Adherent Fates: The Ignatius Children ll

Bohden hesitated at Sigurd's words, amused. Insist? There were a very few people who would dare insist the king of Adherin do anything! Aside from his wife, of course. She was often insisting Bohden do something, much to his chagrin. Sigurd, however? Bohden didn't mind so much. The man had been a friend for a long time as much as he was a bodyguard.

Raising his eyebrows just a bit, Bohden cast a glance over at the man beside him. "You insist, do you?" He sighed and then nodded, running one hand down his face. "Very well, Sigurd. I will have something small to eat to hold me over until dinner tonight." He must look haggard if Sigurd was insisting. Usually the man's interest in Bohden's health was restricted to making sure he didn't end up skewered on a sword or shot through with an arrow...not with how much Bohden was eating. He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. "I will be very much relieved when my anniversary is over." He said it every year, to those that worked closest with him and knew him best. Weeks of planning for one day. A day that Bohden didn't even feel like celebrating. It made him feel old. And tired. Only a little while longer, Bohden. Then you can get back to your life. A life that didn't involve his wife. It was sad and Bohden didn't like it, but it was the way things were, the way things had been for eleven years.

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“I will be leading the way,” Ren said briskly. “They think me a guard, and if I am absent in the morning, they will… notice.”

He moved back into the trees to allow the master privacy to change. But only as much privacy as was wise, for he kept his eyes an angle that would alert him to any threats. Fools trusted lodekai, and for thiis reason no fools served him.

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Sigurd strode away from Bohden and approacheda bar behind wshich stood a husky black haired man, who was at the moment polishing glasses. Sigurd cleared his throat.

"Wine, please. And a small snack, if you will."

The bartender noddedd. He set down his rag and gathered the stuff onto a tray, wh ich he handed to Sigurd who carried it back to Bohden.

"Here is your wine, Majesty."

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It irritated Lodekai at times, Ren's mouth. He may be the best assassin that money could buy, but he could be very disrespectful. And that...Lodekai didn't like. Not one bit. However, at the moment, there were other things that needed to be attended to. Namely, his transformation into Lord Devereaux.

As Ren turned his back and walked into the trees, Lodekai opened the bag of clothes the assassin had brought him. He reached his hand down inside to pull out a pair of breeches, the cloth expensive and soft. Lodekai brought it to his nose, sniffing once, then twice, inhaling the man's scent so he could match it when he transformed. He smoothed the cloth between his fingers and closed his eyes, beginning the transformation process. It only took a few moments, and afterwards, when Lodekai opened his eyes, his physical appearance had changed completely into that of Lord Devereaux. He couldn't see himself, but he could feel the changes. His hair was a little longer, his body a little more filled out in the shoulders, and his toes were now cramped in shoes too small.

Quickly, Lodekai undressed and slipped into Lord Devereax's clothes. Then, running a hand through his hair and straightening his waistcoat, Lodekai strode from the clearing, leaving the bag and his old clothes behind. No one would find them. And even if they did...nothing would come of it.

He saw Ren just inside the tree line, keeping out a watchful eye. Always alert, but not always that bright. Stepping up beside the man, Lodekai dusted off the cuffs of his sleeves and followed up on Ren's statement. "You can do whatever pleases you, Ren. But I have no more need of you tonight." He glanced over at the assassin, looking the man up and down once. "Or did you truly believe you were the only one I sent to infiltrate Lord Devereaux's household?" He raised one eyebrow and gave a smirk.

Ren was a fool if he believed that, and even though to Lodekai most all humans were fools, Ren was one of the very few that surprised him with intelligence.


Taking a deep breath, Bohden followed Sigurd into the great hall, glancing around at the decorations. It certainly looked festive. Three long tables had been set up along the hall, with another long table facing them at the head...where Bohden and Sapphire would sit along with their son and particularly honored guests. Brilliant white tablecloths were spread out on each, silk, imported from the orient. Polished silver candlesticks and porcelain vases sat at various intervals along each table, soon to be accompanied on the day of the celebration by silver plates, goblets and eating utensils. The vases would be filled with only the most rare and expensive flowers. Streamers of white sheer cloths hung between each pillar, draping down the sides of the pillars just about to the floor, each one lined with silver sequins that sparkled in the flickering light from the candles. And in one corner of the hall, stood a bar specifically constructed for the celebration. It would be taken down afterwards. Bohden really had no need of it. But for now, for such a large number of guests, a bar really was necessary.

As Sigurd retrieved the wine, Bohden strode over to one of the tables and seated himself in a chair. It felt strange, sitting at one of the side tables. The only place he had eaten in the great hall ever since he could remember was the head table. But he was the only one here now and wasn't too concerned with formality at the moment. Right now, it was just two men having a drink of wine together.

What Sigurd brought back, however, wasn't just wine but a tray of food as well, Bohden offered the man a small smile as he set down the tray. "Ah, Sigurd," he said with a sigh, eyeing the hors d'oeuvres on the plate, obviously left over from some taste testing Sapphire had been doing to make sure the menu for the celebration was exactly what she wanted. "It looks delicious. Thank you." He reached for the wine first, however, inhaling the scent before taking a sip. "Is this wine going to be used for the celebration?"

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Ren’s face darkened. It was good of the night to hide the coldness in the killer’s eyes; for it might have given Lodekai a good deal of satisfaction to see it. Instead of responding, which would give away more than he cared to admit, Ren said simply, “I will accompany you, my lord.”

Inwardly, he cursed himself. Foolish pride. Blinded by confidence in his own worth, he had ignored the nagging suspicion that others worked on this same mission. Of course! But if he ever discovered who those others were, their would disappear. Without so much as a whimper.

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(((If I may, I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce my second character.)))

A hand placed itself on King Bohden's shoulder as a soft bass voice said, "My liege, you should not be drinking that without a cupbearer." The voice, and large hand, belonged to the towering, deep-chested figure called "the king's shadow," though this was often said with a sneer and never to his face. As the king knew him, he was Marcos Finsten, the king's foremost informant, though some would say bodyguard.

Most people, even those friendly to King Vasska, feared Marcos. For a man six foot in height and a physique like a mail-clad knight, he remained remarkably invisible. He had a tenancy to be standing right behind you without you ever knowing it, and he may have been there for hours, though some people would insist days. He seemed to know every intricate detail of every intricate detail. Many people regarded him as a dabbler in forbidden artes, and even those that did not often got a creepy feeling after talking to him.
The truth is, though, that most people only feared him because they did not know him. If they did, chances are they would be utterly terrified of him. Few were the eyes that saw the torture chambers deep in the dungeon, and none of those eyes ever came out again. At least, not in their owner's head.
It would be wrong to say that Marcos enjoyed torture. He did not. He simply found that it was an effective way to gather information. But there was more terror in the cold, calculating way that Marcos did it than in that of someone who enjoyed it. The maniac who enjoyed torture at least had the dignity to think about how much pain you felt. With Marcos, there was as much feeling as sticking red-hot pokers into an address book.
But, as has been stated, few people ever saw that side of him, and none ever lived to warn others about it. Before the king, and with most people, he was cordial and proper, though quiet often. He preferred to listen rather than talk, it seemed. But when he talked, people seemed to listen.

Now he was speaking to the king, "Would you like me to summon one of them for you?" he asked simply.

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Joe Wright's Prayer

Sigurd remained standiing next to the king as he reached for the second goblet of wine. His fingers grasped the smooth; cold glass. He lifted it to his lips and took a sip.

"I would hopeso, Majesty." he said, "This wine is not bad at all."

Just as Sigurd was about to take a larger sip, a deep, yet soft voice spoke. Sigurd whipped his head around in the direction of the voice. He had not seen or heard anyone approach them, and even less did he expect to find a large hand resting on King Bohden's shoulder.

He set down his goblet, simultaneoiousky lifting his eyes to those of a certain individual who would dare touch the king. But what he saw sent a chill down his spine. N o one ever looked upon the face of Marcos Finsten without feeling that spine-chilling sensation. But some, like Sigurd, disliked him.

"Now, Marcos." Sigurd said, stepping forward. "You should not be touching the king."

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Marcos leveled a placid gaze at Sigurd and replied, "Let his highness decide what should or should not be so."
To the King, he said, "Milord, I believe you summoned me earlier? I apologize for my lateness, but certain matters detained me."

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Joe Wright's Prayer

((Sorry, guys. Been really busy. I'll be better about posting from now on! ))

Even though Ren did his best to hide it, Lodekai could tell the man didn't like hearing that. And it pleased him. Keep the man in his place. Ren was a valuable asset to Lodekai, but if not kept in check, he could become quite bothersome. Still, he couldn't help but think Ren was probably under the impression that he had sent other killers to infiltrate Devereaux's ranks. Which wasn't true. They were all Ignatius Children. All in their human forms, all acting as servants.

Keeping pace with his assassin, Lodekai ignored Ren's statement and continued on with his revelation, "Yes, I've had people in place for quite some time. Since I chose Lord Devereaux, in fact." He cast a sidelong glance at Ren and then raised an eyebrow, looking ahead of them again with a sinister smirk. "Not assassins such as yourself, of course. My Ignatius Children. They have been infiltrating the servants for weeks, placing themselves in the household so that I could have people loyal to me already in place when I assumed the position of Lord Devereaux."



Bohden watched the exchange between the two men with some amusement and, at the same time, some concern. He couldn't really say that he enjoyed Marcos' company, at least not like he enjoyed others such as Sigurd. But the job that Marcos did for him was necessary. And, because of that, Bohden had a respect for the man where others only had dislike and even fear. Sigurd, on the other hand, was suspicious of everyone. Which was a desirable trait in a bodyguard, so he couldn't exactly blame the man. Still...he didn't need two of the closest people he worked with at odds with one another.

Smiling slightly, Bohden stepped into the conversation. "Come, gentlemen. Let's not quarrel. I hear enough of that from my wife." While the king and queen were able to hide their constant arguments from the general public, the people who worked closest with them inevitably knew the truth. Bohden gestured to the table. "Sit, both of you. Have some wine." He glanced at Marcos and then said, "I did indeed summon you, but the matter can be spoken of after our wine, when we're in private and not out in the middle of the great hall."

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"As your lordship wishes," Marcos said cordially as he sat, "However, I will pass on the wine, with your leave. I have not eaten yet today, and alcohol does wicked things to my stomach at this hour, especially when it is empty."
Marcos leaned back casually in his chair, resting his chin on the back of his fist and regarding the ceiling with a relaxed aire, but even still he sat with regal posture, and his eyes would dart here and there about the room every so often.

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Joe Wright's Prayer