Kirin was exhausted.

He’d not been this exhausted since he’d been acting with Fendmen’s troupe, and that was eleven performances a week with ‘clients’ after every encore. …Well, he was probably more exhausted then. At least he was only working his mind here. 

The rote memorisation was something he was good at, but acting 24 hours a day was hard.

He could answer to “Rixian” and even “Lord Rixian” but most of the staff he’d interacted with called him ‘milord,’ and that one took getting used to. It had been almost a week, and he was still consistently a beat too late when one of the servants said ‘Milord.’

There were hundreds of questions he had, with no real way to ask them. Rixian would know where the gallery was, and how to call for tea, and why Lawrence and Terence looked nothing alike. And even if he had a way to ask, every moment was spent making notes, reviewing notes, answering sudden questions, and inferring from conversations, or the way people interacted, how things ‘should be done’. 

Before he came to Glessankeep, he’d felt fairly confident that he knew how the peerage worked. Now, five days in, he knew enough to know he knew nothing.

Ordering the peerage was easy: Knight, Lord, Baronet, Baron, Count, Mairch, Duke, King. But then there were all manner of internal ranking systems that seemed to be entirely imaginary and based on who had more money, or who had more land, or who was related to who, or who was most charming, or who had the best popular opinion.

Kirin was raised with the knowledge that ‘Counts are the lords of counties’. Then he found out that Rixian was the Count of Aelhwit, which wasn’t a county; it was a quarter in Glessanmore. And he wasn’t actually responsible for anything related to that quarter; it was just a political designation. Though he did still have a population under his authority; but not directly; and Herbert assured him that it made sense, but Kirin couldn’t figure how. 

Then there was the actual rank of Rixian’s title, which apparently was higher than the typical count, and technically lower than a Mairch, but technically higher than Mairch Northsward, and high enough that Duke Eofelden would need to listen if he started talking. —Which was another thing: It wasn’t the Duke of Ethelfell like he’d always been told, and “In terms of address, one does not refer to Lord Arthur Veldon as Duke Veldon. It’s Lord Arthur Veldon, Duke of Eofelden. Or else Duke Eofelden; there is no ‘Duke of Ethelfell’.”

Because apparently Ethelfell was a realm, and would therefore have a King, but something about the McAllistair dynasty outlawing that, and instituting dukes two hundred years ago after some king lost the throne in a card game? — Ergo, the Duke’s title is Duke of Eofelden — Kirin still hadn’t figured it out. 

God, there was so much to learn.

Memorization and repetition and drills.

Who was your father? Terence Dulaith. 

Who was your mother? Aralina Falquinor. 

Who is your grandmother? Marcella Veldon. 

Why are none of the surnames the same? 

— Because Terence was Mairch (Norman) Dulaith’s son,

— and Terence’s mother (there was a distinction made here, so she probably wasn’t Lawrence’s mother) is Duke Veldon’s the Duke of Eofelden’s little sister. 

— and Aralina was Olirian and didn’t give a damn about Scealich politics (Note: If Herbert says it, it’s probably wrong) And therefore wouldn’t be expected to change her last name upon marriage. (Moving on… )

Who runs the household? Leta Fryth.

 Who runs security? Sir Rhys Walker. 

(What’s Lawrence’s only weakness? Brandy, apparently.)

That last one was Kirin’s own observation. The man had a constitution of steel. It was half after midnight, and he’d had three glasses of brandy and wasn’t even looking blushed. 

Kirin had one, and he was starting to give Lawrence careless answers. And still they persisted. 

“Who is your sister?” 

“Aralina Falquinor.” 

“That’s your mother; who’s your sister?” 

“Goddamn it. Airysthalin.” 

“Is she a Falquinor, or a Dulaith?” 

“Yes.” Kirin said. 

“Nephew, please be specific.”

Kirin sighed and yawned and sniffled, “Dulaith, but Falquinor is technically correct as well.

“Why is that?” 

“Because Mother was the sister of the Olirian Ambassador, and not a Scaelich citizen.” 

“And his name?” 

“Varlathan aŕa Falquïnoŕ. I don’t recall his dedication.”

He heard Lawrence shuffle, “…I’m sorry?”

“His name would be Vaŕlathan something Laŕethïan Falquïnoŕ aŕa Falquïnoŕ, but that something is usually a dedication name. Like ‘Soltirallainan’ or ‘Ealrahaeran’. I just don’t know if I’ve ever heard which of the Phaeldasir Uncle Varlathan reveres.” Kirin said, then stopped. “Wait, who do I revere?” 

“You aren’t terribly devout.” Lawrence said simply, “But in reference to Varlathan, I wasn’t aware of dedication names, and I’m not sure either: Herbert, do you recall?”

Herbert, who hadn’t moved in twenty minutes, woke with a start, “—It’s on the shelf,” he muttered.

Lawrence bit back a smile, but couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice, “Herbert, which of the Phaeldasir does Varlathan revere?” 

Herbert blinked for a moment, then got up and stretched, “…Senaeris, innit?” 

Kirin quirked his brow, “The ambassador is Senaeric? Why?”

Herbert shrugged and walked to the liquor cabinet for more whiskey.

“I confess I don’t know much about the Phaeldasir,” Lawrence said, “Why is that unusual?” 

“I’d have guessed Soltirallain or Ealrahir: Soltirallain  is lord of knowledge and lore. Ealrahir is the lord of loyalty and love. Senaeris is the lord of war and the bloody oath.” 

“Yeah, Varlathan’s a hard-ass. He just doesn’t want anyone to know it.” Herbert poured himself more whiskey. 

“I’ve seen his hunting room at the embassy; it is impressive.” Lawrence admitted. 

“The man’s a murderer.” Herbert muttered.

Lawrence raised his brow mildly and handed his glass to Herbert for another, “Well, given as he’s been the ambassador for two hundred years and we’ve not been to war with Olantera in that time, apparently we’re in the clear. Moving on; Who is the family’s worst rival?” 

Kirin sighed, and slumped in his chair. “Uncle, I’m exhausted,” he complained. 

“We’re almost through the list, and then we can all go to bed.” Lawrence promised. “Family’s rival?”

“The Mairch of Ifreln, isn’t it?” 

“What is their name?” 

“Oh God, is it Andrew Bellamy or Gwendolyn Bellamy?”

Here Herbert had cut in with a bark of laughter as he poured Lawrence another brandy, “Everyone else is wondering the same thing…” 

“Mairch Ifreln is Lord Andrew Bellamy.” Lawrence said, taking his fourth glass of Brandy from Herbert.

“God, it’d be so much easier if they’d just use ‘Mairch’ and ‘Mairchess’ — We’ve got Duchesses, and Countesses, and Baronesses, why can’t we have Mairchesses?” 

Herbert shot his whiskey and filled it again, “Because that’s how it’s done.” 

Lawrence gestured to him to put the decanter away, “Because it comes from Old Scaelich Maerchen. Which is the word for March.” He leaned against the liquor cabinet, “A March is a borderland, and the Maerchen was the person in charge of keeping the enemy out. The people weren’t concerned with the gender of their defender, they were just happy their fields weren’t being burned. Thus Mairch.” 

Kirin rolled his head back and looked at the ceiling in anguish, “I am never going to be able to keep track of all this.”

“Nonsense.” Lawrence said with a smirk, “You’ve only been back for five days and you’ve already got the general lay of the household and the family. You’re making excellent strides.” 

“And all you really have to do at these events is look pretty anyway. Should come naturally to you.” Herbert said. 

Kirin mustered his energy to level a glare at Herbert, and caught Lawrence stepping over to the Lochlain knight and with all the grace of an effortless disarm took the glass from his hand. 

Herbert straightened to follow the glass with his fingers, but Lawrence stepped back to the liquor cabinet and put it on the lacquer. 

“Ach, Lawrence, come on! I was just making fun!” Herbert complained, standing.

“I think you’ve had enough.” Lawrence said with a smile.

“Besides,” a new voice, with a light melodic Lochlain brogue, “If you’re under the table, who’s going to protect your lord from assassins? The nightwatch?”

All eyes turned to the large bay window behind Lawrence’s desk.

Kirin’s heart froze.

A man stood leaned against the frame, though he was more a shape than a certainty. He wore a long cloak that shivered like a shadow against the wood. There was magic that kept everything but the icy blue of his eyes from coming into sharp detail.

An assassin.

Herbert jumped from his seat, swearing colourfully in Lochlain.

Lawrence, however, simply sighed and dropped his shoulders, and threw his gaze to the ceiling. “Oh, for Scald's sake. Again?” 

“To be fair to Rhys,” The assassin pushed off the frame and stood straight, “He did cover the hole I snuck in last time.” With that the assassin swept his hood back. 

The first detail that Kirin saw of him was the grey in his hair. Wiry grey strands scattered through brown hair. He had wrinkles of crow’s feet around his eyes from days spent smiling. And then he pulled his mask down to reveal the grin and two-day shadow on his jaw. 

Then Herbert was on him. “Na hu ongá cro ag mé, a-frol!” he cried, and he hugged the assassin.

—And the assassin hugged him back. “Clu gosh aran tréga grugaim.”

“Nephew,” Lawrence said, “This is Master Dair O’Phelan, my Register Liaison and the family's primary duellist.” 

“Oy, gie aff me, brute,” Dair said, thumping Herbert’s shoulder, “I need to greet the lad.”

The knight and the assassin walked the way into the room, “You’re Kirin Hare, then?” Dair said, offering a gloved hand. 

Kirin shook himself free and stood to shake his hand with a polite smile, “A pleasure, Master O’Phelan.” 

“Likewise. But call me 'Dair'. I don’t do titles.”

Lawrence sighed and frowned at Dair, “Do I want to know how you heard that name?” 

“I’m after catching up with Fryth. She recalled me from Cedaire Brennon when The Hare returned,” he nodded to Kirin, “I still haven’t had any luck with the original, but I tracked down the Passerine. She seemed as confused as we were.” 

Lawrence hummed and nodded. 

Herbert sniffed, and looked at the floor. “…She still living?”

“Oh, aye,” Dair said, “Me ‘n her mum go back a ways. And whether or not Glessankeep has capital to trade with The Flight, I do.” 

“What’s The Flight?” Kirin asked, scanning between the Assassin, the Knight, and the Mairch. 

Lawrence turned to Kirin with a polite smile, “We’ll discuss it in the morning. The rest of the list can wait until then. It’s quite late.” he said, “Good evening, nephew.” 

Kirin glanced between the three of them. A new energy had invaded the room. Something serious and cryptic. Something Lawrence didn’t want Kirin to know. But if it got Kirin free to go to bed, he’d take it. 

Kirin returned Lawrence’s smile and nodded stiffly. “Good evening, uncle.” 

“Dair, if you would stay, we have some things to discuss. I won’t keep you long.” Lawrence said.

“Of course, my liege,” Dair said, then thumped Herbert on the shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you.” 

“A’ight,” Herbert said and with all the familiarity in the world pecked the assassin on the lips with a kiss that caught Kirin entirely off-guard.

The peck won a smile from the assassin, who winked at Herbert gamely. 

Herbert recovered his whiskey from the counter, and nodded to Lawrence. “Don’t keep him too late, Longshanks,” Herbert said, “It’s been a bloody century.” 

“I’m aware.” Lawrence said in an affected aloof tone, but he smiled.

“A’ight lad, get ye gone, it’s past time for all of us to be in bed.” Herbert said, and corralled Kirin out of Lawrence’s office, still sipping his whiskey.

Kirin walked at Herbert’s shoulder back towards Rixian’s room, trying to divine from the interaction what exactly had just happened. 

They walked in silence until they got to Rixian’s room. Herbert shouldered the door open and threw his coat across the back of the couch. 

“What’s that look on your face? You got problems?” Herbert asked, throwing himself down on the couch with his eyes trained on Kirin.

“No, I’ve just got a million questions suddenly.” Kirin said.

“Like what?” 

“Are you gay?” Kirin asked.

“Yeah, what of it?” Herbert parried.

“Nothing, I just wouldn’t have guessed, and you didn’t mention.” Kirin said.

“I’m not interested in you that way, so I didn’t think it was any of your business.” Herbert answered. 

“Touche.” Kirin said, “Next question: What is a Register Liaison?”

“Aaah,” Herbert kicked his feet up on the tea table, “The Liaison is the Registerman what warns the family if someone put a hit out on them.” 

Kirin fussed with the knot on his cravat, hoping Herbert wouldn’t notice him shiver. “Then he is an assassin?”

“Assassin, spy, saboteur, thief, whatever Lawrence needs him to be.” Herbert said lightly.

Kirin nodded, eyes forward. “…Why would Lawrence need an assassin?” 

Herbert huffed a sigh and stood from the couch. He walked across the room to Kirin with a quizzical brow and a down-turned lip.

“This is a peerage game, Lad,”  Herbert said, putting his shoulder to the wall, “I know you’d feel better if I tell you Dair’s just around as deterrent—and that would be part true; The Bellamys, the Langstons, or the Frostes would have killed Lawrence and his whole family ages ago if he didn’t have a Register presence—But it’s not the whole truth.”

Kirin nodded and waited. Herbert had a ruddy blush across his cheeks from the whiskey, and a thoughtful look. There was obviously something Lawrence didn’t want Kirin to know. Herbert probably knew what it was…

When he spoke again it was to the middle distance over Kirin’s shoulder, “It takes a special kind of man to be able to balance being a good man and a good lord.” Herbert said, almost a whisper. He chuckled quietly, “And Longshanks? Longshanks is somethin’ else.”

Kirin nodded slowly and raised an eyebrow, “Longshanks….”

Herbert tapped the air, “He’s a good man, and a great lord, and he’s a ruthless son of a bitch who takes no goddamned prisoners when you fuck with his people or his family. But he doesn’t usually send killers after people unless they sent killers after him first. And if I’m honest, he usually does his own killing….”

Kirin stood back like he'd been slapped, “—What exactly does that mean?” 

Herbert frowned, “…Ain’t your business.”

“Then why did you say it?” Kirin asked.

The door opened behind Herbert, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Because I’m drunk, and you’re taking advantage of it!”

The man that walked into the room was a totally different person than the Assassin who’d broken into Lawrence’s office. He wore casual, common clothes; canvas pants, riding boots, a wool jacket, with no cravat to speak of. But the eyes, hair, and face were the same. He grinned at the two of them, “God, I just got home and do I need to defend your honour now, Mielsheanun?”

Herbert looked over his shoulder sharply, “I can defend my own damn honour, a-frol.” 

Dair grinned and walked silently to join them, “Ah, well I’ll defend him then.” he gestured to Kirin, “I heard you threatened his life a few times. Why do you have to be so rough?” 

“You like me rough,” Herbert said through the corner of his lips. 

Kirin felt the blush on his face, and looked anywhere but the two of them.

Dair faced Herbert dead on. “To bed with. Ye hound.” 

“I gotta get him put away,” Herbert gestured sloppily to Kirin.

“I’ll take care of him, you great drunk oaf. Bed.” Dair took him by his shoulders and marched him to the door.

Herbert loitered in the hall just a moment longer, speaking Lochlain, asking Dair to promise he wouldn’t be long. Dair closed the door with a ‘Gilaim.’

And then Kirin was alone with the family assassin, and no idea what would happen next.  

Dair chuckled, and turned back to Kirin with a good-natured smile. “That one’s a messy bastard. I apologise for him. Fryth mentioned your first encounter.” 

Kirin nodded stiffly and smiled, “…It wasn't so bad, I suppose.”

Dair bounced his brow in a way that told Kirin he did not believe him. 

“You look like you have questions.” Dair said with a smile. 

“Eh,” Kirin wandered nonchalantly into the room, “I'm just a little confused... You and Herbert are…?” 

“Bitter rivals.” Dair said lightly. “I hate the man. Have for years.” He picked up Herbert's abandoned coat and draped it over his arm, and walked past Kirin to check the window's lock. “Then one day I told him ‘get fucked, Garris!’ and he said ‘do it yourself, you coward!’ So I did.” He said with a grin, “Rest is history.” 

Kirin couldn't help a chuckle at the cockeyed smile on the assassin's face.

“Ivrenne Aralait: he does have a sense of humour!” Dair cried, “Welcome to the family, laddy. You might just make it.” 

Kirin nodded, and yawned. “I’m not sure how I should respond to that.” 

“However you like: Your suite is clean and well-warded, and your back’s to the window. I just checked everything and it’s all tight.” 

“But I thought you just broke in…” 

Dair shooed him towards Rixian’s bedroom. “I did. Someone’s got to keep Rhys and the Nightwatch on their toes. But I didn’t break in here; I broke in through the safe room.” he said brightly.

Kirin wandered sleepily towards the door, “Ah, yes, that makes it all so much better…”

Dair patted his shoulder in a remarkably paternal way, “It does, you just don’t have a category for it yet.” 

“There are a lot of those situations.” Kirin said, “I’m a little weary with them.” He pushed the door open and stepped into Rixian's room. The bed was turned down, and called to him seductively.

Dair nodded and walked across the room to the windows, “I can imagine. I was there once. I’ve never been pretending to be the heir of the Merchant Fleet, but I’ve played plenty of parts in my time.”

Kirin frowned and watched him as he checked the locks and pulled the curtains closed. “You seem to be a pretty well-rounded Registerman…” Kirin said slowly. 

“I’ve been at it a long time. Longer than most. But that’s an aside.” Dair walked back across the room and swept a finger across the top of the mantel like he was checking for dust. But a moment later the hearth glowed with a dim blue light.

Sound in the room muffled. He'd not noticed the wind and the waves outside until they were gone. Silence fell so fiercely that even the sound of his breathing and heartbeat became audible, and the fireplace seemed thunderous. 

Dair nodded and leaned against the wall by the hearth. “I didn’t send Berty out just because he was drunk and surly. If you’ve got any questions you don’t think you can ask around Herbert and Lawrence, this is your chance, lad. You can be candid with me.” His voice sounded like it was inside Kirin’s head. 

Kirin straightened and looked around the still and silent room. “What was that?” 

“Silence charm. All the bedrooms have one. It’s mainly used for privacy. Over the decades it’s seen more use keeping arguments quiet than keeping the staff from overhearing marital privileges, but it’s got its uses.” Dair explained.

“How did you cast it?” Kirin asked. 

“I didn’t. There are runes carved in the marble on the mantle. I’ll show you more in the morning. Time’s ticking, lad.” 

Where to begin? 

“Rixian. Where is he?” Kirin asked.

Dair clicked his tongue, and it sounded like a stone hitting ice, “The story you’re meant to know is that he’s away from the family holdings.” 

Kirin nodded, “but that's not true?”

“It is, but it's a little more complicated. We don't know if he ran away from home, or if he was kidnapped by his tutor, Claudia Wrenn. We do, however, know he's safe and happy wherever he's at though.”

“How could you know that if you don't even know where he is?” Kirin asked.

“You Elfish-types can feel each others emotions: Lawrence keeps in contact with Airys and Lathan, and they've both told him that Rixian's fine, wherever he's at.” 

“Airys and Lathan?” Kirin asked.

“Aye, that's Airysthalin and Varlathan. I don't know that anyone calls Airys by her proper name unless they don't know her. You'll need to mind that when you meet her. She probably won't like you calling her Airys at first, but it'll be a give-away if you don't.” 

“Okay... That's good to know...” Kirin said. 

Dair nodded, “Other questions? You can be candid with me, I get it.” 

Kirin blew a strand of hair from his eyes and looked at the ceiling. This couldn’t have happened during the daytime when he had more of his intellect to spare….

“Did you know Rixian?” Kirin asked.

Dair smiled, “Oh, Aye. Terence and I were good friends before he died. I didn't get to interact with Rixian very much as he was coming up, but when he turned twelve he came back from Dunsheiling and I saw him regularly after that.”

Kirin canted his head, “Why was he in Dunsheiling?”

“His wasting cough. The air there is drier, and the doctors said he'd have a better chance of surviving to be a man if his lungs had time to rest and heal.” Dair said, "I didn't like it, because I can't be two places at once, and it was either going to be me looking for Terence or me staying with Rixian and Airys. But I don't make those decisions, and we still had some hope that we'd find Terence at that point.”

Kirin nodded, thoughtfully, “What happened to Terence?”

“Aralina died of wasting cough, and Terence and Lawrence got into it over planning her funeral about whether it'd be wiser to put it off for a little while in case Rixian died as well. Terence stormed off in a rage and never came back.” Dair explained, “Herbert went out looking for him the next day, and ended up following a trail of evidence that led to the Navidak and the front line of the war. We never found him, but the troop he was with got cut off from the column and there were no survivors.”

“...And you're sure he's dead,” Kirin asked, “I've read books, I know how this goes.”

“Oh yes. Airys and Rixian both confirmed they'd lost their connection with him.” 

Kirin hummed. That was that then. There wasn't a way to sever the web that wasn't death. He still felt the emptiness where his own father had once been, contrasted by the warmth of his mother, resting peacefully somewhere in the castle. 

“Other questions? We're running short of time.” Dair said.

“Uh,” Kirin racked his brain. He didn't know when he'd get an opportunity like this again. “Rixian; what was he like? His demeanour, his body language, anything I need to know?”

“Ah, good question: Everyone else will tell you he was quiet and reserved and didn't interact much. He loves music, he has a sharp wit, and is a master of wit and words. He has his father's mischievous streak, and his mother's grace, and Lawrence's determination. Marcella's wit. He's a good man. Optimistic to a fault, which is incredible when you consider all he's been though.”

“I'd say; Wasting Cough is a death sentence.” Kirin said.

“He's suffered through a lot, and lived a lot longer than anyone thought he would,” Dair agreed, “But he's kept his head up, and that's made the difference for him.” 

“One more question, and I'll let you go.” Kirin said.

Dair nodded, “Hit me.”

Kirin chewed his tongue for a moment, deciding how to phrase his curiosity. “What did Herbert mean when he said Lawrence does his own killing? Who has he had killed?” Kirin asked slowly.

Dair nodded, “Is this in reference to register contracts? Are we discussing rumors, or fact?”

Kirin shrugged, “You tell me,”

Dair looked thoughtful for a moment, clearly measuring something in his mind. “Lawrence is a good man, and he's a wealthy man, and a powerful man. He's got enemies, people who would harm him and his people if they could--”

“Like the Bellamys?”

“No, Lord and Lady Bellamy are a headache, but the rivalry between Ifreln and Eldefrey is more coincidental than malicious. Eldefrey's gains hurt Ifreln, Ifreln's gains hurt Elfedrey. But there are people who would gain from Lawrence and his family dying. My job is a lot of research, information gathering, or giving other people headaches. The only time Lawrence has asked me to kill someone has been when they had contracts out on him, or his family.”

“Why?” Kirin asked.

“They can't pay the Register if they're dead.” Dair said. “The Register is a business; if there's no money in it, there's no interest. That answer your question?”

“It doesn't explain what 'Lawrence does his own killing' means.” Kirin said. 

“We don't have time for details on that; and anything I tell you is just going to make you suspicious and paranoid. I'll answer you more later, when we have time to do it justice.” Dair promised, “For now, what you need to know related to that is that you are safe, and your mother is safe, and Lawrence is a good man who protects his people.”

 Kirin offered a pinched smile and a nod, “Okay then.”

Dair chuckled and pushed off the wall, “It's been a long day, and it's not even dawn yet. Ya don't want to learn too much before sunrise; it makes you daffy.”

“If you say so,” Kirin said.

Dair tapped the mantle and the glow stopped and sound returned to the room. “Now, it's past time to be asleep, milord. I’ll see you in the morning. Rest well.” 

And with that Dair departed, leaving Kirin to figure out how to ‘rest well’ after that conversation.