The Devil's Advocate

 *    *    * “Let the Red Mage know Michel Nahish is here to see her.” The advocate’s voice was a soft, low growl. Commanding. Arrogant. He stood tall in a perfectly tailored three piece suit with a folder and a tablet in one hand, and a clumsy looking clay mug in the other. ::What happened to working hard to make a good first impression?:: Lankeuth asked. ::This woman respects strength. I’m not being an ass,:: came his tart response. Mystic knew what the knock at her door was about before the gentle rap-rap-rap broke the silence of her study. She knew what the attendant peeking his head in like a wary gopher had to say as well. She knew, as she always knew, that knowing these things would do nothing to mitigate the irritation that spiked at the mere thought of anything that had to do with Shy. "Your Grace?" The attendant spoke with all the confidence of a wilting flower. "My sincerest apologies for intruding, but you have a visitor. One Michel-" "I know who it is," Mystic interrupted without looking up from her work. She had allowed Michel to travel with them to Tris'Hath without a word of complaint. She had graciously granted the man quarters and goods to set him up as a dragon rider of the Warren. She had not, however, come within ten feet of the man since it had been declared that he would be moving to Tris'Hath. Entertaining one of Shy's creations as not only a rider of her Wings, but also a lawyer! A trusted advisor! How idiotic did Shy expect her to be? And yet she knew she couldn't avoid him forever. The sins of the creator were not his own, and it was her responsibility to let him know where he stood with her. "Very well," she said after an extended wait. She leaned back in her chair with a sigh and slid the papers she'd been focusing on into a drawer of her desk. "I might as well get this over with. Send him in." The study was… a lot more human than Michel had expected it to be. He had been expecting a lot of cloak and daggers, smoke and skulls from the way Shy had spoken of the Red Mage. But this, slightly human, slightly chaotic study. This, he could work with. “Your Grace.” He greeted her, his voice low and raspy as he strode in, pulling out the chair in front of her desk and sitting down. It took him a few minutes. He sat, wiggling back to make sure he was comfortable. Aligned the folders and sheaths of paper and tablet on his lap just so , took a sip from his ugly and half lopsided mug, and then let out a “a hem hem hem” noise. “So, shall we get started?” All the while, Mystic waited. She sat behind her desk in her high backed chair, shoulders back and golden eyes locked onto Michel. Not the gold of Shy's creations, who shone bright and clear as polished jewelry. Her eyes were the colour of old gold. Molten gold that had experienced life as a dozen different expressions of creativity and worship. The glow that bled off them, the constant low grade gleam of light, illuminated the sharp angles of her cheekbones and brow. Mystic folded her hands together atop her desk, long fingers interlacing, and waited. And when at last Michel was settled, she tilted her head in a barely perceptible nod in his direction. "Please do," she said. “We need to talk about what I’m expected to do here.” He started, meeting her eyes. What an unusual shade- no wonder the twat was so obsessed with them. So close, but very different from the molten gold that marked his creations. “Now I appreciate the generous quarters and the time you have given me to get acclimatized to Tris’Hath.” His words were formal, diplomatic, brusque. “But I am quite comfortable now, and ready to get started.” For a long time, Mystic did not respond. She continued to stare at Michel as if she could see through him. As if she could will him out of existence. She had done her duty as a leader. She had treated him with civility, welcomed him into her home, and provided for his needs. She had listened when Naeodin explained the man's skills and how he could be of use. She had not spurned this "gift." Yet staring at the man seated across from her made her blood boil and her skin crawl. No matter his talents, he was one of the scientist's creations. It rankled her to know that in playing her part as a monarch, she'd had to concede this victory to Shy. He got one of his spies into the Warren. Short of giving him reason to walk away on his own, she had no way of excising this infection. "That is a very good question," the Red Mage said a full minute later. "What is your purpose here?" “To assist the inter-Nexus alliances and provide consultative services and specialization on the trade laws of the Vella Crean.” He parroted. Michel leaned forward. “But we both know why I’m really here, don’t we?” The question spawned the first break in Mystic's stoney expression. A single brow arched up to her hairline. "I had hoped," she said. "But I have learned never to rely on hope and optimism when it comes to Shy." Michel scowled. “That arrogant little twat makes my job harder than it is supposed to be. Do you know how much extra years I’ve had to work just to undo layers of damage?” He harrumphed. “I am fantastic at my job. You’re not going to find anyone else better qualified.” Mystic's features betrayed nothing, but mentally she ticked a box. Shy had invested his ego into this one. "And what, exactly, is your job, Michel Nahish?" The mage's voice held no scorn or judgement, but neither did it hold a hint of warmth. It was a block of ice carved from more ice and served over ice. She was in full politician mode while dealing with him. "I've heard all about your encyclopedic knowledge of the laws and regulations of the Vella Crean, but what is it that you do? How do such skills serve me?" “I am the best damn negotiator and facilitator you will have on your team. The Vella Crean is a hodgepodge world with complicated trade laws and international treaties, yes. I put it together. I made sure that the newly established country city planet made favorable treaties. Do you know how hard it is to represent a country city planet?” Michel glowered, leaned forward. “But my best work, the piece de resistance that is never noticed or commented on because the work is so good, is all political relations tied up with the blasted nitwad of a scientist. Tell me, how many worlds do you know where he is officially barred?” He waved his hand. “Your territories don’t count.” The brow remained arched, but the demenour shifted. It didn't seem at all possible for Mystic's continence to become icier, yet somehow the look in her eyes stripped every last ounce of humid, tropical sunniness from the room. She didn't move a muscle, but when she spoke, her tone conveyed the line that Michel had just skipped right across. "My territories," she said in a deadpan. "Mr. Nahish, either you were quite literally born yesterday, which I fully believe is within Shy's capabilities, or you have had so little experience with worlds beyond the Vella Crean that you honestly believe a singular world nation is equivalent to the vastly complex and often volatile nature of geopolitical ties and tensions that make up nations that have existed for centuries beyond your world's habitation. As pleased as I am to hear that you have done great work in establishing law and order on Vella Crean, at present your level of experience is coming off as woefully under equipped. You have no knowledge of Tris'Hath's history, let alone that of Lanutha. You have no experience in negotiating border treaties, trade across warring nations, or the application of another land's laws on cross-border issues. You may be a master at playing the game of keeping Shy in check, but you are not in the least prepared to represent me, let alone my princelet. Should I require assistance in negotiating trade with Naeodin, I will call on you. Otherwise, I might recommend the legal section of our library." Michel arched a brow. He inclined his head in a brief nod and stood up, placing the folder he had brought in with him on the Red Mage’s desk. “If that is your recommendation, Your Grace,” he purred. “Then I will see myself to the legal section of your library.” “Before I go, though. Please find some recommendations and thoughts. Although seeing as I am entirely unequipped to handle the sheer complexities of cross-border negotiations with warring nations you might consider repurposing my suggestions in something more useful, like a paperweight.” Mystic waited for Michel to show himself out of her study. Her eyes followed his every move until the latch clicked shut behind him, as if expecting he might pop back in and try to strike at her like a snake. Once he had departed, she gingerly lifted the folder he'd dropped on her desk, as if this too might be a viper in surprise, and added it to a stack of papers labelled as "To Be Read - Low Priority". Then she pulled the files she'd been working on from the drawer of her desk and lay them out before herself in precise order. As her pen began to scratch over the fine paper once more, a soft, sleepy voice drifted into her mind. ::What happened to the son is not responsible for the sins of the father?:: The quip came from Hope, who lay in her usual sunny spot on a shelf by the window. "This had nothing to do with his relation to Shy and everything to do with his existence as a lawyer," Mystic quipped back. Hope let out a short, dismissive scoff and rolled over so her back faced the room. Mystic allowed the mountain of work before her to erase all memory of the brief exchange with Michel Nahish.