Private Tales Firekeeper

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

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....."​

 

[Srivani]

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.

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

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.​

 

[Srivani]

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.

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

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.​

 

[Srivani]

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.

 

[Virdalia Deuxstrom]

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