The show had hardly worked on the man.  Pity, usually Deliah's lovely eyes, filled with tears, had a softening effect on any male.  This one was different.  She could see he was buying none of it.  It was true, Deliah and her father did not get along.  Anyone who was worth their salt in the gossip department knew that.  She was his sole heir and to a pretty little fortune too.  She was hardly distraught about his demise, but she was genuinely sad.  She hadn't wished him dead. Still now there was one less person to tell her what to do.  It wasn't as if Guisep was a bad man, he really wasn't, and she didn't hate him.  He was merely . . . in the way.  She had ideas and dreams and with him, there was little way that she could accomplish what she had in mind.  

The guild had come to her early.  She loved the way they made everyone nearby nervous.  She wanted that kind of power, that sort of affect on people, that respect.  She was going to get it. Taking a piece of paper from her father's desk drawer, she moved over the thin deeply tangerine hued bead.  That was for someone else to find. 

She set off to the garrison to show the papers to those in charge.  She hoped the sullen-eyed one would be there, she would delight in the way his eyes lit up when she handed them the paper with the storm cloud on one side, and the lightening cloud on the other.   .  .