"Welcome, Sir Alwyn, the lord has been waiting for you."
"Mmm, is he, now? I'd best not keep him waiting, then."
Alwyn walked past the servant who was waiting for a cloak to drop into his arms. Alwyn would be keeping on all of his clothes, though. He didn't plan on staying too long, if he could help it.
He followed the servant through the dark oak halls, passing by large implements of silver and ruby. The vibe of the manor was much different than Duke Saivelle's. Alwyn hated to admit it, but he actually quite preferred it.
'Malachai's got taste, at least."
"Here we are, sir. Right inside these doors."
Alwyn looked up and down at the dark, carved doors. Surely they, as the entrance to Lord Drowsen's office, were meant to inspire fear and unease into the soul of all who entered. Of course, Alwyn felt no such fear. He pushed the doors open with confidence and a swagger in his step, as if the place belonged to him.
On the other end was Malachai Drowsen, waiting in front of his desk. Alwyn was surprised to see him up from his chair. This is because, until very recently, the young lord had been wheelchair-bound. A cripple.
But, like the duke had explained to him a number of hours earlier, that was no longer the case. Inexplicably, Malachai had started walking and running and hopping as if he had spent his whole life doing so.
Well, Alwyn had a guess or two as to what was actually happening here. Very few things are 'inexplicable,' after all.
"Sir Alwyn, how nice of you to drop by! This is the first time we're meeting, isn't it? Come, come, sit down and have a drink. Relax! Make yourself at home!"
Alwyn was caught off guard by the sudden hospitality, and didn't fight back as Malachai dragged him into a comfortable leather seat at his desk.
He had only gotten glances of Lord Drowsen before, usually from afar. Despite this, Alwyn was certain the young man had changed extensively. The two of them were the same age, and looked it, too. But, Alwyn distinctly remembered him as being frail and young in appearance.
Now, Malachai was tall and sturdy. Not quite as impressive as Alwyn, but it was an impressive body nonetheless. His face was no longer gaunt and pale, either. The now sunkissed skin was warm with life, and his face didn't give off the impression of an ugly dying child.
Quite the opposite.
Even his raven-colored hair, which had once been short and brittle, was now thick and glossy. His teeth shone white, and fingers were smooth and crack-free. Most notably, though, were his eyes. Once described by people who saw him as 'lifeless' and 'dull,' the crimson orbs were now devilishly enrapturing.
And his voice, once hoarse and unpleasant, spoke to Alwyn in a way that made him want to listen to each and every syllable with eagerness. Or, it would've, if the wizard was a naive idiot.
'No wonder this bastard took over the entire damn city in less than a year. He's charming as hell! And a miracle story to back it... no doubt it's an accord. But... with Pischt? Why do I doubt that?'
"Thank you for the offer, Malachai—or is it Lord Drowsen, now?—but I don't drink on the job."
"Oho, don't worry about it! And, feel free to call me what you'd like. I barely even see myself as a lord, anyhow. I am a little hurt that this is you 'on the job,' though... I'd hoped you would be visiting as a friend."
"Aha! A friend is only swiftly made between naive children. We're both adults now, aren't we?"
"Is that so? I still believe myself to be pretty youthful—naive, too!" Malachai laughed.
Alwyn laughed with him. "No, no, I don't either of us are naive at all."
"You're very right, Alwyn. Indeed, we are probably both wise well beyond our years. I heard you've taken up teaching? It must be difficult, being responsible for kids. I'd never manage!"
"I'm sure you'd do just fine. You're petitioning to become responsible for an entire city—that's certainly way more difficult. I've only got four little kids to care for, you've got hundreds of thousands waiting for your every word!"
"True, true, but I could only hope for such an intimate relationship with my city as I'm sure you'll find with your students. A duke's place is far separated from the people, you know. To be honest, when I'd heard what happened, I thought you'd go to the battlefield. To think you'd become a teacher... please, tell me why?"
"You don't know? I'm surprised, I thought someone of your importance would've already been let in. Ah, well, I guess it makes sense, since you're not really the duke just yet."
Alwyn held back a smirk when he thought he saw Malachai's eye twitch. It was barely perceptible, but he was sure that he had seen it.
"Of course, of course. But, I can't say it's not surprising. I didn't take you for a dog... but I suppose we all have our price."
This time, it was Alwyn's eye who twitched. Lord Drowsen continued, surely noticing his reaction, too.
"You're getting paid quite a penny for teaching our little Marielle, aren't you? When I'd heard she had an aptitude for magic, I truly was just elated. It was another incredible addition to her legend. Sword and magic—what's a wizard of the tower like you think of that, anyway?"
"Mmm, right. Well, I don't have any real opinion on it. She's an incredibly talented girl for sure, and I can't wait to teach her. Someone like that... they're like a really fine piece of marble. Not like I've sculpted before, but I'm sure you get it. You can't help but be excited to carve into it and make it take shape!"
"So true! I know exactly what you mean. I heard you took two other apprentices before arriving here, is that right? Are they 'fine pieces of marble,' too?"
"They are. Perhaps even finer than your dear sister."
"Niece, really. Don't flatter me—I'm no brother of the great Marielle de Saivelle. But, that's good to hear. I was a little concerned with your choices, honestly. When I was told Prince Sylven would be going along with Marielle, I worried you would be wasting your talent teaching all sorts of hopeless children. It's good that Sylven is the odd one out, rather than Marielle."
"Oh, don't be like that! I'm sure he'll reveal his talents soon enough."
"Possible, indeed. What would the chances of him being the single failure out of the five children? I trust you not to speak of my words to anyone, in fear of my head rolling across the ground, but it's not like the youngest prince had a very... conducive childhood environment for fostering talent."
"I am inclined to agree. He's an unfortunate soul, from what I've seen. And, don't worry, what's said in here stays between us! You have my word."
"Not even with the duke?"
"Haaah... well, maybe not, starting now. I'm here on the job, remember?"
"Of course, how could I forget?"