#baronyofthesilverwolf

"Come. You may decide what might suit."

With a touch of regret he slides the pleasant weight of Nadeen from his lap, and leads her to another area.

Up the stairs to where the 'Lords' chambers are, and then down another staircase - this one leading to an area that Nadeen has not seen before. Doorway and hallways indicate that these chambers might connect to other parts of the hold - if one knows where to find them.

The design and décor in these halls changes subtly - less the rustic yet elegant hunting lodge, and more of a worldly feel. French porcelain replaced by oriental vases, the tapestry on this wall more of a Mediterranean style, the rug Turkish.

She goes in and looks about then, she blinks "My lord," She should not be surprised therre was more to the hold, rather she is angry at herself for not finding i before this, "Are you sure? These are.. some of these things must hold memories for you"

"We are in some of the older areas of the manor. Much of what you see is, or was, the collection of the previous Baron. Lord Conall ap Ailil. There are memories, yes, but more here than our hold has use for."

"Conall ap Ailil? What was he like?" She says even as she runs her fingers over the items

His voice softened with fond memory. "A fierce warrior and strong leader. But to his own? A kind man, for all that those outside of Ailil may have trouble seeing it. He sought to do right by his people, and was my mentor, my friend, and as much a father to me as he was to his own daughters. He lived a long life, and though he did not, as some warrior-minded may wish, die in glorious combat, he retired with grace when came the time."

"Grace before the Wheel is also a time is also Noble" A nod "Daughters?"

"Yes. I suppose as mortals consider it, he would have been my father-in-law." He stops before a door, and opens it to show a storage room, this one seldom touched it seems. "He was a seer, and on seeing portents that an Ailil soul was to come into the family, he chose to watch over both mother and daughters, until one of them was chosen as host. I dare say he was rather fond of all three by the time she chrysalized, Candace becoming Calanthe."

"Oh" realization but not surprise, "Forgive me, love, but will Calanthe consider any of this hers ? "

"It belongs to the hold, and to the holder. Other than that which she directly inherited, which was a not inconsiderable fortune of her own, these... mementos are my own. To keep, or sell, or donate, as I may wish. And I do wish it."

She has to admit, when he sounds so commanding, she finds herself more than a little delighted, "As you say." She admires the tapestry then an ideea occurs "Perhaps you should ell me what was NOT so dear to either sister? I can give priority. I.. regret asking, I know speakinng of Dahlia pains you but.. I wish to respect her"

He pauses, and an all-too-familiar by now absent look passes through his eyes. Such was not the case when speaking of Lord Conall, but he grows distant as Dahlia is mentioned.

"It is no matter. Here, you may find these useful in your auction." Heading into the room, he turns on the lights, and with efficiency, opens a wardrobe and pulls off dust covers to display the treasures within.

The wardrobe contains a collection of designer gowns from years past. A jewelry box, magnificent in itself, but outshone by the contents. It shows to be filled with ornaments in silver and precious stone. Rings and necklaces, even a delicate tiara with flowers picked out in diamonds.

"These, I have no use for." Absently, as he moves to uncover a few more items.

She looks at the Tiara, then glances at her love. Reading him for those.. black outs that seem to hit with Calanthe's magic gone awry

She knows the signs by now, that closed off look and cool disinterest. She may notice the small hairs on her arm standing up, prickling at a hint of a chill in the air.

A nod "Why don't you leave me ot sort through what might sell" she asks him, touching his hand "And thank you"

Despite his earlier interest in discussion, he now seems disinterested, though the smile he gives her is still warm. "As you wish." He takes her hand to bring to his mouth for a kiss.

She smiles "Thank you, love"

He smiles again and takes his leave.

Further back, Nadeen sees an expanse of fine art. A carved statue of some sportfish - a marlin perhaps? Life size and rendered out of a single block of blue-gray marble, cunningly wrought so that it looks like it may wriggle free with a splash at any moment. A lamp, garishly colorful in design, but with a tag that notes it's provenance as an authentic Tiffany. Several delicate vases of an Asian design, a sword with a curiously curved blade hanging on a stand. A fine instrument case.

A series of antique globes - and some globe-like items. Round, but made of bands of gold or silver, with dangling or suspended elements - smaller spheres, rings and extending shafts, knobs and dials, upon the bases.

Forgotten in a corner, a hand-carved rocking horse as fine as any Tove might have made, showing wear upon the seat, pokes out from a rather different box of items that looks out of place amongst the valuable treasures.

And more...

And yett, that is no longer what she's here for. She gathers the tiara, and other items with floral designs, things that scream Dahlia more than Calanthe. And she arranges not so much a circle, but a court. Two chairs, equal standing. She puts a Tiara on the other .... a meeting ...

and she casts "The Baroness Nadeen Dancingsnow ap Varich, trained in Rivervale, Now Reeve and Acting Chancellor to the Barony of Silverwolf, hereby invites the Lady Dahlia to please join her for a discussion

That chill feeling again, like a breeze that runs across her skin, yet does not rustle the fabric covers or move the dust.

.. one of respect and concern for the well being of Baron Aiden..."

And she curtsies to the tiara to finish up the bunk

Soft rustling sounds, a susurrus that echoes without a visible source. A whispering in the air, words that cannot be made out. Someone, or something, is present.

She doesn't see anything, But she feels... senses?

anger

"I hope your rage is not directed at me, though I would understand if you did. "She admits "nor at Aiden. but I imagine there are .. a limited number of targets, Lady. I know there is a mystery surrounding your death, one everyone here seems either not to have the whole puzzle of, or is skittish about mentioning. I wish we could communicate better." An idea "You've been causing the chilly breezes. One burst for yes, two rapid ones for no? Will that work?"

The chill washes over her again, feeling almost like small points scratching across her skin. A strong feeling of glamour, even as a faint lacing of frost builds on the surfaces it washes over.

"Glamour..." A surprised look, "I'll take that" She says fighting the urge to shiver, "As a yes. Did Calanthe help cause your death?"

A whisper in her ear, and if she wears earrings, a sting of cold, as if she'd touched bare frozen metal with a fingertip.

Release me

Startlement... and she.. reaches for the breeze "here, take this" A bit of glamour set loose "And tell me how"

The glamour seems to be absorbed - Nadeen can still feel it in the presence around her.

bound, by winter's chill. trapped, within her web
She lies... to hide the truth.
I am the truth... set me free

"Who is the 'she' you talk of? Is it Calanthe?"

She has to be sure

She who controls feather and claw
She who casts fugue and chill
Calanthe
She locks memory behind art
Break the bonds of her spells

The cold is lessening, fading. Nadeen remembers kenning, many times. Glamour runs throughout the freehold, but her power is found often in pieces on display, art that Calanthe has commissioned or acquired personally.

"By what art may I free the memories?" She says

follow the strings... cut free of her web

A last pulse of glamour, before the chill vanishes - it feels like Calanthe's power. That Nadeen knows well by now, from the feel of it around her own love. She's sensed this before, a pattern. Cantrips bound into dross...

"Thank you, lady. I'll..." A wince as she considers the options "I'll do what I can to free you"

She is left alone, but for the wealth of items about her, waiting to be explored, or closed off once more to darkness and dust.

"I feel like such a bitch" She mutters

If the jewelry or art judges her, she cannot tell.

She plucks ou the more more masucline items, the ones that she suspectts won't matter as much to Dahlia

Plenty of that to be had. A replica sword from WWII... or is it a replica?? A globe from an earlier time that has names of countries that have changed or ceased to be. The marble sportfish, intriguing but perhaps not her style. Adding these to the items she has already collected from the elite upper crusts, it should serve well for her auction.

While many of those living in Carthage proper are middle to lower class, quite a few well-to-do have luxury second homes up here, and those were the ones she found the best luck with.

That leaves the box of toys - if she looks into it. Which she may not, clearly nothing of monetary value there.

She does look into it. Everything is a mystery here now

She covers her mouth annd tears threatenn to well in her eyes

If she takes out the quilt... at the very bottom is a baby book. The kind with pages for hand prints and foot prints... sonagram pictures... even a birth certificate tucked in. Alan and Dahlia Lowell... if she had any doubt. Baby pictures... a few with happy family, and with mortal friends. The photo album stops at age 5... and the last pages blank.

And just like that, some choices are made. She'll secure it all, find a place to store it... and some of it is going to its rightful owner

Easily done.

Other items, will be taken for the aauctitonn, the more masculine looking things

The Tiara? Well, that's going to be mine one day, but only after I free Dahlia