The stables smelled of hay and crushed rosemary, of sunlight caught in drying herbs. It was a comforting scent - home and purpose, both. Which made the hoard of treasure tucked beneath the herb racks all the more mortifying.
A small pile of stolen things gleamed in the straw: quills and scraps of parchment, sealing wax, even a signet ring worked in dark gold.
"Skye," Lytavis whispered.
The raven croaked, tilting her head with the unapologetic pride of an artist unveiling a masterpiece.
Lucien had listened without anger, but the corner of his mouth betrayed a smile.
"The signet ring belongs to House Darkrune," he said, turning the ring beneath the lamplight. "You'll return it yourself. And apologize for your raven's industry. Responsibility, Little Star. It's the only cure for embarrassment."
So now she stood before the carved obsidian gates of House Darkrune, clutching her basket like a confession.
The door opened to reveal a tall Highborne woman whose beauty seemed carved from moonlight itself - auburn hair in a smooth coil, golden eyes keen but kind. Her robes bore the colors of her House: deep blue and dark gold, disciplined elegance made visible.
"I'm Starlys Darkrune," she said, voice rich and amused. "And you must be the one responsible for my daily visitor. Come in - both of you. Ravenna's due for her treats."
Lytavis blinked. "Ravenna?"
"That's what I've been calling her," Starlys said, stepping aside. "She visits every morning. Utterly incorrigible."
Skye – Ravenna - fluttered down to Lytavis's shoulder, croaking as though confirming her social calendar.
The interior of the manor house smelled faintly of beeswax, parchment, and expensive ink. In the drawing room they unpacked the evidence: ribbons, wax, scrolls, the offending ring.
"The ring's mine," Starlys said, plucking it free with a smile. "But most of this belongs to Jace Tisserand. He's apprenticed here - our youngest arcane scribe."
Lytavis's heart tripped. "Jace?"
Starlys's lips curved. "You know him, then. I'll fetch him."
He came a few minutes later, sleeves rolled and ink still smudged on his thumb. He halted mid-stride when he saw her.
"Lytavis Ariakan."
"Jace Tisserand," she returned, equally startled and trying not to grin.
Starlys withdrew tactfully, the sound of her laughter soft down the hall.
"I – ah - seem to be returning your property," Lytavis said, holding out the quills and scrolls. "My raven's been conducting… independent acquisitions."
Jace looked into the basket, then at Skye. "She's got excellent taste. Those were my best quills."
"I'm so sorry," Lytavis said. "I promise she'll be confined to honest feathers from now on."
He chuckled. "No harm done. But you could make it up to me."
Her brow lifted. "How exactly?"
"Dinner," he said. "The Mystic's Rest. Six o'clock."
She hesitated only long enough to appear polite. "Six."
Skye gave an approving croak, and Jace's grin widened.
Notes in the Margin – Lucien Ariakan
She went to apologize and returned with an invitation. Responsibility may have been the lesson, but charm was clearly the homework she chose instead.
Still, she faced her error with honesty, met consequence with composure, and left both Houses smiling.
Our Little Star grows brighter - though I suspect the raven will take full credit.