A Dance of Spiders

Belmilia Carrington-Howell sighed and leaned back in her chair.  "Is that the last of it, Waxford?"

"Yes, my lady."  The estate steward gathered up the stack of papers; manorial accounts, court rolls, custumals, all the information necessary to run the estates and manors that made up the Howell lordship.  "I should have the final accounts ready by this evening."

"That will be fine."  She waved him away and stared moodily out the window.  Three days of holding court and reviewing accounts had been an unpleasant reminder of just how badly damaged the lordship was.  That most of her peers were at least as badly off was only a small consolation.  And it still wasn't hers; with Lord Howell's death the estates should have escheated to the Crown, she held them only because there were no suitable heirs and too many vacant holdings already.  Eventually, she might hope that the Crown would grant it to her in full.  Eventually.

Her eyes narrowed as a party of horsemen rode into the courtyard, the breeze lifting their banner for a moment as they reined in.  Vert, two hawks or, wings adorsed; Viscount Carrick's arms.  An odd time for a social call.

"I see you've been keeping your hangman busy, Lady Howell."  Lord Carrick chuckled heartily as he crossed the room.

Belmilia smiled as he bowed over her proffered hand.  "Yes, some of the Defias thought to stir up my tenants.  Fortunately, I have the right of high justice on this manor."

"Good.  Can't have the damned peasants getting ideas."  Carrick settled himself in a chair, the light mail under his doublet chinking.  "Things are unsettled enough as it is these days."

"Some refreshment, my lord?"  Belmilia motioned for a servant.

"Some wine would be splendid, thank you."

She took a moment to study him while they waited.  A sturdy man of early middle years, a swordsman of some repute, and like most men his age a veteran of three wars,.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit, my lord?"  Belmilia allowed her guest to select a glass from the servant's tray before taking her own.

"Why, a desire to enjoy the grace of your company, my lady."  He smiled charmingly, raising this glass.

She smiled at the transparent falsehood.  "You've come rather far out of your way for that, my lord.  Why, I'm sure your lady wife would provide a superior example of grace at much less inconvenience."

"My lady wife is, alas, not a fellow member of the House of Noble."  He drank, watching her over the rim of the goblet.

Politics, then.  She and Carrick were frequent allies in the House, although not officially members of the same party.

"As you know, the King's request for new taxes will be coming to a vote shortly."

She nodded as he continued.

"The vote will be close, I'm afraid.  That horrid little man Kast and his allies have managed to drum up enough support to endanger our position."

"I am quite aware of the situation, my lord."  She raised a questioning eyebrow.

"We can not afford scandal at this time, my lady.  Examples would have to be made and that sort of thing, you know."  He gestured airily.

"How fortunate that I am far from scandalous, my lord."  Belmilia replied blandly.

"Fortunate indeed, my lady."  His return smile was equally opaque.

Their conversation wandered among familiar, safer topics; news, court gossip, crop prices, the dismal state of the countryside; while her thoughts raced.  Her investments in Miss Blanchard's diamond mines were mostly legal, any irregularities there would fall to Blanchard's part.  Her magical interests, on the other hand were a source of danger.  Stormwind's laws on magic were sufficiently flexible in the right hands to entrap any but the most orthodox practitioner.  Were she to fall afoul of those laws, she could expect no support from Carrick and his party.

"I have heard a most curious rumor, by the way.  Entirely false, I'm sure, but curious nonetheless."

"Really, my lord?"  Belmilia raised an eyebrow.

"According to this rumor, His Majesty Varian is alive and on Kalimdor."  He waved a hand dismissively, "Nonsense, I'm sure."

"There have been many such rumors."  And indeed there were; why was he telling her this?  "His Majesty's return would be most ... fortunate."  For some; most unfortunate for others.

"Will you stay for supper, my lord?"

"While nothing would please me better, my lady, I must needs take my leave."

Belmilia watched him ride off, her pleasant smile masking a sour mood.  A generation of warfare had culled the weak, the foolish, and the merely unlucky from the ranks of Stormwind's nobles.  For all his affectations and foppery, Carrick was a dangerous man.  Warnings had been delivered.  What game was Carrick playing?  Was he trying to put her in his debt?  Or was there a more subtle design?

If King Varian were to return, some nobles would undoubtedly fall and others would rise to take their places.  Those who might fall would be willing to take risks, great risks, to see that it did not happen.  And those who might rise?

"Those who might rise should be patient for now." And with that thought, Lady Howell went to dress for dinner.