"Gods, Fio is a stunning woman.

There are books that tell of women who are dangerous to behold, oft due to their pointed intellect and demeanour. Fiorenze is a magnificently sharp one, both of tongue and of mind. I would not doubt that all parts of her encompass such ideals, that serrated edge and beauty, along with all of the shades in between. I have a great deal of respect for her, though do find her very intimidating, which really only attracts me to her more.

If I were a moth, she would certainly be my demise."

—-—-—

"Lady Keranna is so very much the lady that I find myself rather awe-inspired by her.

She carries herself with so much grace, so much dignity and composure, as if there is naught in the world that could knock her from atop the pedestal in which she stands. She is quite the woman to behold. Powerful without being overbearing in her strength and resilience. Intelligent in conversation without paving the way towards patronising.

If there is truly such a thing as 'nobility,' Keranna is the very definition of it."

“Fiorenze is coming back this evening, I’m not sure if that changes your plans at all.” 

Keranna managed not to frown, and continued her slow pace at brushing Pyraelia’s long, freshly colored lavender hair, “It doesn’t, but I can make myself scarce. Does she know you rehired me?” 

“I did tell her, yes. It wasn’t right for her to just fire you like that. You’re still family, and frankly I make more money now so it makes sense for your salary to fall to me now,” she sighed and shrugged, “Not that she needs to know the reasoning; it’ll bruise her.” 

That was certainly true, “She’s had enough of that lately, I think. I appreciate your warning all the same.” 

Pyraelia smiled at her through the mirror, but she couldn’t tell if it was with pity, sympathy or a mix of both, “You were only doing what our mother told you to do, Ker, and she was only doing what she thought was best for her daughter.” 

What they thought was best condemned them all in the end, though, didn’t it? Times had certainly changed. She stayed quiet, a tactic that had long worked in this family. 

“Besides, what noble family doesn’t have a dozen skeletons buried in the closet? You’ve kept ours protected admirably and loved us all the same,” there was an earnestness in the younger Sunmote’s voice that settled in a pit deep in her stomach. 

She smiled wryly and set the brush aside, “And I’ll do so until the day I die, Miss Sunmote. Would you like tea set in the new library?” 

“Oh, let’s do the old library. I want Fiorenze to see it cleaned out so I can talk to her about turning it into a proper conservatory — that would let her expand from the greenhouse terrace.” 

Pyraelia wasn’t wrong, of course. The Sunmotes, and by extension their cousins the Zerines, had centuries of pasts and troubles to go with them. Some of those skeletons were her own. 

She was, at least, out of sight when Fiorenze swept onto the floor that housed the old library — but not earshot. 

Her former charge’s familiar voice echoed a little off the stone in the cavernously empty room that had once housed collections of books and art, “Xylaes will be coming by sometime this weekend. Please be civil.” 

“Of course I’ll be civil, unless he isn’t. What does he want?” she could hear the roll of Pyraelia’s eyes, even if she wasn’t there to see it herself. 

“To talk. I don’t know about what, and I don’t know how long it will take. If I had to guess he’s finally going to formally end our…” It was hard to hear how that sentence actually ended as the girls moved out of range of her hearing.

That was all good information to eavesdrop on, and she’d make sure the easy snacks and drinks were readily available in the kitchen for Fiorenze to get for herself.

February 19 - Day 1 Love is in the Air / Weakness

Prologue -> Here

---

Something was wrong. 

Fiorenze had always been a little arrogant, but never unkind or callous without reason. Keranna frowned as she turned her own simple comm between her hands like a worry stone, a physical manifestation of the last few hours turning over in her mind. 

Yesterday the Lady had been laid low with a terrible migraine — not uncommon, but they did tend to follow large acts of spellcraft on her part. The ferocity of this one stood out; it had been a while since a migraine had been so painful as to cause vomiting spells. Decades, perhaps. 

And yes, sometimes those migraines made the Lady hazy a day later. It could be harder to get her attention or she would be a little slower to answer. 

‘Servant!’

Even recalling the word made Keranna’s eyes narrow. ‘Servant’. The consonants were poisonous in their own way, lilting in Fiorenze’s pretty voice. Keranna had never been her ‘servant’. She could recall with clarity the day the wet nurse handed Fiorenze over to her so Cosima could have time to rest after her birth. As her governess and god mother she had presided over occasions and holidays, tutors and appointments and the joy and sorrow that came with raising a precocious little girl into a woman that could hold her own in Quel’thalas’ court of nobles. 

‘Servant’. 

Keranna’s lips pursed. 

The Lady had wanted to know what all the flowers and gifts were, artfully arranged around her bedroom. Fiorenze knew. No migraine would ever cloud the joy that gifts brought her. Keranna watched her study the cards that had come with them — the pinch in the Lady’s brow as her eyes glossed over the scrawling Thalassian script. The indifference with which she was handed them and told to reply with thanks to the suitors who had sent them in an attempt to vye for her attention. 

‘Set up an appointment with the one I like best, would you?’

If Xylaes had sent anything, it wouldn't have come here. The man avoided the Estate like it would give him some kind of plague — and they’d been together for months out in the Isles anyway. 

And then the Lady had moved to pet Rue, the blink cat that had become her familiar. The creature had lived with them for some years now, going between the Estate and the tower in Dalaran as Fiorenze pleased. Keranna had never seen the cat make a harsh move toward anyone; only curiosity and care. 

The hiss and swipe toward the Lady’s outstretched hand was enough to cement Keranna’s thoughts and banish whatever doubts she’d otherwise had. 

Something was wrong. 

She stopped her fidgeting and typed out a couple of messages, sending them with a mental apology for the utter oddness of the situation. 

<<Pyraelia, come home. I need to confer with you on a matter regarding your sister, it is urgent. I will not discuss it over the comm.>>

<<Mr. Qin’oril, this is Keranna Zerine, Fiorenze’s head of house. You have seen her the most out of anyone lately — has she been acting off or odd? Please think about it and get back to me. You can add my number if you wish.>> 

Theirastra huffed in displeasure at the woman in the mirror, holding up the spell tome with years of work scrawled margin to margin, “Explain.” 

Fiorenze shrugged impertinently, not particularly in a mood to do anything of the sort, “There’s nothing to explain, Architect. I wrote everything in Thalassian; it’s not my fault you arrogantly assumed that you’d be able to read the language after being trapped in a mirror for tens of thousands of years. You picked up on the spoken language quickly during our time together, congratulations.” 

Theirastra seethed, the fury evident on her stolen face, “How dare you.” 

“How dare I, what? Set you up for failure if you double crossed me? I would encourage you to put down that chair; after all, who will teach you how to read if you smash the glass? Instruct you on the names of the people who work here so you can maintain your cover? You are bound to me still, if you want this to work for you, you need me,” Firenze crooned from behind the glass, palms pressed flat against the surface. 

The terror was still there, but she had spent her whole life projecting confidence. Clarity of purpose. This had all gone so wrong, but she wasn’t wrong. She needed time to stall. To come up with a plan. 

Theirastra set the chair back down next to the work bench with a harsh clatter, “Your lady in waiting. What is her name? I offended her this morning because I didn’t know what to call her.” 

Oh?

Fiorenze smiled pleasantly, “Her name is Keranna. What did you call her?” 

“Servant. It is what she is, is it not?” 

Oh. 

“Yes, I suppose,” Fiorenze lied with ease, “but you would do well to call her Keranna or Ker from here on out. We have a familiarity.” 

That made the Architect scoff with displeasure, “Familiarity.” The tone of the word oozed with disgust. 

One of those Nobles, then. Fiorenze sat down in her small void, the yawning, infinite dark behind her and the window to her home in front. If she had a heart here, it would be racing.

Keranna would call Pyraelia as soon as she had suspicion, wouldn’t she? That was the logical progression of steps. Pyraelia would come when Keranna called. If she helped Theirastra, she might keep the lights on in the sanctum. If she kept her down here, Keranna and Pyraelia may come looking. If she helped a little, it would buy them time to figure something out. 

“In an effort to rebuild the shattered trust between us, Theirastra, I will offer this next bit of knowledge freely: My sister’s name is Pyraelia, she visits frequently,” another smooth lie buried in some truth, “I do not know what day it is, or what time it is, but expect her sometime this week.”

“Ma’am. Ms. Silverbell is here to see you.”  

Ah. 

Fiorenze frowned and ran a hand through her bi-colored hair, “Did she say why?” 

Keranna tossed her a prim smirk from the doorway, “Not particularly, though one can guess.” 

Ah. 

“Would it be prudent to send her away? I can’t say I’m keen on receiving guests, Ker.” That was certainly the truth. 

“Ma’am, if I may be frank,” her head of House didn’t wait for her permission to be so and continued on, “If you were looking for an opportunity to gain control of your personal direction, this is it.” 

Fiorenze screwed her eyes shut in a tight grimace before nodding. This was a way out of waiting for the other shoe to drop, and could force some hands along the way. “Stall her for a moment or two while I dress, will you? I’ll receive her in Mother’s study shortly.” 

‘A moment or two’ certainly became a drawn out ‘bit too long’. Choosing the right chemise, robe and elegant over-robe was important, and the cream, sunrise orange and daffodil yellow ensemble settled more in the Sunmote range of colors than they did the Tel’vaiel. Keranna had taught her how to roll her hair into a soft chignon, pierced through and held fast with an orchid hair pin carved from bone and sharp enough to do some real damage in skilled hands. 

The last bit was her illusion; a delicate magical facade that covered over her pallor and slightly hollow cheeks in favor of the bright, warm her from months ago. That was the right person to have this meeting, not the declining failure. 

Sheizara stood up immediately when the current Lady Tel’vaiel finally entered the room, but didn’t bow, and had a seat again once the Lady had sat herself. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, my friend Garren has been encouraging me to talk to you and I was in the neighborhood…” 

Fiorenze managed to maintain a neutral expression through that bit of new information, “Of course. Talk to me about what?” 

The other woman looked back at her a little wide-eyed, clearly terrified to a small degree, “...Ah. I’d um. Well. I— and I mean no disrespect to you or your marriage to my late half-brother, but —I believe that I have a claim to the Tel’vaiel estate and its wealth and I would like that. Not the titles, so much, but—” 

It really had only been a matter of time. Fiorenze felt her blood pounding in her ears as her stomach dropped, “I see.” 

This was it, wasn’t it? A moment to take some control and be decisive. 

“I believe you are correct, Miss Silverbell. My, that is to say, the Estate lawyers will be made available to you. This could potentially be a fairly long, drawn out process but my head of House has already spent some time cataloging what on the Estate came from the Sunmotes’ ledgers and what originally belonged to your family. I do hope that, and my cooperation to formally withdraw from those titles in your favor as a direct blood relation to the former Lord, will speed things along.” 

Sheizara stared for a moment, gobsmacked, mouth opening and closing a bit like a struggling fish before she nodded awkwardly, “I’ll admit I didn’t— I mean— Thank you? That’s very—” 

“Generous, yes,” Fiorenze cut her sister-in-law off before she could stumble her way through her statement further, “but from here on you’ll need to work through the lawyers and not me, especially with your status as a Quel’dorei national of Stormwind City.” 

“Oh. That makes sense, I guess. Do you wanna like… get dinner or drinks or something sometime? As, I dunno, weird family?” Shei’s earnestness in the offer was palpable. 

Fiorenze’s eyebrows shot up a bit before she smiled placidly, “Mm, I’ll have to think on it. But I do have other appointments today, so I hope you’ll forgive me for ducking out. Keranna will put you in touch with your legal team and answer any other questions you may have.”

“The sale of the sheep to the Keenbrooks and the Sunsingers has gone through, they promised me favorable terms on the sheared top for the next decade or so. Still waiting on the Dewgazers to decide if they want the alpacas or not, but if they don’t, the Azurestars are interested. I’m hoping for equally favorable terms with their fleece as well.”

Fiorenze’s hands tightened on her porcelain tea cup as Pyraelia’s talk of business faded into background static. Nausea flipped her stomach again, a constant companion for the last month and a half, alongside the almost crushing anxiety that seized her with each new reminder that everything she’d ever known in her life was rapidly falling apart and was wildly out of her control.

She wanted to vomit, and probably would again later.

“Renzie?”

Pyraelia was staring.

She’d missed something.

“When was the last time you left the tower?”

She stared back at her younger sister for a moment before turning her gaze toward the open balcony doors, and the gossamer silk curtains blowing in the breeze that was drifting in with the evening clouds that would eventually settle over the crown of the violet city, “Ten days.”

“Renzie,” incredulity mixed with a hint of pity in Pyraelia’s tone.

Fiorenze pulled her knees up onto the couch and burrowed down tighter into her shawl and woven throw blankets, careful not to spill any of the tea that was her main tether back to reality, “What’s the point? People have, broadly, tolerated the novelty of me but they don’t really like me. It’s quiet here, I have books, music, one of mother’s looms…”

“You might as well join a monastery while you’re at it,” her sister laughed in quiet frustration. “All of your closest friends were people you met when you were not a noble, you know. I doubt they ‘tolerated the novelty of you’ or whatever maudlin thing you’ve decided to ascribe to your pity party.”

She didn’t take the bait.

“I know this probably seems… insurmountable, Fio, but you already survived nearly being trapped in a cursed mirror for eternity. Even if you do lose your titles and the estate, you still have me, and Keranna. This tower. What’s left of your health — you’d be even better if you put some weight back on. There will be other people to meet and befriend, or fall in love with. What if you just gave it all up first instead of waiting for the axe to fall? Take control of it rather than being whatever this is,” Pyraelia set her tea cup on its partner saucer before propping her feet up on the antique lounge table.

Her chest went tight at that suggestion and she clutched her own tea cup tighter and tighter. Would it shatter in her hands and cut her to pieces? Did it make sense to force the change the way she’d bull rushed through everything else? There were aspects of the idea that were terrifying, but it would be something more than the aching void of nothing.

“I’m not ready.”

“Fio, you have given me great advice. Between those late night chats to helping me adapt to how to handle the estate, even if I do not hold to the title long term, you have always been willing to talk with me and help me figure out when there was just a puddle in my way that I can jump over, or when I need to build a bridge. Thank you for helping me keep above water either way.”