Chapter 8: Small Talk

As usual when he entered the parlour, the smells of leather and pine momentarily transported Soren to the distant past.

When they were little, he, Rylan, and Zahra used to hang out here a lot during the colder of the six seasons; especially Tempis, the storm season, and Tenebris, the dark season. They would drink warm tea sweetened with sugarcane and play board and card games while huddled up beneath a blanket draped around a little table. His father or grandmother would come by once in a while to check on them, and touch up the Mana Capacitor embedded in the centre of said table, to keep the firemetal radiator that hung beneath blazing.

It was currently Solis, the bright season, so the little table stood bare, no blanket-skirt in sight, and the Mana Capacitor was empty.

With a soft sigh, Soren put down the sign he was still holding on to, and took a seat.

Meanwhile, Vidric let out an amused-sounding hum as he slowly turned in the centre of the room, taking in the expensive, leather-clad, wooden furniture and tapestry-decorated walls. “My my... how cozy!”

“I’m glad you approve,” Beatrice Thistlethorn replied, delicately sitting down in an ornately carved chair and barely glancing at her grey-haired personal maid who stepped up to pour her usual glass of warm brandy. “Please, do take a seat, and let Tilda know what you’d like. Will your attendant be partaking?”

“I’ll take a cherry wine, or any kind of berry wine if there’s none on hand,” Vidric replied as he took place in the centre of a leather couch, bouncing up and down for a moment as if to test the seating. “And don’t worry about Tammi; she’s as dull as drying clay when she’s working.”

Soren glanced over at the impassive, dark-haired bodyguard, who’d taken up position leaning against the wall, and had to agree.

Etiquette around Quinthar servants was complicated. Generally speaking, they deserved a seat at the table by their own status, but at the same time they were subservient to their contractor, and thus couldn’t be treated on the same footing.

“I see,” Soren’s grandmother said, before launching into a diatribe about the apparent disappointment that was last year’s grape harvest and the wine produced from it, and her heartfelt concern for this year’s.

To his surprise, Vidric agreed whole-heartedly, claiming he’d been ‘forced’ to delve deeper into his reserves of ‘acceptable’ wine than he’d liked.

Despite himself, Soren found his gaze drifting back to the sign at his feet.

He wasn’t sure if his staring prompted it, but the topic eventually turned to his friend, and out of nowhere, an undercurrent of tension seemed to arise in the room.

“So,” Vidric said, twirling his glass of deep-red cherry wine by the stem. “You’ve got a young talent on your hands. You must be quite pleased.”

Beatrice gave a slight smile. “Of course. I’m ecstatic.”

“Clearly,” Vidric replied with a twinkle of amusement in his deep violet eyes. “Young Quinthar with combat Skills are hot commodities. And Knife-Throwing, no less.”

Soren’s brow furrowed at that statement. Before he could pull his expression back into something resembling the calm and collected one his grandmother always had him practise, Vidric glanced over.

“As Emerald-Grade Skills go, Knife-Throwing is a relatively rare one,” he explained with an indulgent smile. “And one with excellent potential. Decently dangerous at medium range, absolutely lethal from up close...”

Behind him, his bodyguard made a quiet, contemptuous sniff.

“Yes yes,” Vidric said, waving at her without even looking back. “I know you’d just bully them with that big shield of yours and close the distance, but not everyone is you, Tammi. In the right setting, Knife-Throwing can be a true nightmare, especially when combined with Dagger-Fighting. Then, the humble knife suddenly becomes one of very few weapons that allows one to fight in melee as well as at range. And Dagger-Fighting is a lot easier to acquire.”

“Which is why I’m sure young master Talon understands that the boy isn’t for sale,” Beatrice said, before taking a sip.

Vidric laughed. “Oh my. And I hadn’t even made an offer yet.”

Beatrice shrugged. “Our staff is like family. I could never put a price on them. However, it is still fortuitous that you’re here... It’s only right for a new Quinthar in our employ to be offered a proper Contract, after all.”

“Well, I’ll be happy to oblige,” Vidric replied gamely. “In fact; seeing as I’m already imposing on your hospitality, I’ll even waive our usual Contracting fee.”

“You’re too kind, Thar Talon,” Beatrice said. “But since you insist, we’ll accept.”

She leaned back slightly, while Vidric lifted his glass and took a sip, neither breaking eye contact. In some ways, it felt to Soren like a battle had just been fought. He had the vague impression his grandmother had come out on top, yet Vidric seemed not at all ill at ease.

However, he had a hard time focusing on the social struggle, as he had to make every effort to not look like his head was spinning. She wants to put Rylan under a Contract? But... practically none of our Quinthar staff are under Contract!

Not that their family had that many Quinthar working for them, as they were rather expensive. The captain of the guard was one—he had Halberd-Fighting—and he kind of needed to be, as his job was to lead patrols through the cloudsea around the island. Then there was the botanist who helped his mother in the greenhouse, and finally the tailor, who preferred to live in a nearby Free City, but came by every season with new clothes for the Thistlethorns.

Of those three, Soren was pretty sure only the captain was under Contract.

A clattering noise caught his attention, then, and he turned to find Ava and Zahra, with the latter holding a tray of snacks, her eyes and mouth wide open. She quickly closed them, looking down as she fully entered the room and set the tray down on the little table.

Ava bowed and cleared her throat. “Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes; our apologies for the delay.”

With that, she bowed once more, and left, Zahra hurrying after her with a nervous jitter in her step.

How much of that did she hear?

“Splendid!” Vidric said, before quaffing the rest of his wine, grabbing two snacks, and practically jumping up from the couch. “I’d be most appreciative if someone could show me to my accommodations; I’d love to freshen up.”

Soren watched mutely as Tilda led him out the room at a nod from his grandmother, with ‘Tammi’ slinking right after them. The bodyguard hesitated for a moment at the exit, turned to briefly bow to Beatrice, and only then left.

This left Soren alone with his grandmother, who let out a soft sigh as the door clicked shut.

As he stared at her, he felt a familiar indignation bubbling up. Unlike usual however, he was having trouble pushing it down.

His grandmother apparently took note, frowning slightly in a way she hadn’t done once during her verbal spar with Vidric. “What’s the matter, Soren? I thought you’d be happy for your friend.”

“Why?” Soren demanded, the word spilling out almost against his will. “Why do you treat him like this?”

Her frown deepened. “Who? Vidric?”

“No, Rylan!” Soren exclaimed, finding himself standing up and gesticulating as he kept speaking. “First you send the Deeptides away, then you put an anklet on him, now you want to put him under Contract? Why?!”

His grandmother’s face turned to stone. “Sit down and lower your voice.”

“I’d rather—”

“Sit. Down.”

Soren swallowed, and took a seat.

His grandmother took him in for a long moment, as if to see whether he’d behave, then nodded once. “We are not fools, Soren,” she said curtly. “Rylan made it quite clear that, despite everything we’d done for him, he would have very much liked to leave our estate. If it were anyone else, I would have suggested giving him a taste of life in a Free City, and simply waiting for it to chew him up and spit him out. However... I in fact do care about the fool boy, as do your parents and sister. Which is why we chose to protect him against his own foolishness.”

“By treating him like a prisoner?”

“He tried to run away through the cloudsea, Soren,” his grandmother snapped. “Would you rather have had him eaten by a Malequint?”

Soren frowned, folding his arms over his chest. Frankly, that had been exactly the worry that had driven him to confess what he’d learned. However, the outcome had not been what he’d expected or hoped for...

He’d hoped that when his family learned how persistent Rylan was, that they’d relent.

“Well then,” his grandmother continued, giving him no chance to translate his thoughts into words. “You understand we did what we had to. Of course, considering his new status, it will obviously not do to keep him locked in that anklet. Which means we’ll need a new means to... disincentivise any foolishness. Hence, a Contract. And make no mistake, we’ll offer him a fair deal; he’ll serve us for a short decade, and then he’ll be free to do as he pleases.”

Soren’s mouth fell open. “A decade?”

“Well, I suppose the precise duration will be up for negotiation,” his grandmother said with a sigh, shaking her head. “But that’s what I’ll be pushing for. You won’t truly understand the folly of youth until you’ve had a few decades under your belt to reflect on your own. Trust me.”

Soren’s jaw was starting to hurt a little from how hard he was clenching it, so he physically forced himself to relax it, drawing his face into the expression his grandmother expected of him. “What if you fail to come to an agreement?” he asked, considerably calmer than he felt.

His grandmother took a sip, crinkling her eyes at him in approval. She allowed the silence to linger for a moment longer, seeming to consider his question. “We won’t,” she finally said with certainty. “I can offer him what he wants most.”

Soren raised a brow. “You mean freedom?”

Her small smile told him she appreciated the subtle barb, the mildness of his sarcasm. “No. Information.”

He frowned. “You mean Skill Requirements and such? Couldn’t he learn such things from other sources?”

“I mean information. That’s all you need to know right now. Now, have I answered your questions to satisfaction?”

His frown deepened, as he recalled his initial question. “Keeping him here, the contract... you’re saying you’re doing all of that because you care about Rylan? And, what, I’m supposed to believe his new value doesn’t weigh into your considerations?”

“Everything weighs in my considerations,” she replied, a sharp glint in her eyes. “That is the burden of leadership, of responsibility. Take this to heart, Soren; when you inherit my position, you cannot make judgements based solely on emotions and sentimentality. Do you understand?”

Soren felt his shoulders want to droop at the reminder, but he forcibly kept them squared. “I... yes ma’am.”

Apparently, Helen had ‘neither the disposition nor the will’ to inherit the title of Viscountess currently held by their grandmother. Thus, after his father, the title would pass on to Soren.

“Good.” She leaned back in her chair, seeming satisfied. “Keep that chin up, Soren. If I’d had any doubts about you, I would have started training one your cousins. But I see a lot of myself in you.”

Soren glanced at her, conflicted feelings rising in his chest.

“We have an important guest today,” she continued. “After dinner, I expect you to accompany Thar Talon wherever he goes until he retires for the evening, is that clear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Now, go freshen up.”

Soren stood up, his fingers feeling strangely wooden as he picked up the sign and made his first few steps towards the door.

“Oh and Soren,” she added casually as he laid his hand on the handle of the door. “Whatever you do, keep him far from Rylan.”

Author's note:

Thanks for reading! ^^