The House of Ash. Corybantic X ShadowOfDesire

[Corybantic]

The rain had stopped, but thunder still rumbled across the heavens, from lighting beyond the borders of his sight. The clouds, hanging pendulous and impossibly heavy in the air, made the sky match his dark mood. His retinue had been cat-footed around him, unsure if his temper, uncustomarily quick and sharp, would fall on them. It was clear to all, though, that their Lord's ire was unable to strike at its true cause, riding side-saddle on a handsome palomino at the head of the pack animals. As far away from the head of the column while still being part of the Lord's entourage. It was a very pointed statement, clearly displaying his displeasure with the situation she embodied. However, a measure of decorum was preserved that she had not, in fact, been relegated to the baggage train itself. That had been contemplated, by a couple of advisors, however the first to suggest that in the Marquis's earshot had found himself spending an afternoon restricted to the formation of the soldiers accompanying them. That had put paid to that particular line of thinking.

Rove, Lord of the House of Ash, First Marquis of the of Stony Point Marches signalled a halt, and the word was passed back as the traveling sounds of two armored companies and the fifteen or so advisors and companions slowly faded. It was a somewhat unremarkable stretch of the dirt road, but a milestone by the bend signalled that they were leaving the lands of their most recent host, Ilhan, Baron of Red Forest and were crossing back into his home, Stony Point, most noted as the site of the Battle at Stony Point Bay. It had been at that battle that Rove and his wife had so distinguished themselves in the arts of warcraft, that they had been raised to the rank of Marquis and Marchesa. Rove removed his broad hat an ran a hand through his dark brown hair. The rain had matted it to his forehead, and a little water still clung to his beard below.

Home, Rove sighed, inwardly. Only the gods knew what awaited him there. Their rise through the ranks of the nobility had been swift, and had gained them fame and celebrity with the populace, but also suspicion and plots from those they had overleapt, those they now equalled, and even those who saw them as threats to the status quo of the realm. And it was for that reason that the striking young woman, sitting stonefaced on her horse and seeking not a word from any other, posed such a problem to him. And if her presence itself was an irritation, it was but a small fraction of the storm that would be caused once he brought her to the castle that sat on the bluffs less than a day's ride to the south. He looked at the sky, perhaps for guidance, perhaps for forebearance, perhaps for divine intervention, and with a wave to restart the column's forward march, brought the woman to his home, with all the eagerness of a man bringing a blazing torch into thatched house.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

"The first of the scouts has returned, m'lady," one of the pages reported.

Maeryn waved him off without taking her focus from the task at hand. Her workroom was not overly large, but it was well appointed with the tomes, scrolls, and crystals that one often needed to reference while weaving spellcraft. Items had been arranged upon the large circular table that dominated the room, each placed in a particular manner by one of her maid servants, an older woman with no magical talent but a keen eye for detail. It had taken the better part of an hour to prepare, with Maeryn supervising the arrangement, before the final piece was settled in the center.

The faceted ruby had served the sorceress well over the years and remained her primary focus for most of her workings. As she twisted the fist-sized gemstone to the appropriate angle, it began to glow, splashing the room with pulsing crimson light. The page hastily closed the door, sealing the shielded workroom from outside interference. It was a wise precaution, but such protections didn't concern her within her own home. The moment they'd moved into their new home, she'd placed a larger form of the spell about the entire estate. If anyone meddled with her defenses, or if a strong user of magic crossed through them, she would know instantly. For now, those invisible barriers were quiet and still, so Maeryn continued with her work.

Drawing from the magical energies that ran naturally through the land was not easily accomplished unless one was truly skilled. A woman must first be born with the ability to perceive those energies. Most women could, if only faintly, but not always. Those born with the perception must also have the willpower, determination, and concentration required to draw it from the earth and shape it to her will. Again, the strength of the gift depended on the woman. Some could only craft small domestic magics. Others had natural gifts in healing. There were many aspects one might focus upon, specific elements that one might touch. The stronger the woman, the more of those aspects she could control. Maeryn was talented enough to practice them all, though she preferred war magics and battlecraft to most others.

Her current spell was not quite so grand, however. The estate had been overrun with vermin for some time, and the kitchen staff had come begging for Maeryn to save them all from rat-bitten food and droppings that could spread sickness and disease. The Marchioness did not normally bother with such small magics, but as she had not yet replaced her domestic witch, the responsibility of the casting fell onto her. Once the energies flowed into her body, she cleaved a small portion for her use, twisted it to her liking, and then released. There were no dramatic flashes of light or audible cracks to indicate the birth of her newest spell, but the slight atmospheric tension within the workroom did ease somewhat. Without further decorum, Maeryn released the power she held, feeling it snap back into place beneath the estate.

Somewhere behind her, her maid sighed with relief that the spell hadn't rebounded. Maeryn didn't know why, but the sound always irked her. Her lips thinned as she cast the woman a look of annoyance. "I will be doing no other spells today. You may return to your duties after you clean up." She didn't wait for a reply.

The page was waiting for her just outside the door as she swept into the hall. Colin was a young lad, but eager. His shorter legs scurried to keep up with her long, determined strides. "M'lady? Your orders?"

"Send word about the estate that the Marquis returns home from his journey." She paused at one of the northern facing windows, green eyes scanning the treeline. Rove had been gone longer than expected, which could mean much or nothing at all. Had he been delayed another day, she would have cast a scrying spell to ensure he was safe. Her husband was skilled in the ways of combat and death, but he was not immortal. Each time he traveled without her, she worried until his return.

As she studied the landscape, a breeze swept in through the open window, greeting Maeryn like an old friend as it tousled her loose auburn curls. The rain had passed, but the air still smelled of moisture and new growth. She drew in a deep breath, enjoying the moment of peace.

Glancing back to the page, she shooed him toward the stairs. "Hurry now, Colin. They will be here just after nightfall. Tell the cook to prepare a feast."

 

[Corybantic]

The gold and black banners fluttered weakly with the evening breeze. The ocean blessed Stony Point every evening with a cool change that came through about an hour before sunset every day. It seemed to sweep away the day's worries and cares an bring a freshness to the night. Rain seldom lasted past the break from the afternoon, and it signalled a end to the day's scorching heat that afflicted the coast during late summer. The locals called it Hamiya, or The Doctor. And it greeted Rove like a faithful hound as he approached the castle gate, to cheers and hurrahs which he tiredly acknowledged with a wave. Some of the soldiers behind him relieved with successfully returning, whole and safe, let out a whoop and broke into a soldiers song. Some of the courtiers frowned at the lack of proper decorum, but they looked to their Lord, who smiled for the first time since the journey began.


Rove wanted nothing more than to kick his horse into a gallop to the keep, kick down the door and take his wife in his arms. But there were things that were not to be done. As well, as things to be done. And his impatience at being apart from his wife was not reason enough to put them off. While the soldiers, as well as many of the more minor functionaries peeled off to attend to duties, the Lord of the House of Ash and five others mounted the steps of the temple to Nautilus, the God of the Open Sea. The woman on the Palomino, Katrin, with no one to tell her otherwise, sat and waited outside, the hem of her riding clock flecked with the mud of many leagues, her hood off and hair tousled by the breeze.

Devotions said in thanks for an uneventful journey, and the hope for many more, the Marquis' next order of business was finally at the castle proper. The small group let their horses have free rein all the way to the torch lined way. Grooms greeted them at the stables, ready to take care of the horses, and they doffed their travel garments into the waiting arms of attendants. "Come, friends," said Rove with a broad grin " The Marchioness, and a feast, awaits." He turned, ready to be lead by a page to the main hall, and his eyes lay on Katrin. She met his gaze with deference, but meet them she did. His grin quickly vanished, leaving nothing but a flint-hard stare in its wake.

Katrin. A complication, but hardly of her own making. His presence requested by the Duke of Hidden Valley, one of the oldest Duchys in the kingdom, and ruled by Duke Jon of the Elm. An odd request, but certainly not completely out of the ordinary, Rove had been summoned by more than one Duke to probe what allegiances he held and what uses he could be put to in the various internecine plots an intruiges. The House of Ash was something of a novelty in the kingdom, especially at the moment. A small baron and his wife, raised to Marchdom and lauded as Heroes of the Kingdom. It had caused many mutterings from the Feudal lords. Any allies the house had previously cultivated were now far too small in stature to help them. And so despite their celebrity, many powerful hands sought to utilise them as pawns in the Grand Pursuit, as those who fought with parchment and politics called their shadowy game.

An it was clearly a gambit in this game to have presented Katrin to Rove. Not secure in his position to say no to the Lord of a far more powerful house, he had been unable to extract himself from the audience without ungraciously accepting the 'gift' the Duke had bestowed. Perhaps if his wife had been present, she might have seen her way through the labyrinthine etiquette that might have allowed escape. But perhaps that had been the reason the Lord Jon had issued the summons for Rove alone. It was not unusual for Lords to consider only other Lords, Rove and Maeryn were also unusual, if not unique in the respect that he ruled with her and her alone, not with a collective of women of various statuses, but generally interchangeable. It was generally seen as a mark of the power of the Lord that he kept the various bedchambers full. Which of course made the presentation of Katrin seem all the more laudable and seeming a great boon from the Duke.

All that was academic, thought Rove as he was ushered as the first of their group into the great hall, it's tapestries dark an heavy in the vaulted ceiling, its torches blazing with warmth. The banquet tables groaned with seafood and roasted game and vegetables and cheeses and ales. A solid cheer went up for those in attendance for his entrance. His eyes found Maeryn's, impossibly bright and impossibly green in the firelight. His breath caught as it had the first day he had seen her, and he gave her a small salute, placing a hand first to his heart and then to his lips. He strode to her as she rose to greet him and another cheer went up as they embraced, his lips finding hers. "I have returned for you, My Lady" he said, simply an truly.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

Maeryn returned his kiss with equal passion, her generous curves molding against his body without regard for the state of his travel-stained clothes. As ever, she was eager to greet him upon his return. One hand pressed against his cheek, fingers gliding through his beard as she stood on tiptoe to whisper into the ear opposite their audience. "Welcome home, My Lord. You have been greatly missed," she purred. Her teeth nipped at his earlobe teasingly before she drew back, brilliant gaze dancing with mirth.

Her husband was a handsome man, but he had been never been disloyal. Marriages were an alliance, drawn up by contract between one house and another so that both could benefit. Maeryn's house had been far too lowly to attract the attention of the great lords. She'd kept her strength in magic a secret until her marriage, for she'd no desire to become some fool's second wife or seventh concubine. She'd married Rove because their houses were equal, by all accounts, and because she'd fallen in love with him from the first moment he'd captured her with his steely gaze.

As ever, the intensity of those eyes caused a pleasant fluttering in her stomach and a rising heat between her thighs. But she saw something there now that she did not like -- a tinge of hesitant apology that heralded trouble. Her attention shifted as they took their seats, flitting over the crowd to the dark figure that hovered uncertainly in the hall's entrance, and her loving expression changed, for only the briefest of instants, to ire. As their subjects began to partake of the feast, she gripped his hand, holding it almost painfully tight. Her eyes flashed dangerously at him. "I simply cannot wait to learn what surprises you have brought back with you."

----

Katrin studied the men and women of Stony Point with great interest as the feasting began. This was to be her new home, after all, and she hoped to make friends with those that were gathered. Their lord was certainly an impressive specimen, though it was painfully clear to her that he was displeased with his new courtesan. He'd not been cruel to her, in fact he'd yet to say a single word to her directly, but the looks she'd caught him casting her way were severely bitter. It had puzzled her greatly at first, for most lords would be pleased to be gifted with a new acquisition, especially one with significant power and skill in the magical arts. Did he not think her beautiful? With her raven-black hair, fair skin, and slender build, most found her pleasingly comely. Her dark, expressive eyes had captivated more than one man during her time with Duke Jon, and he'd sometimes required her to encourage their affections if it benefited him politically. Rove of House Ash seemed completely immune to her beauty.

It had puzzled her until she'd witnessed first hand the loving greeting he'd given his wife. Ah, the Marchioness. She'd already felt the woman's influence in the tingle of magic that flowed through her when she'd ridden through the keep's entrance. When Katrin found herself the study of Maeryn's gaze, she quickly decided that her new lord's attitude made perfect sense. His wife did not approve. Still, that mattered little to her in the long run. She had been given a task and that primary goal was to serve the lord, not the lady. The lady would simply have to make do with the situation.

Her fingers reached for the clasp of her cloak in preparation of joining the feast, but the hand that gripped her arm gave her pause. The woman was ancient by all standards, wrinkled and stooped. The cane in her free hand was likely a necessary support for her fragile frame. The hag smiled, though the emotion did not reach her eyes. They remained hard and uncaring. "You are to come with me," she grated out. "You're likely exhausted from your travels and have your own feast waiting."

Katrin didn't bother to argue that the men had been traveling just as long and none seemed ready to keel over, but were perfectly capable of enjoying themselves with food and drink. She didn't bother because the woman had obviously been sent to intercept her to spare the Marchioness' standing. So she followed, too tired to engaged in the dramatics of political maneuvering just then, and quite eager for the promise of a room, a hot bath, and food.

 

[Corybantic]

No amount of explanation would suffice to thaw the mood of the rest of the feast. Jovial toasts and boasts and laughs failed to echo the way they usually did, seemingly powerless against the pall that emanated from the head table. Oh, there were smiles from both the Lord and Lady, raised glasses met and favor bestowed, but not from him to her, especially not from her to him. Gossip slowly filtered from those who had travelled with Rove to those who had not, and sometime around the fruit course a susurrus began, and the source of the odd mood became more clear. At least to most. Those furthest gone in their cups, and furthest from the Lord's table, attempted to sing a rousing shanty, not unknown to more celebratory occasions, even among the court, died in infancy and those so inclined wisely decided to take their merriment elsewhere. It was too much for the Marquis. He rose to address those asembled.

"My Friends," he proclaimed as an expectant hush fell over the crowd. "While we rejoice our safe and happy return home, I must confess that the days travels have not neglected to ask their due of me, and others. As there is indeed sometimes wisdom to be found in the bottom of an ale mug, perhaps those of you looking to continue the celebration might follow the good example set by the Masterwrights of Ship and Wheel and spread the festivities to those of the keep who enjoy a hearty song an dance under the watchful eye of the full moon. Therefore, I shall retire for the evening, with a thanks to the kitchens!" a hearty cheer accompanied a salute to those who had prepare the sumptuous banquet tables, "...and all who have brought a fitting welcome to my hearth and home."

Rove glanced back at his wife, who simply returned his gaze, inscruitably, He considered offering her his hand, but did not know how he might react if she refused. And so he simply set his mouth in as neutral expression as he could manage, the talk of his weariness from travel no sham act, and left the hall. One of the pages had been tasked with being his Lord's assistant, and while he walked a step behind the Marquis, ready to attend to his smallest whim the two walked the corridors silently, until they reached the ruling couple's quarters. Finally, the Marquis turned to Alain, the page, and asked the question he knew had to be asked, but almost dreaded the answer. "Where is our newest guest, Alain? Has suitable rooms been secured for her?"

For his part, the page swallowed, and spoke. "Uh, Helga said that she would be given temporary rooms in the guest quarters, My Lord. With the explanation that suitable rooms had to be made ready for her." Ah, thought Rove, smiling somewhat mirthlessly. A holding pattern. Quite perceptive of Helga, the Chamberlain tasked with the day to day running of the keep, to find the perfect middle ground until the winds had been truly tested. And by the scuffing of soft shoes on the woolen rugs and the shadows in the flickering torchlight, the winds were about to test the mettle of his crew, as no one but Maeryn and her own chambermaid in tow would be here. He quipped grimly that Alain should be ready to fetch the healer at a moments notice, but was shaking his head as he did, to show that the page was not to take that seriously. He pushed open his own door, as his wife rounded the corner, and Rove held the door as she swept passed him. Alain and the other servant, who Rove couldn't put a name to right at that moment, said nothing but spoke volumes with their wide eyed glances they shared when they thought their Lord and Lady could not see. Rove set his shoulders as he would before any battle, although he knew that while he was not in the wrong, neither would he begrudge his wife her temper at what he himself had raged against in the days immediately after.

 

[ShadowOfDesire]

The tempest he expected did not manifest immediately. Instead, his wife contained the storm raging within her breast as she moved further into the room to sit at her dressing table. Like any other evening, she began to remove the gems she wore, most of which had been given to her by Rove. They were placed carefully in their cases, each precious item guarded by a spell that prevented thieving fingers. Her gaze, hard and cold, remained locked on him through the mirror, giving him a clear view of the displeasure in her expression. Were it not for the love they shared, Maeryn would have struck him down for the insult, but mariticide brought only the King's personal huntsmen and executioner.

As angry she was regarding the newest addition to their household, she the betrayal even more keenly. Her husband was talented with a blade, but she never thought to feel the stinging cut herself. Had he slid a dagger between her ribs, he could not have caused a greater pain than what she now felt. It was almost crushing, and Maeryn was far from the type of woman that allowed herself to be crushed by anyone, least of all a man. The trample of her husband's boot was another matter entirely, however. He knew her far more intimately than any other and could utterly destroy her if he so desired. To Maeryn, it felt like that destruction had already begun.

So instead of a hysterical rage or the dangerous temper that destroyed nearby objects when she inadvertently lashed out with magic, Rove was met with hot, angry tears that rolled slowly down his wife's soft, ivory cheeks "Are you really so displeased with me that you need another? Am I no longer a worthy wife and partner?" What had she done to have him treat her with such disregard? Other men took wives and mistresses to consolidate power. Rove had never before shown interest in either. She was far more powerful than a trio of wives could ever hope to be, and she was completely dedicated to his cause and his alone.

She rose suddenly, turning on him with accusing queries upon her lips. "Why? Why do you seek to humiliate me before our subjects?! It is because I have born you no heir? You bring another into my house to give you what I have not? You bring her here to take my place?"

While they'd not been married long enough for lack of children to be a true worry, she had always considered it a personal failing that she'd not yet provided him with a son to continue his line. Battle took precedence over family, of course, but there had been time both before and after to conceive. Magic took a toll on the body, however, and she'd not allowed herself the luxury to do without it in order to bring a child to term. Was he now punishing her for her arcane devotion?