Chapter Text
"You're not serious."
"Lady Sheryl, would I lie about anything this juicy?"
Lady Sheryl Goodspeed sat back in her plush chair to consider. No. Her companion might exaggerate at an outrageous rate, but generally only passed on rumors and gossip that had some truth to them, especially when it hit this close to home. Not quite able to slump due to the stiff lacings of her fitted jumpsuit, she took a moment to glance at the portrait of her husband adorning the wall of her boudoir. It was an old-fashioned painted portrait, and the artist had done an excellent job of capturing the warmth and humor in his eyes and that square, square jaw she loved so well. Sir John Goodspeed, Captain of the Guard, responsible for peace and security here in Tera Con Prime, capitol of the Tera Con Empire. Somehow, despite Sheryl having been a spy and assassin, they had managed not only to meet and fall in love, but to stay together, build a strong relationship and even trust, and have a son.
It was this very son she was contemplating as she returned her attention to the other person in the room. Spinach green, six-eyed, and panache that was the envy of every fashionista this side of the Lesser Magellanic Cloud. Tribore was a professional gossip monger, one of the best in the city, perhaps the whole empire, with an informant network that shamed every spy guild in operation. Male or female, it didn't matter, Tribore could charm and amuse just about anyone into spilling their secrets – and everyone else's, too.
"You're saying my son, my Gary, the man we've been trying for years to get to settle down, is in a secret relationship?" she pressed.
"Am I saying that? Oh, I am! Even better, a courting relationship," Tribore corrected, all six eyes wide with excitement. He poured them both more tea, slipping a dainty little cookie onto Sheryl's saucer as he handed her cup back. "We're beyond the casual dating stage, my lady. This is serious."
He wasn't wrong. At this echelon of society, there were rules for everything. Sheryl thought it was all a pain in the ass, but it had its uses and was easily weaponized. To openly court someone meant that several preliminary relationship stages had been passed, so courtship almost invariably led to an engagement and marriage. So what did it mean to secretly court someone? Sheryl sipped her tea, pondering this news and mentally checking off possible candidates.
She and John had been trying for years to get Gary into a steady relationship. It was a good way of forging alliances with other powerful families and the right spouse aided social and military advancement. Gary could definitely use the structure and stability. Though she loved him dearly, even Sheryl had to admit that removed from his rank as wing commander, her son hadn't amounted to much outside of being an excellent dancer and good at cards. Both were typical pursuits for any young noblemen. His amateur entomology interests were usually left off the relationship resume, at least to start, to avoid instant turn-offs. He had attended the military academy as expected, graduated towards the top of his class, and was a daring and respected pilot for the Guard. Gary didn't seem inclined to do much else, but he was far too restless for his own good and capable of so much more. What Gary needed was someone to prod him into action – and by prod, she meant cattle prod. It took a bit, but once roused, he was unstoppable. This mysterious romance might just be the catalyst they were looking for.
However . . .
"Is he courting or being courted?" she asked, studying Tribore over the rim of her teacup. There was a difference when one pursued or was the pursued. These nuances mattered when it came time to negotiate a marriage contract. In general, being the pursued gave the negotiator a bit of an edge, but honestly, at this point, she'd take whatever she could get.
Suddenly coy, Tribore helped himself to another cookie. "Somebody who's not me but wants to be, stop me or I'll eat all of these." Even though he knew Sheryl had sent the servants away, he still glanced around as if to be sure they were alone. "I haven't read all the fine print yet, but I rather think he's courting."
"Oh?" Subtlety not being in his vocabulary, Gary tended to be a bit too aggressive with his attentions and spilling . . . no, vomiting his feelings for the world to see. He'd spent years pining after Captain Quinn Airgon, younger daughter of Commander Airgon. Sheryl and John's brief surge of hope for a daughter-in-law and, heaven help them, grandchildren, had ended with a black eye, a broken heart, and months of dramatic moping.
"Something about a declaration of love and he'd marry them if he could. That sort of thing."
"Really?" Sheryl's eyes narrowed, her suspicions on edge. This was almost too good to be true, but Gary tended to fall madly in love at the drop of a hat. What was more, she trusted Tribore. He was a close enough friend to be taking tea in her boudoir, after all, and his information was reliable. "So . . . do I know who this lucky individual is?"
"Well." Plainly, Tribore had been anticipating this moment all along. "You know the name and the face, but I don't know if you've ever met."
Her patience was wearing thin, but she knew Tribore was just making the moment last for his own enjoyment. "Tribore . . .Who is it?"
He took a breath, watching her expression as he relished every word, and dropped the bombshell.
"If rumor serves, it's Lord Avocato, captain of the Silverwing."
Lady Sheryl stared.
And stared.
There was silence.
Silence.
And yet more silence. Then, a twitch, and Sheryl Goodspeed finally managed to grind out:
"Whuuuut?"
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
"John? We need to talk. Now."