Caj’s palms were sweaty and his heart was racing, but he didn’t let it show. It wouldn’t do to show nervousness in this meeting. He wanted to come across as a somewhat thick-skulled brute. That was why his guestroom was arranged in the way it was. He was not playing the role of a duke or lordling this day. Instead, he would be boisterous and onerous warrior with average intelligence. It was a difficult role for him as it wasn’t conducive to who he really was. He had to pretend to be angry with Adarian for usurping his family’s right to the Duchy, when he wasn’t. Caj had no memories of Dougal and Sherin, and he was honestly okay with the way his life was going and felt no desire or thirst for power or vengeance. What happened to Dougal and Sherin Donovan was a tragedy, by all rights, but it didn’t feel like his tragedy. The problem was, there was no way that Adarian MacNeil would believe the truth. That was the reason for his current charade.

“So, your excellency,” Caj said acidly, “How may I serve you today?” Caj didn’t stand up from his seat. It was a slight breach in decorum, yes, but fit for the character he was trying to play. The Duke retained his equanimity and smiled at Caj, somewhat condescendingly.

“Ser Donovan, my boy,” he replied evenly, “I simply thought I should visit to gain your measure. I’m sure you can understand why I might be concerned about your disposition, considering your… history… with both my family and the country as a whole.” Caj took a hefty swig from the flask of Firewater in his hand and held back a grimace. The liquid was currently more than half water, but still had a hefty bite. Caj suspected that it could be used as herbicide in its undiluted form. Caj wiped his mouth and rubbed his chin as he replied sardonically,

“Duke MacNeil, my good sir, I don’t have a history with your family or this country at all. You and the Headsman saw rather smartly to that.”

The bitterness in Caj’s tone wasn’t entirely faked. No matter how content he was with his life, what had happened to Caj’s parents felt wrong. Caj drew back from those thoughts. It wouldn’t do to get lost in thought. Not right now. When Caj latched his eyes onto Adarian, he was gratified to see the Duke’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly in surprise.

“Heh,” Caj chuckled, “Didn’t expect me to be aware of that fact, eh your excellency?” The Duke just stared at Caj, nonplussed. Caj was satisfied that his duplicity was going as planned. It just needed one last push. He took another long swig of the disgusting liquor in his flask. Caj didn’t hold back his grimace this time, but instead directed it at the calm Adarian and flustered Patrick. “Don’t worry Adarian,” He sneered, putting more bitterness into the words than he felt, “I won’t challenge your rule. It would be tantamount to suicide.” Patrick’s rapier was out of its scabbard in an instant. He pointed it at Caj and began to monologue. A rather stupid thing to do in Caj’s estimation. If you were going to poke a man full of holes, you should just get to the poking.

“Listen here you hedge-born, crooked-nosed knave, you will show proper respect, or I shall gut you from nose to groin! Genuflect! Now!” Caj hadn’t moved from his lounging position. He fiddled with his flask distractedly. He looked up and spoke just before Adarian could restrain his son.

“Hmm?” Caj looked at the gilded rapier and snorted dismissively. He channeled his inner Narm and looked down at his flask again, while grinning a wicked grin. “With that pigsticker? Really Patty-Boy, if you are going to make a threat, at least make it one that makes sense.”

Patrick started to stalk forward angrily. The entire room seemed to be in some form of shock. Adarian didn’t seem offended, just surprised. His guard seemed confused, but about to intervene before Adarian held up a hand to stop with him, approaching his son himself. By the door, Rai was doing an admirable job holding back laughter, although mirth still sparkled in his eyes. Emma maintained her dullard’s visage, not reacting to anything that was happening. Adarian put his hand on Patrick’s forearm.

“Please son, stop-” he started, but Patrick shrugged him off, continuing his forward progress. Caj just grinned wider, still not moving.

***

Patrick MacNeil’s thrust towards Donovan’s eye was on point. He knew it like he knew that water was wet, and like he knew his own name. He was almost smiling in triumph. This cox-comb of a man would be brought down for his disrespect. How dare he insult the MacNeil House, his betters. Patrick smiled as his rapier reached within inches of Donovan’s face, and his manic grin grew when he saw his sword pierce… nothing. What? Patrick’s smile faltered, although Donovan’s never did. The blade of Patrick’s rapier was half a centimeter above Donovan’s ear. The insufferable ruffian had somehow dodged! Suddenly there was a terrible burning liquid in Patrick’s eyes, and he was on his backside, stripped of his sword and clawing at his eyes. A second after he landed, there was a thunk that made him flinch. As he finished rubbing his eyes clear, he looked up. There, vibrating violently in the floorboards was his rapier. Donovan, infuriatingly, was still seated, although his bloodthirsty, mocking smile had been replaced with a cold, expressionless face. There was a long, drawn-out silence, until Patrick’s father finally spoke in a weary voice.

“I apologize for my son, Ser Donovan, he has yet to learn prudence. Not unlike yourself I believe.” This last was said in a more pointed tone, and with a gaze that could crack stone. Sir Donovan didn’t flinch, however, and he returned the gaze with equanimity.

“Your excellency, the lesson your son failed to recognize was that words can fell men as surely as axes can fell trees.” Donovan said, his yellow-eyes gaze just as intense as Adarian’s, “However, men, unlike trees, are fully capable of defending against their assailants.” Silence reigned once more, before Adarian spoke again.

“Well,” he said, still no sign of anger, “I must be going Ser Donovan. I thank you for your assurances of non-action. Patrick. Come.” His last words surely displayed his displeasure. Patrick flinched before the imperious tone, before standing up and following his father’s guard out the door. The heavy door closed with a loud slam.

***

Rai closed the door hard. Across the room, Caj bolted from his chair to a side table, grabbing a crude wooden cup of water to rinse his mouth out. He took the three flasks to one of his two windows, and poured their contents out of it. He watched the flowers below visibly wilt from whatever was in the alcohol and winced. Yeah… drinking any version of that, even watered down, was probably not good for him. His attention was snatched by Rai’s breathless voice. He turned to find the boy slumped against the wall.

“Reaper’s threshing floor big-man,” Rai said, “I thought the goal was tae not anger or frighten them?” Caj barked a nervous laugh as he slumped under the window, just like Rai was across from him. Emma scuttled across the room and hopped into the high-backed chair with one of her storybooks, obviously unconcerned by the whole situation. She was probably too young to understand it anyways.

“That was the goal Half-head. Couldn’t you tell?”

“Could nae I tell? Could nae I tell! Bloody Burning Balls of Chaff big-man! Ye have tae be the worst damned courtier I’ve ever seen.” Caj snorted.

“Yes Rai, because you have such extensive experience with the nobility. You’ve met what? Six members of the peerage? Only two proper members counting Natalia and the Duke.” Rai cocked his one eyebrow.

“Ye, big-man, are easily worse than all of them together.”

“Come off of it, Half-head.” Caj retorted, “Bietre has to be worse than me.”

“I’ve never seen him get into a fight with the son of a duke.” Rai retorted. Caj chuckled at that.

“Fair enough. Actually though, Valerna beat him bloody for pinching her backside when they were children.” Caj replied. Rai huffed and Emma sighed.

“I take it back,” Rai said, “Those two are significantly worse than ye big-man.”

“Thank you, Half-head.” A long silence was entered until Rai finally spoke again.

“How exactly did this fit into the plan of nae making them angry or afraid?” Rai asked. Caj stretched and cracked his neck with a groan before replying.

“Ughh… Well, Half-head, now they just think I am a pissed off meathead. Angry and stupid, but just smart enough to realize that trying to take back my position would be basically impossible. That makes me less of a threat. Additionally, Duke MacNeil isn’t one to get upset by words. I checked.” Caj glanced at his chair where Emma sat in silence, a book in her lap and bored expression on her face. He would have to get her a new one soon, she was probably getting too old for The Fox and the Rat.

“Ye make things too complicated big-man. I always just hit my problems with a big stick.”

“Ahh, that explains the state of your economics book.” Everyone in the room dissolved into chuckles, even Emma.

***

Duke Adarian MacNeil was not a hasty man, unlike his son. Patrick was too pampered and impulsive. A poor combination for a certainty. He stood now in his office, thinking on his meeting with Caj Donovan carefully. He methodically turned over each word spoken, each seemingly innocuous placement of items, and each flicker of the eyes. He was impressed to realize that Caj Donovan scared him, if only a little. He saw through the first layer of the young knight’s deception almost immediately. It was an impressive showing for an individual without any direct training, but it stood no chance against Adarian. It really wasn’t fair to expect it to, after all. When Adarian attended the Knightyard, he specialized in espionage. The best laid plans of a youngling couldn’t hold up to his inspection. What did concern him though, was the second layer of deceit.

That layer was there, he was certain. There was no way that what he thought he saw could be true. Under the covering of a brute solely focused on combat, one might see something different. A reasonable and well-mannered individual, well-versed in combat yes, but also in history, economics, and politics. Caj Donovan clearly had set up their encounter. It was very obvious that furniture had been moved from the room based on the uneven wear on the carpet, and the setup with the weapons was just excessive, likely meant to throw them off balance. Caj Donovan had made it appear that he preferred hard liquor to a more refined wine, but the number of his pewter chalices, and the wear and tear on said goblets, was indicative of the exact opposite. This was supported by the presence of an overlooked corkscrew that had obviously seen some use. This troubled him, not because of the deceit, but because what he saw underneath couldn’t be possible. Caj Donovan didn’t hate him, or want his position. This meant that there was at least two layers to the deceit. That alone made Donovan dangerous, as it indicated that he had prepared an eventuality if his first was seen through. Unfortunately for him, Adarian was not stupid enough to fall for it. Caj Donovan had to be hiding a power-hungry soul behind all this. Something needed to shake the young man up. Something needed to take him off of his tracks, to make him change his plans. Duke MacNeil turned away from his window, having reached the end of his consideration. He called for the messenger that had been waiting for direction outside his door for the past hour. It was time to play at politics. His door opened and a young red-haired man in crimson and gray attire walked in. Robert O’Donnell was a member of the Crimson Keepers, the Kings personal guard, who was visiting family in the city. His uniform was worn with exacting precision, and his professional military bearing was not disturbed despite his long wait.

“Lieutenant O’Donnell,” Adarian said seriously, “I have a message of grave importance only for the ears of Dean Rankin, do you understand?” Robert O’Donnell straightened even further, and slammed his fist into his chest as salute.

“Yes, Your Excellency!” Adarian nodded, face still as stone.

“The message is as follows: ‘The One-Eyed dog leaves his prints in the house of the mausoleum.’” O’Donnell looked confused, but saluted and gave his affirmative response.

“Yes, Your Excellency! At once your excellency!” he snapped his hand back down to his side, clicked his heels once, and marched from the room. When the door closed with a quiet snick behind Lieutenant O’Donnell, Duke Adarian MacNeil turned back to his window and let out a long sigh. He grabbed one of his bottles of aged brandy and poured a glass. After having that he poured another. After his third glass, he decided to forgo that step entirely and contented himself with long swallows directly from the bottle. Duke MacNeil could feel the alcohol fuzzing his mind now, but he still stood ramrod straight in front of his floor to ceiling window, looking out over the Fairgrounds. He put the bottle down, and stoppered it, letting out yet another long, saddened sigh.

“I am truly sorry Imogen…” he whispered in a barely audible voice, a voice that would hardly go past his own ears. “I truly am… But as you care for yours, I must care for mine. You taught me too well.”