Chapter Text
She knew she was dreaming, and yet that didn’t change the nature of the horror at hand. It didn’t erase the ring of faces that surrounded her, smothering her with their lunatic snarls and blood hungry baying. Their hunger was savage and cruel, claws digging into ice coloured flesh, hooking, teeth clamping down as she screamed and thrashed amidst the suffocation of their bodies. She knew she was dreaming, even when they pulled and tore at her flesh, parting it from the bone and gulping it down, taking her away piece by piece.
It wouldn’t be enough, it was never enough, they always needed more, and even as she sobbed in terror, she felt the flesh growing back, making her whole enough to tear at again. An endless feast for the savage greed of many. They were a horde each dragging away their piece before another replaced them, rending her to the bone and waiting for the feast to return inch by agonizing inch.
She could break herself out of this if she could think. But the pain was enormous, her mind picking and choosing from the catalogue of agonies she had collected in her memory, using it to render the perfect experience of being eaten alive over and over. She stopped struggling in the hands that held her down and tore at her, and began to struggle against the pain, logical thought racing the agony along the treacherous slope of her consciousness. Logic would gain a foothold, only to slip and be outpaced by the pain that would only ever be described by screaming.
So she did scream, long and hard over and over again, the sound and the sensation of unleashing the full power of her lungs, giving logic that final push as her mind raced towards that peak of waking. The sound of flesh tearing and the manic gibber of constant hunger following her into the dark.
~o0O0o~
She was still screaming when she surged up out of the water, still feeling the sharp gnawing graze of teeth and digging of claws as she struggled against a hold around her that only made the panic rise to frenzied levels. It took far too long to realize where she was as she fought the arms wrapped around her upper body, reining her in until the gilded walls and fragrant steam came into focus. Even upon recognizing the House of Hope, there was still too much momentum in her fight or flight response, and she squirmed and pulled at that grip, forcing those arms to redouble their efforts in containing her. Hands pulled her firmly and resolutely to a warm chest that rose and fell calmly in direct opposition to the rabbit panic that controlled the percussion of her own heart.
“Be still, little mouse, you are awake, and safe.”
The voice did what reality and that ironclad hold on her couldn’t, and she felt some of the adrenaline drain away, enough for logic to drag itself to the forefront, panting and sweating over the finish line. She had been dreaming, she’d known that when it was happening, and her waking body was simply still feeling the pain and panic that had hounded her out of her nightmare. Logic couldn’t explain waking up down in the ritual chamber, but she had enough sense to understand that once she had left the Angaer, Raphael must have been able to find her again. All of this passed through her mind very quickly as she lay there, half sprawled over his body in the rejuvenating pool, her heart still taking its time to fully calm.
The absurd part of this was that despite all signs to the obvious contrary, she did feel safe laying there, and not just in the sense that she knew Raphael would always protect his investment if nothing else. The warmth and the familiarity of that body, the underlying scent of him. Like it or not, those things were slowly evolving themselves into a sense of comfort she couldn’t deny, and in this particular moment, didn’t have the strength to dismiss.
When she had stopped struggling, those arms had loosened but not let go, one seeking to bury itself into the tangle of her hair, running fingers over her scalp while the other coaxed her limbs into fully relaxing beneath the warmth of the water. Though she was highly suspicious that these affectionate little gestures were likely as manufactured as the human guise he now wore, she found that she didn’t care. Logic was all well and good, but some part of her ached for that comfort in general, and secretly desired it from him in particular, if only to not feel so terrible for all that she did in deference to his contract.
She lay there for some time, allowing herself to be soothed, excusing herself from the responsibility of wondering what he really felt for her, in favour of just existing for a moment. At some point, she felt his body stretch out beneath her, and the nature of his form changed, a whole lot more of her suddenly fitting in his lap and across his chest. The heat of him sank into her bones almost as effectively as the water, and she allowed herself the luxury of melting into that warmth, like a lizard splaying out on a sun warmed rock.
For the first time since she had ever been in the same space as the devil, the silence was a comfortable one, and even he seemed lulled by the warm calm that had settled over them like the steam that rose up from the water and their skin. Being so flush against his body, she felt the usual faint stirrings, but they were lazy, languid as a sleepy cat and the low sensation merely blended into that sense of calm. When he did finally speak, that voice to which her mind would always gravitate, was soft and low, as if he didn’t want to break the fragile peace they had temporarily found themselves in.
“My sweet Renata, these halls have never felt so empty without your lovely cries to fill them, and what a gift you bring me on your return.”
She smiled despite herself, the somewhat macabre declaration likely as close as she was going to ever get to any true affection from Raphael. His hands grew a little more covetous in their design, claws dragging lightly along the back of her thighs, and his tail surfaced briefly to wrap itself about the small of her back, squeezing around her waist lightly.
“I thought you would be angry when I returned.”
His body rose and fell with the warm chuckle that ignited the mark at the back of her neck, a deeper warmth sliding down her spine, as if his laughter played it like an instrument. Much like her, his arousal had been a background presence that had melted into their brief moment of serenity, but now he twitched minutely against her belly, and only now did she briefly consider that he might well be as affected by her voice as she was by his.
“I presume you are speaking of the drow, since we both know you wouldn’t be so foolish as to run away from me on purpose my dear. I can’t imagine why I should be angry, he arguably served a purpose, and after all, you are still mine.”
The pressure of his claws on her scalp only changed by a fraction, just enough to lift her head from his chest so that she could look up at him. “Aren’t you?”
She still hadn’t lived long enough in this strange new life to explain why that question elicited a secret thrill behind all the indignation she should have been feeling when it came to being described as a possession. But beyond that, was the knowledge that they both knew she didn’t have much of a choice when it came to the answer. She could buck and bite as many times as she liked, and she got the impression that just made it all the more entertaining for the devil, but the fact remained, that she was his. Until the day she decided that a life of nightmares or torture were a better alternative.
“Yes.”
He smiled, and gave her a kiss that was a lie. Soft, gentle, loving. It was all the things he was not, and yet she gave herself permission to believe it, still wanting that scant comfort. She didn’t buy that he was entirely comfortable with any pairing he didn’t have direct control over, but Raphael knew when to leave a potential gold mine of energy needed for his precious chamber, well enough alone.
She kissed him back with more tenderness and feeling than he likely deserved, drinking the dregs of his affection all too greedily and forgetting to hate herself for it just this once. And just this once, he humoured her.
~o0O0o~
The next few hours of exhausted, aching sleep were blessedly without dreams this time, and she awoke a few hours later no worse for wear aside from a few extra scratches. There was a brief pang of disappointment in finding the bed empty when she reached out with hands and tail, but then she had been spoiled with the simple pleasure of waking next to someone in the last few days. Besides, disappointment was easy to shake off in the House of Hope, she only had to watch one of the debtors limp listlessly past the doorway of the boudoir to remind herself of that.
And yet she found a robe and a pair of rather overly ornate silk slippers set on a chair beside the bed, which struck her as…weirdly domestic, though she was grateful for the simple thought towards her comfort. Then again, he was probably smart enough to know by now that she’d tear down and wear his tapestries rather than go striding down these decadent halls naked. She pulled on the robe and slippers heading directly to the archives, where predictably he was sat half bent over a stack of parchment.
“Take a seat, we have much to discuss, and you have little time to prepare.” He didn’t waste any time, and while he wasn’t exactly curt, much of the soft warmth of his voice had returned to whence it came, only underlining the point that much of his affection was manufactured. Perhaps it was the only way he could show it.
She took a seat opposite him, and he peeled three or four sheets of written parchment from the pile, passing them over the table before he sat back in his chair, giving her his full appraising attention. It wasn’t her body or face he was appraising this time however, and it took him a good few seconds before he spoke, falling into that lyrical tone of disdain and amusem*nt.
“Given your flight of fancy from our shores, It seems the college is in something of an uproar. It seems your presence was rather more important than they first imagined.”
“Oh sh*t.” She was out of her chair in a second, meaning to make a beeline for the bookshelf that would allow her to cross between her room and the library, but he stopped her with a stern look and waved her back into her seat. Gods she hadn’t even had time to spare a thought for the library since she’d been back. Her mind had wandered guiltily back to the place several times on her journey, as she wondered how poor Percival had been faring.
“Calm yourself. Percival has proven more than capable of keeping things just about in balance, but he doesn’t have your attunement to the library, much to the dismay of the board members vying for your dismissal even before your absence.”
Ren had spent a good deal of time purposely shoving the thought of the board and their shenanigans out of her mind while she had been away, determined to embrace what little time she’d had to step away from it all while she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Now that mess was at her feet, and she couldn’t help but feel a little resentment for the Ren who didn’t have to deal with it.
“Suffice to say, a good portion of the board recanted their decision once I informed them you would be returning after completing a task for me. But there are those who still wish to seize the chance to replace you.”
He nodded to the papers, and let the silence draw out between them as she browsed through each one. They were dossiers of a sort, on four men, all of them she recognized, though only two of them had ever been what she would really call a problem during her tenure. Lord Xander Drake would be the spearhead of this if she were to judge by the name given. The man was very old money, a shipping baron who dealt in silk and spices, who just happened to be a very outspoken racist. He’d argued vociferously against hiring her, but it had been just in the aftermath of the Elder brain's defeat, and Windstone couldn’t turn down the Hero of the Gate.
Lord Devon Lochren had always been politely kind in his own indifferent way, but his name made sense when you looked at how his dye industry was suffering under the pressure of the faster production the gnomes were creating with their machines. Rumour had already circulated that he was being bailed out by Lord Drake’s coin, so he’d vote whichever way his coin purse told him to.
Lord Edritch was the second husband to an aged heiress, and put his heart and soul into finding any activity that would take him out of his wife's way. He was the third in a line of sons, and probably hadn’t expected to amount to anything, and thus he was Lady Edritch’s mouthpiece, and the woman made no bones about her dislike for Renata.
The name that surprised her most was Ser Erevan Gwydion, a paladin of Tempus who had found himself with his family's fortune in his lap when they had perished during the battle for the gate. His family had been influential enough for the cult of the Absolute to have infected most of them. Whispered rumour's said that the infected members killed the rest when they had turned. In honor of his mother, he kept up her charitable works, accepting her seat on the board even if he did stick out more than she did.
Beside every name were details. Details that she would rather not know, and details that she was certain that none of the men wanted any of them to know. Some of these little revelations made her feel ill, while some only made her sad and just reaffirmed the trite fact that money really couldn’t seem to buy anyone happiness for long.
“Mossbank has arranged another meeting for tomorrow, at my request. I would advise you to study these findings until then, wield them as a shield, or drive them into their hearts if you must, but the city needs you to keep it from imploding. And I need you right where I want you.”
“You want me to blackmail these men? To drag their life into the light in order to force them to do as I will?” She couldn’t explain in any way he would understand or likely even care, why this bothered her so much, but to her it was simple. If she did this, if she got back in this way, she would never respect herself again. She’d done some things in the past six months that would call into question her definition of respect, but nothing quite made her feel as dirty as when she was holding those pages, their sins blurring under her fingers like grease.
“Those four men can take away all that you worked for, you do not have the luxury of morals. But if you are still so childish as to not accept what you know to be true, allow me to make this pill easier to swallow my dear.”
He leaned forward in his chair, his human form much smaller than the cambion form, and yet he still managed to be imposing with just the steady glare in those eyes and the pointed sneer on his lips, his patience with her dithering not even on the shortest of leashes it seemed.
“You will do everything in your power to secure your place at the college. You are an intelligent woman, and thus far your obedience has meant that failure has never been a step upon which you have stumbled. Do not make me reveal the consequences of such now, Renata.”
~o0O0o~
They were waiting for her when she entered the meeting chamber, and she knew she’d taken them by surprise in the way she held her head up and didn’t sidle into the room as if already apologizing for being there. For a moment there was only the click of her heels on the stone as she passed eyes over the five assembled around the table, noting that Lord Drake had taken it upon himself to take a seat at the head, a place generally reserved for the headmaster, who was currently staring miserably at his hands while the rest of them stared.
She had dressed well for the occasion at least, though not high enough above her station. In the simple dusk grey brocade coat she wore, she might have been mistaken for a governess or a ladies first maid, her very demeanour exuding a business like tone that she didn’t really feel. Outside she was calm and composed, while inside she was fighting every instinct to put her eyes to the floor as they recovered from the initial surprise at her appearance and sought to look stern.
She did not take a seat at the table, preferring to stand as she looked them over, the arch of one brow daring one of them to be the first to speak. Lord Drake's pointed chin jutted as he took note of this lack of deference and set his hands on the table, putting aside his indignation in exchange for the almost greedy pleasure in airing his grievances.
“So good of you to finally answer a summons Miss Lethwaite, another week of your absence and this meeting might not have been necessary.”
He paused, as if to give her time to rush in with an explanation, finding himself sitting before a wall of polite silence as she tilted her head slightly, as if to ask him to continue. That sour look pinched his features again, but he rallied and pushed on.
“As you well know, we had concerns before your untimely disappearance, regarding the running of the library and the activities therein. In the last few months, amongst many absences, there have been certain incidents that call into question your ability to handle the position.”
“I see.” She offered them nothing more, and this seemed to disturb Lord Drake enough that he sat back in his chair, hiding his frown behind steepled fingers as Lord Edritch leaned forward, having to shift a little to compensate for his generous gut when it pressed to the edge of the table.
“We feel perhaps that given your status as an up and coming mage, we may have been a little eager in overlooking your lack of practical experience as well as the rigors of what might be expected at such a prestigious college.”
…I bet that's not how the Lady Edritch said it..
This thought forced herself to stifle a smirk as she watched the poor bastard try to sugar coat whatever venom his wife had poured into his ear. Since they seemed to be taking turns, she eye’d Lord Lochren next, not having the hear to stare him down too hard, even as he stumbled through much the same prettied up version of whatever Lord Drake wanted. When it was Ser Erevan’s turn, the battle scarred veteran was the only one who could meet her eye for long enough, and he seemed to take his time choosing his words carefully.
She noted the full armour and sword on his back, and though his style was usually militaristic, he seldom came this ready to something as innocuous as a meeting. The elven Paladin was well known enough in high society that he had the privilege of arriving in whatever state he pleased, but the sword was a little much, and it felt ominous to her.
“While these gentlemen do have legitimate concerns regarding your current absences within the library, I find myself more perturbed by the implications of some of your visitors. A warlock as your assistant for one thing. Who can say what manner of destructive material could pass through hands that might be tempted. Or what associations they may hide.”
That last part was pointed enough that she knew he was talking of Raphael, and Mossbank’s quick furtive look at the Paladin all but confirmed it. Even the others had the good grace to look slightly uncomfortable, while Erevan simply stared at her. She paused, looking at each of them in turn as if to allow them to add to their paper thin excuses before she spoke up.
“Gentlemen, let us be honest here. This is not about my ability as Keeper of the Vaults, if it were, you would have very little ground to stand on, as much as you might pile it up in order to make it a hill you are willing to die upon.”
Oh how the rage quickly flooded Lord Drakes pinched face, as if she had suddenly hiked her skirts and farted a rendition of Baldur’s Tale. There had been a time when that angry expression would have quelled any rebellion in her, but after reading what she had, she couldn’t help but feel a faint disgusted pity.
“I would think very carefully before you make such claims Miss Lethwaite, I have it on very good authority that you…”
“Whose Authority, My lord?”
She had to wonder just how long the man had spent with others spit shining his boots to have such a sense of entitlement that his rage was clearly visible when she cut him off, and if he’d had a crossbow in his hand right then, she truly thought he might have shot her in the heart on pure reflex.
“Perhaps it would be best to let Miss Lethwaite finish. She seems to have something to say after all.”
The paladin’s tone was neutral, but Ren was wary of it all the same, she’d do well to remember that she had no friends in this room, not with Mossbank wilting like a piece of celery left out in the sun as he came to grips with the fact that he had no real purpose in his own chambers. It was the price he paid for buying and selling the prestige of his own college, and she almost felt sorry for what she was about to do. For a moment, Drake looked as though her would have liked to argue, but even he knew better than to turn his anger on a man who could cut him clean in two should he care to.
“If you gentleman would indulge me, I have asked Sergeant Corbin to join us in this meeting. The relevance will be clear enough soon.”
She didn’t wait for an answer, opening the door and ushering in the Sergeant who was pushing one of the book trolleys ahead of him. On the short, stacked shelves, were several large ledgers, which gave the men sitting at the table more pause than the Sergeant's presence had.
“Sergeant Corbin, could you refresh our memories. What is your position within the Flaming Fist?”
The scars that twisted Sergeant Corbin's features turned his small smirk into a leer as he stood to attention and stared out at the table.
“I am responsible for the Dangerous Antiquities department Miss Lethwaite.”
Every person in the room knew that the position had been meant as a punishment for a man who had his own version of right and wrong when it came to doing his job. Ren didn’t know the particulars of his ‘demotion’, but she did know that the man had even less love for the nobles sitting at the table, than they had for him.
“Correct me if I’m wrong Sergeant, but am I correct in stating that you are in charge of acquiring items that would otherwise cause damage, destruction and indeed loss of life amongst those unfortunate to be recipients of cursed or otherwise dangerous heirlooms?”
“We’re well aware of the man’s job, girl!” The room went silent in the wake of Drakes outburst, all of them well aware that his slip of calling her ‘girl’ instead of giving her the due of at least her name, was quite the breech of etiquette. Ren chose to ignore it, somewhat grimly pleased about his lack of control, let him hang himself on his own rope while she coiled it tighter around her fist.
“Yes Miss. It was my idea to approach the college when I realized that storing the items ourselves or trying to destroy them without proper precautions, might have been as dangerous as leaving them in the hands of the public.”
“Much to the good of the City I say.” This came from Edritch, who was looking nervously at Drake's apocalyptic expression as his little snipe was disregarded, all attention resolutely on Sergeant Corbin now, who seemed to be quietly enjoying himself.
“Sergeant, you were kind enough to bring the ledgers for the past ten years, could you please explain to the gentlemen of the board what they contain and why they are particularly pertinent to this discussion, as I am beginning to sense Lord Drake's patience might not be endless.”
Both Lochren and Edritch went a little pale and exchanged furtive looks at Lord Drake's quiet fury, while Ser Erevan barely hid the faintest of smirks behind his gauntleted hand. Every man at that table knew that if Drake said a word in that moment, he would be handing her a small victory, and she watched him practically squirm in his seat as if this knowledge were a needle stuck in his backside.
“The ledgers detail everything that goes in and comes out of the College from the Fist. We also take census on certain statistics, I find it helps paint a broader picture of our efforts when it comes time for the Masters of coin to audit our activities.”
She nodded and tried not to look too much like she was enjoying herself. They had expected her to come crawling in here begging to keep her position, never once imagining that she might know how indispensable she was. This wasn’t about reviewing whether or not she should keep her position, it was about forcing her to cow to their will, to behave as they deemed fit for one lucky enough to have her low birth ignored while they granted her such an honour.
Raphael had handed her a blade with which to cut them, but she had never been much good with weapons, so instead, she would snare them all with the steel trap of her mind and watch them all squirm when they realized the only way out was to chew their own damn legs off. She didn’t need to blackmail them, she simply had to remind them that things were the way they were, because people had collectively agreed that it should be so.
“Sergeant, perhaps you can indulge me, could you read out both the profit margin and the death toll at the start of the decade, and then perhaps the same for the most recent year if you would be so kind.”
She watched Mossbank raise his head slowly, and felt a little sorry for what she was about to do next, but at the very least, he had taken this as far as they had wanted him to, and she was about to make sure that they couldn’t turn the blame on him by the time she was finished. She knew Corbin didn’t need to look at the actual ledgers, she’d already let him know the information he had to be ready with, but she allowed him his petty indulgence in making them wait, while nervous looks were being exchanged between the three lords.
“I believe the profits for that year were in the red, after several incidents caused much of the college's antiquities fund to be dried up with repairs and replacing the warding rooms. The public toll was at 83 deaths due to misadventure with objects.”
She knew the toll had been unthinkably high, even if you took away the people purposely killed by volatile items, but hearing the number out loud kept even Lord Drake’s anger in check, as Sergeant Corbin picked up the newest ledger.
“As of last month, profits sit at 20,000, the Fist taking 5,000 as their fee of course. Death toll has been significantly reduced, only 25 thus far, mostly from malicious intent or because of an inert item being ‘awoken’ as you call it.”
She let it sink in for them, watched it dawn on the horizon they hadn’t dared look at, because wearing your money on you like a badge of honor was one thing, but talking about it was considered garish.
“How many Keeper’s have the College employed between the start of the decade and the start of my employment here?”
“Three, Miss. All perished on the job. It appears you have been here the longest so far.”
Now her genial tone grew cold, as she bent slightly and placed both hands on the table staring at the assembled men one by one. Lochren and Edritch had a hard time meeting her eyes, while the paladins regard remained neutral. Mossbank merely looked ashamed, while Lord Drake looked like he might snatch up the Erevan’s sword and cut her down before she could let the hammer fall upon their flimsy excuses.
“You fed them to the library. Anyone deemed too old or unseemly were shuffled off to be entombed down there, doing their best to keep a living system in check. The vaults are not merely a means to a monetary end gentlemen. Magic breathes life into even the most mundane of things, and until my arrival, you sought to barely understand it before you sold it.”
“How dare you! Have you no shame? You stand before us and attempt to justify your inadequacies by this pile of rubbish. Numbers and statistics will mean little when you can’t even get a position sweeping the floor of an apothecary by the time I am done!!”
Lord Drake had stood quickly enough to shove his chair back, his hands mirroring hers on the table as he openly raged and threatened her livelihood. Part of her had hoped he would, it made the next part so much more satisfying. Sergeant Corbin coughed meaningfully, and Drakes fury turned on him immediately, though the skinny bastard didn’t quite dare bet on his station keeping him safe enough to start shouting at the grizzled, scarred man.
“Begging your pardon My Lord, but statistics and numbers do mean something to the Fist. While the college and my superiors have enjoyed a lucrative few years, the Duke has made it plain that I am to consider the public's safety beyond anything else.”
“What are you implying?” The effort it must have taken to tone down the seething in his own voice, must have cost Drake almost as much as the gilded rings on his skinny fingers.
“Miss Lethwaite perfected the siphoning system, as well as the wards, and it has been her skills that have been so effective in removing the various curses and spirits that might have otherwise caused untold damage. In short, if Miss Lethwaite is no longer with the College, the contract with the Fist will not be renewed at the end of the year.”
“Corbin…you can’t be serious?” It was the first time Mossbank had spoken since she entered, and she detected a note of fear in that querulous voice. He’d suddenly found himself drowning before even noticing that his ankles were wet, and so had at least two of the lords if their expressions were anything to judge by.
“I’m sorry Headmaster, but after a discussion with my superiors, the Duke has made it clear that while you are at perfect liberty to dismiss Renata Lethwaite, the Fist consider her contribution invaluable. I have been given permission to seek out a site to build a new set of vaults should the outcome of this meeting require it.”
She had to wonder how much Sergeant had stuck his neck out in order to secure such a declaration from the Duke. Of course, Ravengard remembered her well enough, but he’d never been the type to allow sentiment to dictate his line of thinking, and Corbin must have sold hard on the potential danger removing her from the vaults might cause. The fact that it was true didn’t matter, the fact that it pretty much threw the men over a barrel, did.
There wasn’t a damn thing a single one of them could do about it either, Corbin didn’t have the authority or station to throw around the Dukes name in a lie, which meant that if they truly meant to remove her, they would have been losing far more than removing her would have gained them. But again, this had never been about her job, and now that she had caught the whip they had meant to lash her with until she started to ‘behave’ they were silent in both their fear of losing money and Drakes quiet rage.
Sergeant Corbin stepped back, and ren finally straightened, tucking her hands to the small of her back, her expression severe while her voice remained as calm as she could allow it to be now that they had gotten to the meat of this attempt of a feeding frenzy upon her dignity.
“Allow me to be blunt just this once gentlemen. I am not here because you wish to remove me, I am here because you believe my station somehow gives you a right to treat me as anything less than a standing member of this college. I am a tiefling, and this dismays some of you, I was also born in the Lower City, and this offends some sensibilities.”
Not even Erevan could look her in the eye just then, and they might as well have all been nodding along for all that her statement rang true in their eyes. Drake appeared murderous with impotent temper, not just at having his plans so neatly and brutally discarded, but for being so honestly called out that he couldn’t even muster the dignity to pretend it was untrue.
“It appears some of you have already forgotten that even the low born can be capable of more than they might be given credit for. I pray that there need not be another Elder Brain for you to learn this lesson finally.”
She might as well have slapped Drake for all that the bluster suddenly flowed out of him in that moment. They hadn’t forgotten of course, they had simply swept the incident away, and she had let them do it, all too grateful to finally be accepted by those who had refused her as a child. It had been a foolish way to look at things after all that she had done. A regression to who she had been before, despite loving the job itself. But now they were remembering and perhaps understanding the folly in stepping upon someone who had once ridden the screaming corpse of an elder brain into the Chionthar while they all likely hid. Or desperately tried to hide their association with various tendrils of the far reaching cult.
“And what of your associate?”
She hadn’t forgotten Erevan’s question and she regarded the man carefully, idly wondering if the scars that marred that perfect vision of Tempus’ chosen, were from acid or fire. She had no clever tricks up her sleeve regarding that one, but the paladin couldn’t outright accuse her of consorting with Devils, not without outing more than just herself. He also couldn’t say much about Sabal, who looked to be at least edging towards a seat at the table if what he’d told her was true. That left the subject of Percival, and she didn’t need any damn tricks when it came to her assistant.
“Perhaps you would care to discuss the perils of judging before having the full scope of a person with the Duke himself Ser Erevan. His son stood at my side when I faced the Absolute and its cult. Wyll is one of the bravest men I know, he is also unfailingly kind and would have given his life if our quest demanded it!”
She saw a little of Erevan’s uncertainty fade, though he didn’t drop his eyes or looked entirely moved just yet. Then again, she got the general impression that the man schooled his expression almost as well as Astarion could when he really wanted to.
“Wyll sacrificed his humanity time and time again for the Gate, and in the end he threw himself into the hells to once again protect another. Percival may not be the Blade of Frontiers Ser Erevan, but he has earned my respect as well as my trust, and neither balance on the fact that he is a warlock.”
After a long pause, Erevan slowly nodded his head, though he made no further comment, rather retracting his statement in the light of more pressing matters, which was who was going to speak on the nature of her continued employment. Once again she felt pity for Mossbank, as the three Lords rather unsubtly passed the buck onto he headmaster, who looked flustered and perhaps a little bitter as he tried to compose himself.
“You have brought some very…important facts to light Miss Lethwaite. I think under the circ*mstances, it would be best if we discussed this matter before coming to you with our conclusion.”
It was easy enough to read between those very shaky lines. Not a single one of them were about to admit to the way they had just been bent over and f*cked quite so elegantly, and so they would send her away until Mossbank mustered up the courage to come tell her what she already knew. Between them, she and Sergeant Corbin had left them with no choice but to come to terms with the fact that she was done having the sword of their whims hanging above her head. The power had been firmly placed in her hands as far as the Vaults were concerned, and while she was sure Drake would already be thinking up some kind of retribution, she’d go to bed smiling while she imagined the sick expression he now wore.
“In that case, I believe I shall return to the library and see what can be done to calm the situation there before you give me your decision. Gentlemen.”
She offered a bow before her quick stride took her to the door once more, standing aside to allow Sergeant Corbin through with the portable shelf on its squeaky wheels, neither of them saying a word until the door was shut behind them and they were halfway across the main hall.
“Watch yourself with Drake Miss Lethwaite, he’s not the sort to get used to learning a lesson. He’ll be looking for the smallest excuse.”
She didn’t need telling, but she appreciated that he cared enough to warn her. As for Drake, well, while she might not have been willing to blackmail the man to make a statement, Raphael's dossier had given her more than enough to go on should she need to remind the Lord that his money couldn’t buy everything. She escorted Sergeant Corbin to the doors, where he was met by a small regiment to escort himself and the ledgers back to the keep.
When he was gone, she breathed a sigh of relief and undid a few buttons of her high collar. She’d made it through this mess without having to compromise herself too badly, and she had done what Raphael had asked…technically. He’d ordered her to retain her position by any means necessary, and she had done that. But they had been her means, without having to drag herself in the mud just to show the stains on their own souls.
She might be standing ankle deep in grey areas when it came to whether she was still a good person or not, but she would not dip her hands into the murky waters of blackmail unless she really had to, and in the end she hadn’t needed to. Ren lifted her face to the breeze coming in from the open doors, and smiled as she set off for the Library, feeling the winds of change at her back.
~o0O0o~
