Only Ears for Dropping Eaves

He never liked this part. Being steered around the great houses by their servants, only seeing what he was allowed to see. Carefully arranged public rooms, beautifully appointed but inch-deep. Chairs that were hardly sat in, tablewares that were never used. Maybe Orlais was onto something with their masks, after all. All of this was boring, dead theater.

But he’d never say any of that aloud. Tiberius followed the haughty old bitch to her lady’s drawing room with a bland smile on his face, taking silent note of everything. Fashions for paint and draperies and onto how to dress one’s servants had all moved forward without him. House Umbra could not be left looking shabby.

Then he got his first look at Master Tilani’s new wife. Or, perhaps, she was not exactly new. Pretty enough, he supposed, though Tiberius was no great connoisseur of feminine beauty. Petite, typical in her coloring and mein, nothing that immediately stood out and said fuck tradition and alliances, make me yours at any cost! Curious.

Had Maevaris made this match – or had the heir herself? There was, at least, a possessing spirit or demon there. Invisible to him, but not so to Despair. Good thing, too. He might have said something quite rude if she wasn’t even a mage.

“So pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Mistress Tilani. Tiberius Umbra.” He removed his hat and sketched a pretty bow. ”Let me be the first of my House to congratulate you on your marriage. Alas, my Grandfather’s long illness has us all at loose ends. We’re very much behind on making all the— proper overtures. May I sit?” Of course, Grandfather wasn’t sick – he was dead, the shambling shade wearing his skin yet another monster in the attic. They’d burn him soon, and put the word out, but not until Tiberius was done settling.