Cinder Bound

4 - Salted Slugs: Tavlen

Telei was a bit of a legend himself (their top assassin before he'd turned to recruiting), but even he scrambled from his chair. "Take my seat," he offered, a little more causally this time.

Lyra shut the alcove door and slid into the shadows behind Tavlen instead. Telei was the newest of Tavlen's cabinet, and therefore the least trusted by Lyra's standard (his flamboyant clothes didn't help). Talven shifted his shoulder so she could see.

Fent sat in Telei's chair. "Don't mind if I do." He passed his ink vial to Telei. "Hold this, fuzz."

'Fuzz' was Fent's favourite term for fur-skins. Elk-skins had more hair than fur, but, well, semantics.

Telei sighed but dutifully held the inkwell out at the right height. "Only if you write good things about my kid, hm?"

Feigned indifference toward the dragoness was a much safer approach, in Tavlen's opinion.

Lyra pressed deeper into the shadows and gently cleared her throat. "Is he magic born?" she asked quietly.

Telei froze, inkwell half-corked. He paused as if to give her a moment to rescind the question.

"The kid," she clarified. "Was he born with this magic or does he channel a higher form?"

Fent took his ink vial back from the elk-skin and popped the cork open himself. "Lyra likes to read philosophically," he explained. "She differentiates between the magic pure-bloods are born with—like our good Unyielding—and the magic that—"

"That transcends human life." Telei straightened off the wall. "Like fate. I do read, Worm. Vow magic, blood magic, cinder magic."

"And truth magic," Lyra said, that taxed tone under her voice. "So I am asking if your recruit was born with his magic or if he's cultivated one of the higher forms."

Telei ran his hand over the goatee he grew to hide the scar over his lip. "I've never considered the higher forms something to be cultivated," he said diplomatically. "Only given. Until now, I've thought Jeha has some sort of compulsion magic. He makes lying hurt, which adds a certain relief to telling the truth."

"Isn't that the essence of truth magic?" Lyra asked. "A pain beyond human causing?"

"Right, kids." Fent shoved his ink back at Telei before he could answer. "Save the philosophy for teatime. Our great channeller of magic just set down his pencil."

Tavlen opened the vent to the room beyond, reducing any further conversion in the alcove to whispers.

Jeha's grey hair (dyed in Court fashion) was in three plaits down his scalp. He tugged at one of the tuffs at the back of his neck as he studied the notes.

"Your cooperation, sir, has been appreciated. Just one more topic before we begin."

"Begin?" Nim's chair rocked forward. "I've been here a half an hour."

"We're almost done, sir." Jeha shuffled his papers. "I am only unclear on one thing. In my world, only snakes can be nobles. But that is not the case in the South."

"No," Nim said impatiently. "We were allowed to keep our noble titles when the Midland Courts claimed our coast. And we work hard to maintain them."

"And there is a noble line of vulture-skins. Called... the Hood?"

"That is correct."

"You were a part of this Hood."

"I was." Nim pulled at one of the braids in his beard.

"But you married a sparrow-skin by the name of... Roselle? And were kicked out."

"Correct again."