Light and Shadows

An Ember Court to Remember

Takes place a month prior to "The Harvester of Dominion", before the imprisonment of Denathrius

The trading of rumours via note was a long-standing tradition in Venthyr courts. A whispered word could be overheard, but a note...

They were slipped from hand to hand and hidden up sleeves, subtly read while sipping from a glass, then passed on for the next guest to peruse. It was a practice as old as Revendreth itself, and one Prince Renathal detested. And this rumour - his eyes widened as he read the note's contents - this one left a particularly sour taste in his mouth.

Have you heard the latest about the Prince and the Maw Walker? It is said they're-"

Renathal dipped the scroll idly into the nearest candle flame, held it out, away from himself, watching as it burnt to ash. And then began seriously to brood.

Had the Maw Walker seen it? Of course she had, she had brought it to him after all, but had she read its contents first? Her demeanor as she slipped him the folded paper left no indication one way or the other, her face as expressionless as always. Renathal was getting better at reading the little tells in her smooth, lavender face - blink, a tilt of the head, a quirk of the mouth - but it was still occasionally difficult. Venthyr faces were always expressive, if rarely sincere. Reading the Maw Walker was a challenge, and one he usually relished. But now...

Turning casually, as if contemplating the offerings of the terrace, Renathal searched for the Maw Walker's purple glow, something he found himself doing often during Ember Court sessions. There she was - refilling the Countess's tea cup at the furthest cliffside table, her face as generically pleasant as ever. No discomfort could be detected at this distance. He watched as she attended the table's guests: the Countess, her coterie of fashionable Venthyr socialites whose names escaped him, and "Picky" Stefan, chatting away in a voice loud enough to carry across the terrace. "Ah yes, the fragrance reminds me of my many years in the Banewood! Have I told you-"

The Maw Walker had just straightened, turning as if to leave, when the Countess murmured something Renathal couldn't hear under Stefan's chatter. She and the Maw Walker debated between them for a minute before the Nightborne nodded politely, filled another cup, and took the seat at the table behind it.

Instantly, Renathal's hackles were raised. A scandalous rumor and the Countess present at the same court? He knew this Harvester of Desire too well to believe it a coincidence. If the Countess hadn't written the note herself, she had certainly encouraged one of her entourage to do so. And now she would try to trick the Maw Walker into giving the truth away.

Not that there was any truth to it. Which bothered Renathal almost as much as the existence of the salacious rumour itself.

He had been grappling with his growing feelings for the Maw Walker for several weeks, debating the various practicalities and possibilities of initiating a more... intimate relationship with her. Bedding the realm's champion did hold the potential to complicate his rebellion, but Renathal had decided he could overlook this. Partly because he really wanted to, and partly because he trusted the Maw Walker completely. She was practical and loyal, unlikely to abandon his cause if their hypothetical affair ended poorly, not to mention she was an exceptionally private person when it came to her personal life.

Which was exactly why a rumour such as this might offend her, before he ever had a chance to make it a reality.

Renathal glanced again at the Maw Walker, searching for potential clues. She was listening to Stefan wax on about the tea, while the drink in her own hand remained untouched. She leaned fully against the high-backed chair, seeming, for the moment, entirely relaxed. Hardly the posture of someone incensed by slander, but then, the Maw Walker was generally unflappable.