#which 1. shifts suspicion away from thoughts of a coup and 2. gives her something that the planet can rally behind

[butchniqabi]

danica harlan is honestly such an interesting villain bc she has like 20 plots going on at once and even when one of them fails she has contingency plans for her contingency plans and always manages to come out on top like she can very much play people, i honestly think thats what she excells at and the only reason she ultimately gets Got is because she cant outsmart or play a literal alien and she doesnt understand why she cant do that even at the end

[indiavolowetrust]

Carajillo II

SUMMARY: The sequel to Carajillo, which you can read here. A coup d'etat has been staged in the Celestial Realm. The human proposes a plan to halt the impending war.

Part One: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Part Two: Coming Soon!

Part Three: Coming Soon!

TW: Blood, Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Mention of Rape

PART ONE: CHAPTER FIVE

The angel scrutinizes us with rather uncomfortable, long pauses, seemingly content with taking note of every aspect of our appearances. I can’t help but stare back, meeting his suspicious gaze with an equally exasperated one of my own. Aside from that, the expression is unbecoming of his kind. The angel is a rather lanky, graceless creature, possessing a physique that would be more at home on a scribe than a domestic servant. Hardly worth a meal for a demon, if I were ever forced to devour him. And then there is the matter of his irritating habit. His eyes linger a moment too long on Maria as he assesses her, suggesting an unprofessional intent. Maria simply stares back.

I stifle the vexation that threatens to make itself known on my features.

“You two are from the, ah, sixth district?” He looks at our forged forms, his fierce scrutinization regressing into something more quizzical. “You two don’t really look like --”

“We’re not from there originally,” Maria says quickly, cutting him off. “And he’s -- I’m his adopted sister. I just thought it would be easier if I wrote that down.”

The interviewer says nothing at that. I regret letting Lord Diavolo forge our papers for us.

“Strange name,” he remarks. He gestures with his chin at me before Maria can speak, the vestiges of suspicion apparent in the momentary glance. “Not you. Him. Your -- sorry, his -- mother thought Boris was an appropriate name for an angel of the sixth district? I don’t think I’ve ever anyone with a name like that. You sure you two are from there?”

“Like I said, we’re --”

“If our forms have been deemed acceptable, would it not be logical for us to be given our duties?” I step forward in front of Maria, obscuring her from the angel’s gaze. In spite of our positions -- the pretense of a lesser angel seeking work in Sanctum, the grand heart of the Celestial Realm -- I find myself giving the creature a withering look, nearly glaring at the uptight angel. He fidgets awkwardly. “My sister has a rather weak constitution. The sooner she can start, the more useful she will be.”

The angel startles slightly, despite the carefulness of my movements. “It’s protocol. We can’t just let anyone in.”

“And protocol demands that you waste each applicant’s time with incessant questions?”

I stand only an inch or two above the angel, limiting the effect of my persuasion -- but it is enough. It takes twelve seconds for the angel to decide against arguing, the creature turning away with a huff, and then it is only four seconds for him to reach the door. Two seconds for him to call out to some unseen angel, thirty-three seconds for the previously unseen angel to escort Maria away to her newfound duty, and three seconds for him to look at me silently, perhaps considering giving me a tongue-lashing later for stepping out of line.

Regardless of whatever his thoughts may be, he gestures for me to follow him out of the interview room. Given that I have neither the ability nor the appetite to devour the angel, I do so.

It had been an easier process for Maria. As a soul with ties to neither the Celestial Realm nor the Devildom. partaking in Lord Diavolo’s family heirloom was little more than an outward change in form. A mere shift in her appearance. The ease of her process was expected, of course, considering the nature of the anomalous flora. The vivid crimson skin of the apple had yielded easily beneath her teeth as she bit into it, the blood-red juice staining her lips. It had squirmed only for a moment, the flesh pulsing much as one would expect of a heart, and then it had stopped. The fruit of Lord Diavolo’s family heirloom had simply withered away in her hands, the pretense she had chosen for her appearance overtaking her form.

The Apple of Lies, mockery of the Celestial Realm as it was, had not been so kind to me. I had imagined the image of an angel: something bright and brilliant and obnoxious. The flesh had scorched me from within as if it had been borne from the Celestial Realm itself.

I nearly flinch at my own reflection as the angel leads me through the expansive corridors, an unfamiliar man regards me from within the marble.  Unobtrusive verdant eyes, a mop of black hair, and fair, nearly human skin. A pure white worker’s uniform, despite assignment in Sanctum’s kitchens, and an equally monochromatic pair of shoes.

The angel continues to lead me past the end of the hall, the marble stopping at a particularly massive column. The unfamiliar man is gone.

The sunlight nearly blinds me when we step away from the inner halls, my pupils unused to the light, but the angel either does not care to stop or sees no need for it. I stand in place for a moment, blinking once. Twice. The unwelcome intrusion still plagues my vision after I do so, and it is a moment before I can see clearly once more. Before I can register the image that lies before me.

I pause at the sight.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” The angel remarks, coming to stand beside me. He laughs at my astonishment, my previous outburst seemingly forgotten. “The young empress herself commissioned for it to be built. I don’t rightly know if it holds a candle to the original, but it seems pretty damned close.”

His observation is only partially correct. The entirety of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon would never be able to fit into such a small place -- especially not wedged into the center of Sanctum -- but the resemblance is uncanny. Almost excruciatingly so. The previous demon king had stood by my side then, the prince a mere fledgling at the time. The towers of the great city of Babylon had loomed before us, the clamor of its people echoing deep into the night. The old king had hungered for the blood and power of the One Who Hungers, relying on my assistance in the human world, but I could not tear my eyes away from something so wondrous. For the first time, I had considered humans to be more than animals -- for what animal could create something so beautiful?

Aside from that, the presence of the replica indicates --

“My Lady!” the angel suddenly exclaims.

My thoughts cut themselves short. I turn around immediately.

The angel is a tall, stately creature, possessing skin as white as snow, hair the color of alabaster, and pink, unfocused pupils. They waver slightly as she regards the kneeling angel before her, the tips of her long fingers pressed to his lips. Despite the angel all but prostrating himself before her, the creature’s expression remains wholly indiscernible. Impassive, perhaps, if one took only her lack of response into consideration. Her entourage -- presumably, her flock of guards -- stands some distance behind her. The layers of white and silver robes rustle slightly when the angel finally releases her hand, the angel’s need to please almost sickening. She frowns almost imperceptibly.

The empress, I realize.

“What brings you here today, my Lady?” asks the angel, finally rising from his position. “Would you like a tour of the garden? A cup of tea to soothe your spirits?”

“Neither,” she replies. “I only saw fit to check on the state of the garden.”

The angel straightens at that, his enthusiasm rolling off his body in waves. “Oh, yes! I’ve assigned only the best of the best to tend to the garden day and night, my Lady. You can find no finer talent than in the walls of Sanctum, I can assure you of that.”

Her eyes flicker briefly to mine. The unfocused nature of her pupils do little to dull the sharpness of her gaze.

“And this one?”

“This one?” the angel echoes.

She scrutinizes me from afar, despite her clear lack of adequate vision. “Yes, that one,” she says. “I assume that one is here to work on the gardens as well.”

“Ah, no, my Lady. We merely picked him and his sister up today to place more staff in the kitchen and stables.” He spares only a dismissive glance towards me, making no effort to hide the irritation on his face. Still, her attention does not divert from me. “He is but a lowly --”

“Nonsense.” Her tone is scathing, cutting off the angel. He winces. The fair creature passes by the angel without a second glance, her entourage moving to follow close behind, and it is only moments before she stands in front of me. “All celestial beings are equal in the new era, no matter the circumstances of their birth,” she says. Her eyes blaze with a righteous fire. “Tell me, divine one, what is your name? From which district do you hail?”

I bow my head respectfully. “Boris, my Lady. I hail from the sixth district.”

She smiles. “A wonderful name. We have much work to do in the sixth district -- I do apologize for that -- but be rest assured that no one is considered lesser here. We are but divine brothers and sisters, are we not? All are equals in the eyes of the Divinity.”

Her layered robes are a whisper against the marble when she leaves, her pale form disappearing down the sunlit hall. The golden armor of her entourage clinks as they follow suit, the guards treading lightly against the polished floors. Like the pale creature, they, too, seem to become formless in the light.

The angel whirls around to regard me with vexation. “You imbecile!” he cries. “How dare you not bow before our esteemed Lady! If -- if that were me, I would have strung you up by your limbs! I --”

The angel’s empty threats and berating comments continue nearly the rest of the way to Sanctum’s kitchens, any thoughts or analyses I could have conjured interrupted by the angel’s shrill voice. The presence of bright, jarring sunlight and monochromatic marble and gold each way we turn does little to help the matter.

Silently, I make a note to devour him later. If necessary, of course.

* * *

It is seven hours, fifty-four minutes, and thirty seconds before I am able to depart unseen from the servants’ quarters, given the night rounds of Sanctum’s guards. I am glad for the wait. The darkness of the night is a welcome change to the insufferable brightness of the day. The warmth of the sun had nearly burned off my skin. The true cuisine of the Celestial Realm -- namely, those made with ingredients considered indigestible for demons -- had all but scorched my throat and stomach as I forced myself to swallow the given fare, the divine nature of the food burning me from the inside out. Handling such purely divine produce in the kitchen had seared off the palms of my hands, my natural rejuvenation slowed by the very air of the Celestial Realm, and even now I can feel the throbbing, aching pain. Despite the outward effects of the Apple of Lies, my body is still that of a demon. I can feel my constitution weakening with nearly every hour I spend in this sun-blighted place, the composition of my being slowly but surely tearing itself apart. Demons are not meant to live, much less thrive, in such a domain.

I can only imagine that Maria fares no better. Her weak constitution has likely done little to lend itself to the hard labor of being a laundress. While the implementation of more modern applications have likely lessened the strain on her body, the insufferable nature of the steward does little to ease my worries. As one of the lowest servants in Sanctum, Maria is more than likely being worked to the bone.

I tap the seconds out on my bandaged hands as I wait for Maria to arrive. Sixty seconds, one hundred and twenty seconds, one hundred and eighty seconds. Two hundred and forty seconds, three hundred seconds, three hundred and sixty seconds. The sound of the guards reverberates against the ground some distance away, alerting me to their presence, but there is no reason to make myself scarce. Not at the moment. Given the distance and the estimated time it would take for the guards to arrive within a questionable distance, Maria and I are in no danger of being discovered. A rather rough estimation by my standards, considering the Celestial Realm’s negative effects on my physiology and senses, but it is likely of little consequence. Even if we are, I can imagine that a nightly rendezvous is rather common in the walls of Sanctum.

Maria, as I had predicted, arrives in ten minutes and twenty seconds. The midnight-blue cloak does well to mask her figure against the great walls, allowing her to move as a shadow in the darkness, but it is her diminutive frame that gives her away. A stray curl slips out from her cloak before she can pull back the hood. Five seconds and eleven milliseconds later, her eyes widen at the sight of my nearly obscured form in against the storehouse. She moves with short, quick steps towards me, taking her place beside me.

I frown at her. “You’re late.”

“I -- I know,” she says sheepishly, her voice only slightly above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know if they would find me.”

“You’re a laundress. I’m sure they wouldn’t see it as anything out of the ordinary.”

She raises a brow. “At this hour? How would that not be suspicious? Where would they even think I was going?”

“To a tryst, perhaps.”

Her cheeks color. Given the soft haze of moonlight, the wildness of her curls against her visage, and her strangely lively disposition, it is a truly lovely sight.

“That’s -- they wouldn’t fall for that,” she protests with indignation, a hand rising to her cheek. It stops halfway -- a realization of habit, I presume -- and she settles for giving me a halfhearted glare. I stare back in response, stifling the teasing smile that threatens to appear on my features. “And aren’t we getting a little off topic?”

“We have more than enough time. The nearest guard is quite a distance away.” It is not a complete lie. I pause long enough to watch Maria repress a sigh. “The kitchens are connected to both the servants’ quarters and the inner chambers of Sanctum. I had little reason and time to explore the area, but a day or so should be enough.”

She nods. “That’s good. I think the laundry room and storage areas are all like that. Like they’re all connected, somehow. I tried to head down one of the halls, but the head laundress -- she yelled at me before I could get far enough. Anything else?”

An image of the alabaster angel flickers across my thoughts. “I met her.”

“Who?”

“The empress. She was on her way to the center of Sanctum when the steward and I found her.” Maria gives me a confused look, and I make an effort to explain further. “I believe you’ll have no difficulty recognizing her once you set your eyes upon her. She’s a tall, colorless creature.”

“That -- that can’t be right,” she says. “According to the head laundress, the empress was supposed to be in her quarters all day.”

“It is no trouble for an empress to move about of her own volition.”

Maria shakes her head at that. “Yes, but -- you said she was tall, right?”

“I did.”

“Then that can’t possibly be true. The clothes that I washed today looked like they were made for someone almost as short as I am.” She furrows her brows, thinking. “Maybe you have the wrong person?”

“I doubt it,” I respond, the memories of the steward’s unparalleled groveling coming to the surface. I nearly grimace at the thought. “Unless she is only a  high-ranking noble, I have little reason to believe that creature was anyone but the empress.”

She sighs. “At least, we have -- what -- nine days to finish up here? Twelve, maybe. We’ve got enough for now.”

“That’s rather optimistic, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s better than nothing. I don’t remember much from when I was limbo, but I do remember -- no, I know there was a heart of some kind.” A hand lifts to her temple, as if warding off some oncoming headache. Her visage gathers in concentration. “There was something very important here, but I -- I just can’t remember what. Important enough to drag us all the way here, at least.”

“I would hope so.” In spite of myself, I can’t help but deadpan. The irritated look on her face -- something other than feigned politeness or discomfort -- is worth it. “We are at the heart of enemy territory, if that’s what you meant to say.”

She frowns. “Well, that’s not very nice of you.”

“They would sooner have our heads than allow us to leave. Perhaps even have us drawn and quartered.”

A quiet moment passes between us, the horror showing vividly on her features. I realize that I may have gone a bit too far.

Then she is drawing her cloak around her small body, barely disguising a shiver -- but her expression is more than enough to put me at ease. For what seems to be the first time since her return to the Devildom, the barrier that I have incited between us has completely vanished. Her expression is completely devoid of that reluctance and distance that has governed her actions for the past few weeks. I can see through her once more, discerning the emotions that lie just beneath the surface. Certain indignation, visible horror, and traces of disgust. Fear and trepidation of the future that might come. Concern over the fragile balance between all three realms.

And then there is mirth. There is an undeniable, warm mirth and humor that sparkles in her dark eyes, illuminating her features more than the false moon ever could. She smiles.

Maria turns much too quickly, intending to take her leave. Effectively ending the intimacy between us. “We should follow the leads that we have before we lose them,” she says over her shoulder. “As long as --”

A sound catches my attention. I nearly curse.

I wrap my bandaged hand over Maria’s mouth before she can cry out, dragging her elsewhere into the shadows. Her small feet kick uselessly in the air in response, muffled protests nearly audible through my fingers -- but a sharp look persuades her otherwise. I gesture wordlessly with my gaze in the direction of the path.

A Sanctum guard walks past some five seconds later, the metal soles of their shoes inciting a noticeable clamor as they do appear within sight. A clamor that I had not been able to detect, despite the proximity of the guard. They stand under one of the great crystalline lights, twirling their spear with a flourish. It meets the ground with tangible impact, nearly startling Maria. I only continue to press my fingers against her mouth. Her feet dangle some distance from the ground, and I do my best to support the rest of her body. It is only when she truly catches sight of the guard that she ceases all movement, her eyes growing wide.

This one is considerably larger than the others. Seemingly more capable, judging by the precision and ease of their movement. Their skin appears to have been carved from marble, the pieces of gold and silver armor all but infused onto their body. A pair of massive, obnoxiously golden wings are folded at their back, further adding to their height, and the creature’s form seems to emanate light from within. A halo sits some distance from their shoulders, blazing in the darkness of the night. While I have little knowledge on the caste system of the angels, it requires little deductive skill to determine this particular angel’s standing. Their arms and legs are embedded with sapphire and other precious stones, indicating the angel’s rank. Their neck -- at least, what would serve as a neck -- swivels about. Despite their clear lack of a head, the Sanctum guard seems to fare well enough.

I press the both of us further into the shadows, willing our forms to melt into the marble behind us. Maria’s heartbeat races, signalling her panic, but I do not dare release her mouth. The slightest noise would give away our position. And so we are forced to wait long, arduous seconds, time crawling at an excruciating pace.

Six seconds pass. The Sanctum guard leans casually against their spear, all too willing to to settle into place.

Twenty-one seconds pass. The Sanctum guard continues to scan the area, scrutinizing the darkness.

Thirty-nine seconds pass. The Sanctum guard stands almost perfectly still. Waiting.

Two minutes and ten seconds pass. The Sanctum guard makes themselves scarce, apparently content with abandoning their quarry. I wait another minute before releasing Maria’s mouth, still holding her against me, and she merely collapses against my arms. She is quiet for a few moments.

“They followed us here,” she finally whispers, the fear coating her voice. Maria looks up at me with wide, frightened eyes. “They -- they knew we were going to be here and --”

“Maybe not ‘we,’” I say, interrupting her before she can rouse herself into a greater panic. My eyes search the visible gap between the wall and the storehouse, searching for the angel’s outline. I find nothing. “It seems the angel was only looking for suspicious activity. Evidence of some kind.”

“Other than that steward, there’s no one else who could have tipped us off. He’s the only one who --” She pauses, sighing. Gathering her thoughts. “We should meet elsewhere next time. Not tomorrow. Choosing to meet by the storehouse was too obvious.”

“Indeed.”

Her body relaxes in my embrace. It is only now that I realize the intimacy of our position. Her small body, despite her state, is somehow warm and inviting, sparking a blaze within me. Her mass of curls is pressed against my chest, her head a distance away from my shoulders. My arms are wrapped snugly around her small waist, the rest of her form following suit. I revel in the sensation, despite myself. Basking in her strange warmth. I can almost pretend that there exists no barriers between us, that I had not spoiled our friendship in the worst ways possible.

And then it is gone.

She pushes herself off me with an unexpected amount of force, stumbling in the aftermath. Maria quickly obscures her features with her hood, the fabric creating a shadow, and she regards me for only a moment. I stare back in confusion.

“The laundry room of the lower floors,” she says, turning away from me. “There’s a relief of one of the archangels by it. We’ll meet in two days.”

I find myself reaching for her before I know it, intending to take her by the hand -- but I grasp at nothing. Only the slightest hint of her cloak brushes against my fingers, a stray curl wisping away in the air. She leaves the vicinity just as quickly as she had arrived. I am left alone in the darkness, wanting.

[fanesavin]

The High Inquisitor has a meeting with the Prelate concerning the findings of his investigation.

[ (x) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (x) | Part 4 | Part 5  (x) | Part 6 (x) | Part 7 | Part 8 (x) | Part 9 (x) |Part 10 (x) | Part 11 (x) (x) ]

@teddyaynesworth

Fane let Bellamy and Faye go, turning about and heading in the direction of the Prelate’s office. The nearer he got to the room the heavier the conversation with Lady Florent earlier in the day weighed on his shoulders. You cannot serve justice and peace. And yet, did he not swear to give the former, never the latter. Moving up the winding staircase until he reached the door in question and raised a clenched fist to knock before he entered. “I’m sorry to bother you Prelate, but I have urgent business to discuss with you.” Was this a mistake? Could he trust the man he was going to speak with? Fane didn’t rightly know, but the Prelate would play a role in determining the Raj the people called for and Fane was worried about the outcome.

Prelate Theodore "Inquisitor! I’d expected your work on behalf of the Council would have you occupied day and night.“ Theodore moved closer to Fane, thinning his eyes as he inspected the man’s face, the exhaustion inscribed on features that were doing their best to maintain order and fulfill duty. "Then again – it looks as though you’ve been racing through the candles already. Come, man, get off your feet for a moment. Have some wine.” The Prelate gestured towards one of the heavy chairs at his table, pouring them both his green wine. “Tell me what your concerns are. Does it have to do with your findings about the crown?”

Fane had been burning the candle at both ends and while he attempted to maintain a presentable appearance as befit his rank there were signs of the toll. Equally growing more restless the more he learned. Too many moving wheels and gears. The offer to sit took a moment to be considered but ultimately he shook his head, "I doubt I'd be able to sit still long enough." But the wine he did accept, taking a small sip, strong and a touch sour but it gave him a point to focus on. "As you well know, the late High Raj wished to have his coronation crown refurbished, that refurbishment happened here in the capitol with the Guild's best blacksmith who after several visits has confirmed the rig containing the venom was not present prior to its departure on the journey... The journey was clearly the most obvious point of weakness, and I've worked to confirm that the crown used in the ceremony was not the same one that left the Capitol at the beginning of its tour of the kingdoms. It was counterfeited and replaced."

As he’d said, Fane wasn’t able to stand still for the duration, starting to pace back and forth. “We know the crown went to and stayed longest in Blackspire, Summerset, the Kesleylands and Hathurana. It also had brief stays in Honeywild, the High Peninsula and the Eades… But in two of these locations I’ve come to learn the Captains left the crown unguarded...” He drew in a long breath turning back to the Prelate, “that was in Summerset and the Kesleylands.”

Prelate Theodore steepled his fingers as he listened to Fane's tense report, the words spooling out like coins on a money string -- clanking against each other, each heavy with value. "You've acquitted yourself most honourably," Theodore said, wanting to preface any further discussion with that accolade. It was a thankless task the Inquisitor had been given, and he'd clearly thrown himself body and soul into performing it to the absolute limits of his well-proven ability. "If we can count anything in this situation as fortunate, it's that we had you on hand to conduct this investigation." Picking up his wine, Theodore sipped it as he collected his thoughts. "Summerset and Kesleyland; one allied with the Forty Isles whose Grand Lady was subject to an attack, the other peopled with anti-witch zealots who do nothing but tarnish the name of their House." He raised an eyebrow at Fane. "If one was inclined towards the bolder set of evidence, it would look fair damning for the Kesleys, wouldn't it?"

Fane allowed himself a minute humourless smile but took the moment to catch himself. “I was charged with finding justice and I hope it is found.” The Inquisitor grew quiet as he let the Prelate think equally knowing the worth of silence. “Unfortunately, that’s just the issue," Fane stopped by one of the map tables his eyes drifting over the different Kingdoms "whoever carried this out was calculated and cunning. Why would someone go to all this effort and intricacy only to draw so much attention to themselves by trying to kidnap the grand-lady and then staging a coup in the keep barely days after the murder of the Raj?" Fane shook his head, "it doesn't make sense. Which is what leads me to believe Summerset is the more likely location that the crown was swapped.”

Prelate Theodore nodded, his voice wry when he replied to Fane's pinning the Summerset as the most likely culprit. "I'd have preferred if it were the Kesleys," he admitted. "Their House is chaotic and not well-liked or respected, especially after their antics these past few days. Summerset ... it's a kingdom with storied history, an admired Grand Lady, and strong ties to our most sprawling and economically virile nation of the Isles." Theodore frowned at the table, a knot of wood that hadn't been sanded down to lie flush with the rest. "Should we make accusations of the Summerset, we will have but once chance to make it stick." 

Fane sighed through his nose, "aye as I wish it was too." Fane continued to ponder the map, "Summerset and the Kesleys have always had long-standing rivalry have they not?" He grimaced at the mention of accusations, "that's the issue Prelate, I'm not sure I have enough to make an accusation and know it's the correct individual taking the blame." Fane straightened leaving the table, his features grim "there's more, we know that the princes of the Isles were in attendance at Summerset. The Forty Isles Captain admitted as much under interrogation from his Commander - he was bribed with forty isles coin to leave the crown while they were in Summerset while the other guard was diverted with a distraction… He took it as the briber implied the work was for the Queen’s Consort. The man unfortunately managed to find a way take his life in captivity before we had a chance to question him further… Equally, the counterfeit crown bore the mark of the forty isles.” 

Prelate Theodore sat up straighter, his frown deepening. "You mean to tell me that this counterfeit crown, the one fitted with the means for murdering the High Raj, had a visible mark of the Forty Isles?" Theodore rose from his seat, now, moving to the map table as well as though if they both scrutinized it enough, the secrets of its cartography would enlighten them. "Then either the Princes are becoming uncharacteristically slovenly in their dabblings in intrigue, or someone is attempting to shift blame to them."

Fane gave a slight nod of his head, "aye, equally the journeyman of the blacksmith in the Capitol that completed the refurbishment of the crown hailed from Summerset. She had to return there apparently to fetch her sister, only, she never to returned. It's quite a coincidence that the only other person to see the schematics for the crown and how it would be refashioned never returned... The amount of evidence continues to overwhelmingly stack up against Summerset." But he had to agree with the Prelate, it hearkened back to his earlier statement about the Kesleys drawing attention to themselves. "I can't say I'm so familiar with the younger Cardero but I've known Prince Iann for a fair few decades now. His son's been one of my wards and the man is as cunning as anyone in his subterfuge. I know the Raj defeated him in battle during the wars but I honestly can't admit to seeing him leaving such blatant evidence that would bring him and his House to ruin. The man's many things but an idiot he is not." He grew quiet, there was one piece of evidence he had yet to share. Finishing his wine he set it down, he settled into silence once more as he weighed up something with himself "there's one more thing... But... I can't I can see where it might fit in the larger puzzle if it even fits anywhere at all...."

"No, the Driftwood Prince is no fool. Liar and pirate he might be, and set to inherit a vast amount of wealth and far-reaching influence, but not a fool." Theodore tucked his hands into his long flared sleeves. "One might almost wish he was, eh, Lord Savin? At least then we would be assured of him accidentally showing his hand in this affair." His gaze swept along the archipelago of the Greater Isles, out through the dotted scatter of the rest that made up the Forty. "Instead of being obliged to consider the possibility that he's clever enough to clear himself of suspicion by making the reasons to suspect him far too obvious." He sighed and stepped away, moving to one of the tall panelled windows. "You may as well divulge all of your information, Lord Savin," he said. "Whether it adds another snarl to this tangle or not."

Fane made a quiet noise of agreement. "And considering he's set to inherit that wealth and his father's seat why would he wish to squander it with an ill attempted plan such as this?" He studied the ocean between the Isles and the main continent, he'd never liked sea-faring much and the Isles were a far cry from his own lifestyle. "You heard about the Kesley coup, the lord responsible ended up being taken to the dungeons for further questioning... Only to end up being found with his throat sliced from ear to ear." A grim death as any, Fane stood up seeming hesitant to speak but having no reason not to share what he'd learned. "My men that were guarding the night of his death reported that the Grand Lady was the last to visit the man alive and that she had a strange hooded figure accompanied her on this particular journey... She happened to claim to be there on my behalf... Which, I can say is untrue... No effort was made to bribe the guards however, which was either quite deliberate or a mistake..." He shifted, feeling uncomfortable as he spoke the words. "Perhaps she had reason for being there... They did attempt to kidnap her, and I would never wish to presume about such matters without more evidence if there even is indeed any to be uncovered... Unfortunately, my attempts to investigate such things is where I've come up dry, considering the Kesleys are all six feet under now... I did hope Lady Florent might be of assistance -- I know you and her were to be seated on the Raj's council and of her position as Master of Whisperers. Unfortunately, as she informed me earlier today she is of the belief justice and peace can't both be served." 

That certainly sounded like something Ciara would say, particularly to a person like the Inquisitor -- whose entire position was intended to bludgeon information from suspects with expedience rather than finesse. It was a good thing he was facing the window; that meant the Prelate could indulge himself in a smile before assuring Fane, "Our Master of Whispers occupies a liminal space both physically and mentally. It's necessary to her position, and it also makes her suspicious of ... the co-existence of certain systems of governance. Or rather, the possibility of co-existence." Theodore turned from the window to look at Fane. "We can amend that objection easily, you and I. The Dawnguard can continue to serve the cause of justice, and the Cloverry will devote itself to instilling peace." The Prelate motioned between them. "We can be the fulcrum. I am a creature of politicking, Lord Savin; there's no need for you to wear yourself down when it comes to that side of the equation. But we can continue to share information."

Fane merely made a non-committal noise concerning Ciara. "Well, unless you can convince her to part with any secrets for the sake of finding the person responsible for all this, I'm not sure we have a case." His eyes drifted to the window, and the chants and cries going up from the streets beyond. "Which leaves us with a conundrum, doesn't it? The people want and expect us to give them a High Raj."

Prelate Theodore corrected in a firm, sure voice, "The people want and expect the Cloverry to give them a High Raj. And the Cloverry is already tabulating appropriate candidates, you can be sure." 

Fane inclined his head in polite deference for his mistake, "aye you're right, I apologise... It's been a long week."

Prelate Theodore waved a hand before returning it to his sleeve. "Not needed, Lord Savin. It's become second nature to me to remind people that appointing the High Raj is the province of the Cloverry -- I know that it's something you are well aware of. It's been a long week for me, as well." Theodore rolled his shoulders back, then forward again before straightening. "Please, don't trouble yourself anymore with the matter of the counterfeit crown and where the culpability lies. The Council will now take that matter on board. You've ... done plenty, for a man reluctant to be pressed into wartime service again."

Fane straightened his posture lifting his chin. "No doubt," politics nor the game were Fane's area of expertise so he was glad to pass the mantle on to someone else. "I've done what was asked of me, if it bears fruit then I'll rest easy. But, should you require my service for anything else, just ask."

Prelate Theodore gave a halfway nod, but then reconsidered and stepped closer to Fane, extending his cold, elegant hand. "You've been invaluable, Lord Savin," he said with the calm sincerity that the most effective clergy aspired to. "The Council will always consider you a trusted member and treasured asset."

Fane was admittedly surprised by the gesture, rare was it for the Prelate to give acknowledgement as he was presently. Fane took the proffered hand, far less elegantly but then again, his hands never were meant for building or shaping empires. "I appreciate your faith Prelate, and I hope by the end of all this we come out with some semblance of the peace we hoped to craft by being here." After shaking the man's hand, Fane naturally stepped back. "Please, keep me informed of any further developments that happen to arise... Otherwise, by your permission I shall take my leave of you."