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"Uneasy Affairs" (Claira, Ashlin) ---------------------------------- King's Palace, Artolia Capitol - November 16 - Late Afternoon - ---------------------------------- Change, as many humans often found, was not always a pleasant thing. "I appreciate your cooperation, Minister," Claira intoned blandly, with a polite nod to her host. She thought this would have fit right into Flenceburg's tight-knit society - lying with a straight face was a valued trait amongst that crowd. The man in question, Artolia's Minister and the king's most trusted advisor, gave her a smile she could have oiled her boots with. So smooth. He fit right into the backdrop of white marble and crimson silk that made up the Hearing Room, right down to the ornate, exaggerated sense of majesty the room tried to exude. To a less practiced eye, he would have looked as grand as the chamber they stood in. But Lombert was... a unique personage, at least in Artolia. The people of this country were nearly all fair of skin and hair, and their features softer and full - this man's narrow face and sharpened eyes were not native to this region. Without his bulky state robes and golden chains of office, he would have been a bony old man with hair gray and molded in such a way that it looked as if he wore his nightcap too often... hardly a proper statesman. The question arose again in her mind: what was a man like him doing in office /here/? There was something about him that set her nerves on edge, and it wasn't just the cold gleam in his eyes. Where was Artolia's former Minister? "Your pardon for the long wait, Professor," he offered. "The princess has been quite busy with affairs of state, and this is as much as we can manage in a state of emergency. If you'll forgive me..." Smile and nod. "Yes of course, Minister. Thank you for your time." He raised his hand to his knightly escort, and Claira waved the gesture away with a flicker of her very pale hands. "I know my way. Again, thank you." Scepter in hand, she turned on her heel and walked away in what she assumed would be called a 'dignified silence'. Her companion would probably have another word for it, but that wasn't her concern at the moment. Where was old Minister Bucklen? It hadn't been /that/ long since her last visit to Artolia. What had happened in the last few years to cause such a change? War? The rumored peace treaty with Crell Monferaigne? He had been against that, certainly, and with good reason, but he wouldn't have deserted the royal family at such a crucial time. And that really only left one answer, didn't it...? Ashlin would have told her she was taking things too seriously. 'You're being too paranoid, Claira,' she would probably say when this subject would come up over dinner tonight. 'Not every place is like where you come from.' That would turn into an argument, she imagined. Claira didn't appreciate the novelty of being regarded as a paranoid freak, and her companion was never happy when she knew Claira was not taking her seriously. How they had gotten together in the first place was a mystery to her, sometimes. Claira's pace quickened as soon as she was out of sight around a curve in the hallway from the audience chamber, the sound of her passage muffled by thick crimson carpet and tapestry-bedecked walls. Candles glittered brightly from shining brass chandeliers, but none of it was bright enough to wash out the sunlight flowing in from the palace doors ahead of her. A haven, the courtyard would be, cold or no. Anything was better than the atmosphere of this place. It wasn't paranoia. She wasn't just set in her ways. The absence of Bucklen and the queen bode ill... Abella's death had been news even in the distant reaches of Gerabellum, where Claira had been at the time, but she'd no idea that they'd died at the same time. Was anyone else paying attention to that, or were they too busy looking over their shoulders at the border with Villnore? That wasn't taking things too seriously. She knew a game when she saw one, and this one stretched a little too far into the shadows for her liking. If it hadn't been for the princess, Claira would have left immediately - she was already in enough trouble with the Council in Flenceburg. But Jelanda's safety would have to be secured somehow - as the only heir, she would be a prime target. Claira wasn't about to suggest that the Collegium was any better than Artolia, but at least no one there had a reason to kill her. Villnore, Villnore... She hurried down the steps in the entrance hall, nodding curtly to the decon as she passed him by, eager to find her companion and leave the stuffy confines of the palace. Villnore had been her next destination, but the more she thought about the situation along the border, the more ridiculous it seemed. She wasn't sure she had the nerve to try to cross in the middle of a war. And that was unmistakably what the situation would be by the time she'd be ready set off again. But if her meetings here were successful, Villnore would indeed be the last place she would want to go. Despite its chilly relations with Artolia, Crell Monferaigne would be by far a safer choice, and it would lead her straight back... home. Home. The word almost felt alien to her. When had she ever been able to call a place home? Flenceburg counted, she supposed. It was her birthplace, and the capitol was unfortunate enough to house her greedy family... though really, Lorenta was the only person she counted as a member of her family any longer, related not by blood but simply mutual caring. What could she be up to now...? Perhaps teaching a class at this very moment, or giving into temptation and leafing through some of the old Professor's books? Claira had done a little of that herself... Might as well fit the crime she had been thrown out of the Academy for, if she was going to suffer for it. Hers was probably the shortest research career to ever grace that school's halls. On the bright side, she could now yell at the Council as much as she wanted without fear of retribution - they needed her in this position too much to mete out any sort of punishment for her behavior. There were three doors set into the marble walls of the entrance hall, each inlaid with a bit of gold around the royal family crest and set with quaint, crystal doorknobs. She noticed however, as she headed for the middle door to the room where Ashlin waited, that none of them were the /current/ family's crest. The Griffon was the symbol of Artolia's second dynasty of kings and queens - it was odd that the palace's later occupants had left any sign of that dark time in their halls, though on reflection, it might symbolize their hatred for Villnore... it was during that reign, a thousand years ago, that hostilities had risen to a fever pitch for the first time. Perhaps the fact that the war had led to the loss of most of Artolia's land was overlooked for the sake of today's public opinion. Tiny details like a millenia of humiliation paled beside that, /certainly/. Claira's hand closed over the chill doorknob and she entered the room with an impatient sigh. Today's business was done - if she could get through the rest of the day without any incidents involving Ashlin... perhaps all would be well. ------------------------------------ "Uneasy Affairs" (Claira, Ashlin) By Amber Michelle ------------------------------------ |