Lukewarm black tea, and stale too. Tiberius drained the cup in a couple gulps anyway, glancing between Mariette and her silent husband and back to Lyric again. Girl was unfair when she was clearly a woman grown – and perhaps he’d remember the name better now with a face to put it to.
“That’s quite the journey. Which Circle, if you do not mind my asking?” Not Kirkwall, he hoped. While he was unfamiliar with southern mages on the whole, that Circle’s troubles so many years ago were quite infamous. The sort of things that left deep scars which he’d be ill suited to tending to. And if, for example, she were squeamish about blood magic … He hardly wanted to go through all this trouble for a wife that might fail to thrive.
Perhaps that would explain Lyric’s strained smile, fixed in place. Considering her answer, Tiberius loaded a piece of toast with early garden greens, soft white cheese, and pickled primrose flowers. He ate slowly, unwilling to do much to alleviate the heavy silence. Truthfully, there was a bitter sort of pleasure in watching M. and Mme. Nicollier flounder in the rotten heart of their own mess.
But soon he was out of toast, and nothing else at the table could tempt his inconstant appetite. Tiberius cleaned his hands and threw the napkin onto his plate.
“Well, let’s see some magic then, shall we?” He grinned at Lyric over the table, toothy and rather mirthless. “I want to know what I’ve bought, after all.” And they should know they should fear people like us. It left a bad taste in his mouth, this thought of sending your own children away. Not for a season or two, but for their entire lives – only to call them back only when they were useful.
“I think we ought to go outside.” He stood and walked out without waiting for confirmation, striding directly into the back garden. In a few months, it would be crowded with heavy rose blossoms in half a dozen shades of pink and red. Now, it was all woody stalks and thorns and wrought iron filigree. A little sad, without the flowers lending an illusion of depth. You could see right up to the fence that separated this back garden from the next.
“That’s quite the journey. Which Circle, if you do not mind my asking?” Not Kirkwall, he hoped. While he was unfamiliar with southern mages on the whole, that Circle’s troubles so many years ago were quite infamous. The sort of things that left deep scars which he’d be ill suited to tending to. And if, for example, she were squeamish about blood magic … He hardly wanted to go through all this trouble for a wife that might fail to thrive.
Perhaps that would explain Lyric’s strained smile, fixed in place. Considering her answer, Tiberius loaded a piece of toast with early garden greens, soft white cheese, and pickled primrose flowers. He ate slowly, unwilling to do much to alleviate the heavy silence. Truthfully, there was a bitter sort of pleasure in watching M. and Mme. Nicollier flounder in the rotten heart of their own mess.
But soon he was out of toast, and nothing else at the table could tempt his inconstant appetite. Tiberius cleaned his hands and threw the napkin onto his plate.
“Well, let’s see some magic then, shall we?” He grinned at Lyric over the table, toothy and rather mirthless. “I want to know what I’ve bought, after all.” And they should know they should fear people like us. It left a bad taste in his mouth, this thought of sending your own children away. Not for a season or two, but for their entire lives – only to call them back only when they were useful.
“I think we ought to go outside.” He stood and walked out without waiting for confirmation, striding directly into the back garden. In a few months, it would be crowded with heavy rose blossoms in half a dozen shades of pink and red. Now, it was all woody stalks and thorns and wrought iron filigree. A little sad, without the flowers lending an illusion of depth. You could see right up to the fence that separated this back garden from the next.
04-05-2024, 03:48 PM
