The main room of the inn was cast in shadow. A small candle flickered atop the bar, its dim illumination revealing a portly Fereni man nervously polishing the countertop. Sweat flowed down his brow like it was the height of summer, rather than the chill spring night it was. A glance around the dark room revealed a single other source of light. Another solitary candle atop a table in the center of the room. Two silver goblets catching the light on either side of the small flame. One goblet elegantly raised by the woman sitting at the table. Crysilla.

“My dear son in law. It has been too long, don't you agree?” She asked, her S sound's hissing away as normal. The clipped T's sounding like she was suffocating the letters. ”Please, sit won't you?”

Vallerian moved over to the table, pupils dilating a bit too slowly for his preference. A few shapes shuffled in the darkness, their exact numbers indiscernible. His skin crawled, in his condition the slightest wrong word would leave him without a head. He set his eyes on the countess instead. She wore a surprisingly casual gown for being outside of the tower, low cut with her collarbones exposed in the Fereni fashion. Though her hair was done up in her characteristic tight bun with a net of web-thin silver fastened with beads of jet.

Reaching over, Crysilla tapped Vallerian's goblet towards him, the crimson liquid within sloshing slightly. He took the message. Sitting, he lifted the goblet to his lips and drank as she did the same. So sour, he nearly spat it out. Forcing himself, he swallowed the disgusting liquid. This wine had long since gone bad. A glance at the marchioness told him she would betray no emotion she did not want him to see. That or she was drinking a far better vintage than he was.

“Do you like this wine Vallerian?” She asked, tapping her goblet with a delicate piece of twisting jewelry that wrapped her finger into a clawed point. He had seen a few of those on Theremya women before.

“It's a bit... sour for my taste.” He responded honestly.

“Do you know much about wine Vallerian?” She continued.

“Can't say that I do.” Vallerian met her ruby eyes, doing his best not to let his gaze drop to her slender neck or exposed collar bones. Why did she have to look so much like her daughter?

“Some wines, when freshly pressed and properly fermented, can be delectable.” She said the words, licking her lips as a small bit of the red liquid trickled down her pale chin. “Leave it for a few years, and it might improve a bit.” She placed the goblet down, and conjured up a handkerchief, dabbing at her chin. “But leave it in your cellar for too long, and it grows sour to the taste.” She reached out, and held the stained handkerchief above the candle, the flames quickly devouring the delicate lace. “It becomes useless, needing to be disposed of. To make room for newer, fresher vintages.”

“I didn't know you were such a connoisseur. Your ladyship.” Vallerian put his goblet down, hoping to not have to finish the acrid liquid.

“I'm not.” Crysilla stated coldly. “Information is my drink of choice. I find it… far more pleasant on the tongue.” She grinned in what was the most bone chilling sight Vallerian had ever seen. A wide, sharp toothed smile that never escaped her lips to the rest of her face. “There is a use for old wines though, leave it long enough and you find yourself with vinegar.”

Vallerian nodded, so she had some old information did she? “What is this... vinegar of yours?”

Crysilla raised an amused brow for a moment, just long enough that Vallerian doubted it had ever happened. Then, she reached down and placed two Crystal vials on the table. One empty, the other filled with a dark liquid. Reaching out, Vallerian picked up the filled vial, holding it up to the light and swirled the liquid within. It left deep red legs as it slid across the crystal walls. Blood.

“I have some concerns, as to the girl’s heritage.” Crysilla spoke, tearing Vallerian's attention from the vial of blood.

“Celeste?” Vallerian asked. “She has the eyes; her heritage is plain.” Those eyes were not natural, a sign from the pantheon itself of royal birth. So precise in fact that royal children born any more than fifth from the throne did not carry those gold and silver eyes. It had sometimes even led to a few cocked brows when children that were supposed to have them were born without. The fruit of royal dalliances, apparently, still counted in the eyes of the gods.

“It has come to my attention that there might be ways to… falsify such things. The academy has seen some incredible breakthroughs with arcanum under the current Archmage.” She lifted the wine to her lips again and sipped.

Vallerian narrowed his eyes. There was something she wasn't telling him, that was obvious enough. But he also wasn't stupid enough to push it. Not with her, not in his condition. No, right now he would have to play her game, like it or not.

“So where do I fit in then?” He asked, his head even dizzier now from the wine and the lack of blood.

“There is a magus who’s studies center on… blood. A Master Kredik, in the darker parts of the Arcanum district.” Crysilla explained, and Vallerian gulped. He knew what powers that had to with blood meant. Chaos. “Master Kredik can ensure that this.” She pointed towards the vial in his hand. “Runs through the girl’s veins as well.”

As realization rushed over him, Vallerian slowly tore his eyes from the crimson blood to her ruby eyes, flickering in the candlelight. “This... this is the king's blood?” Vallerian's heart felt ready to stop. Even carrying this was high treason, enough to find his head on the executioner’s block.

“Don't be foolish.” Crysilla responded with a short-lived laugh. “It's the crown prince's.”

The blood drained from Vallerian’s face. This was more than he had thought even the marchioness would dare, let alone accomplish. Ever since the princess had died, and Celeste had been taken, the king had refused to let his family step foot outside the palace quarters walls. Vallerian looked at the blood; assuming that Celeste was the lost heir at least. Returning to Crysilla, Vallerian licked his lips nervously. He knew the marchioness was capable, but this was something different entirely. Vallerian couldn’t fool himself any longer, nowhere in Terminia was safe from her grasp.

“I need you to get a similar sample of the girl’s, and take it Master Kredik.” That bone chilling smile returning to her face. “Do that for me, won’t you?”

Vallerian felt his chest tighten. The blood of a prophetess, he had to get her blood. From under the gaze of all those who watched her like a hawk. His skin crawled at the thought of what Gardinal would do if the man caught him. You survive, Vallerian reminded himself, you do what's necessary to survive.

“I can manage.” He found his lips answering before his mind had time to properly process.

“Good.” Crysilla responded. “If her blood proves true, we can begin the next step.”

Vallerian cocked a brow. “The next step?”

“Putting the girl on the throne. A child more interested in the gods above will be much easier to advise than old Artyran.”

Vallerian had figured that was her ambition. A child puppet on the throne, though the reality of that was daunting. Looking at the pale, terrifying beauty that sat before him though, Vallerian figured she was the one person who could make it happen.

“You are dismissed Vallerian. And do be a good boy and try not to die won’t you? Finding a new husband for my dear daughter would be… rather inconvenient.”

At her dismissal Vallerian felt his chest relax for the first time tonight and took no time to acquiesce. Swiping the vials up, he moved to leave the shadowed inn. Stepping across the pitch-black room, he shot the old barkeep a pitying look. The man would have heard too much, and his blood was likely next to polish that bar. Vallerian slunk out the door, paying no heed to the muffled screams behind him.