Summons

"It seems like a draft is blowing through the front door!" Silovar's voices carries down the hallway. Osthryn immediately makes her escape to the kitchen to meet him. Oswald and Martina follow her, the former grumbling under his breath as he snatches his staff up again.

"Do you make a habit of leaving the front door open?" Silovar teases, a smile stealing over his face. He cocks his head when he sees Osthryn, silently asking her if she is well. Osthryn gives a small nod, some good humour doing its best to cover the irritation of her now thrice-redirected morning.

“Only when urgent matters are sprung upon me!" Oswald protests, angrily waving his finger at Silovar.

“Oh, no, don’t tell me that he spoiled my surprise!" Silovar sulks exagerattedly, eyes still only on Osthryn. Osthryn shakes her head, hardly noticing how his presence slowly lifts her annoyance from her. "Only my morning walk to the library, and to be frank with you, I am not of the constitution for yet another surprise after our 'hike' the other day."

 Silovar makes a show of reaching into the breast pocket of his coat, retrieving an envelope embossed with the royal seal. "That is unfortunate, because I would like you to come to the Keep with me."

Osthryn meets his gaze, "To be perfectly honest, from what little I heard would be discussed, I do not trust myself to behave concerning the topic of the missing wyverns. I might be inclined to push for abolishing the use of them altogether, and rush the stables myself."

"Don't worry, you can trust me to hold you back," Silovar winks, still holding the envelope out to her. Osthryn takes it, immediately examining it with great interest. The seal is embossed in red wax, typical of any royal family anywhere in the world, she muses. Perhaps unique to Mountainkeep, Dragonscale motifs pressed in gold leaf adorn the edges of the stationery. The seal itself depicts the profile of a Dragon, oddly surpentine, standing on their hind legs as if rearing, with their wings outstretched. The salutation on the envelope reads "King William, First of his Name, Hereby Extends and Invitation of Summons".

Oswald's impatient scolding pulls her from her study of the invitation's artistry.

"Silovar, this is rank foolishness. She will stand out like a sore thumb -- that kirtle and braid is perfectly acceptable on the street and in the Library, but even with local garb her manners and speech will betray her. It is one thing to take her 'hiking', another to push her into a veritable den of wolves!"

Silovar looks at Oswald, some of the cold Dragon's light dancing mischeviously in his eyes. "She is growing on you, Old Man Oswald, isn't she? You worry so much for her, and, alas, not a thought spared for my peril." Silovar sing-songs, Oswald merely grunting angrily in response. "We have time." Silovar continues, "Her appearance is easily conformed, Martina is more than capable of that. A day is enough to run through the basics of Grosberg manners, Osthryn is a smart girl." Silovar adds the last sentence with a wink at Osthryn, who rolls her eyes and returns to studying the envelope rather than put thought to the feelings that wink inspires.

"While I do appreciate the invitation, Silovar," Osthryn speaks up, breaking the rapidly evolving staring competition between an admittedly courageous and audacious Oswald and an amused Silovar, "why in particular do you want me there? I am not really inclined to put myself in the middle of a den of wolves as Oswald puts it."

Silovar breaks eye contact with the belligerent old scribe, the latter hardly shifting his gaze even when Martina puts a staying hand on his shoulder.

"Oswald's concern for you is admirable, but they are merely a collection of nipping corn snakes at worst. You are a fresh set of multi-centerian eyes with a, for lack of a better word, foreign perspective on magic -- you are likely to notice what either Oswald or I cannot."

"Silovar, what of the silverware?" Oswald bemoans, "Unmarried ladies cannot wear gloves in the court. Those corn snakes will overwhelm her the second her hand touches any article at that table!"

Silovar cocks his head, turning to Oswald, then looking back at Osthryn, his eyes narrowing. He reaches out to play with a bronze flower in her hair. "There will be nothing amiss about the gloved hands of a foreign widow."

Oswald falls silent, stroking his chin, "That is not a bad plan! Not in the least!"

Osthryn looks up at Silovar, a small frown creasing her forehead, "Uhm..."

"You are four hundred years old, I am sure there is a long-gone mortal lover somewhere whose memories you can draw from," Silovar suggests flippantly, letting the bronze flower fall back against her shoulder.

"Not any, actually. To be perfectly honest. Do you have a mortal lover or two hidden somewhere?" Osthryn counters, the mischief in her voice belying her curiosity.

"Really, not one? Not for four hundred years? I highly doubt that, looking at you," Silovar winks, his eyes not leaving her for a moment. Osthryn tries and fails to suppress her involuntary smile at the flattery, but she won't let him off the hook. She presses, just to see what comes of it. "You didn't answer my question, Silovar."

Silovar shrugs, suddenly appearing somewhat uncomfortable before his characteristic sarcasm camouflages it. "They weren't interesting enough, it seems, I fail to recall them around you. Oh, and Martina," Silovar redirects sharply, Martina watching the interaction with growing amusement.

"Yes?"

"Try to work some bronze into her outfit, if you can. She looks good in it."

Silovar ducks out of the door with a wave, "I will see you again this afternoon, we have plenty to go over before tomorrow morning. Good luck, Martina! I believe in you!"

And with that, Silovar disappears.

Oswald turns, muttering, and shuffles to the study, leaving Osthryn and Martina stood in the kitchen watching the door swinging closed in Silovar's wake.

"I shall put it down to a left over fever, and leave it at that," Martina teases. Osthryn's free hand flies to her face. Her cheeks feel flushed, and she realised to her embarrassment that they might appear bright red. 

"You and Oswald both were hell-bent on dragging the 'fool' by his ears mere moments ago," Osthryn weakly attempts to redirect.

"Oh, that is a terrible defense and you know it. Come now," Martina urges, "we have precious little time to find something that works for your height, and whatever we find will need to be altered before tomorrow. I do so hope you are as skilled in needlework as tea-warming, because that is something I will not be doing all by myself in this time frame."

"I have had some years to practice," Osthryn jokes, following Martina as she sets off to the fabrics district.

"Perfect!" Martina exclaims, her expression taking a devious tinge, "Let's get you something bronze, interesting, and fetching!"
"I cannot wait," Osthryn pans, cursing the flush she feels creeping back over her cheeks.