Moving the base of his base of operations from Derran manor to his own little inn was the best idea Galier had come up with in some time. Not only was he more comfortable dealing in the familiar atmosphere he had cultivated there, but the strange setting also put nearly everyone he met with off of their usual rhythm in a most gratifying way. They never expected straightforward negotiations. The pretense of power and the constant posturing for dominance that was core to all political life. Well, Galier gave them straightforward negotiation, only that did not see it for trying to understand the game he was playing.

The inn environment would seem to be putting Galier in a subservient position but the fact that he invited them there said otherwise. Was he being overconfident in his new power? The opposite? No one he had met with seemed able to make heads or tales of it. Well, aside from lady Eliah Ealhold. She was turning out to be quite the confusing opponent, even though they were ostensibly working towards the same goals.

Lady Ealhold had visited for the first time the morning after Galier moved officially to the Captain’s Cat. He hadn’t told anyone and had moved everything in the dead of night. She did it to show that he could not hide from her, though she appeared outwardly pleasant during her visit. But that was her way. Unlike her husband, lady Ealhold did not show any part of her intentions in her outward appearance. Galier might as well guess at the intentions of a stone. And the fact that she did not bring her husband along showed that she did not want her intentions known. That or he was not involved in the conspiracy. Galier had not seen lord Tegrimm Ealhold in some time.

On her first visit, lady Ealhold had said very little of substance. She had complimented him on his success as the owner of the inn, made suggestions on how he ought to change it, which he ignored outright, and made a veiled threat or two about what might happen if Galier did not cooperate. The visit was meant to shake him, and it did, but if she wanted Galier dead, he already would be. He could take solace in that.

On her second visit, lady Ealhold had been much more open about her reasons. The conspirators intended to make use of Galier now that he had thrown in his lot with them. Apparently Martim had been amassing an army all the way north in Derranhall but they had lost contact now that he was dead. None of them could get a message out of the city without drawing notice but Galier, well he was the new house seat and unseasoned at that. If he were to ask the family for help, it would be understandable, even expected. The trouble was that Galier had no messengers and even if he did, a messenger on horseback would take too long to reach Derranhall. That left him with one option, to convince one of the few ship crews left to him that the journey would be worth the meager pay he could offer.

The captains remaining after Martim’s death were his most loyal, as were their crews, but they were loyal to Martim Derran. Their contracts were not with the house but with the man himself. To them, Galier was a stranger, or worse, an upstart young lord who didn’t deserve his power. He had grown up around some of those sailors and while they did respect him for his perseverance under Martim’s stern supervision, they still thought of him as that child. It took more than a child with a title to convince seasoned seamen to risk their deaths.

Galier had begun the work of softening them up as soon as his task had been made clear. It was a stroke of luck that he had already moved to the inn because the proximity to the wharf—as well as the access to significant amounts of alcohol—had proven essential in that task. Even now, as Galier sat in his study, going over documents detailing the costs of maintaining Derran manor, the handful of captains he had left were in the common room below and even though he could not hear it through the well-insulated flooring, he knew that the ale was flowing and the entertainment was… appealing to the kind of men these captains were. He had made sure everything they encountered while at his in would be exactly to their liking. With any luck, they would begin to associate Galier with the few good things left in their lives and maybe one would become pliable enough that he would acquiesce and brave the waters where rumor said imperial warships were becoming more and more common.

Galier tried not to think about it as gaining their trust only to send them to their deaths but… it was difficult to see it any other way. Flying Derran sigils they would be waylaid for sure if the imperial troops suspected anything and without any markings they would be attacked as pirates so near to civilization.

He had to find some alternative. Both lord Kalagor and lady Ealhold were unwilling to take the rist and use their markings and Galier doubted those of house Caerest would be any better. His list of options was growing painfully short.

He picked up a scrap of parchment scribbled over with a list of names, most marked out by now and read through it once again, hoping to find an option he had somehow missed before. House Derran’s vassals were suddenly becoming less and less reliable. As far as Galier knew, the whole lot of them were waiting until the succession was settled once and for all. He couldn’t really blame him, he would not have trusted himself as house seat either. But now it left him with precious few options.

He had considered purchasing a merchant’s flag, but the license would still be traced back to him, no matter how hard he tried to cover the trail. For all of his failings, the Monarch did a remarkable job civilizing the waters under his control.

He should not have been surprised really. Izidor of Maerin had been a naval marshal before scheming his way into the most powerful post this side of the Phoenaxian sea. People underestimated the man, especially those nobles who did not see his administrative handiwork, because of his military background. A brute such as he could never organize a town, much less half of an empire. Galier was not convinced the Monarch did not spread those rumors himself, they served him so well.

Dealing with the Monarch was a problem for another day and another mind. Galier had his part in the plan, he really shouldn’t care enough to deviate from it. It was not his idea after all, not his vendetta.

That left him staring down at the list again, every name marked out with thick lines of ink multiple times over. He would not be getting any help from vassals. They, much like the captains downstairs, were waiting for the tumult to settle and for a true house seat to be chosen. All the way north in Derranhall. It would be a miracle if news got back before winter fell. Of course that was what they were all banking on. They would be unleashed until spring, free to do whatever they so desired. Free to weaken the hold house Derran had on them, maybe find a more powerful house to attach themselves to.

Galier brought the list closer and went over it one more time in case he had forgotten something. He hadn’t. Of the few vassals who had responded to his letters, none had offered to help. One lord’s ships had been seized, a more and more common story now, one lady’s merchant licenses had been rescinded without reason given… The list of reasons went on. Whether or not they were true was hardly important, though Galier did have his doubts.

He crumpled the scrap of parchment in his hand and tossed it across the narrow room. He would find no solutions there. With a deep and weary sigh he stood up from his desk, pushing himself to his feet with tired arms. He needed a rest, badly. His eyes were grainy from staring too long at contracts and ledgers and his throat was painfully dry.

As he walked towards the door, he had to force himself to look away from the documents piled on the desk. He did not have time to go through them all, not and still make good on his promises to lord Kalagor and lady Ealhold, but he was in no state to be making decisions with such weight. His mind ran slow with fatigue and, as much as it pained him to admit, he simply did not have the experience needed to command a machine with as many moving parts as house Derran. Even just the small portion within the city walls.

Tearing himself away from the desk and its responsibilities was difficult but it was made easier when he stepped out of the study and into the hallway where the sounds of the revelry below could be heard. It put a smile on his face to know that the Captain’s Cat was a success, more so than anything else he had tried his hand at. It had nothing to do with his family, house Derran, his connections, any of it. It was business, plain and simple, and it was something he knew he could understand.

The common room below was about as Galier would have imagined it. In fact, even with the apparent chaos of intoxicated patrons, the sounds of the entertainment, and the bustling of waitstaff, it was as orderly as a manicured garden. The chaos here was cultivated by Galier’s own hand and it was gorgeous.

As he descended the stairs, the sound, the light, the warmth, it all hit him like a punch to the gut and it plastered a grin across his face.

Near to the stage, across the room, the best tables in the house were the present home of house Derran’s remaining ship captains. Of the eight men, two were unconscious, their mugs of drink still clutched in hand, and two more were nearing that point. The other four gave their comrades little attention, all they had left was fixated on the stage.

Looking at the stage made even Galier blush. He had been in the city long enough to be acquainted with the theater. An artform, if it could even be called that, of his own people. But, having not grown up with it, even now he shied away, making his way instead to the bar where a few stools still stood vacant instead. There he could face away from the stage. He would only have to hear it.

Whatever was being performed tonight was not the worst of it by far. He had seen plays that crossed lines he had never known were drawn, when men and women, children and animals, did unspeakable things in the name of entertaining the crowd. Tonight’s show was simple and mild by comparison. The kind he could bear to have performed in his inn.

A pair of women in scarlet veils and a man wearing nothing but a pair of boots frolicked on stage now. Whatever they said was drowned out by the gathered crowd, not that it really mattered. At least they kept out any imperial influences. Getting bloodstains out of the wooden floor would not have been an easy feat.

Galier was eager to find a distraction when he arrived at the bar and the bartender was ready to give it to him. Before he even had time to take his seat, a silver cup of darkly red wine was waiting for him. He picked it up gratefully and eased himself onto the stool. It was remarkable, he mused, how pleasant it could be to take a seat and relax after a long day of sitting in front of a desk.

He chuckled into his cup of wine, his breath making ripples on the bloodred surface. It was a beautiful thing. He could practically smell the quality as the wine mingled with the disturbed air. Prohibitively expensive, yes, but beauty was worth the price.

Galier tipped back his cup and took a long drink. He knew he ought to savor the wine, just that cupful was worth as much as the silver it sat in, but tonight he was not drinking for the subtle flavor. There were other benefits to fine Phoenaxian wines. For one, they were far more intoxicating than the domestic varieties.

The bartender refilled Galier’s cup without asking as he set it down on the bar. It was not every day that Galier drank at his own bar but when he did, his staff knew not to question him about it. They knew that one of the reasons he stocked such rare drinks was for his own consumption.

The second cup was followed by a third and then a fourth. He almost let the bartender pour a fifth but stopped him at the last moment with a hand held over the cup. Now was not the time to be wasting money, he certainly didn’t have much to spare what with the costs associated with simply maintaining house Derran’s holdings in the city. Coffers were running low enough without Galier draining them himself.

He was starting to feel the effects of the wine anyway, soothing away his worries and urging him to let his responsibilities wait for the morning. It was late, his mind was tired. There was little else he could really do. Part of him clung to his tasks, he had to solve the problem of the messenger soon. Lady Ealhold would not give him much time. But the common room called to him sweetly.

Turning around on his stool, Galier saw that the play had ended and a musician with a long-necked lute had taken the stage. Galier did not remember hiring her, but her face was familiar. She was clearly descended from the new blood with shocking orange hair and skin so pale it was nearly sickly. Something about her tickled at the back of his mind but he could not place it.

As she began a new song the common room quieted substantially. Her skill with the lute was nothing exceptional. She was practiced but there was something missing from her tune until, after repeating a refrain for the second time, she opened her mouth and began to sing.

Her voice was enchanting, high, pure, and somber as the grave. It reminded Galier of the keening of seabirds on the breeze, a sound that had always struck him as too mournful for such a simple life. Galier felt drawn to her and for a moment he felt that he could almost grasp what it was that was so familiar about her.

The gathered crowd of patrons were not so impressed however. After their initial silence, the conversation and shouts resumed, blocking the song from reaching Galier at the back of the room. They shouted requests for songs, all much lighter in tone. The songs of seamen and soldiers. It was what people came to the Captain’s Cat for. An escape from the finery of noble life, if only a surface level one.

With a sigh, Galier turned back to the bar where he was confronted with his empty cup again. He was tempted to fill it again and lose himself in the wine. It would be a welcome respite. He nearly gave in, it would be so easy to let the night slip away as he sometimes did but…

Something down the bar caught his eye. A face turned away just as he looked but as he returned to staring dully at his cup, he caught that face turning back to look at him again. Could it be that lord Kalagor had sent a spy to keep Galier in line? It didn’t seem likely, but the alternative was worse. What if the spy had been sent by someone else? Someone who knew what Galier was up to. Clearly their little organization was not as secure as it could be, Martim’s fate was proof of that, but could they be on Galier’s trail already?

Galier frowned into his empty cup. Whichever it was, it would be better to confront them now. He was surprised it was his first reaction. He was one for subtlety and scheming, not confrontation. Maybe it was the entire bottle of wine he had downed in concert with a mostly empty belly or maybe he was simply growing bolder, but either way when stood up from his stool, he found himself surprisingly stable in his resolve. He handed his cup back to the bartender then, turning quickly in hopes to surprise the spy, he marched down to the other end of the bar.

He hadn’t gotten a good look at the spy so when he found the barstool occupied by an old blood lady, resplendent in gems and silks, he was surprised to say the least. In the back of his mind he had thought it might be Unferth, the pirate in lord Kalagor’s employ, or maybe a common street tough. He had not expected to find the lady Adelphine, a noblewoman with her own fair share of influence in Maerin and a woman whom Galier had a little unfinished business with.

She turned to regard him, a picture of poise, with an eyebrow raised in question and a neutral expression on her deftly painted lips.

“I was wondering how long you’d ignore me.” She said accusingly, as if she hadn’t been the one watching him the whole evening. Galier couldn’t really blame her though. He had left things rather unclear between them.

“My lady, please accept my apologies, I hadn’t realized it was you.”

Her expression told Galier that she was not convinced. So be it. He hardly had the time to deal with the small time politicking people like Adelphine brought with them. If she was intent on resenting him, it was none of his concern. With any luck, she would leave him be. The fact was that he had much more to be concerned with. The paperwork that awaited him upstairs was only the beginning of it.

Adelphine turned back to the bar and her drink and Galier tried to come up with a way to excuse himself politely but she wasn’t quite done with him.

“I’m not here to admonish you, lord Derran,” She said, deliberately keeping her back to him. “I understand that you have a lot of new responsibilities now and little time to associate with people below your station…”

She turned to look back at him, her face plainly schooled to appear serene. Galier was not falling for it. There was something she was hiding, why else would she be watching him? And in his own inn no less. She had come to seek him out. He was sure of it.

Adelphine took a breath and forced a polite smile onto her face, dimpling rosy cheeks. Was she blushing? Or was it just makeup? Galier had not noticed it before. He craned his neck over his shoulder to look back at the common room. Something about that expression made him uncomfortable, it did not fit well on her face.

The red-haired performer was still playing her lute and singing but it was barely audible over the din of patrons. She had given in to their demands. When a snatch of song could be heard over the crowd, it was always common music. Soldier’s songs and the like. Things that reminded Galier of his childhood. Of carrying a spear himself in house Derran’s army. They were not fond memories.

“I heard that you took oaths from Broderic Teloway.” Adelphine said, trying to draw his attention back.

That's when it hit him, the singer with her orange hair and familiar complexion. She reminded him of Rianne, and vividly too. That put a sour taste in his mouth. He hadn’t thought much about Rianne Teloway in some time and preferred to keep it that way. Things between their houses were not exactly amiable, except…

What Adelphine said had some truth to it. Lord Broderic had not sworn fealty to Galier but he did owe house Derran a debt. A grin crept across Galier lips. She didn’t know it but Adelphine had just given him the solution to one of his problems. House Teloway was well entrenched with the old blood of Maerin and their merchant ships would be able to voyage uncontested through even the most tightly held harbors. Even sailing north towards Derranhall. In fact, lord Broderic’s own home city and port of Blistimere was a frequently used waystation on the way to Derranhall. Under the flag of house Teloway, Galier’s messenger would likely even beat Jormand to Derranhall. That still left him with the managerial issues of house Derran and in dire need of funds but at least he could report successes back to lord Kalagor and lady Ealhold.

Adelphine seemed to think Galier’s smile was directed at her and, looking relieved, continued on without waiting for any response from him.

“I came here to offer you my oaths too.” She said, then quickly looked about to see if anyone had overheard. No one had. Most of the patrons were far too intoxicated to care and those who weren’t would not be listening.

Still, Galier could not blame her. What she was suggesting was unthinkable! An old blood lady swearing fealty to a new blood lord? It was scandalous! Unheard of, except in a few cases where allegiances were passed from one house to another in trade deals or through succession. Never had Galier heard of an old blood house offering to swear to one of the new blood.

He could feel his eyes going wide but could do nothing to stop it as he tried to gather his thoughts. Adelphine was putting both of them in an awkward position but she seemed sincere. She was looking at him expectantly, big, dark eyes not letting him look away. The fact was that Galier needed allies, badly, and someone with the upbringing Adelphine had could help immensely in a myriad of political situations.

“I… well…” He stammered, all sorts of thoughts rushing through his head, leaving his flailing tongue behind in their path. Breaking with tradition right now could be dangerous, especially with his association with actual conspirators against the Monarch. But a tie to the old blood could also keep the Monarch off of his trail. But what would happen if Adelphine found out about his plans?

Looking at her, his mouth hanging ajar, Galier knew he had to make a decision quickly, he did not have time to dawdle. He would work out the kinks later.

Strangely he felt rather confident when he nodded and said. “Very well, I accept.” In a voice that did not feel like his for all the authority invested in it.

She nodded and stood up, her head hardly reaching his shoulder. She still managed the presence a lady cultivated anyway. Her power came from intelligence and cunning, not physical strength. From her belt she pulled out a short knife and Galier flinched back, fearing she might attack him for his arrogance in accepting her oaths but then he remembered as she offered the knife to him, handle first. Old blood customs were strange, but he had made his choice. Now was time for the follow-through.

He took the knife in a hand he was proud to see did not quiver in the slightest. He pushed up the sleeve on his right arm and, still maintaining his composure somehow, he pressed the blade against the pale skin of his arm.

The knife was made of quality iron and the blade honed to a perfect edge. His soft skin put up little resistance. He drew it across his arm, leaving a diagonal line of red in the wake of the blade. He gritted his teeth at the cold, sharp pain but did not let it show outwardly. It burned. It burned in the way the bitter cold of winter could burn. The kind of feeling his body could not comprehend entirely.

Adelphine took back the knife, wiped the excess blood away on a handkerchief, and set it back in its sheath then primly folded the bit of stained cloth before putting it away in some hidden pocket on her bodice. Then, as unfazed as could be, she took his arm in a gentle grip and raised it to her lips.

The feeling of soft skin against his open wound sent an uncomfortable shiver up Galier’s arm. The sparse, thin hairs stood on end and he had to consciously keep himself from grimacing. Old blood rituals were often grisly affairs, this was hardly anything by their standard. And, as uncomfortable as it made him to admit it, the bonds those rituals sealed were far stronger than any casual words or spoken contract. It was difficult to reconcile.

The wound on Galier’s arm was still bleeding steadily when Adelphine lowered it again, slowly, reverently. It was hard to see the blood against her painted lips, the colors matched too closely. If not for the smear on her chin, he would not have known it was there at all. As it was, the sight made Galier’s stomach clench.

Adelphine produced her handkerchief again and used it to wipe her chin then hid it away once more, leaving the film of blood on her lips. It was custom to her, he reminded himself, nothing out of the ordinary. She had probably gone through enough handkerchiefs that way to clothe a city. Her nonchalance made Galier’s revulsion only deepen.

The bartender, who had been watching the proceedings was no small amount of interest, scurried around the bar to fasten a napkin onto Galier’s arm. Scarlet, perhaps by chance, but it hid the blood well enough as it wet the fabric. Galier thanked him but the man did not seem interested in standing between him and Adelphine and hurried back to his task behind the bar, looking fearfully over his shoulder as he did.

“The blade was clean,” Adelphine said, apparently picking up on Galier’s discomfort. “It should heal quickly.” She smiled in what Galier supposed was meant to be a comforting way but… there was blood on her teeth. It only made him more queasy.

She could be the solution to your troubles. He told himself firmly and summoned a look of noble self-possession he had worked hard to master. He would need loyal vassals of his own in the coming days, weeks, and beyond. Adelphine would only be the first. When the news began to spread, others would come crawling to him. Adelphine commanded respect in the circles she ran in. She had even stood above Galier himself in the past. Others would follow her example. Galier told himself this and refused to disbelieve it. There was no alternative.

***

Later that night, with the cloud of wine clearing from his mind, Galier sat at his desk once again. The wood of the desk was finally visible now. Not a single letter or contract marred the surface. He smiled and it widened as he saw his smile reflected back in the polished wood. He had begun the night with a pile of tasks so high he could hardly conceive of getting through it. Now he had so few remaining that he could scarcely believe his luck.

It had all been a matter of delegating in the end, a skill he had developed while managing the Captain’s Cat, along with his few other business ventures. Of course he had kept some few things to himself. Letters and documents hidden away in locked drawers, contracts that did not involve writing at all, but the vast majority of his administrative duties had been taken over by another.

The lady Adelphine had been low on the list of people Galier expected to support him. They hardly had any connection and the divide between the old blood and the new was a widening gulf but the oath she made was unbreakable as far as custom was concerned and her administrative skills were far superior to his. She would be moving her residence to Derran Manor in the morning and with that one move, the vast majority of Galier’s worries were assuaged. Of course he would have her watched, but there really was not much risk. She would handle nothing incriminating, only the finances and administration of Derran manor.

He had sent a message to lord Broderic as well, although the man would probably not read it until the morning. He would not dare refuse, not that Galier’s request was particularly difficult for him to grant. No doubt house Teloway had a merchant ship slated to sail back to Blistimere soon. Broderic would only need to alter his schedule by a few days, weeks at most, but importantly it was the beginning of an established alliance between their houses. And with the rumors that Adelphine had heard, that relationship would weigh heavily in Galier’s favor.

Galier sighed a deep, contented sigh and leaned back in his cushioned chair. This was the part of politics he enjoyed. Leaving the day to day tedium to others while he hatched greater plans. With any luck, he would deliver Derran manor to Ketrim—or whoever else was chosen to lead the house—with new holdings and assets to boot. If he managed, he would probably land himself a comfortable position among the seat’s advisors. Yes, that would be a fitting place to settle, though perhaps not for too long. Galier had higher ambitions. House Teloway’s trade network was starting to look intriguing. With their extensive reach and imperial connections…

Except there wouldn’t be imperial connections soon, not if lord Kalagor, lady Ealhold, and Galier himself had their way. That thought brought him crashing back down from his dream of the future to the reality of his little office room. Those few responsibilities he still personally had were the most important of all because, unless he executed them with the highest degree of discretion, he would likely be killed and his assets seized in the name of the Monarch.

Galier shivered, suddenly feeling cold. He did not think about the conspiracy he was a part of if he could help it, still it seemed to leech into his thoughts and plans. The fact was, nothing else he did really mattered at all. If the plan failed, he would be dead, imprisoned, or worse, and if it didn’t… Well if it succeeded, he would hardly be an unimportant part of noble society.

The thought was frightening in the extreme. The Phoenoan empire was not something to be toppled by a small group of conspirators. It did not seem possible, not even to Galier and he was trying to do just that. The empire had stood for centuries in some form or another. But, well they weren’t really trying to topple the empire. Maerin and the new holdings in general were not so well defended as the homeland and the empress certainly did not seem to care too much about them. Their only real opponent was the Monarch. Lord Izidor of Maerin.

He was a significant force to be reckoned with, certainly, but lord Kalagor seemed to think that with the proper amount of planning, it was not beyond the realm of possibility. The magnitude of it was hard for Galier to wrap his head around. The Phoenoan new holdings extended the length of the Phoenaxian sea and northward around the Ultrasian sea with vassal states. They were talking about overthrowing half of the world.

It was too much for Galier to think about, especially as exhausted as he was. He found his thoughts drifting. Growing up in Derranhall, he had not really known he was a subject of the empire. The northern vassal states were much more loosely governed than Maerin and Thaisia. It was not until he had begun going on diplomatic missions for Martim that he realized the extent of imperial influence. South of the border, nearly every town had an imperial garrison. Entire contingents of old blood soldiers shipped over from the homeland to keep the Monarch’s peace. Even deep into the near north, those garrisons and embassies persisted. Rooting them out would border on impossibility, even without a threat from across the sea to account for.

But that was not Galier’s place in the plan. They had a force of their own gathering near Derranhall. It was his job to make sure they were mobile and ready to deploy when the time came. They would be relying on northern landsmen, warriors with as little connection to the empire as possible, for what they planned. Still, Galier worried it wouldn’t be enough. The north did not produce many people at all and far too many of them were needed at home. Craftsmen, artisans, people who did not know how to fight. Even with every landsman the north had to offer, could they stand a chance against the imperial military without help from within?

Not for the first time, Galier wondered if Jormand knew about the plan. He had seemed surprised about their flight from Maerin and Galier knew well that his friend was not an adept liar, but… Would Martim have hidden something so dangerous from his own son?

He decided it did not really matter. If Jormand knew then he was playing a part somewhere else. It did not change what Galier himself had to do. He only hoped that whatever part Jormand had to play was safer than his own.