The sun was a crimson sliver on the horizen behind Aphel's towers; everything was alight with its glow. While Synclair was not one to simply sit and appreciate the beauty of a sunset, he found it impossible to resist when the event was the backdrop to something more important - namely, the gardens.

His office windows, set back into alcoves between bookcases, happened to overlook the palace gardens, not far from the queen's own sanctuary. The others' offices were more spacious, better appointed, and certainly more efficiently run, with room for secretaries and aides and the like, but... despite Cyrene's continued offers to move him to a more advantageous position, he refused to leave. He doubted she would be very thrilled if she knew /why/, but thankfully, she seemed satisfied with his claims.

He watched her now as she strolled along a dusty path with the little gray kitten cradled on one arm, oblivious to the dirt settling on the hem of her dress. A member of her guard, probably Luc, trailed behind at a respectful distance, all but invisible unless one knew where to look. It was a well-known fact that Cyrene hated escorts and formalities when she didn't think they were necessary; the guard, therefore, was trained to be silent and unobtrusive in accordance with those whims. It was quite an amusing show to watch.

"Your silence is stretching a bit too long, Minister Synclair." The owner of the voice tapped his fingers against the edge of the desk sharply. "I did not make this trip to be kept waiting like this."

Synclair snorted, gaze fastened on his queen. "You came to me, Yevel. I fail to see how you reasoned me into the beggar's spot." He watched Cyrene pause at a clasp of rose bushes, leaning over to inhale their delicate scent and say something to the kitten that was lost between the garden path and the barrier of his window. "What is it you expect of me today?"

The young lord ceased his tapping, but impatience was nonetheless still very clear in his voice - God had apparently forgotten to grant him the gift of subtlety when he lavished the boy with his overly-pretty face. "I gave you the missive, Minister. I am expected to return with your answer before nightfall."

"Tell your mistress she will have to wait. Or, if she's that impatient, inform her of my office hours and tell her she is invited to tea."

"My Lady has no reason to submit herself to your /whims/, Minister." Yevel stood, visible in Synclair's peripheral vision, and his chair scraped back . "If you will kindly-"

"Your /lady/ knows very well that I am a busy man." He cast the young man a glance, but no more - he didn't deserve the recognition. The boy was nothing but one of Esari's toadies, too weak and unskilled to deserve anything better - Parliament would have ripped him to pieces. "She will understand."

Cyrene had moved on, following her kitten as it scampered around her feet and praced down the path; another of her guard - Jacen - became visible ahead of her for a moment before disappearing into the foliage again.

She looked tired - the set of her shoulders and the heaviness of her walk made it obvious, though he could not see her face. But it was getting more and more difficult to tell - though strings of tiny lights had began to flicker to life among the trees with the disappearance of the sun, their weak illumination was no competition for true daylight. He hoped she would return to her office soon - or better yet, simply head for her rooms. It was far too dangerous for her to wander around in the gardens in the dark.

"This is no time to stall, Minister." His supplicant seemed to have calmed a bit; his voice was level and cool now, far more suited to a nobleman than the nasal hiss he'd been subjecting Synclair to a few minutes ago. "You owe us a favor, and the time has come to pay in full."

Synclair finally turned away from his vigil and straightened, regarding the boy with more than a little distaste. The fool still wasn't worth his time, but Cyrene was lost in the dimness of dusk and out of his sight. With any luck, she would be inside. "That is a matter between the Lady Esari and myself, Yevel." He leaned back against the corner of a bookcase, arms crossed. "Take your leave."

The nobleman looked as if he wanted to protest, but wisdom - or perhaps fear of Esari's wrath - prevailed, and he retreated with a stiff bow. "Of course Minister - forgive my rudeness."

Synclair grunted in reply, watching the man back away a few steps before turning around and pulling the door open to let himself out of the office. His expression was priceless - strongly reminiscent of Esari. What was he, her cousin? Or perhaps a nephew, a few branches down the line? Whatever he was supposed to be, he had apparently inherited her unpleasantness.

Why was it that, when times were difficult and the country's stability was declining, the Moran family always tried to assert its own importance? Considering their membership with the Landholders, one would think they would work to stabilize the country and solidify their profits. And it was always someone like Esari who came forth to lay the claim. It would have been better if Cyrene had taken the title of Head of House along with her queen's mantle, way back then.

And then... there was the matter of this 'favor'.

It was simply the result of a bad decision on his part, but clearly, Esari meant to haunt him with it for the rest of his days - and indeed, anything she could ask of him would probably have long-term ramifications for both the Synclair family /and/ the queen. Her timing, the content of her message, and the messanger himself all made that very clear; this was her opportunity to secure another advantage over her rival - over /Cyrene/ - and she intended to use it.

She was such a child. Unfortunately, unlike Yevel, she was well suited for the political forum; Moran hadn't seen a strategist like her for well over four hundred years, and what she lacked in years and experience, she made up for in skill - when it suited her. Even Cyrene wouldn't dispute that - Esari was growing into her own.

But /why/ did she have to do it now?

Synclair reached over and plucked Esari's letter from the edge of his desk, examining it idly in the fading light from the window. House Moran's seal was emblazoned at the bottom in green wax, three four-pointed stars linked at the tips to form a triangle. The symbol had once stood for constancy and strength, but the family seemed to have forgotten that crucial first part of their House's tradition.

'In accordance with our agreement in March, we have drafted a preliminary version of this year's amendments, to be presented to Parliament upon the election of the new Head of Department in the Landholder's Council. Our efforts requier a certain majority, and we would like to call upon you in this time of need. House Synclair's friendship-'

He tossed it back to his desk, watched as it glanced off the edge and drifted to the floor several feet away. Rubbish, is what it was.

The letter was innocent enough. It asked a great many very routine things, complimented him a few times, and invited him to join the Landholders for their weekly meeting. Any fool wandring down the hall would pass it off as a matter of course - rather, any fool that did not know of the chilly relations between the two houses. Synclair and Moran had always been at odds, since the very first meeting of Parliament in the days before Shevat took flight, and both he and Esari were more than happy to uphold the tradition. To break it now would be ridiculous, certainly when their opinions on important matters of state differed so greatly.

It was obvious - he knew what she wanted. She was looking for an ally in her battle to gain more power, and she knew very well that he was Cyrene's strongest supporter. Perhaps she didn't intend to topple the queen - she would be a fool to try... but more power for Esari meant weakening his queen's power base, and that wasn't going to happen.

However, he was in debt to her now, and it would not be honorable to avoid repaying her in kind.

But she wanted too much. Far too much.

(Summary: A bad decision comes back to haunt Synclair, and he finds himself in debt to an enemy.)