Elva Rackthorn and the Tears of Azrael

Travel Blues, Part 2

Elva woke to the meal bell loud and raucous and indecently early. She had expected Father and Henri back, but why were they calling her to— Elva checked the clock— breakfast? They hardly ever ate formally on the spanend, and certainly if she wanted to sleep in, she wouldn't be begrudged a late appearance.

The bell rang rudely again, and Elva rolled out of bed. She dragged a washcloth across her skin, her limbs into stiff clothing, her body to the door. She needed to act normal, everything was normal.

Her eyes caught on all the binding and unbinding paraphernalia around her room and her memories of last night, which hadn't been suppressed as much as muted by her too-few hours of sleep, pushed themselves into focus behind her eyes.

Things weren't normal, not even her version of secret-necromancy normal. Still, all the more reason to do this proper, she thought, snagging a bracelet from among her other inventions on her desk, and sliding it onto her wrist, where it was cool and smooth against her skin.

"Sorry, Nyx," she muttered, as the clasp snapped tight, and the coolness of the metal seemed to ripple across all her skin.

What was that?

It wasn't odd to hear Nyx's voice in her head— in her heart, in her mind, in her soul?— and it actually rather made a perfect sort of sense, but Elva wasn't quite sure how to answer in that same soundless voice, so she started muttering under her breath as she headed down the stairs.

"It's a bracelet,"— oh, really?-- "that hides a familiar's presence from runic attempts to find it. It also, as a side effect, keeps you locked in my shadow. Sorry. Since this all new, I don't want you accidentally slipping out"—I wouldn't accidentally slip out—

"Or, okay, me somehow expelling you during family meal time. This is new to both of us!"

Elva paused at the bottom of the stairs, both to straighten her hair—a lost cause, really— and to convince herself that everything was fine, everything was normal. She was just dining with her father and brother after a slight health scare.

She walked briskly to the dining room, her hand feeling like an alien limb as she raised it to say good morning, and stopped abruptly because there were four people at the table instead of two.

They had visitors from town sometimes, but no one dressed like this: rich blue fabric layered in slightly different shades and patterns, gleaming golden buttons, the high slim boots— almost military cut, but without the practicality— that Elva vaguely thought of as city fashion.

Something bright caught her eye, and Elva turned to see a familiar face above a set of just-as-fine though certainly more sedate clothes: the Baroness, and with that, Elva placed the the man across the table in the dapper outfit as her brother, the Baron vel Sint.

A baron and baroness at breakfast— could this get any worse?

With our luck, probably. You should greet them instead of just staring.

Elva dropped abruptly into a half-curtsy. "Apologies for my appearance. The storm kept me up, and I didn't realize we had company."

The baron chuckled. "It looks like rather you kept company with the storm."

He means you're still got bits of you covered in dirt.

"I lost a scarf." Elva headed to her spot, now next to the Baroness, and took the time to pour herself some orange juice, anchoring herself with the normalcy of that action. "My window was slightly ajar when the wind started up, and next thing I know it's dancing across the yard, and, well, I had to go chasing after it."

"Sounds like you had quite the adventure." The baron talked with his whole body, leaning into his phrases and using hand gestures like diacritical markings. "More fun, I reckon, than a night at the doctor's." He turned his fervent focus to Henri with a knowing, sympathetic smile, and Elva's brother, usually so restrained and studied, smiled slightly back, almost bewildered. "Why, dancing in a storm with a scarf— I could see that making a fine painting. Quite a frolic."

"Quite the frolic," Elva agreed, mirroring his bright grin, even as the image of that smear of blood on a garden wall superimposed itself on her empty plate. She scooped herself a heavy serving of potato hash and stared at the glimmering bits of onion in it.

Ask what they're doing here. Politely, if you can manage.

"So what brings you to Rackthorn Manor this morning?"

Next to Elva, the Baroness stirred. Well, she seemed barely to move more than usual, but the air seemed more lively when she spoke. "We had the pleasure of running into your Father while doing some business in town. He was kind enough to invite us to stay with you here until we leave together for the capital."

"Since they were to take you to Glimrick next span, it seemed senseless to have them stay at the inn." Silas dabbed at his lips with a napkin. "And perhaps we can solicit their opinions for our decorating. It'll be good to get an outside eye."

"Ah, there's nothing I love more than giving my opinion when it's asked for! Except, perhaps, giving it when it's not!" The Baron shrugged as if it say, what can you do. "Actually, our business in town is going faster than expected, so we might take you to Glimrick a few days early, if that's fine by you, Elva."

Elva's stomach turned, and despite the fact that she was ravenous, the fact she needed to eat enough almost for two people, she wondered if she could even manage a single bite. Could somebody get sick from smiling?

"Of course," she said. "That sounds lovely."