The elf led us through the twisting alleys, eventually bringing us to a small, nondescript tavern nestled between two crumbling buildings. It wasn't the kind of place I would have ever set foot in under normal circumstances, but today was anything but normal.
As we entered, the scent of roasted meat and stale ale filled the air, mingling with the low murmur of conversation from the patrons scattered around the dimly lit room. The elf—who had yet to give his name—nodded to a table in the corner. "Oooh, I'm starving. Let's talk over food," he said, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Though he said that, he made before to pull out a pouch of any sort.
I hesitated, glancing at Beatrice, who looked equally uncertain. But I knew we had no choice. If I wanted his help, I had to play along. "Beatrice," I murmured, nodding towards her apron.
She reached into the hidden pocket of her apron and pulled out a large copper coin, which she handed to the tavern keeper. "We'll cover the cost of food for all of us," I said, trying to maintain a semblance of authority, even in this less-than-dignified setting.
The elf's grin widened as he took a seat at the table, motioning for us to join him. "How generous of you," he remarked as he waved down the tavern maid. "I'll have the roasted chicken, bread, and a tankard of ale."
Beatrice and I exchanged a glance before sitting down opposite him. It felt strange to be seated at such a shabby table, especially with someone so openly taking advantage of the situation.
When the food arrived, the elf wasted no time, digging into his meal with enthusiasm. I watched him for a moment before finally breaking the silence. "So, are you truly an outlaw?" I asked, my voice low enough that only he could hear. "Because if you are, that's going to be a problem for me."
He paused midbite, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Then, to my dismay, he burst out laughing, drawing a few curious glances from the other patrons. I cringed inwardly, glancing around to ensure no one of importance was nearby.
"Keep your voice down," I hissed, leaning in slightly. The last thing I needed was for this scene to reach the ears of someone who might recognise me.
"An outlaw?" he repeated, still chuckling as he shook his head. "You humans have such vivid imaginations. No, a mage can't be an outlaw—not in the way you're thinking. The binding contract we're sworn to prevents us from committing crimes."
"Then why do people say you're on the run?" I pressed, still unconvinced.
His expression grew a bit more serious, though there was still a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I was banished from the magic tower, if that's what you mean. But that's not the same as being an outlaw. They decided it was best if I left. As for the reasons, well, that's my business, not yours."
I frowned, mulling over his words. The idea of taking in someone banished from the magic tower was unsettling, but at least he wasn't a fugitive. Still, his vague explanation did little to put my mind at ease. And who are "they"?
"And what exactly do you want in exchange for your help?" I asked cautiously.
The elf leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded me with a calculating gaze. "It's simple, really. If you want me to work for you, you'll need to provide food, lodging, and a bit of funding for my research. I won't be paying for my meals, and I refuse to sleep in the streets."
His demands caught me off guard, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised he was treating this less like a business arrangement and more like a negotiation for something far more mundane. It was almost as if he were a stray puppy, asking for a home.
I couldn't help but smirk at the thought. "You want to be fed and housed, just like a pet? How quaint." I muttered, mostly to myself.
He scoffs, clearly having caught my words. "If that's how you want to think of it, sure. But I prefer the term 'employee.'"
While I was prepared to cover his food for the day, maintaining him long-term would be impossible on my pocket money alone. If I was going to bring him in, I'd have to do it officially—perhaps as a manservant. That way, I could justify the expense and provide him with the lodging and food he requested.
"All right, Mister..." I began, letting the words hang in the air.
"Taeryn," he supplied.
"Taeryn, of course," I repeated, committing the name to memory. "If you're willing to pose as my manservant, I might be able to provide what you're asking for."
Taeryn gave me an appraising look, as if trying to figure out whether I was serious. After a moment, he nodded. "I suppose that could work. I'm not too keen on the'servant' part, but if it means I get food and a roof over my head, I can deal with it."
I allowed myself a small smile. "Then it's settled. Once we return to the estate, I'll make the arrangements."
I had found the mage, secured his services, and managed to keep my promise to myself. I couldn't help but feel quite satisfied with myself. But as we prepared to leave the tavern, a nagging thought remained: what exactly had Taeryn done to be banished from the magic tower?
By the time we returned to the estate, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the grounds. The evening air was cool, and a thin mist had begun to creep in, making everything feel slightly damp. As Beatrice and I stepped through the side door once again, the warmth of the interior was a welcome contrast to the chilly streets we had just left behind. I'd say this mission was greatly successful.
But any sense of accomplishment I felt was short-lived. Madame Rosamund was waiting for us, her silhouette stark against the dimly lit foyer. Her arms were crossed, her expression stern, and I knew immediately that we were in trouble.
"You're late," she said, her voice laced with annoyance as we approached. "Far too late for a simple shopping trip, Mielle."
I hesitated, unsure of how to explain myself without revealing the true nature of our outing. "I'm sorry, Madame," I began. "I—"
But before I could continue, Madame Rosamund turned her sharp gaze to Beatrice. "And you," she snapped, her tone even more severe. "Why didn't you bring her back sooner? You know better than to let her wander around the city until this hour. What if something had happened?"
Beatrice flinched under the weight of Madame Rosamund's reprimand. She bowed her head, her voice meek as she responded. "I tried, Madame, but Lady Mielle was determined. I couldn't convince her to return earlier."
Madame Rosamund let out an exasperated sigh, clearly unimpressed with the explanation. "You are her maid, Beatrice, not her accomplice. It is your duty to ensure her safety and propriety, even if it means standing firm against her whims. I expect better from you."
Beatrice nodded, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Yes, Madame. It won't happen again."
Satisfied, Madame Rosamund's attention shifted back to me; her eyes narrowed as they took in our dishevelled appearances. She moved closer, scrutinising every detail. "What are you both wearing?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
It was then that she noticed the worn, shabby bags and the state of our clothing. The hem of my dress was dirtied, and Beatrice's apron had a few smudges from the streets. The bags we carried were plain and far from the elegant parcels one would expect from a noblewoman's shopping trip.
"What is this?" Madame Rosamund demanded, her suspicion deepening. "Where did you go, Mielle? These are not the kinds of things one acquires from the reputable shops I recommended."
My heart raced as I struggled to find a plausible explanation. The truth would undoubtedly provoke more than just anger; it would lead to a barrage of questions I wasn't prepared to answer.
"I was looking for something unique," I said carefully, trying to maintain my composure. "Something that would make an impression. The usual shops didn't have what I was looking for, so I decided to explore a bit further."
Madame Rosamund's eyes bore into mine as she tried to see through my words. "Further?" she repeated, her tone skeptical. "And what, pray tell, did you find in these less-than-reputable places? I trust you didn't compromise yourself for some frivolous trinket."
I shook my head quickly, trying to ease her concerns. "No, of course not. I was careful. But I wanted something special for my debut, something that would stand out. That's all."
For what felt like an eternity, she said nothing, her expression unreadable. The silence hung heavy between us, each second stretching longer than the last. I could feel my pulse quickening, the weight of her scrutiny pressing down on me like a vise. But finally, she let out a weary sigh, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.
"Mielle, I don't appreciate you lying to me. You are no longer permitted to leave this estate unless I am with you." The sternness of her tone left no room for argument, and a chill ran down my spine. Before I could muster a response, she continued, "But enough with that; once you've changed, meet me in the drawing room. It's important."