The word hung in the humid, fragrant air of the conservatory: "Impressive."
It was not spoken with the relief of a patient, but with the reluctant respect of a master artisan who has just witnessed a technique that defies their own understanding. I watched the succession of emotions cross Lady Amoline Vorth's pale face: first, the shock of physical relief, the heady sensation of air filling her lungs without pain for the first time in years. Then, the disbelief of a mage acknowledging a superior art, the perplexity of feeling the pill's pure, architected energy. And finally, the glint of covetousness in the eyes of a Noxian noblewoman identifying a new and powerful asset. In that moment, we ceased to be healers. We became a sword that she alone, in her mind, could wield.
The negotiation, the true negotiation, had begun.
Regaining her composure, she leaned back in her chair, her former frailty replaced by a calculating authority. "I will be your patron," she declared, her voice stronger, almost resonant. "I will give you access to resources you cannot imagine. Ingredients that arrive in imperial caravans, protection from the rival houses that have doubtless already noted your ascent, and most importantly... the anonymity you desire."
I glanced at Morgana. I saw no naivety on her face. I saw a practical assessment. She is a healer, a protector. In her mind, that offer represented a clear path to our survival and advancement in Noxus. It meant an end to having to save every copper piece, an end to the constant fear of city patrols, and access to better remedies for the people she helped.
For her, who had lived for centuries fighting direct and open threats, the arrangement seemed logical, a good bargain. The machinations behind it, the silent exchanges of power and the invisible debts, that was my battlefield, not hers. And I saw in her eyes that she was about to accept the terms we were offered.
That is when I intervened.
"Your patronage is generous, Lady Vorth," I said, my calm, level voice breaking the moment. Morgana shot me a surprised look, but I ignored her. "But in Noxus, exclusive loyalty to a single house is a slow death sentence. A partnership, however, is more… profitable. For all of us."
Lady Vorth raised a thin eyebrow, amusement mingling with surprise. The child, the apprentice, was dictating terms.
"Our terms are simple," I continued, outlining our new future. "First: independence. Our apothecary remains our own. We serve whom we choose, maintaining our reputation with the common folk. A healer who only tends to the nobility is a target of suspicion. A healer who serves the empire as a whole, from the foot soldier to the general, becomes an invaluable resource."
"Second: payment for service, not servitude," I said. "We will perform your 'collections' and other tasks that require… discretion. Payment will not be in gold, which is vulgar and attracts attention. For each task completed, we want an equivalent favour." I looked directly into her eyes, laying out my demands. "We want contacts. Introductions to ship captains, to caravan masters, to other nobles with an interest in 'ancient history'. We want access. To artifact auctions, to the private libraries that hold secrets the empire has forgotten. And eventually, when our usefulness to you has been more than proven, we want passage to the capital. A letter of recommendation from you that will open the front gates for us."
I let the final offer hang in the air, an ambitious prize that spoke the language of Noxus. We were offering a unique service. In return, we were asking for a path upwards.
"And, of course," I added with a thin smile, "as long as our partnership is mutually beneficial, we will continue to research and provide the pills for your condition. The flow of your treatment will depend on the flow of our mutual success."
The threat was as subtle as the poison from one of her garden's flowers. Morgana held her breath, shocked by my audacity, but I saw a glint of reluctant admiration in her eyes. I wasn't just accepting the spider's terms; I was trying to spin my own web.
Lady Vorth was silent for a long moment, the only sound her now calm and regular breathing. Her thin fingers drummed on her silk throw. I could see the cogs of her ancient mind turning, weighing the risks and rewards. Then, she laughed. A dry sound, like autumn leaves being crushed.
"A child with the ambition of an emperor," she said, and it did not sound like an insult, but an acknowledgement. "Very well, little alchemist. You have a partnership. Your terms are… acceptable."
With the deal struck amidst the garden of poisons, the atmosphere in the conservatory changed. The negotiation was over; the mission was about to begin. Lady Vorth leaned back in her chair, her easier breathing now allowing her to project an authority that pain had previously masked.
"Your first task, then," she said, and her voice, though still thin, had the weight of iron, "will serve as a test of your skills and, more importantly, your discretion." She regarded us, first Morgana, whose expression was a mask of cautious calm, and then me, where I knew she saw only an enigma.
"There is a… plague spreading through the lower-ranked arcane circles of Noxus. A rot that affects only those gifted with magic."
I felt Morgana's posture stiffen beside me. A disease that specifically hunted those she had spent her life protecting? It was the perfect bait for her compassion.
"It is an insidious sickness," Lady Vorth continued. "Every time a mage uses their gift, it advances. Magic becomes the fuel for its own destruction, rotting the body from the inside out. The empire's physicians, with their limited vision, call it 'arcane exhaustion'. The superstitious priests call it a curse from the Ionian war. I," she said, and her eyes flashed with a cold fury, "call it a weapon."
She leaned forward, shadows dancing on her pale face. "One of my… proteges. A mage of great talent who serves my house has been afflicted. He was a valuable asset, now… he is a liability. This is a targeted attack by a rival house, I have no doubt. They seek to undermine my influence." Her story was flawless, woven with the right amount of personal urgency and Noxian political logic. A narrative designed to be believed.
"Your first task for me is this: cure him. But more importantly," she stressed, her eyes locking onto mine, "discover the source of this plague. Its mechanics. I want you to take it apart, to understand every cog. I want to know who forged this weapon and," her smile was a thin, cruel line, "if possible… how to replicate it."
Morgana glanced at me, the horror at that last sentence clear on her face. She saw a request for healing; I saw a contract for the reverse-engineering of an arcane bioweapon.
[Analysis: Correct. Vorth's request to discover the plague's origin and mechanics confirms she is reactive to this threat. This implies the presence of a significant and unidentified power operating in Knot Klage, hitherto unknown to local intelligence networks.]
I met Lady Vorth's gaze, showing nothing but a professional interest that bordered on apathy. It was the best way to negotiate in Noxus: to appear as though you care less about the outcome than your opponent. "Unusual ailments require… curiosity. Consider us curious." The morality of the matter was a problem for Morgana's conscience. For me, the emergence of a new and mysterious player had just made this dull game infinitely more entertaining.
"Excellent," Lady Vorth said, seeming pleased with my reply. "His name is Kaelen. He is a Sigil-Mage in service to my house. You will find him at a secure residence in the Stone Districts. My steward, Eliam, will provide you with the address and an access pass. I want daily reports. And, little alchemist," she added, her eyes fixed on me, "I want your analysis of the structure of this… weapon. I do not care for your master's superstitious theories about 'spirits' and 'souls'. I want the mechanics. The science behind the rot."
She was trying to divide us, to appeal to my supposed pragmatism over Morgana's empathy. A basic manipulative tactic, but effective on most people.
"My master's analysis is the mechanics," I replied coolly. "The soul is just another biological system. To understand the disease, one must understand the patient. We will have to examine him together."
We were dismissed. The steward, with his ghostly efficiency, escorted us in silence back to the entrance. As we passed through a dark corridor we hadn't noticed before, my eyes caught a detail on an old tapestry depicting a Noxian conquest. It was a grand battle scene, full of vibrant colour. But tucked into the bottom border, almost like a weaver's mistake, was a small symbol embroidered in dark thread. A pale, black rose, its thorns intertwined. It was no Noxian crest I recognised. It looked like… a signature. A mark of belonging to something that did not wish to be seen.
Inside the velvety darkness of the vehicle as we drove away from the silent mansion, Morgana finally broke the silence.
"I ought to be used to your… negotiations by now," she said, her voice weary. "But this… becoming agents at the behest of dark nobles…"
"We are not agents. We are contracted partners," I corrected her. "And as for her being 'dark'… of course she is. Everyone in a position of power in Noxus is. The only difference is how well they hide it."
"And the plague? What if her story is a lie?" she asked, the morality of the mission heavy in her voice.
"Then it will be our task to find the truth behind the lie," I replied. "She has given us a door into her world. It would be rude not to look behind every locked door, don't you think?" I leaned forward. "Don't worry about her morality, Morgana. Focus on yours. You will heal a sick man. I will solve a fascinating puzzle. Our objectives, for now, are pure. The rest is just… politics."
Morgana fell silent. She did not like the path, but she understood the logic of the road. That night, the investigation into the Mage Plague began…