The Trust of House Traemane

[Adela Traemane]

There was only one way to approach Caemlyn from Sheldyn, the very same route Adela Traemane and her father had taken nearly two decades before when he had become the High Seat of their house and she had joined him in the capital to begin training to eventually take on that role herself. She thought she had all the time in the world. Renalt Traemane had been a young man then, only a few years past thirty. It had seemed to Adela that he would live forever. But the wheel weaves as the wheel wills and his thread had been clipped from the pattern after only fifty-two years.

The knot in Adela’s stomach grew steadily tighter the closer she moved toward Caemlyn. She let Sadi set the pace and though the creamy yellow palomino was capable of speed, her preferred pace was a shambling walk. Adela was in no hurry to be back in Caemlyn without her father anyway. The realization that he would never again join her in the city that had been their home was unbearable.

She had insisted on riding when they left Sheldyn and quickly outpaced the wagon that was transporting her things. Only one of her retinue remained close enough to set eyes on her, a man five years her senior who had been in service to her father since Adela was 12-years-old. They had known each other a long time and he felt more like a brother to her than any of the siblings that shared her blood. Adela did not turn in her saddle to look for him at any point, but she knew he was there. The knowing was comforting.

The Sunrise Gate loomed in the road ahead but Adela did her best to avoid looking at it. Something about the act of passing through it squeezed her heart so hard she thought it would burst. Her mind wandered to anything it could grasp long enough to form a thought around: the price of wool coming out of Manetheren, the dress she had commissioned a month ago for an upcoming ball at the Pendar estate, the state of Aes Sedai and Andoran relations in response to Ishara Trakand’s recent raising to the shawl. All her concerns now. She was no longer buffered from the harder responsibilities of leadership by her father. It all fell on her shoulders now. She had to be ready; she wasn’t sure she ever would be.

“My lady,” Under-Lieutenant Benil Varnor suddenly appeared at her elbow. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I was thinking perhaps we should take the horses up the Tar Valon road tomorrow and give them a chance to stretch their legs. I know we’ve only just returned to the city but it’s been a hard journey and they haven’t had a chance to truly run in days. It could do them good. Truth be told, Lady Adela, it would do me some good too.”

“Perhaps, Ben, if the weather is fair.” With a start, Adela realized they had passed through the gate separating the city proper from the outlying buildings that jutted up against Caemlyn’s walls. In drawing her attention to him, Benil had distracted her long enough to pass through. She reached out and placed her hand gently on his and gave a slight squeeze. “Thank you,” she mouthed and he bobbed his head in silent acknowledgment.

They kept to their slow pace as they turned left down a secondary street through the New City, angling south-west toward the Traemane home in the Old City. Adela had feared returning to Caemlyn would overwhelm her, but the familiar sights and sounds of the city she thought of as home lulled her into a sense of safety. The smell of peaches baking wafted from a window; a small child ran laughing across the street, weaving through the foot traffic as he rolled a wooden hoop with a stick; a hawker called her wares in a sing-songy voice; a lute drifted from an inn’s open doorway. All of it added up to a sense of home that Sheldyn no longer held for her, and to her surprise, the realization of it lessened the vice around her heart slightly. The wound still ached, but the bleeding had stopped.

By the time she dismounted in the yard of the Traemane’s Caemlyn estate, Adela’s mood had improved to a point it had not reached in weeks. She was not quite sure she was ready to face Andor’s royal court just yet, but she could see ahead to a time when that maybe wouldn’t feel so suffocating.

[Toria Netari]

Caemlyn's New City was an orderly, bustling mess, as most of the great cities were by midmorning. Stores were open and people were shopping, merchants were hawking wares and the smells of food sizzling was present on the streets. Rich and poor alike made their way through the streets together, out in force on a brilliant spring day. There was a comforting sense of normalcy about it all.

Still, the noise of them all had Toria frustrated and annoyed. She could feel a headache brewing already; the pounding in her right temple threatened hours of discomfort, at best. She cursed under her breath. It wasn't fair, she'd entered the city only a few hours ago, along with the gleeman Raife Davoe.

Toria really did like cities. Mostly. She and Raife were comfortable there. Cities were, by and large, where one could find jobs, and money, and marks. Each of them also had a special attachment: Toria might find books or scholars or ideas. Raife found an audience. He was already performing small tricks for observers as they passed. A bit of juggling here, a bit of singing there, even walking on his hands for a stretch. The gleeman's cape that he wore was no mask, it was something he cherished and lived. That was part of why they worked so well together.

Because, while Toria did like cities, she did not like people. They were loud, messy, ignorant, and not to be trusted...and so long as she traveled in Raife's shadow they concentrated on him, not her. Few people bothered to notice the woman in breeches and a long coat walking a few steps behind, not with a gleeman around. That suited her just fine, and was, in fact, crucial to their work.

Raife and Toria were living proof that people were not to be trusted.

No matter the time or the place Toria's eyes were always moving. They were brilliant jade gems constantly put to work sizing up the people around her, looking for threats or for marks. Dangers and opportunities were the ebb and flow of her life now, and Toria had always been a very observant student. Not that she was interested in anyone out and about on their business; they had bigger targets in mind in Caemlyn.

Raife and Toria made their way to the Old City slowly. More slowly than Toria would have liked, really. Her headache was in full bloom by the time they left the busier streets of the new city, and she'd slouched in on herself and drawn the collar of her jacket up, pulling it tight around her. The hat provided her decent shade, at least. The Old City was the trickiest part for today, because both of them were terribly out of place. Gleeman didn't perform for nobility, as a matter of course. For Toria, she looked about as far away from a lady or a maid as it was possible for a woman to look. They would be in disguise tomorrow, thankfully.

For the moment, though, they had some scouting to do. Toria pulled on Raife's cloak and stopped him, getting on tiptoe to whisper into his ear.

"Listen gleeman," her tone was rough but, perhaps, a bit fond. As fond as it ever got, anyway. "We'll make a quick check at the Traemane place, make sure the new High Lady is back. Then we'll check out the Pendar place. Just a quick look, we don't want anyone to place us later. Make sense gleeman?"

Her tone was clipped in the way of the Cairhienin, even if her accent didn't quite match, and her eyes locked onto Raife's with a determination despite the pounding of the headache in her temple. The potential take from this was enough money to set Raife up however he'd like, and maybe, just maybe enough to restart Toria's research. Light, I hope so. If nothing else it might buy them a few months off the streets and the roads.

[Raife Davoe]

The crisp, cold, windy morning was surprisingly refreshing against his skin. What a welcoming change in temperature when compared to the hot, humid, stickiness of the past three days. Even as his thick raven curls blew in front of his face, Raife's lips were turned up in an elated grin. His eyes were full of bright mirth while there was a lightness to his step. Toria, on the other hand, appeared to be paler than usual with her eyebrows furrowed in anguish. Her eyes were dull and glossy as she trudged along with a heavy, forced step. Having traveled with her for the past five years, Raife could read a few of her signals with ease... Though there were still many that he could not.

With affection, he placed his water skin into her hands. Once she took a drink from it, Raife began to deeply press into the points between the back of her neck and her shoulders with his fingers. He worked slow circular motions all the way up into the back of her skull then back down again. Although he felt certain she was displaying the beginning signs of a migraine, he hoped that he at least could ease her suffering. But after a few minutes, she slapped his hands away with an expression painted across her features that conveyed there was work to do. Reluctant, Raife conceded to her wishes as they continued on their journey through Caemlyn.

Even the chilling wind would not deter the bustling crowds of Caemlyn in their daily routines. Men, women, and children alike traveled this way and that carrying on in conversations about the weather, the latest gossip but most especially ones pertaining to the bonding ceremony which took place in Tar Valon between the Amyrlin and the M'Hael not even a month ago. An event that no doubt Yvaine would regale him with all the details of once they reached the White Tower. Still, crowds meant an audience and an audience meant the potential to earn a few coins.

Raife entertained any passerby's with juggling, a few sleights of hand tricks, hand walking, acrobats, a couple of short tunes, and a bit of flute playing. All the while, his female partner could be mistaken as a young boy with her short hair, small frame and the fact that she wore breeches, a hat, and a long coat. Yet too enthralled by his performance was the crowd that they took no note of Toria walking a mere few paces behind him. Yet this was how they desired it to be. For though he did, in fact, earn quite a fair amount of coin; they were mere peanuts compared to what they had their sights set upon...

As New City integrated into the Old City, Raife and Toria became almost glaringly out of place. The colorful patches on his Gleeman's coat paired with her unladylike attire now garnered the sort of attention they did not need. Still, today was about reconnaissance. Yet Toria's hunched over posture coupled with moans, a turned up collar, and paler complexion meant her migraine had grown worse. Raife's nose crinkled up as his mouth twitched and he gritted his teeth. He loathed witnessing Toria in such discomfort but knew that his focus was required on the mission... Which caused the man even more displeasure in the helpless feeling that now pitted in his stomach. But as she clutched his collar, Raife did his best to put her well being to the back of his mind: A rather challenging feat for him to be honest.

“Do not fret mashiara,” murmured Raife in his silvery tone as he caressed her cheek assuredly, “Have I ever failed you?”

[Benil Varnor]

Adela Traemane was a whirlwind without realizing it. Wherever she went, a flurry of activity followed her these last weeks. All eyes on Ade -- Lady Adela, rather. That’s going to take some getting used to. True, she had always been Lady Adela, technically, but she had never enforced that with Ben. She likely still wouldn’t, but he wouldn’t risk anyone thinking their relationship was improper.

Lots of hands and arms had been on Lady Adela too, condoling touches that were meant to give some measure of comfort, but Ben had noticed her shoulders climbing higher and higher with every wellwisher. He knew that by now, weeks into mourning at the Traemane estate, Adela's skin would be crawling and she would be itching to get away. Now that most of the guests had returned to their own estates, it was an opportune moment to make their escape. Adela gave the order to ready her things the morning after the last High Seat left and less than two hours later, everyone was assembled and ready to return to Caemlyn.

Benil Varnor sat his grey mare to the right of his employer. Her back was to him as she gave final orders and goodbyes to Sheldyn’s First Maid. Lenyse had been with the Traemane’s for over thirty years, more than the entirety of her mistress's life, so it was only slightly surprising when Adela leaned down to plant a soft kiss on the older woman’s wrinkled brow. One glimpse of the maid’s face as she clenched her jaw to still her trembling chin set Ben’s eyes prickling with tears and he turned his face away. Renalt Traemane was a good man.

It was Ben’s business to know a good man from a less than good one, and he took it very seriously. Renalt had been a good one, great even, a life well lived and cut tragically short. His eldest daughter, Adela, would follow in his footsteps; maybe even surpass him if she could only get out of her own way. The younger two girls and the boy though… They were a mixed bag.

Seraphine was mostly all right if a little snobby. Genduin was never going to amount to anything more than a pretty playboy, likely involved in a dozen scandals. But Ben would eat his own boots if he didn’t live to see the day that Elora Traemane pledged herself to the Great Lord. There was a meanness in that one. Better yet, there was a cold, hard, calculating darkness in her.

He should have been drawn to Elora, he supposed, like with like and all that, but Adela’s goodness had always had a strange pull on him. He didn’t want to corrupt it, he wanted to hold it up for the world to see that they couldn’t live up to this goodness and that was why the world was doomed. He knew her radiance would fade. It had dulled already from only a month of grief. She would continue to crack and chip until one day she was as lackluster as the rest. Would he love her still? Perhaps. She would be useful even broken.

Adela stood in her stirrups and waved to the people gathered on the grand staircase to see them off. Servants, mostly, though the four Traemanes that were remaining at Sheldyn had all made an appearance as well as a few straggling mourners. Of her family, only Sera offered a wave and a sad smile.

Adela set a dignified pace down the estate’s winding drive; she even managed to keep to no more than a brisk trot as they neared the Caemlyn Road. Several guards escorting the caravan shifted in anticipation as she passed behind the treeline that put her out of sight from the House though; they knew what was coming. The dark-haired woman booted her mare to a gallop, outpacing her party quickly.

One of the guards sighed and another swore under his breath. Ben laughed and flashed his palm at his men in a gesture that told them to stand down as he kicked his own horse to a gallop. He could never hope to catch Adela, her light-footed palomino was trained for speed, but all he needed to do was keep her in sight. They had an unspoken understanding between the two of them, he would give her space so long as she didn’t try to give him the slip. They had operated this way for more than half of Adela’s life now.

On the second day of the ride to Caemlyn, no one even bothered to make sounds of protestation when Adela outpaced them. The weather had turned chill overnight and they were too busy trying to rub heat into their hands. If the Lady Adela wanted to go rushing ahead into the cold wind, that was her prerogative. But Ben kept pace, as always.

They were passing through a sizeable town when the rain came in big, fat drops that soaked everything through in moments. The few who had dared to brave the wind and cold scuttled for shelter. Ben steered his mount toward the edge of the wide road to dismount and take shelter under a shop awning, but when he looked to be sure that Adela was also moving toward that side of the road, he found her sitting motionless in the middle of the street. He nudged his horse down the road toward her instead.

As he approached, he could see her shoulders shaking. Is she crying? Blood and ashes. He kicked his horse to a trot. The last thing Adela Traemane needed now was a public breakdown.

“Lady Adela?”

Ben asked gently when he was certain she would be able to hear him over the rain. He reached out and touched her elbow. Several locks of raven hair plastered the face she turned toward him, a face that was most definitely not crying. Adela’s mouth was wide in an uncharacteristic guffaw that she partially hid behind one hand. Ben’s brows drew together in confusion and consternation.

“What’s so fun..”

The sound that escaped Adela Traemane was no longer a laugh. Suddenly she was sobbing so hard that the only sound she made was when she noisily sucked air into her shaking body. She clamped both hands over her mouth as her eyes met his. She was wild and skittish, an animal caged. Ben wrapped his hand around her wrist as she tensed for flight and was out of his saddle almost before he thought to be. He pulled her down beside him and wrapped his arm tightly around her. She clung to him, crying into his shoulder as he led her and the horses toward the light spilling out of an inn ahead. Its sign creaked in the wind, but it seemed to be reputable enough to take refuge from the storm.

He stopped short of the doorway to allow Adela to regain her composure. She was already disentangling herself from him, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. Ben handed her his mostly dry handkerchief. She bobbed her head in thanks before dabbing at the corners of her eyes then tucking the handkerchief up into her sleeve. She squared her shoulders and stepped into the light spilling out the door; Ben followed close on her heels into the common room.

He took survey of the room in the space of a heartbeat. The innkeeper leaned on a table near the door, regaling four other women with a tale they approved of mightily, judging by the laughter. A dark-haired gleeman sat on a table at the front of the room, appearing to almost lounge as he strummed his lute. Three people, two men and a woman, sat at a long bar along the right wall. The men were engaged in good-natured ribbing with the barkeep while the woman swirled her drink idly and looked bored.

This was not the standard of lodging that Adela was used to but given the circumstances, it was good enough. The innkeeper's eyes widened as she cut off her story mid-sentence and straightened. These were Traemane lands and Adela traveled this road frequently enough to and from Caemlyn that most along this route knew her on sight. This far out from both Caemlyn and Sheldyn though her presence still caused a stir.

“Lady Traemane, welcome to The Dancing Stag! How may I be of service? Will you be needing rooms?”

Adela, fully in control of herself again, told the copper-haired innkeeper that she would be needing just one room, a private dining room, where she could wait for the rest of her retinue to catch up. They were quickly led upstairs to a cozy room with a table long enough to seat a dozen comfortably. A fire was already crackling on the hearth. The innkeeper excused herself to go see to food for Lady Adela and Ben lingered only long enough to ensure that Adela was all right before he excused himself to keep a lookout for the rest of their party. If he didn’t catch the fools, they would continue on to the inn Adela usually stopped at and be left scratching their heads in confusion when she wasn’t there. With the rain, they could be hours still, so he ordered a mug of ale and leaned against the bar to watch out the window that looked out into the street.

It wasn’t long before the balding man made his way down the bar under the pretense of cleaning. Places like this didn’t see many strangers and some people were always curious about newcomers, especially newcomers like Adela Traemane.

“Did I hear Tehya correct when she called your mistress Lady Traemane?” Ben merely raised an eyebrow at the man, but he felt the attention of the woman a few seats away shift slightly. “She’s the new High Seat, isn’t she? What with old Renny and...that is to say, Lord Renalt, er, what I mean is..Bad business, that.”

Ben grunted noncommittally. The fellow reached up to wipe his shiny forehead with the rag he had been cleaning the bar with, realized what he was doing, and grimaced.

“Yes,” Ben answered after a long pause.

That seemed to satisfy the man and he bobbed his head and motioned toward the mug on the counter. “More ale?” Ben pushed the cup toward the barkeep in assent. “Name’s Enin,” he said with a grin, “Me and Teh’ve owned this place for almost twenty years now.” Ben smiled in feign interest as Enin placed the now full mug in front of him, but the man wasn’t done. “Your mistress returning for the ball?”

Ben’s eyes had been wandering over the room while Enin prattled on, lingering over the woman two barstools away, but his gaze snapped back to the stout man. His eyes were so dark as to almost be black and though they could and often did exude warmth, they were as icy as a winter pond now.

“How do you know about that?”

There was a warning of danger in his tone in the same way there is a warning of danger in a drawn arrow. The woman down the bar cut her eyes their way, looking all the world like she hoped a fight would break out. It would liven up the place, at least. Enin, for his part, was at least smart enough to recognize the threat in Ben’s voice and swallowed hard before he answered.

“Well, my daughter? She’s a seamstress? In Caemlyn?” Ben relaxed his posture slightly and the portly barkeeper sighed audibly before he continued. “She’s been working on some costumes for this Lady or the other and thought maybe your Lady needed a seamstress.” He shrugged uncomfortably.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Ben’s tone was conversational again, “but Pendar’s ball is a big to-do so I doubt Lady Adela has left it this long.”

“Ah, right,” Enin’s chin wobbled as he nodded, “of course.” One of the men down the bar held his empty mug out in front of him and the barkeep made his excuses to Ben and scuttled away.

The storm turned out to be as quick as it was sudden; it was over by the time Enin retreated to the far end of his bar, so it didn’t take too long for the rest of Adela’s household to catch up to them. Ben flagged them down before returning to the private dining room to inform her of their arrival. It wasn’t long before they all set out again. To everyone’s surprise, Ben included, Lady Adela kept her mare to a trot and kept in sight of the wagons.

The Traemane party pushed on through the descending twilight until they reached The Bronze Rose, Lady Adela’s usual last stop before reaching Caemlyn. In truth, they could have pressed on to Caemlyn itself and been done with the whole ordeal, it was only another few hours on the road, but the Lady preferred the chance to rest and freshen up before entering the city. She claimed it was the duty of a noble to inspire awe and that was not possible while road-weary and travel-stained.

The night passed without incident and the sun had just cleared the horizon when the party set out again. Adela, refreshed from a good night of sleep and a hot bath, was itching for speed again. The palomino seemed to anticipate her rider’s mood, but Ben was ready and right on her tail.

The rest of the household quickly fell behind, but it wasn’t long before the growing crowd forced him and Lady Adela to a slower pace. Ben kept his distance, but never let her out of his sight as the tallest buildings of Caemlyn came into view, but something was amiss. The Sunrise Gate loomed ahead, but rather than passing through it into Caemlyn, Adela was weaving back and forth through the crowd, stopping and starting, hardly moving forward at all. The closer she came to the gate, the more reluctant she seemed. Ben closed the distance between them.

“My Lady,” he said loudly to be heard over the noise of the crowd. Adela’s head swiveled toward him, her eyes were distant for a moment before focusing on him.

“I was thinking perhaps we should take the horses up the Tar Valon road tomorrow and give them a chance to stretch their legs.” He urged his horse forward toward the gate and the city. Adela’s mare was well trained; she kept pace with his grey.

“I know we’ve only just returned to the city but it’s been a hard journey and they haven’t had a chance to truly run in days. It could do them good.” They passed through the Sunrise Gate and were into Caemlyn proper while she was distracted by his voice. “Truth be told, Lady Adela, it would do me some good too.”

”Perhaps, Ben, if the weather is fair.” He smiled at his mistress as the realization of what he had just done crossed her face. ”Thank you,” she said as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He nodded at her in acknowledgment and turned his gaze back to the crowded road ahead.

They moved at a decent pace despite the crowds. Adela’s eyes drifted again, but not in the same way they had outside of the city. She seemed to relax more and more the farther they moved into the city and by the time they had reached the Traemane house she was almost smiling.

The stable boys rushed out into the yard to take horses as the permanent members of the Caemlyn household spilled out a side entrance to help with the unpacking. The First Maid ushered Adela inside as Ben led Ghuni, his grey mare, to the stables; he always preferred to tend to her himself. For a while, he lost himself in the motions of grooming her. He brushed her until she shone, ran his hand down each leg so she would lift her foot for him to gently clean the mud of the road from around her shoe and the soft fleshy part that it protected, and combed out her mane and tail before leading her to her stall where a stable boy had already laid down fresh straw and filled her food and water troughs.

The sun was beginning to sink toward the western horizon by the time Ben left the stable. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that the last time he ate was that morning at The Bronze Rose, but he had business to attend to first. He returned to his room to change and rifle through his bag until he found a crumpled package. Pulling it out, he untied the string holding it together and removed a few papers that he shoved into an inside pocket of his coat. He resecured the bundle then shoved his arm into his chimney almost to the shoulder to remove a loose brick to hide the package behind.

The first letter, looking all the world like an order for cured meats from Sheldyn’s head cook, Ben delivered to a butcher’s shop just outside the Old City. The proprietor glanced at it and grunted, not pleased with the contents, which piqued Ben’s interest, but Luthen was a smart man who kept his secrets close. Ben flashed him a winning smile which caused the butcher to scowl; he chuckled to himself on his way out the door.

The next letter took him back into the Old City, almost to the very Palace itself. This one intrigued him the most of the three he was delivering today. Of course, he had carefully worked the seal loose to read its contents before repressing the seal securely back into place. It seemed like a letter between old friends, but Ben knew there was a message hidden in the words. He had read it over and over, trying to puzzle it out, but in the end, had given it up. Perhaps the correspondents really were old friends, though he had a hard time believing the recipient had any. It was always hardest to crack the code between people who had formed their own shorthand over years or even decades of companionship.

He was still turning the contents of the letter over in his head as he slipped into the servants’ entrance of the Pendar estate. The blonde maid tidying nearby was pretty if a little skinny for his tastes. Not that that had stopped him from dandling her on his knee a time or two. She smiled at him and a flush crept over her face as he gently pressed his fingertips against the small of her back and leaned close.

“Can you tell me where to find your First Clerk, Aletta?”

Disappointment flashed across her face before she could stop it. “Oh, in his office, I assume. I can show you the way if you want.”

“No need,” Ben replied, already moving away. “I know the way, but thank you.”

Aletta smiled and continued her dusting as he strode down the hallway. He took a flight of stairs that curved up and up, past the second and third floors, all the way up to the fourth floor, under the eaves of the house. The servants lived up here and, those with offices at least worked here as well. The roof was low and slanted downward so that many of the outside walls were only just taller than Ben himself. It made him feel claustrophobic and very grateful that the Traemane’s put their retainers in roomier accommodations. At the end of the narrow hallway, Ben found the door he sought and knocked briskly.

“Come in,” came the nasal response from the other side; he pushed the door open and entered the cramped room.

A desk took up most of the space, behind which sat a small, bespectacled man who could best be described as sharp. Sharp nose, pointy chin, thin, angular shoulders, even what little hair he had stuck up in spiky tufts. He looked up at Ben from where he sat then held out his hand for the letter he knew was being delivered. Ben pulled the letter out of his coat and placed it in the man’s hand, who pushed his glasses up his long nose and examined the outside of the letter carefully before he looked back up at Ben.

“You may go,” he said with a dismissive flick of his bony fingers.

It took all of Ben’s restraint to smile benignly and turn on his heel. He hoped to one day receive an elimination order for Geller Vane; that man thought far too highly of his own importance.

The final letter would be the most difficult and time-consuming to deliver. Time-consuming because Hanush Seif lived on the other side of the city, almost to the Lugard Gate, and difficult because she was a surprisingly hard woman to find for someone of her profession.

Hanush was a beautiful woman with long chestnut hair, hooded dark eyes, and a full upturned mouth. Her body drew the eye as well, rounded and full in the right places, with a narrow waist and almost always clothed in the style of her Domani homeland, which stuck out in a city like Caemlyn.

That mouth of hers was good for more than kissing. Ben had never encountered a more beautiful voice than Hanush’s, which was how she made her living in the inns and taverns of the area. But on any given night, she could be in any one of dozens of establishments, or at none at all if she had been hired for a private event. She also wasn't the only person to draw crowds; Caemlyn was one of the wealthiest centers of power in the Westlands and as such was host to countless singers and dancers and gleemen, the lowliest of whom performed on any given street corner and the most revered who rubbed elbows with royalty.

Ben often envied Hanush her perfect positioning to watch and listen to people who were too free with their tongues. A singer was surely never suspected of spying, how could they hear the conversations over their own voice? Hanush could, and because she was pleasing, to the ear and to the eye, many lingered near her longer than they might otherwise. And of course there were always men of power, and some few women too, who willingly shared their secrets with Hanush to employ her entertainment in a more intimate setting. That one spun more webs to ensnare more flies than Moghedien ever had.

Try as he might, Ben would never be an entertainer. He was a man of many talents, but none of them in the arts. He couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but he would try anyway if he had a few too many drinks. The other men-at-arms in House Traemane’s employ said he sounded mostly like a braying donkey, with a yowling cat mixed in for good measure. So he circled the perimeters, never in the very center of the action, but close enough to see and hear. He circled around Hanush, too, for the exact opposite reason that he was drawn to Adela.

Luck was on Ben’s side this night. At the third inn he checked, Hanush performed on a small platform at the far end of the common room. Almost every seat was taken and almost every eye was turned to her. Her hips swayed as she crooned the risque lyrics of My Loves are So Many, arching her eyebrow coyly at the crowd at a particularly vulgar suggestion. Several men whistled, a few others elbowed their buddies in the ribs, and just like that the spell was broken. The room erupted in the sounds of merriment and Hanush, the main focus a moment ago, faded back into the background. Patrons laughed and joked and drank and shared sometimes useless and sometimes valuable information right in front of her and felt comfortable doing it.

Ben caught a passing serving girl by the elbow and ordered a drink, then leaned casually against the back wall to wait for Hanush. She saw him; she always did. Those heavy-lidded eyes of hers never missed anything. Eventually a serving girl took Hanush a tray and she left her stage to eat and drink before another round of songs, but the night was winding down now, they wouldn’t expect her to eat standing and get right back to it. She wound her way through the tables to the one next to Ben, sat down across from him and pushed the chair nearest him out gently with her foot. His eyes swiveled her direction and she arched that eyebrow again. He smiled and sat down.

They launched into a conversation about his time away at Sheldyn, nothing of any importance, as he passed his last envelope under the table to her. She somehow slipped it away somewhere as their topic turned to the upcoming Pendar ball. All gossip, of course, nothing more than a superficial conversation between long-time friends who moved in many of the same circles. In short order, it was time for Hanush to return to her stage. She paused halfway through standing and leaned low to quietly say “Wait for me after?” The ample amount of skin she flashed his way was not an accident. Ben leaned back in his chair and smiled at her.

“Of course, love.”

The sun would not rise for another hour when Ben stumbled down the outside stair of Hanush’s second-floor apartments. She leaned against the open door frame above, wrapped in a blanket. Her husky laugh followed him to the street.

He rolled his shoulders as he walked, stretching tired muscles; he hadn’t slept much, but the walk through Caemlyn was peaceful at this hour. The only other people who stirred were those who needed to prep for the city’s awakening; the bakers, the hawkers, the butchers, the street sweepers; and they were all subdued and somber as they prepared for the day ahead.

The air held a chill again, but the sun just peeking above the horizon was already burning away the morning fog. Ben strolled with his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, the very image of a man about his leisure.

Adela was already about her day by the time he reached the Traemane manorhouse. She was never one to be idle, even in her grief she needed to be doing something. He knew her well enough to know that stillness gave her the opportunity to overthink, and Adela Traemane was an overthinker without the added time to dwell. She knew it about herself too, so she preferred to keep busy.

“Good morning, Benil!” She chirped as she passed him in the foyer. He saluted and wished her a good morning as well. “About ready for that ride, then?”

“I am, Lady Adela,” he said with an inclination of his head, “I just need to grab something quick from the kitchen and I’m all yours.”

“Excellent!” Adela clapped her hands in delight. The corners of Ben’s mouth pulled up in a genuine smile; it had been some time since he had seen his mistress excited about anything. “I’ll meet you in the yard, shall I?” She asked as she turned towards the door.

“Absolutely, my Lady, I’ll be right there.”

[Toria Netari]

“Do not fret mashiara. Have I ever failed you?”

Toria did not shiver, of course not. She closed her eyes, pounding agony mixed with the desire to lean into Raife's caress, but she resisted. There was work to do. Her eyes snapped back open, glittering green out from beneath her hat and hair.

"There's always a first time...let's just make sure it's not today, right gleeman?"

She released his cloak and stepped away, one hand straying to her temple as she surveyed the streets. Traemane's estate wasn't difficult to find; none of the Major Houses kept a low profile, which fit well with Toria's own experiences with nobility. As they approached, she felt her mouth twist into a sneer at the sight of the mansions about her. Wealth and power concentrated in their hands, and why? Because they were born to it? Most nobles she'd had the misfortune of meeting were vicious and petty, hardly worth a second thought but for the name the Wheel saw fit to bestow on them. Anger pounded along to the beat of her headache as she jammed her hands into the pockets of her coat, retreating inward. Steady, Toria. You're in this for your wealth, remember.

The Traemane estate looked much the same as the others they'd passed by, and Toria slowed her pace as they approached. They loitered, feigning nonchalance, on the tree lined avenue outside of its walls. It was grand, old, well maintained and disgustingly wealthy. Envy mingled with anger as she glanced at the house standing above the walls. I could have had that. She'd been so close to escaping poverty forever. Then....

Her sneer faded into a concerned frown as she took another look at the estate...and the crowd of attendants by the gate. A wagon, escorted by men wearing Traemane livery, was pulling in to be unloaded. Light, our timing is entirely too on the nose. It was nice to have confirmation that High Lady Traemane had, in fact, returned to the city, but they did not want any of her household to recall a tall man and short woman lingering nearby. She tugged at Raife's cloak again and moved as casually as she could until the broke sight with the men busying themselves with the wagon. She released a breath and moved on, trying to jog her brain into recalling the directions she'd badgered out of a shopkeeper earlier that day. They had one more visit to make.

This entire plan hinged on some shaky information, but so far it all seemed accurate to Toria's eye. The altercation she'd seen on the road between Traemane's man and an innkeeper might be the biggest stroke of luck she'd had in years. True to his word, it seemed that his Lady was, in fact, the High Lady returning to the Traemane estates. Confirming the Pendar side of the information was their next step. The plan was sound, if all the pieces were as described. It would work.

House Pendar's estates were far busier than House Traemane's had been, and Toria halted them across the road, once more concealed beneath a tree. There were three wagons lined up along the cobbled road outside of the estate, with servants and workers unloading and preparing. It was a buzz of activity, that much was visible from outside the walls. Toria bit her lip for a moment, eyes darting up and down the street heedless of the agony that spurred with her headache.

"I should try and slip in," she muttered just loud enough for Raife to hear, glancing down at herself.

She had a plausible disguise, if she pulled the coat tight to conceal the thin, lowcut blouse that was nearly more shift than not that she wore beneath it. If she did and kept herself hunched, head down, and moving, she might be able to pass herself off as serving boy hurrying about a task. It might give her a chance to take a closer look...then she shook her head, glancing up at Raife instead.

"No. We don't want to risk being remembered once we're in our roles. Her role would definitely be a far cry from serving boy, true, but all it would take was one suspicious servant to unmask her, and behind the walls she'd have little help.

"I've seen what I wanted. Our information is good. Our first touch tomorrow will be in your hands." Her mouth quirked, half grin half snarl. "M'lord."

[Raife Davoe]

Hastily, Raife followed behind Toria towards the plethora of estates which resided in Caemlyn's Old City. He dismissed her remark about there being a first time for making mistakes. In his heart, he knew she did not mean it in the cold icy tone she had supplied. She was a complex woman who rarely let her guard down around anyone. But he knew her better than she possibly even knew herself. And despite her chilled demeanor towards him, Raife saw past her words. Toria's body language said it all. Still, he'd let her hold to her facade for now. Later on, he would treat her to a proper massage and a nice hot brew of peppermint tea. No doubt his attentions would be far more welcoming once their task was complete. If not, he'd allow her some peace and quiet with the pretense of favoring a walk alone.

As his feet glided across the cobbled stones of the street, a waft of sweet lavender filled his nostrils as they neared the Traemane estates. The grounds were lush with trees, flowers, and bushes of lavish varieties while the manor itself was far grander. He wagered a quarter of the city could take up residence here with hardly any difficulty. What did one do with so much space he wondered... And how was it that some were born into such privilege while others had to fight, beg, and steal just to survive?! It hardly seemed fair in his mind yet that was the way of the world it seemed. Which could be why he'd feel no remorse or guilt in parting a few rich, high born nobles from their wealth. As far as he was concerned, they could spare it to help fund Toria's project.

While Raife stood in awe of the Traemane estates, wishing he actually had the means to offer such a life to Toria,... His emerald orbs caught a glimpse of the escorted carriage rolling up to the gate. ‘So Lady Adela Traemane has returned.’ he mused to himself. Once again, Raife felt the tug at the collar of his cloak, a not so subtle signal that it was time to move on. Although annoyed by the constant yanking around Toria had done to him today, he understood how important it was that they were not recognized. After all, they'd have very different roles to play soon enough and neither of them desired to be associated with their actual selves.

Subtly, the pair moved onward without drawing any attention to themselves and made their way to the Pendar estates. The bustle of activity transpiring there was hardly surprising with the pending ball. It would be a spectacular affair to be sure though no doubt would pale in comparison to the Bonding Ceremony. A part of him wished he'd been present for such a once in a lifetime event but knew that his mother Yvaine would regale it down to the very last detail for him. How disappointed she'd be if she were aware of the plans he'd prepared to take part in. He'd no doubt never hear the end of how dishonorable the life of a thief was or that he'd fallen so far from his Warder Trainee days... Still, being with Toria made him happy in a way he yet understood. He wanted to give her everything she deserved so if that meant conning a few blue-bloods then so be it. Therefore he smiled when she decided against going inside. She always had been the clever one.

“How right you are darling, going in now is far too risky.” responded Raife as they nonchalantly made their way back down the road, before his face lit with a smile, “Besides, we'll receive full access soon enough.”

Although there was great risk in the deceitful game they were about to play, Raife couldn't help but feel anticipation at trying his hand playing a Lord. Charm, wit, and silver-tongued words were his forte. He'd spent weeks studying both his persona and his target as well as he was able... There was nothing more for him to do now but assume the lie.

“As ever Mashiara,” stated the Gleeman with a practiced and perfected regal bow, “I shall endeavor to please you.”

[Adela Traemane]

It was impossible to be sure of the hour; the fire had burned down to embers hours ago and the house had been still and silent even longer. The quiet was the worst. It was hardest then to distract herself. Adela curled in on herself, biting hard into a wadded up blanket to keep her crying from carrying.

The nights were exhausting. Every one for the last month spent howling into a blanket or pillow or even just her hands until sheer exhaustion forced her to sleep. A few hours of restless sleep usually followed, watching her father draw his last breath over and over again in her dreams.

Eventually, sleep came, but not the dream she dreaded. Her father was gloriously alive as they raced their horses down a well-worn path in Sheldyn’s forest. They darted left down what was little more than a deer trail, her loose divided skirts snapping in the rush of the wind. Left again as they reached a wide creek, following the bank to the shallows where they splashed across. Up an embankment and down again, they jumped a tumbled down mess of stone that had once been a wall.

“Hya!” Adela’s father urged his horse on, but there was no way he would outpace her.

She cast a glance behind her, laughing with the exhilaration of the race. As the house came into view through the trees, Sadi stopped abruptly, nearly throwing Adela out of the saddle as she whinnied and reared, but her father was suddenly there beside her with the reins in his hand.

“Whoa, there. Easy, girl.” Adela was unsure if he was speaking to her or the horse, for some reason, but the horse was soothed by the gentle words nonetheless. “You’re alright, Adela.”

So he was speaking to her. Why was he trying to soothe her? Couldn’t he see she was fine? She didn’t have time to worry about it as her father reached out and suddenly she was a child again. He lifted her off her horse and spun her around, the two of them laughing wildly. Faster they spun, clinging to each other until he was dizzy and they fell to the ground. Holding their sides, they laughed until they cried.

Sounds of morning intruded on Adela’s sleep. She felt the edges of the dream begin to fray. Panic gripped her as she reached for her father’s hand. His long fingers curled around her child-sized hand. “You’re alright, Adela,” he said again, but he sounded distant. The world was light and fuzzy around the edges and fading quickly.

A stifled sob cut the quiet of the room, the only other sound the fire crackling. Adela clasped her hand over her mouth to stop any further sound. Her fingers touched wetness on her cheek; she pulled away quickly. The fire’s glow provided just enough light to see there was only dampness on her fingertips. Light, Adela, crying in your sleep is a new low.

As the tightness in her chest lessened, bits of the dream came back, foggy and quickly evaporating though the details were. She could feel the callouses on her father’s hand still, acquired over a lifetime spent with a quill in hand every available moment. His hands were always so warm. Hers were always cold. When she was a child, he would cup his big hands around her slender fingers and blow warmth into them. Other times, she would press her icy fingers against his neck and run away giggling as he let out a roar of surprise.

A slow smile spread across Adela’s face. It did not spread far, but any smile was unusual for her now. Ah, Light. She hurt. She hurt more than she thought it was possible, but she thought she hurt less today than yesterday. Either that or she was getting used to it.

Her mood stayed high as she rose and prepared for the day. She was very much looking forward to the ride she had planned with Benil. It was a foreign feeling anymore, anticipation. At Sheldyn she had only gone through the motions, one day bleeding into the next and the next.

She savored it as she dressed. There was no hurry. She sat at her dressing table when she had finished and gazed into the mirror. A wraith with sunken, bruised eyes stared back at her. Lovely. She reached for a small jar. Now that she had returned to court, it would be unseemly to be seen this way in public. She warmed the cream inside with her finger and tapped it over the telltale signs of her sleepless nights. It took the purple down some, but nothing short of several good nights of rest would diminish them further.

The sun was well and truly up by the time Adela made her way downstairs. The house was a flurry of activity at this hour as everyone prepared for the day ahead. Adela greeted no less than six servants on her way to the stableyard, when she spotted Benil slinking through the foyer, wearing the same clothes she had last seen him in. She raised an eyebrow, but decided now was not the best time to say anything about his attire.

“Good morning, Benil! About ready for that ride, then?” She chirped and he assented. “Excellent!”

Her voice sounded too cheerful to her own ears, but a relieved smile flashed across Ben’s face. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be worried about her, but of course, he would be. She turned for the door, hiding a smile of her own.

“I’ll meet you in the yard then, shall I?” She was already pushing the door open as he spoke.

“Absolutely, my Lady, I’ll be right there.”