Belmilia

Rethelia crushed the letter in her hand and felt its sharp, crumpled edges dig into her palm. Of course Lady Howell would suggest their meeting take place in her home- the girl should have expected no different outcome. Now, there was nothing she could do. To insist anywhere else was to show too particular a preference and, more importantly, fear.

She felt that fear, that sticking, sickly danger, acutely, so she did the only sensible thing- she sent her assent immediately.

Of course. She would be there.

The girl walked awhile in the dark, silent night that Stormwind had become. She threw the invitation into the canal.

Lady Howell frowned, not for the first time, and considered the letter that lay on her desk.  She reflected how interesting it was that a simple piece of paper and such a seemingly innocuous request could hold such peril.  The Fallowtide woman had written her some days earlier requesting; politely, oh so politely, access to the late Countess Cheraville's books.  Such a simple request, and one that raised the most interesting questions.

How had she known of the bequest?  It was generally assumed that the Countess' library had been destroyed in the fire which had consumed her estate following her death.  The books had been conveyed to her some months later through a chain of intermediaries.

Dalaran is known for it's wine.

And at the Hero's Welcome, they don't seem to mind if you put your hooves on the table. 

Nervous pacing was not one of Lady Howell's usual habits.  She'd expected Countess Cheraville to make herself known at some point, the woman's monstrous vanity would permit no less.  But why now? She stopped and picked up the letter from her desk. 

"My dear pet," Belmilia wrinkled her nose in distaste at the Countess' phrasing.  The letter had been long, florid, and annoyingly ... self indulgent.  It was a pity she had not retained Miss Blanchard's writing style, even legalese was preferable to this.

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."

Ta'Srith sat completely still. As was her preference, she sat in the faint impression of a room ten thousand years vanished and gone. When she needed to think, it was here that the ancient mage came. She had proudly told Tamlin Halfblood the prior night that she was no tool after her sneer at Kael'thas registered on the savage hunter. Pathetic tool, she'd titled both the puling melodramatic "noble" and his imbecilic council of advisors. Lumbering oafs, all of them. The one called Sanguinar was so embarrassing she'd felt she might laugh, standing in a room stinking of magic. His roars of brutish rage were little different from those of an ogre.

I’ve been doing this for so long, I should have known when things were going well that my luck would eventually dry out. Stealing the reference books from the University library had been as easy as if I’d been knicking copper pieces from Grandmum’s candy dish. Of course, it may have earned me a spot of momentary popularity with the Bluffwatchers, but that would blow over in time. I still didn’t know how Artisania had fingered me for suspicion, but the old biddy was likely as paranoid as a kobold and named every bad seed she could possibly think of to bring in for questioning. A bit over dramatic for my tastes, personally. She had plenty of resources to get to me with just a little bit of effort.

Maybe that was the point though. To insult me. My name in bold inscription below Heulwen’s, posted in all the major cities of Azeroth; “…and Iloam Blacksong, WANTED, for questioning.” She was telling me I wasn’t worth it… her time or her primary suspicions. Smug old trollop.

No matter; the job had moved swiftly forward. My luck had continued after White Hart, taking Kaisienna back to Everlook with me for the night. Pretty thing, dark skin and big brown eyes, a curve in her lips that told me she didn’t trust me. It’s a shame I didn’t get to taste them, but fate had other plans. Her magics nearly sent me on a bender – I hadn’t had that much mana pumping through me since Shryn’dael fell off the wagon and dragged me down with her. But she’d managed to trick the locks open on Artisania’s carefully guarded secrets and I finally had a location, a solid lead taking me straight back to Silvermoon’s carefully guarded stacks.

Of course the Tome hadn’t been there. Lost once again in the annals of history and me back to zero. My luck had dried out, and all I’ve got riding on it is the last shred of my soul.

In every lie, there is a kernel of truth.

The ravings of madmen contain seeds of wisdom.

Hints and whispers are signposts to lost secrets.

What has been hidden, I shall find;

What has been buried, I shall uncover;

What has been lost, I shall reveal;

And what lurks in the shadows, I shall master.

Ta'Srith smiled at herself as the tiny spider skittered around in the brass cage she'd fashioned for it. The motions were fascinating. Moreso, the effects of the little arachnid's motions were intriguing. Seating herself in a tavern room and placing the cage on the table had provoked reactions ranging from horrified interest to outright terror. Evidently something in most beings responded to spiders with panic.

"Vrakazh silkarzhen, hren ka hren.  Vrakazh hren mukhesh ngashta!"  The air in the room grew close and heavy, the candles flickering in the still air as Belmilia chanted, her fingers moving in a complex series of gestures.  "Sul vrizhat gurithros hren, gul vremi, gul vremi, gul vremi!"

She had changed her fashionable dress for robe of black and dark red, minutely embroidered with arcane symbols.  With her gloves neatly placed on a side table, her pale face and hands seemed to float in the thickening shadows as her voice rose and fell. 

"Vaha nglui, golzhu ftaghn.  Gar shay gultos, vrizhat hren.  Tur ngvalathros!"

The air of the Stockades was foul, even the above ground parts were permeated by the stench that crept up from the dungeons below to mix with the odor of sewage from the canals.  Belmilia Carrington-Howell sniffed as she waited.  The smell was decidedly vile, she thought, but oddly comforting in a way.  So very ... human.  Certainly more so than some of the things she had smelt recently.

The tramp of heavy boots signaled the arrival of the parcel she had come to retrieve.  A parcel in the shape of a rather battered red haired Sin'dorei, paid for in bribes and minor threats.  Cheap, really.  Given the miserable wages Stormwind paid its jailers, it was perhaps surprising that more prisoners did not escape.  Or perhaps it was not surprising that the prisoners seemed to control the prison.

Whomever had observed that knowledge was power, Belmilia Carrington-Howell mused, was only half right.  It was the application of the knowledge that brought power.  She permitted herself a smile as she leaned back and surveyed the library - her library now.  A love of books had been the one and only thing she had shared with her late husband.  It had, in fact, been the lever she had used to convince him to marry her.

The figures all matched up.  There were no irregularities in the reports.  Miss Blanchard was a well-known barrister of good repute.

And yet ...

Doubt lingered.  Forty-five thousand pieces of gold was a large amount of money, raising it would strain her finances severely and losing the money would set back her plans for years.

The first day of the eighth month of the year 28

Dear Lady Howell,

Again I wish to thank you for a most enjoyable afternoon. The tea was excellent and the cakes marvelous, but neither compared with your company. I appreciate your kindness and hospitality more than you know.

Sincerely,

Sowelu, Judiciary Danea, His Majesty's Silver Dragoons

((Written in an elegant, flowing hand on good quality paper))

Miss Sowelu Danae,
Stormwind

My dear Miss Danae,

It was so very nice to meet you at the Keep recently. Please accept my invitation for tea, I'm sure that we have many things to discuss that would be to our mutual benefit.

Sincerely,

Words like poisoned honey,

The praise of my instructors.

Would you like some more tea?

I suppose I ought to thank you.

Once I merely dabbled in the Fel arts;