'Cluttered' did not begin to describe Synclair's office.

Cyrene let her eyes wander over the shelves behind his desk, taking in the sheafs of papers stacked upon books, stacked upon more paper... Data crystals were everywhere, although she had to give him credit for marking them clearly, at the very least.

Not that the markings were accurate. Jorun called /her/ paranoid, but he didn't even trust himself sometimes, it seemed. And every one of the crystals was named with something significant from his past... figuring out what was what in this office was nearly impossible. She'd tried...

It was a measure of his trust, however, that she was in here at all. He was still off at a meeting with his coordinator, but he had given her the access code to his office long ago... and for the first time - and the only time, Cyrene told herself - she had come to pay /him/ a visit instead, and left the burden of her paperwork behind with her mantle.

But when the door opened to admit her Minister of Defense, she found herself at a loss for what to say.

"Cyrene?" The hint of surprise in his voice was unmistakable; his eyes shifted from blue to a very pale gray, as if imitating the twilight of the morning sky outside.

Heat rose to her cheeks immediately as she tried to throttle the impulse to be embarassed... and failed. Instead, she turned her head slightly, and quickly moved her gaze to the window. //No wonder he always knows where to find me,// she mused silently. //I can see my entire garden from here...//

After a few moments of awkward silence, Cyrene spoke up. "I wanted to check on the progress of your research... but I'd rather do it quietly, hence my arrival here."

He raised his eyebrows, nudging the door closed with his heel. "That /is/ quite a change. You've always clung close to tradition before... and rulers should never go to call on others." Smiling that slight smile of his, Synclair moved past her to his desk, and bowed. "My queen."

"You're... insufferable."

"Thank you, Cyrene." He bowed again, and deposited a sheaf of papers onto his desk - which was covered with yet more papers, likely in no particular order. How /did/ he manage to keep track of things? "Your compliments are the highlight of my days - I live in anticipation of your kind words."

No clever remarks came to mind. What was there to do, but shake her head and go on? "Are you finished with your meetings for the day? This isn't so urgent that I would pull you away from your work just to satisfy my curiosity."

"My schedule is clear... however, I'm afraid I don't have any new information for you." His tone turned serious, Synclair shifted his eyes to the papers covering his desk. "I've searched our databases for information on the intruder, but our files contain no record of her, beyond what we have received from our agent in Etrenank."

Why so hesitant? she wanted to ask him. Cyrene tried to meet his gaze, but he seemed reluctant to look away from his papers. "And he has not sent another report just yet, I take it." Her Minister shook his head silently, abandoning his study of the desk, but still hardly meeting her eyes.

Why?

"It's understandable," she continued after a moment, watching him closely. "I certainly don't envy his position... I'm sure we'll receive word from him eventually." She hoped. They'd lost agents in Etrenank before... and to this day, they still had no idea what had happened to them.

"Tell me, my queen, if you please..."

She raised an eyebrow, folding her hands together in a gesture of saintly patience. This attitude was very unlike him - another might have noticed no difference, but to her eyes... Synclair was not one to avert his eyes from anyone... had her presence surprised him that much?

"Does that woman look... familiar to you?"

The question caught her off guard and she blinked, struck silent. That certainly wasn't what she had expected. And hadn't they already established the fact that their records hardly acknowledged the existence of this spy in the first place?

"Not... really," she replied after a moment. He was starting to confuse her. Where had that come from? "Have you any ideas, then?"

He shook his head, the motion delayed just a few seconds. Gray eyes morphed into blue again, just pale enough that they caught the light like sapphire. "Just a thought. There aren't many women with that pigment in their hair... and I thought I remembered someone similar." Blue eyes met hers, finally, and he dismissed it with a hitch of his shoulders. "Pay it no mind."

"Of course..."

An awkward sielnce fell between them, and Cyrene turned her gaze to the window beyond his desk. Hardly midmorning, and she already felt as if it should be evening; time was like a leaden ball, dragging at her feet every second that passed... What would she feel like at the end of the day - if she managed to get through it without snapping, somehow?

Nothing was as it should have been. Ever since their run-in with the Diabalos - and where on earth had they come from? - Shevat's luck had been running dry, and descending further as the year wore on. Solaris had not attacked directly for months, and yet... their influence had grown to grander proportions than she had ever dreamed. It was the stuff of nightmares.

And as for her personal luck... well, best not to go there, hmm? She had enough trouble dealing with the politics in Parliament; now she was forced to deal with House politics as well, and the ridiculous rumors about Synclair...

Lord knew where those were going to go, after today's visit. Her servants enjoyed the /worst/ gossip...

"You look exhausted, my queen." Synclair's smooth voice broke through her contemplation, ringing in the silence. "Are you well? I know the last few months have been difficult for you."

/That/ was an understatement. Cyrene turned back to face him, and a flash of warmth tinted her cheeks when she found his eyes already fastened to her. "Is that your way of telling me I look horrible?"

A slight smile crossed his lips. "No, Cyrene... I would never dream of uttering such nonsense."

The heat in her cheeks intensified. She did her best to ignore it. "Flattery will get you nowhere..."

His smile sharpened, as it always did when she challenged him. "Not even on a short trip to Old Aphel? I'd hoped it might... Medena's suggestions for getting you down there involved dragging, rope, and other rather disturbing items."

"W-what?" Had Synclair been born with a special talent for throwing her off balance? He was doing a spectacular job of it.

"Your assistants have been conspiring to give you a vacation, my queen." He bowed slightly, like a gentleman in court. "And they somehow thought that I should be the one to take you... I certainly don't mind the opportunity, but I wasn't holding much hope that you would accompany me by simple request."

Well, that explained the sudden gap in her schedule, now didn't it? And here she'd thought that this was one of those rare, lucky days. "And Medena suggested /ropes/? There /is/ quite a bit I don't know about that girl."

"I would never dream of manhandling my queen," he replied, some of the old cynicism tinting his voice. "I'd like to keep posession of my head."

A vacation... A much needed, much wished-for vacation... She nodded to him, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "I'll go, if you take the responsibility of escort."

It couldn't hurt... could it? Her last trip in his company had been quite fun... and there was no rule against relieving her stress. Especially when her assistants had already seen fit to cancel her appointments...

"Your hand then, my queen?" He raised an eyebrow, and extended his own. "We should do this properly - it wouldn't be right to escort you without offering my arm."

Cyrene extended her left hand with a slightly reproachful look, and the beginnings of a smile turning her lips. "I can never tell when you're serious anymore, Jorun... you joke too often."

Synclair bowed and took her hand. "Ah, but I am serious, Cyrene." With hardly a pause, he turned her hand over and dropped a kiss onto her palm, casting his gaze up just in time to see a blush stain her cheeks again. And there was no mistaking the satisfaction in those chameleon eyes. "We live but to serve you, my queen."

Fighting to push the heat from her face, Cyrene followed him out of his office silently - coherant speech would have been too much to ask, with so many thoughts racing through her mind.

What had she gotten herself into?