Ailill and Ivan approached.
Looking to the coachman, Ailill said, "Take us to the country estate of Lady Elianne Poulx. Do you know it?"
"Yes, your grace. Three day journey, and we'll probably spend an hour just crossing the river."
Ailill grimaced. "Ah, yes, the river. Well, there's nothing for it. I leave us in your capable hands."
"Your grace," the coachmen replied, and then climbed on top of the carriage as Ivan and Ailill climbed inside.
A couple of minutes later they were off, and Ailill settled back in his seat with a sigh, not looking forward to the journey ahead of him. "So how long are you planning to stay, Vanya?"
Ivan shrugged, sprawling in his own seat, seeming to take up the whole of the carriage. Ailill wished it was at all feasible to spread himself across Ivan's lap. "I made no definitive plans. I thought I would arrive and see how everything went."
"That makes good hearing," Ailill said. "The ceremony is three months away, and I fear things will not be very pleasant until it is over—especially now this murder has been placed in my lap."
Cocking his head, Ivan said, "Yes, tell me more of this murder."
"Attempted murder, actually, but the White Eagle is in a coma," Ailill said. "Someone attacked her in her private temple and killed her manservant. She tried to escape down into a secret room, but somehow her attacker poisoned her first, or managed to poison her while she was hidden away. Part of my job, alongside figuring out who did it, is determining how the deed was done. The timing is the worst part."
"You think it has something to do with the ceremony?" Ivan asked.
Ailill shook his head. "Who would stand to benefit by the ceremony failing? No, the people of Verde work too hard and hope too desperately for someone to ensure yet another Tragedy. Who would purposely sacrifice an entire country for one person?"
"The same type of people who would sacrifice an entire country to save one little thief," Ivan replied. "The same type of people who poisoned you two years ago."
"Ah, yes, there is that," Ailill said with a wince. "I have heard Holy Zhar Ptitsa is returned to Pozhar and the country flourishes."
Ivan nodded. "Yes, he has returned. The country prospers—no more excessive snow, the crops grow well again, and people just ... they just seem happier. The ups and downs are not as extreme. Fires, I am a duke instead of dead. I think you must not discount that someone wants the ceremony to fail."
"But who would benefit from that? It seems far more likely that it is a crime of passion, a personal vendetta of some sort."
"Perhaps, but the timing makes me wonder," Ivan said pensively. "I guess we shall see. You make a very pretty duke, but you do not look very happy to be one."
Ailill sighed and slumped, some of the weight sliding from his shoulders as he realized he did not have to pretend in front of Ivan. "I hate it. I give orders, I bow and scrape, I am scheduled to attend all manner of luncheons and dinner parties ... and I hate every moment of it. You seem to be adjusting much better. Being a duke suits you."
Ivan shrugged. "I am a poor noble, really, but I am used to being in charge. Being a duke is not so different than being the leader of a mercenary band, at least in that respect. Thankfully, my men have taken up the challenge with me. They've adjusted remarkably well to being respectable. Luka rules my estate with an iron fist; I think if anyone tried to take it from us they would find the Jagged Mountains less frightening."
"I see," Ailill said with a laugh. "Well, perhaps after the ceremony I can take one last journey. I must settle into my own duties at some point, but I admit I keep putting them off."
"With the ceremony so close, I think you have good reason to focus on that rather than lands that have taken care of themselves well enough without you. I would suspect that the people who need you have not suffered at all."
Ailill shook his head. "No. I am starting to lose track
Looking to the coachman, Ailill said, "Take us to the country estate of Lady Elianne Poulx. Do you know it?"
"Yes, your grace. Three day journey, and we'll probably spend an hour just crossing the river."
Ailill grimaced. "Ah, yes, the river. Well, there's nothing for it. I leave us in your capable hands."
"Your grace," the coachmen replied, and then climbed on top of the carriage as Ivan and Ailill climbed inside.
A couple of minutes later they were off, and Ailill settled back in his seat with a sigh, not looking forward to the journey ahead of him. "So how long are you planning to stay, Vanya?"
Ivan shrugged, sprawling in his own seat, seeming to take up the whole of the carriage. Ailill wished it was at all feasible to spread himself across Ivan's lap. "I made no definitive plans. I thought I would arrive and see how everything went."
"That makes good hearing," Ailill said. "The ceremony is three months away, and I fear things will not be very pleasant until it is over—especially now this murder has been placed in my lap."
Cocking his head, Ivan said, "Yes, tell me more of this murder."
"Attempted murder, actually, but the White Eagle is in a coma," Ailill said. "Someone attacked her in her private temple and killed her manservant. She tried to escape down into a secret room, but somehow her attacker poisoned her first, or managed to poison her while she was hidden away. Part of my job, alongside figuring out who did it, is determining how the deed was done. The timing is the worst part."
"You think it has something to do with the ceremony?" Ivan asked.
Ailill shook his head. "Who would stand to benefit by the ceremony failing? No, the people of Verde work too hard and hope too desperately for someone to ensure yet another Tragedy. Who would purposely sacrifice an entire country for one person?"
"The same type of people who would sacrifice an entire country to save one little thief," Ivan replied. "The same type of people who poisoned you two years ago."
"Ah, yes, there is that," Ailill said with a wince. "I have heard Holy Zhar Ptitsa is returned to Pozhar and the country flourishes."
Ivan nodded. "Yes, he has returned. The country prospers—no more excessive snow, the crops grow well again, and people just ... they just seem happier. The ups and downs are not as extreme. Fires, I am a duke instead of dead. I think you must not discount that someone wants the ceremony to fail."
"But who would benefit from that? It seems far more likely that it is a crime of passion, a personal vendetta of some sort."
"Perhaps, but the timing makes me wonder," Ivan said pensively. "I guess we shall see. You make a very pretty duke, but you do not look very happy to be one."
Ailill sighed and slumped, some of the weight sliding from his shoulders as he realized he did not have to pretend in front of Ivan. "I hate it. I give orders, I bow and scrape, I am scheduled to attend all manner of luncheons and dinner parties ... and I hate every moment of it. You seem to be adjusting much better. Being a duke suits you."
Ivan shrugged. "I am a poor noble, really, but I am used to being in charge. Being a duke is not so different than being the leader of a mercenary band, at least in that respect. Thankfully, my men have taken up the challenge with me. They've adjusted remarkably well to being respectable. Luka rules my estate with an iron fist; I think if anyone tried to take it from us they would find the Jagged Mountains less frightening."
"I see," Ailill said with a laugh. "Well, perhaps after the ceremony I can take one last journey. I must settle into my own duties at some point, but I admit I keep putting them off."
"With the ceremony so close, I think you have good reason to focus on that rather than lands that have taken care of themselves well enough without you. I would suspect that the people who need you have not suffered at all."
Ailill shook his head. "No. I am starting to lose track
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