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Petrus Ritus Iskandar

Petrus Ritus Iskandar

Head of House Iskandar
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Monthly Poster III Can't Stop! You dabbed :| Seriously Likeable II
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A facet of life ne'er talked about when one possessed influence, eyes and ears throughout several civilizations was that this web could sometimes result in entirely novel, unexpected meetings taking place. Strands of fate bound and coiled in the web of his reach before being pulled, inexorably, toward it's center. Which was, of course, Petrus himself. The most recent creature to be brought to him was most certainly a novelty. A smoldering butterfly with crimson wings fit to light his web alight and this, unfortunately, was far from pure metaphor.

Standing from the throne in his court Petrus would walk down scant few steps to the kneeling woman who had been brought before him. The associate of his that brought her forth being a spell sword with no small degree of skill with frost magics. Having several dozen such agents and assets spread from here to Ragash was something of a secret but the fact that the spellsword brought before him a woman with flaming red hair and had, evidently, put up quite a fight, showed that maintaining such a network was still useful.

The genasi woman was pushed down to her knees before the throne but Petrus would hold up a hand as he stalked closer. Burning amber that would look almost more natural on Srivani herself would meet the burnished gold of her own gaze for only a moment before he murmured.

"You will receive your compensation via our usual channels, that will be all."

A wave of the hand and the sell sword departed, a job well done and paycheck collected, the magic-suppressing manacles that currently shackled Srivani were left to ensure she didn't try to immolate the agent's employer, and Petrus would address the genasi woman in a tone remarkedly casual for such an occasion.

"I suppose the first step to take in this meeting of ours is to inquire why a woman wanted for a princely sum from the royalty of Oban now finds herself in my court?"

He did not give her the chance to speak before continuing.

"While I am quite aware of the Obanish's cultural peculiarities involving women I find it highly unlikely that a valuable prize such as yourself escaped with anything resembling ease."

A brief pause, a flurry of footsteps, and if Srivani's eyes were not downcast she would see a servant scurry over with a tray, Petrus retrieve a cup of water, and then glance at her with mild curiosity.

"It must be quite the tale. Now let us see how well you tell it....."​
 
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Her chest rose and fell quickly, pulse still hammering from her capture, from the cold that had seeped into her skin where frost had smothered her flames. Her fiery hair bristled with static heat she could not summon, and her gold eyes glinted sharply at the departing spell sword. A quiet hiss slipped from her lips as the man left, leaving her kneeling there, shackled and powerless.

She shivered, not from shame, but from the unfamiliar chill that clung to her and the feeling of the dull echo of her own strength held at bay. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to the man who spoke, her eyes glistening, though her chin was held high enough to meet his gaze.

“I… I did not… escape,” she murmured, her voice silken with a lilting accent that made the words stretch and curve with careful rhythm. “I… was taken. And… I was given my freedom. It is mine... and you must give it back."

Her hands flexed against the iron, useless against her own power, yet her voice held a fragile strength. Each word trembled with fear, yes, but also with a spark of defiance. Even bound, even shivering from frost and fear, she held a spark the manacles could not snuff out.
 
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Petrus noticed the fragile confidence and strength in the genasi's tone. She was showing no small amount of courage, fighting for a freedom she had barely known, barely possessed, and yet he recognized the spark in her eyes all too well. With this one the fire seemed to be both within and without, from heart to hands, and Petrus would nod with a fledgling speck of respect. Though his words remained hard, aloof, and neutral.

"Must I?"

The servant would supply two pieces of paper now. The first Petrus would take, study for a long moment, before kneeling down to place the WANTED poster of Srivani on the floor in front of her so she could read it. The likeness was undeniable, the sum offered exorbitant, and as he took up the second paper he instead read from it aloud for her to hear.

".... the target has put up quite the fierce resistance. Flames burning hot as the finest forge and movement like a feather upon the wind. You will find, my Lord, she is worth a sum worthy of even your notice. I will be bring her in forthwith....."

He did not read more from the report his agent had sent ahead and instead folded the paper over his thumb and looked down at Srivani.

"This report seems to indicate you were quite capable of giving one in my employ a chase worthy of note. Is this true?"

Turning back to the servant he would instruct them.

"Summon Virdalia Deuxstrom to my presence at once."

An order that was carried out immediately. If not a desire sensed by Virdalia herself already.​
 
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Must I?

Her breath caught at his words, panic flashing across her face before she could smother it. For the smallest moment, hope trembled through her like a fragile flame, and she gave a quick, insistent little nod, naïve, desperate, as though her answer alone might sway him.

But then he knelt, and the poster was laid before her. Her own face looking back at her, hair like fire, every line etched to trap her on parchment. She couldn’t read the words, but she didn’t need to. The meaning was clear enough, sinking into her chest with the weight of iron. Her heart dropped into her stomach, the light in her gaze dimming. She had seen these before, plastered on walls and market posts, but not for so long, not since she’d grown clever and cautious, not until she'd been better at staying hidden. She had let herself believe, foolishly, that the King had tired of the hunt. That perhaps he had forgotten.

Her eyes turned glassy as she looked back up at her new captor, lashes wet, watching him read aloud the damning words. Flames burning hot as the finest forge. Movement like a feather upon the wind. Words meant to make her sound less like a free-thinking creature and more like a prize.

Her head shook once, then stilled, then nodded, contradiction written across every flicker of motion before shaking again, as though she could not decide if truth would save her or doom her. Her voice came quiet, soft, lilting, threaded through with a trembling edge.

“I… I did not harm.” The words wavered, broken, as her brow furrowed in sorrow and defiance both. “I only wanted to run…”

The chains rattled as her hands shook, her body shivering under frost’s lingering chill. A single tear spilled free, falling hot against her cold skin, leaving a glistening trail down her cheek before dropping to the stone. She looked between the man and his servant, eyes tracking the latter as he scurried off to do his duty.
 
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Petrus would sigh softly at the girl's breathe catching. He supposed she was not the kind of woman to understand a rhetorical question, let alone one he posed purely to reassert his authority and not HAVING to do anything she told him. It was, in the end, a pedantic thing that set the naive little genasi on such an edge and Petrus would close his eyes as he steeled his patience. Allowing him to speak in a tone much more level, quiet and steady than he truly felt.

"Calm yourself."

A rough hand would, with surprising gentleness, wipe away the tear she let fall and he would hold up the cup between them.

"First, drink something, it is not poisoned or anything so crude. I am more than willing to remove the bindings if you can assure me you will harm none here and listen to what I wish to say. Hmm?"

He would move the cup a scant inch closer to Srivani and his weathered features would maintain a stoic, not necessarily friendly, countenance as he added.

"You are hardly the first slave I have aided in acquiring freedom but I can hardly do that if you char me down to my bones now can I?"

Having no sooner let the last word tumble from his lips Petrus would then hear the door open and feel the approach of his aide. Turning to regard Virdalia Deuxstrom with a knowing glance he would back to Srivani slowly.

"Does all of this sound amenable to you, little flame?"

In truth he was being deceptive. Kinder, softer, quieter, than he would otherwise because of Virdalia's presence. But of course it was worth the falsity. He knew what Virdalia would vouch and how, like a gentle breeze that would tenderly blow the smoldering crimson butterfly right into his web. A breeze he, of course, controlled.​
 
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Her body went rigid when his hand came so close as to brush her cheek, every muscle tensed for the strike or grip she had expected, but neither came. Instead, she found herself staring up at him, golden eyes wide, hesitant, searching for the cruelty she had known so often before.

The offered cup caught her gaze, and she lowered it quickly, lashes trembling as she weighed the promise of release from her bindings, of warmth. Do no harm... Listen... Those, she could do. She had never been one for violence. Fire had always been art to her, not weaponry, but he did not need to know that. All he needed to believe was that she could burn him down to bone, if she wished.

Her lips parted as though to protest his words, to say that she was not a slave, that she had her freedom, that he need only give it back to her, but she managed to keep those words locked tight behind her teeth, her thoughts hidden behind the shimmer of her eyes. Instead, she gave a small, silent nod.

Her hands trembled as she lifted them, chains rattling faintly, to accept the cup. She watched him over the rim, wary, before sipping once, twice, letting the cool water ease the gritty rasp in her throat.

The door opened, and she glanced up to see another enter, a female this time. Srivani straightened, shoulders stiffening, eyes darting between them.

“Amenable,” she echoed softly, the word lilting on her tongue, unfamiliar yet spoken as though she understood. She shifted impatiently on the stone floor, “Yes.”

The manacles still weighed heavy on her wrists, and the promise of their removal drew every line of her attention sharp with anticipation.
 
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Virdalia had sensed that she would be summoned through the pull of her and her lord's bond. Making her way towards the throne room, her senses sharpened as she heard the faint power of Lord Iskandar's voice along with another's even before the doors opened. A woman's, perhaps? Unsure, she waited until one of the guards gestured to her to confirm her summons. Steeling herself, she stepped inside with caution.

Her silver eyes swept over the chamber, and she immediately saw the stranger. Sunkissed skin, hair like fire, there was an otherworldly beauty about her that stirred a spark of wonder. She looked less like a criminal and more like a caged storm. The manacles at the woman's wrists drew her attention, as did the faint shift in the air. The temperature seemed to rise as soon as Virdalia crossed the threshold, warmth pressing against her skin.

Her eyes found Petrus, and without hesitation she lowered her head in a respectful bow before approaching him. "My lord," she said, her voice steady as she came to stand before him. Silently, she discreetly pressed against her bracer, channeling a protective current into the floor before his feet. A subtle ward, nothing ostentatious, but it gave her some modicum of comfort to protect him against whatever energies were resonating from this woman.

She could not silence her thoughts however, and she hated seeing the sight of someone chained. Yet, even her hatred bent beneath loyalty and she dare not make any move to help her take them off without his direct command. Of course, she knew that he wouldn't have shackled her himself. Even the way he regarded the prisoner was with a soft kindness, completely bereft of cruelty.

"My lord, forgive the boldness of my tongue, but she is no ordinary captive. Those restraints hint at great power. You freed me once from such chains, might I know who she is that such measures are required?"

Petrus Ritus Iskandar
Srivani
 
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Petrus would feed the little flame, paradoxically, with water. The echo of his word drifting from Srivani like an answer of steam given from a real flame that just had a douse of water poured onto it. The poor, manacled thing lived and breathed as flame did, indeed, and Petrus would straighten to stand as Virdalia approached. He could feel the internal anguish she felt at seeing another in chains, like a boiling pot that strained beneath the lid of her trust in him.

He was pleased to see it hold true and let Virdalia feel every ounce of his approval of her.

At her question Petrus would inhale deeply, then sigh, and sweep his gaze over Srivani slowly. The glow of those golden eyes answered by a smoldering reflection in amber in Petrus's own before he would turn to glance at Virdalia and answer her.

"This.... is a woman by the name of Srivani. The Dancing Flame, they call her. The Flickering Dancer. The Sun-Kissed Alluress and so on."

Petrus would motion to Srivani casually.

"Stand, please, I'll not see you bow and scrape like a wounded bird chirping for food from my hand."

His gaze returning to Virdalia he would continue.

"As for the measures employed to secure her they are, in all honesty, hardly necessary. Though....."

Turning his gaze to meet Srivani's once more Virdalia would see the same commanding, authoritative steel to his gaze directed at the fire genasi, though less personal than when it was directed at her, and though in some ways more soft, he nonetheless made his position clear.

"..... the true necessity of them is not up to I."

Petrus stared, unabashedly, unashamedly, into the depths of Srivani's eyes. A wondrously unique, if not at all comforting, sight awaited the genasi if she could bring herself to stare back. Amber worked into steeled hardiness was set in his eyes, a firmness and unyielding will quite the opposite of her own.... but it was not harsh. Not bent to her punishment or retributive towards her. Only firm, only guiding, if rigorously so. Only when he had taken his own measure of her did he turn back to Virdalia.

"I am, it seems, caught in an awkward position by our little flame here. The Obanan royalty are offering a ludicrous sum for her return and, to be frank, I have holdings and vineyards, wineries and more on Obanash soil. It would be simpler, easier to return her and collect my reward for handing back such a pretty bauble."

Taking a sip of his own from the cup Petrus would sigh and set his shoulders.

"Fortunately for her I've never been one for 'easy' and so...."

That gaze would turn back to Srivani and, now changed, the amber-worked steel she had seen before was now something wholly different and, perhaps, novel to her. It was not a blade to cut her for impudence, it was not an amber cage to keep her, but a possible shield as Petrus finished.

".... if she would wish to stay I can..... obscure her presence here. But, little flame, mark my words - if you flee, if you rush off onto the winds the moment those manacles fall from your wrists then someone else will simply take your freedom from you again."

With that Petrus would retrieve a small gem from his pocket, a keyed lock to the manacles, and with a small exertion of magic they would fall from Srivani's wrists with a dull, powerless CLANK as Petrus addressed Virdalia once more.

"I called you here, my Virdalia, to see to it this fragile songbird of a woman can be reassured of the genuine nature of my offer."

Petrus, of course, would meet Virdalia's gaze without pause. He had noted her protective ward all along, his gaze and connection to her was nothing but pleased, nothing but approving, such that he need not put a single ounce of it into words.

She had been utterly perfect.

Virdalia Deuxstrom​
 
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Srivani’s eyes followed the silver-eyed woman as she entered, her posture drawing straighter as though some instinct told her she should. There was something in the woman’s presence, a steadiness, a quiet power, that drew her attention as much as Petrus’s words did. Her gaze shifted between them, gold and glimmering, wary as they spoke about her.

When Petrus bade her rise, she did so, movements careful, slow, as if afraid that at any moment a sharp word or strike would send her back to her knees. Silence clung to her tongue as naturally as breath. She listened. She wrung her fingers together anxiously, the manacles clinking faintly as he spoke of Oban, of the bounty, of returning her like a trinket. Her smouldering eyes grew glassy, the heat behind them dampened by the weight of his words.

And then, something shifted. The tone of his voice. The glint of his eyes. His offer. She was still forming her answer when the manacles opened and slipped from her wrists.

She drew in a sharp breath, and it tumbled back out of her with relief. Heat welled up through her palms before she could stop it; flames bloomed and spread, enrobing her, curling up her arms and chest, licking across her skin like something alive, something joyous, as though they too had been starved and now returned to her. She sighed, the sound soft and shaky, rubbing at her aching wrists as the frost left her bones and the warmth settled back into her flesh. Her eyes lifted again, flames dimming around her until only their echo burned in her gaze.

It would be nice, she thought, not to hide. To rest. But she had known luxury before, silks and gold, endless food and adoration, and none of it had been freedom. It had been a cage gilded bright enough to blind her.

Her accent thickened as she finally spoke, her voice laced with the question that had settled in her chest:

“Why would you offer me such kindness,” she asked, gold eyes fixed on him, “instead of adding to your riches?”

Because surely there would be a cost. There always was.
 
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As the manacles dropped and the Srivani's flame danced around her, Virdalia finally understood her namesake. The fire's glow danced around the woman, and Virdalia immediately eased. Through her bond, she felt the pulse of Petrus's approval. Though, she hardly needed the connection to know it. His commanding gaze alone told her everything.

Through Srivani's thick accent, she heard the question posed. Virdalia inclined her head respectfully, "If I may, my lord," she said quietly, "allow me to answer." Turning her gaze to her, "Srivani, The Dancing Flame, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance." She offered a small bow of her head and smiled at her politely, "As I mentioned before, I too was once enslaved. I endured many harsh days and harsher nights still. Were it not for Lord Iskandar...." her voice softened, "I don't know if I could have survived much longer."

Virdalia stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "I don't blame you for questioning the offer before you. Freedom can feel like a trick to those who have lived in chains and I asked myself the same questions once..." Her tone shifted, kind but edged with quiet admonition. "But please, don't insult Lord Iskandar so. Look around you, he is the foremost merchant of Alliria and holds wealth beyond measure, he has no need of more coin."

Her voice grew steadier as she continued. "What he needs, are not slaves, but people who choose to stand beside him, to lend their strength to his vision. I can see power in you, Srivani. Power that has been stifled and bound. I ask that you join us, and use your gifts for something greater than yourself. Serve our lord's cause, and in return, you will have protection and a future free from enslavement."

By now she stood before Srivani and looked directly into her eyes with resolve. Though nervous, her conviction carried her words, "Lord Iskandar will no doubt speak for himself, yet I wanted to offer my own words. Should you willingly choose to accept, I pledge my protection and guidance to you, to the fullest of my ability. Consider his offer well, you hold rare skill and promise and it would be my honor to welcome you into our company." She smiled, once again bowed slightly, and made her way back to Petrus's side.

Internally, she prayed that Srivani would feel safe enough to take this offer. She knew how much freedom meant, its worth far greater than any free person would be able to comprehend. She couldn't bear the thought of seeing someone like Srivani chained again, someone whose very presence moved like fire: beautiful and alive. Moving her hands behind her back, she clenched her fist tightly with anticipation, hoping beyond hope that this flame dancer would not let her chance slip away.

Srivani
Petrus Ritus Iskandar
 
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Petrus would watch and listen to Virdalia with pride in the woman she was becoming. To turn from slave at the hands of those who had seen her as nothing but a toy, a commodity, to now a studious woman with promise, growing magical power and loyalty, he would give her an approving nod once she was finished. Passing off the cup of water to her as he turned to look down at Srivani levelly.

The little genasi was correct. Nothing came without a price. But the price currently being asked of Srivani was an interesting one. It was asking her to grow, not submit, to charge against her the weight of her own future and Petrus would offer her a hand while gazing into her burning golden eyes.

"Everything Virdalia says is true. But the offer before you is simple little flame: I offer you a home, not a cage. A chance to grow, not submit. The price I ask of you is not slavery, you can leave whenever you wish on your own terms, but should you choose to stay I will charge you with your own growth, your own success, your own safety. Perhaps, just perhaps, i wish to see what happens when one small flame is given the chance to grow. Will you sputter out and be reduced to nothing but ashes? Will you be whisked away on the wind, carried back to the iron fist of your previous owner? Or will you, perhaps, burgeon in a roaring flame? So that one day you can save another soul, pull them into your protection, just as I offer to do for you?"

The hand waited, gaze expectant, but not rushed, not domineering, alluring perhaps, coaxing, but with no force. If Srivani wished she could turn on heel and dart from his court and the only ones who would pursue her would be those seeking to claim her bounty.

Srivani
Virdalia Deuxstrom​
 
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Srivani stood motionless for a long moment after Petrus finished speaking, her eyes flicking between his outstretched hand and Virdalia’s calm, expectant expression. Her pulse thudded in her ears, a quiet storm of thought behind her eyes. The word home echoed in her mind like a foreign sound, soft, dangerous and unfamiliar. She had been alone for so long that even the idea of belonging somewhere again felt like a trick her heart was playing on her.

The gentle reprimand from the other woman still lingered in her chest. Virdalia’s tone had not been cruel, but it stung nonetheless. Srivani had learned that kindness could be wielded as deftly as any blade. Kings and merchants, rich men with silver tongues, they did not need more, yet always they took. Want was the language of power, and she had seen what came of trusting its promises.

And yet… Virdalia’s eyes had not lied. There was pain there, too, old and familiar. A mirror of her own.

Her gaze lowered to her wrists, to the faint red marks left by the manacles. The ache there was a reminder of everything she had lost, but also everything she might reclaim. Her fingers flexed, trembling faintly, then curled into her palms as though to hold the warmth she feared might slip away.

When she lifted her eyes again, Petrus’s gaze caught her, steady and patient. For the first time in years, no one demanded her obedience. No one ordered her to kneel. He simply waited.

A shuddering breath escaped her, the sound almost like a sigh. She took one slow step forward. Then another. The air between them seemed to hum, her own fire dimming to a gentle glow around her skin.

Her hand rose, hesitant, fingers hovering over his before finally pressing into his palm. The contact was warm and steady, and her hesitance gave way.

“…I will stay,” she said softly, her accent lilting through the words, careful and quiet, as though afraid they might vanish if spoken too loud.

“I am no dying ember for the wind to claim.." she assured Petrus quietly. "Fire is brightest when it’s free to burn.." not smothered by cages or fear. "If I am truly free here.. Then I shall give you light." Her gaze brightened as the first trace of a smile curled at the corner of her lips.
 
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The first strand of the web had enraptured Srivani perfectly.

Petrus had, of course, not lied to his new little flame at all. He did not need to.

One caught more flies with honey than vinegar, after all, and the strands of the web he pulled her into could feel more akin to a gentle, warm blanket than the sphere of influence it truly was if the right ideas were given.

With Srivani, as with Virdalia Deuxstrom , as with Pneria , they had been. The gentle accent of the flickering flame before him earned a small nod at it's assent and the gentlest of tugs to the web would be given in his first motion afterward. Rewarding the soft, unsteady reassurances by gently lifting his other hand even as the hand grasping Srivani's own pulled her bodily a step closer.

That newly raised hand, bearing his amber ring, would gently engulf her slim wrist in the warm, rough hand of his grasp before gentle, natural healing magic would begin to radiate from his touch. The amber gem set into the ring glowing a soft light as the abrasions left by the manacles were removed at his touch. That small smile, that gentle promise, he stoked and nurtured even now. Giving her all the encouragement she needed to willfully fall deeper and deeper into the spider's web.

He would then release her hand, not saying a word, before he stepped closer, gingerly cradled her other wounded hand, and healed it in much the same way. His gaze stayed only briefly on her hand before he swept it up to the genasi's eyes, not shying from her golden gaze even as he set her to rights, and once the healing was done he would speak.

"Virdalia? This young woman will need guidance in adjusting to freedom, to her newfound position and the power that comes with being a free woman."

Turning his head to gaze at his aide Petrus would hold Virdalia in his gaze as well as he finished.

"I can think of none more suited for the task than yourself, my Virdalia."​
 
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As Virdalia witnessed the exchange between the two, a slight pang of jealousy stirred. She quickly silenced it, she knew her place in their dynamic and would not allow personal feelings to interrupt what was clearly a significant moment. Whatever this meant to her lord, it was important. Perhaps, she thought, he felt as she did, a relief that this slave would finally be free of her chains. She remembered the compassion he had shown her when she was freed, though stern, he always pushed her to grow, to step outside of herself, to become someone useful and wanted.

She reciprocated a smile as she watched Srivani hold Petrus's gaze for a moment after her declaration, proud she had chosen this path. Though when Petrus spoke again, the weight of his words settled upon her shoulders. She had offered this guidance, and in that moment, it had felt right. Now, uncertainty crept in. Would she truly be a good guide? A leader? Almost her whole life she had spent as a servant, in many ways, she still was... Yet, she steadied herself with silent resolve.

This was yet another test to prove her worth to her lord. Straightening her posture, she gave an accepting nod, "My lord," she said with calm resolve, "I will do my best to show her a life beyond what she has known just as you once showed me."

She turned her attention towards Srivani now, tone softening, "I pray that I will be a good guide to you. Ask questions, be curious. I will not be quick to anger, and you will never have to fear being caged by me or any of our peers. I look forward to teaching you, but I also look forward to learning from you. When you are ready, I would love to know about your culture and your past. I believe we both have much to learn."

Virdalia offered her gentlest smile before turning back to Petrus, her expression once again composed and formal, "My lord, I do not doubt your capabilities, but what must we do to keep her safe? Surely this king will seek her out, and I fear no disguise exists that could truly hide her." She looked to Srivani again with a reassuring smile, "When all of this settles, tell me, what would you wish to learn first? What is it you hope freedom will feel like?"

Srivani
Petrus Ritus Iskandar
 
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Srivani’s breath caught softly as he pulled her closer, and again as the amber light bled from his ring and warmth spread through her wrists. Her eyes went wide with wonder, the sensation was unlike any flame she’d ever known. It wasn’t the searing heat of her own fire, nor the biting sting of iron cooling it, it was gentle, patient, coaxing her pain away rather than burning it out.

Her gaze lifted slowly to his face, golden eyes reflecting the faint glow of the gem as though she were memorizing it. For a long heartbeat, she didn’t move, afraid that even a breath might break whatever spell this was. Then, as the light faded and her skin smoothed, the marks gone as though they’d never been, she dipped her chin, a small, shy gesture of gratitude.

“Thank you… M-My Lord,” she murmured, stumbling over the words as she glanced toward the silver-eyed woman and echoed the title she had used. Another kernel of trust settled quietly within her - cautious, but real.

When Virdalia spoke, Srivani listened with the rapt focus of someone not used to being spoken to, only spoken at. The woman’s kindness unsettled her in a way she couldn’t name, something deep within her chest aching at the sound of it. A life beyond what she had known… could such a thing truly exist?

Her lips parted, but no words came at first. She shifted where she stood, brushing her fingers over her newly healed wrists as though grounding herself.

“I… have never had anyone to teach me,” she said softly, her voice lilting, hesitant. “Only to command me. I do not know what I should ask, or what it is I wish to learn first.” Her eyes dipped, bashful. “Such questions feel… strange. Too big for my hands.” she tried to explain.

Her gaze lingered on them, a fragile warmth beginning to bloom behind her eyes. She had never been offered choices, nor been asked to make decisions. She had been so happy dancing that she had never truly realised she had been caged until someone had opened the door and let her out..

"Freedom for me, is.." she bit on her lip. She had never had family, nor anyone else in her life - the King had loved her as a possession, but nothing more. She had not seen much of this world, and had only come to fear it. She knew when she felt her most free, what she loved most in this world.

"Music.. Is, there music here?.." she asked quietly.
 
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Already the use of the title.

Already the gentle acceptance of submission.

As rightly as a collar affixed by his own hand not with the threat of the rod, but the the brush of the hand.

He was not a complete monster, not truly, not yet. He did have some sympathy for one never given a chance to prove they were anything but a figurine to be put on display, or flesh to be used and discarded. Petrus all but lived amongst the former and loathed those that turned themselves into the latter, thinking it gave them power. It was, he supposed, entirely possible this little flame's innocence and hesitance was nothing but a lie, a ploy to gain affection and sympathy.

But no.

He saw no deception in those golden eyes, nor even the possibility for it, which was it's OWN problem given the world he was pulling her into but... such things could be handled later, in time, with care, with instruction. For now he laced his hands behind his back, listened to the little flame crackle and whisper it's smokey murmurs. But also watched her bloom and burn with growing heat, the coals beginning to smolder even now, and he would given a single nod at her request for music.

"There is, and it can be provided, come."

Petrus would step beside Virdalia, offering her his arm, but motion Srivani up to walk at his other side.

"But there is one important matter to discuss for you little flame."

Petrus would begin to walk, knowing Virdalia would take his arm, knowing the little flame would trail with him like his own personal sun, before he gave Srivani a sidelong glance and asked.

"Do you prefer lodgings on the ground floor or would you like a view over the city?"

It was so easy, so very easy, to mistake this as genuine kindness, and it was kindness of a sort. Certainly. But it was also yet another thread to bind her with. If the first had been a chord about the body to pull her into the web then this was a strand about the head, enticing her mind into thoughts and considerations she had never had before, as well as dazzling her with the luxury of it all in much the same way he had done to Pneria once upon a time. Indeed the beautiful cityscape of Alliria itself could be a weapon of manipulation if one was so inclined.

Virdalia Deuxstrom​
 
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As Srivani spoke, Virdalia gave her an empathetic look. Hearing her made her remember her own enslavement. Her memories drifted to the nights she spent dreaming of another life, of one day making her mother proud. Those dreams felt so distant now, so foreign. Seeing this woman stirred something she had tried to bury, the walls around those memories very subtly started coming down.

Perhaps, in guiding Srivani, she may be able to start healing her own pain. The request for music intrigued her, she was curious about what kind of performance a flame dancer might offer. Was it a title or true art? Virdalia herself possessed little musical talent, though she enjoyed listening and had a deep admiration for the craftsmanship of instruments.

When Petrus offered his arm, she accepted it gracefully, a faint smile flickering across her face. As he posed the question to Srivani, she added, "I might suggest ground floor lodgings. Structurally, it's the safest, should there be an invasion or collapse, evacuation would be simpler. In face, judging by the architecture-" she caught herself and blushed lightly, "-but forgive me, I'm rambling. Please, feel free to choose wherever you'd feel most comfortable." Her smile brightened as they walked.

"Also, when you're settled, I'd love to show you some of my work. Your powers truly fascinate me, and I can already think of some creations that may suit you. If freedom to you is music, what would you think of a pair of anklets lined with heat reactive sigils that could chime in tune to the heat of your flame? As you flare heat in your movements, the tones could deepen and harmonize. Essentially turning your movement into music of your own. Is that something you would be interested in?"

Virdalia's eyes gleamed with excitement at the thought, grateful for the possibilities ahead.

Petrus Ritus Iskandar
Srivani
 
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Srivani’s expression brightened the moment Petrus mentioned music, like an ember catching on a long-awaited breath of air. The corners of her lips curled upward in quiet wonder, and she followed when he moved, bare feet soft against the polished floor.

Her clothing was a curious contradiction, loose silken pants and a thin camisole top, both dyed in deep reds and warm oranges that shimmered faintly like embers in low light. They were fine garments, far too fine for someone who had been living in hiding, and yet they hung comfortably on her, practical enough for movement. Her fingers brushed absently at the street dust still clinging to the silk, as though to make herself more presentable in such refined company.

When he asked where she would prefer to stay, her brow rose in surprise, as if the question itself were a luxury. She had never been asked what she preferred before.

“Oh, I—” she started, her voice soft and lilting, uncertain but touched with warmth. A view, she'd been about to say, a view to look over the city at night, to see the stars in the skies.. She had always wondered if the faint flickers she saw were her kin, other little flames burning somewhere beyond her reach.

But then Virdalia’s voice chimed in, filled with logic and caution, and Srivani’s head tilted as she listened. Invasions. Collapses. The thought made her blink rapidly, her lips parting, then closing again. She gave a quick, uncertain nod...

“The… ground floor, then,” she agreed quickly, glancing between them both. “In case the building collapses. Or we are invaded.” She said it with a seriousness that betrayed her confusion, but she would not argue, she was learning, after all, and they surely knew best. Still, her eyes flicked wistfully toward the tall windows that promised a view of the sky she so adored.

It was when Virdalia began to speak of her craft that Srivani’s focus snapped back, curiosity stirring like kindling beneath her ribs. Her brows knit faintly at the unfamiliar words, - heat reactive sigils, harmonise - but when the meaning began to unfold, her lips parted, golden eyes flickering with astonishment.

“Make… my own music?” she repeated softly, her voice hushed, as though it were the deepest of secrets. “I would very much like that.”
 
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As the trio walked Petrus did not spare Srivani from his attention. Though he could only give the little flame occasional glances he could read the poor thing like the most large-print books ever produced. Furtive, tiny glances to lights spiraling above smothered by a near childish repetition of Virdalia Deuxstrom 's more utilitarian assertions. But no. This tiny creature of flame and wonder was not a thing of utility and mechanical efficacy, the likes of which Virdalia's mind naturally adhered to, he could note the gleam of wonder, of fascination, in Srivani's eyes as if she were crying out from the rooftops themselves how much she desired to see the world from on high. As such the next bit of silken enrapture would be gently trussed about Srivani, like a noose of silken web slipped kindly about the throat. Noose and leash and warmth in one motion as he gently chided Virdalia, his tone lacking the usual edge it bore.

"Now now Virdalia. We cannot offer her to make her own music and then bury her in some vault deep within the manor."

A single amber eye would glance back, meeting Srivani's gaze as he gave her the opening to express her true desire, and added.

"But as for making her own music...."

That eye turned forward again, the opportunity given, now Srivani had but seize upon it. To let her own desire grasp the webbed noose-leash and pull it taut by her own hand.

"....we will spare no expense."

He finished, pausing as they reached an open-air courtyard filled with a variety of plant life, rooms aplenty present should Srivani truly allow herself to be lodged here, on the earth. But equally obvious were the spiraling towers arcing into the sky, promising just the view heart heart desired.

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Of course Petrus would give his Virdalia a meaningful look. Their connection bearing his simple instruction clearly. He did not wish Virdalia to simply allow his suggestion to their little flame sway her entirely, to tighten the web-noose about Srivani's spirit by their own hand, that step was for the little flame to make all her own. Though, of course, his emotions didn't betray the more.... controlling perspective he held on the interaction. All that would reach Virdalia was the warmth and encouragement of letting Srivani decide for herself even if, in his heart of hearts, it was a method of binding this smoldering prize to them.​
 
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Virdalia's heart warmed as Srivani admitted to liking the idea of making her own music. Immediately, her mind was filled with sketches, formulas, design notes, each idea sparking the next. The materials would need to be heat resistant, of course, yet elegant enough to complement Srivani's natural grace. Her gaze briefly swept over the woman's silken attire, fluid and sleek, and like her flames; alive with motion. Perhaps a few gemstones for the accents? No... that may be too costly.

Before her thoughts carried her away entirely, Lord Iskandar's chiding tone cut through her reverie. Her cheeks colored lightly as she gave a sheepish smile and averted her gaze for a moment. Then came his final words, "spare no expense". Her eyes brightened. Jewels might not be out of reach after all. Maybe she could even consult a master craftsman to help her bring her vision to life. The ideas began to swirl again, though she forced herself to focus on the conversation at hand.

"Srivani," she began, her tone thoughtful but kind, "I know myself. I tend to err on the side of caution and practicality. Please, choose wherever you'd be most comfortable. This is your home now as well, and that decision is entirely yours to make. I was simply thinking out loud, it can happen on occasion." She let out a self conscious laugh before continuing on, "Of course, there are advantages to higher floors too. Unwanted visitors tend not to scale walls, after all."

Her voice lightened as she returned to the topic that excited her most. "Now, as for the anklets, before I begin crafting, I'll need to observe you dancing. That will help me understand your rhythm, your movement, how best to attune the resonance. After that, I'd love to know more about your attire and preferred colors, so that the design complements you properly. And if you have any jewelry from your homeland, perhaps I could draw inspiration if you'd allow me. I can already tell this will be a remarkable project for us both."

Virdalia looked around the courtyard inhaling deeply. The air felt alive with possibilities as she looked at Srivani, anticipation and warmth brightening her expression as she waited for the woman's reply.

Srivani
Petrus Ritus Iskandar
 
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Srivani followed the pair quietly, her eyes drinking in every inch of her new surroundings. The courtyard they entered took her breath away, the sweep of flowers and greenery, the trickle of the fountain, the sky above. For one who had spent so long confined, it was a welcome sight to have such a space to enjoy the outside. Her fingers brushed against a leaf as they passed, as if testing whether it were real.

She looked up when Petrus spoke, her gaze meeting his for only a moment before flitting back to the towers that reached toward the sky. They seemed impossibly tall, like stairways meant for the stars themselves, and the longing in her chest deepened until it ached.

Then Virdalia’s words made her blink. Her head tilted slightly, curls shifting against her shoulders.
“Unwanted visitors...” she repeated, uncertainty in her soft, lilting voice. Her teeth caught at her lower lip as she considered that, on top of the, collapses and invasions.. Was it really safe here? Her brows knit faintly, a flicker of worry briefly shadowing the light in her expression. But when her gaze rose again, it was drawn inevitably upward, to the towers gleaming with promise.

“I… should like to look over the city,” she said finally, the hesitation in her voice fading into something warmer, quieter, but sure. “To see the lights..” It was spoken softly, like a wish given breath.

When Virdalia began to speak again, Srivani’s attention shifted back to her, the woman's words painting vivid pictures in her mind, clothes, jewels, dancing, music. All things beautiful and alive, things she had once loved before the world had grown so dark. Her lips curved into a small, tentative smile.

“My clothes back home were always like this…” she murmured, glancing down at herself. The silk shimmered faintly as she moved, deep reds and oranges, alive with motion like captured firelight. “Silks the colours of flame, with many beads and gems that glittered just so.” A quiet pride entered her tone then, a flicker of the spirit that had not been entirely extinguished by fear.

“I…” She hesitated, glancing between them both. For a heartbeat she seemed uncertain whether she should continue, but then she did, the words soft but steady. “I have my rubies. But… they are hidden. I can retrieve them.”

It was a small confession, but a telling one, a glimpse into how she had managed to remain so well dressed and kempt despite a life in hiding. She had not been entirely powerless, nor entirely without means. And as she said it, her chin lifted just slightly, the faintest spark of her true nature glimmering in her golden eyes, the little flame, beginning to burn.

"I should very much like to dance again.."
 
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