Interlude: Part Two

Solana: Leonie Mulbrook, unfortunately, does not have a lot of personal accounts. As far as we’ve been able to find, they never kept a journal or diary like Fletcher and Atania had. However, they were a prominent figure in Raven’s Crest, and would continue to be for some time, so there was trail enough for me to follow to get a decent idea of what I was searching for. I will admit to a bit of a bias. As a historical figure, Leonie Mulbrook has always been a favorite of mine.

Leonie watched as Fletcher descended the stairs into the inky darkness beneath their fireplace. There was a faint shimmer, like an earring falling off into a glass of water, and then he was gone. They replaced the fireplace to its original position with the flip of a switch and headed back to the study. While Fletcher Lightfoot was dangerously close to taking a step too far in their relationship, if Leonie was being honest about it, that didn’t scare them as much as they’d wished it had.

It was obvious that Fletcher had an infatuation with Atania, whether anything would be made of that was yet to be seen. If it didn’t, however, the relationship that they had fostered would have to change. Whether that was going further than Leonie originally expected, or wanted for that matter, or pulling it back. They were not sure which of those would hurt worse, but it was curious that each of them would come with a certain amount of pain.

Leonie sat back at their desk and sighed softly, placing the reading glasses back on their nose to go over the paperwork again. After a few minutes, their trusted manservant and oldest friend, Bluworth entered the room. “It is getting late, Mx. Was there anything else I can get for you before I retire?”

“Actually, would you care to have a drink with me, Bluworth? I would like to pick your brain.”

“Of course.” The rail thin man seemed to glide into the room and sit across from them in the seat Fletch had previously occupied. “Is this about your little heathen friend?”

“Fletcher is not a heathen, Bluworth.”

“I do not like him. He is disrespectful.”

“I think he would prefer the term irreverent.” Leonie grinned at him.

“The sheer fact that he would prefer a term that has little to no difference is yet another reason to dislike him.”

“There is a slight difference, but regardless, it’s not about Fletcher.”

Bluworth reached out and took a small decanter from their desk and two glasses. He expertly poured two shots of Antlion’s Bane into each glass and passed one across the table to them. “I am prepared to listen and advise if asked.”

Leonie smiled at him and shook their head. “You might be the perfect man, Bluworth.” They sipped at the drink and set the glass down again. “I believe that the crown is both stealing from me and overtaxing my shipments.” They slid a piece of paper across the table to him. “Do you think they suspect my involvement with the rebellion?”

Bluworth took a sip from his drink and lifted the paper off the desk to examine it. “It would appear you are correct. The tax rates on your shipments are much higher than market standards, from what I have observed. Is it feasible that they would try to hurt you financially rather than pulling you out root and stem if they knew you were helping them?”

Leonie gave a shrug and leaned back in their chair. “I imagine killing a member of high society wouldn’t go over well, even if I’m not a popular member. That being said, they probably wouldn’t have a problem covering up a murder.”

“I think that might be harder than you’d expect.” Bluworth offered the paper back to them.

“How so?”

“Well, as much as I despise the little heathen, Mr. Lightfoot is, much to my dismay, the reason you’ve been much more public of late.” Bluworth crossed his legs as he twirled his glass in his hand. “How many times before the New Year’s Gala had you made a public appearance in the previous year?”

Leonie furrowed their brow at him and shook their head. “A few, I didn’t count them. Surely a couple times a month.”

Bluworth chuckled, his hand moving to cover his mouth. “Apologies.” He gathered himself before continuing. “Seven. And seven is only if you count the four meetings you had where people refused to meet you here.”

“Oh, come on, that surely can’t be right.”

Bluworth raised an eyebrow at them. “Shall I name them?”

“No, no, fine.”

“My point being,” he continued, “you have become a much more front facing noble than you have been. For the sheer amount of free rounds you’ve bought at that dirty tavern, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was an uproar at your death, let alone all the work you do with Hands of Hearthstone.”

Leonie pondered that for a moment. They leaned back in the chair, putting bare feet up on the smooth wood of the desk. “So there would be backlash if they just killed me. Which means that the likely steps they would take to harm me would be in my financial dealings. Why the cloak and dagger, though?”

Bluworth shrugged. “I am not a political mind, so I could not say with any amount of certainty. However, in my line of work, the most obvious answer is usually the correct one. So I’d refer back to my original argument. While you are not so popular with the nobles, the common people love you. Were something to happen, say a rebellion, and power was displaced. Well, I know who I would want to lead us.”