“Not like that, the line has to be smoother and higher. Like this.” Emily was lecturing Martin, showing him her own block of wood with a passable nor Rune inscribed upon it.

I've noticed that she is constantly correcting him, while I've spent the past week or so in this “classroom” alongside my servants. It's just one of the larger rooms in the duke's manor that he lent to Pink for the purpose of training his human mages. Incidentally those human mages still come by every night to receive training from Pink, so I've been sharing the room with them as well. I say sharing the room, but it's not like I'm learning or teaching anything most of the time. No, for the most part I just sit in a large and comfortable chair at the back of the room. A chair the duke conjured for me after Pink complained to him.

It wasn't a necessary complaint really, this large padded chair, or the previous chair of wooden slats, I can't actually tell the difference with this body of mine. Though I suppose it is good to have the larger chair, if only to project my dignity a bit. And currently, in the chair with me is the small furry beast, curled up on my lap quite contentedly. Really all I've done is change which room in the manor to haunt while my servants attempt to bring their spellwork up to snuff. So far there have been only a handful of agonizing minutes of work, during which I perfectly reproduced the two hundred and fifty three Runes I expect my servants will need to create a spell that can replicate the effects of that Avashorn Well.

In the future they may want to branch their vocabularies out further – but they will have to do that on their own time. Two hundred and fifty three is really more than enough – they could probably spend the next hundred years and not plumb the depths of what can be done with all of those Runes, not learn all the myriad of different effects that might be achieved by combining and recombining them into various different configurations. Not too mention the knowledge they'll need regarding which materials which Runes can be inscribed on to what effect… It is an absolutely mind numbing amount of studying they will need to be doing.

And while they do that I'll be here, observing ostentatiously, but mostly not paying them any attention at all – letting my mind drift and wander. Directly at my side is Pink, hunched over a smaller chair, studiously carving her Runes – pretty face twisted in intense concentration as her knife digs into the soft block of wood she is holding again and again. Her progress has been slightly impressive, considering her ignorance at the start – but she has an advantage over the other two in that she has a loose understanding of a great many of these Rune's verbal counterparts that are used in incantation. Though a lot of her knowledge of incantation is, disappointingly, just rote memorization – seemingly the standard method by which magicians acquire their magic nowadays.

Currently I'm leaning on my right arm, resting my chin in my hand – a pose that coincidentally brings me well into Pink's personal space. But her concentration never wavers and she doesn't seem to mind, so I wile away the moments inspecting her profile. As always she is shapely and beautiful… With a deft movement I reach over to her carving, my fingertip alight with magic, bringing out an unnatural cutting edge, and smooth the corner of the tiven Rune she is working on. The girl stiffens, freezes in her seat as I make the minute repair.

“Remember Pink, perfection.” I tell her – much more gently than any magical teacher of mine ever did.

“…Yes mistress.” She responds smoothly, limberness returning to her as she resumes carving her Rune with feverish intensity.

This has been the state of this room for the last week, my three servants working diligently to answer my call to shove centuries of magical knowledge into their tiny minds in a matter of days. An obvious impossibility; but, it is my hope they will learn enough, to properly lay a Rune Formation with my direction – and build for themselves a foundation upon which they can expand with… self-study, going forward. Even just imparting that much is a slow process though, as they have to studiously compare each Rune they carve with the key I drew up, ensure it is perfect, before moving on to the next one.

That struggle for perfection takes dozens of attempts as often as not – and at the start of each day Pink has them reproduce every Rune they have already perfected, to ensure there is no skill degradation and to build muscle memory. With this method Pink has nearly reached 180 Runes perfected, Emily hovers around 140, Martin 120 – the boys progress has been slowest, mostly because of the haste with which he attempts to churn out his Runes results in minute imperfections. I can only hope the duke's supply of lumber is greater than the boys incompetence…

Tiredly I resettle myself in my chair, endeavoring not to distract my most competent servant any more than necessary – all the while attempting to put off the inevitable. Because once my these louts bring their meager skills up to the level of being able to mindlessly recreate the Runes – I will have to put together a Formation for them to slot those Runes into. Expecting them to learn enough of the underpinnings of the language of magic to do it themselves is a distant dream within a dream – so I will have to do it for them…

Instead I gently lift the sleeping beast from my body and set it aside, in response it merely stretches and yawns – before wandering off, probably to go find food. Then I get up as well, wandering across the room to where the two children are hunched over their own blocks of wood, gracefully settling into the seat immediately on Martin's left – the seat on his right occupied by Emily. The boy stiffens, his movements slow to a snails pace, as he sends a nervous glance in my direction. I, in turn, cast my gaze at him – at Emily – and then back to him, a question forming in my mind.

“Tell me… Martin, what is it about that girl that drove you to such lengths?” I ask, more out of a desire to procrastinate than any real interest.

“…'to such lengths?'” He repeats. His hands have stopped moving.

“Yes. I'm not sure of the specifics but when you came before me the day the doves attacked, you were in quite a shoddy state, obviously you had endured much – yet your only concern was for the gi- …for Emily.” I say, at the last moment remembering my promise for… civility.

“…she's my sister. Anyone would do that much.” The boy says in a low voice, a blush creeping into his cheeks.

I pause. Taken somewhat by surprise. These two have been in my company for over a week now and I've never heard something like this… in fairness I haven't been particularly listening either though. More to the point though, I look at Martin's head, round and entirely human – save the single stubby horn – and then over at Emily, with her distinctly catlike features. Ears. Tail.

“…”

“Your sister…?” I ask finally.

He turns to face me, an impudent glare smeared across his face. “That's right. My sister. You like those Legion fucks? Got a problem wit-” Smack. “…ow! Em? Why did you…” The boy shuts up, having been swatted across the back of the head by his “sister”.

“Sorry about that Alexandria, don't mind it please – it's a sore point…” Emily frowns sadly as she speaks. “You too Martin, apologize – and try to think a bit before you speak, have a bit of sense!”

“Ah… I'm sorry…” The boy mumbles, not meeting my eyes, his fire flown.

I just shrug and wave off the apology. Every time I talk to this boy, I'm tempted to just Seal his ability to speak… But I suppose that isn't a fair response. It was I who initiated the dialogue after all.

“But… the two of you are siblings?” I prod.

“…Not by blood. But in the orphanage we were all raised to treat each other as siblings – and Martin has always followed me around like a lost puppy.” Emily recounts fondly, mussing up the boy in questions hair with her hand.

The boy brushes her hand off, making a sullen expression. “I wasn't following you around, I was protecting you. You're helpless without me, I swear.”

“Of course.” Emily replies with a giggle. “I always know I'm safe when you're around Martin. But for now I think you should get back to work.” She nudges him gently and then turns back to her own Rune, her expression becoming serious as she deftly works her knife. Martin grunts and follows suit.

“Then why were the two of you staying at an orphanage?” I ask.

Martin draws his blade heavily along his block of wood, making a slightly too long line for the extremely complex Rune he is attempting to inscribe. His hands shake slightly.

“Dad died on The Line. After that, mom was discharged from her conscription, on account of me, died on the trek back – Unbound attack. I was 'lucky' – survived, got picked up by a merchant caravan, dumped here.” He explains tersely, voice clipped and filled with muddy anger.

I reach out and pluck his wooden block from his hands. “This is unsalvageable.” I proclaim, as I incinerate it with a thought. He blinks, nods stiffly, and grabs another from the nearby pile – readying to drive his knife in again. Slightly annoyed I cover his hand with my own, steadying the blade. Behind me Pink is making her cute growling noise, but I ignore her.

“…You do it like this.” I murmur, as I drag his hand along through the motion. Carving the entire Rune without once pulling the blade from the surface of the block – carefully controlling my inhuman strength so that nothing breaks or shatters, the knife, the block, the boy's hand, they all escape unscathed. The completed Rune slips from his hand, hovering before our eyes – held aloft on my magic – giving him an unimpeded view.

“You see?” I ask softly.

“…Yes.” He responds, his voice tinged with confusion.

The Rune ignites, bursts and sizzles into nothing – an odd howling briefly fills the room as whatever intention the boy imprinted into it is loosed – and then another block flips from the pile and onto the boy's lap.

“Now you.” I command, lacing my tone with steel.

He sends me a glance – confused, resigned – and then nods, carefully positioning his knife. With effort I repress the sigh building in me as I watch him work – reflecting on how irritating the education of whelps is. But sadly this much is unavoidable if I want my servants to have any degree of competence – the lines of that Rune, with its dips, whorls, and elegant twists – make an excellent baseline. The forms found in that particular Rune are repeated in hundreds characters – most of the ones drawn from old High Demonic – and any instructor with even an iota of sense will ensure their pupils have an absolute mastery of its form.

And since I'm the only one of our number that could be termed an “instructor” in the art of Rune Formations – the responsibility falls to me. As a small silver lining, the other two did not need such correction – they both have potential.

“What of you, Emily? How did you come to call this one your brother? Or do beastkin and humans live as one, here in Shadfer?” I ask, actually somewhat curious. Her situation is… odd. And still more odd the more I learn of it. Because, well, if you were to take demonic clans as an example… there is no way you would find children of two different clans being raised together. Each clan had a distinctive identity they were extremely proud of – mixing them together diluted that identity and was only ever considered by truly desperate clans, driven to the very edge. It did happen though, of course, which is why of the thirteen original clans – well none remain now, obviously, but they had been whittled down to five the last time I bothered to make a note of it.

Emily's hands don't stop moving as she answers my question, seemingly unconcerned.

“That is a hard question to answer properly Alexandria. The simple answer is I was an orphan among a group of refugees who came here to Shadfer. Some time ago the Emperor decreed that all People of the Tribes are welcome with the borders of the Imperium – so long as they contribute. There is a 5 year process to gain citizenship – coincidentally the same length of time as Imperial Conscription – so the People arrive and are immediately conscripted. Then, if they survive conscription, they are granted small parcels of land at the outskirts of human settlements, where the Imperium hopes they will further make themselves useful by planting and tending food crops.” Emily's voice is light as she describes all this – but her knife is bearing down with much more force, and her eyes are flinty.

“The reason for all this is that the People of the Tribes have been migrating out of the Tribelands for the better part of the century now and their human neighbors were unsure how to deal with it, until the benevolent Emperor devised his solution… is what people say when they phrase it nicely. The truth is a bit different though.” The strokes of her blade have become heavy and decisive, and her Rune is completed much more quickly – she tosses it aside and takes up another. “You see the People haven't been migrating, like seasonal birds or somesuch, they have been fleeing, fleeing certain death at the hands of the Unbound – which run unchecked throughout the Tribelands, throughout the heartlands of Suprema. The People had no Line with which to protect themselves – though I'm certain my father and his father before him fought valiantly – in the end all we could do was flee…

“The humans wanted no part, of course, the Imperium to the east or the Tarisian's to the west – no one is interested in taking on a massive flight of refugees in times of war, especially since the Tribes have always had a reputation for pride… They couldn't really close the borders though, the Tribelands are massive – blocking any approach would require a second Line and the humans can barely maintain one, so they tried other things. Ignoring us completely, treating us as illegal immigrants to be deported, treating us as criminals to be arrested… the histories on that subject are long and bloody, but with the Emperor's compromise – and the destruction of the Tribes as a national power – those books are now mostly closed. The humans take in the People – the beastkin – so long as they can make themselves useful.

“But then… what about someone like me? I am – or was – a bit of a wrench in those works, someone unfit for conscription or farming but by the letter of the law someone required to be admitted and naturalized. Normally I'd have probably been left to rot in some Shadfer gutter – but Father Keller picked me up, brought me into his family …introduced me to my bratty little brother.” She smiles at Martin as she wraps up her yammering but he just returns to his carving with a grunt – the only betrayal of his mood, the tips of his ear turning a bit red.

I feel she told me a bit more than I asked… but it seemed to be something she wanted to say, so I didn't interrupt. It costs me nothing at all to listen, after all. Her situation sounds a bit familiar even – on Artas demon clans would often keep orcs, goblins, and the like – offering protection from the harsh land in exchange for their servitude. Maybe thinking that is rude to Emily and her ancestors though…

“Interesting.” I lie. I toss a casual glance at Martin – confirm he has attained that minimum amount of ability that I went out of my way to personally impart upon him… he has. And then my attention is drawn away by the approach of a procession of flickering candles…

“Enough.” Pink's voice cuts across the room. “We stop here for today – it is now time for the magic lesson. Dispose of your Runes now.” Her voice is hard and serious.

The children make vague noises of agreement and set to the task of destroying the Runes they have been so carefully carving up until now. It is a measure to preserve secrecy, Rune Formations are true magic – as far as I'm concerned – and while I don't mind allowing Pink to pass on a small portion of her ability with incantation, allowing humans access to the true heart of magic can only be folly. We only need them capable of channeling demonic energy – no need to pass on any secrets of the art.

With the flames Martin conjures the evidence of today's practice session is quickly reduced to so much ash, and not a moment too soon. Because the humans begin filing into the room, a few that I recognize, a great many that I don't… Octavio Dorn and a handful of his apprentices… The Tarisian ambassador and her assistant – a bald man who has spoken not even once in my presence… The older son of the duke, Regis Clearwater… and finally Sheryl the adventurer, followed by a handful of her compatriots from the Guild. A motley assortment, that quickly fills the whole room, taking familiar places and turning expectantly to Pink.

They are the fruit of my Chosen servant's labors. Because, though they are human, each and every one of them carries a spark of power in their breast that is clear and apparent to my honed sense for mana – the spark that marks them as capable of channeling demonic energy. In many of them it is a tiny and pitiable thing, even in the strongest – the Dorn man – it is little more than a candleflame, of the sort that would be overwhelmed in the face of true power, but with time those flames will grow. And with luck those flames will spread – and maybe I won't have to do any more work after all…

Well, at this stage that's clearly impossible. I'll be counting on Pink's hard work for a while yet. Incidentally, Emily has a candle roughly the size of the Dorn man's – while Martin has a proper flame, like you might find lighting the end of a torch. Imprecise metrics to be sure, but adequate for my purposes.

Pink has taken her place at the head of the room, sweeping the humans with a cool and imperious gaze. Lingering on Martin for a moment a light frown on her face that is, in my opinion, slightly undercut by her ridiculous wardrobe – today it seems as if she's challenged herself to create “clothing” using less fabric than one might typically find in a single sock, a clear sign of her mounting… frustrations. But it never shows in her voice or behavior, and the humans never comment on it – except in that particular nonverbal form of communication all men seem to become fluent in upon becoming sufficiently aroused – so it's probably fine to leave it be for at least a little while longer.

“Despite a certain, vocal, contingent that complains these lessons are not advanced enough, you lot seem to be grasping the fundamentals of magic fairly easily.” Pink frowns openly at Martin with those words, before continuing. “As expected I suppose, since the magic you were all already familiar with is not overly disparate from the magic I have been teaching – but since today marks the first of our sessions in which all members have managed to open the conduit within themselves that allows them to channel demonic energy – it makes today somewhat noteworthy. That being the case congratulations are in order. So…

“Congratulations.” Pink says, sounding completely unimpressed. “You have all made the first, tiny, step into the world of proper magic. From now on these lessons will be shifting focus, as there are no students left that will benefit from the Rituals of Awakening, we will be turning our attention to increasing personal capacity – until we find your limits or plateaus. It will be different from whatever education you have previously received, as I have been assured you are the best and brightest this city has on offer, these lessons are correspondingly accelerated…”

Pink drones on and on… and by the time she gets to the bit about “Today's incantation” I've made up my mind to slip away – especially upon hearing the incantation she intends to teach, a skincrawling thing contains nearly fifty words, but only four Words. The forty-six extraneous additions are all mangled attempts at flattery, singing praises to the “Demon Goddess”. Charming. Wholly unnecessary – but apparently the dominant magical tradition on Artas at the time of Pink's education.

Eventually I can't take anymore and – stalking on silent feet – I leave the 'classroom' behind, my patience too frayed to listen to Pink make further mockery of magical education today. A part of me is itching, buzzing, annoyed at this situation – that she and I are stooping to assist humans. Ultimately it is for my own benefit, but it still feels so terribly wrong.

At least we already have some results to show. A magicians body is like a vessel for magical power, since the humans were already mages their vessel's were already full of unaspected magical power – and now that Pink has awakened their ability to channel demonic energy, those vessels will be slowly flushed and filled with that instead. With more time those vessels will fill up, their edges will become defined, their limits clear, and if Pink manages their upbringing correctly the unaspected mana can be forced out almost entirely. The end result will be a small group of mages channeling demonic energy in the same manner as a demon would – the first steps on a very long road.

Still, annoyance fills me. I move confidently through the corridors, having finally gained a degree of familiarity with this place – after haunting it for nearly a week now. Stalking toward my …I can feel my lip curling at the thought… work area. Every human I pass – men and women in servant garb – give me low and courteous bows or curtsies, but I don't even notice. The bowing and scraping of insects long ago lost any ability to sway my heart even a millimeter. At last I come to the hateful place, an open air courtyard within the manor – prettied up by an overgrowth of colorful plants. One corner has been cleared for my use though.

I make my way to that place, plopping myself without ceremony into the large chair prepared for me there – and stare down at my “project”. In front of me are two wooden bowls, oval in shape – a scale replica of a certain room beneath a certain temple and a canvas upon which I might create the Rune Formation needed to replicate the effects of the Avashorn Well. I lean my head heavily in my hand as I stare down at the two empty bowls, idly drumming my fingers of my free hand on the arm of the chair. Viscous, hateful emotions swirling in my chest at the idea of… working.

It's not a matter of can it be done. It shouldn't be too difficult – especially now that a “little bird” has confirmed for me that the duke recently requested and received three adamantite ingots from the Imperial throne – since the materials are more or less in hand, creating the magic should be easy. But… I don't want to. To have to… create a Rune Formation that will achieve such a precise and inane effect – instead of simply regurgitating the various spells I learned in my youth – is so much effort. My fingers tapping an angry drumbeat all the while, I reflect that I legitimately cannot remember the last time I had to do so much work. That time I, in a rare flash of inspiration, created that floating clump of dirt maybe…?

And the worst is that it's a task I volunteered for!

Truly it is a frightfully easy thing to pledge oneself to a task in the heat of a moment – at that time pride and determination to show up the incompetent spellwork the humans so revered flared up in me – but it is much more difficult to actually scrape together the motivation to complete that task. Which is why I've been alternately hovering between here and Pink's classroom over the past week, wiling away the moments and half-heartedly attempting to make progress. Though in truth the largest bit of progress that has been made – the scale replica of the room I'm currently staring at like an idiot – was made by Pink.

In everything except magic she is needlessly overcompetent, isn't she?

Thinking such stupid things I look down at the two wooden hemispheres, projecting in my minds eye dozens of different possible combinations of the Runes I gave my servants to learn, and discarding them just as quickly. A proper Rune Formation must be balanced… A proper Rune Formation must account for the flow and distribution… A proper Rune Formation must always use the correct Rune in the correct place, misalignment is just as bad as malformation… must be perfect… must be simplistic, if you are using three Runes where one would do – you are doing it wrong… must be accurate – a nor Rune can sometimes substituent for a nave Rune, but never the reverse… and on and on…

My mind is aflame with lessons from millennia ago, rapidly cycling through hundreds of possibilities and tossing them aside just as quickly. If Alexandria is to lay a Rune Formation, it can be nothing less than perfect…

After doing that for fifteen or twenty minutes I give up with a sigh, leaning back in my chair and looking up to the sky above me. As expected, work is no good. Maybe it would be better to just lay down and wait for death after all…?

“…What do you want? Do you not have a lesson to attend?” I ask the question sourly. Raising my voice so the familiar presence knows her pathetic attempt at stealth is worthless, not caring in the slightest for the answer – but slightly grateful for the distraction.

“Oh no… I've been spotted~” The laughing voice of the “little bird” replies from somewhere nearby. “I was going to attend the lesson – but then I thought I might learn something even better, if I came here instead. Besides Kahm is over there diligently listening, he'll fill me in later I'm sure… that sort of thing is all that man is good for I swear.” Despite the hard words the laughter doesn't leave the voice as Chelsea steps around and into my field of view.

She stops there, a half dozen feet away, with the two hemispheres of wood between us – before launching into a deep and exaggerated curtsy. I assume it's a curtsy today because today she is wearing a silky red dress, in the same style I've spotted on many members of Shadfer's upper crust, instead of the light pants and vest she has appeared before me in in the past.

“Chelsea Kine, of Tarisia, at your service, Lady Alexandria.” She reports with sudden seriousness. Her stern face lasts only a moment though, before it cracks back into her usual little half-smile.

“…At my service you say… and yet I don't recall requesting something like that…” I murmur, not having to affect my tiredness.

“You're right milady, my apologies for my forwardness!” The woman replies casually, not sounding apologetic in the least. “I merely wished to convey that I've been instructed to make myself available to you in any capacity you might desire… even to throw away my precious chastity if the situation requires it!” She runs a hand suggestively down her clothing as she speaks, winking at me with an exaggerated motion.

Having returned my head to my hand I just stare back her, the smile I always wear faltering ever-so-slightly. She is a… confusing human, alternately overly respectful and overly familiar. Her behavior skirts right up along the edge of mockery and each time I meet her I weigh the merits of incinerating her for that… near-disrespect? Though today the disrespect is rather more blatant… Sadly the only merit I perceive killing her to have would be that these tiresome visits of hers would cease – which is not nearly enough to sway me into action I'm afraid. How many years have I lived in the presence of clowns dancing before my throne?

“And who exactly would give you such a directive? Clearwater?” I ask, deciding that entertaining my guest is slightly preferable to sitting in silence, and infinitely preferable to working.

“…” Chelsea's face freezes, some of the humor slipping away. It lasts only an instant though, before she regains herself. “Nono, come now Lady Alexandria, that's too much – even for a joke. My orders come from Tarisia and the Soulking – may he live forever. Or could it be that to your way of thinking, all humans are the same?”

“…”

A few responses jump immediately to mind, mostly variants of “Yes, or is there some notable difference I should be aware of?” but I'm not quite that oblivious. I understand the need of lesser creatures to draw up their maps and divide themselves along artificial lines… but I'd rather not trouble myself acknowledging those imaginary boundaries, if I can help it at all.

“Huh, well if that is the case – can Tarisia expect you to be equally kind and cooperative as you've thus far shown yourself to be with the Imperium? We would certainly welcome the assistance of one that commands such might.” She asks, her voice sly and wheedling, with just the barest undercurrent of an edge.

“'Cooperative'?” I repeat the word as if it were the most ridiculous assertion in the world, grudgingly suppressing the feeling of agreement that rises in my breast – though it's more a feeling of laziness probably, considering the untouched wooden hemispheres before me.

“I am cooperative, I suppose, insofar as I am willing to engage with humans where I see opportunity that benefits myself and my aims. If I were to travel to your faraway land you would likely find me equally willing to take advantage of such opportunities. Whether or not you would actually want something like that to happen is another matter entirely – and a matter with no particular relevance to reality, as I see no compelling reason to travel across the world to parley with some other group of humans. As you mentioned, there are no outstanding differences between one group and another…” I mutter, trailing off disinterestedly.

“That is a small comfort I suppose, in my most recent communications with my direct superiors they have repeatedly expressed concern that a powerful Demon Lord has decided to take up the Imperial banner – it's something of a relief to hear that idea refuted.” She reports happily, and I direct a questioning gaze in her direction.

“…is that really the sort of thing you're supposed to say aloud, ambassador? I thought yours was a job that required a lighter touch… In the first place, are Tarisia and the Imperium not allies?” I ask, feeling disconcerted.

“You're right, I'm a terrible… ambassador for being so direct. But what other options do I have? It's quite infuriating to be ordered to gather information on a nation comprised of four individuals you know? It's not like there are internal communiques I can intercept, and even the most innocuous lines of questioning are immediately stonewalled – I think Pink might seriously hate me by now you know? And then there's you, unresponsive at the best of times, prone to completely ignoring – not just me, but everyone – for days at a time… what's a girl to do?” She asks.

“You could refrain from your brazen disrespect, for a start. I could kill you with a thought.” I state flatly, allowing the idiot woman to enter my eyes for the first time since our little dialogue began, deigning to actually look at her – rather than just allowing her to prance about in front of my face. A distinction she understands, if the sudden tightening of her expression is any indication – the loose idiot smile gone from her face in an instant.

“I don't think you will though.” She states confidently, holding a hand before my eyes – palm upturned – and conjuring a small green flame. Demonic energy… right. She did have that sort of value didn't she? Still balancing that against the annoyance she's caused me in my heart's ledger… I muse silently.

“But before that, I hope you wouldn't want to do something so rash in the first place. I said at the start right? I come to you as a friend, hoping to trigger a beautiful relationship of mutual cooperation between our two peoples~” She continues before I can come to a decision, her breezy tone returned. “To start that beautiful friendship I even have something to say, consider it my contrition for failing to warn against Aurora's attack – that was an embarrassing failure, let me tell you… So it fills my heart with joy that this time perhaps, my warning won't be too late. Unless, of course, you don't want to hear my words, disrespectful as they are?”

She gives me yet another wide smile, but does not continue to speak.

“…and? You have something for me? A warning?” I ask. Her near-suicidal good humor is baffling, but also somewhat impressive, so I humor her.

“Yes! Yes I do. It's about your new friend, the good Duke Clearwater, that man is a born schemer you see? The kind of man who wouldn't hesitate to tell a lie if he thought the benefits to the Imperium would outweigh the drawbacks. Recently he's been searching for a certain magical trinket, but he's had no luck at all finding so much of a whiff or a hint of the thing – not surprising to me in the slightest, since my own agents have been equally at a loss – but he's not the type to let that deter him. Who's to say what kind of tale he might spin for a too trusting Demon Lord in an unfamiliar land?” She says.

“Your recent actions have been overly generous. To the point that Clearwater is scrambling, trying to devise the best way he might 'make use' of you – with no regard for your goals. He isn't even being subtle about it.” This she says flatly, all humor gone from her voice.

I frown at her, before closing my eyes and rubbing my temples. A meaningless gesture, an old habit resurfacing after my long period of inactivity.

“…Any pact between nations is a such. A matter of using and being used in turn. If the equation seem unbalanced from your perspective, is that not simply a matter of we demons of Artas having far more that we bring to the table? There are lines that must not be crossed, of course, but I trust Clearwater to have sense enough to be aware of where those lines lay.” I say after a moment of consideration.

I open my eyes, curious if the Tarisian woman will rebut me… but she's gone.

“…eh?” A dumb noise escapes me. I look around, but the garden is empty of other people – Chelsea vanished like smoke.

What? Really? There are limits to what I can tolerate you know? Should I fetch Pink? Tell her to hunt that annoying wretch down and flay her alive? Teach her to-

“Alexandria! Here you are. I've been looking all over.” A new voice greets me. He didn't bother with a title I note distantly.

Turning to face the voice – it is the elder of Clearwater's two sons, the bookish, nearly gaunt, one who looks like he never leaves this manor, so skinny are his arms and pale is his complexion. He his showing a thin smile as he approaches.

“Apologies for calling out to you out of the blue but I have good news. Father was insistent I deliver it immediately, so I've been rushing around the manor looking for you. It seems sending Gordan to Highmont has borne fruit – he contacted us today via the distantword network, and he has turned up a promising lead.”

I blink, thoughts of the annoying Tarisian forgotten. A lead?

“There is a man called Luther Flemme who lives in a large town north of here – Findlewent – who has a reputation as an eccentric collector of magical oddities. And according to the description you gave us, we think there is a large chance he is in possession of your 'Holy Relic' – Gordan spoke to one of the man's servants who was dispatched to Highmont for the War Council. Apparently Flemme always sends an envoy to pester the gathered nobility to sell him their trinkets and baubles and when Gordan questioned Flemme's man he confirmed seeing a wand of blackened crude iron links in his master's collection.”

Regis gives me a broad and disarming smile.

“This is the most promising lead we've yet found and father is very hopeful. It will take some time to dispatch men so far north, but I think we are very close!”