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Their house was closer to the rich portion of town than not within easy walking distance of most of the city. Elysia sailed in the front door, basket still on her arm, brushing past one of the servants who’d materialized to take her himation. ”Mistress?” the servant trailed after her and Elysia glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows rising, realizing she’d not even noticed the girl’s presence.
“Oh there you are,” she said breathlessly and stopped only long enough to shove the wide length of fabric at the girl in a soft bundle. “I have half a mind to put a bell on you, now take that and go,” she pushed on the bundle in the girl’s arms. The servant, very used to this, merely gave a dipping curtsey and left. Elysia brushed her fingers through her hair, checking it for imperfections as she moved with great purpose along the corridors of her home. She stopped before her husband’s study door, setting down the basket and smoothing her hands down the front of her linen chiton, ensuring that the maroon layers fell around her just so.
Stooping down, she picked up the basket again, knocked once on the door, and opened it without waiting for a response. The room she entered was not like her sitting room, with its white klines and plush, perfectly situated pillows. This room was cramped. Stacks of books, with parchment strewn between layers stood like pillars and served to hold things atop them like busts of scholars, forgotten plates of food, empty chalices of wine. Elysia side stepped marbles that might have belonged to her son, but could just as easily have been her husband’s, strewn across the floor. His bookshelves lined the perimeter of the room, like hers did, but instead of neat shelves in alphabetical order, some books were lying on their side, some triple stacked, some standing upright, and none of them in any sort of category. At the epicenter of this stress inducing retreat, sat her husband with his feet propped up on a huge desk, cluttered with bits and bobs of this and that. She noted letters half finished, several books lying open, and more forgotten food. The man himself stared out of the window, seeing things in his mind’s eye that were invisible to everyone else.
Clearing her throat to gently alert him to her presence, Elysia tucked a tendril of dark hair behind her ear. “Cicero, I have something that might interest you.” Whether or not he noticed her, she moved around the desk and set the large basket on a portion of the desk that she thought would be least offensive. “I was at the agora,” she started, “With my basket, but I set it down.” The story continued from there, about how she’d flitted from group to group, and there were many noble women there, and how she’d retrieved her basket that had been at her feet, only to realize that this wasn’t hers and that whoever had theirs had disappeared.
“I fully planned on finding the owner of this one so that we could trade back,” she said, nearing the end of this tale, “but then I found this.” From the depths of the basket, after pushing aside the random baubles of various trinkets that were apparently there to be sold, she lifted out a shiny, black laquered box, setting it before him. “Open it,” she encouraged, knowing that once he did, all he would find was a silk lined interior, and knowing full well that he’d find the false bottom with the document underneath.
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Their house was closer to the rich portion of town than not within easy walking distance of most of the city. Elysia sailed in the front door, basket still on her arm, brushing past one of the servants who’d materialized to take her himation. ”Mistress?” the servant trailed after her and Elysia glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows rising, realizing she’d not even noticed the girl’s presence.
“Oh there you are,” she said breathlessly and stopped only long enough to shove the wide length of fabric at the girl in a soft bundle. “I have half a mind to put a bell on you, now take that and go,” she pushed on the bundle in the girl’s arms. The servant, very used to this, merely gave a dipping curtsey and left. Elysia brushed her fingers through her hair, checking it for imperfections as she moved with great purpose along the corridors of her home. She stopped before her husband’s study door, setting down the basket and smoothing her hands down the front of her linen chiton, ensuring that the maroon layers fell around her just so.
Stooping down, she picked up the basket again, knocked once on the door, and opened it without waiting for a response. The room she entered was not like her sitting room, with its white klines and plush, perfectly situated pillows. This room was cramped. Stacks of books, with parchment strewn between layers stood like pillars and served to hold things atop them like busts of scholars, forgotten plates of food, empty chalices of wine. Elysia side stepped marbles that might have belonged to her son, but could just as easily have been her husband’s, strewn across the floor. His bookshelves lined the perimeter of the room, like hers did, but instead of neat shelves in alphabetical order, some books were lying on their side, some triple stacked, some standing upright, and none of them in any sort of category. At the epicenter of this stress inducing retreat, sat her husband with his feet propped up on a huge desk, cluttered with bits and bobs of this and that. She noted letters half finished, several books lying open, and more forgotten food. The man himself stared out of the window, seeing things in his mind’s eye that were invisible to everyone else.
Clearing her throat to gently alert him to her presence, Elysia tucked a tendril of dark hair behind her ear. “Cicero, I have something that might interest you.” Whether or not he noticed her, she moved around the desk and set the large basket on a portion of the desk that she thought would be least offensive. “I was at the agora,” she started, “With my basket, but I set it down.” The story continued from there, about how she’d flitted from group to group, and there were many noble women there, and how she’d retrieved her basket that had been at her feet, only to realize that this wasn’t hers and that whoever had theirs had disappeared.
“I fully planned on finding the owner of this one so that we could trade back,” she said, nearing the end of this tale, “but then I found this.” From the depths of the basket, after pushing aside the random baubles of various trinkets that were apparently there to be sold, she lifted out a shiny, black laquered box, setting it before him. “Open it,” she encouraged, knowing that once he did, all he would find was a silk lined interior, and knowing full well that he’d find the false bottom with the document underneath.
Their house was closer to the rich portion of town than not within easy walking distance of most of the city. Elysia sailed in the front door, basket still on her arm, brushing past one of the servants who’d materialized to take her himation. ”Mistress?” the servant trailed after her and Elysia glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows rising, realizing she’d not even noticed the girl’s presence.
“Oh there you are,” she said breathlessly and stopped only long enough to shove the wide length of fabric at the girl in a soft bundle. “I have half a mind to put a bell on you, now take that and go,” she pushed on the bundle in the girl’s arms. The servant, very used to this, merely gave a dipping curtsey and left. Elysia brushed her fingers through her hair, checking it for imperfections as she moved with great purpose along the corridors of her home. She stopped before her husband’s study door, setting down the basket and smoothing her hands down the front of her linen chiton, ensuring that the maroon layers fell around her just so.
Stooping down, she picked up the basket again, knocked once on the door, and opened it without waiting for a response. The room she entered was not like her sitting room, with its white klines and plush, perfectly situated pillows. This room was cramped. Stacks of books, with parchment strewn between layers stood like pillars and served to hold things atop them like busts of scholars, forgotten plates of food, empty chalices of wine. Elysia side stepped marbles that might have belonged to her son, but could just as easily have been her husband’s, strewn across the floor. His bookshelves lined the perimeter of the room, like hers did, but instead of neat shelves in alphabetical order, some books were lying on their side, some triple stacked, some standing upright, and none of them in any sort of category. At the epicenter of this stress inducing retreat, sat her husband with his feet propped up on a huge desk, cluttered with bits and bobs of this and that. She noted letters half finished, several books lying open, and more forgotten food. The man himself stared out of the window, seeing things in his mind’s eye that were invisible to everyone else.
Clearing her throat to gently alert him to her presence, Elysia tucked a tendril of dark hair behind her ear. “Cicero, I have something that might interest you.” Whether or not he noticed her, she moved around the desk and set the large basket on a portion of the desk that she thought would be least offensive. “I was at the agora,” she started, “With my basket, but I set it down.” The story continued from there, about how she’d flitted from group to group, and there were many noble women there, and how she’d retrieved her basket that had been at her feet, only to realize that this wasn’t hers and that whoever had theirs had disappeared.
“I fully planned on finding the owner of this one so that we could trade back,” she said, nearing the end of this tale, “but then I found this.” From the depths of the basket, after pushing aside the random baubles of various trinkets that were apparently there to be sold, she lifted out a shiny, black laquered box, setting it before him. “Open it,” she encouraged, knowing that once he did, all he would find was a silk lined interior, and knowing full well that he’d find the false bottom with the document underneath.
It was not the how but the why. Oh, the how was child’s play, like drawing lines in the sand. A slew of encounters that could be verified by witnesses and throw the man in the fylaki without so much a whisper of doubt.
But where was the fun in that?
Cicero’s chin rested upon steepled fingers as he leaned over his desk and considered all he knew of the man who would be very soon charged with the murder of a handful of whores. He had been innovative in his tactics at least, but there was something evading the master informer that was robbing him of the satisfaction he should have found in successfully shedding light upon the spate of killings.
With a curious ‘hmmm’ slipping from between tightly pressed lips, the man kicked his feet up on the desk, sparing a glance for the papers that he nudged onto the floor before flicking his gaze away to stare out of the window, cataloging all the little things he had observed of the perpetrator and then shuffling them around into different combinations. The answers would be there somewhere he just had to pick them out.
It might have been minutes, or it could have been hours that he had been spiraling around the same questions when there was the briefest knock at the door.
“No. Absolutely not. Go away” was the standard response that of course, his wife knew better than to pay any attention to by now. He hadn’t looked away from the window as she picked her way through the disorganised chaos that was where he did his best thinking, making no motion to indicate he had noted her presence at all, even when she addressed him directly. His lack of attention, however, did not mean he was not listening, and so when Elysia delicately placed a shiny black box on top of the detritus of his desk, he snapped forward from his reclined position, reaching for it with long fingers. Sliding a sideways glance towards his wife, the subtle lift of one eyebrow was enough to convey any number of things. This better be worth disturbing him for. Had she really intended to seek out the rightful owner? Have we spoken yet this week?
Either way, Cicero opened the box, paused a moment, and then without reacting, ran a careful finger around the inside of the box. Elysia would not show him something unless there was a good reason, and sure enough, under his fingertip, he felt the slight shift of another panel, quick in lifting out the false bottom and drawing out the parchment within. “Curious” was his only observation, and he was careful in unfolding the parchment, pale eyes flickering over the detail of it with a practiced economy before he refolded it and slipped it back into place, closing the box with a clip and tapping one finger along the top of it. Already the cogs in his mind were whirring. Cicero was well studied in the lineage of the Greek kingdoms, and so the absence of knowledge was shocking to him. And intriguing.
“Clever girl” Cicero said, turning to look at his wife properly since the first time she had entered the room. “Have you shown this to anyone else? No? Don’t. Not for now. The crest is...interesting”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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It was not the how but the why. Oh, the how was child’s play, like drawing lines in the sand. A slew of encounters that could be verified by witnesses and throw the man in the fylaki without so much a whisper of doubt.
But where was the fun in that?
Cicero’s chin rested upon steepled fingers as he leaned over his desk and considered all he knew of the man who would be very soon charged with the murder of a handful of whores. He had been innovative in his tactics at least, but there was something evading the master informer that was robbing him of the satisfaction he should have found in successfully shedding light upon the spate of killings.
With a curious ‘hmmm’ slipping from between tightly pressed lips, the man kicked his feet up on the desk, sparing a glance for the papers that he nudged onto the floor before flicking his gaze away to stare out of the window, cataloging all the little things he had observed of the perpetrator and then shuffling them around into different combinations. The answers would be there somewhere he just had to pick them out.
It might have been minutes, or it could have been hours that he had been spiraling around the same questions when there was the briefest knock at the door.
“No. Absolutely not. Go away” was the standard response that of course, his wife knew better than to pay any attention to by now. He hadn’t looked away from the window as she picked her way through the disorganised chaos that was where he did his best thinking, making no motion to indicate he had noted her presence at all, even when she addressed him directly. His lack of attention, however, did not mean he was not listening, and so when Elysia delicately placed a shiny black box on top of the detritus of his desk, he snapped forward from his reclined position, reaching for it with long fingers. Sliding a sideways glance towards his wife, the subtle lift of one eyebrow was enough to convey any number of things. This better be worth disturbing him for. Had she really intended to seek out the rightful owner? Have we spoken yet this week?
Either way, Cicero opened the box, paused a moment, and then without reacting, ran a careful finger around the inside of the box. Elysia would not show him something unless there was a good reason, and sure enough, under his fingertip, he felt the slight shift of another panel, quick in lifting out the false bottom and drawing out the parchment within. “Curious” was his only observation, and he was careful in unfolding the parchment, pale eyes flickering over the detail of it with a practiced economy before he refolded it and slipped it back into place, closing the box with a clip and tapping one finger along the top of it. Already the cogs in his mind were whirring. Cicero was well studied in the lineage of the Greek kingdoms, and so the absence of knowledge was shocking to him. And intriguing.
“Clever girl” Cicero said, turning to look at his wife properly since the first time she had entered the room. “Have you shown this to anyone else? No? Don’t. Not for now. The crest is...interesting”
It was not the how but the why. Oh, the how was child’s play, like drawing lines in the sand. A slew of encounters that could be verified by witnesses and throw the man in the fylaki without so much a whisper of doubt.
But where was the fun in that?
Cicero’s chin rested upon steepled fingers as he leaned over his desk and considered all he knew of the man who would be very soon charged with the murder of a handful of whores. He had been innovative in his tactics at least, but there was something evading the master informer that was robbing him of the satisfaction he should have found in successfully shedding light upon the spate of killings.
With a curious ‘hmmm’ slipping from between tightly pressed lips, the man kicked his feet up on the desk, sparing a glance for the papers that he nudged onto the floor before flicking his gaze away to stare out of the window, cataloging all the little things he had observed of the perpetrator and then shuffling them around into different combinations. The answers would be there somewhere he just had to pick them out.
It might have been minutes, or it could have been hours that he had been spiraling around the same questions when there was the briefest knock at the door.
“No. Absolutely not. Go away” was the standard response that of course, his wife knew better than to pay any attention to by now. He hadn’t looked away from the window as she picked her way through the disorganised chaos that was where he did his best thinking, making no motion to indicate he had noted her presence at all, even when she addressed him directly. His lack of attention, however, did not mean he was not listening, and so when Elysia delicately placed a shiny black box on top of the detritus of his desk, he snapped forward from his reclined position, reaching for it with long fingers. Sliding a sideways glance towards his wife, the subtle lift of one eyebrow was enough to convey any number of things. This better be worth disturbing him for. Had she really intended to seek out the rightful owner? Have we spoken yet this week?
Either way, Cicero opened the box, paused a moment, and then without reacting, ran a careful finger around the inside of the box. Elysia would not show him something unless there was a good reason, and sure enough, under his fingertip, he felt the slight shift of another panel, quick in lifting out the false bottom and drawing out the parchment within. “Curious” was his only observation, and he was careful in unfolding the parchment, pale eyes flickering over the detail of it with a practiced economy before he refolded it and slipped it back into place, closing the box with a clip and tapping one finger along the top of it. Already the cogs in his mind were whirring. Cicero was well studied in the lineage of the Greek kingdoms, and so the absence of knowledge was shocking to him. And intriguing.
“Clever girl” Cicero said, turning to look at his wife properly since the first time she had entered the room. “Have you shown this to anyone else? No? Don’t. Not for now. The crest is...interesting”
The disorganization of this room was something they’d had what she considered fights about. When they first married, anyway. Like most young women, she’d assumed that she could both have his genius, and mold him to what she wanted for herself. The lesson had been hard learned that, no, he would not be changing. Nor was it worth attempting to force that change. The chaos was so very distracting to her, that she had managed to get it confined to this one room of the house. Her own sitting room was neat and minimal in the things that occupied its space. Wherever the eye landed, it found pleasing, light colors, clean lines, a single vase of fresh flowers, tastefully arranged, books all in alphabetical order and category. In here, Elysia maintained a sort of tunnel vision. If she merely watched her husband and not the mess around him, this room was bearable.
She did not need to have his attention at this precise moment while she spoke. He’d sift through what details mattered and ignore the rest, but she didn’t disguise her interest when he finally moved. His long limbs spazzing into the air for a single moment before coming together in composure as he opened the box’s lid. She smirked at him as he side eyed her, and tapped one delicate finger against her lips. It was a unique agony to wait while he looked the box over, felt the inside. Rising up on her tiptoes, she leaned toward him just the littlest bit, lifting her chin to see exactly what he was looking at, enjoying the mystery again through him.
His “Curious” as he withdrew and read over the paper made her exhale in a small sigh that was closer to relief, than anything else and she crossed her arms loosely over her chest, arching a brow at him. What she wouldn’t give to know exactly what went on in his mind. She wanted to reach out and touch his hair, to push it over his ear and rest her cheek against his temple, but she made no movement toward him. He was not the one that liked to be petted.
When he finally turned to her with his “Clever girl”, pink bloomed in her cheeks and she touched her cool fingertips to her face to get the heat to stop. She didn’t do everything for his praise, but the want of it affected quite a few of her decisions.
“Have you shown this to anyone else?”
She shook her head, leaning a hip against his desk and looking down at him.
”No? Don’t. Not for now. The crest is...interesting”
“Interesting?” she echoed. At the moment, she’d have liked to take the paper back out of the box and have another look at it herself, but she merely set her hand on top of the box instead, tracing the little design on top that meant nothing instead. “You don’t know either.” Hmm. She hadn’t expected that. Easing herself onto the top of his desk, Elysia’s gaze centered on Cicero’s. “The diamond is one thing,” she said slowly. “But I’m very interested in this extinct house. No one speaks of it...was it in disgrace? Or perhaps the name simply died out?” She hoped it wasn’t her last guess. That’d be so much less dramatic than she wanted.
“What did I interrupt you from? The Princess Emilia look alike?” It had been very few days since the incident at the bathhouse that was still rocking Athenia’s gossip scene.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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The disorganization of this room was something they’d had what she considered fights about. When they first married, anyway. Like most young women, she’d assumed that she could both have his genius, and mold him to what she wanted for herself. The lesson had been hard learned that, no, he would not be changing. Nor was it worth attempting to force that change. The chaos was so very distracting to her, that she had managed to get it confined to this one room of the house. Her own sitting room was neat and minimal in the things that occupied its space. Wherever the eye landed, it found pleasing, light colors, clean lines, a single vase of fresh flowers, tastefully arranged, books all in alphabetical order and category. In here, Elysia maintained a sort of tunnel vision. If she merely watched her husband and not the mess around him, this room was bearable.
She did not need to have his attention at this precise moment while she spoke. He’d sift through what details mattered and ignore the rest, but she didn’t disguise her interest when he finally moved. His long limbs spazzing into the air for a single moment before coming together in composure as he opened the box’s lid. She smirked at him as he side eyed her, and tapped one delicate finger against her lips. It was a unique agony to wait while he looked the box over, felt the inside. Rising up on her tiptoes, she leaned toward him just the littlest bit, lifting her chin to see exactly what he was looking at, enjoying the mystery again through him.
His “Curious” as he withdrew and read over the paper made her exhale in a small sigh that was closer to relief, than anything else and she crossed her arms loosely over her chest, arching a brow at him. What she wouldn’t give to know exactly what went on in his mind. She wanted to reach out and touch his hair, to push it over his ear and rest her cheek against his temple, but she made no movement toward him. He was not the one that liked to be petted.
When he finally turned to her with his “Clever girl”, pink bloomed in her cheeks and she touched her cool fingertips to her face to get the heat to stop. She didn’t do everything for his praise, but the want of it affected quite a few of her decisions.
“Have you shown this to anyone else?”
She shook her head, leaning a hip against his desk and looking down at him.
”No? Don’t. Not for now. The crest is...interesting”
“Interesting?” she echoed. At the moment, she’d have liked to take the paper back out of the box and have another look at it herself, but she merely set her hand on top of the box instead, tracing the little design on top that meant nothing instead. “You don’t know either.” Hmm. She hadn’t expected that. Easing herself onto the top of his desk, Elysia’s gaze centered on Cicero’s. “The diamond is one thing,” she said slowly. “But I’m very interested in this extinct house. No one speaks of it...was it in disgrace? Or perhaps the name simply died out?” She hoped it wasn’t her last guess. That’d be so much less dramatic than she wanted.
“What did I interrupt you from? The Princess Emilia look alike?” It had been very few days since the incident at the bathhouse that was still rocking Athenia’s gossip scene.
The disorganization of this room was something they’d had what she considered fights about. When they first married, anyway. Like most young women, she’d assumed that she could both have his genius, and mold him to what she wanted for herself. The lesson had been hard learned that, no, he would not be changing. Nor was it worth attempting to force that change. The chaos was so very distracting to her, that she had managed to get it confined to this one room of the house. Her own sitting room was neat and minimal in the things that occupied its space. Wherever the eye landed, it found pleasing, light colors, clean lines, a single vase of fresh flowers, tastefully arranged, books all in alphabetical order and category. In here, Elysia maintained a sort of tunnel vision. If she merely watched her husband and not the mess around him, this room was bearable.
She did not need to have his attention at this precise moment while she spoke. He’d sift through what details mattered and ignore the rest, but she didn’t disguise her interest when he finally moved. His long limbs spazzing into the air for a single moment before coming together in composure as he opened the box’s lid. She smirked at him as he side eyed her, and tapped one delicate finger against her lips. It was a unique agony to wait while he looked the box over, felt the inside. Rising up on her tiptoes, she leaned toward him just the littlest bit, lifting her chin to see exactly what he was looking at, enjoying the mystery again through him.
His “Curious” as he withdrew and read over the paper made her exhale in a small sigh that was closer to relief, than anything else and she crossed her arms loosely over her chest, arching a brow at him. What she wouldn’t give to know exactly what went on in his mind. She wanted to reach out and touch his hair, to push it over his ear and rest her cheek against his temple, but she made no movement toward him. He was not the one that liked to be petted.
When he finally turned to her with his “Clever girl”, pink bloomed in her cheeks and she touched her cool fingertips to her face to get the heat to stop. She didn’t do everything for his praise, but the want of it affected quite a few of her decisions.
“Have you shown this to anyone else?”
She shook her head, leaning a hip against his desk and looking down at him.
”No? Don’t. Not for now. The crest is...interesting”
“Interesting?” she echoed. At the moment, she’d have liked to take the paper back out of the box and have another look at it herself, but she merely set her hand on top of the box instead, tracing the little design on top that meant nothing instead. “You don’t know either.” Hmm. She hadn’t expected that. Easing herself onto the top of his desk, Elysia’s gaze centered on Cicero’s. “The diamond is one thing,” she said slowly. “But I’m very interested in this extinct house. No one speaks of it...was it in disgrace? Or perhaps the name simply died out?” She hoped it wasn’t her last guess. That’d be so much less dramatic than she wanted.
“What did I interrupt you from? The Princess Emilia look alike?” It had been very few days since the incident at the bathhouse that was still rocking Athenia’s gossip scene.
For a man with such a sharp and observant mind, Cicero could be surprisingly dense when it came to understanding his wife. He noted the blood rush to her skin at what was simply an observation of fact - she was clever, and of the feminine persuasion - and blinked, before it was on, on to the next and establishing a little more fact. The important facts that Elysia had managed not to impart even with her terribly involved retelling of her time at the market.
Turning his cool, pale blue gaze upon her, finding out if she had spoken to anyone else of her findings was first task. And, of course, she was clever, so she had not, and the man made a vague murmur of agreement when she repeated his own word back to him. But his attention snapped sharp as she went on.
“ I do not have the precise information to hand, no” Cicero said, words that he so hated to utter, and already in his mind he was at the library , thumbing through the scrolls and searching out that crest so it would spill its secrets to him. Glancing irritatedly at the woman as she had slowly and subtly whiled her way into his space, he sat back from the desk and drummed his fingers absently atop Elysia’s thigh.
“Speculation is only useful when born of fact, Elysia. Then it may lead to usefulness. Otherwise it is just idle gossip.” He said it in so offhand a manner, like so much of his talent was not in sifting through the whispers she took back to him and pulling out the useful from the inane. Cicero stood suddenly, and moved across the room to rummage through a haphazard stack of scrolls and tablets that shifted threateningly, wavering as he pulled one out from the very base and studied it.
With a a blank look upon his face, he scanned it briefly and then tossed it aside with a snort of disgust as if it had offended him, before wheeling back to his wife and her questions. “No. Not that” was the short reply in regards to the murdered girl in the baths. “Though I must get to it I just...am so close to answering my own questions in this and I..” Cicero cut himself off and stopped what was an unusual agitation. “ But yes the Faux Princess. That is on everyone’s lips I am sure. Have you conjured any theories in that pretty little head of yours, my wife?”
He would need to go to the Palati and assure whoever was claiming sovereignty today that the matter was being investigated. Perhaps he would go on his return from the library. And then he could revisit the home of the wretch who wouldn’t reveal his mind to him and that might be enough just to gather the fragmented pieces of his theories into…
Elysia speaking snapped him back into the present “Hmm?” Totally forgetting that he had asked her a question it wasn’t until she had answered it that he suddenly recalled what she was prattling on about and began to pay attention once more, nodding as he let the new information permeate. “ Very good. You keep up your fluttering,Lys, and I shall have no need of these spies who take my coin and my time.”
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For a man with such a sharp and observant mind, Cicero could be surprisingly dense when it came to understanding his wife. He noted the blood rush to her skin at what was simply an observation of fact - she was clever, and of the feminine persuasion - and blinked, before it was on, on to the next and establishing a little more fact. The important facts that Elysia had managed not to impart even with her terribly involved retelling of her time at the market.
Turning his cool, pale blue gaze upon her, finding out if she had spoken to anyone else of her findings was first task. And, of course, she was clever, so she had not, and the man made a vague murmur of agreement when she repeated his own word back to him. But his attention snapped sharp as she went on.
“ I do not have the precise information to hand, no” Cicero said, words that he so hated to utter, and already in his mind he was at the library , thumbing through the scrolls and searching out that crest so it would spill its secrets to him. Glancing irritatedly at the woman as she had slowly and subtly whiled her way into his space, he sat back from the desk and drummed his fingers absently atop Elysia’s thigh.
“Speculation is only useful when born of fact, Elysia. Then it may lead to usefulness. Otherwise it is just idle gossip.” He said it in so offhand a manner, like so much of his talent was not in sifting through the whispers she took back to him and pulling out the useful from the inane. Cicero stood suddenly, and moved across the room to rummage through a haphazard stack of scrolls and tablets that shifted threateningly, wavering as he pulled one out from the very base and studied it.
With a a blank look upon his face, he scanned it briefly and then tossed it aside with a snort of disgust as if it had offended him, before wheeling back to his wife and her questions. “No. Not that” was the short reply in regards to the murdered girl in the baths. “Though I must get to it I just...am so close to answering my own questions in this and I..” Cicero cut himself off and stopped what was an unusual agitation. “ But yes the Faux Princess. That is on everyone’s lips I am sure. Have you conjured any theories in that pretty little head of yours, my wife?”
He would need to go to the Palati and assure whoever was claiming sovereignty today that the matter was being investigated. Perhaps he would go on his return from the library. And then he could revisit the home of the wretch who wouldn’t reveal his mind to him and that might be enough just to gather the fragmented pieces of his theories into…
Elysia speaking snapped him back into the present “Hmm?” Totally forgetting that he had asked her a question it wasn’t until she had answered it that he suddenly recalled what she was prattling on about and began to pay attention once more, nodding as he let the new information permeate. “ Very good. You keep up your fluttering,Lys, and I shall have no need of these spies who take my coin and my time.”
For a man with such a sharp and observant mind, Cicero could be surprisingly dense when it came to understanding his wife. He noted the blood rush to her skin at what was simply an observation of fact - she was clever, and of the feminine persuasion - and blinked, before it was on, on to the next and establishing a little more fact. The important facts that Elysia had managed not to impart even with her terribly involved retelling of her time at the market.
Turning his cool, pale blue gaze upon her, finding out if she had spoken to anyone else of her findings was first task. And, of course, she was clever, so she had not, and the man made a vague murmur of agreement when she repeated his own word back to him. But his attention snapped sharp as she went on.
“ I do not have the precise information to hand, no” Cicero said, words that he so hated to utter, and already in his mind he was at the library , thumbing through the scrolls and searching out that crest so it would spill its secrets to him. Glancing irritatedly at the woman as she had slowly and subtly whiled her way into his space, he sat back from the desk and drummed his fingers absently atop Elysia’s thigh.
“Speculation is only useful when born of fact, Elysia. Then it may lead to usefulness. Otherwise it is just idle gossip.” He said it in so offhand a manner, like so much of his talent was not in sifting through the whispers she took back to him and pulling out the useful from the inane. Cicero stood suddenly, and moved across the room to rummage through a haphazard stack of scrolls and tablets that shifted threateningly, wavering as he pulled one out from the very base and studied it.
With a a blank look upon his face, he scanned it briefly and then tossed it aside with a snort of disgust as if it had offended him, before wheeling back to his wife and her questions. “No. Not that” was the short reply in regards to the murdered girl in the baths. “Though I must get to it I just...am so close to answering my own questions in this and I..” Cicero cut himself off and stopped what was an unusual agitation. “ But yes the Faux Princess. That is on everyone’s lips I am sure. Have you conjured any theories in that pretty little head of yours, my wife?”
He would need to go to the Palati and assure whoever was claiming sovereignty today that the matter was being investigated. Perhaps he would go on his return from the library. And then he could revisit the home of the wretch who wouldn’t reveal his mind to him and that might be enough just to gather the fragmented pieces of his theories into…
Elysia speaking snapped him back into the present “Hmm?” Totally forgetting that he had asked her a question it wasn’t until she had answered it that he suddenly recalled what she was prattling on about and began to pay attention once more, nodding as he let the new information permeate. “ Very good. You keep up your fluttering,Lys, and I shall have no need of these spies who take my coin and my time.”
Despite the knowledge that he wouldn’t have liked her on his desk, she did it anyway and was rewarded for her boldness by his hand on her thigh. Elysia glanced down at his fingers drumming against her leg and wanted to cover his large hand with hers. She imagined her fingertips sliding between his knuckles, along the fine bones of his hand and up to his arm. Perhaps she’d cut her eyes up to his just so, catching his interest. He’d lean forward in his chair and place his free hand on her other thigh and then-
“Speculation is only useful when born of fact, Elysia. Then it may lead to usefulness. Otherwise it is just idle gossip,” he said distantly, utterly shattering the fantasy she’d been conjuring right at that moment. All at once, he drew back his hand like he could read her mind and stood. She sighed and clasped her hands against one knee, letting her back slump a little and her shoulders fall.
“Not on the desk,” she said softly to herself as her gaze followed his weaving movements across the room. Elysia slid off the desk after a few seconds when he began fiddling with a paper at the base of a tower of books. Holding out her hand, she half came around the desk, lips parted, eyebrows frowning, wanting to tell him to be careful but not actually saying the words. By the time she could have gotten them out, he was already straightening back up and eyeing the paper in his hand. She dropped her hand and pulled at the fabric of her skirt, straightening a wrinkle that wasn’t there.
His cold manner of basically telling her off for idle gossip didn’t offend her. If it had, then after being married to him this long, she’d deserve a sting like that. When around Cicero, one had to be very sure of one’s own place in the world and in his or else risk being crushed under the weight of his genius and blatant disregard for human emotions. Elysia couldn’t find it in herself to quail before every man she met and so shook off her minor disappointment that he was so preoccupied and put it out of her mind. If he was open to it, he’d have read her signals by now. She’d try again later. The key with Cicero was patience. Whatever he put his mind to, he did with absolute precision and the rest was left by the wayside. That was why she was willing to wait wait and be the center of his attention.
Abruptly he tossed the paper and she watched it flutter uselessly through the air before coming to a rest at his feet, only to flutter away again as he spun toward her. She let her expression smooth out into a serene picture of patiently waiting for him to make known to her his every thought; as though there was nothing in the world she longed for, so much as to know what he was thinking. Which was true, in a manner of speaking, at least.
“Though I must get to it I just...am so close to answering my own questions in this and I..” he trailed off and Elysia was about to ask what on earth he meant, when he went on with - “But yes the Faux Princess. That is on everyone’s lips I am sure. Have you conjured any theories in that pretty little head of yours, my wife?”
“None that I am comfortable with,” she said without inflection. “There are several possibilities that I can think of - leaders of the rioters, for example, to show distaste for how the crown has not handled the food shortages. Though why stoop to murder? And then there are those in the aristocracy who stand to gain quite a bit from control over the princess…” She dropped her chin and looked up at him through her lashed. “Lord Stravos, for example? Both the elder and younger could have been responsible. Lady Stravos and her daughter were there first, though I do not believe they have dirtied their own hands.”
She tried not to picture the dead girl floating in the water, her dark hair haloed around her head, quiet and absolutely still.
“Hmm?” Cicero intoned and Elysia’s eyes flattened. Just because she was used to him doing this didn’t mean she was perfectly fine with it.
“The princess? The body?” she placed a hand delicately on one hip. Then, realizing he’d not heard a single word she’d said, repeated her answer from before, verbatim, watching him this time to make sure he was listening.
“Very good. You keep up your fluttering, Lys, and I shall have no need of these spies who take my coin and my time.”
The shallow praise, which would have offended her from anyone else, made her flush bright pink and she pressed her fingertips to her lips, glancing away and then back at him. “My life’s mission, husband. To save your sanity.” She then crossed her arms loosely across her chest and inclined her head towards the box. “There’s a mystery there. One a little more interesting, I think, than who is trying to scare our monarch. As the basket was found amongst people I know, then it stands to reason that we know the person who knows the answer to this riddle, does it not?”
She chewed the end of her fingernail, thinking. “Mmm...but if I ask, they’ll want the deed back, no doubt. If they knew it was it was there at all...in the first place…..”
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Despite the knowledge that he wouldn’t have liked her on his desk, she did it anyway and was rewarded for her boldness by his hand on her thigh. Elysia glanced down at his fingers drumming against her leg and wanted to cover his large hand with hers. She imagined her fingertips sliding between his knuckles, along the fine bones of his hand and up to his arm. Perhaps she’d cut her eyes up to his just so, catching his interest. He’d lean forward in his chair and place his free hand on her other thigh and then-
“Speculation is only useful when born of fact, Elysia. Then it may lead to usefulness. Otherwise it is just idle gossip,” he said distantly, utterly shattering the fantasy she’d been conjuring right at that moment. All at once, he drew back his hand like he could read her mind and stood. She sighed and clasped her hands against one knee, letting her back slump a little and her shoulders fall.
“Not on the desk,” she said softly to herself as her gaze followed his weaving movements across the room. Elysia slid off the desk after a few seconds when he began fiddling with a paper at the base of a tower of books. Holding out her hand, she half came around the desk, lips parted, eyebrows frowning, wanting to tell him to be careful but not actually saying the words. By the time she could have gotten them out, he was already straightening back up and eyeing the paper in his hand. She dropped her hand and pulled at the fabric of her skirt, straightening a wrinkle that wasn’t there.
His cold manner of basically telling her off for idle gossip didn’t offend her. If it had, then after being married to him this long, she’d deserve a sting like that. When around Cicero, one had to be very sure of one’s own place in the world and in his or else risk being crushed under the weight of his genius and blatant disregard for human emotions. Elysia couldn’t find it in herself to quail before every man she met and so shook off her minor disappointment that he was so preoccupied and put it out of her mind. If he was open to it, he’d have read her signals by now. She’d try again later. The key with Cicero was patience. Whatever he put his mind to, he did with absolute precision and the rest was left by the wayside. That was why she was willing to wait wait and be the center of his attention.
Abruptly he tossed the paper and she watched it flutter uselessly through the air before coming to a rest at his feet, only to flutter away again as he spun toward her. She let her expression smooth out into a serene picture of patiently waiting for him to make known to her his every thought; as though there was nothing in the world she longed for, so much as to know what he was thinking. Which was true, in a manner of speaking, at least.
“Though I must get to it I just...am so close to answering my own questions in this and I..” he trailed off and Elysia was about to ask what on earth he meant, when he went on with - “But yes the Faux Princess. That is on everyone’s lips I am sure. Have you conjured any theories in that pretty little head of yours, my wife?”
“None that I am comfortable with,” she said without inflection. “There are several possibilities that I can think of - leaders of the rioters, for example, to show distaste for how the crown has not handled the food shortages. Though why stoop to murder? And then there are those in the aristocracy who stand to gain quite a bit from control over the princess…” She dropped her chin and looked up at him through her lashed. “Lord Stravos, for example? Both the elder and younger could have been responsible. Lady Stravos and her daughter were there first, though I do not believe they have dirtied their own hands.”
She tried not to picture the dead girl floating in the water, her dark hair haloed around her head, quiet and absolutely still.
“Hmm?” Cicero intoned and Elysia’s eyes flattened. Just because she was used to him doing this didn’t mean she was perfectly fine with it.
“The princess? The body?” she placed a hand delicately on one hip. Then, realizing he’d not heard a single word she’d said, repeated her answer from before, verbatim, watching him this time to make sure he was listening.
“Very good. You keep up your fluttering, Lys, and I shall have no need of these spies who take my coin and my time.”
The shallow praise, which would have offended her from anyone else, made her flush bright pink and she pressed her fingertips to her lips, glancing away and then back at him. “My life’s mission, husband. To save your sanity.” She then crossed her arms loosely across her chest and inclined her head towards the box. “There’s a mystery there. One a little more interesting, I think, than who is trying to scare our monarch. As the basket was found amongst people I know, then it stands to reason that we know the person who knows the answer to this riddle, does it not?”
She chewed the end of her fingernail, thinking. “Mmm...but if I ask, they’ll want the deed back, no doubt. If they knew it was it was there at all...in the first place…..”
Despite the knowledge that he wouldn’t have liked her on his desk, she did it anyway and was rewarded for her boldness by his hand on her thigh. Elysia glanced down at his fingers drumming against her leg and wanted to cover his large hand with hers. She imagined her fingertips sliding between his knuckles, along the fine bones of his hand and up to his arm. Perhaps she’d cut her eyes up to his just so, catching his interest. He’d lean forward in his chair and place his free hand on her other thigh and then-
“Speculation is only useful when born of fact, Elysia. Then it may lead to usefulness. Otherwise it is just idle gossip,” he said distantly, utterly shattering the fantasy she’d been conjuring right at that moment. All at once, he drew back his hand like he could read her mind and stood. She sighed and clasped her hands against one knee, letting her back slump a little and her shoulders fall.
“Not on the desk,” she said softly to herself as her gaze followed his weaving movements across the room. Elysia slid off the desk after a few seconds when he began fiddling with a paper at the base of a tower of books. Holding out her hand, she half came around the desk, lips parted, eyebrows frowning, wanting to tell him to be careful but not actually saying the words. By the time she could have gotten them out, he was already straightening back up and eyeing the paper in his hand. She dropped her hand and pulled at the fabric of her skirt, straightening a wrinkle that wasn’t there.
His cold manner of basically telling her off for idle gossip didn’t offend her. If it had, then after being married to him this long, she’d deserve a sting like that. When around Cicero, one had to be very sure of one’s own place in the world and in his or else risk being crushed under the weight of his genius and blatant disregard for human emotions. Elysia couldn’t find it in herself to quail before every man she met and so shook off her minor disappointment that he was so preoccupied and put it out of her mind. If he was open to it, he’d have read her signals by now. She’d try again later. The key with Cicero was patience. Whatever he put his mind to, he did with absolute precision and the rest was left by the wayside. That was why she was willing to wait wait and be the center of his attention.
Abruptly he tossed the paper and she watched it flutter uselessly through the air before coming to a rest at his feet, only to flutter away again as he spun toward her. She let her expression smooth out into a serene picture of patiently waiting for him to make known to her his every thought; as though there was nothing in the world she longed for, so much as to know what he was thinking. Which was true, in a manner of speaking, at least.
“Though I must get to it I just...am so close to answering my own questions in this and I..” he trailed off and Elysia was about to ask what on earth he meant, when he went on with - “But yes the Faux Princess. That is on everyone’s lips I am sure. Have you conjured any theories in that pretty little head of yours, my wife?”
“None that I am comfortable with,” she said without inflection. “There are several possibilities that I can think of - leaders of the rioters, for example, to show distaste for how the crown has not handled the food shortages. Though why stoop to murder? And then there are those in the aristocracy who stand to gain quite a bit from control over the princess…” She dropped her chin and looked up at him through her lashed. “Lord Stravos, for example? Both the elder and younger could have been responsible. Lady Stravos and her daughter were there first, though I do not believe they have dirtied their own hands.”
She tried not to picture the dead girl floating in the water, her dark hair haloed around her head, quiet and absolutely still.
“Hmm?” Cicero intoned and Elysia’s eyes flattened. Just because she was used to him doing this didn’t mean she was perfectly fine with it.
“The princess? The body?” she placed a hand delicately on one hip. Then, realizing he’d not heard a single word she’d said, repeated her answer from before, verbatim, watching him this time to make sure he was listening.
“Very good. You keep up your fluttering, Lys, and I shall have no need of these spies who take my coin and my time.”
The shallow praise, which would have offended her from anyone else, made her flush bright pink and she pressed her fingertips to her lips, glancing away and then back at him. “My life’s mission, husband. To save your sanity.” She then crossed her arms loosely across her chest and inclined her head towards the box. “There’s a mystery there. One a little more interesting, I think, than who is trying to scare our monarch. As the basket was found amongst people I know, then it stands to reason that we know the person who knows the answer to this riddle, does it not?”
She chewed the end of her fingernail, thinking. “Mmm...but if I ask, they’ll want the deed back, no doubt. If they knew it was it was there at all...in the first place…..”
The man’s absent demeanour was in no way intended as a slight toward his wife. Cicero treasured Elysia more than most anything he could give a name to, when he turned his thoughts toward her. It was just that when his attention was elsewhere, it was elsewhere and she became but a buzz of distraction.
After so many years of marriage, they had found their little workarounds to his idiosyncrasies. Cicero could read his wife well enough to, for him to realise when he had just tuned out something that he should have listened to, and he rocked back on his heels as she gave him that look. What had they been talking about?
The man pressed his lips together and waited, and sure enough, Elysia steered him back on topic and he was nodding. This time, she could tell that he was listening because his eyes had taken on that slight narrowing that they did as he was processing information, doing whatever he did with it in the complex machinations of his mind.
Stravos. That bore further scrutiny but it was not for now. Now he gave his wife the credit she deserved for doing the things he disliked, which was hanging around pointlessly in the hope of hearing something interesting. Cicero was not good at the small talk such situations demanded, because his ‘I’m interested’ face was so similar to his ‘Shut up imbecile’ face, and actually almost all of his other most subtle expressions. Elysia was a rare skill in that she somehow managed to slip seamlessly into every situation, and she was most useful because of it. He blinked at her as she blushed again like she didn’t know, and then at her reminder, looked once more to the small box she had come across.
“Not necessarily” he mused. “If I don’t know that crest then I doubt it means anything to any one of our acquaintances” Cicero did not mean for it to sound as arrogant as it did, but there was little point in being dishonest to flatter people who weren’t even here. “Did you note who was about?”
The library would be the first point of call in unravelling that little mystery, and he was already moving to remove the parchment again to take another look when Elysia’s words had him lift a brow. “Do not ask anyone yet...we have at least a day or so of you being able to claim ignorance as to having brought home the wrong basket. And I confess I am intrigued by this”
Long fingers tapped a moment atop the box, before folding around it and tucking it under his arm. “ Do you mind if I take it with me?” He asked but didn’t really ask, for there was no hesitation in his mind that the woman before him might say no.
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The man’s absent demeanour was in no way intended as a slight toward his wife. Cicero treasured Elysia more than most anything he could give a name to, when he turned his thoughts toward her. It was just that when his attention was elsewhere, it was elsewhere and she became but a buzz of distraction.
After so many years of marriage, they had found their little workarounds to his idiosyncrasies. Cicero could read his wife well enough to, for him to realise when he had just tuned out something that he should have listened to, and he rocked back on his heels as she gave him that look. What had they been talking about?
The man pressed his lips together and waited, and sure enough, Elysia steered him back on topic and he was nodding. This time, she could tell that he was listening because his eyes had taken on that slight narrowing that they did as he was processing information, doing whatever he did with it in the complex machinations of his mind.
Stravos. That bore further scrutiny but it was not for now. Now he gave his wife the credit she deserved for doing the things he disliked, which was hanging around pointlessly in the hope of hearing something interesting. Cicero was not good at the small talk such situations demanded, because his ‘I’m interested’ face was so similar to his ‘Shut up imbecile’ face, and actually almost all of his other most subtle expressions. Elysia was a rare skill in that she somehow managed to slip seamlessly into every situation, and she was most useful because of it. He blinked at her as she blushed again like she didn’t know, and then at her reminder, looked once more to the small box she had come across.
“Not necessarily” he mused. “If I don’t know that crest then I doubt it means anything to any one of our acquaintances” Cicero did not mean for it to sound as arrogant as it did, but there was little point in being dishonest to flatter people who weren’t even here. “Did you note who was about?”
The library would be the first point of call in unravelling that little mystery, and he was already moving to remove the parchment again to take another look when Elysia’s words had him lift a brow. “Do not ask anyone yet...we have at least a day or so of you being able to claim ignorance as to having brought home the wrong basket. And I confess I am intrigued by this”
Long fingers tapped a moment atop the box, before folding around it and tucking it under his arm. “ Do you mind if I take it with me?” He asked but didn’t really ask, for there was no hesitation in his mind that the woman before him might say no.
The man’s absent demeanour was in no way intended as a slight toward his wife. Cicero treasured Elysia more than most anything he could give a name to, when he turned his thoughts toward her. It was just that when his attention was elsewhere, it was elsewhere and she became but a buzz of distraction.
After so many years of marriage, they had found their little workarounds to his idiosyncrasies. Cicero could read his wife well enough to, for him to realise when he had just tuned out something that he should have listened to, and he rocked back on his heels as she gave him that look. What had they been talking about?
The man pressed his lips together and waited, and sure enough, Elysia steered him back on topic and he was nodding. This time, she could tell that he was listening because his eyes had taken on that slight narrowing that they did as he was processing information, doing whatever he did with it in the complex machinations of his mind.
Stravos. That bore further scrutiny but it was not for now. Now he gave his wife the credit she deserved for doing the things he disliked, which was hanging around pointlessly in the hope of hearing something interesting. Cicero was not good at the small talk such situations demanded, because his ‘I’m interested’ face was so similar to his ‘Shut up imbecile’ face, and actually almost all of his other most subtle expressions. Elysia was a rare skill in that she somehow managed to slip seamlessly into every situation, and she was most useful because of it. He blinked at her as she blushed again like she didn’t know, and then at her reminder, looked once more to the small box she had come across.
“Not necessarily” he mused. “If I don’t know that crest then I doubt it means anything to any one of our acquaintances” Cicero did not mean for it to sound as arrogant as it did, but there was little point in being dishonest to flatter people who weren’t even here. “Did you note who was about?”
The library would be the first point of call in unravelling that little mystery, and he was already moving to remove the parchment again to take another look when Elysia’s words had him lift a brow. “Do not ask anyone yet...we have at least a day or so of you being able to claim ignorance as to having brought home the wrong basket. And I confess I am intrigued by this”
Long fingers tapped a moment atop the box, before folding around it and tucking it under his arm. “ Do you mind if I take it with me?” He asked but didn’t really ask, for there was no hesitation in his mind that the woman before him might say no.
"Not necessarily" he mused. "If I don’t know that crest then I doubt it means anything to any one of our acquaintances" Cicero countered and Elysia let her eyes wander, focusing on a book beyond him. She hadn’t considered that. But surely...someone did know? Unless, of course, they didn’t know about the secret compartment in the first place? Highly possible. At any rate, she didn’t mind the arrogance of his speech. She didn’t excuse it, but he wasn’t necessarily wrong. Cicero knew more than most and she had no other conclusion to jump to than the one he stated, and so they’d work under that for the time being. No one else knew…"Did you note who was about?" he asked suddenly.
Elysia nodded and looked down at one of the book towers by her hip. A spent candle sat atop this one in a pool of its own wax. “Anyone and everyone was there,” she said in the direction of the tower, rather than her husband, as she frowned and sank down a bit, following the dribbles of white wax knotting their way down the stack of books. How…? Why? She crouched down near the bottom and broke off a piece of wax and held it up. That’s it. She was letting the maids in here. This was a savage way to treat tomes.
Cicero’s movement caught her attention and she stood again, watching as he crossed to where the parchment lay. He picked it up again and she drifted closer to him, fiddling with the piece of wax in her hands, eyeing his face and the slight crease between his brows as he spoke. Don’t tell anyone yet, don’t mention the basket. She smiled as he confessed that this intrigued him and she couldn’t help but feel that familiar sense of triumph whenever she had his approval. As much as she wasn’t given to many displays of emotion, she did like the sense of having surprised him with something worthwhile.
Her smile faded just the littlest bit as Cicero tucked the box under his arm and asked if he could take it with him. Ah, he didn’t mean for her to come with him...no matter. “Of course, but,” she walked over to the desk, running the tip of her finger against the edge as she came closer to him. “I am curious also. If you’re going to the library, will you let me come with you?”
There was no reason to stay home. The children were happy with Nanny and Elysia fully planned on seeing them for their allotted hour before bed time. “Unless that’s not where you’re off to,” she said in order to give him an ‘out’ but she assumed she was right. Where else would he learn about the box’s contents? The library of Athenia, situated within the university halls was the finest in Greece, possibly the world. Hopefully it would stay that way, but Elysia knew for a fact that Egypt had plans to build one greater and finer. Good luck to them.
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"Not necessarily" he mused. "If I don’t know that crest then I doubt it means anything to any one of our acquaintances" Cicero countered and Elysia let her eyes wander, focusing on a book beyond him. She hadn’t considered that. But surely...someone did know? Unless, of course, they didn’t know about the secret compartment in the first place? Highly possible. At any rate, she didn’t mind the arrogance of his speech. She didn’t excuse it, but he wasn’t necessarily wrong. Cicero knew more than most and she had no other conclusion to jump to than the one he stated, and so they’d work under that for the time being. No one else knew…"Did you note who was about?" he asked suddenly.
Elysia nodded and looked down at one of the book towers by her hip. A spent candle sat atop this one in a pool of its own wax. “Anyone and everyone was there,” she said in the direction of the tower, rather than her husband, as she frowned and sank down a bit, following the dribbles of white wax knotting their way down the stack of books. How…? Why? She crouched down near the bottom and broke off a piece of wax and held it up. That’s it. She was letting the maids in here. This was a savage way to treat tomes.
Cicero’s movement caught her attention and she stood again, watching as he crossed to where the parchment lay. He picked it up again and she drifted closer to him, fiddling with the piece of wax in her hands, eyeing his face and the slight crease between his brows as he spoke. Don’t tell anyone yet, don’t mention the basket. She smiled as he confessed that this intrigued him and she couldn’t help but feel that familiar sense of triumph whenever she had his approval. As much as she wasn’t given to many displays of emotion, she did like the sense of having surprised him with something worthwhile.
Her smile faded just the littlest bit as Cicero tucked the box under his arm and asked if he could take it with him. Ah, he didn’t mean for her to come with him...no matter. “Of course, but,” she walked over to the desk, running the tip of her finger against the edge as she came closer to him. “I am curious also. If you’re going to the library, will you let me come with you?”
There was no reason to stay home. The children were happy with Nanny and Elysia fully planned on seeing them for their allotted hour before bed time. “Unless that’s not where you’re off to,” she said in order to give him an ‘out’ but she assumed she was right. Where else would he learn about the box’s contents? The library of Athenia, situated within the university halls was the finest in Greece, possibly the world. Hopefully it would stay that way, but Elysia knew for a fact that Egypt had plans to build one greater and finer. Good luck to them.
"Not necessarily" he mused. "If I don’t know that crest then I doubt it means anything to any one of our acquaintances" Cicero countered and Elysia let her eyes wander, focusing on a book beyond him. She hadn’t considered that. But surely...someone did know? Unless, of course, they didn’t know about the secret compartment in the first place? Highly possible. At any rate, she didn’t mind the arrogance of his speech. She didn’t excuse it, but he wasn’t necessarily wrong. Cicero knew more than most and she had no other conclusion to jump to than the one he stated, and so they’d work under that for the time being. No one else knew…"Did you note who was about?" he asked suddenly.
Elysia nodded and looked down at one of the book towers by her hip. A spent candle sat atop this one in a pool of its own wax. “Anyone and everyone was there,” she said in the direction of the tower, rather than her husband, as she frowned and sank down a bit, following the dribbles of white wax knotting their way down the stack of books. How…? Why? She crouched down near the bottom and broke off a piece of wax and held it up. That’s it. She was letting the maids in here. This was a savage way to treat tomes.
Cicero’s movement caught her attention and she stood again, watching as he crossed to where the parchment lay. He picked it up again and she drifted closer to him, fiddling with the piece of wax in her hands, eyeing his face and the slight crease between his brows as he spoke. Don’t tell anyone yet, don’t mention the basket. She smiled as he confessed that this intrigued him and she couldn’t help but feel that familiar sense of triumph whenever she had his approval. As much as she wasn’t given to many displays of emotion, she did like the sense of having surprised him with something worthwhile.
Her smile faded just the littlest bit as Cicero tucked the box under his arm and asked if he could take it with him. Ah, he didn’t mean for her to come with him...no matter. “Of course, but,” she walked over to the desk, running the tip of her finger against the edge as she came closer to him. “I am curious also. If you’re going to the library, will you let me come with you?”
There was no reason to stay home. The children were happy with Nanny and Elysia fully planned on seeing them for their allotted hour before bed time. “Unless that’s not where you’re off to,” she said in order to give him an ‘out’ but she assumed she was right. Where else would he learn about the box’s contents? The library of Athenia, situated within the university halls was the finest in Greece, possibly the world. Hopefully it would stay that way, but Elysia knew for a fact that Egypt had plans to build one greater and finer. Good luck to them.
If Elysia thought that he did not notice the despair she felt at the state of his study, then she was wrong. Cicero rarely missed anything. He just didn't care. Space, things, they were inconsequential for the most part. If he had what he needed to hand, then it didn’t matter if it had wax upon it. He paused what he was doing and narrowed his eyes at her. “No. No maids, I’ve told you before Elysia, they come in here and move things and then I can’t find things. This is my sanctum, my one place of sanctuary and if you don’t like it then don’t come in here. It’s quite simple”
It was an old argument, the kind that became a habit over the course of a marriage, and so there was no heat behind it. Every so often, Elysia’s compulsion to see the room purged of it’s chaos would become too much, and Cicero would return to find a study that belonged surely to another man. He would complain bitterly about it for a few days, the servants would avoid him, it would be Elysia’s fault when he could not find what he needed for at least a month and then gradually the cycle would repeat itself.
Hopeful and yet not convinced that he had forestalled such an occurrence, Cicero surreptitiously nudged another haphazard stack of books under his desk with his foot. Then he moved, gathering the things he needed to him, finishing with the box that she had brought to him and the interesting paper it contained. At the woman’s request to go with him, Cicero looked down at his wife in surprise, gave a small shake of his head as if the thought of her accompanying him had just not crossed his mind - for it had not- and then shrugged. “If you so wish. You will have to make your own way home, I have some other business”
There were some parts of his work that Elysia made easier, and others that he would not let her even breath close to. His afternoon’s affairs were such a case. But if it pleased her to accompany him to the library then he wouldn’t deny her; it was her little treasure find after all. And she might come in useful fending off anyone who wished to speak with him.
“I imagine you shall find it very dull and be ready to leave before a half hour has passed” he warned, not expecting it to change her course in the slightest. She was a stubborn and determined creature, and unless he gave her real reason to reconsider, he could not see why she would.
With an expectant look, the spymaster waited for his wife to move without actually having given any indication that he was ready to leave, and when she did not, he instead went and pulled back the door to his study to leave no room for interpretation. “We’ll walk” he said decisively, because sometimes one would witness things on foot that would be invisible from the constraints of a carriage. The path to the University was not a long one, and took them past a couple of people that Cicero would speak with if he got the chance. “Come along then”
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If Elysia thought that he did not notice the despair she felt at the state of his study, then she was wrong. Cicero rarely missed anything. He just didn't care. Space, things, they were inconsequential for the most part. If he had what he needed to hand, then it didn’t matter if it had wax upon it. He paused what he was doing and narrowed his eyes at her. “No. No maids, I’ve told you before Elysia, they come in here and move things and then I can’t find things. This is my sanctum, my one place of sanctuary and if you don’t like it then don’t come in here. It’s quite simple”
It was an old argument, the kind that became a habit over the course of a marriage, and so there was no heat behind it. Every so often, Elysia’s compulsion to see the room purged of it’s chaos would become too much, and Cicero would return to find a study that belonged surely to another man. He would complain bitterly about it for a few days, the servants would avoid him, it would be Elysia’s fault when he could not find what he needed for at least a month and then gradually the cycle would repeat itself.
Hopeful and yet not convinced that he had forestalled such an occurrence, Cicero surreptitiously nudged another haphazard stack of books under his desk with his foot. Then he moved, gathering the things he needed to him, finishing with the box that she had brought to him and the interesting paper it contained. At the woman’s request to go with him, Cicero looked down at his wife in surprise, gave a small shake of his head as if the thought of her accompanying him had just not crossed his mind - for it had not- and then shrugged. “If you so wish. You will have to make your own way home, I have some other business”
There were some parts of his work that Elysia made easier, and others that he would not let her even breath close to. His afternoon’s affairs were such a case. But if it pleased her to accompany him to the library then he wouldn’t deny her; it was her little treasure find after all. And she might come in useful fending off anyone who wished to speak with him.
“I imagine you shall find it very dull and be ready to leave before a half hour has passed” he warned, not expecting it to change her course in the slightest. She was a stubborn and determined creature, and unless he gave her real reason to reconsider, he could not see why she would.
With an expectant look, the spymaster waited for his wife to move without actually having given any indication that he was ready to leave, and when she did not, he instead went and pulled back the door to his study to leave no room for interpretation. “We’ll walk” he said decisively, because sometimes one would witness things on foot that would be invisible from the constraints of a carriage. The path to the University was not a long one, and took them past a couple of people that Cicero would speak with if he got the chance. “Come along then”
If Elysia thought that he did not notice the despair she felt at the state of his study, then she was wrong. Cicero rarely missed anything. He just didn't care. Space, things, they were inconsequential for the most part. If he had what he needed to hand, then it didn’t matter if it had wax upon it. He paused what he was doing and narrowed his eyes at her. “No. No maids, I’ve told you before Elysia, they come in here and move things and then I can’t find things. This is my sanctum, my one place of sanctuary and if you don’t like it then don’t come in here. It’s quite simple”
It was an old argument, the kind that became a habit over the course of a marriage, and so there was no heat behind it. Every so often, Elysia’s compulsion to see the room purged of it’s chaos would become too much, and Cicero would return to find a study that belonged surely to another man. He would complain bitterly about it for a few days, the servants would avoid him, it would be Elysia’s fault when he could not find what he needed for at least a month and then gradually the cycle would repeat itself.
Hopeful and yet not convinced that he had forestalled such an occurrence, Cicero surreptitiously nudged another haphazard stack of books under his desk with his foot. Then he moved, gathering the things he needed to him, finishing with the box that she had brought to him and the interesting paper it contained. At the woman’s request to go with him, Cicero looked down at his wife in surprise, gave a small shake of his head as if the thought of her accompanying him had just not crossed his mind - for it had not- and then shrugged. “If you so wish. You will have to make your own way home, I have some other business”
There were some parts of his work that Elysia made easier, and others that he would not let her even breath close to. His afternoon’s affairs were such a case. But if it pleased her to accompany him to the library then he wouldn’t deny her; it was her little treasure find after all. And she might come in useful fending off anyone who wished to speak with him.
“I imagine you shall find it very dull and be ready to leave before a half hour has passed” he warned, not expecting it to change her course in the slightest. She was a stubborn and determined creature, and unless he gave her real reason to reconsider, he could not see why she would.
With an expectant look, the spymaster waited for his wife to move without actually having given any indication that he was ready to leave, and when she did not, he instead went and pulled back the door to his study to leave no room for interpretation. “We’ll walk” he said decisively, because sometimes one would witness things on foot that would be invisible from the constraints of a carriage. The path to the University was not a long one, and took them past a couple of people that Cicero would speak with if he got the chance. “Come along then”
She was long past being offended by his abrupt manner. Nor did she take to heart anything he said about not coming in here. Filthy or not, she would enter the room, but after these sorts of conversations, she did bite her tongue when it came to complaining about the room. He was right to be concerned that she would have a maid clean it soon, though. As she looked around, she began to have visions of this appalling mess spilling out to the other portions of the house. No matter what Cicero said, she could not imagine that he could find anything in here. Would not she be a more dutiful wife to him if she had it organized? It didn’t matter that they’d done this circle before. Some time or other, the organization would stick. All she had to do was wait for him to be a little too preoccupied elsewhere, send an army of maids in, and then jerk them back out. It was like being a general and planning a battle. She had to pick just the right time to strike with the dreaded “cleaning”.
Her head was turned and she didn’t see Cicero hide a stack of books beneath his desk. She looked back in time to note he appeared a little guilty, but as to why that might be, she did not know and did not ask. He was already moving to gather the box, guilt leaving his features as they settled themselves into ones appearing more concentrated. At first, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her but his abrupt look of surprise and then not outright refusal made her smile up at him. That was as much of a yes as she could expect and she’d take it. His warning that she might grow bored easily didn’t sway her decision to go with him. If anything, it strengthened her resolve.
“If I do, you’ll have your time alone,” she said clasped her hands together in front of her, still looking up into his face. Cicero gave her a look that she hoped meant he would drop a kiss on her forehead, but after a moment of staring at one another, he moved to open the door instead, stating that they would walk to the library. Not knowing why she’d thought he would drop an unwarranted kiss of affection, she sighed, not actually ruffled, and swept out the door. “I do not mind,” she said, walking with her hands affixed behind her back and giving him a look over her shoulder that she was quite aware would be lost on him but doing it anyway. One of those come-hither looks got through from time to time and she’d try until it sank in.
It ended up that they made it out of the house just fine, both still dressed and not having taken a detour to the bedroom, Elysia walking along beside her husband, two steps for his one. Because this wasn’t out of the ordinary, and because it was a game she liked to play to see how long he could resist, she wasn’t in the least bit put off. Any time in his presence at all was valuable and if she couldn’t have contented herself with that, she’d have been miserable long ago. As it stood, she wandered along with him to the library, their path undisturbed by people wanting to speak to him. The one person who might have stopped them to talk happened to be out of town that day, and so they advanced up the library steps, Elysia waiting for the door to be opened, thus the first to step inside.
She turned to him, waiting for him to lead her to the shelf he had in mind. “I can search another place if you like?” she offered. “We can cut our time in half.” As much as she liked to be around him, she didn’t intend to be his shadow for the entire time they were here. She had a brain of her own and was not totally dependent on him for answers. At least, not anymore. She had been when they’d first met; before he taught her to think and look at things differently.
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She was long past being offended by his abrupt manner. Nor did she take to heart anything he said about not coming in here. Filthy or not, she would enter the room, but after these sorts of conversations, she did bite her tongue when it came to complaining about the room. He was right to be concerned that she would have a maid clean it soon, though. As she looked around, she began to have visions of this appalling mess spilling out to the other portions of the house. No matter what Cicero said, she could not imagine that he could find anything in here. Would not she be a more dutiful wife to him if she had it organized? It didn’t matter that they’d done this circle before. Some time or other, the organization would stick. All she had to do was wait for him to be a little too preoccupied elsewhere, send an army of maids in, and then jerk them back out. It was like being a general and planning a battle. She had to pick just the right time to strike with the dreaded “cleaning”.
Her head was turned and she didn’t see Cicero hide a stack of books beneath his desk. She looked back in time to note he appeared a little guilty, but as to why that might be, she did not know and did not ask. He was already moving to gather the box, guilt leaving his features as they settled themselves into ones appearing more concentrated. At first, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her but his abrupt look of surprise and then not outright refusal made her smile up at him. That was as much of a yes as she could expect and she’d take it. His warning that she might grow bored easily didn’t sway her decision to go with him. If anything, it strengthened her resolve.
“If I do, you’ll have your time alone,” she said clasped her hands together in front of her, still looking up into his face. Cicero gave her a look that she hoped meant he would drop a kiss on her forehead, but after a moment of staring at one another, he moved to open the door instead, stating that they would walk to the library. Not knowing why she’d thought he would drop an unwarranted kiss of affection, she sighed, not actually ruffled, and swept out the door. “I do not mind,” she said, walking with her hands affixed behind her back and giving him a look over her shoulder that she was quite aware would be lost on him but doing it anyway. One of those come-hither looks got through from time to time and she’d try until it sank in.
It ended up that they made it out of the house just fine, both still dressed and not having taken a detour to the bedroom, Elysia walking along beside her husband, two steps for his one. Because this wasn’t out of the ordinary, and because it was a game she liked to play to see how long he could resist, she wasn’t in the least bit put off. Any time in his presence at all was valuable and if she couldn’t have contented herself with that, she’d have been miserable long ago. As it stood, she wandered along with him to the library, their path undisturbed by people wanting to speak to him. The one person who might have stopped them to talk happened to be out of town that day, and so they advanced up the library steps, Elysia waiting for the door to be opened, thus the first to step inside.
She turned to him, waiting for him to lead her to the shelf he had in mind. “I can search another place if you like?” she offered. “We can cut our time in half.” As much as she liked to be around him, she didn’t intend to be his shadow for the entire time they were here. She had a brain of her own and was not totally dependent on him for answers. At least, not anymore. She had been when they’d first met; before he taught her to think and look at things differently.
She was long past being offended by his abrupt manner. Nor did she take to heart anything he said about not coming in here. Filthy or not, she would enter the room, but after these sorts of conversations, she did bite her tongue when it came to complaining about the room. He was right to be concerned that she would have a maid clean it soon, though. As she looked around, she began to have visions of this appalling mess spilling out to the other portions of the house. No matter what Cicero said, she could not imagine that he could find anything in here. Would not she be a more dutiful wife to him if she had it organized? It didn’t matter that they’d done this circle before. Some time or other, the organization would stick. All she had to do was wait for him to be a little too preoccupied elsewhere, send an army of maids in, and then jerk them back out. It was like being a general and planning a battle. She had to pick just the right time to strike with the dreaded “cleaning”.
Her head was turned and she didn’t see Cicero hide a stack of books beneath his desk. She looked back in time to note he appeared a little guilty, but as to why that might be, she did not know and did not ask. He was already moving to gather the box, guilt leaving his features as they settled themselves into ones appearing more concentrated. At first, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her but his abrupt look of surprise and then not outright refusal made her smile up at him. That was as much of a yes as she could expect and she’d take it. His warning that she might grow bored easily didn’t sway her decision to go with him. If anything, it strengthened her resolve.
“If I do, you’ll have your time alone,” she said clasped her hands together in front of her, still looking up into his face. Cicero gave her a look that she hoped meant he would drop a kiss on her forehead, but after a moment of staring at one another, he moved to open the door instead, stating that they would walk to the library. Not knowing why she’d thought he would drop an unwarranted kiss of affection, she sighed, not actually ruffled, and swept out the door. “I do not mind,” she said, walking with her hands affixed behind her back and giving him a look over her shoulder that she was quite aware would be lost on him but doing it anyway. One of those come-hither looks got through from time to time and she’d try until it sank in.
It ended up that they made it out of the house just fine, both still dressed and not having taken a detour to the bedroom, Elysia walking along beside her husband, two steps for his one. Because this wasn’t out of the ordinary, and because it was a game she liked to play to see how long he could resist, she wasn’t in the least bit put off. Any time in his presence at all was valuable and if she couldn’t have contented herself with that, she’d have been miserable long ago. As it stood, she wandered along with him to the library, their path undisturbed by people wanting to speak to him. The one person who might have stopped them to talk happened to be out of town that day, and so they advanced up the library steps, Elysia waiting for the door to be opened, thus the first to step inside.
She turned to him, waiting for him to lead her to the shelf he had in mind. “I can search another place if you like?” she offered. “We can cut our time in half.” As much as she liked to be around him, she didn’t intend to be his shadow for the entire time they were here. She had a brain of her own and was not totally dependent on him for answers. At least, not anymore. She had been when they’d first met; before he taught her to think and look at things differently.
Cicero’s eyes rested upon his wife momentarily as he took in her words, turned them over and rearranged to see if there were some hidden meaning, or she was in fact trying to tell him she resented him wishing to go alone. His face remained usually immobile as he considered this and gave a measured hmmm before dismissing it as irrelevant anyway. His wife, at times, was the puzzle he most liked trying to solve, but not now, now when his mind was firing on different fuel. Then he became at best oblivious to her coy glances and odd little need for affection, at worst, irritated by it. It seemed this day was the former, as he walked through the rest of the house, not even having given a thought to taking a detour to the bedroom. He was going to the library, as had already been established.
The walk there was non-eventful, which in Athenia at the current time was by no means guaranteed. And once they had reached the scholero, Cicero made short work of navigating the extensive grounds to lead Elysia to the library.
One of his favoured places as a child, it had not slipped in his affections. It was a good thinking spot. But that was not the purpose for their visit, and so the spymaster had a quick word with the custodian of the library and then motioned for Elysia to follow him, heading beyond the open area of the hall to a smaller room at the back. Here the tomes of genealogy were kept, the lineage of the Grecian kingdoms detailed to the minutiae.
Gesturing for his wife to take a seat, he set the small box with the papers within it on the large table that was there specifically to support the large leather-bound books that sat in the casings opposite.
The spymaster heaved the first one over and set it down before Elysia, flicking open the heavy cover and smiling at her, fleeting and catlike. “You can start here” he motioned to the inscriptions within that detailed the crests of the Athenian noble houses. “ Be thorough now,” he said, a hint of levity creeping in for he could hardly imagine Elysia would find much entertainment in the task ahead of her. And then he retrieved another one, this book for the other Grecian Kingdoms. Sitting it opposite the one he had assigned to his wife, Cicero lowered himself into a chair and began scanning down the first page, finger tracing the slightly faded representations as he dismissed one after another.
It should have been obvious, he decided sometime later, that their answers would not be offered up so readily- the master informer, after all, was well-schooled in the most obvious of Dynaestias. No, their treasure belonged to someone else, someone more obscure. Fascinating/
“We’re done” he decided abruptly, closing the book he had found so unsatisfactory. “Entertaining and yet fruitless, here give me that”
Removing the Athenian tome from in front of his wife, the man replaced them both carefully and then gave one last scrutinising look over the paper that had led them here before he tucked it safely away. “I know a lore keeper who might be able to help identify the sigil. I’ll send a missive to him on the morro,” he said, though it was uncertain if it was for Elysia’s benefit or not. And then because his time could scarcely afford to be wasted, he turned to the woman to pose his next question. “How would you like to go home via the Fylaki? I need to speak to the jailor about one of his guests?” He offered his arm to Elysia. Who said romance was dead?
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Cicero’s eyes rested upon his wife momentarily as he took in her words, turned them over and rearranged to see if there were some hidden meaning, or she was in fact trying to tell him she resented him wishing to go alone. His face remained usually immobile as he considered this and gave a measured hmmm before dismissing it as irrelevant anyway. His wife, at times, was the puzzle he most liked trying to solve, but not now, now when his mind was firing on different fuel. Then he became at best oblivious to her coy glances and odd little need for affection, at worst, irritated by it. It seemed this day was the former, as he walked through the rest of the house, not even having given a thought to taking a detour to the bedroom. He was going to the library, as had already been established.
The walk there was non-eventful, which in Athenia at the current time was by no means guaranteed. And once they had reached the scholero, Cicero made short work of navigating the extensive grounds to lead Elysia to the library.
One of his favoured places as a child, it had not slipped in his affections. It was a good thinking spot. But that was not the purpose for their visit, and so the spymaster had a quick word with the custodian of the library and then motioned for Elysia to follow him, heading beyond the open area of the hall to a smaller room at the back. Here the tomes of genealogy were kept, the lineage of the Grecian kingdoms detailed to the minutiae.
Gesturing for his wife to take a seat, he set the small box with the papers within it on the large table that was there specifically to support the large leather-bound books that sat in the casings opposite.
The spymaster heaved the first one over and set it down before Elysia, flicking open the heavy cover and smiling at her, fleeting and catlike. “You can start here” he motioned to the inscriptions within that detailed the crests of the Athenian noble houses. “ Be thorough now,” he said, a hint of levity creeping in for he could hardly imagine Elysia would find much entertainment in the task ahead of her. And then he retrieved another one, this book for the other Grecian Kingdoms. Sitting it opposite the one he had assigned to his wife, Cicero lowered himself into a chair and began scanning down the first page, finger tracing the slightly faded representations as he dismissed one after another.
It should have been obvious, he decided sometime later, that their answers would not be offered up so readily- the master informer, after all, was well-schooled in the most obvious of Dynaestias. No, their treasure belonged to someone else, someone more obscure. Fascinating/
“We’re done” he decided abruptly, closing the book he had found so unsatisfactory. “Entertaining and yet fruitless, here give me that”
Removing the Athenian tome from in front of his wife, the man replaced them both carefully and then gave one last scrutinising look over the paper that had led them here before he tucked it safely away. “I know a lore keeper who might be able to help identify the sigil. I’ll send a missive to him on the morro,” he said, though it was uncertain if it was for Elysia’s benefit or not. And then because his time could scarcely afford to be wasted, he turned to the woman to pose his next question. “How would you like to go home via the Fylaki? I need to speak to the jailor about one of his guests?” He offered his arm to Elysia. Who said romance was dead?
Cicero’s eyes rested upon his wife momentarily as he took in her words, turned them over and rearranged to see if there were some hidden meaning, or she was in fact trying to tell him she resented him wishing to go alone. His face remained usually immobile as he considered this and gave a measured hmmm before dismissing it as irrelevant anyway. His wife, at times, was the puzzle he most liked trying to solve, but not now, now when his mind was firing on different fuel. Then he became at best oblivious to her coy glances and odd little need for affection, at worst, irritated by it. It seemed this day was the former, as he walked through the rest of the house, not even having given a thought to taking a detour to the bedroom. He was going to the library, as had already been established.
The walk there was non-eventful, which in Athenia at the current time was by no means guaranteed. And once they had reached the scholero, Cicero made short work of navigating the extensive grounds to lead Elysia to the library.
One of his favoured places as a child, it had not slipped in his affections. It was a good thinking spot. But that was not the purpose for their visit, and so the spymaster had a quick word with the custodian of the library and then motioned for Elysia to follow him, heading beyond the open area of the hall to a smaller room at the back. Here the tomes of genealogy were kept, the lineage of the Grecian kingdoms detailed to the minutiae.
Gesturing for his wife to take a seat, he set the small box with the papers within it on the large table that was there specifically to support the large leather-bound books that sat in the casings opposite.
The spymaster heaved the first one over and set it down before Elysia, flicking open the heavy cover and smiling at her, fleeting and catlike. “You can start here” he motioned to the inscriptions within that detailed the crests of the Athenian noble houses. “ Be thorough now,” he said, a hint of levity creeping in for he could hardly imagine Elysia would find much entertainment in the task ahead of her. And then he retrieved another one, this book for the other Grecian Kingdoms. Sitting it opposite the one he had assigned to his wife, Cicero lowered himself into a chair and began scanning down the first page, finger tracing the slightly faded representations as he dismissed one after another.
It should have been obvious, he decided sometime later, that their answers would not be offered up so readily- the master informer, after all, was well-schooled in the most obvious of Dynaestias. No, their treasure belonged to someone else, someone more obscure. Fascinating/
“We’re done” he decided abruptly, closing the book he had found so unsatisfactory. “Entertaining and yet fruitless, here give me that”
Removing the Athenian tome from in front of his wife, the man replaced them both carefully and then gave one last scrutinising look over the paper that had led them here before he tucked it safely away. “I know a lore keeper who might be able to help identify the sigil. I’ll send a missive to him on the morro,” he said, though it was uncertain if it was for Elysia’s benefit or not. And then because his time could scarcely afford to be wasted, he turned to the woman to pose his next question. “How would you like to go home via the Fylaki? I need to speak to the jailor about one of his guests?” He offered his arm to Elysia. Who said romance was dead?