[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 16]

Renner lifted her fork to her mouth and bit. Dinner would be in a few hours, but the coffee she had over-drunk earlier had robbed her of her appetite. She realized now that breakfast had slipped her by, and that she had consumed nothing for the day. Her hunger hit her in force when she realized this, and so she had requested a small preparation from a tertiary kitchen chef, the first and second of such preparing the banquet for tonight. He made her a small preparation of eel cutlets laid upon polenta, which she ate with no small amount of thankfulness to him.

There’s a discontinuity in this; a gap between bloods. Eel is common enough among the peasantry, but they are wont to serve it over breads or cereals. Fruit of maze however, that is altogether different. How far away was this imported from? Rhetorically, Abellion, but the question poses more meaning. How many hands did this ground meal pass through? I doubt if any outside of Valencia and the upper quarters of the city have heard of this, much less eaten it.

She sliced a portion of her eel again, and manipulated her utensils to pile both textures atop the other. Bringing this into her mouth, she began to think of subtler details.

There are subtler gaps too. This is glazed, probably with river cane from the east. How many of the peasantry will ever taste something like this? They’ll probably draw sweetness from fruits, but there is still a fundamental difference. The breach grows when you consider the spices used, or any of the other flavors. The manner of preparation manyfold so, how many paupers have an onstaff chef?

Renner laughed to herself, the brevity of the moment being a well desired respite. Climb looked up from his activity, some book that Yelta had recommended for his sake; a treatise of sword and sorcery that was perfect for a boy his age. She did not look at him, instead feeling his gaze on her.

He is a dog, no? He must be. That endearing confusion, cock of the head when his mistress does something that he doesn’t understand; can’t understand. That assured sense that even if it makes no sense to him, it's something that’s important to me, and that's all he needs to be happy in the moment. It warms me.

A knock against the door to her sitting room snapped her from the moment. Climb set down his book and rose from his chair, sidestepping to be by his mistress’s flank. Maid Nunia twitched slightly, standing in the corner with the eventual intent to bus Renner’s plate.

I had no plans for visitors, and Elias already made his rounds for today, though there may be a late arriving letter of some importance. Unexpected.

“Enter!”

The door opened to reveal a man in his mid fifties. He had managed to retain his hairline, Renner recognizing him from the reception.

“Lord Keveleos! How wonderful it is to see you.”

“You in twain Princess. I pray you forgive my unannounced visit.”

“There’s nothing to forgive Count, quite the opposite!”

Count Keveleos was a member of the Royal Faction, but more specifically, one of Renner’s few supporters. He, as well as two Barons, Haylor and Saluse, constituted the only members of the Royal Faction who would advocate for her proposals with zeal, the rest tending to simply avoid the subjects raised by her altogether. Alec Resenen Pell Keveleos was the only of these three who backed his support with actual capital, having contributed four platinum standards to her campaign on the matter of slavery.

In the current political system, that act was risky at best, unlikely to produce true progress. He must have some reason, however enigmatic. There is a none-too-implausible chance he is a true idealist. Still, how many of those can be said to exist?

Renner knew the sensibility of what she suggested, but highbloods were often disconnected from sense, and it was thus a rare thing that any saw value in what she had to say. She could not help but be suspicious of people like Keveleos.

“That makes me glad, Your Highness. Still, there are other things I must apologize for. Missing your birthday was not something I had intended to do.”

“Eh? Your flowers were so nice though. I quite appreciated the seeds!”

“Well, that makes me very happy.”

“Yes, I passed them off to the gardener, so they should be ready by next season. You can come and see them then!”

“I would love to, Your Highness.”

His eyes flicked to the table for a moment, spotting the book that had been left, then jumped his gaze to Climb - who for his part was looking straight ahead.

“Your Highness, your bodyguard… Climb, right?”

“Yes!”

“Would you mind if I spoke with him for a moment.”

Oh? This is a strange line of questioning. I did gush to him for some time about Climb, but to think he would remember his name?

“Not at all.”

“Climb, I see you're reading ‘Tales of the Frostborne Knight’.”

Climb looked at Keveleos, and then to his mistress. She gave him an affirming nod.

“Er- Yes, Lord Keveleos.”

“What do you think?”

“I’m enjoying it, Lord Keveleos.”

“What do you think of Lancette? Also, no need to be so formal. You can simply call me Alec.”

Eh?! What is he getting from this? I don’t understand why he’s being so conversational with Climb. Am I missing something?

“Yes, Lor- Alec. I think Lancette is… very brave. When he faced down the . Have you read it before?”

“As a boy. I remember it quite fondly. I have always found Lancette interesting. To be so dedicated in defending his master’s name after he’s slandered, disgraced, and killed by the Black Hand. It's a special kind of loyalty, no?”

“Yes it is! The part where he finally tracks down and defeats Underboss Nortoga was amazing.”

“Mm. Such is the point of fictions like that.”

That’s what that book is about? Revenge for the sake of a master? No wonder Climb took to it so fast. Ah, that’s cute of him. Yes, most certainly a dog.

Renner’s smile became a little wider at this, Keveleos turning back to her.

“Have you read it, Your Highness?”

“I must confess not…”

Is it some significant work? I thought it was just a boyish thing, nothing akin to what I would have wanted to read.

“Mm. Yes, I suppose that figures. Say, Your Highness?”

“Yes Lord?”

“Speaking of heroic warriors, do you still keep in contact with Lady Aindra?”

Where is this coming from?

“Yes I do, we met- oh- two weeks ago? We went and saw ‘The Rye and the Wabe.’”

“Ah, that new play from Baron Unuloupe?”

“Is that who wrote it? It was quite good!”

I feel like the barrier between my face and I runs thin here. I didn’t know the author of that was a highblood, I didn’t know of Climb’s book either, and I can’t pin a motive on Keveleos’s coming. My eyes are sealed with pitch at this moment. Troubling.

“Yes. Would you know if they’re taking work?”

What sort of question is that!? Of course they are. Is he a kind hearted dullard? I suppose it would make sense.

“I imagine they must be…”

“Mm, yes.”

“Do you need work done? You could always go to the guild, they-”

“Nothing like that, Your Highness. I was just interested in speaking with her. She is one of the fine women of the Kingdom, no?”

He cut me off too quickly. This is getting complicated. Ah, what do I do?

“Oh, yes I completely concur! I can mention something in my next correspondence to them.”

“I would appreciate that deeply. Thank you, Your Highness.”

I’ll give him an out here, see if he bites.

“Would you like to have some tea, Lord? I have some stuff in from Abellion, it's quite good!”

“I’m afraid I must refuse-”

“Eh? A shame.”

“I do have to prepare for tonight after all. Perhaps we can talk more at dinner?”

“I would love to!”

Although I suspect on none-too-important issues. Why ask me about the Blue Roses? Does he feel such fealty to King and Country? I should stop myself. Any line of thought in that direction can produce reasonable excuses for any action, no matter how strange, and produces no actions of merit.

“Well, I do apologize for the short visit.”

“This is the third time you’ve done so today for uncommitted wrongs.”

“Yes, Your Highness, I must digress. I bid you well.”

“You in twain. Climb, get the door for our guest.”

He needs to get in contact with a high ranked force, meaning he needs work that they would take. The Blue Roses are known to be the cleanest of such groups; Red Drop would be easier to draw into labor, which means he sees his request as bright, or at least bright enough. Why use me as a conduit however? What relevance could the Golden Princess have here?

Keveleos stood, and he and Climb walked to the door to the hall.

“Speak with you tonight, Your Highness.”

“I’ll be waiting baited.”

He needs to dodge the Guild. Perhaps he possesses enemies there? Direct contact is also an impossibility, which only makes sense if… if he’s being spied upon. Is there some sword over his head? Some sulfurous or sepulcher specter standing shadow in subsequence? In that case there would be no need to hide, simply run to the protection of the above-board. No, this must be a threat native to the Kingdom.

The door to the corridor closed, and the room fell back into silence. Renner looked to Climb, and saw a smile stuck on his face.

He appealed to Climb… which means he appealed to me. Ah, I understand. He was trying to ingratiate himself, so he talked to Climb as if they were at least somewhat equal, assuming I would warm. Lo, it worked. He’s clever, or perhaps rumors of my true feelings of Climb have spread far enough to touch his ears. I got outmaneuvered. Or rather, my persona did. So I can pin down a stonesure cause for half of this conversation, but what of the other?

Is this an Eight Fingers matter? His actions would imply as such. No, even that doesn’t make sense. He avoided the Guild on the grounds of paranoia, yet did not bother to have Nunia dismissed? The palace maids are by no means secure, and a channel through me does not have a greater chance of remaining undiscovered. But then why ask me for contact with the Blue Roses? Confusing. Unless talking to me was the object of his coming, and not any hidden desire to seek the aid of swords for hire. But why would his objective be to speak to me?

Renner swallowed, her whole body fidgeting slightly. Climb had already sat down, and began to return to his book. Without thinking, she reached and folded Climb’s hand into hers.

“Is something the matter, Your Highness?”

Was this a threat? Was I discovered as the coordinator for Lakyus’s effort?

“Hm? Ah, no sorry I was just… thinking about what you and the Count were conversing about. A Knight who defends his master, eh?”

Renner giggled, hoping her explanation gave her a believable cover for her slip up.

It would make sense. If I was nothing but the Princess as the diaspora of nobility see it, then such words as he said would levy no suspicion. If I am as he presumably suspects, I would be intimidated by his coming. An immediate, physical sense of danger against me. If that was his act, he veiled it perfectly. He’s saying that I am at threat if I continue my actions against Eight Fingers. Ah, my mind is too scattered to make true deductions, I need to reorganize my thoughts. Begin again from a more fundamental position.

What do I truly know of Keveleos? He’s a Count, although he’s the first in his line to achieve that rank. Royal Faction, and he at least pockets deep enough to throw money at me. His wife’s name is Yillerya, she was a daughter from the Delya line, no? Minor barons in the north.

Renner’s eyes drifted, catching Climb’s reddened face, before switching to the present maid.

Wait, Maid Nunia’s last name is Delya. Oh my Gods, Nunia and Keveleos are in-laws! How did I not notice this before? That changes the entire character of this conversation. She’s what, the fourth daughter of her family? The specifics there don’t matter - she was low enough to be sent off as a maid. She’s likely just an extension of him. That means she won’t be spreading any news of this coming, which means he could communicate with me without fear of word spreading.

I can strike every assumption I made on the basis of this conversation being bare to discovery. I may truly be a secure channel for him to contact the Blue Roses. Ironically, his trickery here clears his name of any ill intention against me. He was genuinely seeking aid through me. It does not wipe the stain of Eight Fingers from him however. Perhaps he was a noble forced to the surface through our actions. Avoiding not only the Guild, but also direct contact means he’s high enough in the organization (or at least cognizant or paranoid enough of its capabilities) to know those actions could be tracked. So he decided to use me. How cautious. This is beginning to compute.

I wonder what explanation could be levied for his support of my actions against slavery. If he’s an Eight Fingers man - which seems increasingly likely - why openly fight against it? Simply say you are against the matter and do no further as you continue to receive payment. Strange; his coming raises ever more questions.

—

This is bad. This is really bad.

Evileye cracked her knuckles, a nervous habit that despite herself had stayed with her throughout the course of her entire existence. Her eyes flicked back and forth through the transcript she was reading. It was written in mechanical type, and was the product of a device made from the joint laborer of her and one of her former confidants. It was a fiendishly complex mecha-arcanic device, which she had dubbed a “recorder”, and from which she was now analyzing its output. It was installed on the third floor of the keep, the machine being nearly her height and taking an equal amount of floorspace, could spy upon and transcribe any conversation made within the sensornet she had constructed.

The room was filled to the brim with similar machinery: a dozen clocks and chronometers of various makes hung on the wall; several wands and staffs focuses set on horizontal racks; arcanic-dynamos, including pumps and cycling devices within a cabinet; bevies of crystals set in a glass case, elemental manifestations of various types and colors; a large matrix of wooden cubbies no more than a finger length in either direction overstuffed with scrolls; row after row of bookshelves stacked high with tomes, arcane treatises, and the occasional orb or focus; a number of strange weirding and scrying devices set on tripods huddled in one corner. The space was highly claustrophobic, the smooth stone of its walls almost completely obscured by Evileye’s collection. The entirety of the Blue Roses were crammed into the room it had been built into - which for the amount of time she spent there, was hers - she doing her best to get a useful yield the contraption. The conversation of interest for them was the one they had had with Fenthrop four hours prior.

How odd, this is the first time in the last hundred years I’ve felt so anxious. Why? I suppose this is the first time the Kingdom has been in such genuine internal danger, but why would that matter to me?

The transcript was filled with ruinous things. Descriptions of hazards to the Kingdom, conspiracies among conspiracies, violence in the deep places of the world of man. Normally, none of this would have mattered to Evileye. Although human affairs were her business, she was a dispassionate laborer, feeling little affinity to any matter that so engrossed her compatriots. Her heroism was purely mercenary, her only desire to do so to satisfy some shadow of avarice in her soul, as well as provide a more moral fulfillment of her thirst.

I suppose I’ve grown a liking to Lakyus, feels like I once again possess a rag-tag group of associates. They don’t compare to Kalinya, or to Juncilia; both of them were true friends. That said, the Blue Rose are certainly the best of the current crop. I suppose I can add Charledon to the list; she does seem like the sharpest of her family, certainly the apex of such in the last few generations.

“Do you think he’s holding anything back?”

“I doubt it.”

Still, there is something off about her I can’t place my finger on. Can’t help but wonder if she’ll snap one day and thin herself or the rest of the palace. She would be a good candidate for that sort of madness. Having such buffoons for siblings when she possesses practically precognizent intellect has to twist a person a little, no?

“Can’t you make sure for us? Don’t you know any soothic or scrying magics?”

“Tina is right, why else do we keep a runt like you around?”

Evileye sighed. Gagaran’s jab held little weight, but she was none-the-less annoyed at it.

“Gagaran, I’ve been picking apart what people say for the truth of their words for longer than this Kingdom has existed. When I say ‘I doubt it,’ I truly mean that. Grant me at least a twip of credit in your mind.”

“Ay ay, I apologize your worshipfulness.’”

“Gods above would you all please focus? This isn’t the time to squabble.”

Thank you Lakyus. Wait, why is this unreadable? Agh! By the edicts of Brog'drukil, the weirding tuner fell out of alignment for the whole latter half of this parchment. That’s going to be a strip job on the machine to fix. Rotten luck.

“Fine.”

“Yes, Fiendish Leader-”

“Evil Boss.”

“Tia, Tina, stop calling me that!”

She’s stressed. No, all of us are. I can’t blame her. Still, strange to see her express it.

Renner’s supposition that the continual application of pressure on the organization would force people to the surface had been correct, Fenthrop having been a major catch. The last two days of interrogation had revealed horrid things, and the worst-case estimates she had given them size and power of the organization had been shot straight through. If the Count was to be believed, then nearly one in two hundred citizens of the Kingdom were associated with Eight Fingers - one in one hundred fifty in cities. The last two months of action had produced just over three-hundred captured or killed - itself a stunning figure for the combined actions of just five people - but this was only a fraction of the broader organization. The sum total of personnel they had reaped in raids on dens, sieges on apartments, or in street-brawls were likely already replaced. They were starting to feel ground down, losing will to continue their campaign a span at a time. Evileye watched Gagaran turn to Lakyus.

“What do we do next?”

“I think we need to start hitting production, not people. They can just replace anyone we kill, but what we destroy is different.”

“Why not hunt for the leadership?”

“That takes time Tina, and I doubt we’ll be able to get more than one at a time. Besides, I’m getting the feeling they can be replaced with ease. Even destroying a Laira crop is more worth our time than hunting capos.”

“You really think so?”

Lakyus is right. There are nine million in this nation who they can draw upon to repair their ranks. I’m loath to use such an expression, but we really haven’t done more than scratch at them.

“Yes. Any capital we destroy will be thrice as hard for them to make up. Speaking of which, our next target should be that Black Dust distillery near Re-Blumrusher. We could knock out distribution for the whole city.”

“We’ll need to be careful when we do. I don’t want to imagine what sort of smoke it would produce if we raze it.”

Smokes plural. That manufacture-process document we seized a fortnight ago, the recipe that described- no, more like a concoction, or poison. Using numen-cinnabar in something meant to be consumed by the living, are they insane? No wonder that drug kills so many.

“Oy, Boss?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think he’s correct about an interorganizational war?”

Fenthrop had given the group a ray of hope when he spoke of a growing factionalism within Eight Fingers. The idea that the organization could soon fall apart into two opposed halves had seemed extremely intoxicating, and to the cynical attitudes of top-ranked adventurers, optimistic beyond reason.

“It's wishful thinking at best, but we shouldn’t let that stop us from considering the consequences.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m saying that if Eight Fingers really does split along the ‘reformist’ versus ‘traditionalist’ line, then we should be prepared for it, no matter how unlikely.”

Evileye stayed silent, considering what Lakyus said.

Rigit was right about her. She does have the qualities of a true leader. I would have dismissed that out-of-hand as too hopeful of an assumption. She is not burned as I am, still sensitive to the ways of the world. For her sake, I hope she stays that way.

“True. What do you think we should do if that happens?”

“A war like that would be brutal; likely would spill into the sight of the nobility. It might actually be possible to compel action from them. Both sides would probably hire mercenaries, so there would be enough of a trail of money for our ace in Valencia to pin down specific locations of division heads. If the fighting gets bad, it's possible higher ranking members could get forced out of hiding. This would probably be for only short periods, so we would need to be ready to act. Find what cities the fighting is the thickest in and see what we can’t catch fleeing. That’s of course only if that comes to pass. This might slip from our grasp entirely.”

That’s an oddly cunning idea from Lakyus, Renner must be rubbing off on her.

“I don’t know about that.”

Odd. Gagaran typically isn’t the type to raise objections. Wonder what flaws she sees.

“What do you mean?”

“It makes me nervous.”

“You? Nervous? That’s a first.”

“Are we sure we want an Eight Fingers war to happen?”

Gagaran afraid of violence? That is a first.

“Why would we not? It’ll do more damage to them than we could ever do.”

“I mean like, uh, like… Okay look, people are gonna get desperate during a war right?”

“Yes?”

“Wouldn’t that spill over into other things? Like, okay, uh, an example. We think that this is going to cost them a lot of money right? Both sides.”

“It will, they’ll need to hire additional swords.”

“What happens when they run out?”

“Of what?”

“Money. Won’t they start to shake-down more people?”

“That doesn’t seem unlikely, but that feels fairly minor in comparison to everything else that would happen.”

“I guess, but like, there would be a lot more that they do too, right? It's ‘representative’ of the sort of stuff they would do.”

“No, I think I understand what you mean.”

Silence returned to the keep, everyone pondering Gagaran’s hesitation. It was a rare occurrence for her to be the voice of moderation, and it gave them pause. Tia found her response first.

“I think Gagaran is right. A schism like that would be devastating to the Kingdom. A lot of violence would spill over into the public space.”

“Tia, you can’t…”

Tia and Tina broke into a flurry of hand signals, a speechless language that - out of respect for the privacy of the twins - no one else had bothered to learn.

“Gagaran.”

“Yes boss?”

“You think we should avoid triggering a war- no, preventing one from occurring within Eight Fingers, correct?”

“Yes, I do.”

“How would we do that?”

“Well…”

“This isn’t in our control. We are choosing to fight Eight Fingers, but we cannot pick the responses they choose to take against us - or against themselves. Our only tool here is violence, and we don't know who would or would not inspire conflict within that cabal. Tia, Tina, all of you. When we started down this path two months ago, we ensured that we could not turn back. We can’t stop until Eight Fingers is wiped away entirely from this nation.”

“No offense boss, but Renner seems to think we can just damage them.”

“She’s being conservative. We haven’t had the chance to speak with her yet about Fenthrop; in truth, we didn’t know how effective our persecution would be. It doesn’t feel like much, but we’ve clearly shaken them to the core. The fact that heads are falling over to assassinate each other is proof of that. You all seem to see what the Count has told us as demoralizing, I feel the opposite. The fact is that this is a victory; we are winning this fight. We are in a position where we can seek the complete destruction of Eight Fingers, or at least the total decapitation of their leadership; at this point, those things are equivalent. I want you to understand we’re in this to the end, I will not back down now, and neither will you. We’re going to fuck them up.”

Moving words.

“Ah. I can get behind that!”

“Agreed Evil Boss-”

“Fiendish Leader.”

A short burst of clicks and pops filled the space as the recorder spurted to life, the machine soon falling into its mechanical rhythms of operation. Tia gave a confused look.

“I thought you set it to not record in here?”

“I did.”

Within the few seconds, parchment began spilling out of the device, Evileye catching some as it fell.

“My elbows are fucking killing me.” What is this? This reads like small-talk. “We must have crawled for miles yesterday.”

“Ah, it looks like those rogues in pursuit of Fenthrop are still out there.”

“How can you tell? I didn’t hear any bells.”

“Because they’re talking.”

“No shit? What are they saying?”

“Nothing important. To think those bastards have been out for two days now in silence...”

The group looked around awkwardly at each other. Being struck with the dedication of their enemy deflated the whole mass slightly. Lakyus broke it first, doing her best to keep the mood up.

“Evileye, you were working on a way to communicate with Her Highness.”

Ah yes, that.

“It was just a matter of scoping Valencia’s counterdivination defense. One moment.”

Not like it was that hard. The wards themselves were only cast at tier two, but the droges went up to four. It would be a different story if we were talking about the Imperial Palace, but the Kingdom hasn’t had a gifted caster in its service for the last two-hundred years. Although, there are rumors of that talent holder in E-Rantel. I’ll need to snatch him up before anyone else does. Apprentices are so hard to manage though.

Evileye ruffled through a drawer. She spent enough time in this room that it had become her study for all practicality, and it was filled with manuscripts and treatises on magic, the space filled with a menagerie of trinkets, whatsits, and doodads. Of these, she had a collection of scrolls she had accumulated over her two centuries of study, and she withdrew three.

“Do you have anything you want to say to her?”

“Tell her about Fenthrop. Can you get the transcript to her over that distance?”

“It's written on mana-parchment, so no chance of it surviving unless it was in a shielded box, and I can’t move one of those that far.”

“Shame, well let her know the basic outlines.”

“Sure. Extend Magic - Counter Detect; Extend Magic - False Cover; Extend and Penetrate Magic - Message.”

Evileye magics were powerful, but Renner was over a dozen leagues distant, and for her tugs on worldthread to make it that far, tear through a defensive wall, and remain undetected was slightly beyond her. Square-Cube Law dictated that doubling the distance of a cast through metamagic required fourfold the mana, and while she could probably eke out all the extends necessary, the penetrate magical prefix pushed it out of her range for painless execution - exceeding that limit of hers by about forty angdynes. She made up the gap with scrolls, and as she threw each up and ignited them one at a time, she thickened the air with the ephemeral, drawing streaks of light and blue flame into a ring near three handspans in diameter. With it ready, she tapped the conflagration with her mind, pushing the system off its arcanadynamic equilibrium, ripping through space to connect the minds of her and the Princess.

—

“And it turns out his master’s other apprentice was actually working with underboss Nortoga.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

It sounds tropey. Thoughtless at best. Still, there is at least a little fun in thoughtlessness. Still, if he so took to it then maybe-

“Princess, don’t panic, its Evileye.”

Renner jumped slightly, startled by the sudden voice in her head. She guessed immediately that this was a message spell, but its coming was not expected, and she felt at best disoriented at the sensation of such communication.

“Keep calm. Just talk in your head, direct your inner vocalizations to me.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, exactly. Don’t worry, I can’t hear anything you may think.”

That’s good I suppose, still this feels odd.

“Your Highness? Is something wrong?”

“Eh? I…”

I can’t tell him, Nunia is still in the room. I and the Blue Roses forged code phrases in detail, but I haven’t done so with Climb yet. This is an oversight.

“Princess?”

Renner sighed internally. This was exactly the sort of wrong-footedness she had hoped to avoid by learning of magic. She had known Evileye was trying to devise a secure system of communication between the two that would avoid having to meet face-to-face, but she figured it would be an extension of the magic she had woven around the ledger, perhaps letters wrapped in a shadowy membrane. Such direct, immediate and - to Renner - violatory conversation was far beyond what she had anticipated.

“I just realized I forgot to get Vena a gift. I haven’t seen her in some time, and she probably won’t be at the palace for much longer. Shame.”

“I’m sure we can hit the districts tomorrow, Your Highness”

“If we have time.”

“Renner, this was mostly to test this method of communication. It seems like it works well.”

It’s uncomfortable; I dislike her boring into my head. I have only so previously feared for the privacy of my own thoughts from divine eyes, but now her too? She’s impenetrable. Alas I’m in no position to refuse this, nor should I for that matter.

“This does seem like the most convenient method possible. Still, aren’t there defenses around the palace for this sort of thing?”

“Valencia’s interception wards are slipshod. None go above the fourth tier. Oh, more importantly; an Eight Fingers puppet flipped, Fenthrop.”

“The Baron or the Count?”

“Oh, uh, the Count.”

“What has he said?”

“A lot, which we need to discuss in detail, but the important thing; Chardel- Princess- er, Your Highness, he thinks that Eight Fingers numbers forty thousand.”

Why is that a shock to them? I thought that was clear from the investigations we pulled from the ledger? No, they seem continually caught unbraced for the magnitude of our opponent.

“That's… troubling. Also, I need you to look into someone.”

“Who?”

“Lord Keveleos, the Count.”

“Why?”

“He came to me, and asked if I could put you in contact with him. I think he may be another turncoat.”

“Odd. Isn’t he… Royal Faction?”

“More so than the average rabble. He financially backed my push against slavery, gave quite a sum; which makes this even more confusing.”

“Huh. Oh, yeah about that. Fenthrop seems to think that the organization is falling in two.”

“Explain.”

“The head of the Banking Division was killed. Apparently they thought he was feeding us information. There's a lot more, but apparently Eight Fingers is splitting into ‘traditionalist’ and ‘reformist’ halves. I’m not sure on the details, and Fenthrop really didn’t know much. We can discuss it more in detail later. When would you be available to meet?”

“How hasty can you be in arriving?”

“We’re going to be conducting a raid.”

“That Black Dust refinery in E-Jundaskirk?”

“Yes. How did you- nevermind. We’ll be there after the talks end. How are they going?”

“Poorly. I have little hope for an effective response.”

“Against the Theocracy?”

“Hm? Against the Noble Faction, although our counter to Slane is less than desired. I can fill you in with details then.”

“Acceptable. I’m going to sever the connection, Your Highness. I bid you well.”

“You in twain.”

The thread drawn between Renner and Evileye snapped, its invisible form dissolving into the flux of the manatic expanse.

—

“Anything important?”

“Yeah, she wants us to investigate a Count.”

“That’s it?”

The annoyance in Lakyus’s voice was palpable. She struggled to get her teammates to communicate, and Evileye’s curtness here felt like just another expression of the overwhelming effort it was to truly lead an adamantite group.

“No, but- It was… odd talking to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She speaks fast over a message link, far faster than she does verbally. I don’t think she realizes it. In truth, I was struggling to keep up. Almost staccato.”

“All things considered, that's not that surprising.”

“Somehow she knew about the raid we’re doing.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“So she just deduced that we would be doing that, even though we haven’t spoken in two weeks?”

“Yes.”

“Good Gods.”