𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞

𝐍 𝐈 𝐍 𝐄

Snow has soaked her feet long ago, but the fires from Grasite grow brighter as Briéa treads closer and the prospect of a hot bath and a fire has her shivering with pleasure. But of all the places in Dhorston, Ennell had to choose the ugliest. For being so close to the capital one would presume the place to be at least somewhat pleasant. But between the puddles of mud and piss, piles of shit-human or dog, Briéa doesn't know-shoveled behind pubs, and a lingering stench of fermentation, Grasite is far from any resemblance of the glistening capital not even half a day's walk away. Gods know why Ennell decided to settle the remnants of the Syndicate here, but the woman always has her reasons.

The nicest building in Grasite sits at the edge of town. Well, nicest besides the brothel which is somehow always in tip-top shape.

Years ago, the Delot Estate, an established home at the time, was the only reputable place in Grasite. But then the Delot heir lost all the family money to feed her insatiable gambling addiction. The Delot's lost everything. Since the estate has sat unoccupied for nearly half a decade, abandoned, ravaged, and desecrated.

Ennell took one look at the building and thought it would be perfect. She used some of the money the Syndicate has been collecting for generations. It was foolish to think the Syndicate would crumble when Kelrose fell. Of course, they had reserves. Briéa shouldn't have been surprised.

The Syndicate may be remarkably smaller than it was three years ago, but Ennell has just about single-handedly kept them afloat. Briéa admires the woman even more because of it.

As she approaches the old Delot Estate, to an untrained set of eyes, it still looks like shit, even smells like it. But Briéa is not untrained. She sees past the charms cast over the manor and sees the restored estate, now a refuge for any remaining mystics in Areon. The gates are locked and rusted shut. Briéa walks right through the iron bars as if they were nothing but mist.

Ennell took the liberty of remaining the estate, the Arcane, when it was finally repaired to her liking. She named it the Arcane. Tonight, the Arcane is quiet. Quieter than Briéa ever remembers Kelrose being. The sun has barely set and there are no mystics wandering the grounds. Not even any by the burning braziers. The Arcane is colder, darker than Kelrose ever was, but it's all they have now. Only a handful of the Rose Guard rove around the perimeter. They hardly glance at her as she strides through the snow and to the doors of the estate.

Briéa does not stop for anyone and anyone she comes across is quick to step out of her way. Up winding dark walnut stairs, and through twisting hallways, much smaller than Kelrose's, Briéa reaches Ennell's office. It doubles as her and Zaara's suite. Without invitation, and without knocking, Briéa walks through the cream-colored doors.

The Thorn is sitting against her magnificent cherry wood desk. Somehow she managed to salvage it from the ruin of Kelrose. Her Shield stands by a tall bookcase, double swords crossed at her back.

"Mistress," Briéa nods in acknowledgment to the Thorn. Then with a smirk, looks to Zaara and winks. Briéa would deny any claims to perpetually irritating Zaara. But she's-unintentionally-made it a personal mission. "What's up Zaara?" She doesn't look away from the Shield as she tosses the pouch attached to her hip to Ennell's desk. It lands with a thud.

"Somehow you become more and more insufferable everyday girl," Zaara mutters, the muscles in her thick arms flexing.

Briéa shrugs and plops down onto the velvet, sage green couch, set in the middle of the room. She spreads her limps out in front of her and rests her head on the back of the settee. "Don't act like you don't love me." Briéa grins while Zaara glares. At her desk, Ennell opens the bag to inspect it.