#Phiarlan

[subject-2-roll]

Betting Games

Scratch tells the baroness of Phiarlan House that he can find out a definite truth from an omniscient entity...by paying 10 years of his life. She, currently worried about an imminent threat to her life, muses about what she’d want to know. He offers to the baroness if she has any questions she would like to ask using him. 

Baroness: “...lastly: who wins the Race of Eight Winds this year?” 

Scratch: “I’m not asking that.” 

Baroness: “I have a lot of money riding on this one.” 

Scratch: “Ma’am, I must emphasize, I pay for these questions with my life.” 

Baroness: “You would not die for me?” 

Scratch, kneeling at her side and gently taking her hand: “Not for a question that stupid.” 

Later, as Scratch is leaving her manor

Scratch: “I should bet on the race this year, too.” 

Baroness: “You are not a betting man.” 

Scratch: “If it is a sure thing. Perhaps I will ask who wins. And not tell you.” 

Baroness: “You are cruel to me, you know?” 

[dndsettingsinfo]

"Prima Vista," a House Phiarlan Theatre (Airship) by Cassastereo's Mapperie

[cullensart]

This is my first time drawing my Phiarlan elf Warlock, Sav, since our campaign officially began. The severed hand is his mage hand

[reddragoncrush]

L1 for Aurora and Ripley, and/or V2 or L1 for Connor and Taber 👉👈

the phiarlan-delacey girls are well-loved!

[tkacz-art]

Another art for one of my player's in DnD Eberron campaign I DM!

Corvus Parell, elf from House Phiarlan & druid

my Patreon

[thuranni]

meetcute. aurora/ripley. 2.4k.

it was high time time i actually Wrote Out how these two met properly, because bone and i talked about it fucking forever ago at the start of the game and it's been referenced in-game a few times and i think they're cute. so here they are. in all their astoundingly stupid in love glory.

Olladra Smiles is an intimate venue. Showgoers had whispered about it with excitement, how rare it was to see such a prolific artist in such a small crowd, in a tavern, no less. Aurora's seen the violinist once before on a much larger stage in a tightly-pressed crowd that had given a standing ovation when their performance ended, greeted them briefly before they'd had to entertain the press; she's inclined to agree.

It's been her weekly indulgence for months now. There's something about the way the music rings through the air and the unrefined beauty of an improvised piece that keeps her coming back. And this performer—Ripley, she recalls, was the name in lights—has honed their craft to a science. Their masked face betrays nothing; the light, the environment, the cascading notes and atmospheric illusions—there's tenderness in every note. The nature of a performer is one that confounds Aurora. It demands both separation from and intimacy with the audience she can't fathom.

The Phiarlan performer winds the illusion around her mind so thoroughly she can almost feel the sea breeze whipping through her hair, the vaguely uncomfortable seat and smell of paper and smoke fading away with every pass of the bow on rosined strings. Each note rings cold on her skin. Soft light fills the space, brightening slowly in shades of orange and purple and rich green.

All of the colors fall away under the warmth of sudden brown as they make eye contact with her for a second. Just a second, a single spinning second in the spans of time that have passed over the ages of Eberron.

Right! Aurora thinks, watching Ripley spin on their orbit—is there a smile under the mask, or is that wishful thinking? I'm a lesbian. _

"That last one you performed. It's a beautiful piece. Did you write it?"

Ripley perks up at her voice, an ear twitching in her direction as they notice her stepping towards the stage doors.

"I did!" they say, putting a hand to their chest in what's clearly a very self-satisfied gesture. "It's new! And untitled. May I be so bold as to ask how it made you feel? I'm immune to my own illusions, you see. The audience's perspective means everything to a performer."

"I'm afraid I'm not much of a wordsmith." She steps forward when she doesn't at least outwardly detect them being too tired to deal with a fan; she loosens her tie a bit to show her dragonmark under her shirt collar. "I'm better with my hands."

Both of their pointed ears perk up. Their sudden rush almost takes Aurora by surprise; Ripley catches and spins the sudden burst of excitement into a tempered delivery, scooping their violin up from its case inside the stage door to press into her hands.

"Then what do you feel, holding this in those clever hands of yours?"

Aurora's heart pounds nearly out of her chest.

"Well," she stammers. She's not hiding how flustered they've made her very well, she knows, but she applies her eye and mark's magic to the violin anyway; it's intricately carved, enchanted with some of the illusion magic Aurora had detected back on the stage bursting into the crowd. "I'm not a musical expert but the craftsmanship... it's exquisite. With a mind like yours and an instrument like this there was attention paid to every note."

Ripley's ears are red when she looks back up.

"Something enchanting about it," Aurora adds as she hands it back over to them. Their hands brush on the exchange. Oh, Host. "I'm sorry, I don't think I've introduced myself and here I've seen your name in lights. Aurora d'Cannith. I've been indulging in your performances after work for a couple of weeks now."

"Yes, I remember you from the other night! Though I never caught a name. Wonderful that we've rectified the situation. Fostering interhouse relationships is so important, don't you think?"

The excuse to touch again is barely concealed and Ripley takes it with zest in a firm handshake. Their eyes are so warm behind the mask.

"It's been lovely to perform for you, Aurora," they continue. "Will you be attending tomorrow night's performance? Tonight was so quick and loose because technically you're not getting the full piece—the debut is taking place in the Wynarn Institute of Art at 6:30. I could comp your ticket, of course."

Aurora has at least two projects due at 6. "I'd love to, Lady Phiarlan. I can't wait to hear what it sounds like when you deem it complete."

"It's complete with a title!" They pluck the bow from the case, testing a note. "You always leave me feeling inspired."

A few measures of the illusion hum into existence around them both. Aurora tilts her head back to look up at it, suddenly rich with detail; clouds come down by the stage doors, sheets of cascading light wrapping around the two of them and twisting through their atmosphere.

"And the title?" Her smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

"Aurora," they reply. "I've seen it, once, on Farlnen. It took my breath away then. It must have been the inspiration that led me to write it all along."

And there they are again. Dazzling brown eyes cutting through the light show and through to Aurora's core, turning it to warmth.

"Are you busy after the show, Lady Phiarlan?"

"Who, me?" they ask, shimmying a little.

"Yes, you," she laughs. "You're comping my ticket to a debut performance of yours. Let me buy you dinner. Interhouse relationships, and all that."

"Oh, please. This kind of magic always leaves me hungry after." They tilt their face down a bit, angling their gaze. "Promise not to run away when I take the mask off?"

"Lady Phiarlan! I'm not that rude," she gasps—the rhythm of mock offense and exaggeration is easy with someone she only properly met minutes ago, somehow. "I may not be one of your stage tramps but I can be a decent person."

"That is a rare thing in the middle of a war, such as we are. Let me appreciate you for it."

In a conversation laden with unspoken meaning—was this how all the excoriates did it, she wonders, playing with fire, and then crosses the notion from her mind—Aurora is still a little nervous stepping closer into their personal bubble. Ripley's pupils dilate just a bit, ears twitching towards her again, every movement betraying fascination. She hopes. Dearly.

"In that case," she says softly, heart racing, "can I interest you in more privacy than a table for two for dinner tomorrow?"

It takes a moment to realize Ripley has taken her metal hand in their gloved one, bringing it to their mouth and leaving a streak of black lipstick against the metal.

"I'd be delighted. Just let me take you for breakfast in the morning."

_

Aurora waits until they've been in the hotel room about half an hour before letting the spell slip over her and following their path into the building. She's been in here a thousand times; this time her heart is pounding in her throat as she passes by numbered doors and through the hallway silence.

Ripley's song is still playing in her head with each step she takes. Their words swim over her—It's complete with a title!You always leave me feeling inspired.

She nearly walks right into one of the hotel staff—Ghallanda, she thinks, and almost panics before remembering she'd picked this hotel for its apparent lack of dragonmarked affiliations—and sputters a thousand apologies before continuing onward into the elevator. This time Aurora waits until the doors shut and leave her alone within to sit with her thoughts. The way their song had sounded last night—they had been beautiful in tonight's performance, the illusion refined and the song performed with bravado, but the intimacy of the one-on-one performance the night prior.

Though with how their eyes had locked the entire night, everyone else in the building could have left and she would never have noticed. Still warm, still steady, still bright in their collaborative mischievousness.

The doors opening knock her from the reverie, and she sets off down the hall with her heart beating in her throat. She'd seen the beginnings of a cast party taking place when she'd slipped the room key into their hand. Their smile was contagious every time she'd met them at the stage doors, but tonight there was something knowing that passed between the two, and the look in their eyes beneath that mask had only made her pulse race.

This kind of magic always leaves me hungry after, their memory teases in her ear.

Aurora nearly drops the key when she tries to slip into the room.

Curses fall from under her breath getting the door open. "Sorry," she says quietly once she's stepped in and dropped her disguise, turning and shutting the door behind herself the second she's over the threshold, "it took a little for the group by the front doorway to disperse and I thought coming in the side would have been—"

Hands around her waist interrupt her train of thought, and she follows their direction, spinning around until she's face-to-face with Ripley's gaze focused on her through the mask. She's never been this close to them before. It knocks all the explanations and words from her head.

"You're here," they say, voice smooth and cool. "That's what matters."

And then Ripley kisses her, and Aurora forgets anything she could have been thinking to grab them around their waist and pull them in so tight they breathe in tandem. Her back thumps against the doorframe and her hands move to tangle in their hair, messing up the calculated puff and curl; Ripley hums into her mouth, and she finds she likes the sound even more than anything they write.

"Dinner?" they ask against her jaw.

"Later," she says, hand inching below their belt. "I had something else I wanted to do first. May I—?"

Ripley's smiling when they kiss her neck. "The floor is yours, Lady Cannith."

The smile in return spreading across her face continues its course as she pushes them back by the chest into the room. She takes quick inventory—a queen bed, a table off in the corner, a dresser and a door likely leading to the bathroom—and continues to back them into the room until the back of their knees hit the bed and they go down with a look both dazed and wanting. Ripley's more disheveled than Aurora's ever seen them, black lipstick smeared, fine golden glitter falling like snow from their cheeks onto the fabric of their blouse.

Aurora clambers into their lap and wraps a gentle hand in the back of their hair, waiting for the nod before she tugs their hair back and kisses them again. Ripley keeps their hands back to prop themself up on the bed, but when they press forward for more she pulls back, a teasing smile taking over her face.

"Let me see you," she says. "Without this," she adds with a tap of her finger against the mask.

Their expression shifts, slightly, and Aurora kisses the corner of their mouth.

"I promised to be polite," she adds. The mask was always on whenever she'd seen them; she recalls their comment about not running and wonders who's been enough of an ingrate to leave them nervous. "I meant it. You can leave it on, if you want, jus—"

"No," they say. Something trembles through their spine delicately as they watch her lips unabashedly. "Do it."

Aurora reaches for the bow at the back of their head and tugs the tension from the ribbon until it falls slack in her fingers, gravity keeping the mask on their face; she waits a moment, treasuring how this feels right now, the moment of curiosity about this gorgeous person that is about to be sated, the wondering before the answer comes—and then lifts the mask free.

Ripley's eyes open slowly up at her. There's makeup here, too, bright peacock-green colors and bright blue swirls that are starting to mess a little from the sweat and spotlight and constant contact against the porcelain mask; Aurora's taken with their sweet, dark eyes again, warm brown peering up at her. But all the makeup in the world cannot hide their dragonmark. It almost ripples, alive, under their skin, the Mark of Shadow over their left eye.

"Oh," Aurora sighs. "Oh, Ripley, you're beautiful."

And just like that, she feels some of the tension in their shoulders fall away as they surge forward and kiss her.

_

"You didn't know my name until last night."

"No," Ripley says in a puff of smoke. They're curled up against her bare chest, turning their head just a bit to look at her with a cigarette carefully balanced in their fingers to keep from getting ash on the sheets—they keep moving like they're accounting for the mask until they remember themself. "I'm sorry. I would have asked before if—"

"No, no, not like that," she says. "I'm not accusing. I'm just... I'm curious, frankly."

They turn around and face her, stretching to put the cigarette on the night table. Aurora's hand intercepts theirs to take a drag; the handover is unspoken as she inhales deeply. "About what?"

Aurora coughs a bit around her answer, stretching for the ashtray; Ripley guides her hand to it. "I mean, do you always sleep with people you've just met?"

"Not typically," they say. "My encounters tend to be more... premeditated. You're a first in multiple regards."

"In what ways?"

"Not so premeditated . And not a cis man," Ripley says. "Is that okay?"

Aurora cups their jaw in her palm, even if she's suddenly thinking of how much more slowly she'd have gone if she knew. "Of course it is. I'm not judging you, I swear. It just makes me even more curious why your random lesbian and or bisexual encounter was with me."

Ripley watches her with an expression she can't name, for a moment. "You spoke to me like a person. Most people who find me, they're talking to the stories." They lean their head into her hand. "I'm not... seen very often."

"There's an engineer behind every creation. More people ought to be looking."

Their smile is gentle, this time. "Yeah, I bet you wanna engineer my. Hm. Creation."

"Baby, I'll get into your Creation Forge," she replies, dropping her voice a couple octaves, and Ripley laughs with delight, voice quiet enough not to get caught.

"Dinner?" they ask.

"Sure," she says, kissing their forehead.

[codexanathema]

Artistas Phiarlan

Todo lo que necesitas saber sobre la Casa Phiarlan en un solo artículo.

La Casa Phiarlan es una familia extendida de elfos con la marca dracónica de las Sombras. Si bien son conocidos en todo Khorvaire, su influencia es más notable en Aundair, Breland y Thrane. Para el público, la Casa Phiarlan se dedica a brindar entretenimiento en forma de músicos, actores, artistas y acróbatas, aunque en secreto en realidad su verdadero negocio es la información y los secretos: se…

[dragon-above]

Forgive the break from posting about my homebrew, but I had to show off some wonderful art of my longest running (and favourite to date) Eberron PC, Cinnabar d'Phiarlan.

I love everything about the piece. The sky is breathtaking!

Commission for @amalgamousnothing! Featuring Cinnabar d'Phiarlan and Atalie d'Orien under the awesome sky of Eberron.

Cinnabar belongs to @dragon-above and Atalie belongs to @amalgamousnothing.

Thank you again!! 💕

[gigantic-spider]

Fabulous Facemask (Day 22 of Magic Item March, a 31-day series of homebrewed magic items)

(Image source: Rubber Mask Firm Lover by Dr Jart; image description: A smooth face made out of shiny pink rubber with its eyes closed and lips pursed as if whistling.)

Wondrous item, common

Each single-use facemask allows you to cast disguise self to take a specific form that was chosen when the facemask was enchanted. Several standard disguises are offered, but the forms may be customized for a small fee. The disguise lasts for four hours, and at the end of it your skin is smoother and more moisturized. If you have the mark of shadows, you may alter the disguise at any time during the spell’s duration.

Background

Fabulous facemasks were once used extensively in House Phiarlan’s performance venues but fell out of fashion before the Last War for two main reasons. First, it became a mark of pride among the house’s top actors, costume designers, and makeup artists to not have to rely on magic in order to embody a character. Second, and probably more importantly, the progress of magical research eventually produced a cheaper version of the hat of disguise. Though this magic item had been in existence for centuries, it was generally prohibitively expensive to maintain a collection of them for multiple theaters across Khorvaire. House Cannith’s efforts to improve on the original design eventually produced the version seen today in House Phiarlan and Thuranni venues, but fabulous facemasks have found a new market in the aristocracy as wellness products. For a small fee, any socialite can now appear 5, 10, even 15 years younger for the duration of a night out, and the elvish dragonmarked houses gladly provide the products to meet the demand. It’s never a bad thing for them to cultivate relationships with the rich and powerful, after all.

Story Hooks

Someone is selling tainted fabulous facemasks. Multiple members of high society have been laid low by a contact poison delivered through facemasks purchased directly from House Thuranni. Verinaria d’Thuranni has asked you to investigate the source of this poison and root out any traitors responsible for this mess.

Your contact in House Thuranni has gone missing. It’s been several days and your informant about shady dealings within the house hasn’t shown for your scheduled meeting. You want to find them, but there’s just one problem - they always wore a fabulous facemask so you have no idea what they actually look like.

[telegraph-boy]

I commissioned @strawberrysasparilla for my d&d PC Enran Thuranni (left) and his boyfriend, Varis Phiarlan (right)!

[subject-2-roll]

An Opera

The baroness of Phiarlan and Scratch are having a conversation. After finalizing her will, she muses with Scratch about his unique ability to find out a truth about the future, or the universe, by spending 10 years of his life. 

Baroness: “I think I will write an autobiography. Make sure the family makes an opera about my life when I die.” 

Scratch: “Of course. Who could resist seeing that?” 

Baroness: “I wonder if it will be successful. Ask for me, won’t you?” 

Scratch: “Ma’am, I adore you. You excel at everything you do.” 

Baroness: “That is just your way of saying you will not.” 

[mikacchimikan]

Narsil Nailo

Dnd character commission! This one is a mark of shadow elf (house of Phiarlan), trickster cleric for the goddess Leila.

Check my facebook page for more stuff like this! Commissions are open so don’t be afraid to hmu in there :3

Comisión de personaje de Dnd! Este es un elfo Mark of Shadow, es un clérigo que sirve a la diosa Leira.

Vean mi pagina de facebook para más contenido de este tipo! Las comisiones están abiertas :3

[cullensart]

It’s time to properly introduce my next character with my regular group: Savryn Elorrenthi d’Phiarlan, or just Sav.

He’s an elf fiend warlock who dropped out of circus training after receiving some horrific, life-changing news that has led him towards a life of piracy on the high seas.

In terms of personality, Sav is an irreverent, hot-headed, flippy little bastard with a deep grudge and a dark secret. I think I’ve shared art of him before, but I finally did a proper full body pic

[reddragoncrush]

Do It For Ripley d'Phiarlan: A Memoir

[lhazaar]

😊 and. fuck. I think it was 🌠 for ripley, agnes, and oli or kith!

cw: parent death, implied mass death

😊 What can make your OC smile even when they’re feeling down? What cheers them up and makes everything feel better for them? Is your OC genrally a happy person and do they enjoy making others smile? What about your OC makes others happy?

ripley: assigned theatre kid. ripley is incapable of not yes-anding people and gets drawn into Bits with their friends; usually they're laughing along by the end and are, if not necessarily cheered up, at least distracted. they would also say that's their goal in their performances. they may not be able to fix things for people, but they can take their minds off their burdens for a while

agnes: she would tell you it's her dad, or manté, usually :) but the truth is that there hasn't been a lot in her life in the last few years that's felt cheerful. since her mom died it's harder for her to keep up her natural optimism but god she's trying. she feels like it's how she can carry mayu with her

oli: the temptation to just go being right here lmao. oli's emotional experience is very blunted in a lot of ways and repressed in others, and he wouldn't admit to feeling anything more than a general sense of resentful dread at the state of the world

kith: her wife keeps joking that she needs to wear a bell. kith comes up behind you silently and presses her forehead between your shoulders and makes just the saddest little yowl like a cat. she's very touchy and wants to be On people when she feels bad. usually the problem is that she's sleep-deprived and she passes out on you.

🌠 Who was your OC’s first friend? Do they remember them or are they still friends now? Talk about some of the people your OC has lost contact with over the years. Do they have any regrets about losing these people and would they revist them if they could?

ripley: they were friends with their cousins and other phiarlans first! the house is not necessarily insular but ripley's part of a massive extended family and was raised with a higher level of scrutiny due to ~plot reasons i can't talk about~. they wonder sometimes what happened to the people they lost contact with in the shadow schism, particularly elissar and ilixidor, but they have no real way of reaching across the gap

agnes: scott this is a MEAN question to give to her. agnes has buried every friend she knew as a child; she couldn't forget their faces if she tried. her entire social world shifted when her clan was attacked, and the friends she's made since then she's met through arturi and ryker. she misses the weathermay-foxgroves! they made her feel normal when she was Very unmoored ;-;

oli: his first friend was himself; he is the only person he can trust, and the only one who won't let him down. he's held onto that belief since he was a wyrmling and, until recently, it hasn't failed him!

kith: her first friend was oli! they grew up on opposite sides of a border river between territories and befriended each other in the rare few times kith was allowed to think she was unsupervised.

[thuranni]

take your hammer, take your anvil, take your very soul

1k, aurora & jorlanna, dread metrol

prior to the events of dread metrol. the dynamic between these two is always so *chef's kiss* with aurora getting excoriated for the same thing that made jorlanna disappear completely from the public eye for years, and i personally love writing aurora getting yelled at. context: aurora has regular check-ins with cannith to make sure she's not getting up to anything stupid or house-disgracing in her excoriation. usually, she's up to both.

"I've been told by a certain source that you were seen out with Corporal Dubois' wife."

"Sure? We knew each other back during secondary education. What, can't I have friends, or is Cannith allergic to that, too?"

"Out with her in a romantic capacity when she is a married mother of two."

Aurora shrugs. "Yeah, sure. I'm helping the woman have an affair. But even you have to recognize this is better than me fucking a Thuranni or something, Jorlanna."

The Baroness of Cannith West peers over her half-moon lenses at Aurora. Any snip about being addressed by the correct title has already been said and ignored; it's apparently easier to drop it than try and make Aurora fall in line.

"But you must recognize the need for subtlety, and a duty not to shame the House."

"Nah, my duty to the House ended when you gave me the boot." Aurora slings a leg over the armrest of her chair, manspreading on a new level, observing the office with exhaustion. Jorlanna's a fan of ships in bottles, historical and non-functional models of old rifles, stylistic paintings he can't identify; his heel taps against the corner of the cherrywood desk. "Anything I can offer now is a favor. Since. Y'know. I'm not a d'Cannith legally anymore. It's not my House."

Jorlanna isn't impressed. "Which hasn't stopped you from using the name regardless of it being stricken from your legal records, has it."

He shrugs. "Force of habit." A lie.

"Regardless of whether or not you owe House Cannith anything, Aurora." Jorlanna's tone sharpens, pen clicking as she fiddles. "You owe it to Mrs. Dubois to be subtle. The Corporal could draw the wrong kind of conclusion from the relationship between you two."

"With all due respect to Aundair's army, which is none, Stuart couldn't see his own dick in front of his eyes."

Her expression remains unchanged, pen clicking away. "Be that as it may, it only takes one informant."

"And it only takes me to thank Stu for his service by getting up in her cervix."

Jorlanna sputters, icy demeanor cracking as she laughs into her hand, the pen silenced. Despite their now four years of back-and-forth antagonism, Aurora feels a little glow of pride in her chest; even for many years before he would have carried that for weeks.

Now, well- she's the executioner and the petitioner staying her own hand. Aurora feels no gratitude as the one on the chopping block, not even considering that Jorlanna is the woman who took Aurora seriously, gave her the necessary recommendations to get her visa to enter Cyre during the war. That died a long time ago. But Aurora can respect the cutthroat in Jorlanna. There's no other way to survive in Cannith, let alone with Merrix and Zorlan as siblings vying for the title of Baron. She is a creature of necessity borne of the House's unending competitive streak.

Aurora wonders if her mother was anything like her cousin Jorlanna as the Baroness drops the pen into a carved wooden cup on her desk, still smiling.

"By the Host, Aurora, stop making me laugh," she says. "I am disciplining you."

"No, I'm fucking hilarious and will not consider it." Aurora crosses his arms. "And it's only a problem if you let a money-grabbing outsider to the House make it a problem."

"Show your father slightly more respect," Jorlanna admonishes. It's enough to make Aurora snort in turn. "I have done a great deal to protect you from the consequences of your actions, but even I can't quell the power of rumor."

"If you'd let that Phiarlan stick around then I wouldn't need you to."

"Aurora Odette."

The entire mood of the room changes as soon as it's out of his mouth, but Aurora sticks to her guns, stares Jorlanna's sudden anger in the eye regardless, arms crossing tighter to his chest. It's true, regardless of how far it is, but bringing up the past- Ripley- is the quickest way to make any meeting with her end in a two-way screaming match.

"I cannot hide rumors that you are a rogue asset that House Cannith is improperly, nepotically favouring rather than removing from service like a malfunctioning firearm." The air between them is hostile and heavy with what's implied, Jorlanna's arms bearing her weight as she leans close and low to try and close their distance.

"Then remove me." She settles back in her seat, unblinking. "What's the big fucking deal, Jorlanna? Do you hesitate like this with all the other excoriates, or just the ones you like?"

"The deal is that I think it would be a shame if you were killed, Aurora."

"Then let Cannith suffer the briefer shame of my death instead of continuing with my disgraceful existence. You won't." Aurora leans in now, uncrossing her arms to lean across the desk back at Jorlanna. "If you wanted me dead you'd have done it on the Day of Mourning. And you didn't do it then, when I was blatantly breaking the Twelve's rules. You're sure as fuck not going to do it now while I help a low-ranking corporal's wife have some fun. No. You want me alive. Why?"

Silence hangs heavy as they lock eyes. Jorlanna looks like she might headbutt Aurora for a moment, eyebrows drawn tightly together.

"You know the risks you're taking." Her voice is icy, but this closely, Aurora can see her concealer hiding the dark circles under her eyes doesn't stand up to scrutiny. "Show discretion. And get the hell out of my office."

He's never going to know why. Aurora white-knuckles the side of the desk. There is too much about House Cannith that she is never going to get an answer to, and he's known that for years, but sometimes he butts right up against the edges of what she's allowed to know and someone is mad at her for having seen the edges themselves and Aurora could go after this house and dismantle it brick by brick sometimes with the anger that bubbles up in her chest.

She settles instead for nicking the pen out of Jorlanna's cup.

"With pleasure, Baroness."