life, Roslyn easily could have been a thespian, Jazmyn mused.

Mathieu cleared his throat, and it was clear that Roslyn's flirtatious banter was getting to his head (both of them, actually). "Well, I think it's time we made our way into Dellaire's manor. Shall we?"

"Yes, let's!" Roslyn said brightly. "I would love to dance right now! I'm sure Daria could also do with a glass of wine or two. Gods above know she'll need some to survive the night."

Mathieu smiled, and led the way with Roslyn and Jazmyn in tow. He gained a few strides ahead of them, just enough that he would be out of earshot of a low whisper. Jazmyn leaned over into Roslyn's ear. "Who is he? "

"Focus," Roslyn whispered back curtly. "You have your mission tonight, and I have mine. The less you know, the better."

Before Jazmyn could ask something else, Mathieu caught their attention. "My dear ladies, I must introduce you to my good friend Fabien!"

Fabien gave Mathieu a friendly handshake and a slight nod with his head to the ladies. He wore a mask that had no particular resemblance to any sort of creature. It was a half mask, like Jazmyn's and Roslyn's, but white feathers sprouted along the edges of the forehead piece. Soft black curls rested upon his shoulders, and his jaw sported the shadow of a black beard. The rest of his attire was splendid but modest at the same time. It was a quiet sort of wealth, and for some reason, Jazmyn liked that.

"How do you do, my ladies," Fabien said with a thick Arnish accent.

"Quite well, my sweet Fabien," Roslyn said with air in her voice. "It truly is a splendid night to spend at the ball, isn't it? My name is Alayne Durand."

"A pleasure, Lady Durand." He turned his attention to Jazmyn. "And you, my lady?"

"I am Daria of House Ahli in Valdor," Jazmyn said with a curtsy.

Fabien afforded her all the same courtesies he had to Alayne. "You are as bright as the sun and as mysterious as the moon, Lady Ahli." He took Jazmyns hand and planted a soft kiss on her flesh.

"Why...thank you," Jazmyn said after a close encounter of being at a loss for words.

"Why Fabien, aren't you a gentleman," Roslyn said playfully.

Mathieu groaned teasingly. "Only until he has some wine in his blood. After a few goblets, he's as vulgar as a sailor."

"Only to you, dear friend," Fabien retorted dryly. He looked to the women of their company, and offered Jazmyn his arm. "Shall we enter, my dear?"

Jazmyn took his arm gingerly. "Let's."

The four of them approached the wide double doors inlaid with a variety of beautiful complex golden carvings. Two servants opened them for their party to go through, and even just barely past the threshold, Jazmyn felt as if she had just entered another world. Directly ahead of them and roughly fifty feet away was a grand staircase draped in red velvet that led to the second story of the house, where countless party goers sipped their drinks, hung over the banister, and engaged in all sorts of debauchery. To their left and right were statues, ice sculptures, musicians, crystal chandeliers, forgotten articles of clothing, spilled goblets of wine, broken masquerade masks, naked breasts, ruined paintings and torn carpets. The air was alive with music and smothered in the smell of wine. Jazmyn could hardly hear a thing over the roar of laughter and conversation.

How grand it all was.

But there was a worrisome thought that blossomed in the back of Jazmyn's mind. How in the abyss was she to find Lord Dellaire in this den of decadence.

Before she could quietly ask Roslyn what she should do, Fabien whisked her away to a polished wooden dance floor. Lively musical notes swirled around them, and those who lined the dance floor to watch clapped along.

Fabien and Jazmyn fell in naturally, hands clasped together, chest to chest. They spun around the dance floor, Jazmyn following Fabiens lead with every step. Fabien was as good a dancer as he was a flirt, Jazmyn noticed. With a daring smile and a firm hand, he led her around the dance floor with an easy grace, as if he came out of the womb in a pair of dancing shoes. He threw Jazmyn into a twirl, and she laughed giddily with every spin. They drew a few eyes as they danced, a couple of nods and even a few pointed fingers. It was little wonder why. The two of them made quite a fantastic dancing duo, if Jazmyn was being honest. Though Fabien was running the show, Jazmyn was certainly holding her own as well. During her apprenticeship at the college, when she sported the purple sash of an apprentice, she took a few dance courses, and was instructed in all styles of dance from across the four kingdoms. Those courses were some of her favorites. It was time well spent out of the desk and chair.

Finally, the music swelled to a grand finale, and Fabien must have sensed this, for as the final note drew to a bombastic conclusion, he pulled Jazmyn in for a dramatic dip. They were practically alone on the center of the dance floor, as all other dancers conceded the space needed for them to properly be displayed. Such talent deserved such consideration.

A great wave of applause emerged from the onlookers, and Jazmyn felt a smile break out on her face. She never was one for attention, but it was something she certainly could get used to.

A familiar woman in a sparkling blue dress came to her from the crowd. "Why my sweet Daria, I never knew you could dance like that!" Roslyn pulled her in for a hug. "What in god's name are you doing!" she said in her ear beneath the roar of cheer and applause. She went to the other ear and flashed a big fake smile as she did so, feigning her chastisements as kisses. "Do not draw attention to yourself! Find Dellaire!"

She pulled away, grabbed Jazmyn's hand, and led her off the dance floor before Fabien had a chance to reel her back in for another dance. "My sweet Daria, we must absolutely have a taste of the wine before it runs dry! I hear Lord Dellaire had them imported from Aldergate for just this occasion!"

Jazmyn followed closely behind her with sluggish feet. "Of course, Alayne."

When they were well away from the dance floor, Roslyn reined in Jazmyn close, out of earshot from everyone else. "That was foolish," Roslyn said, looking around the party to make sure they weren't followed. "You drew many eyes to you doing that. That was unnecessary attention, and I'm sure stories of your little dance with the Dauphin of Fremalda will be told for many moons to come."

The Dauphin of Fremalda? Jazmyn's eyes widened. She had not the slightest clue that Fabien was the heir to one of the richest port cities in not just Arnland, but across the kingdoms. "Fabien is a Duvalle?"

Roslyn nodded. "I wasn't sure when we met, but yes, I suspected so. Mathieu confirmed as much for me while the two of you danced. I should have kept you away from him. Avoid him for the rest of the night to the best of your ability. Be careful though. Nobles are a prickly and spoiled sort. If he corners you, humor him, flirt with him, but do your best to make a speedy exit. He's too high profile of a person here to engage with. We need to be discreet."

Jazmyn nodded. "I understand."

Roslyn gave her a curt nod. "Good. Now, go and find Lord Dellaire. We don't have much time tonight."

*****

Lord Dellaire was not hard to find at all, once Jazmyn began looking. No more than ten minutes after her discussion with Alayne did a thin old man with a great set of whiskers beneath a mask fashioned after the sun climb to the top of the staircase, and demanded everyone's attention.

"Dear friends of mine," he said with a goblet raised in his right hand. "I am overjoyed and blessed to welcome each and everyone of you into my home tonight. These parties and feasts of mine lift my spirits as high as the heavens, and to share them with you as great an honor as they come!"

The audience rang with countless words of affirmation and other praises of affection. Goblets were raised high in the air, creating small waterfalls of purple as they made their ascent.

"Please my friends, enjoy yourselves!" Dellaire said cheerfully. "Indulge your senses, cater to your most devious whims, and create memories we'll never remember with friends that we'll never forget!"

The party goers roared with approval, and took to doing just that as the music started up again. Lord Dellaire began to withdraw to wherever it was he came from, and Jazmyn started her way towards him. She had to catch him soon before she lost him again. She grabbed handfuls of her purple gown in both hands, and went after him with a brisk stride. He slipped into the crowd, and Jazmyn could see only the yellow rays of his sunny mask. He bobbed and weaved through the crowd, stopping momentarily to shake a hand, kiss a cheek, and pat a back. Jazmyn was not far behind him, but if she didn't get closer, she'd lose him. She bumped into quite a few people, bristled across a few shoulders, and drew more than a few nasty remarks.

Someone collided into her, and sent her into a dizzy spin. Two strong hands gripped her shoulders, and set her straight. She met the eyes of a man wearing a half mask with feathers.

Shit...

Fabien smiled brightly. "Ah, my southern rose! I thought I lost you. Would you care for another dance?"

Jazmyn craned her neck to get a glimpse of Dellaire before she lost sight of him completely. She scanned the crowd, looking for any trace of him. Where did he go? She could not see him anywhere.

Fabien frowned. "Lady Ahli? Would you like to dance?"

Jazmyn snapped back to meet Fabiens eyes. "Oh, um, I'm sorry, I can't, I'm looking for my friend."

"The one with the red hair and blue dress?" Fabien inquired. "She's with Mathieu. They're getting along famously. I like to think we were as well, before I lost you to the crowd."

"Oh, well, that's...nice," Jazmyn said slowly, buying herself some time to think of an excuse. "But I do wish to see her. I have some...lady issues to discuss with her."

Fabien took her hand firmly. "I'm sure they can wait, Lady Ahli. Let us dance again. Come."

He started to pull her towards the dance floor, and Jazmyn stumbled after him, frustrated. She tried to resist at first, but he tugged her along with an iron grip, pushing his way through the crowd. It must have been noticeable that Jazmyn wasn't happy to follow him, as the pair drew a few questionable gazes.

"Fabien, I really must insist that I find my friend."

"She can wait," Fabien said brusquely. His grip around her hand tightened.

Jazmyn grit her teeth. "Fabien, please, you're hurting my hand."

He pressed on, his grip like an iron clasp.

"If you don't let go of my hand, I swear to you, I'll-"

"Why, Lady Ahli, is that you?" Jazmyn heard an unmistakable voice say from just off to her right. She knew the voice immediately. There was no taking that thin wire of a voice for anyone else.

Ambassador Norzil?

The hawkish looking man entered her vision swiftly, stopping Fabien in his tracks. He was wearing a mask with a long protruding beak, much like a flamingo. Jazmyn found great humor in his self awareness. He took a closer look at her. "Why, I knew that was you! You look absolutely stunning. Might I say, purple suits you very well." He gave Fabien a quick glance. "Who's your friend here?"

"Her friend would be Fabien Duvalle, son of Andre Duvalle, the Lord Governor of Fremalda," Fabien sneered.

Harem Norzil smiled. "Ah yes, I do see your fathers resemblance. Quite strapping, the men in your family are. It's been my pleasure to have visited Fremalda quite a few times. Your city is as cultured as they come. I don't believe I've had finer clawfish anywhere in the four kingdoms."

"Thank you," Fabien said shortly.

Harem's gaze bounced between the two of them. "Might I borrow Lady Ahli for just a moment? I have some news for her from her father that I absolutely must share. I won't take more than a moment."

There was a reluctance in Fabiens eyes, but not wanting to give reason for anyone to spite the good name of his House, he agreed. "Fine, have your moment. Return her to me when you are finished."

"Of course," Harem said with a bow of his head. He turned to Jazmyn, and led just a few feet away from Fabien. "Dellaire has returned to his study. Find him there. It's down the hall and to the left, third door on the right. Be quick about it. He has another address to make in just a few minutes here. Do not fail us tonight."

Jazmyn's head was racked with so many questions just then. "Wait, are you-"

He stopped her with a raised hand. "Yes. For even the darkest of nights-"

"Fear the early dawn's first light," Jazmyn finished. But how? For how long? Since when?

Harem seemed able to hear her thoughts. "Later," he said quietly. "I'll distract the Dauphin for as long as I can. Go, now."

Jazmyn nodded, and took off to find Dellaire. Behind him, he could hear Harem make excuses for her to a frustrated and irritated Fabien.

She had to find Dellaire, and fast.

*****

Dellaire's study was exactly where Harem said it would be. Jazmyn approached the third door on the right cautiously, and only when she was close did she see the thin stream of light that let her know the door was slightly ajar. She gave it a gentle push, and the door creaked open. The room was essentially a library, two stories tall with a fireplace, full serviced bar of only the most expensive bottles of liquor, and a large plush velvet chair in the center of it all. Lord Dellaire sat there with a goblet of some dark liquid. He looked up at her with a wary look.

"I figured it would only be a matter of time until one of you would come," Dellaire said in a flat voice. He sniffed at whatever was in his goblet. Judging from his wrinkled nose and the slight wince he made, Jazmyn deduced the beverage was a strong spirit. Arnland was known for its strong beverages. "I do dearly miss my days at the Academy. Things were so much simpler then. I have a small appetite for politics and wondering if today will be my last day on this godforsaken earth." He drained whatever was in his goblet, and let it tumble to the floor. "So, are you with Ryken? Duvalle? Thornshield? Has Lambert finally sought vengeance for my bedding of his wife? I always knew him for the type of man that would stoop to hiring a Valdorian cutthroat. Speak, assassin."

Jazmyn suddenly felt as if she were standing in a field of broken glass, surrounded by sharp jagged edges that promised to tear her flesh should she take even the smallest of missteps. This was a delicate conversation, and must be handled with care.

"Lord Dellaire," she said with the greatest amount of diplomacy she could muster, "I can assure you I'm not with any of those men. I come to you on my own."

Dellaire scoffed. "Do not bullshit me, girl. I wasn't born yesterday. Somebody wants you here, and I know damn well you're not here on your own accord." He leaned forward, and revealed a small crossbow in his right hand. It had only one bolt loaded, and Jazmyn doubted he'd have enough time to load another before she ran away, but if his aim was true, then one pull of the trigger was all he'd need to silence her forever. "The truth this time girl, or you'll die where you stand."

Jazmyn settled her nerves. "I swear to you, Lord Dellaire. I'm here seeking answers, answers to questions that my mentor once asked you."

Skepticism settled over Dellaires face. "And who was this mentor of yours?"

"A colleague and a friend of yours. He spoke fondly of you during our time together at the College. I do hope everything he said was true. My name is Jazmyn Kallarya, scribe of the College of Nazor and apprentice to none other than the Magus Irving Haverton himself."

Dellaires crossbow dropped. "Irving? Truly? I heard he had passed. I don't understand, why are you here?"

Jazmyn felt a great sense of relief rush through her now that the crossbow was no longer pointed at her. "To pick up where he left off. I was there when he died. I know what it was he was searching for that cost him his life."

Realization filled Dellaires beady little pupils. "The crown! Did he find it?"

Jazmyn shook his head. "I'm afraid not. He would lose his life before finding it. That's why I'm here. I wish to complete his work and fulfill his legacy."

Dellaires was quiet for a moment. He sat there with an air of contemplation about him, sorting through thoughts and tangents. He took a breath and then let it out. "My correspondence with Irving began only five short years ago. He was a Magus in the field of archeology and ancient history at that College of yours, and I myself taught at the Arnish Academy of Natural History. As you could assume, we had a multitude of shared interests. He came to me with an enticing offer at first, something small, something tangible. He was after this lost elven artifact, a smithing hammer that was said to once belong to this ancient Elven god who's name escapes me at the moment. To many of these, I'm afraid." He waved around his empty goblet with a sense of regret.

"However," Dellaire resumed. "We never found that hammer, only the place it was said to be buried. We found something greater there than any simple artifact. We found gold. Mountains of it. More gold than we'd ever know what to do with. We took a modest helping each, and then split the rest between our academic institutions and of course, the king himself. Over the years, we searched for more of these hidden elven sanctums, hoping to find more hidden caches of gold. Irving would go on and one about some ancient artifact, the story behind it, and the consequences it would have for mankind and academia. We never found any, but that never deterred Irving. It was a short time ago he came across the legend of the Crown. I've never seen the man so consumed."

"What was it? The crown?" Jazmyn pressed. She had to know. Her answers were so close.

Dellaire smiled. "I see Irving chose his apprentice well. The crown was said to be the same crown used to coronate Ardellus Level, the third elven king of the Levellan Dynasty. The crown was said to be a gift from Zennel himself, his godly grandfather, and patron of the Elven pantheon."

Jazmyns eyebrows danced along her forehead as a series of questions raced through her brain, "But what about this crown was so special? Why is it that it's near impossible to learn anything about it? Please, tell me!"

"This isn't some ring of gold we use to mark our kings today, Scribe. It's far more than just a band of precious metals. This crown was crafted by Zennel himself. You see, this crown was said to contain all the knowledge of the world. When Ardellus wore it, he would be bestowed with visions of everything that has happened, is happening, and will happen. It drove him mad, and it was forever sealed away by his sons, out of fear for what it had done to their father. Irving was determined to find it. It saddens me that he never did."

Jazmyn shook her head. "He may not be able to, but I can. Please, you must tell me everything. Where did he believe it was?"

Dellaire hesitated. "He believed the crown resided in an ancient Elven kingdom, a kingdom he believed the ancient elves called Valadel."

The name was like a ghost, and Jazmyn's skin was riddled with goosebumps. "No...it can't be."

A hook formed in Dellaires brow. "What do you mean?"

"The kingdom that rose in Jordein waters, the place where Irving died, where everything changed...that place was Valadel. The crown wasn't there."

A lot of defeat came upon Dellaire. "No, that can't be...Irving was certain."

All this way, and only for it to lead to nowhere...

There had to be something else. "Before Valadel rose, where did Irving believe the kingdom resided?"

"He believed the answers lie within your college, Scribe. There is little known about the time of the elves, but whatever it is we do know, that information can be found at your college. I'm afraid the academies concern themselves with the time of man, and it's a sin to even speak the word "elf" in the north. You'd do best to begin your journey there, at the college. I'm sorry, dear girl. I wish I had more answers for you, truly."

Back to the College...where it all began...

Jazmyn had what she needed. She would have to pick up the trail from a clean start. If Irving had done it, so could she. She gave Dellaire a courteous look. "Thank you, Lord Dellaire."

Dellaire gave her a nod of the head. "Best of luck, young Scribe. Do let me know if you find the crown. I'd be most curious to try it on myself."