[41st Year of Foresai, Lower Fire Month, Day 4]

Gazef kept his eyes fixed on the King, the slow widening of his smile a slight to behold.

“And this Ampetif Doll?”

“A divisional head.”

“Ho? A ‘divisional head’? How much of the organization does that represent?”

Renner tilted her head and huffed, visibly annoyed by Ramposa’s words.

“Father, you needn’t be so cloying.”

He’s proud.

Gazef couldn’t help but crack a smile, something which earned a sharp gaze from the princess a moment later. She was witty, but seemed to be missing the function of Ramposa’s words. They were neither belittling nor demeaning; rather, they were simply a father’s attempt at getting his child to describe an accomplishment he could feel pride over.

“It’s not every day that a man’s daughter comes to him dragging behind her an arch-criminal.”

“Well, I’m sure Lord Aindra has gone through that many times.”

“Now, don’t you go speaking of Lord Aindra. He’s a poor omen. I don’t wish to wake up and find my daughter halfway across the Kingdom slaying monsters.”

His laugh filled the sitting space, his quarters feeling a little warmer for an instant.

“Father!”

“Forgive an old man for his jokes.”

“You’re not-”

Renner cut herself off with a pout.

“Old?”

“Wisened.”

“Clever wordsmith. In any case, where exactly does the Warrior-Captain fit in all this?”

“Doll’s capture has already alerted the syndicate. If we are to rid ourselves of them, it is necessary to deliver a final blow. The Blue Roses, House Raeven, and with response pending, the Churches and the Magicians’ Guild are to launch a series of attacks that will hopefully collapse those brigands once and for all. Eight Fingers has its team of exceptional fighters among it, and to that end- rather, to end their evil reign over the poverty-stricken masses, we need the Captain in reserve to interdict and waylay them.”

Ramposa lost his animation, going silent. His breathing stuttered, letting out the barest of huffs. Renner remained unflappable, giving him an unbreaking, steely look. In time, he broke his saddened stare, softening his eyes and speaking his next words.

“An opportunity for vengeance, then?”

“Not just for him, but for every citizen caught in the grip of Eight Fingers.”

Another huff, this one lighter than the last.

“I understand. Then, I can offer no response but an approval.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“However, I do not want him deployed from the palace until such time as required by the flow of battle.”

“As a matter of course. I planned on holding him in reserve until Six Arms is identified, and then dispatching him in force. May he be permitted to bear the Treasures of the Kingdom?”

“No, that’s an impossibility.”

“I understand.”

“Deploying him alongside the forces of an independent while geared in his panopoly is untenable. Apologies Gazef, you’ll have to make do without.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Gazef gave a stout bow, raising his head to find both Vaiselfs with sympathetic looks on their faces.

“Captain Stronoff, I’ll do everything in my power to avoid a repeat of the Black Night. Expect the aegis of a battlefield cleric, and I’ll see if I can’t perhaps bargain some finer equipment from Lady Aindra, or, perhaps, Miss Gagaran.”

“Understood, Your Highness.”

“Now, Father, if you do not mind, I will take my leave. Preparations for tonight are in order.”

“I do not.”

Renner curtsied, then pirouetted on the spot and made to leave the king’s quarters. Gazef did in tow, but was caught before he could.

“Gazef, stay.”

Gazef caught the back of Renner’s head tilt, though she said nothing as she walked away. With the door closed, Gazef turned back to the King to see his face far less jovial than it had just been.

“House Raeven?”

“He was there, along with the Second Prince. All three asked me together to render them aid.”

“Gazef, I-”

Ramposa’s words seized in his throat.

“Hm, nevermind. She has her friends, perhaps only they share my regrets.”

—

Lakyus walked into the church, eyes drifting past window after window. It was midday, caught in the long hours between morning and evening services, and the whole space was given unto open worship. Few were here, some supplicants in the pews lost in their prayers, others looking to seek healing. Only two were at the pulpits, a man and a boy - to her eye, a blacksmith’s apprentice - sounding out the words of the Igniteuch under the watchful eye of his master. Her entrance was soon noticed by the clergy, and a man dressed in bishop’s vestments at the chancel perked up as she approached down the center aisle. He set down the book he was reading, and with a short stride down the stars, met Lakyus at their base.

“Reverend Agdomin.”

“Lady Aindra-”

The bishop broke into a coughing fit, smothering his mouth with a fist a moment later.

“Apologies. Tell me, what’s the purpose of your visit?”

His greeting was highly informal, indicative of the way that those in the service of the churches tended to speak to each other. Lakyus raised an eyebrow.

“Forgetting how to address members of the ward, are we?”

“I don’t think you can be considered just any member of the ward. But, fine. ‘What may I do to aid you?’”

“Furnish me with twelve priests of the second tier by this evening.”

Agdomin’s face went through several expressions in the course of eleven seconds, he opening and closing his mouth twice before he was able to speak.

“To what end?”

“Ridding this city of its criminal and loathsome stripe, and in doing so, ridding the Kingdom.”

“You speak of a great act, don’t you?”

“Mm. A war.”

“With whom?”

“Eight Fingers.”

“Those demon worshippers?”

He, too, fell for that rumor?

“Their occultism has been greatly exaggerated… Most are barely more than petty criminals and merchants sans morality. I would know.”

“You’re experienced with them?”

“I have solely dedicated myself against them for the last three months.”

The bishop nodded, thinking for a time before speaking again.

“And for how long will you require Speakers of the Terrestrial Will?”

“The princess says one night, but things rarely go so clean. I’d hazard no more than a week.”

Agdomin cocked his head.

“She’s with you on this?”

“It was her who led me to this course in the first place.”

“I suppose of any member of House Vaiself, it would be her. Hm. All correct. I will discuss this with Brother Yilnac, but in the immediate, know that I approve.”

“Thank you, Reverend.”

“To take action against those who would so willingly fashion themselves after Divanack. I can think of no better way to end an evening. Say, if you are conducting such a large operation that you would require healers, then who is providing the soldiers?”

—

Raeven, along with six other riders, galloped into Ne village. Blowing past a woman and her son carrying buckets of water, they followed what roughly trodden path passed for a road. Winding their way up a small crest, they broke over the embankment to ride into the center of the settlement. Slowing his horse to a trot, he and his adventurers began to circle the central well in a large berth.

Never imagined I would need to do this personally. Things like this are why we have messages.

Raeven’s morning had happened totally out of order. Following the meeting with Renner - which itself had gone entirely against his expectations - he had immediately returned to his city manor, scrambling together a force to deploy in the evening. In addition to his standing unit of professionals, Raeven had also sought to recruit men-at-arms from houses other than his own - this, as a show of power to the princess. Though he couldn’t have known better at the time, canceling his meeting with Benra had been a mistake. That man - being an independent loyal to Raeven, uninvolved in Eight Fingers, and in the immediate proximity of the city - was one of the few who he could reasonably recruit to his cause. By the time Raeven was able to send word to his lodgings, the baron had already departed the capital, returning to his demesne in the east; concerns of time and further issues in communicating back and forth had led Raeven to engage the pursuit himself, he himself leading his adventurer team personally to catch the man.

Looking for the home of a Sir Hele, what would that even look like?

Intercepting him a mile down the road, Raeven had breathlessly explained the outline of events to come, promising repute and compensation for Benra’s participation. The Baron had agreed without contest, offering on the spot the service of both his knights and villeins who had served in previous Imperial Wars, with the qualifier that he would be unable to retrieve all of his men in time. Thus had Raeven agreed to fetch the most inconvenient of Benra’s gentry, and was now searching a hamlet for a man who would tonight fight in his service.

It wouldn't be too shabby, would it? It’s right on the edge of the city.

Raeven sagged; he so rarely had to deal with low landlords. His arrival in the village had already caused a commotion, children dashing toward his band only to be snatched up by any nearby adult. Most were in little but basic dress, but two - a man and a teenage boy - were both dressed in gambesons and holding practice swords. The man broke his slack-jawed expression and dropped to his knees, the boy next to him a moment later, followed after by all of the villagers gathered.

“M-my Lord! My deepest apologies, I am wholly unprepared; I had not heard word of your coming.”

Oh shit, that’s him?!

Raeven thanked the Gods for the convenient way in which he found the Knight, and after regaining his own composure, began to speak.

“None was coming. I need twenty men at the grounds of Ro-Lante by nightfall.”

“T-twenty?!”

“Thirty if you can spare, but I don’t want numbers for numbers sake. Only honest men, those who stay away from petty crime.”

To the subtle disappointment of Raeven, the man froze. His reputation as a weasel - for all the ways he could keep the politics steady - was none-to-rarely a hindrance. While he could deal easily with more mercenary type members of both factions, principled men had a habit of ignoring or loathing his words. After a time, the knight lowered his head and spoke.

“My Lord, forgive me for the greatest of disrespects.”

“Speak.”

“This village has only six-score adults. Twenty men of fighting age represents many of our laborers. If they are lost to night’s maw and are given unto He of the and Diamond, this village will be placed in great jeopardy. I will not dare commit them to a cause that will place them in danger if it is at odds with virtues of valor and honor.”

Raeven was at once insulted, impressed, deflated, and elated. The knight, far from being cowed, had spoken in genuine opposition to the wishes of a Marquis.

Good. Good! If he can speak to me like that on behalf of his villeins, he’s fearless.

“I believe I understand the issue. You do not wish your tenants to lose their lives in a pointless struggle between great houses. I can assure you this is nothing of the sort. Houses Raeven, Benra, Belenore, and Wager, along with two members of the Vaiself family have committed to stomping out once and for all time the criminal elements of Re-Estize, both in the capital and the Kingdom. You will be fighting alongside House Aindra’s finest daughter, and if we can secure him, the Raven Black Warrior. Every single one of your men will be in service alongside one of her band.”

The knight raised his head, after a look at his son, turned back to the Marquis and nodded.

Bravery like that only gets us half way. If any of these men are duplicitous, we’re liable for a backstab. I can only hope she’d warn me if they are.

—

Hm, there’s no strictly correct option here. If we assign two score to Lakyus, and the enemy numbers less than twenty, the matter will be over within an hour. It’s unreasonable to have her split forces; though, perhaps the other Blue Roses may cycle through and-

“Your Highness.”

Renner jumped in her chair, whipping around only to catch one of the twins behind her.

“You shouldn’t frighten a princess, you know!”

“Sorry.”

“I too. I’m rather persnickety at the moment.”

Though, I didn’t even hear her enter. Just how good of a skulk is she?

“Uh… I have a coded message for you.”

Renner felt like Tina had missed a linking word, the twin snapping between subjects with little issue. The shift was too sharp for Renner, her heart still dashing from the fright. Her mind jerked, and after a moment’s fretting, began to run again.

I really am dependent on Climb for my awareness, aren’t I? Had she been trying to kill me, I wouldn’t have known she was here before my throat was slit. My senses are that of a royal, not a warrior.

“Oh? Do tell.”

“I picked it off one of a courrier leaving Dalenoc while I was scouting it.”

She… she picked a scroll off of his person? During the day? Impressive.

“Expressly for?”

“Giving it to you.”

“Why?”

Tina lightly shrugged.

“I figured you would wanna read it.”

And for that she would perform such an act?

“All correct. Then, hand it here.”

Tina handed a small envelope face side down to Renner. Seal already broken, Renner lifted the flap and pulled out the letter inside. As per usual, it was encoded, the whole piece of parchment layered in a thick block of impenetrable text. Flitting her eyes back and forth, Renner found no familiar patterns with a cursory look.

No repeated two to three letter patterns. Looks like smuggling has moved past simple imperial cyphers as well.

Renner suppressed a sigh; she was hoping that whatever Tina had brought her would take only an instant to decrypt. Envelope still in her other hand, she flipped it over to give it a quick inspection before delving into the letter itself. A routing number was written on the front; Renner’s eyes glid across it, paused, then read it again, and then a third time.

First digit eight, so case shift of two. That makes the rest of the code “Three-Two-Nine-One-Five-Five-Zero-One.” I recognize “Nine-One-Five-Five-Zero-One,” that’s the route from the capital courier hub to just outside the city in Re-Urovale, but “Three-Two?”

Renner had succeeded in cracking the Eight Fingers routing system a week prior. Each number in a code in some way represented where the letter would be transported. Numbers one and five meant that the message was to be transported to the courier station north of its current location, zero and two to the east, four and eight to south, and six and seven to west; nine was reserved for doublebacks, and three for nearest distribution center - often a caravansary or tavern who’s owners put up Eight Fingers couriers for the night on credit with the syndicate.

“Three.” Its first stop after Dalenoc would have been a larger juncture, but the nearest center is two miles to the east of the city, and this path to Re-Urovale starts in Re-Estize itself. There’s an additional nexus in the city, and an extra courier station as well.

“Ah. Wonderful.”

“What does it say?”

“We have a new target. Let’s see, it should be-”

If to get to the Urovale route from the Forsain district, the message must go east; thus, the hub is to the west. Dalenoc isn’t that far, meaning that the hub would be at-

“That tavern on the twentieth cross street… the ‘Withered Lily’, I believe. We can hit it after the main raids tonight, see what we can’t turn up. Though, there’s an off chance it would be at the one two blocks south, ‘Wolf’s Grotto.’ Ah, scratch that. No need to mention that to the men and ruin an innocent proprietor’s business.”

Or perhaps the one to the north-east, “Yilrup’s Stump.” Hm, if we’re being thorough, we ought to hit that place too.

“Fast.”

“Hm?”

“You decoded that fast.”

Renner giggled.

“Knowledge means nothing without battery. Mm, speaking of which-”

—

Evileye strode in through the entrance to the Magicians guild without comment to the doorman. It was the height of the day, the space filled with over two-dozen guild mages, intermixed with a smattering of apprentices, footmen, and brokers. Ignoring the crowd, she walked straight through toward the counter - sight unseen due to her height - ducking and bobbing as she moved through the space. Slipping under the elbow of a sorcerer, she popped up on the other side, only to be displeased at what she saw.

Shit, a line.

One of the receptionists seemed to take note of Evileye despite her relative distance, and after a quick startle, raised her hand and waved with wide eyes.

“Ah, Miss Evileye-”

Too many people. I don’t want to deal with this.

“Fly.”

Evileye alit off the ground, slipping up and into the air. With a typical spin, she inspected the space around her, eyes darting across the second floor rooms that overlooked the trade floor.

“Miss Evileye!”

Ah, there it is.

Spotting the door she wanted to enter directly above and to the right of the entrance, she drifted over, stepping onto the banister and gliding down to the balcony floor. The receptionist who greeted her was doing her best to catch up, scrambling around her desk and dashing towards the stairs.

“Miss-miss Evileye! You can’t go there! Miss Evileye!”

Oh. Right-

The moment her shoe touched the ground, a glyph centered upon the point activated, a searing arcane unlight pouring out. Clicks from eight separate sources came in unison from all sides.

“Stop! You can’t do that!”

The golems.

Eight man-sized wooden constructs sprung from alcoves on the second floor, each advancing upon her by circling its length. Quickly spinning to the closest one, she raised her arm and began to cast.

“Crystal Buck-”

No, wait, I’d have to pay.

Evileye waved her hand, fizzling the spell.

“Triplet Magic - Disable Construct. Triplet Magic - Disable Construct. Twin Magic - Disable Construct.”

The magic flame that constituted the head of each golem began to sputter violently, each seizing in place as their telestial core flared. Satisfied, Evileye burst into the room she was planning to enter, the office of Guildmaster Relenac.

“Edicts of Brog’Drukil! You know you can’t just barge in here?!”

“Don’t care. I need six Abjurers by tonight. Second tier.”

“Why should I- why is there shouting outside? Did you start slinging spells in the guildhall?! I have you know that this conduct is highly unprofessional, you haven’t even paid dues in-”

I don’t want to deal with this either.

Ignoring his rants, Evileye reached into her robes, withdrawing a scroll and chucking it at the guildmaster. He reflexively dodged, over evading his chair out from under himself, and he careened flailing to the ground along with a pile of delicately arranged magical instruments.

“For fucks sake! You really know how to make a man look like a fool don’t you?”

“Have better balance.”

“What do you even want?!”

“I just told you.”

Finally up onto his side, he began to gesticulate wildly with his now free hand.

“Six second tier Abjurers! Why?!”

“Boss, the Second Prince, the Third Princess, and House Raeven are all launching raids on Eight Fingers tonight. What I just gave to you-”

“Threw at me!-”

“-is an official letter of request for your services, along with a guarantee of payment.”

Relenac stopped picking himself up, instead issuing a cast of mage hand to retrieve the scroll, the ethereal hand shooting into the recently toppled pile to retrieve it. Handing it to him, it helped him back onto his feet before dissolving into air. Waving off the breathless receptionist who had only now made it all the way to his second floor office, he read and reread the scroll, Evileye lazily balancing on the heels of her feet while he did so. Eventually, he tore his eyes away from the paper, speaking in a placating tone to her.

“Look, not to say I don’t like the Princess, I do. That magical light distribution proposal of hers was the most ingenious thing I’ve ever heard a high blood say - and not just because it would be a year of secure work for the guild - but her efforts have a way of going up in smoke.”

Evileye sagged, realizing that she would need to offer something extra to close the deal. Renner had made it clear she could offer no additional platinum than what she wrote in the contract, and the whole team was loath to part with any of their take. This meant for Evileye - whose trinkets she valued more than most people - that she could only offer one thing.

“I’ll deliver a lecture on teleportation.”

“Maybe a series of six-”

“One lecture. Only.”

Relenac looked off in thought for a moment, then turned back to her with a wild look in his eye.

“With a demonstration?”

Fuck.

“Fine. No runts though.”

“Why?”

“I don’t need any more wide eyed kids asking me for instruction.”

—

Climb parted his grip and let the knocker swing out of his hands. It thumped twice, bouncing off the door before coming to a stop.

I don’t get why they have to make them so creepy.

For some reason Climb couldn’t understand, the knocker on the face of the door had been cut in the visage of an aquatic demihuman, fins shaped from brass sprouting on either side of an oddly thin face.

Is it owned by a… fishing merchant? Or something? I don’t know. I wish they wouldn’t though.

Climb resisted the urge to shift nervously on his feet. Though they had fought alongside each other, coming to Sebas’s lodgings unannounced felt exceedingly rude.

I know I know him, but protocol is that couriers delivering royal summons are supposed to be third or fourth sons of minor houses, not commoners. No, I- I know him. His mistress will understand, right?

This self-assurance didn’t work, and he was left in just as much low boiling malcontent - not quite yet anxiety - as he had started with. This fear at spurning the etiquette’s specter was a common enough experience for him, but any alleviating expression of such turmoil - balling his fist, rocking his feet - was in and of itself a further insult. Of all the faces of the palace, only one understood the particularities of Climb’s situation. Thus, it was on Gazef’s advice that Climb was now balling and unballing his toes.

I suppose it sort of works. I wonder how often he does this.

The odd mental image of Gazef struggling to get through the day floated into Climb’s mind, at once comic and melancholic, both for the reason that the Warrior-Captain could be nervous around royalty in the same way Climb could. The dismal implications of the latter - that no matter how far Climb advanced in the respect of his peers, that he would never escape his inner worry - spoiled the moment, Climb forcing his mind away to the subject of the conversation to come.

He did say she had her tendency to be difficult. I wonder if she’s like Her Highness Vena, or, perhaps much worse… Where are they?

Climb snapped out of his mental stupor, returning to the strange moment at hand. For some reason, no one had opened the door. Reassuring himself that, yes, he did knock, and that, yes, a significant amount of time had passed, Climb realized that either no one was home, or that he was being deliberately ignored.

Wait, could they have gone out? Surely they haven’t departed the city yet, have they? I mentioned that I would ask Renner to relocate them. Did Lord… Mister Sebas not believe me?

Climb felt like he was struck right in the chest. After a near silent sigh, he took a few steps back to the very edge of the stoop, leaning behind to get a clear view of the windows. The matte white curtains were drawn, and - far from being diaphanous - completely obscured the space inside. He watched for a time, the gentle movement of clouds caught reflected in the glass seeming to frame the moment. A minute passed, then two. For a quick instant, he thought he saw a faint silhouette burrowed deep in the home; he perked up, only for him to lose the form. More time passed, and his confidence went along with it.

I guess no one’s home. I hope he and Tuare haven't run into trouble with our enemy.

—

Rarely had Zero ever had such an easy hostage taking experience.

She hasn’t screamed or wailed. Cocco really knows how to break them, doesn’t he?

The slave girl had been thoroughly processed. When they broke in, she hadn’t made a noise besides a yelp in freight; she did not resist when set upon, accepting fetters without comment, even holding out her arms to be tied at one point. Even gagged, she had refused to make noise, instead meekly letting herself be carried to the cart she would be smuggled away in. Even now, in their compound, she made no noise. Lying in front of him, stripped bare and bound, she gazed up at him. There was a blazing hate in her eyes, one which Zero couldn’t help but appreciate.

Shame we couldn’t get that butler’s mistress, though, I get the feeling he’ll fight just as hard for this slave as he would his owner. This is gonna be a good fight.

Zero looked up, the fellow members of Six Arms preparing for the battle to come. Burrowed deep inside their villa, the lot were in a spacious training room, one set aside to avoid prying eyes. Edström and Malmvist were locked in a bare fisted spar, each bandying for floor space as they jabbed at each other; Peshuran practiced his draws, slowly whittling away at a stone column long since deemed superfluous; Davernoch poured over his orb - completely still - staring at it unblinkingly. The only member not yet present was Succulent, a tardiness the rest of the team had happily encouraged by foisting observation duties on his shoulders. Morale was high, not damaged, but bolstered by Succulent’s loss; it was seen less as a warning of the imminent threat of the Princess and her lackies, more as a humiliation. Thus, when he burst in through the door a moment later, the rest of Six Arms turned to him in contempt.

“I’m finished… Fucking finished. Ro-Lante’s south yard is swarming. I counted just over a hundred, mostly pikemen with breast plates, but maybe around ten men in full. They were knights proper, squires and other men-at-arms alongside. There were wizards - I think from the guild - priests, and adventurers too. I counted maybe two dozen put together, not including the Blue Roses. They- they were in and out all day, I could barely keep track. Four house standards were being flown; I didn’t recognize them all, but I’m pretty sure House Raeven was flying theirs. I think we need to be careful here. We aren’t facing down anyone extraordinary, and we can face down the Blue Roses, but their numbers mean that everyone else is gonna get screwed. I think we should… we should…”

Succulent slowly trailed off, realizing that the rest of the team was staring at him. He shuddered under their gazes, but met it with a similar glare. Eventually, Edström broke from the spot she was standing, wandering over and retrieving a haphazard bundle of clothes on the floor - the maid outfit worn by the kidnapped slave girl. Balling it up, she tossed it at him, he dodging it.

“What the fuck is this?!”

“Put it on.”

Zero’s tone was flat and commanding.

“What?”

“I said put it on.”

“No! I don’t know what sick fantasy you have-”

“If you want to leave this room alive, you’ll put on the maid outfit.”

The whole plot had been Davernoch’s idea, curtly expressed as “Disguise him as the girl. If he isn’t discovered, he backstabs those who come to retrieve her; if he is discovered, he dies. No undesired outcome, the weak are culled either way.” Understanding came over Succulent’s face.

“You want me to act as the fucking slave?!”

“Do you have the mana pool to maintain it?”

“I-”

Davernoch cut Succulent off immediately.

“He does. Should be able to maintain an illusory disguise enough to get close and kill his rescuer.”

Succulent’s eye twitched, opening his mouth to say something, before closing it. Growling, he stomped over to the clothing, snatching it up with a look of disgust. Malmvist couldn’t keep in his good spirits, chuckling at the sight. This earned an angry glimpse from Succulent, one Malmvist deftly ignored, instead turning Edström to offer his commentary.

“If we’re lucky, we’ll get one of the Blue Roses with this. Turn things into a six versus four immediately. Should be enough to foil that bitch’s plans. Oh, yeah, that reminds me. Boss.”

“Yeah?”

“What hirelings did Hilma get to hunt the princess anyway?”

—

Each man ruffled through his kit, stripping their roll-ups for the barest essentials. Short swords were swapped for daggers, bags and satchels doffed, pockets organized and reorganized to fit as much equipment in as little space as possible. Luca had stripped off his gambeson, only donning a chain shirt, tunic and trousers, his blade, and cloak. The space was tight, a hidden basement room under the manor of their client, Hilma Cygnaeus. Luca finished tying his cloak and looked up to inspect the rest of his team, eyes settling on their magician.

“Cato, how’s your reserve?”

“This city sits right on top of a layline. I’ll be topped up before the hour.”

“Got it.”

Luca went back to his work. Possessing all the needed equipment, he began to reassemble what he had scattered across the ground, slipping things back in their pouches, before binding his roll-up and strapping it to his rucksack. Thumps came from overhead, someone walking on the floor above. Luca tracked their direction and sound as it went off to his right, before turning a corner. A much louder thump followed by a sharp creek, the sound of the secret entrance being opened, and then a rapid flutter of steps. There were two people descending into the hiding place. Luca turned to his dexter, watching as Hilma and one of her captains came into view.

That’s… Eigra- no, Eidra, I believe.

The man quickly cast his gaze between Luca’s team, before turning to Hilma and asking a soft question.

“Sont-ils prêts?”

“Oui. Ponctualité typiquement impériale… Luca.”

“What, mistress?”

“A gift.”

Cygnaeus approached, reaching into her bosom to retrieve a small cloth wrapped object. Stopping in front of him, she pried apart the twine holding it together, then swiftly undid the wrap. Oddly, it was not blank; rather, covered in symbols he could not place.

Is that spell inscription?

Pulling the cloth away entirely, she caught what fell out in her other hand before handing it to him. It was a miniscule vial, smaller than a section of one of his pinkie fingers. Luca pinched it end to end, and brought it near his eye. The bottle was a deep brown, the liquid it contained likely clear. Giving a little shake, the fluid quickly rocked back and forth, thinner than water.

“A poison?”

“Double-fifth.”

Luca jerked, barely resisted the urge to throw the bottle away as fast as possible. The room went silent, the rest of his team having frozen. This was a venom that - until now - Luca thought was a bad myth.

Isn’t this made from the bite of two seperate chimeras? Or, was it a chimera and a basilisk? How did she even get this?! Is she dealing with Ijaniya… some other expert poison maker? So say the Four!

“W-why?”

“I want her fucking dead.”

Wouldn’t this turn anyone it hits into stone?!

“Understood. Silas-”

“I heard. I’ll use it.”

The rogue jaunted over, Luca gingerly slipping the vial into his hand. The rogue gave his own inspection, before slipping it into his breast pocket and closing the flap. Luca turned, and seeing that the rest of his team had stopped moving, began to sound off.

“Atticus.”

“Ready.”

“Silas.”

“Ready.”

“Aurelius.”

“Ready.”

“Cato.”

“Ready.”

Spinning in place, he turned to Hilma, ready to say the same to her, only to find she was holding up a halting hand.

“Luca… Actually, no. All of you Dead Vipers.”

“Yes?”

“You do this, you become the first of your countrymen to kill a Vaiself in the last three eras. Not since the days of Emperor Agrippino has a member of our royal house fallen to a blow from Baharuth. Appreciate it. Now, go kill me a princess.”

—

Renner unlatched the sparker’s case, tipping over the leather pouch such that the magical object slipped into her hand. In a deft movement, she pinched one end and moved her hand in a tight circle, flipping round the cylinder such that the flaming end would face outward. Bringing it close to the candlewick, she moved her thumb to the slide-trigger, only to halt right before pressing it.

I wish to linger here a little longer; happenstance will forgive me a little indulgence.

"Ah, no. This would be improper.”

Renner - to the confusion of those around her - stood herself straight, and looked intently at the woman to her left.

“Tia."

"Yes, Princess?"

"Yours was the first, was it not?"

Tia blinked, visibly unaware of what Renner’s question meant, none of the others seeming to grasp it either. Many were present in Ro-Lante’s strategic chamber, half of whom Renner was only vaguely acquainted with. Raeven had brought three men along with him, Barons Benra, Wager, and Count Belenore; both the Magicians Guild and the Churches had acquiesced to her request, each sending a representative; All five of the Blue Roses, along with the leader of Raeven’s personal force, Boris Axelson, stood at attention; the Warrior-Captain was here, he having managed to ensnare Brain Unglaus; a number of other liaisons from other noble houses were present as well, serving as observers for ceremony to come; finally, there was Climb. There were two absences of import: the mysterious Mister Tian and the esteemed adventurer Momon. The latter simply seemed to be late, the travel distance from E-Rantel was significant despite the aerial couriers Raeven had sent; it was the former that Renner found contentious. Her summons had not simply been rejected; rather, Climb hadn’t even been spoken too at the door. Lakyus chuffed, finally noting what Renner was after.

"What?"

"It was you who took the first in this war of ours, yes?"

"Oh… yeah, guess so."

"I feel it's only fitting for you to do this then."

Renner passed the sparker to Tia, who - after some hesitation - leaned in and lit the candle herself. It was the heat source to a wax warmer, the yellow flame licking the underside of a brass tray. Satisfied, Renner flipped over the lid on a small box, revealing six dozen wax bars in a variety of colors. With a pout, she looked up to Raeven and Zanac.

“Vermillion, or perhaps cobalt?”

“Your servant is of the belief that Your Majesty is perhaps being a bit over-humble when it comes to the symbology."

“Pick Gold, Chardelon.”

“Eh? Hm, all correct.”

Renner drew two bars of gold colored wax from, and laid both in the pan. Sliding one, she found its underside had already turned tacky. Pulling away, she returned to see a quizzical looking Count Belenore.

"Your Highness.”

“Yes?”

“Your servant has a question, if he may-”

“He may. What is it?”

“Why does her highness not delegate such tasks to servants?”

“She takes what agency she can.”

Lakyus’s interruption caused most the room to stiffen, though it earned a giggle from Renner.

“Forgive the curtness of my friend, though, what she said is effectively correct. Why doff what little weight I have? Ah, no matter. In any case, I’d like to thank you all for your participation in tonight’s efforts.”

“As a matter of course, Your Highness.”

“Some of us are more understanding of Lord Raeven’s position than others in the House of Lords. We are thus… piqued, by the decision of Your Highnesses in this matter.”

Though Count Belenore was being blatant, Renner found his lack of tact reasonable. He had committed a full seven of his Knights to the cause, along with their squires, men-at-arms, and peasant levy - such numbers far and away exceeded any expectation on the part of the new political trio, and were intended as a full hard support. Thus, his questioning could afford to be unsubtle.

‘We.’ He speaks for the group, then. Let Zanac respond.

“I have little to offer you, Count. I simply trust my sister on this matter.”

“A trust that I will never not cherish.”

“Quite.”

A small gap in conversation, Belenore visibly chewing over the siblings’ interaction. In time, he opened his mouth again.

“Still, Your Highness, it feels as if you have far much more at your disposal than I first thought.”

Renner resisted the urge to grin. Very rarely did someone say something to her that she could take as a compliment. Though martial power was never an end to itself, the fact that her words were now backed by the steel of five other houses, was - at the very least - satisfying.

“None more than is necessary.”

“How much is necessary?”

Oh, this is a timely opportunity for a lament.

Renner paused, wistfully casting her gaze away. The room had no windows to speak of, so she settled on the now half-melted wax in the tray below.

Perhaps I can afford to speak truths buried in lies. Hm. That may be for the best. Therefore, Elias and Brother-Dearest, listen to what I have to say.

“Ah, where to explain. I have spoken much, Count, but often my decrees are thought to be as empty as I am. Strike that. Not ‘thought to be as’; rather, ‘as’. That brothel I destroyed yesterday shouldn’t have existed, yet somehow, after I had given my speech and won over the House of Lords and my ban went through, nothing seems to have changed.”

“Your ban forced the trade-”

“Under the earth, little more. As we speak, men, women, children, and all the numerous exotic stock of Baharuth and Slane are slipping past our borders as we speak. Who knows what new horrors they find at the hands of their masters. With the hanging - if impotent - specter of the law over their heads, any owners now surely blows and cruelties an order more than before. I worry that perhaps my efforts have done nothing but made things worse.”

Absolute silence. A heavy cloud hung over the entire room, thick and impenetrable. Only three had managed to remain animated: her brother, the Marquis, and Climb, all of whom were in some way fidgeting. Renner stared all the same at the wax, watching the corner of one bar slowly distend as its base melted out from under it; in time, she continued.

“If I remember correctly, you were a signatory. It goes without saying that what you put your name too was but a poor copy of the original. Simply put, though slavery became illegal, there were no tools in that document, no mandates. Much had been given over originally to security, how and what to look for when waging war against an enemy like slavers, calls not to abstract senses of justice, but stringent vigilance. None of that would have been acceptable to the house, and - in turn - to you. So I am now left watching my words slag into the sand, hearing stories of my laws turned back in on themselves. A man who saved a woman from the hands of a slaver accused of the practice himself, city inspectors who speak twice for every word, and all others caught in the gap between ideal and implementation .

“My words… my politics have a special sort of meaninglessness to them. I am the Golden Princess, a curse I shall never break. I’m left to watch, and to do nothing. So, to answer your question, Count, you ask what is necessary? In turn, I ask why play with the quill when the sword exacts twice, thrice, or ten-fold the price upon the dretches of the world?”

There’s a sort of law to hard power, the way it pulls the world taught. If I had ten times the swords, ten times the spells, what would that mean? Surely it would take me closer to my Climb. In some ways, I feel ready to buy into that delusion wholesale.

“You wish for influence in the court, Your Highness?”

“Wish is a strong word… Ah, Chardelon, you’ve compromised yourself in front of others. Please, accept my apology.”

Renner broke her gaze away, affecting an apologetic smile. The count’s face was exactly as she desired; signs of shock, sympathy, and sorrow. The rest of those present were some combination of the previous, but the least controlled of which was Zanac and Raeven. They were not simply shaken; rather, they were quaking in place. Renner exhaled, a gap in conversation that her brother quickly exploited

“It seems as if the wax is melted. We ought to move on with the signing.”

“Yes, let's.”

Alongside the wax melter was a large sheet of vellum, already penned in neat row after neat row of writing. It was a declaration by the second prince, written in the form of a response to Renner’s statement an evening prior. Dictated by Zanac to the calligrapher, it was mostly his words, though Renner had offered minor suggestions - none of which had been rejected. Not simply did it match her anger, it exceeded it. With language echoing that of the turmoil four decades prior, it marked the syndicate an enemy just shy of a rival national body, its members and collaborators deemed traitors beyond redemption. By her measure, it was exceedingly hyperbolic, vindictive, and blind to reality in all the ways she thought would appeal to noble sensibilities.

No one seems to have questioned what I advised, neither Elias nor brother-dearest; perhaps it’s for the best. Say what you will about wicked hearts, even a highwayman, wetworker, or private underhand are not bound to their profession. It’s a simple promise: let a peasant have her fill three times a day so she may labor, let her have the barest of public works so she may drag her labor’s fruit to market, and let her have slack in taxes so she may save the money she makes in exchange. Enough of that and there’s no need for her to sell herself.

“Alright, we’ll go in reverse order. Eminence Yilnac.”

He placed a signature and wax seal at the bottom of the document.

“Mister Axelson.”

A second signature.

“Thaumaturge Enreg.”

A scorched pictogram.

“Lady Aindra.”

A third signature and a house mark.

“Lord Wager, please.”

A fourth signature.

“Lord Benra.”

A fifth signature.

“Lord Belenore.”

A sixth signature and another wax seal.

“Lord Raeven.”

A seventh signature, wax seal, and house mark.

“Chardelon.”

An eighth signature and wax seal.

“And myself.”

A ninth and final signature, along with the last wax seal. The room seemed to exhale. The declaration was signed, the course of action locked. Renner couldn’t help but smile. Victory felt close at hand.

“With that, our part is done. Let us hope that the dead are few in number and that no trickery befalls us this night.”

“I’m unsure, Elias. Chardelon, do you have any premonitions of this endeavor collapsing later tonight?”

Renner shrugged at her brother’s words.

“I’d hazard that to be a thing known only to fouler powers.”

—

Exceptional.

Demiurge swiftly descended the steps from the temple onto the promenade, the weathered marble having long since tarnished into a deep brown.

Absolutely exceptional. Calling her an Empress in the wings is an insult; she’s entirely above such comparison.

Striding now down the shattered street, he resisted the urge to break into a jog, doing his best to maintain a level of decorum as he walked through the crowd.

How could she have slipped from a human womb? It doesn’t fit. That she would have such impetus and hunger naturally. That she would have such intellect. No, it doesn’t fit at all.

The street was filled with hundreds and every minute more poured into the space. The typical yellow and orange hues of his home mixed with the deeper reds of summoning circles, the spilt blood of innocents slung from upturned crosses burning off, profane words written in the smoke. Demons and devils of all kinds slipped from the ground, freshly formed by the brimstone and basalt magics of his subordinates; Castigators, Damascus Abominants, Overeatings, Brass Speakers, Tomebearers, Bacmalaochi, False Fleshes, Poxflames, Mouths of Apostasy, Scales, Nabassus, Obliterator Maws, Cupric Abbinarchs, Gazers, Bulezau, and others spotted Demiurge’s approach, parting in the center of the street. As they did so, fodder creatures retreated as well, Quazits, Imps, Rutterkin, Dretches, Manes, and others slipping behind the forms of larger fiends. All that saw him and were capable of the motion bowed, the crowd rippling as they lowered their heads. It was a sulfurous force; cruel, maledictive, and wicked; one, that if loosed on the world, would bring suffering and woe to all those it swept.

Her lineage is suspect, but there’s the matter of her full blood sister; one who presents none of the qualities she does. Perhaps a random aberration? It’s not impossible, but her parameters match that of a human. Doppelganger, perhaps?

A flock of imps alight in front of him, others beginning to form ranks. A pair of mephits that had pranced through the crowd slipped between his legs midstroke, the hellhound chasing them scrambling to a stop, shamefully trotting head lowered around him. A club fell to his right, the two fire spirits extinguished by a freshly summoned Scale Demon that had broken formation to kill the offender. Demiurge flicked his hand, and the hellhound met its end as well, a kowtowing whimper cut off as the demon crushed its head as well.

Unlikely. I must simply accept her lesser form, though, what of her soul.

His seven lieutenants stood at the end of the street, each genuflecting on the approach. It was electric, the first true chance to cause inferior beings agony en masse. They would make a mockery of a human nation; desecrate its capital, ruin its cityscape, and spill its citizens. A flickering orb of blackness in the air rapidly expanded to form a flickering wall stretching between two pillars. The low roar of a horn pierced the space, followed by several more; forming a dissonant chord. Hundreds of rusted weapons were thrust into the air, the banging of armor intermixed with cackles and shouts. The force began to march.

Sixteen years spent in the company of human beings. How willing is she to doff herself of them?