It was a dangerous thing, prodding and corralling a couple dozen prideful Tevene mages. Doubly so, now that nearly every mage played host to some demon or spirit. It would take so little for emotions to boil over, to spell the doom of his entire family.
Despair was a passive thing by nature, so perhaps Tiberius had it easier than his uncles and aunts, siblings and cousins. Strangers, almost, after so long away – with new visitors behind their eyes. Now he lounged in one of the study’s chairs, hands bound in his lap in front of him. He had, unfortunately, raised a rather forceful complaint when he’d realized these interlopers intended to rouse his elderly mother in the middle of the night.
Now he was pretty sure his nose was broken, for all the good it had done. A trickle of blood and mucus tickled the back of his throat, leaving a copper taste in his mouth. He needed to be ready to act. The moment this taught cord of control began to fray, when compliance lost any hope of saving them …
Something peculiar was happening to the Senior Eye. It looked like a heart attack, at first. Tiberius looked over his family, unsure whether to scold the offender – or to strike at the other secret police, folly though it might be. If they were all going to die anyway—
Tiberius knew that voice. So did his mother, apparently.
“Malachai Valentius? Dear, this is all because of your little elf friend from so long ago? That can’t be.” An unhelpful chorus of Umbra voices rose around the room, family members in their various nightclothes. Tiberius raised his bound hands slowly, to prod the contour of his nose with his index fingers. He winced, though whether it was from the injury or the noise was unclear even to him.
“So good to see you again, Mal. To what do we owe this midnight raid of our home?” He sat up and struggled to straighten the fall of his dressing gown. Forced a smile as though this was a perfectly reasonable way to receive guests. At least Lyric and Tacitus seemed to have eluded the Eyes for now.
“Your man is, ah, a trifle overzealous. Liable to get himself – and a lot of good people besides – hurt behaving like that.”
Despair was a passive thing by nature, so perhaps Tiberius had it easier than his uncles and aunts, siblings and cousins. Strangers, almost, after so long away – with new visitors behind their eyes. Now he lounged in one of the study’s chairs, hands bound in his lap in front of him. He had, unfortunately, raised a rather forceful complaint when he’d realized these interlopers intended to rouse his elderly mother in the middle of the night.
Now he was pretty sure his nose was broken, for all the good it had done. A trickle of blood and mucus tickled the back of his throat, leaving a copper taste in his mouth. He needed to be ready to act. The moment this taught cord of control began to fray, when compliance lost any hope of saving them …
Something peculiar was happening to the Senior Eye. It looked like a heart attack, at first. Tiberius looked over his family, unsure whether to scold the offender – or to strike at the other secret police, folly though it might be. If they were all going to die anyway—
Tiberius knew that voice. So did his mother, apparently.
“Malachai Valentius? Dear, this is all because of your little elf friend from so long ago? That can’t be.” An unhelpful chorus of Umbra voices rose around the room, family members in their various nightclothes. Tiberius raised his bound hands slowly, to prod the contour of his nose with his index fingers. He winced, though whether it was from the injury or the noise was unclear even to him.
“So good to see you again, Mal. To what do we owe this midnight raid of our home?” He sat up and struggled to straighten the fall of his dressing gown. Forced a smile as though this was a perfectly reasonable way to receive guests. At least Lyric and Tacitus seemed to have eluded the Eyes for now.
“Your man is, ah, a trifle overzealous. Liable to get himself – and a lot of good people besides – hurt behaving like that.”
06-17-2024, 01:39 PM
