Since Rhaena's marriage to Governor Glenn, the Tellim House has seen a change of fortunes.
They had been minor nobles, once, and still were, though a long line of squanderous squires and eccentric dabblers, as well as drunken gamblers, had long since broken their fortunes. One such man had been Heir, since old Sir Richard Tellim had died trying to make lead into gold, and it seemed he would have drank himself to death, the mortgage leaking out the bottom of a bottle, their ancestral home, having survived Baie and Drow and Fires, would be sold out from under them.
That was before the Fellowship.
He had awoken from his drunken stupor one morning to find his burning need for thirst, his genetic rage, gone. There was a strange peace, there, the drinking and gambling, the sound of his fist on his wife a daughters, a distant thing. What had he been doing all this time?
Tellim still owed the bankers quite a bit. But extensions had come on their loans. Some of the best farmland was returned. Slowly, slowly, silver and gold began to accumulate in their coffers once more.
That is when the messenger came to the door.
"Mister Giuseppe", the butler had said, though Jon Tellim had thought him as Head Inquisitory, a smaller, darker man.
"Coincidence," the tall, broad man had said, his face half-hidden under a large-brimmed hat, showing only a curly, pale beard, and a wet, black eye. He was dressed splendidly in pale blue and an odd, golden collar. He looked quite pale, but declined a seat, and refused a cap of brandy.
"I have m-m-many places t-t-to visit, Ser," he said, in a voice that sounded compellingly like bells.
"Have you been to the Fellowship?" Ser Jon asked with sympathy. "I'm certain they could pay the surgeons to fix that stutter."
"N-n-no, Ser. I'm j-j-just a messenger, Ser. Perhaps someday."
"Well, so long as it's not fear. You've nothing to fear from me."
The tall, drawn man smiled, and Jon got a sudden, giddy feeling of deja-vu. That he was doing something proscribed, speaking to this man. A desire to get away.
"No, Ser," he said. "I c-c-came to, to invite you - a grand Ball, Ser, a party of rarity and, and splendor. To b-b-be held in a, a week's time, at Marshal-Lady Ariane's Darkenhold. It will last for a long time, and so I, I extend the invitation, with - with assurances th-that the Fellowship will see to your holdings as you, you f-f-feast and dine in honor of Lady Rhaena, the p-p-passing of Summer, and Vice-Governor Agnie... Agnieeshka's appointment."
"Really!"
"Really, Ser."
The lie was easy.
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To each place he went in turn, remembering the faces, remembering where they lived. He knocked and parroted his message. It would take a day, maybe two, to reach them all.
The last place he went was Lady Ariane's office in Myrkentown.
"I n-n-need to speak to Airy Ann, please," Catch tells the boyish secretary, wavering on his worn feet, his voice a gentle rasp in his throat from saying so many words.