An Affinity For Fire

7. Tarragon

Tarragon was rapidly growing tired of being told to shut up and follow by a Dormisian boy with an inflated sense of self-importance. Unfortunately, that same Dormisian boy was the only hope he had of finding answers so, begrudgingly, he followed in silence as Heleonne led him to the Petra house's private library, a large, airy room which remained untouched by the chaos of the party.

Heleonne opted for a large, thickly cushioned, dark green chair sitting solitary in the centre of the room. Whether the decision was a conscious act of passive aggression or just accidental thoughtlessness, Tarragon couldn't tell. Either way, it forced him to grab the lightest nearby piece of furniture, a humble wooden stool, and drag it towards Heleonne's chair. He was uncomfortably aware that the difference in seat height did nothing to hide his already diminished stature in comparison with the blond boy.

"So, before we begin," Heleonne said, adjusting his position, "I would just like it to be known that I don't like you."

"Thanks," Tarragon said flatly. "That's really constructive."

"I'm just saying, I'm more than happy to involve you for the good of innocent lives, but that doesn't make us friends."

"Again, constructive. Could we please just focus on the issue at hand?"

"Right, yes." He leaned forward, dark eyes narrowed in scrutiny. "What do you know about Merith?"

Tarragon frowned. "The White Witch? Not a lot."

Heleonne winced. "Mage of Light, if you don't mind. Do you have any idea how derogatory that is?"

"Fine. Mage of Light." Tarragon sighed, concentrating.  "She had an affinity for all four of the core roots of magic. She could heal pretty much any injury. Actually, there's a story that she healed my Great-Great-Grandmother's infertility-"

"Alright, I don't need examples. The point is you know what she's capable of."

"Was capable of, you mean," Tarragon said. "She's dead."

"Not dead, necessarily," Heleonne argued, "just missing for almost a century."

"Yeah... most people who are missing for almost a century are dead."

"Yes, well, be that as it may," Heleonne went on, "we don't know it for a fact. She could still be out there. And if she is, she's the only known living person with healing abilities, and, let's just say, there are some important people who need her help."

Tarragon smirked. "Bloody Hells, you must be desperate to seek the help of a several-hundred-year-old woman who's most likely dead. How important are these people?"

Heleonne scowled, but Tarragon sensed a flicker of fear behind the veil of anger.

"Very," He answered.

Tarragon let his smirk fall away, unnerved by the boy's sudden tension. "Alright... so when do we get to the bit of this explanation where you actually explain things?"

"I am explaining things," Heleonne said.

Tarragon rolled his eyes. "Yes, but you're conveniently leaving out the bit about why my family just got attacked."

Heleonne's brow creased. "Because they were mages. I thought we covered that."

"Yes," Tarragon said, struggling to keep the frustration he felt from tainting his voice, "but you never clarified why mages are being assassinated. That still doesn't make sense."

"Why does anyone assassinate anyone?" Heleonne asked. "Power. The noble families are filled with people who can drown, burn or suffocate someone with a flick of the wrist. It's an enormous imbalance of power and it scares people."