Chapter 3 Sage #3
Araphi Clauneck, current heir to the Clauneck empire, stands in front of Sage’s table with a posture that betrays her privileged upbringing, her elegant chin tilted up so that she looks down her aquiline nose at Sage.
Her clothing too speaks loudly of wealth.
She wears a green silk dress and an embroidered vest laced across her ample chest, its low neckline leaving little to Sage’s imagination.
A cunningly carved little token of a lemon hangs from a leather cord to rest snuggly between her…
well. Her long black hair is half-twisted into a gorgeous set of braids, while the rest flows down like dark water.
And there’s a lute strapped to her back.
Sage sweeps her gaze up to Araphi’s face, determined to ignore her cleavage, and finds the woman watching her with one delicate, raised eyebrow.
Self-conscious against her will, Sage straightens in her chair and rubs the back of her neck, where a fresh shave has left nothing but velvet at the nape.
At least she’s more presentable than she was upon slumping into Kingfisher.
Though why should that matter? When last they met—the only time they’ve met—she and Araphi stood in the wild rose garden of Margot’s manor house (former at the time, but recently returned, thank the gods) glowering at each other.
I’m Araphi. I like your sword.
They had been glowering at each other, Sage is almost certain.
Whatever the case, she never thought to see the woman again.
Sage doesn’t run in Clauneck circles, nor would she.
If ever she found herself in a room with Baremon and Menorath, the heads of the Clauneck family who’d stolen her friend’s home in the first place, she’d be hard put not to run them both through with the very sword Araphi had complimented.
Not that Araphi’s any better. Just a spoiled socialite floating through life on her vile family’s ill-gotten fortune, as her cousin Yael once had.
But Yael left (albeit not soon enough for Sage’s tastes) and has devoted themself to tending plants and adoring Margot Greenwillow, all while putting the education their former family thrust upon them to good use by advising the common people of Harrow on property laws and land rights.
Araphi, meanwhile, is still very much a Clauneck.
So what is she doing here?
Seeming to wonder the same, Araphi gazes around the Pearl and the Grit, her eyes roaming from the rowdy customers rehashing last night’s fights as they burn through their winnings, to the roasting jack turning meat on a spit in the huge stone hearth, to the floors sprinkled with sawdust to soak up spilled ale and, occasionally, any ale that finds its way back up again.
“Is this where it’s happening? The party? ”
“What? No, of course not.” Araphi can’t really think that any client would pay a party to sit around in a tavern eating spit-roasted fish, can she? “This is where we’re holding auditions. And you…you came here to audition?”
“Naturally. Do you have an accompanist here? Maybe a pan flute, to go with my lute?”
“A…what?”
“I can sing unaccompanied, but perhaps a tea first; traveling this time of year can get so dusty, you know, and I should probably clear my throat.”
Araphi doesn’t look at all dusty that Sage can see. “You’re auditioning? To become a bard?” Sage can’t seem to stop asking silly questions.
“No, I am a bard. A prize-winning one, as a matter of fact.”
Sage rubs a knuckle across her forehead, processing this. “You, Araphi Clauneck, are a prize-winning bard,” she repeats, “and you want to join the party. My party?”
“Well, I didn’t know it was yours, but desperately, yes.” Araphi beams down at her, and somehow the room brightens. Probably just a cloud passing from in front of the sun, rather than Araphi’s effortless, sparkling smile.
The kind of smile an adept bard might wear to charm passersby into tossing coins in their case while they busked in taverns and town squares, securing funds to feed them all when supplies were running low.
Not that they’ll need to beg and busk for coins.
Not on this mission, better funded than all of her previous adventures put together, according to Remy.
Besides which, Remy would remind her that with a healer, a fighter, a caster, a fixer, and a ranger—no, a leader—their party is already full.
Sage frowns and crosses her arms over her chest, unwilling to be charmed.
“What does your fiancé think of this plan?” She doesn’t exactly read the society papers, but Margot happened to mention that Araphi was engaged to the heir to the Oreborn fortune some months ago, when Sage happened to ask after her.
Not that it matters one way or the other.
Araphi’s brilliant smile freezes in place.
“I expect Denby will survive without me for a bit, precious though my presence may be.” Then her narrow shoulders slump, her easy bluster slipping off her, pattering to the floor like rainwater.
“Look, can we do this sitting down? Kingfisher is a long trip from the Rookery, and it took me longer to find this tavern than expected, and I’d really love that tea. ”
With the toe of her boot, Sage slides out the chair across from her so Araphi can drop down at her table with a dramatic little groan. “The Rookery? Huh. I didn’t think heiresses ever crossed the river.”
“What’s wrong with the Rookery?” Araphi’s brown eyes burn into hers, accusing.
“Nothing’s wrong with it,” Sage says, taken aback. “I was born there.”
“You were?”
Godsdamn it. As Remy had noted, Sage isn’t in the habit of spilling the deeply intimate details of her life to fellow travelers, let alone to near strangers.
And anyway, she isn’t the one auditioning here.
“You were saying. Your fiancé?” she reminds Araphi, even though the woman was clearly trying hard not to say.
Araphi stares Sage down for a long moment, then flings her hands up. “He doesn’t know I’m here, all right? Nobody does. Or rather, nobody knows why. So far as my family knows, I’m shopping for the wedding with my attendants right now. Meanwhile, I’ve instructed my attendants to take the day off.”
“Pulling a Yael, are we?”
“Of course not.” She sounds somehow both wistful and offended at once.
“I’ll be back in Ashaway before anyone can miss me.
Honestly, I’m hardly needed for wedding preparations, anyway.
I do what my mother and fathers say, and they do what Uncle Baremon and Aunt Menorath say.
If someone were to draw a life-sized paper doll of me to stand in, it’d have as much input in all of this as I do.
And that’s fine, it’s expected. It’s just, I wanted…
I needed a few days to be me. And to do something I love.
I’m good at this. I’m really good; you’ll see. ”
Sage checks to make sure that Remy’s still out of sight before offering the slightest smile in return. “Looking forward to it,” she says, surprised to mean it. “But you know, it won’t be days.”
“Hmm?”
“We’re aiming for a fast pace to be back before the worst of winter, but it’ll take us a week just to make it to Briarwall, and a few days more to reach the Swallow. Then we’ve got to carry out the mission before returning to Kingfisher. We’ll be gone at least three weeks.”
Araphi furrows her porcelain brow. “What’s the Swallow?
And why Briarwall? Is the party in the Northlands?
Of course, many of the fêtes this summer have embraced wilderness as a theme, ever since your friend’s triumphant showing with Rastanaya.
She really set a trend, you know? I suppose a party in the Northlands is daringly fashionable, but at this time of year?
And that seems such a long way for caterers to travel—”
“Wait.” Now it’s Sage’s turn to furrow her brow. “Araphi, what exactly do you think you’re auditioning for?”