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Elias had tried just about everything to find out exactly what had happened at the harvest festival. He had had guards combing the plateia for traces of the girl that everyone had called out as Persephone. He had sent out feelers with every informant that he had. She had ordered those within his control to investigate wherever was a natural haunt for their feet so as not to rouse suspicion or attention. None had come back with anything more promising than a pretty bar wench in Attia. And Elias highly doubted that Persephone was humble enough to lower herself to a basic role of work to survive. The pretty little princess hadn't done a day’s work in her life. Unless you counted the manipulation of her sick father into ensuring she claimed the crown before his body was even cold.
The last few of Elias' informants had been summoned for an update. It had been nearly two weeks since the festival and he had had no word that was encouraging so far. How hard was it to find a woman that people claimed to be blessed by the Gods who walked around like she owned the damn world? She had to stick out like a sore thumb, which left the only option for her whereabouts to be somewhere hidden by others. Others that she trusted. Which shortened the list of potential hiding places significantly. Elias had been running them through his head. He knew of Persephone's friendship with a few of the Marikas' extended family, he knew that the Antonis had always been loyal to her father, that the Guard were oathbound to the legal monarch, that she had a close friend in Iris of Argyris - a woman who had now married Persephone's childhood friend Aimias. Then there was her own palace in Arcana where her servants were loyal and could give the impression of her being elsewhere whilst they nursed her wounded pride...
Unfortunately, Persephone had been a well-liked figure on Court. Most nobles were simpering idiots for a pretty face and so she had done well for herself in accumulating friendships. Which only made the possible places for her to hide more numerous than a few weeks could search. He just had to hope that his last few informers would have noted something that could lead them towards the girl.
Due for the arrival of one of these informers - the wife of the Master of such things that he had managed to sway into investigating Persephone's whereabouts - Elias had taken to pacing back and forth across the room. His hands were entangled at the small of his back and he showed no twitch of discomfort or uncertainty. He just paced. To burn off a little of his own impatience.
His friend appeared far more relaxed, lounging on the chaise with wine in hand, a pretty servant of the royal palati practically on his lap. Rafail had been there the whole day so far in order to discuss his barony duties in Thesnia but neither of them had really needed to talk such things over. Rafail knew what he was doing. Why should Elias keep a leash on him as if he didn't trust the man? The check-ins and reports from the provinces had been near enough cancelled because they only ever offered the same thing. He only kept the ones with Rafail because he enjoyed the man's company. Since settling official matters in just a few minutes, they had enjoyed the rest of the morning so far with fine meats and red wine.
But now approached the hour when Elias might find out just exactly where that bitch was hiding and so his calm disposition and enjoyment of all things deserved, could not prevent his pacing...
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Elias had tried just about everything to find out exactly what had happened at the harvest festival. He had had guards combing the plateia for traces of the girl that everyone had called out as Persephone. He had sent out feelers with every informant that he had. She had ordered those within his control to investigate wherever was a natural haunt for their feet so as not to rouse suspicion or attention. None had come back with anything more promising than a pretty bar wench in Attia. And Elias highly doubted that Persephone was humble enough to lower herself to a basic role of work to survive. The pretty little princess hadn't done a day’s work in her life. Unless you counted the manipulation of her sick father into ensuring she claimed the crown before his body was even cold.
The last few of Elias' informants had been summoned for an update. It had been nearly two weeks since the festival and he had had no word that was encouraging so far. How hard was it to find a woman that people claimed to be blessed by the Gods who walked around like she owned the damn world? She had to stick out like a sore thumb, which left the only option for her whereabouts to be somewhere hidden by others. Others that she trusted. Which shortened the list of potential hiding places significantly. Elias had been running them through his head. He knew of Persephone's friendship with a few of the Marikas' extended family, he knew that the Antonis had always been loyal to her father, that the Guard were oathbound to the legal monarch, that she had a close friend in Iris of Argyris - a woman who had now married Persephone's childhood friend Aimias. Then there was her own palace in Arcana where her servants were loyal and could give the impression of her being elsewhere whilst they nursed her wounded pride...
Unfortunately, Persephone had been a well-liked figure on Court. Most nobles were simpering idiots for a pretty face and so she had done well for herself in accumulating friendships. Which only made the possible places for her to hide more numerous than a few weeks could search. He just had to hope that his last few informers would have noted something that could lead them towards the girl.
Due for the arrival of one of these informers - the wife of the Master of such things that he had managed to sway into investigating Persephone's whereabouts - Elias had taken to pacing back and forth across the room. His hands were entangled at the small of his back and he showed no twitch of discomfort or uncertainty. He just paced. To burn off a little of his own impatience.
His friend appeared far more relaxed, lounging on the chaise with wine in hand, a pretty servant of the royal palati practically on his lap. Rafail had been there the whole day so far in order to discuss his barony duties in Thesnia but neither of them had really needed to talk such things over. Rafail knew what he was doing. Why should Elias keep a leash on him as if he didn't trust the man? The check-ins and reports from the provinces had been near enough cancelled because they only ever offered the same thing. He only kept the ones with Rafail because he enjoyed the man's company. Since settling official matters in just a few minutes, they had enjoyed the rest of the morning so far with fine meats and red wine.
But now approached the hour when Elias might find out just exactly where that bitch was hiding and so his calm disposition and enjoyment of all things deserved, could not prevent his pacing...
Elias had tried just about everything to find out exactly what had happened at the harvest festival. He had had guards combing the plateia for traces of the girl that everyone had called out as Persephone. He had sent out feelers with every informant that he had. She had ordered those within his control to investigate wherever was a natural haunt for their feet so as not to rouse suspicion or attention. None had come back with anything more promising than a pretty bar wench in Attia. And Elias highly doubted that Persephone was humble enough to lower herself to a basic role of work to survive. The pretty little princess hadn't done a day’s work in her life. Unless you counted the manipulation of her sick father into ensuring she claimed the crown before his body was even cold.
The last few of Elias' informants had been summoned for an update. It had been nearly two weeks since the festival and he had had no word that was encouraging so far. How hard was it to find a woman that people claimed to be blessed by the Gods who walked around like she owned the damn world? She had to stick out like a sore thumb, which left the only option for her whereabouts to be somewhere hidden by others. Others that she trusted. Which shortened the list of potential hiding places significantly. Elias had been running them through his head. He knew of Persephone's friendship with a few of the Marikas' extended family, he knew that the Antonis had always been loyal to her father, that the Guard were oathbound to the legal monarch, that she had a close friend in Iris of Argyris - a woman who had now married Persephone's childhood friend Aimias. Then there was her own palace in Arcana where her servants were loyal and could give the impression of her being elsewhere whilst they nursed her wounded pride...
Unfortunately, Persephone had been a well-liked figure on Court. Most nobles were simpering idiots for a pretty face and so she had done well for herself in accumulating friendships. Which only made the possible places for her to hide more numerous than a few weeks could search. He just had to hope that his last few informers would have noted something that could lead them towards the girl.
Due for the arrival of one of these informers - the wife of the Master of such things that he had managed to sway into investigating Persephone's whereabouts - Elias had taken to pacing back and forth across the room. His hands were entangled at the small of his back and he showed no twitch of discomfort or uncertainty. He just paced. To burn off a little of his own impatience.
His friend appeared far more relaxed, lounging on the chaise with wine in hand, a pretty servant of the royal palati practically on his lap. Rafail had been there the whole day so far in order to discuss his barony duties in Thesnia but neither of them had really needed to talk such things over. Rafail knew what he was doing. Why should Elias keep a leash on him as if he didn't trust the man? The check-ins and reports from the provinces had been near enough cancelled because they only ever offered the same thing. He only kept the ones with Rafail because he enjoyed the man's company. Since settling official matters in just a few minutes, they had enjoyed the rest of the morning so far with fine meats and red wine.
But now approached the hour when Elias might find out just exactly where that bitch was hiding and so his calm disposition and enjoyment of all things deserved, could not prevent his pacing...
Elysia folded the note the steward gave her and smiled serenely at him. “Thank you,” she said softly, waiting until the man left her sitting room. Not even when she was alone did her composure slip. She folded the note several times on her writing table, taking extra care to crease it just so, staring at it but not really seeing it. Elias was beautiful but Elias was not a genius. He could be lied to if the lie was sufficient. She just had to come up with a good one. She’d been going round and round with likely suspects and lies since she’d returned from Aetea but everything seemed either obvious or too far fetched or would put someone else in danger. Now there was no more time.
She rose from her table, smoothed her dress, picked up her white himation, and walked down the hall to the stairs, taking them calmly. There would be no carriage for her. It was too much trouble to ready the horses and, in any case, she wanted the time the walk would give her to think. The note given to her had merely been a summons but she knew what he wanted. Obviously she had to give him something of equal value, but what that might be, she did not know. There was very little to equal that of his greatest weakness - the true living monarch.
The walk to the palace, usually so long, slipped by her in seconds and by the time she presented herself at the gates and was shown through into the entrance hall, she found the first threads of disquiet weaving themselves together inside her chest. Passing through the lofty rooms, each seeming shorter than the last, Elysia was in front of the Xanthos quarters too soon for her liking. Giving her name to the guard at the door, she was announced, the door held open for her to cross the threshold. Though she desperately wanted to, she did not pause. She smoothed her skirts again, patted her hair with the tips of her fingers to ensure it was still perfect, and then entered the room.
Mild relief eased her somewhat when she saw Lord Rafail there as well. Elias would be less in her space with an audience. She’d begun to despise their interludes. They’d been diverting before but the more he wanted from her, the less willing she was to go through with them. She’d hoped he’d be as stupid as he was beautiful, but that wasn’t quite proving to be the case. At least, not as dumb as she needed him to be.
“My lords,” she curtsied, nodding first to Elias, then to Rafail, but did not approach until asked to do so. Her eyes traveled to Lord Rafail, not wondering that he would be with Elias, but wondering why she would be here while the two of them spoke. Perhaps it was a good sign. A sign of trust. She deeply wanted Elias to trust her and if not trust her, at least find out enough on him to preserve herself and Cicero. A deadman’s trap, perhaps. If something happened to her or her husband, Elias’s life would crumble, or at least what was left of his reputation. That was what she truly wanted from the Stravos lord, but her desire was not unique to him. She wanted that from everyone.
Elysia kept her hands folded in front of her, himation kept in a demure wrap over her arms, the ends a fraction of an inch from the floor. She stood before them in a mask of calm, waiting for Elias or Rafail to break the silence first. They were of higher rank. Other than the greeting, hers was to wait to be addressed.
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Jul 18, 2020 21:10:40 GMT
Posted In Where Is She? on Jul 18, 2020 21:10:40 GMT
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Elysia folded the note the steward gave her and smiled serenely at him. “Thank you,” she said softly, waiting until the man left her sitting room. Not even when she was alone did her composure slip. She folded the note several times on her writing table, taking extra care to crease it just so, staring at it but not really seeing it. Elias was beautiful but Elias was not a genius. He could be lied to if the lie was sufficient. She just had to come up with a good one. She’d been going round and round with likely suspects and lies since she’d returned from Aetea but everything seemed either obvious or too far fetched or would put someone else in danger. Now there was no more time.
She rose from her table, smoothed her dress, picked up her white himation, and walked down the hall to the stairs, taking them calmly. There would be no carriage for her. It was too much trouble to ready the horses and, in any case, she wanted the time the walk would give her to think. The note given to her had merely been a summons but she knew what he wanted. Obviously she had to give him something of equal value, but what that might be, she did not know. There was very little to equal that of his greatest weakness - the true living monarch.
The walk to the palace, usually so long, slipped by her in seconds and by the time she presented herself at the gates and was shown through into the entrance hall, she found the first threads of disquiet weaving themselves together inside her chest. Passing through the lofty rooms, each seeming shorter than the last, Elysia was in front of the Xanthos quarters too soon for her liking. Giving her name to the guard at the door, she was announced, the door held open for her to cross the threshold. Though she desperately wanted to, she did not pause. She smoothed her skirts again, patted her hair with the tips of her fingers to ensure it was still perfect, and then entered the room.
Mild relief eased her somewhat when she saw Lord Rafail there as well. Elias would be less in her space with an audience. She’d begun to despise their interludes. They’d been diverting before but the more he wanted from her, the less willing she was to go through with them. She’d hoped he’d be as stupid as he was beautiful, but that wasn’t quite proving to be the case. At least, not as dumb as she needed him to be.
“My lords,” she curtsied, nodding first to Elias, then to Rafail, but did not approach until asked to do so. Her eyes traveled to Lord Rafail, not wondering that he would be with Elias, but wondering why she would be here while the two of them spoke. Perhaps it was a good sign. A sign of trust. She deeply wanted Elias to trust her and if not trust her, at least find out enough on him to preserve herself and Cicero. A deadman’s trap, perhaps. If something happened to her or her husband, Elias’s life would crumble, or at least what was left of his reputation. That was what she truly wanted from the Stravos lord, but her desire was not unique to him. She wanted that from everyone.
Elysia kept her hands folded in front of her, himation kept in a demure wrap over her arms, the ends a fraction of an inch from the floor. She stood before them in a mask of calm, waiting for Elias or Rafail to break the silence first. They were of higher rank. Other than the greeting, hers was to wait to be addressed.
Elysia folded the note the steward gave her and smiled serenely at him. “Thank you,” she said softly, waiting until the man left her sitting room. Not even when she was alone did her composure slip. She folded the note several times on her writing table, taking extra care to crease it just so, staring at it but not really seeing it. Elias was beautiful but Elias was not a genius. He could be lied to if the lie was sufficient. She just had to come up with a good one. She’d been going round and round with likely suspects and lies since she’d returned from Aetea but everything seemed either obvious or too far fetched or would put someone else in danger. Now there was no more time.
She rose from her table, smoothed her dress, picked up her white himation, and walked down the hall to the stairs, taking them calmly. There would be no carriage for her. It was too much trouble to ready the horses and, in any case, she wanted the time the walk would give her to think. The note given to her had merely been a summons but she knew what he wanted. Obviously she had to give him something of equal value, but what that might be, she did not know. There was very little to equal that of his greatest weakness - the true living monarch.
The walk to the palace, usually so long, slipped by her in seconds and by the time she presented herself at the gates and was shown through into the entrance hall, she found the first threads of disquiet weaving themselves together inside her chest. Passing through the lofty rooms, each seeming shorter than the last, Elysia was in front of the Xanthos quarters too soon for her liking. Giving her name to the guard at the door, she was announced, the door held open for her to cross the threshold. Though she desperately wanted to, she did not pause. She smoothed her skirts again, patted her hair with the tips of her fingers to ensure it was still perfect, and then entered the room.
Mild relief eased her somewhat when she saw Lord Rafail there as well. Elias would be less in her space with an audience. She’d begun to despise their interludes. They’d been diverting before but the more he wanted from her, the less willing she was to go through with them. She’d hoped he’d be as stupid as he was beautiful, but that wasn’t quite proving to be the case. At least, not as dumb as she needed him to be.
“My lords,” she curtsied, nodding first to Elias, then to Rafail, but did not approach until asked to do so. Her eyes traveled to Lord Rafail, not wondering that he would be with Elias, but wondering why she would be here while the two of them spoke. Perhaps it was a good sign. A sign of trust. She deeply wanted Elias to trust her and if not trust her, at least find out enough on him to preserve herself and Cicero. A deadman’s trap, perhaps. If something happened to her or her husband, Elias’s life would crumble, or at least what was left of his reputation. That was what she truly wanted from the Stravos lord, but her desire was not unique to him. She wanted that from everyone.
Elysia kept her hands folded in front of her, himation kept in a demure wrap over her arms, the ends a fraction of an inch from the floor. She stood before them in a mask of calm, waiting for Elias or Rafail to break the silence first. They were of higher rank. Other than the greeting, hers was to wait to be addressed.
“Relax,” Rafail told his friend, not for the first time that morning, one arm draped unceremoniously over the shoulders of the servant whose name had slipped his mind before she had even spoken, fingers wrapped around the rim of his almost-empty goblet. Elias was not unreasonably concerned, as the ‘Persephone Problem’ – the Marikas had dubbed it as such – was thoroughly understandable. She was an irritable barricade between his cousin and the throne, a pathetic little girl attempting to claim something which should never have been hers in the first place. But the Stravos lord had always been far more proactive than his Marikas cousin who preferred to sit back and let others handle his troubles, and Rafail saw no reason why either of them should worry now, for there was surely some plan in motion which would lead to the results they were both expecting. The matter would be resolved easily enough, Persephone’s whereabouts would be discovered, and the line of succession would return to how it should have been.
Nonetheless, the blonde lord downed the last dregs from his cup, waving it before the servant girl in a silent instruction for her to fetch him some more before he heaved himself from the couch. Elias was pacing a tattoo into the floor, and Rafail had decided it was thus his obligation to attempt to calm him. He liked to think he had that sort of positive effect on his closest friend, given he had yet to be shunned away in the other’s time of stress. “Stop. You’ll only tire yourself, and Papa says you shouldn’t work on a tired mind.” Or rather, something like that which had been more of a lecture about how he could not expect to run a province efficiently if he were to spend his nights embroiled in debauchery (a lie, really, since Rafail found that Thesnia seemed to run rather smoothly). He might have reached to comfort the man more physically, had he not thought the action was a little more intimate than he liked his relationship with his friend to remain, instead drawing his hands to his hips as he faced the other, hoping his apparent confidence over the situation would prove reassuring. “Everything is under your control. They’ll find her.”
Perhaps his words were oracular, for it was only a moment after he spoke that the pair were joined by another. Rafail reached for one of the quail eggs displayed neatly on an expensive platter as he dropped himself back onto his couch to drape his arm back around the woman beside him who was now accompanied by a refilled goblet of red wine. He spared Elysia a less-than-cursory glance as he was wont to do with most attractive women, lips curling into a pleased expression, if partially because her presence was likely to soothe his friend’s stressed mood somewhat.
“Lady Elysia,” he greeted, nodding his head in a manner which implied far more interest than was genuine. Rafail was certainly glad that his friend’s troubles were finally on the road to their resolution, but he was technically nothing more than a third-party viewer to this entire ordeal, only really there to discuss the intricacies of his barony and enjoy himself with his friend. Still, he had always enjoyed acting self-important, and this gave him an ideal opportunity. “Come on, come on, come on.” Rafail snapped his fingers at their guest in an attempt to get her to hurry, for the sooner news was delivered, the faster they could get back to more light-hearted conversational topics. He had always admired his friend’s ambition, but there was less fun in their encounters when the man was as obsessed with something as he was now. “Elias and I do not like to be kept waiting.”
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“Relax,” Rafail told his friend, not for the first time that morning, one arm draped unceremoniously over the shoulders of the servant whose name had slipped his mind before she had even spoken, fingers wrapped around the rim of his almost-empty goblet. Elias was not unreasonably concerned, as the ‘Persephone Problem’ – the Marikas had dubbed it as such – was thoroughly understandable. She was an irritable barricade between his cousin and the throne, a pathetic little girl attempting to claim something which should never have been hers in the first place. But the Stravos lord had always been far more proactive than his Marikas cousin who preferred to sit back and let others handle his troubles, and Rafail saw no reason why either of them should worry now, for there was surely some plan in motion which would lead to the results they were both expecting. The matter would be resolved easily enough, Persephone’s whereabouts would be discovered, and the line of succession would return to how it should have been.
Nonetheless, the blonde lord downed the last dregs from his cup, waving it before the servant girl in a silent instruction for her to fetch him some more before he heaved himself from the couch. Elias was pacing a tattoo into the floor, and Rafail had decided it was thus his obligation to attempt to calm him. He liked to think he had that sort of positive effect on his closest friend, given he had yet to be shunned away in the other’s time of stress. “Stop. You’ll only tire yourself, and Papa says you shouldn’t work on a tired mind.” Or rather, something like that which had been more of a lecture about how he could not expect to run a province efficiently if he were to spend his nights embroiled in debauchery (a lie, really, since Rafail found that Thesnia seemed to run rather smoothly). He might have reached to comfort the man more physically, had he not thought the action was a little more intimate than he liked his relationship with his friend to remain, instead drawing his hands to his hips as he faced the other, hoping his apparent confidence over the situation would prove reassuring. “Everything is under your control. They’ll find her.”
Perhaps his words were oracular, for it was only a moment after he spoke that the pair were joined by another. Rafail reached for one of the quail eggs displayed neatly on an expensive platter as he dropped himself back onto his couch to drape his arm back around the woman beside him who was now accompanied by a refilled goblet of red wine. He spared Elysia a less-than-cursory glance as he was wont to do with most attractive women, lips curling into a pleased expression, if partially because her presence was likely to soothe his friend’s stressed mood somewhat.
“Lady Elysia,” he greeted, nodding his head in a manner which implied far more interest than was genuine. Rafail was certainly glad that his friend’s troubles were finally on the road to their resolution, but he was technically nothing more than a third-party viewer to this entire ordeal, only really there to discuss the intricacies of his barony and enjoy himself with his friend. Still, he had always enjoyed acting self-important, and this gave him an ideal opportunity. “Come on, come on, come on.” Rafail snapped his fingers at their guest in an attempt to get her to hurry, for the sooner news was delivered, the faster they could get back to more light-hearted conversational topics. He had always admired his friend’s ambition, but there was less fun in their encounters when the man was as obsessed with something as he was now. “Elias and I do not like to be kept waiting.”
“Relax,” Rafail told his friend, not for the first time that morning, one arm draped unceremoniously over the shoulders of the servant whose name had slipped his mind before she had even spoken, fingers wrapped around the rim of his almost-empty goblet. Elias was not unreasonably concerned, as the ‘Persephone Problem’ – the Marikas had dubbed it as such – was thoroughly understandable. She was an irritable barricade between his cousin and the throne, a pathetic little girl attempting to claim something which should never have been hers in the first place. But the Stravos lord had always been far more proactive than his Marikas cousin who preferred to sit back and let others handle his troubles, and Rafail saw no reason why either of them should worry now, for there was surely some plan in motion which would lead to the results they were both expecting. The matter would be resolved easily enough, Persephone’s whereabouts would be discovered, and the line of succession would return to how it should have been.
Nonetheless, the blonde lord downed the last dregs from his cup, waving it before the servant girl in a silent instruction for her to fetch him some more before he heaved himself from the couch. Elias was pacing a tattoo into the floor, and Rafail had decided it was thus his obligation to attempt to calm him. He liked to think he had that sort of positive effect on his closest friend, given he had yet to be shunned away in the other’s time of stress. “Stop. You’ll only tire yourself, and Papa says you shouldn’t work on a tired mind.” Or rather, something like that which had been more of a lecture about how he could not expect to run a province efficiently if he were to spend his nights embroiled in debauchery (a lie, really, since Rafail found that Thesnia seemed to run rather smoothly). He might have reached to comfort the man more physically, had he not thought the action was a little more intimate than he liked his relationship with his friend to remain, instead drawing his hands to his hips as he faced the other, hoping his apparent confidence over the situation would prove reassuring. “Everything is under your control. They’ll find her.”
Perhaps his words were oracular, for it was only a moment after he spoke that the pair were joined by another. Rafail reached for one of the quail eggs displayed neatly on an expensive platter as he dropped himself back onto his couch to drape his arm back around the woman beside him who was now accompanied by a refilled goblet of red wine. He spared Elysia a less-than-cursory glance as he was wont to do with most attractive women, lips curling into a pleased expression, if partially because her presence was likely to soothe his friend’s stressed mood somewhat.
“Lady Elysia,” he greeted, nodding his head in a manner which implied far more interest than was genuine. Rafail was certainly glad that his friend’s troubles were finally on the road to their resolution, but he was technically nothing more than a third-party viewer to this entire ordeal, only really there to discuss the intricacies of his barony and enjoy himself with his friend. Still, he had always enjoyed acting self-important, and this gave him an ideal opportunity. “Come on, come on, come on.” Rafail snapped his fingers at their guest in an attempt to get her to hurry, for the sooner news was delivered, the faster they could get back to more light-hearted conversational topics. He had always admired his friend’s ambition, but there was less fun in their encounters when the man was as obsessed with something as he was now. “Elias and I do not like to be kept waiting.”