Thar Shaddin

February, 122PW

It is said that Morua breeds ambition like the Quijas breed horses.

Having spent a week enjoying the hospitality of his current host, Diego knew that Ramiro Sebastian Guiate de Morua was an ambitious man. Only the ambitious could be so solicitous of even a bastard son to the principal branch of House Morua.

Which was why, in the grey gloom of a moonlit night, Diego was not sleeping off that evening's wine. It was also why everyone else who had dined that evening would be finding their sleep so profoundly restful. It was one of Diego's common sense principals: never fail to drink from the same bottle when poisoning someone, but never drink a poison you don't have an antidote for. The assassin would still need to be careful, however, for only the masters of the villa were compelled to heavy slumber.

Diego had spurned his fine bed for a rendezvous with a locked draw in Ramiro's private office. It astounded the assassin that a man could craft such a complicated lock for a secret room, carefully hidden in the wine cellar, yet entrust the keys to said lock in the far less secure embrace of his office draw. Whilst not exactly a master thief, though no slouch with picks, Diego fiddled with the drawer's lock and mused over recent events. It had been an interesting fortnight.


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Two weeks prior to the first click of pick in lock, Diego had been summoned to Sarita's estate. The summons had been ostensibly for a social engagement, and to report on a recent trade agreement with a merchant operating out of Keltaris, but Diego was met by not only Sarita but her sister Costanca as well. A scenario which suggested immediately that heavy intrigue was afoot. Diego had not been disappointed. As was his custom, he'd not said much at the time, merely ensuring he had a complete understanding of the task ahead. But when he'd left Sarita's estate, the assassin's mind was awhirl with possibilities. When had been the last time he'd been able to dabble in an intrigue this delightfully complex? Almost a year. Merchants could be so very mundane when not thinking about trade and tariffs.

The assassin had pondered the women's hypothesis carefully. Solana, framed. It made a certain kind of sense. Her fencing lessons with Diego, outside of their more formal professional interactions, had painted an image of Sola's personality as brash and arrogant, but not treacherous. And it was true that, in the months following the girl's exile and sale, the Guiate family had enjoyed a streak of good fortune whilst the principal branch of Morua had experienced a somewhat disappointing trend in their negotiations over the same period. Treachery could explain how Belleza had managed to gain the upper hand on several of those occasions.

With the assistance of Costanca and Sarita, Diego utilised their family connection with the Guiate household to commence his strategy. Under the guise of warm congratulations for the Guiate's recent fortunes, Diego arrived as the bearer of two fine Quijan horses, presenting them in commendation for the Guiate's successful outmanoeuvring of certain Quijan merchants. It was, of course, obligatory for Ramiro to invite Diego to stay awhile and enjoy Guiate hospitality. Diego of course graciously accepted. To do otherwise would have been an insult to the goodwill of the Guiate family. Thus began a pleasant week filled with riding, dancing, dining, drinking, and the subtle intrigue of ingratiation. Diego played the role of rakish nobleman enjoying a brief respite from more formal duties to the hilt.

Ramiro bragged of how he had twitted the Quijans, and Diego encouraged him. Servants gossiped, and Diego carefully encouraged them too. Everybody loved tales of a household's eccentricities, and Diego told many lies of the strange behaviours he'd witnessed in households he'd visited whilst travelling in Eyropa. The servants, when not under the watchful eyes of the nobility, delighted in saying how Ramiro almost always visited his office then visit the wine cellars soon after. Most of the servants agreed he was drinking away the horrors of having to write correspondences, but some claimed that he never stayed in the cellar, and in fact sometimes disappeared for half an hour to several hours at a time. This of course led to speculation of a different kind, which suited Diego perfectly. He'd learned enough to compliment Ramiro profusely on his taste in wine, and begged to see his cellars.

Ramiro had delighted in showing off the wines he had procured from all over Corezo, Hassele, and Semerkhet. Diego had been genuine in his praise: Ramiro did indeed have a fine sensitivity for a good wine. But Diego was in truth far more interested in the section of cellar wall which seemed slightly less dirty than other areas. On the fourth night of his visitation Diego had figured out the mechanism which revealed the stout timber door behind a sliding section of the cellar wall. The peculiar lock, containing three keyholes, had impressed Diego far more than the wine. It had also been the first sign that strongly suggested Sarita and Costanca were perhaps correct about the Guiate being worthy of investigation. And so Diego had made preparations to gain access to that hidden and locked room.


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With a satisfying click, Diego gained access to the drawer. Quick evaluation of the inside and outside panels confirmed the assassin's expectation of a hidden compartment. It too was prised open a moment later with the tip of a handy dagger, and Diego removed the complicated keys from within. It certainly wasn't made by one of the Moruan locksmiths Diego was familiar with, that was for certain.

Wearing a specially prepared change of clothes cut in a similar pattern to the uniform worn by the Guiate household's guardsmen, Diego walked softly through the house with the calm assuredness of any one of the villa's servants. From a distance, in the gloom of night, the assassin looked little different to the regular guards who roamed the halls. It was easy to find his way to the cellar with most of the household asleep. It took some experimentation to discern the sequence in which to turn the keys, but eventually Diego was rewarded with a flurry of clicks from the triumvirate of locks, and the assassin revealed the secrets of the hidden room.

It was, quite frankly, a horrible disappointment. It was just another office, almost a duplicate to the one he'd taken the keys from. With the resignation of the hunter who's stalked and shot his deer, but now had to prepare it for carriage home, Diego began his quiet and careful investigation of the secret room and its contents.

"Oh do stop making that awful face, Costanca."

Costanca looked up from the stack of letters she'd been leafing through. "I was not," she said, and was met by the skeptical expression of her sister Sarita.

"Don't speak as if I haven't eyes."

Costanca did make a face at that, and then rolled her own eyes heavenward. She tossed the entire stack of letters onto the low table in front of her, drawing up her feet onto the fainting couch she'd first taken as a seat when they'd entered the private sitting room. She was rewarded by a proper reaction out of Sarita.

"Costanca!" The eldest de Morua sister sounded scandalized.

"Morveres does belong to you, you know. It's not like my relationship with Burgos and dear old Uncle Alduar."

Sarita narrowed her eyes.

"Well, it isn't!" Costanca made a grand gesture towards the letters and stacks of other horrible means of torture that had preceded her into the room. "Though I have to say even he doesn't do such awful things to me as this."

She settled herself more deliberately onto the fainting couch, not quite looking at her sister as she did so. It wasn't that she was unwilling to help her sister, not precisely; if she wasn't she wouldn't have left the tutelage of her uncle for the span of two weeks for a small holiday visiting Sarita on the pretext of Sarita being lonely after her husband had gone on some trip or another. The purpose of the visit wasn't to be a holiday at all, and hadn't been since she'd arrived. That was precisely the problem. They'd done nothing but drag through reports and interview Sarita's staff and . . .other staff since Costanca arrived. Quite frankly, she found the entire process to be dull. What was the point of pretending to be on a holiday if she couldn't even spend a day relaxing or taking a trip round to see the coast? It was scarce likely she'd be back after all their tomfoolery, that was for sure, and she could feel opportunities slipping through her grasp with every dreary day that passed in libraries and offices and sitting rooms filled with stacks of ledgers. How boring.

She looked up with a pout in time to see Sarita eying her with a knowing expression. Costanca allowed her own to degrade further into childish sulk.

"You cannot remain a child forever, dearest Anca. This investigation isn't only for my sake."
"It's not likely I'm to forget, not with cousin Osoro's last attempt at poisoning me still fresh on the drawing board."
"This isn't a game to be tutting over! And you'd best remember there's no conclusive evidence towards that account."

Costanca shot Sarita a withering stare. "Uncle Aluar encouraged it."

"Gossip doesn't befit a lady," Sarita said, warning clear in her voice. Spymistress or no, she was always so dratted boring. "Now, then, best we get through these reports before supper is called. The work won't get done if you continue prattling on about every little thing."

The conversation was rather indicative of Costanca's entire stay at the Morveres estate. At Sarita's pointedly raised eyebrows Costanca removed her feet from the fainting couch with an overloud sigh, and they got back to work. Diego had been sent to root out what information he might from the fox's den itself – figured the help would get all the exciting bits, in Costanca's opinion – while they were left to dig through all the records by hand. Sarita refused to put any of her people (or her other people) on the task, insisting that in such a delicate matter she had to be certain. It didn't make much sense to Costanca, considering that there were likely people who had been trained for this sort of thing and therefore wouldn't need to worry over dying of boredom.

Surely there were laws against death by drudgery, though Sarita hadn't heard of them by any means. Costanca returned to the pile of correspondence between the Lord Chamberlain of the main Guiate estate and one of their caravan heads. Half dead with tedium, Costanca didn't pay much heed to the numbers. It wasn't until the following day that, after a choice comment made to one of Sarita's notations in the rather unnecessary journal she was keeping of their research, Sarita would put two and two together and pull the letter and the corresponding report. It took half the day to find both, since Costanca was not nearly so meticulous as her sister and had not exactly followed the given directions in regards to filing, but she was saved a lecture by Sarita's discovery.

They had found a discrepancy.

It has been argued, mostly by men with far too much time and wine available to them, that the difference between a professional thief and an amateur thief could, in many ways, come down to a simple distinction: a professional thief did not feel out of place or uncomfortable in the location they were stealing from; whereas an amateur thief had a constant battle to wage between their nerves and the task at hand. Amateurs were therefore naturally more inclined to panic and error, and the professional remained calmly prepared for anything. If one took the argument at face value, the argument certainly applied to assassins and those like Diego who removed obstacles of all varieties for their masters.

Diego Baltazar de Morua, as it happened, had made himself quite comfortable inside Ramiro Sebastian Guiate de Morua's secret office within the space of ten minutes. He did, after all, have a lot of reading ahead of him. Setting the secret door so as to be only slightly ajar, Diego had even allowed himself the convenience of a lit lantern and a bottle of one of Ramiro's more forgettable vintages. Poor quality wine, Diego found, was irritating enough to help sharpen one's focus if drank in moderation. But then, who would want to be anything other than moderate with a merely adequate bottle of red?

Having settled himself in, apart from keeping an ear out for the unlikely event of a pre-dawn visitor to the cellars, Diego's focus dwelt for the space of two hours on the dull and dreary task of going through Ramiro's paperwork. A strong advocate of proper preparation, Diego had spent a couple of days prior to his visit familiarising himself with the broad picture of the Guiate's economic exploits: largely thanks to Sarita's admirable filing methodology, notekeeping, and official reports. Adding that to those topics which Ramiro had been happy to publicly brag about, Diego therefore had a list of things he could exclude from his search. Petty transactions could also be largely ignored, unless a pattern emerged. Not for the first time, Diego had cause to thank Salvador for the old man's insistence on learning to understand the merchant's trade. Nonetheless, it was dull and tedious work, and Diego remained aware that he had a limit to the amount of time permitted him in his search.

Two hours in, though, Diego's attention was snatched from a set of reports by the distinctive sound of the cellar doors. Shutting his left eye in preparation for adjusting to imminent darkness, Diego laid a cloth over his lantern to muffle the illumination, and silently rose to his feet. Slinking to the door Diego opened his left eye. The assassin noted the glowing edge of flickering lantern-light from where the stairs down to the cellar were located and swiftly examined his options. It would not be one of the Guiate family, for they were well sedated. That left a guard or a servant. But Diego heard no clink of brigandine or chain, which ruled out the guards. A servant then. Ever in crisis lay opportunity, Salvador had proclaimed, and Diego found himself frequently inclined to agree, a plan taking shape in his calculations.

It would come down to psychology, Diego decided. Was this a loyal servant, or a self-serving servant? Their presence in the cellars intimated the latter, and self-serving servants also tended to curiosity. Diego carefully pulled the heavy timber door half open. Ramiro, bless the treacherous bastard, believed in well-oiled hinges. Diego took up position near the door, at an angle which would leave him concealed until the last possible moment, and waited for the servant to notice the dark gap where the sliding wall revealed the half-open secret entrance. Diego did not have to wait long. A half-suppressed gasp of surprise - the hint of baritone suggesting a male - was followed by the soft pit-pat of bare feet approaching the gap. Not that Diego needed the sound so much: the gradual brightening caused by the damn fool's lantern was warning enough of the servant's location.

Slowly, Diego altered his breathing to match the pattern of the approaching servant, visualising the man's tentative movements, and waited for the tell-tale swing of the door. The servant's movements halted. Diego smiled wryly as the servant reached that moment of soul-searching where he'd either decide on daring or discretion. Then there was the slight clack of a lantern being placed on the ground. So, thought Diego, his man was cautious and something of a planner. Intriguing. Diego had left the door open just enough to invite, but not so open that a man could slip in without nudging it further ajar. And there it was, that slight movement of the door which signified the human fly on Diego's shadowy web. As the man cleared the door Diego moved with speed and precision, his right arm snaking around the man's throat whilst his left twisted the man's left by the wrist around and behind his back. The servant struggled, of course, but Diego had the leverage to keep him off balance long enough to choke the man to unconsciousness.

Diego retrieved the servant's lantern and brought it inside to help his own in the task of illuminating the office. The door was once more set to be only slightly ajar, and Diego briefly knelt by the servant. A twist of a ring produced a small needle in the heart of its silver rosette setting, and Diego pricked the servant on his wrist, the milky residue released into the man's vein ensuring his sleep would last the rest of the night. The assassin then carefully took some of his mediocre wine and splashed it over the man's lips so that it ran down his jaw to soak into his shirt. When the time came, the poor fool would serve as scapegoat and distraction. In the meanwhile, with the interruption having been dealt with, Diego had some more blighted reading to do.

It was another hour before Diego felt certain he had found what he was looking for. He'd need Sarita's people to look into it properly, of course, but the two ledgers he'd set aside seemed to cover sizeable transactions which Diego could not recall coming across in the official reports he'd read just over a week ago. The assassin, not knowing the full story, could only hope the details were some of the cogs required by Sarita and Costanca to set the clockwork of their new intrigue in motion. With great care Diego cut the pages from the two ledgers, placed blank papers to pad out the ledgers to an approximate of their original width, then replaced them in their allocated position. It took a good fifteen minutes to clean up all the papers and return them to their rightful places. It wasn't perfect, of course. Not with the bundle of papers in Diego's pouch. When he was done, Diego dragged the unconscious servant out, and then brought out the lanterns. A moment later the door was once more closed and locked, the sliding wall back in place, and the servant sprawled against it with the empty bottle of lamentable wine knocked over and resting against the servant's leg. Diego was pleased with the cleanup. The room had looked damn close to how he'd found it. And if there was a whiff of wine and lantern oil in the room? Well, the servant lying in a drunken stupor next to the secret door, and his burnt out lantern, would hopefully divert suspicion.

The second lantern was returned to its home in the pantry, and the keys replaced in their compartment, before Diego allowed himself the luxury of a couple of hours of sleep. And if Diego seemed bleary-eyed and a bit the worse for wear when he arose from his bed, he was in good company: the rest of the Guiate family came out of their respective narcotics-induced sleep with the kind of hangovers which made them question what the vineyard had done to make a wine that deceptively potent. The servant, discovered by the cook where Diego had left him, earned a flogging and enough confusion about the night (or nightmare) before that he spent a fortnight second-guessing his memory.

Diego, citing the hangover as evidence he had enjoyed Guiate hospitality to a delightful excess, made his excuses and left the day after. In place of the horses, he carried with him the usual array of correspondences, both official and obsequious, political and personal, to be delivered to house Morua for the Guiate. And hidden in a satchel were the pages plundered from Ramiro's private ledgers. It had been an enjoyable little diversion, all in all, and Diego enjoyed the journey back to Sarita's estate. When greeted at the gate Diego advised the guards with a crooked half-smile that he had mail and holiday souvenirs for Señora Sarita de Morua.

Sarita's excitement over their first major find, as she put it, had lead Costanca to believe in the first half hour of her sister's careful comparisons that they were to be done with the whole mess and do something so welcome as go outside. Perhaps they might even go relax in a room with the windows open and without the dreadful smell of musty papers and long dried ink. But, as Costanca carefully drew up the train of her skirts and was picking her way to the door, she was caught out by Sarita's carefully modulated voice.

"Costanca? Wherever are you going?"

That did not bode well. Costanca turned partway so the flamboyant length of her train spread prettily in the small space she had. Sarita had not been pleased to learn of the extent Costanca's wardrobe, having assumed for some silly reason or another that Costanca might bring some sort of practical clothing. Sarita was ever so ridiculous in some of the things she assumed, in Costanca's opinion; Costanca had not spent the last seven years of her life indulging in the worst excesses available to the Moruan court to do anything so blasé as own clothing that might be considered practical. No. She owned beautiful, and she owned outrageous, but practicality had only been so much nonsense in the long game she had played. Besides, where was the fun in that?

"Out, dear sister. I am leaving this room and these ghastly papers so that I might restore myself."
Sarita had a strange look on her face as she watched Costanca. Costanca, in turn, felt a sinking sort of sensation in her stomach. "Why would you do that when we have only just begun? We do not have time for your idle pleasantries. We must find evidence before Diego returns."
"We have," Costanca said. The cheerful politeness in her voice had started to drain out.
"No, we haven't."
"What's that then?"

Sarita looked down at the pages in her hands. A strange smile spread her lips. "Anca, dearest sister, do you think this is why we're here?" She casually flapped the letter Costanca had found the previous night.
"Is it not?" Costanca asked, her voice losing the friendliness it had contained. While acting a reasonable lady in any sort of public setting was easy as breathing – as it had to be for any person of the court – she had found that her sisters had always had some strange ability to strip her calm from her. Her only balm in that respect was that she could and did do the same to them.

"This is but one piece of what we look for. We hope Diego brings us something irrefutable, but we must never allow ourselves complacency. I deal in information, sister. In this world, you do not stop looking when you find a single piece on the board. You must find them all."

Sarita had a slight look of superiority on her face that Costanca thought was quite boorish. No wonder her husband was nearly always off dealing with merchants. If Costanca had to look across the table at that face every evening, she would find an excuse to dine alone, too.

She flopped back onto the nearest divan, scattering several piles and disrupting a few cases with the passage of the heavy brocade of her gown and her floor length sleeves. Thusly settled she stared at Sarita with all the disdain she could muster. Her chin was lifted, and her pout was complete. "I feel that those who seek my death needn't worry, for my own dear sister will succeed where all else have failed by the simple expediency of boring me into my grave."

"Enough of your wallowing, and pick up those piles. Did I tell you that we would be much further along if you listened to the things I told you? I should be so lucky as to be graced with a sister who could listen the first time around."

"Don't exaggerate. It looks terrible on you."

Sarita lifted her eyebrows, gesturing to the floor. "The longer you act the part of a child the longer we shall be at this task."

"Isn't this what we have servants for?"
"The planes save me from your inability to control your tongue. You shall be grateful enough of the time spent here when we have secured your position at Burgos."
"Perhaps we don't even need to do this. I could spend my life acting the part of a pawn, while all the while we tie their strings."
Sarita stared for a long moment at Costanca, who in turn felt some small thrill of victory. Sarita shook her head, "As I live and breathe, imagine hearing such tripe fall from the mouth of a proper de Morua lady. Changers preserve Mother from ever having to hear those words cross your lips. Enough. I shall hear no more of your sniveling. Now, control your clothing or I shall have to see Serena tailor it into something reasonable."

They glared at each other. They also got back to work. Costanca didn't understand how the common people could stand it. While she had spent the last several years of her life putting up an act for the sake of avoiding assassinations, she had still taken note of the things around her. How dull it must be to have to scrub floors or prepare food, rather than do something exciting or fun. They always took so much time with their jobs that they did not have any time to do anything that might keep themselves sane. Then again, perhaps they were as horses, bred into a complacency and docility that forwent any sort of higher ambition. Maybe they did not even desire to do anything but their work -- and what a horrid thought that was! Costanca shuddered delicately, and contented herself with the knowledge that she had been born of aristocracy, and could tell the difference between fun and boredom.

Still, while servants had their jobs doing mundane chores, Costanca was tied to the work and all of her life by familial duty. She read accounts so dry they sparked headaches and made her eyes feel hot with fatigue. Her complaints were met by steel disdain and draconic stares, and it became evident enough no sympathy would be coming from that quarter. She labored through the unimaginable task, locked up in the room as if she was a prisoner of some forgotten war, and did as Sarita bid. She even learned how to properly re-file the reports she read after much eyerolling and a small display of Sarita's temper.

The result was that by the time a servant interrupted their task (at last, some small sweet relief!), they had discovered a few more damning articles of interest. Costanca would have thought with their small collection Sarita would have held some small measure of happiness or satisfaction, but nothing seemed to be enough for her elder sister. Sarita hummed and bit her lips, tapped the words with the end of her stylus and frowned in a manner Costanca thought was quite unbecoming on a lady's face. The servant was quite well received.

Costanca perked up from where she'd been slumping against the back of the couch, arranging her skirts about her in a more favorable manner. Diego was family -- though not immediate family -- a bastard if the rumors could be trusted (and really, all it took was a single look at his eyes to see he was not from any proper birth) and a man besides. She would not allow him to lay eyes upon her in such a state. As she arranged herself, Sarita carefully replaced what she'd been reading and lifted her own skirts (it was such a shame she had forsworn any sort of fashionable clothing during their sojourn into the dust; it was quite improper for a woman of Sarita's standing to be seen by any not of her immediate family, in Costanca's esteemed opinion – what if word got out she had no taste? It was one thing for Costanca to be seen in outrageous gowns such as the one she currently wore -- a flouncy thing in a lurid shade of orange with the edges of lacy petticoats showing at the bottom and sleeves that parted to reveal tantalizing glimpses of wrist -- but Sarita did not share the same role as her sister. Sarita looked plain, and that was a sin no woman of gentle birth should commit) to step carefully towards the desk they had collected all of their finds upon.

When Diego was introduced into the room, Sarita had ordered those finds with her usual fussy manner, and turned to greet him. Costanca ignored him, as she did most male servants, and continued her reading. She was, however, listening quite studiously to any words that passed between them.

"Senor Diego, I am pleased to see your safe return. Please, sit and we shall have tea brought." Sarita nodded to the butler who had collected Diego at the front door, and he bowed and exited the room to see the oblique order followed. "I trust your visit to our dear cousins was beneficial?"

Diego had taken a leisurely moment to make himself a bit more presentable prior to permitting the butler to usher him through the corridors leading to Sarita's office. Travel dust was all well and good, and perhaps forgivable under the circumstances, but appearances had to be maintained. By the time Diego arrived his hair had been combed back with a dash of rose oil, and his midnight blue tailored doublet and trousers brushed off, so that the assassin once more bore his typical appearance of trend-defying court dandy. Diego's perpetual insistence on stark and sombre colours tended to leave a definite visual impact on any social gathering he attended.

Upon being ushered in Diego offered his two relatives an elaborate bow and half-smile. "Donas Sarita and Constanca, it warms my heart that you would both be present to greet me upon my return." The assassin's eyes flicked briefly over the room, taking in the details. "That you would confine yourselves here on such a magnificent day is truly a shame, especially when Costanca appears ready to break all the hearts in Corezo." Diego reached into his satchel "Allow me to remedy this lamentable imposition of mine with an unofficial token of our cousins' regards."

Diego placed the stolen ledger pages on Sarita's desk. By way of jest Diego had earlier rolled them up and tied them off with a red satin ribbon. "And of course, by way of thanks for their largess, I acquiesced to their convenience and ours. Meaning I have also brought their more formal correspondences: no doubt a dreary mix of sycophancy and carefully presented financial reports." The package of Guiate envelopes followed, placed next to the ledgers.

With another slight bow, Diego finally accepted Sarita's offer to seat himself, and the assassin gracefully settled in a chair as he said "Tea would be a delight. The stronger the better." Affecting an idle half sprawl with one leg crossed over the other and his left arm draped over the backrest, Diego said with a hint of mischief "It will no doubt help me recover from all my carousing, dancing, and time spent with Ramiro and those fine Quijan purebreds. The mare was a bit cold-backed and head-shy at first, I have to say. Fine beasts the Quijans may breed, but they can be deucedly temperamental things at the best of times." Diego made the pretence of a slight yawn, his right hand sweeping up languorously to preserve propriety, before the assassin rested his chin in the crook of right thumb and forefinger "So, dear ladies, while I was making merry with house Guiate, how have things been proceeding at this end? Read any intriguing tales of tragedy or betrayal which I might find of interest?"

Costanca drew a fan from the folds of her skirts – a lovely, deep shade of red set off with orange lace and with delicate flowers painted onto in black and white – and spread it. As was typical of social niceties, she didn't quite raise it to cover the full lower portion of her face, just her chin and the slightest portion of her lips. It was a peekaboo game meant to draw attention away from the eyes and to the mouth, one used more often among unmarried courtiers or at the bargaining table. In a private social setting such as this, with a division in rank between the guest and the host, it was something of a slight. A taunt more than the acknowledgement of a worthy peer or rival, it was a reminder of social standings.

It was Costanca's reply to his remark of her breaking hearts. Whether or not he had meant the comment, it was nothing but a reminder of her of her advancing age, and the political manuevering that had thus far lost her three fiances. That, coupled with the fact that most young men preferred to not entangle her in flirtations and her own disregard of them, did not endear him to her.

Besides, he was one of her sister's other servants, and that was reason enough to be wary of him.

Sarita ignored Costanca for the time being, though heavens knew the Spymistress had noticed Costanca's slight and was not likely to let it pass without her own disapproval. Manners dictated that the reception of Diego come before any scolding, and she accepted the gifts with a serene nod that spoke nothing of her eagerness to rip them open. If Costanca did not know what they were likely to contain and had not been stuffed up in various rooms with so much paperwork, she would have thought them to be nothing more than trite amusements for some later date. Indeed, Sarita seemed not to notice them at all as she watched Diego seat himself.

"It is good that your congratulations was so well received, as dear Senor Guiate doubtless deserves nothing but the best." It was not necessarily a slight that Sarita referred to Ramiro by a common title of respect, as in the world of Corezan nobility she outranked him, but the familiarity implied made Costanca smile. It was a polite smile, and did nothing to show the snide pleasure she got to hear that stuffy man so casually dismissed.

"Intriguing? I think perhaps you overestimate the quality of entertainment that has been presented at Morveres. I never knew betrayal could be so boring as what Sarita has--"

"Dearest," Sarita said, her voice artificially light as she turned her attention to Costanca, "why don't you put away that fan. While it is kind of you to wish to receive him with some manner of pomp, we are not in the dining hall, and such a display is quite unnecessary."

Costanca snapped her fan shut, and showed an ingratiating smile towards Diego that she knew made her dimple quite deeply. It was the sort of smile one might label as mischievous, or, if one was not being polite, insufferable. Sarita turned her attention back to Diego.

"I have been illuminating Costanca on some very. . .classical literature. Perhaps not as entertaining an account as one might find in a scandal rag, but quite pertinent to any who expect to hold power in the de Morua line. You might be interested in the tale – ahh, here we are."

Sarita took up the beribboned scroll in one hand, and gathered the papers she'd just been fussing with in the other. She held the sheaf out to Diego. Costanca could almost admire Sarita for her restraint; she couldn't be quite sure if Sarita's fingers were trembling with her repressed excitement, or if they were wavering from the exhaustion she must be feeling from subjecting Costanca to so many countless hours of torture.

Diego let his smile widen slightly as Costanca responded to his verbal feint with a subtle riposte of her fan. A nicely calculated response, all things considered. The Morua women tended to be a dangerous lot. One young Bellezan aristocrat had described it best, to Diego's knowledge, when he had proclaimed Moruan women as lovely and deadly as poisoned roses. Diego's musings were halted when something about Sarita's tone caught his attention. That, and the lack of honorific given to Ramiro Sebastian Guiate de Morua, suggested to Diego that the women had achieved some manner of success in their endeavours and thus required his full attention.

Amusingly, though, there was no immediate revelation beyond Costanca's peeved interjection. Sarita's response prompted Diego to permit himself the luxury of a proper grin "Be merciful, Dona Sarita, as I am certain that such a vibrant and dazzling dress brings enough warmth to rival a summer's day. I'm certain Dona Costanca's fan is for practical purposes only. But apologies, I digress. Some light reading is precisely what I am in the mood for after such an exciting and extravagant week."

Diego accepted the sheaf of papers from Sarita then added "And please, by all means, there is no need to stand on formality with my gift. If this is to be a brief respite for the purpose of reading, I'd feel distressingly out of place were I the only one with my nose buried in parchment." Diego began to scan through the information Sarita had given him. "Soon perhaps, once tea has arrived and the threat of interruption is diminished, we can discuss matters pertaining to current events more candidly."

They were both so boring. Conversation went to the wayside as Sarita and Diego got to their respective tasks. "I suppose then that I shall happily be the odd one out in this matter," Costanca sniffed. "Besides, you didn't even ask your guest what kind of tea he wanted."

Sarita looked up from the papers in her hands briefly, and smiled at Costanca with such an air of politeness that Costanca felt her eyebrow rising in response. Then, Costanca was ever so politely ignored. Sarita had chosen not to respond to Costanca's accusation, and that had been quite deliberate. The younger sister folded her hands demurely in her lap, playing the part of watchful statue as they all waited out the tea to arrive. Either Sarita knew Diego's preferences and was rewarding him with a surprise, or she was deliberately forgoing his preferences in favor of her own. If it was the lavender Robles black tea that Sarita was always drinking, more likely than not Costanca would have her answer.

In the meantime, she split her attention between Diego and Sarita. She did not stare, as that would be rude, but she noted their expressions and their body language. Of Diego's she couldn't be quite certain, as she did not know the man very well at all, though what she did know involved many variations of the boring trend that seemed to plague her since her arrival at the Morveres Estate. For one, the man had no sense of color. True enough that the cut of his clothing was acceptable, if barely, though he seemed to have some sort of obsession with certain lines over others. Lucky for him his tailor was a good one. If it wasn't for the drudgery of his palette (and this was no new thing, for while her personal acquaintance with Senor Diego was on the slim side, she had seen him often enough during Season events to know it was a frequent choice, not to mention the gossip), he might have been slightly eccentric but decent enough. That wasn't the case. He chose to spit upon the very foundation of upper society, landing square upon some of the most basic of rules. Was it any wonder he served as one of the others? She would not be surprised to find that he enjoyed whatever it was Sarita sent him to do.

While it was true that celebrating the demise of one's enemies was accepted as reasonable behavior, that did not include glorying in the necessary means to that end. More than that, though, he was so. . .monochrome. It was a pity and a shame, when he might otherwise cut a dashing enough figure to be visually pleasing with the rest of the jewels at any gala. Which also was exactly why she couldn't seem to get a grip on his thoughts of the notes Sarita had given him. Even had she the same training as Sarita – and she most definitely did not – she could not look at him without being distracted by his motley.

Pity.

Sarita though, Costanca had a better idea of. Given the way she held the paper and the slight flush to her cheeks, she was quite pleased with whatever news dear Senor Diego had brought with him. There was an energy to her that had been lacking during the morning's trials, or maybe it was just intensified and refocused into whatever it was they'd found. Her lips had parted the slightest bit; when they played the games of cards considered ladylike, it was the sort of thing that told Costanca she had a very good hand. Sarita did not have many tells, and most of the time she held which ones she did have in check. Good news then. Maybe, just maybe, she could spend a day enjoying herself without having to behave as might a servant ordered to some task or another.

Tea arrived, buoyed in on the smell of lavender and the particular brand of Robles black tea. Costanca smiled, mostly towards the butler but also for her own personal amusement, and graciously accepted a saucer and teacup. Once the butler had shut the door Sarita waited the space of five seconds before bursting out with a rapid, though quiet, "I shall see to it a visit with Aunt Eluira is arranged. You will of course accompany us, Senor Diego. Hopefully we are able to see her tomorrow, but if not. . ." she half-shrugged towards Costanca with a graceful dip of one of her shoulders, "I shall have my estate mage send word to Uncle, if it pleases you, to extend your stay."

Costanca could think of nothing worse. Not even Uncle Aluar.

"Do you concur with my assessment?"

Costanca sipped her tea, watching Sarita contain her excitement enough to put down the papers and take up her own tea. She tried not to look bored.

It wouldn't do to chuckle, but the urge was there. Diego knew Constanca by reputation only - mostly with regards to the frequency in which people had attempted to kill her off. She masked her mannerisms well, but the woman had a definite air of petulance to her. The woman seemed to be yet another example of that breed of woman who seemed solely interested in navigating the turbulent waves of fashion.

Diego's days of bothering with other's notions of fashion were a decade over, when his reputation for duelling made him something of a walking faux pas in Belleza and Quijas. And in Morua, well, who did he need to impress with regards to fashion? So few of his tasks these days required him to make the special effort to adhere to current trends. It was a rare occasion indeed, and solely work related, which would see his tailor supplied with the garish colours the true dandies flitted about in.

Diego managed to contain his amusement and merely remarked with a casual drawl "Oh, I wouldn't want to inconvenience Dona Sarita with my tastes, Dona Constanca. They tend to be expensive and much more difficult to acquire. I would be a poor guest indeed were I to insist upon everyone I deal with maintaining a fresh supply of Semerkhet coffee beans. Particularly the rare variety I prefer. No, I am sure the tea will be nice enough." There was something catlike about a woman's indignation which perpetually gave Diego the urge to tickle their whiskers. It added a pleasing element of danger to even tasks as mundane as receiving tea.

Not that tea wasn't pleasant, Diego mused, it just lacked that kick which coffee conveyed. It sharpened the mind and senses. Tea was just, well, congenial. A charming little old lady who talked about nothing but embroidery. Coffee was a hooded man holding a knife in a dark alley: it woke a man up properly.

Diego arched an elegant eyebrow when Sarita's self restraint lasted all of a handful of seconds after the butler's departure. The assassin smiled as he replied "Why, I'd be delighted. It is always a pleasure to visit with one's relatives after all. And..." Diego rested the papers on a small table adjacent to his chair "...it does seem something which might be of interest to Dona Eluira after all."

"Imagine that, he doesn't even like tea," Costanca murmured into hers, though her eyes had gone towards Sarita. When opportunities presented themselves, she was always willing to explore any potential irritation for Sarita.

"Senor Diego is being humble. I fear offering him coffee while he is working for the sake of keeping him focused on the task at hand. He is quite a. . .notorious connoisseur, after all."

"So you're saying you cannot prepare it as he likes?"
"You appear to be as easily distracted, dearest sister."
"I prefer wine, if we're talking of treating guests with proper hospitality."

Sarita regrettably declined to hear Costanca, as she turned her attention back to Diego. "Did you have luggage? I can ring for a servant to see it brought to your room. I trust your usual room in the bachelor hall will suit?"

Diego sipped at his tea while Costanca tried to snipe at Sarita, who in turn brushed off Costanca. Truly, the world would be a less interesting place without such women in it. Diego interjected briefly during their exchange to add "I still say you should try my blend some time, Dona Sarita. It has a profound effect on one's concentration. Perfect for perusing piles of impertinent paperwork."

Eventually though, as was ever the case, Sarita ended the engagement by simple expedience of returning to the task at hand. It was a clever way of enforcing a stalemate in most private circumstances. Diego took a leisurely sip of the tea before responding to her final query "Yes, of course. I have no doubt your staff have my luggage ready. I imagine it waits, ready to be delivered to the guest room with profound efficiency upon your command. The servants were certainly their usual diligent and prompt selves when it came to taking care of my horse's needs."

Another sip of tea "At your leisure, though. No need to stand on formality out of the eyes of the ever-watchful kinfolk. After all, as ever, your wish is my command. I simply await further instructions. Or a light repast. Whichever comes first." Diego maintained a bland expression, giving no hint as to whether he was being serious or indulging in more polite mischief.

"I am pleased to hear it is so," Sarita said. Costanca was eying her, looking for any signs of a slipped composure, but her sister seemed thus far immune to the small social barbs that might be presented in such mixed company. A shame, really.

"I really would like to hear more about this coffee. Since we have so much time to sit and chat. I always love learning about new things. What says you, sister? Might I experience this delightful beverage as cousin Diego speaks of, as he likes it prepared?" Costanca turned wide, unassuming eyes onto her sister. "During dinner service, I mean. Surely that is enough time for it to be properly done?" Her smile was as guileless as a baby's.

Sarita watched her from over her own tea, the responding smile given without missing a beat of social niceties. Costanca had mentioned their relation with Diego on purpose, of course. Though he was removed by a few generations and separated by the rumors of his birth, he was still one of theirs. Costanca had turned this into something a little less formal with the words; it was a reminder to Sarita of the rules of hospitality.

And, of course, before Sarita could come up with a suitable rejoinder, Costanca had turned to Diego with all the enthusiasm she could muster without being unseemly. "Would you enjoy that, cousin?"

Her eyes were wide, her smile enthusiastic and missing any sort of wolfishness. She was childlike in that moment, a candid young woman who was a failure in the art of discretion in every sense of the word. This was Costanca's act, pressed upon her for years and used wholeheartedly at every opportunity.

Diego allowed himself a smile. Costanca's efforts to nettle Sarita were becoming more and more overt, it seemed, which meant he would have no shortage of entertainment while he waited for Sarita to determine the best course of action. He had too much awareness of the Morua psychology to fall for Costanca's girlish demeanor, at any rate, for if it were a true reflection of her capabilities she'd have died long ago.

The assassin drawled in response "Dinner is no fit time for coffee, Dona Costanca, for it impedes sleep." But before Sarita could latch onto that he added "But it is the perfect accompaniment to breakfast. Should Dona Sarita have the appropriate equipment and beans of passable quality, I would be happy to share the fruits of my little hobby" Diego smiled the warm and generous smile of 'man trying to be helpful'. He knew Sarita wouldn't believe a single millimetre of his curved lips.

Through all the little diversions of these social fencing matches Diego was careful to maintain the language of the social inferior. It was in keeping with his dubious heritage and less-than-defined social status. The habit was a political necessity, as well as a professional one, as the question mark next to his status made it easier to get his work done in many ways. Diego finished his tea, and set it on the table next to the papers he'd read earlier. The assassin subtly tapped the paperwork twice where the teacup obscured Costanca's vision but gave Sarita a clear view of his actions. A cue Sarita would recognise as indicating that the assassin was more interested in work than play.

It suited Diego to remain rather bland, though Costanca had hoped for more. He was being safe. A disappointment, though Costanca had hoped for more than his mild compromise. She could not pursue without being rude, and that left her to Sarita's good graces. Not without cinching the deal, though. "Splendid! Surely you'll let me try some of cousin Diego's coffee, won't you sister?"

Sarita looked back at Costanca, whatever emotion she was feeling lost behind a pleasant mask. Which meant, really, that Costanca had succeeded in irritating her. Good. Served her right for trying to hold Costanca to boredom. "I'll see what can be done," Sarita said, sidestepping a yes or a no as usual. It was impossible to win with her. "In the meantime, sister, I believe I have good news for you: I'm hereby releasing you from this dreadful task. In return, be a dear and inform Great Aunt Guiomar that we are expecting an additional guest for dinner?"

Expertly aimed. Sarita knew well enough how cranky and stubborn Guiomar was, and how much she disapproved of Costanca. Punishment? Certainly. "I'll bring her to the drawing room so we might all catch up with cousin Diego before dinner. You know how stressful she finds surprises while she is eating, after all." Costanca set her tea down, though she hadn't finished it. Pressing the issue now would only lead to more stinging reprisal later, and she felt sufficiently revenged for using Guiomar against Sarita's wishes.

The sister in question did not look the least perturbed at the shortening of what time she'd doubtless been maneuvering to get with Diego. She rather looked pleased. "As you say, dearest. We shall see you both in the drawing room."

Costanca took out her fan – one last act of defiance – and spread it with a snap. She curtseyed and brought it up to her face, nodding to the two of them before sweeping out of the room with the grace and flounces one could expect from her rank and reputation. That left Sarita to her tea, a polite smile curving her lips as she sipped her own tea and watched Diego with a politically predatory stare.

The moment Costanca left the room, Diego stretched and sprawled back into his chair with a yawn "Well, that was an entertaining discussion of ...beverages... M'dear Dona. A truly fascinating exchange. Points scored on both sides, I'm sure. Metaphorical blood shed before sharp tongues were finally returned to their scabbards." The assassin returned Sarita's predatory stare with a blithe smile somewhat similar to that of a cat with access to an excess of cream "But hopefully you two have had your fun for now and we can get down to business?"

Diego smoothed out his sleeves as he continued "As much as these pleasantries are ever so diverting, I'm sure there is a growing list of obstacles requiring removal and similar matters requiring my attention, yes? You've read through the papers I retrieved now, as have I yours, but the real question is this: do you have what you need to convince Dona Eluira? Something tells me neither tea nor coffee is going to have much of an influence on that little hurdle."