Yvain glanced once more at the servitor, its head still cocked and lenses humming softly, then turned back to the pair. "What exactly does that involve?"
"Oh, nothing too ghastly," Ivie said with a smile that was half reassuring and half mischief. "We just need to make sure you're not a fraud, a lunatic, or an unlicensed medium with a god complex."
"Preferably all three," Latch muttered.
"You're mages as well?" Yvain asked, his gaze shifting between the two.
"I am," Ivie said, folding her arms with a touch of pride. "Latch, though, he's a knight. Doesn't look like much, I know, but he used to be an inquisitor."
Latch let out a curt, almost defensive cough. "That was a long time ago," he muttered. "And Ivie's not just any mage," he added, casting her a sideways glance. "She's an alchemist, and a bloody good one when she's not blowing up her own workbench."
"Only did that once," Ivie grumbled, though a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Yvain nodded slowly, absorbing it all.
"We'll be testing you with dice," Ivie said, already pulling out a small black box and setting it on the table with a faint clack. "A bit rudimentary, perhaps, but as my mentor always said: 'Simple is best.'"
Latch scoffed. "That old coot spends half his day playing hexachess. I wouldn't trust anything that tumbles out of his mouth to be nothing other than perjury."
"He also taught you how to bind a revenant in a salt loop," Ivie retorted.
"Details," Latch muttered.
Ivie rolled her eyes, then turned her attention back to Yvain with a businesslike snap. "Take a seat."
Yvain obeyed, lowering himself into the worn leather chair across from her. The desk between them was cluttered with ink-stained papers, half-burned candles, and a brass astrolabe that ticked softly with its own internal logic. She cleared just enough space to lay down a velvet-lined tray and produced three bone-white dice etched with faintly glowing sigils.
Each die she placed in its own small brass cup. The sound they made echoed slightly in the cramped office.
"Are you ready?" she asked, lifting her brows in challenge.
Yvain leaned in, his tone dry. "Isn't this just gambling?"
"Of a sort," Latch replied from his corner, arms folded and leaning against the wall. "But for an augur, chance is illusion. If you are what you claim, you'll see past probability. You'll name each result before it's revealed."
"Which makes it less gambling," Ivie added, "and more revelation."
She shook all three cups with practiced finesse, the dice clattering within like restless spirits. Then, one by one, she laid them down on the tray, face down.
The room fell quiet. Even the servitor automaton in the corner seemed to still, its glowing eyes dimmed as if in observation.
"Whenever you're ready," Ivie said, fingers drumming lightly on the desk.
Yvain stared at the cups. He didn't need to chant or breathe deeply, or call upon the names of old saints and shadowy powers. For an augur of his caliber, this test was as paltry trick.
"Four," he said evenly, pointing to the leftmost cup. "Then two." His finger shifted to the middle.
He paused over the third. And this one," he said, tapping the final cup lightly, "is blank. There's nothing to divine. It's a trick die."
Ivie blinked, visibly surprised. Then a grin spread across her face. "Well. That's embarrassing."
"You didn't think he'd catch it?" Latch said, raising a brow. "I told you not to bother with that little prank."
"It was worth a shot!" she said, lifting the cups in quick succession. Four, then two, then an unmarked white die. "Most augurs just guess and hope their charisma will carry the rest." Ivie leaned back in her chair. "Well, Mister—uh…"
"Just Yvain" he said. "Yvain the Younger."
She pushed her chair back and stood up. "Well, Yvain, congratulations. You've just passed the first and only test."
"You're hired," Latch said, less enthusiastically, but with a faint note of admiration beneath the weariness in his voice.
"Welcome to Grinn and Latch Investigations," Ivie added with a mock salute.
Yvain stood as well. "And the matter of wages?" He said, a faint smile creeping onto his lips.
"Of course," Ivie said quickly, a little flustered now. "Since you'll be working as a consultant, we pay per job, standard practice. Bigger case, bigger pay. If you bring results, we'll bring coin."
Yvain nodded, seemingly satisfied. "That sounds reasonable."
He reached into his coat, turning towards the door. "If you need me, I'm staying at The Handmaid's Respite. It's an inn near the southern gate. Room upstairs."
"Oh," Yvain added as he reached the door, turning back with the faintest smirk. "The woman downstairs told me to remind you your rent's three weeks overdue."
Ivie groaned. "Vulture."
Latch just sighed.
Yvain gave a half-shrug, then stepped out. The scent of fresh bread and spice hit him immediately, the warmth of the bakery a stark contrast to the office's old wood and machine oil. The landlady behind the counter gave him a knowing look as he passed. He tipped an imaginary hat.
Then he stepped over the threshold—
And promptly collided with someone.
"Oof," the other person gasped, stumbling back.
Yvain looked up to see Celeste standing there, arms crossed, brows already furrowed.
"Found you," she said flatly.
He blinked. "You were looking? How did you even find me?"
"Blood tracking," she replied, holding up her palm, where a faint cut glistened with fresh scabbing. "Don't look at me like that. You weren't exactly leaving breadcrumbs."
His brows lifted. "You used a blood rite for something so flimsy?"
She shrugged, as if it were nothing. "It was either that or let you get eaten by some back-alley ghost or worse, start brooding somewhere with a pipe in your mouth. What are you even doing in a bakery?"
"Just… looking around," he said casually, already turning to resume his walk down the street.
"Uh huh. That's convincing," Celeste said, following after him, her voice rich with sarcasm. "Just sightseeing, right? You can keep your secrets, Yvain, but at least tell me, what is that black goo you left behind at the inn? It felt off."
"It's just vomit," he said. "Bartering with the outer dark has its consequences. I should be glad it was just that."
Celeste eyed him for a bit, then nodded. "I got us on the roster for the Pit. Fight's in two days."
"Good work," he commended.
"Now I get to go all out," she replied, a crooked smile painting her lips.