The Woman in the Library (An Adventurer Mage additional scene)

The Bryard House

2nd warning: this is intended as a companion to the published book, and is best enjoyed after you have read that story.

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All Valentine wanted was to be back in his cozy wagon, wrapped up in his quilt, perhaps sleeping for several days. A week or two. But no, his ambition had brought him here straight away. The pride of delivering his prize the moment he claimed it instead of giving himself a little time to recover. What did an Adventurer with such prestigious new patrons need with recovery time anyway? After all, the wound that sliced right below his last rib wasn't that serious. It had been a magical blade. Very clean.

Then why was it throbbing so badly it sent scorching little lances of pain up through his chest and down all the way to his hip?

He'd been able to ignore it all day, pretending it was nothing but a stitch as he paid to have Strawberry and his wagon housed for a little while. And while he rented an aging, but athletic gelding to ride in on.

If someone had asked him why he chose to arrive at the Bryard's on a horse that was not his own, he would have trotted out some answer about it being unbecoming to ride a heavy horse to a dinner party. Really he was trying to impress them. Of course this was silly. Thomas and Reynold wouldn't even see his horse, and he had no idea if the young lords had the sort of relationship with the stable hands that would give him away.

But he tried to dismiss all those churning thoughts as he marched up to the front door, his coat freshly cleaned, his curls momentarily tamed, and his countenance confident. Even as the ache in his side was steadily turning into a pounding throb.

He couldn't let it show. Couldn't let the brothers know he'd been wounded trying to fetch them their damned shiny rock. He had just enough time to pat his pocket where the amulet was stowed, and lean back to look up at the house, tall and stately with exactly the right amount of Ivy creeping up the front, when the heavy front door opened and he was bathed in a golden glow.

It might have been welcoming, if his heart hadn't been beating so fast. This was, after all, his first job for a properly wealthy patron. Odd jobs here or there for the sickeningly rich was not the same. This time he had locked it in. Ensured himself work for years, potentially the rest of his life.

The butler who answered looked him up and down with the baleful gaze of a bloodhound. Valentine was struck with a wave of self-consciousness. He knew he looked the part of a well-heeled gentleman... except his boots. Most people didn't look at the boots, it was his trick. His little way of thumbing his nose at the toffs. But this butler... Valentine felt certain this man noticed the scuffs, the dirt, the dark brown bloodstain. "I'm afraid you're early, sir. Guests aren't supposed to arrive until five."

Valentine raised his chin. This was his element, what he was born for. He put on his best upper class accent. "I'm not here for the party. I've a meeting with young Master Bryard."

"Which one?"

Skies dammit.

Valentine cleared his throat just as his wound gave a particularly nasty throb that he knew drained some blood from his face. But he kept up the act. Boots not withstanding, he could tell the servant was fooled. "Young Master Thomas Bryard. If you please."

"Of course, sir," the butler drawled flatly. He turned, angling himself so Valentine could come inside.

Houses like this were always shocking in their excess. Thick carpet spread before him, gold and red in patterns he knew must have taken artisans months to create, only to be trampled by the boots of their "betters". The front hall was hung with shimmering candelabras and dotted with marble busts. A few potted ferns perched in delicately painted pots and he assumed magic must be keeping them alive because they could receive very little sun here. He felt a bit sorry for them. Natural things trapped indoors for the rest of their lives.