Dawn was a special time for Malleus, akin to Dusk and sacred for the most opposite of reasons. Sleep had failed him once more, perhaps a subtle rebuke for his years of abusing such diurnal fetters, and he had been awake since the false dawn and perhaps even the hour of the wolf beforehand.
Dawn was special, and sacred, and he stood upon the balcony of his room, silk robes and fine raven locks fluttering all tatterdemalion in the morning breezes as he watched the city wake. Liminal light tugged at him in much the same manner as the breeze tugged at his robe, seeking to steal his secrets or share those of others with him - the night whispers of the unrested, the confessions to the dark, and the uncomfortable deeds that had taken place since the sun had fled before the moon. It mussed his hair, wild and errant at the best of times, and threatened to pull all askew.
They think that such thinks happen in the Night so that they are hidden from prying eyes, he thought, ruefully, but bitter in th same manner as the herb with the same name,
When they happen then so that those who perpetrate such may hide from themselves.
He chased such thoughts away with a long breath, feeling the waking sun's warmth start to caress his skin. Inhale. Eyes closed, lids feeling the sun, and long-fingered hands, their tips callused, clutching the balcony rail with gentleness. Pause, time enough for breath to linger, heartbeat to be heard. Exhale. Eyes open, hands released, tension banished.
Dawn was special, and sacred, and he remained there for a time.
Behind him, tousled sheets and scattered garments from the night before showed a glimpse of his other nature. Careless, restless, troubled, with one starred and bloodied mirror slowly reforming in the cold and empty room beneath his unconscious casting.
* * *
Dawn was sacred, too, because mid-morning was profane: by the time the sun had achieved half its apex, Malleus was ensconced within his least-favourite teahouse, sipping half-burnt coffee laden with milk that was a shadow from souring and wearing the face of a dowager long passed. His mind wandered, the clarity of Dawn faded in the oily obsequiousness of the merchant who had secured his services to 'find a thing, a trifling matter'. He had laughed at the time, when the matter had been presented to him through a factor he used, the coin generous but the access to materials he required more important. How he had laughed.
He forced a smile, a social shadow, concealing as much as it revealed, and nodded as the man wittered on. Surely they would reach the point soon enough. But such sacrifices were needed to bind shadowstuff into the birds he used. He was known, well-respected in the right circles, but that carried increasing risk for a man who's trade was finding things that other people wished to remain hidden - and the birds made that possible: crows, ravens, nightjars - bound with whispers of shadow to keep them unnoticed and his sight a passenger.
He forced a smile, and forced his attention back to the man's blathering
"... and that when the Duke told me of this expedition, this spellspire. And I thought to myself, there is an opportunity here Thaddeus! Oh, indeed"
Leaning in, the dowager-Malleus laughed gentleely,
"What exactly were the Duke's words, dear Thaddeus. Tell me what he said of this ... expedition"