Myriel
The Constable’s red hair whipped around as Jaedin stepped into the hallway. She had clearly been expecting a longer wait. He greeted her with a smile. “Myriel. To what do I owe the privilege of your company?”
Caught off-guard, it took her a moment to focus on him. She stared at him for a few seconds before her eyes slid away. This was not their first meeting; the first time they met she had made the mistake of meeting his gaze with the full confidence of someone who thought they had nothing to hide. She had learned rather quickly that everyone had something to hide. Since then she had, so far, managed to avoid making the same mistake twice. “A courtesy call, Master Jaedin.”
A courtesy call, Jaedin thought, but not out of any courtesy on her part. Even Constable’s have patrons, and hers was a close acquaintance of Jaedin’s; a close acquaintance who owed him several favors. Myriel avoided him like the plague; her presence here meant her patron thought there was something he should know. “Regardless of the reason, it remains a pleasure. I am told you refused the comfort of my library?” His words were light, but his gaze never wavered from her face. “The foyer is really too cold for conversing.”
Myriel glanced towards the hallway leading out of the foyer, clearly unhappy at the idea of going any deeper into Jaedin’s home; the foyer was neutral territory – or, at least, she tried hard to convince herself that it was. When Myriel spoke, Jaedin didn’t need to read minds to know what she was leaving unsaid. “I…cannot…” Will not. “…stay long, I have pressing business elsewhere…” Orphans to feed. Eyes to gouge out. “…but your offer is courteous, Master Jaedin.”
“Well then, to business. What great or grave news has brought you here?”
She hesitated for a moment, her head turned just slightly to the side as she regarded the brightly woven tapestries adorning the foyer walls. They gave her a place to focus her gaze while she spoke, “Master Kytrell’s kitchen caught fire yesterday evening. There is nothing left but stone and coarse kitchenware.”
“Fascinating news, but I don’t see why…”
“Master Kytrell was in the kitchen when it caught fire.”
Marcus appeared in the foyer carrying a black jacket draped over one arm. Jaedin said, “I see. That is tragic. But I still fail to see that it is any affair of mine.” He turned towards Marcus and motioned him closer. Black jacket in hand, the boy approached and handed it to Jaedin.
“Miranda Ruethette.”
Jaedin paused, one arm in the jacket. “Miranda?”
“You know her then? She is…how did you put it, an affair of yours?” Myriel wasn’t quite smiling, but her shoulders relaxed as she found some verbal ground to stand on.
Jaedin didn’t answer her right away. He finished putting on the jacket and considered the woman in front of him. “How is she related to this?”
“She set the fire.”