Her words echo in my mind. She knows who I am, she's seen my face! I stand up so quickly that the chair behind me falls over on its back. Clack. The wood impacts the ground, startling me. Cecil doesn't even blink, observing me calmly. A shiver courses through my left limb, it clenches my fingers and the leather makes cracking sounds under its grip.

“How did you know?” I ask without controlling the aggression shaking my voice, feeling my face's traits contort.

“I'm an information dealer, a truth artist.” Madame Cecil replies, squinting her black eyes. “You sound different.”

I take hold of the side of her desk with my left hand, squeezing until the wood starts groaning. I assemble a lightning construct but keep it within my flesh, the dark-gold color of my flow would be too obvious in the daytime.

“How did you know?” I repeat myself.

“I keep myself informed, but what gave you away was my experience as a whore.” She replies without even a stir in her tone. “I recognize the sound of a leather sleeve glove when I hear it bending at the elbow and I can tell that you're not in my field. That eliminates most possibilities. What happened last night narrows it down to just you, a girl of the same build and size as Elizabeth Vil showing up in my office, hiding her left hand behind her clothes. Too much of a coincidence.” Madame Cecil nods towards the fallen chair. “Do make yourself comfortable, I'm not about to denounce you to the guard.”

I release the desk, feeling a nervous tremble agitate my body. I force myself to take a deep breath and pick up the chair, sitting back down. This woman didn't need to say anything when she recognized me, she could have waited until I left to report me.

“Why should I trust you?” I ask.

“Why should I trust you?” She replies with a small smile. “I've seen too many rumors turn out to be just that, unfounded stories that have little to do with truth, to believe what I hear about you.”

“I haven't even heard what's being said, and I don't care to find out.” I pause. “You're an information dealer? What does that mean?”

“It means that I listen to whispers and verify those I want to use. People come to me to hide or reveal secrets, to conceal or distort truth. Nobles love their games and that gives me leverage, but it is a dangerous occupation.” She taps her desk impatiently. “If you want an example, I was visited late last night by a Lady Edusa from Hetlan, northern Caeviel. She wanted to know all about you. Who you are, your background, and your title.”

“What did you tell her?” I open and close my left hand to make my limb relax.

“That there isn't much about you that is known yet. Although, I know much more now.” Madame Cecil chuckles. “I don't think anyone would mistake you for a Lady without your mask on, I wouldn't have believed it myself if it wasn't for that glove you're wearing. I do wonder why you kept it on to come here, it is an obvious giveaway.”

“A scorched husk of flesh would be even more obvious.” I call the memory of my arm burning to make myself flinch and sell the lie.

“I've heard that their scouts tend to leave burnt bodies behind, is that what happened to you?” She speaks up, glancing at the limb.

“Long ago, yes.” I reply shortly. “I want information but I'm not going to give you any more about myself in exchange.”

“Fair enough, however, I need to know why you're working for the Rykz before I answer.” Madame Cecil crosses her fingers together, staring intently at my face.

“Do you know how many Rykz there are within the twins?” I ask.

“I've hit upon some reports, but Nobility has been very discreet about their exact reports. I should be able to find out within a month or so.” She answers.

“At the very least a hundred thousand.” I tell her, making her eyes widen in surprise.

“Two for every human on the Izla...” She mutters.

“I'm working for them because we're fucked.” I utter with sharpness in my voice. “I have other reasons but my objective is to break Nobility's pride, make them surrender before they get us all slaughtered and escape the burning wreckage they caused by themselves.”

“They caused it? I heard some whispers but no one was willing to confirm them.” Madame Cecil leans over her desk, curiosity on her face.

“I can give you the details, but I want something in exchange. Information about Lord Patrick.”

“I can agree to that.” She nods. “Count Thrin is getting old and Lord Patrick's siblings are arguing that the mutilation of his left hand should disqualify him as the successor. The Count has made no formal decision but he is listening. Lord Patrick is currently lobbying for support. He hosts daily lunches, spending his gold without counting to court the rich and powerful, even low-born.”

“Where?” I ask, feeling the beginning of a plan form in my mind. Ass-face must be getting desperate if he's courting those he thinks bellow himself, that might be the angle I'm looking for.

“He resides in a small mansion on the other side of Meria from here, his family's crest is engraved on the door, two crossed swords. That's all I'm willing to give you at this time.”

“There is a Rykz Princess held in Meiridin by the institute, the Rykz are here to force Caeviel to negotiate her release and retaliate. I've made a deal with Queen Grikyz, she's agreed to leave the Izla if I can recover that Princess.” I explain.

Madame Cecil digests the information, her expression growing thoughtful. No doubt thinking about how she can use this to her advantage.

“I have a standing invitation from Lord Patrick to attend that lunch.” She breaks her silence after a while. “I didn't plan to accept, but I will if you come with me.”

What? She wants to be seen with me? And why would Patrick invite a... Madame to a lunch. Is this woman that well-connected?

“Why?” I simply ask.

“You matter in Meria right now, being seen with you would raise my reputation and Lord Patrick would owe me for bringing you to him since it adds credibility to his claim on his father's title. I'm surprised you haven't realized your political importance, weren't you attacked by mainlanders last night?”

“Why does it matter that they were mainlanders?” I frown.

“Because the Izla's faction doesn't want the truce to be broken while the deep mainlanders are making a tidy profit from selling supplies. They want the war to intensify, to keep it on the Izla. They think that they'll have plenty of time to prepare even without a truce, apart from a few Nobles on the coast who are trying to assemble a fleet.” She explains.

“That's good to know.” I take a deep breath and stare right into her dark eyes. “I want your word that you won't reveal anything about me.”

“I can't do that, I can keep your face and nature of your injury to myself.”

“That's good enough for me.” I nod.

“You trust me?” Madame Cecil asks, surprised.

“I don't know yet.” I shake my head. “What other option do I have?” I ask.

“I expected you to threaten me.” She hums thoughtfully.

“That would be stupid.” I chuckle. “I don't know how connected you are, but I suspect you could do more damage to me than the other way around.”

“I meant a physical threat.” She smiles. “It's quite interesting to me that it didn't even cross your mind considering your reputation as a fierce warrior, strong enough to defeat Countess Lance.”

“She was sleep deprived.” I reply, frowning.

“That she was.” Madame Cecil agrees simply, but her knowing expression is making me uncomfortable.

“I won't be going to that lunch with you, we'll meet there.” I tell her, standing up.

“I'll wait for you in my carriage. Be there in an hour.” She opens one of her desk's drawers and takes out a folded envelope with a wax seal depicting two crossed swords.

I turn around and make my way out of her room, I inspect my flow reserves as I go down the flight of stairs, about two-thirds full. If there is a faction trying to break the truce, I should go with my full gear.

Besides, if this Madame Cecil has ulterior motives, I should be prepared. I fast-walk through the main room, looking away from the night workers still cleaning up.

It takes me half an hour to get back to Alana's tavern, it's still about as empty as before but filling up with people in working clothes. I take my equipment out from under the mattress and fit it on, tightening my belt around my waist and wiping the blood from last night off my mask before putting it on.

I take hold of my hammer and spin it a few times to freshen the feeling in my mind, deciding to take the weapon despite how recognizable it is.

Satisfied, I open my window's flaps. I wait a few minutes for a strolling couple to turn the corner, and jump down, using a strengthening construct to absorb the landing. My chain-mail makes a bit of noise, but not so much that it would be heard inside the tavern.

I make my way to the main street, there are quite a few people on it, not only carts. I try to blend in with the crowd but it seems to part in front of me. Some are stopping to talk, pointing at my mask.

“That's the Red Dwarf!” I hear a kid cry out, his father frowns and takes him by the hand, pulling him to depart.

“I'm not that short.” I mutter only to myself, deciding to keep walking while ignoring the whispers.

With the crowd giving way in front of me, I make good time and find my way. As I get further north in Meria, the buildings become larger and more richly decorated, marble and stone become common as materials.

There are more patrols of guards in this part of the city and the people I come across are wearing working outfits from tailors to merchants. It is odd that I come across no Nobles but I suppose they go around in carriages.

What bothers me is that the guards aren't throwing more than a quick glance my way, they're not stopping me for questioning despite obviously recognizing me. Perhaps the soldier who asked after my hammer were following different orders than they are. Nobility is even more divided than I thought. How can they justify this infighting during this time of war?

I sigh keep heading north, passing by various manors and throwing glances to either side of crossroads because I don't want to approach a patrol to ask for directions. After a while, I hear the sound of wheels rolling over the pavement and follow it to the source.

The carriage is made of polished wood and pulled by two horses with shiny brown coats. It is stopped in front of a small manor with two crossed swords engraved on the door.

A tall women wearing a black butler outfit opens the manor's door and steps outside to welcome the guest, except no one is stepping out. She doesn't seem to be disturbed by it as she holds still, patiently waiting.

I make my way up to the carriage's door, knocking on it. Madame Cecil opens and holds out her hand, I help her step out. She is wearing a wide pale yellow dress and high heels.

“Lady Elizabeth!” She exclaims with a surprised expression.

“Madame Cecil.” I reply, scrutinizing her face but unable to find any sign of deception despite knowing for a fact that she is acting.

“Just pretend to talk with me for a few minutes here.” She whispers.

“Is that necessary?” I ask in the same tone.

“That butler over there.” Madame Cecil winks. “She's a gossip like you wouldn't believe.”

“Make it worth my while.” I say with a mean tone.

“Now you're thinking!” She laughs brightly, loudly enough that it definitely reached the servant waiting at the door. “Let's see.” She places her index over her lips, humming thoughtfully. “Exemplar Vikiana is on the way to Meiridin with Lady Yvonne right now. Good enough?” She asks, smiling.

“Yes.” So she is doing something with what I told her.

“Now, what do you think about the weather?”

“Good to sow.” I reply absent-mindedly, looking up at the clear sky and the not too bright sun.

Hopefully, Yvonne will make some headway, doesn't matter if she fails as long as she delivers the message that the Rykz are ready to negotiate. The rest depends on me, I need to do enough damage that Caeviel will want to.

“What would you plant in this season, corn?” She asks.

“Wheat.” I answer quickly and automatically, focused on my plans.

“Isn't it a bit late in the year to do that?” She asks.

“Not really, last week would have been optimal but it can still be done this week, it's only a bit riskier.” I mutter.

The Lordling is in a precarious situation, he wants an achievement to secure his position as the chosen successor. I can use that to get close since I apparently have weight and he should be part of the Izla's faction that wants the truce to remain in place. Do I have anything to offer that would tempt Nobles like Ass-face or create friction between the factions?

“That's interesting.” Madame Cecil nods. “I'm quite certain that you answered that without thinking.”

“What?” I ask, shaken out of my thoughts by her odd remark.

“You're a peasant, aren't you.” She says with a smile. “Don't bother lying, it makes me trust you more.”

“Okay.” I squint my eyes, suspicious. “Why are you interested in me?”

“Self-preservation. I play both sides of the board, it's what I do.” She admits without shame. “I'm not sure if what you've told me is true but it explains the Duke's latest actions. One could call them desperate.”

“That's it? I think there's more.” I press her.

“Your actions have spoken in your favor so far. It is possible that you'll be the reason the Rykz take Meria, but that may work in the Izla's favor.” Madame Cecil rubs her chin. “I'll be honest, I think you're dangerous, but not so much that I can't consider working with you depending on what you plan to do.”

“I'm trying to find a way to divide the Izla's Nobility.” I reply frankly.

“To what end?” She asks.

“Chaos.” I giggle. “As long as they're united, they won't negotiate and taking Meria will be a bloody affair. I want to divide them and then pressure them into handing over the Princess.”

“Can you speak for the Rykz?” Madame Cecil asks.

“No.”

“Do they know that?”

“No.” I answer, frowning. “Why does that matter?”

“Many Nobles are greedy and most don't have titles. If you can convince those with ambition that betraying Caeviel will bring tangible rewards, then they will listen to you.” She pauses, looking at me critically. “Well, they would listen to me.”

“Thanks.” I reply flatly. “What use is this to me if I can't do it?”

“Lord Patrick, have you met him under this appearance?” She asks.

“No.” I shake my head.

“Do you think you can convince him?” She asks.

“Maybe. I could play on his character and promise the Izla if I have to.” I reply, wondering where she's going with this.

“Do that but go a bit further, convince him to create a new faction, one that he'll lead. Let him do the talking while you hide in the shadows. He'll be much more motivated and convincing if you let him believe that he's gathering a power base of his own, that those that join will owe their loyalty to him.” Madame Cecil explains with a mean grin. “If the goal is chaos, you don't need control.”

“You're quite dangerous yourself, aren't you?” I note.

“I did what I had to do to survive. I have no doubt that you've had to make hard choices of your own, this is no different. My life is here, I'm not going back to square one. Caeviel is mobilizing for a war on the Izla, knowing the devastation it'll bring. I'm not going to lie down while they burn all I've built to the ground on a point of pride.” She utters in a cold tone of voice.

“I wasn't criticizing you, Madame Cecil. Apologies if my words were perceived as such.” I say formally, inclining my head.

“No, you weren't wrong.” The woman settles down, taking a deep breath. “The day has simply been exhausting, you've kicked the anthill by not only showing up in Meria but also at the Duke's party. I stayed up all night to keep up with the ripples.”

I hear another carriage approach from down the street. I throw a quick glance, the shield crest isn't one that I recognize. I turn to the Lordling's mansion.

“I'll go in now.” I tell her.

“I'm going to go back.” She replies.

“What changed?” I ask, suspicious.

“Chaos.” She laughs. “I would rather keep my distance from what you'll do here. I've been seen with you, it's enough.”

“I don't care if you play both sides, Cecil, just remember that lives are at stake.” I tell her.

“It would be hard for me to forget. It is easy to lose one's low-born head when dealing with Nobles and it counts double for whores. My connections won't help me if I'm accused of being a traitor.” She climbs back into her carriage. “Do be careful, Elizabeth, you're one of the pieces, whether you like it or not.”

I was hers. I laugh madly. Madame Cecil studies me for a few seconds before closing the door behind herself.