New Addition to the Gallery
Yesterday, I took an old, unfinished pencil sketch and set to work on turning it into something. This is my imagining of the two-stemmed Alsa rose stamp Nigel had commissioned for Seth when he became the Rhi’Aleron.
The talons? Those just sort of happened. I didn’t have them on the original pencil sketch but somehow, once I recreated the two-stemmed rose in ink, the roots (Rootstock) sprouted Hawk talons.
Because, of course, they did.
Here’s an excerpt from when Nigel gave Seth the distinctive stamp.
The midday sun teased a diamond-paned row of windows, dancing tiny jewels of light over amber-colored oak paneling in the laird’s study at Glenayre. The understated refinement of the room and the confidence of the man behind its desk were as potent as the aurello in Nigel’s crystal cup.
“Your Grace is gracious to see me on so little notice,” he said.
“Your Grace, is it now?” Seth Callan’s ambivalence said how little he thought of the Minister of Diplomacy’s hastily arranged visit to the modest estate. “A rhi of old earned his title by conquest.”
“You know your history,” said Nigel. “Somehow, I doubt Clan Aleron’s new Chief of Chiefs is planning to wage war on his neighbors to win yet another title.”
“So the King and Queen of Innis sent you to tell me they’ve chosen to name me the next Rhi’Aleron,” said the man who had just become one of the most powerful players in Innis. “Because we blood-thirsty Aurels cannot be trusted to see to such weighty matters as succession on our own.”
He has the backbone, but does he have the patience?
“It’s a formality, as you well know. The Chief of Chiefs has been granted the title of Rhi’Aleron since the days of Joren.”
“It’s a velvet-gloved slap in the face. A reminder of our place in the realm.”
Seth made no effort to temper his distaste, and Nigel couldn’t blame him. Years of increasingly oppressive rule out of Jorendon merited a great deal of objection. Deighton’s insidious whispers had Anne sinking deeper into a quagmire of piety.
“Yet another symbolic supplanting of Aleron’s sovereignty. Jorendon claiming the right to name our rhi.”
Seth had potential Nigel had yet to tap and was in a rare mood this day. Rotharia was still unwinding the subtleties of this unlikely Rhi’Aleron, but when the Hawks had chosen him, the patterns had hummed contentedly on. That counted for much.
“I did not come to insult you, Your Grace.”
“No, I don’t believe that was your intent.” Seth narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, Lord Nigel. What quality of character is measured when opportunity determines one’s loyalty?”
Nigel didn’t blink at the challenge.
“Perseverance. Pragmatism. I offer no apologies for the choices I’ve made in furthering our common cause. Mine have never been at odds with yours.”
“No, they haven’t.” Seth rubbed the back of his neck. “You must excuse my foul humor. The hospitality of Glenayre is yours.”
“Accepted,” he said, relieved to see Seth’s hackles go down. “This is my first visit to Glenayre, and I admit to being enthralled by the place. The Redmist Mountains, the twin branches of the Jess, the terracing, and catwalks. It puts me in mind of perching in a hawk’s nest.”
Nigel had wondered, with some disapproval, at the Callan heir’s decision not to claim the much larger Windermere estate after Lord Symon’s death. But there was an enchantment about Glenayre, a sense of living far above the tribulations of the world, on a rare parcel of serenity Nigel would have been reluctant to leave as well.
“Yes, it is… home,” Seth granted.
Nigel ventured a conciliatory smile, judging their sparring was nearing its end.
“Well then, since you seem to have decided not to toss me out, I’ll finish with the ceremonial fluff,” he said. “With your leave, Your Grace.”
“Go ahead, Nigel. And stop calling me that. It’s only us.”
“Only us, then.” Nigel set his satchel on the corner of the marble-topped desk. “Here’s a proclamation signed by Anne and Franz. It says what you already know. You’re the Rhi’Aleron.”
“A prudent choice.”
Nigel unclasped a small box of inlaid wood and silver filigree and took out the engraved silver stamp for Seth’s inspection.
“A seal in the shape of a rose. For what purpose?”
“A two-stemmed Alsa rose with sturdy roots. It’s a design I commissioned for you. Use it only for correspondence with the crown. Each rhi receives a unique design. No one outside of the reigning monarchs knows the seals.”
“Except for you.”
“Goes without saying.”
“And the other rhiem.”
“I advise against revealing your seal to anyone, but what you choose to do is beyond my control.”
“So you’re giving me the means to communicate with Anne and Franz, such that they are assured the message comes from me, and without the risk of anyone else knowing the sender.” Seth tossed the seal back in the box. “I will have naught to say to them I wouldn’t want the other rhiem to know first.”
“I’m sure that’s true. But I’m not the crown, only its envoy.”
“And you will recognize my seal as I know your crescent quartz.”
“You may find it useful.”
Seth’s scrutiny measured his intentions. The man’s trust was sparingly granted to any but his beloved Hawks.
“I have yet to find you on the wrong side of a fight that matters,” said Seth. “What is Aleron to you, Nigel?”
“A seed of hope. A force to be reckoned with.”
“A strategic piece in the game.” Seth leaned his elbows on the desk. “I mean to win.” “As do I,” said Nigel. “Pawns can aspire to do as they wish. Leaders bear the constraints of responsibility.”
Chapter 48, The Rhi’Aleron, Path of the Spirit Runner
And Seth puts the stamp to use later… when Twelvestones is under siege.