Lyrica went into her office with Iris following fast behind her, then laid a hand on a white stone sitting on her desk. It began to glow as the magic responded to her touch. While it did, she glanced at Iris and with a furrowed brow she asked, “Why do you care, anyway? Didn’t he capture your city? As I heard it from you, you should despise him.”

Iris opened her mouth, then closed it and looked away from her owner, the chance to answer immediately, passed away as the white glow on the farspeaker stone faded away and Lyrica’s eyes and mouth glowed instead. She moved her lips, but no words were audible to Iris. That didn’t stop the slave however, from reading her Mistress’ lips. ‘Listen to me, Jorin, you have to stop the fight. Or… not stop it. Delay it, have the equipment of the elven champion checked. Have him questioned. Give Lord Gottfried a thorough check. No, I don’t ‘know something’ but I’ve heard something from a reliable slave who may have picked something up. Tell them there’s a problem with the portcullis, tell them anything… but better a ten minute delay than an international incident! Ignore me if you want but I did my part! Now it’s on your head!’

The white glow faded away, and Lyrica went behind her desk to sit down. Her chair was a rounded variety with black leather padded armrests, but rather than use them, she leaned forward and rested her head in between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand after putting her elbow on the desk. “Damn.”

“They didn’t listen… Mistress?” Iris asked, closing the door so that the two of them were alone.

“I don’t know, I won’t know until I go out there. I spoke with Jorin, he runs that arena, we’ve known each other for years, my business is tied to his, so he might listen. He knows I wouldn’t play around with this, but still…” Lyrica said without looking up.

“A slave said it, so why believe it?” Iris guessed while keeping her face carefully neutral.

“Not in so many words. And if it had been any of your… sisters or brothers… here, I wouldn’t have either. He may listen to me because we’ve got history together, we’ll see. But I still don’t know why you would bother, what do you care? You didn’t answer me before.”

Iris went to her knees again and bowed her head, a clear answer didn’t come immediately to mind. Finally she found something to say after ‘almost’ too long. “If something was done, and those… lords… well, if this place gets shut down, I’ll be sold. I got lucky with you, my Lady. I don’t know if I’d get lucky twice.”

“So… this wasn’t returning a favor?” Lyrica pressed, finally looking at Iris herself.

“Mistress, I didn’t like most of my family, but I don’t call overthrowing my city and stripping me of my title a favor.” Iris said with certainty.

“So he didn’t promise this to you?” Lyrica replied and opened a drawer, from it she took a document and laid it on her desk, sliding it over so that Iris could see it from where she knelt.

Iris read it when it slid to a stop beneath her eyes. “Unable to accept payment more than three years out for a private room and treatment? I… I don’t understand…?”

“I assumed he told you. But by your face I suppose not.” Lyrica said and gave her an approving nod. “It seems that Lord Jabara took it upon himself to guarantee payment for your mother’s sickness. He probably went straight there after his time with you.”

Iris said nothing. On the one hand, her heart sang, it was a relief of tremendous proportions. On the other, she could think of no reason for something like that. It was insulting, it was imposing, ‘I think… I think I’m supposed to feel grateful. Instead…?’ Her sense of worth, it dropped like a stone. She felt two fingers tall, and then guilt rampaged through her like wild horses since it did solve the problem of her mother’s long term care. She kept her lips tightly closed to keep her sense of anger and humiliation from showing.

Outside, shouts of annoyance began in earnest.

“Delayed?! Oh, come on!”

“It looks like they listened…” Lyrica said and let out a sigh of relief. She put her hand out over the farspeaker stone, “I’m going to call the watch and have those four reported… it’s better if you’re not here tonight.” Lyrica took a handful of gold coins out of a pouch in the same drawer that held the letter. “Take shelter somewhere tonight, come back in the morning, I’m sure there will be questions.”

“Y-You trust me not to run?” Iris asked, and looked at her mistress with no small amount of disbelief etched on her wide eyed face.

Lyrica looked down at her with a cocky smirk. “Where, slave? Where?”

Iris had to nod at that. A slave that had a home to get back to, a family that might hide her, might run off. ‘I have nowhere.’

But she still had something to do. She accepted the handful of coins, stood, curtseyed, and rushed out of the office and then out the back door. ‘There is one place to go tonight, but this might be the dumbest thing I could do.’

The streets were busy in the evening, and would remain so throughout most of the night. Horses cantered by drawing expensive carriages of ink dark wood or bright polished cherry. Others rode on horses alone, trotting by paying little mind to those on foot. An armored patrol of seven in a double row led by one man made its way around the corner. Three wore chainmail while the others wore boiled leather and the leader wore bright and shining reflective heavy plate. They carried halberds abreast, short swords at their sides, and those in boiled leather carried a short bow on their shoulders.

They ignored everyone, and with good reason, as there was good order. A reluctant point in the Empire’s favor. ‘Very little crime…’ Iris admitted, so much so that even the common slaves moved without worry, carrying out their household’s business.

Iris had a very definite destination in mind, and it wasn’t hard to find, even though she hadn’t been there in years. The building was considerably larger than the rest, and only a city block from the arena. It was six stories tall and of rough cut white stone. ‘The White Jewel…’ A hotel for the wealthiest of patrons, it spared no expense in magic minor or middle to make it comfortable and convenient. Iris walked down the road, avoiding passersby and shouting merchants peddling goods from the odd to the banal. It stung, still, to pass by shops that sold beautiful things, to see young women browsing there like herself, living as she used to. She turned her face away whenever she saw one, dressed in beautiful royal clothing, accompanied by servants and wealthy parents. “Yes, I’ll take that one…” She heard a voice that might have been familiar, glanced in through the window and saw a radiant young woman with dark hair not unlike herself, pointing to a tiara bespeckled with polished gems.

“Anything for you, my dear.” An older version of the young girl uttered, and Iris pressed on, picking up her pace till it was practically a run.

She didn’t realize how fast she’d gone until she heard the crashing water of the great fountain at the circle and looked up to see the White Jewel to its right.

She took a step toward the main entrance, then froze, her breathing was more ragged than she realized, ‘I shouldn’t have run here. There was no reason to rush.’ Iris rolled her eyes at her own foolishness and headed round toward the back where the service entrance lay.

Predictably, a well dressed servant in a red coat, white shirt and blue pants stood ready to greet guests, while an armored guard stood at the back. ‘Wall of meat.’ Is what immediately came to mind. He was as broad as two of herself and clad in sculpted steel armor. He carried no shield, though his arms and legs were covered with full plate, and he carried a short sword at his right side, what at his left side a truncheon of polished dark wood hung as a silent threat to ill behaved workers.

“Who’re you here to see?” He asked.

“Lord Gottfried Jabara.” Iris replied, and he narrowed his eyes.

“Who told you he was here, slave?” The guard demanded, his hand went to the truncheon.

Iris’ courage did not flag, she kept looking up at the face of the guard and said, “I work at the White Stag, I’m here to entertain him.”

A spark of potential recognition lit in his dark eyes. “What are the names of his bodyguards?”

“Xagen and Xagin. Orc brothers, a gift from the orcish champion.” Iris answered immediately.

The guard nodded, “They told me one of you must have shown him quite a time.”

“I did.” Iris made the statement as cryptic as possible, but pasted a professional smile on her face.

“Fine, top floor.” He answered.

“What room, sir?” Iris asked in a clipped response.

“That is the room, slave.” The guard answered and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Go.”

Iris curtseyed and made her way into the building, the door shut behind her and to her front was a door to the main floor while at the right was a set of carved stone steps that wound upward in a spiral until she reached the upper levels, passing by the lower ones as she went.

A door waited, thick and heavy with a small sliding wooden panel for viewing. On the wall there was a small silk rope that ran through a tiny hole, from experience Iris knew it had a bell secured to the end. ‘He might not be back yet.’ She told herself.

‘I’m being a coward. Just yank the damn rope.’ Iris told herself, and stretched out her hand. She gave it a few quick tugs and heard the ringing on the other side.

No one answered.

It was almost a relief.

There wasn’t much room in the space between the door to the stairs and the door into the suite itself, enough to set down a large box, no more than two paces from the entry. ‘Nowhere to go.’ Iris thought, not for the first time.

Without thinking, she went to the farthest wall she could and sat down in the corner and brought her knees up to her chest to wait. ‘If the fight went on anyway, he’ll get back later. If it didn’t… who knows?’ She reflected.

She lowered her chin into the space between her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs. “This was stupid. What was I… am I… even going to do? Yell at the nephew of the emperor for the crime of keeping my mother alive? What if he feels entitled to me because of that, look what I’m walking into.” It was a heart pounding ugly thought.

And thoughts were all she had.

And her thoughts led her nowhere good.

She rose several times to go and pull the little red silk rope to ring the bell and got no answer. Each time she just sat back down on the stone floor in the corner… until she fell asleep there.

She woke up to the feel of a foot poking her leg. “Hey… what are you… what are you doing here, who are you?”

She looked up. ‘Gottfried… only… kind of… oh, he’s been drinking.’ Her heart locked up in her chest, drunks spelled danger, though he didn’t seem completely off, just a little tipsy.

“Wait… I know you… you’re the pretty slave who hates me…” Gottfried scratched his head as he searched his slightly alcohol fogged memory. “Iris. The dancer… I wondered why you weren’t there tonight… so… why’re you here?”