Chapter Five Beauty Rest
Chapter Five
Beauty Rest
In Which Saeldian Remembers Decorum
Saeldian had to rest, and it wasn’t working. The circle of light on the floor of Saeldian’s bedchamber had moved two floorboards away from their bed. Half an hour, or close enough.
Saeldian let their head fall back onto the pillow and stared at the patches of pale blue and gilt that still graced the ceiling. Another section had fallen in the corner near the terrace doors. A problem for after the roof replacement, or a sign that it was getting worse?
There was no time to think about the dratted ceiling, the stupid heist, or Kell bloody Redsong! They had to relax. Not sleep, but fall into drifting, dreamlike thoughts. They had to rest. They had to—
Saeldian’s door creaked, heralding an intruder. Hags and high fey, what now? Verity? Wisdom? Jubilee, unable to stand not knowing the truth? Kell, who decided he needed a good kick in the—
A tiny, insistent meow. Snowball had broken in, butting his dense and sturdy head against the door that didn’t stay closed unless Saeldian lifted it into the strike plate. He leapt to the embroidered linen coverlet, and his meow smelled of smoked fish.
“Hark! The rescued,” Saeldian grumbled. “Gratitude, or more demands, Saer Snowball?”
The kitten, uncaring, ambled right up onto Saeldian’s chest, puffing his fishy breath right up Saeldian’s nose, and purred loudly enough for three cats.
“Brat.”
His fur was soft under their hand. Tiny wicked claws poked into their skin in a contented rhythm that kept time with his purring. He settled into a warm, rumbly little loaf and pressed his jaw into their scratching fingers.
“More tribute for his majesty,” Saeldian muttered, but it didn’t pause Snowball’s purring. “What am I to do, then? Become a cat, like you? Handsome, and stupid, and promptly forgiven for everything—not a bad bargain, actually.”
Snowball’s breath made his whole body swell. His eyes slid nearly shut.
“If I were a cat, I wouldn’t be in this mess,” Saeldian grumbled.
“Everything was fine, and then Kell Redsong, of all people. Reformed! Him! Now he’s some kind of wandering do-gooder with his Silvanus-hugging partner.
Saving random widows from eviction, living in the bounty of nature, looking down his nose at everything—”
The cat yawned.
“You’re dead right he’s boring. Boring as watching crops grow. If it’s not all an act and this is some elaborate revenge scheme that will, among other things, end my career as an erstwhile kitten rescuer. Then what will you do? You’ll have to live in that stupid tree.”
Snowball’s tail twitched. He set his head down, and his breath puffed on Saeldian’s throat.
“I don’t know what to do,” Saeldian whispered. “I can’t run. I can’t explain. Jubilee wants answers I can’t give. Everything’s gone wrong.”
They stroked Snowball’s head and down his spine in time with their breath.
The kitten didn’t even weigh two pounds, but his weight pressed them down into the bed so firmly they couldn’t get up if they wanted to.
Their eyelids were too heavy to prop open.
They were falling into reverie, thanks to this awful little beast.
“I shouldn’t have kissed him,” Saeldian said.
The next thing they knew, the door was creaking again as Snowball pried it open with his paws. Saeldian sat up. The light from the window had shifted five more boards.
“Cat, you have perfect timing,” Saeldian said, and scrambled out of bed to wash, don fresh underclothes, and put on their armor once more. They stood before a carved wooden panel split down the middle and pulled it open, revealing tall arched mirrors.
They had places where the silver backing had worn thin, but it was silver. They were tall and gilt-framed and beautiful, and Saeldian made sure every full moon got to watch her reflection in them for her three fullest nights, to keep the magic strong.
Saeldian adjusted the side mirrors, making the images in their frames perfect, and held the amulet in their fist. Saeldian focused on their armor, shaping it into a long open robe and underskirt.
They imagined stays scaled with shivering coins.
They put on Helarel Brightleaf’s face, sculpted with cosmetics and anchored with a tidy, slightly pointed beard.
Good enough. Now for the rest.
Saeldian studied their reflection, perceiving the room behind them only on the edges.
They kept the amulet in their hand and kept their focus wide enough to take in the whole reflection while their link to Osalor’s spell activated.
The hastily remade bed, the still-colorful floral wallpaper, a tall bookshelf only half full—they were the background, less real, less important.
The wallpaper blurred, then became the view between slender ivory pillars and panes of glass wreathed in vines and flowers, the glowing rose and gold of a setting sun silhouetting a garden beyond. That was real. That was important.
It was time. Saeldian was going to the Feywild soon. They could see Osalor again, in person. They would walk side by side through that beautiful garden heaped with flowers and just talk to each other about…about anything.
And bustling around in the left panel, dusting, was Nobble, whose tall ears swiveled backward before she herself did, nose and whiskers twitching. “Eh? Is it that scapegrace apprentice? Nobble knows you’re there. Nobble always knows!”
“Nobble,” Saeldian said. “It’s me. Where is Osalor?”
The harengon came right up to the mirror, glowering so fiercely Saeldian fought the urge to lean back. “Oh, it’s you, then, is it? Wanting something—oh, Nobble knows you never call on Master Beguiling unless there’s something you want.”
Cool air blew in from a tiny hole in one of the windowpanes. Saeldian let it touch their smile. “Why else would I call, if not for Master Osalor’s guidance and wisdom?”
Nobble’s ears flopped over her softly furred cheeks as she scolded.
She wore the tidy, spotless white-and-silver uniform she always did, with silver rings piercing her long ears.
When those ears came down in disapproval, silver charms of an owl, a rabbit, a fox, and a mouse, each with diamonds in their eyes, shivered with her anger.
“Saeldian the wheel-spinner never bothers with Master Beguiling unless there’s a want or a need—if Nobble had to pour tea because you came calling on Master Beguiling, Nobble might faint dead away! ”
“And does Master Beguiling want to sit and chatter with me? We could set up a lanceboard game and gossip through the mirror.”
“You’re teasing Nobble. Nobble knows Master Beguiling is alone all the time, no visitors, never, not even you, his only pledge.”
Really, Saeldian didn’t have time to be harangued by Osalor’s latest servant.
Were all harengon so presumptuous? It had been one year since she’d come to serve in Osalor’s domain, and she meddled harder than a pathlighter.
“Master Beguiling has you,” Saeldian pointed out.
“You’re always there. And perhaps I could come. ”
Nobble stilled and turned to look at the mirror where Saeldian stood in its frame, reflecting the wrong room back into Osalor’s study. “You? Come to see Master Beguiling, your blood and bone here in the grove? Oh! Whatever you want, it must be big trouble. Too much!”
“I don’t have a lot of time. Could you please just—”
“I am here,” came a voice. “Thank you, Nobble. I would speak to my protégé uninterrupted.”
“Of course, Master Beguiling!” Nobble ducked her head and found something to tidy at the far end of the softly lit room. Saeldian shifted their posture as their patron came into view.
Osalor the Beguiling appeared, dressed in a robe the color of jasmine blossoms, its translucent gathers overlaid with silver filigree stays.
Saeldian tried to figure out how he moved to make the hem that floated a touch above the floor ripple like that, how he could move like the air shivered in delight at his presence, but perhaps an elf could not presume what an archfey could do without thinking about it.
Perhaps every bit of their effort to be Osalor’s undeniable protégé would never quite meet the expectation.
“I’m so glad you called on me,” Osalor said. “Dear Saeldian. How fetching you look. An ensemble for a Goldenight party?”
Saeldian shimmied one hip, letting the coins dripping from their illusioned ensemble tinkle. “What gave it away?”
“What indeed,” Osalor said with a chuckle. “What if you wore all those coins against a darker blue?”
A moment’s concentration adjusted their outfit’s illusion. “This?”
“Wonderful,” Osalor said. “Did you only need a suggestion for your party outfit?”
“I’m on a job,” Saeldian said. “It’s during the party, and it’s weird.”
“What do you mean by weird?”
“We were hired today to steal a spell gem. No time to case anything in person. The only time to steal it is tonight, in the middle of a big party full of Waterdhavian wizards, nobles, and noble wizards—”
“You’re nervous.”
“Who wouldn’t be? The client picked the team. Me and Jubilee, but they also hired Kell Redsong.”
Osalor tilted his head. He didn’t frown—such an expression would be too obvious. “I don’t recall—”
“Kell and I worked together in Baldur’s Gate.”
“Right! Your old partner. How is he?”
“Angry,” Saeldian said. “He got pinched with the harp shortly after I set sail. And he thinks I informed on him before I left.”
Osalor looked offended. “You would never.”
“He didn’t have a chance to hear anything different. But that’s not all. We’re stealing the target—the Kiss of Enduring Love—so we can put it back where it belongs before anyone figures it out.”
“Ah! A good deed.” Osalor held out his hands, inspecting his nails. “Did you say the Kiss of Enduring Love?”
“Do you know of it?” Saeldian asked.
He looked back into the mirror. “Never heard of it. Awful name. It rings with sentimentality. Who was it stolen from?”