Chapter 191 - Skyreach Spire III

Cheers resounded through the crowd as the marquis’ words were repeated. The fighters clinked their glasses and jumped right into flooding their bloodstreams with liquor. Even diluted, the vekratt served at the drink counter was strong enough to fell any man. Dwarves and giants alike toppled within the first half of the Merdle-marked barrel, with the priest in Arciel’s group following soon after.

The insect drank so much of the distilled poison that the lyrkress almost thought him certainly on the path to his death, but her vulpine companion insisted that he was experiencing a sweet dream instead. It was an altered version of his youth, one where he was caught in the middle of his sister’s seduction and subsequently shipped off to the church.

Claire and Sylvia aside, the group’s members had gone their separate ways. Lia was gorging herself on the skin of a barbecued pig, citing it as reminiscent of a Paunsean dish, while the vampire squid had sought Admiral Ray’esce for a separate discussion. Rather than accompanying her, her knight had joined the line of heavy drinkers that dared to test their mettle against the infamous Cadrian brew.

“Have you finished eating?” asked Claire.

“Mhm!” Switching back to her fox form, she plopped herself atop the lyrkress’ head with her eyes closed and her tail lazily swishing back and forth. “I finally got to try that beef stuff you kept talking about.”

“Delicious, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. But it seemed a little mad at me.”

Claire tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“Well it started mooing really angrily because I only ate the flank and left the rest.”

A giggle escaped the longmoose’s lips as she imagined the sad, half-eaten cow that was the pet’s last victim. “Stupid fox. You’re not supposed to eat the ones that are still alive.”

“Really? The living fish are always the tastiest, and if you let them go after a few bites they can grow back, so you can eat them again later.”

“Cows aren’t fish. And I’ve never seen you not eat a whole fish.”

“That’s only ‘cause none of the fish out here stay alive when their heads are bitten off!”

“Of course it is.”

Claire alternated between sips of wine and bites of steak as she slowly walked around the premises. On occasion, she would glance at the mansion’s master and alter her trajectory. Remaining on the opposite side of the courtyard was a must. The last thing she wanted was for him to make her.

It was precisely during one such bout of observation that she happened to run into one of the maids. The wine glasses on the servant’s tray tumbled out of place, with some catching on Claire’s dress and others plummeting to the ground and breaking apart. The clattering drew many eyes; the nearby guests craned their heads to take a look at the source of the commotion.

“Sorry.” Her eyes still on the surroundings, Claire extended an arm. “I didn’t notice you.”

She expected the maid to accept the assistance and offer an apology in kind. But what she received instead was a good look at an extremely familiar face.

“Claire!?”

The servant was unmistakable, and her preachy-sounding voice only furthered the evidence of her identity. She was a smaller centaur, standing at the tiny height of only 175 centimeters. Her colouration was on the darker side of brown, with only her hair slightly lighter. And though she was known for eating far more than her peers, her figure was arguably perfect. There was not a hint of unnecessary fat anywhere but upon her disproportionately bountiful chest.

Her name was Mariabelle Phlence, and she was the lady in waiting that had attended to House Augustus’ heiress for over a decade.

“Who?”

“You are not fooling me with just a veil, Claire.”

Marie grabbed her former charge by the wrist before she could escape and took a good long look at the the longmoose’s last line of defense. She reached for it following a brief delay, but the half-centaur evaded her grasp with a twist of the head.

“You have the wrong person.”

“I most certainly do not.” Looking around, Marie noted the amount of unwanted attention before quickly getting to her feet. Her hand still tugging the other blueblood’s wrist, she ordered another servant to retrieve a broom, and moved straight towards the manor’s front door. “Let’s continue this conversation inside.”

Though somewhat reluctant, Claire allowed herself to be dragged away. Her cover was blown and it was too late to undo the mistake. There were too many witnesses. Most of the Cadrians present, namely the manor’s guards and servants, had already put two and two together. Claire’s ears caught a number of mentions of her father, as well as several concerns regarding the state of her throat. A few particularly passionate individuals had even brought up the war effort, citing her supposedly renewed ability to speak as evidence that the attack on Kryddar was just, while others commented on her form and speculated the details of her ascended race. But whatever they discussed, one thing remained constant. Any doubts to her identity were immediately silenced by the claim that the maid would not mistake her mistress. She was one of House Augustus’ servants, after all.

“Why are you here?”

Claire broke the silence, raising a question half under her breath as they passed through the foyer.

“I should be asking you that,” said the horse. “Do you really not remember? I could have sworn I told you at least three times before I left.”

“I don’t.” They walked through the halls as they spoke, eventually arriving in front of a guest bedroom.

It had only been a week since she invaded the residence, but walking through it with permission provided a completely different impression. The corridors felt nowhere near as long, and the corners far less sudden or unpredictable. The cold, uninviting atmosphere gave way to a homely feel, only amplified by the personal quarters that Marie had shown her to.

The maid’s things were scattered throughout the bed chamber. There was only one bed, but two sets of luggage. For every pair of ties neatly squeezed into a suitcase, there was a bra lazily tossed onto a chair, a pair of undergarments left on the floor, and a dress atop the canopy.

“Sirius is going to be taking part in the expedition, and I’ve tagged along as something of a guest.”

“Which Sirius?” Claire tilted her head. “The Numitor heir? Or Vulcan’s fourth son?”

“My fiancé, of course.”

“I don’t know which one that is.”

“Really?” Marie leaned forward and pressed a hand to Claire’s still-veiled forehead. “Hmmm… you don’t seem sick, and I’m not getting that feeling I always get when you mess with me…”

“Those are the first two things I always check too,” said the lyrkress’ hat.

The count’s daughter reacted with a start, but soon calmed herself with deep breaths, her hand resting atop her chest. “Is that fox… alive?” She looked at Claire, who breathed a small sigh.

“Of course. This is Sylvia, my pet.”

“Wait a second! I’m not your pet, you’re my pet!” jeered the dog.

“Right…” Marie regarded the fox with the most pitiful of glances.

“Uhm… why are you looking at me like that?” asked the misshapen rabbit.

“There is a good reason that Claire is not allowed to have any pets.”

“There is?” said the moose and the fox in unison.

Marie walked over to the dresser, threw off her sullied apron, and replaced it with another still sparkling white. “Do you need anything to change into? I don’t have any dresses in your size, but I should at least have a cloak or two to help you cover up.

“I’m fine.” Claire immediately banished the stains by changing the dress into a suit of armour and back.

“That is certainly quite the convenient ability,” said Lady Phlence. “I wish you had that when you were younger. It would have saved us a lot of time on your laundry, with how muddy you got everything.”

“Stop reminiscing.” Claire lightly tapped the centaur’s forehead. “Keep explaining.”

“Right.” The centaur smiled. “So as I was saying… of course there’s a reason. Do you really think your father would make a rule like that without one?”

Poker face unbroken, Claire shook her head. “Probably not. But he never explained.”

“You were too young to remember when it happened, and I think he’s convinced that’s for the better.” Fresh outfit fully assembled, she spun around with her hands on the hips that linked her upper and lower halves. “But the Master did buy you a puppy once, not too long after you first started to walk.” She continued after taking a moment to observe Claire’s unchanged but clearly puzzled visage. “But you decided that you wanted to use it like a make-believe sword. Apparently, you lifted the poor thing by the hind legs and nearly killed it by smacking it into Sir Vespran’s armour.”

“Ohhhh, so that’s when all this began!” Sylvia tapped one paw against the palm of the other. “That explains everything.”

Marie gave the fox another look of pity.

“Oh, uhm, not me,” said Sylvia. “There’s this guy called Boris, and… hey wait a second.” Her tail flew up into the air. “Claire?”

“What?”

“Where are Boris and Marcelle? You didn’t forget about them, did you?”

The lyrkress averted her eyes. “I can call Boris. Marcelle can just tag along.”

“You probably should. It’s not really fair if they’re the only ones missing out on all this delicious food!”

“Fine.” She raised her hand in front of her and centered her consciousness on the oddly-shaped blade. “Come, Boris.”

The weapon was more obedient than it had been during her first attempt. Even without any vulpine assistance, it simply appeared in her hands, as if it had always been right there in her palm. Unlike Sylvia, Alfred, and every other experienced force mage, the lizard wasn’t ripping portals in spacetime and leaping through them, but simply reattaching itself to a predetermined anchor.

“There. Done.”

“Wait, no you aren’t! That’s just Boris! Where’s Marcelle!?”

“I don’t know,” said Claire. “Maybe she went back to her group. She doesn’t normally stick around for so long.”

“Yeah, but no one’s ever seen any of her friends, and she’s been with us for like a whole week! You totally just made Boris ditch her, right Boris!?”

A grunt escaping his throat, he did his best impression of a shrug before casually lying down on the carpet, staining it in the blood and gore that covered his body.

“What do you mean, she’s probably fine!? You look like you came right out of a fight! I bet you’re just saying that because you never really liked her to begin with!”

The living weapon shook his head vehemently. Unlike the halfbred pair, he knew for certain that Marcelle was living her best life. Because elsewhere in the great sky was a new ruler, a misshapen mass of flesh freshly titled the queen of the birds.

“So?” While Sylvia accused Boris of treason, the Cadrian maid crossed her arms and looked at her mistress with an expectant gaze. But all she received, even after a few seconds of waiting, was the usual blank stare. It took her a few moments to realise that Claire had no idea what she was asking. “When did your voice return?”

The incline of the lyrkress’ head head only grew with the added clarification. “I never lost it.”

“But you have not said a word to me in months!”

“Because I haven’t seen you in months.” The lyrkress’ veil receded into the ornaments on her ears as she gave the horse girl a curious stare.

“We just saw each other three weeks ago.”

“We haven’t. And I’ve also never heard anything about your engagement.”

“Really?” Mariabelle carefully inspected the lyrkress’ face before slowly walking a circle around her. “I know it does not look like you have hit your head, but we really should head down to the medical ward and have you checked. My brother is likely still at his desk, and I’m sure he would not mind having a quick look.”

“I’m fine, Marie. I haven’t hit my head. You’re the one that’s delusional.”

“Then how do you explain forgetting all the time you spent as a mute?”

“I’ve never been mute.” Shifting to her four-legged form, Claire seated herself in the centaurian chair in front of the dresser, her arms resting on its spine. “And it’s been more than three weeks since we last saw each other. I’ve been in Vel’khan for nearly three weeks, adventuring.” She pulled one of Headhydra’s horns out from under her skirt and lightly tossed it in the maid’s direction. “That’s from one of my kills.”

Mariabelle scrambled to catch the crystalline object, but she fumbled it. It clattered onto the floor, falling onto a fancy but unironed dress.

“You have not the slightest idea how confused I am,” said the maid. “Since when could you transform?”

“Since a few months ago.”

“But I saw you at the manor. I’m sure of it…”

“The last time I was there was before the war started.” She magically retrieved the weapon and began fiddling with it, turning it round and round like the needle of a compass. “What did Father say? When I stopped talking.”

The centaur frowned. “He told us that the attack robbed you of your voice.”

The lyrkress was almost tempted to roll her eyes. “Of course he did.” She pulled the fox off her head and started lightly running her fingers through the critter’s fur. The only way she could get herself to relax. “Enough about me. Aren’t you supposed to be a guest? Why are you doing maid work?”

The centaur had a look on her face that suggested her curiosity was not suppressed, but she breathed a sigh and went along with Claire’s suggestion. “They needed all the help they could get, and there was little else for me to do. Sirius is on guard duty, and I did not want to attend the party without him.”

“You’re missing out!” said Sylvia. “The food was so tasty that I think I ate more than I did in the last two weeks combined.”

“That can’t be right,” said the lyrkress. “Do you not remember all the fish you devoured, when I was trying to finish my ascension?”

“Of course I do, silly! They were really tasty. Especially that tuna. And those salmon… and the eels and octopuses too. Okay, maybe you’re right. I kinda did eat a lot more than I thought last week.”

“Exactly.”

“One moment.” Marie leaned in and gave the fox a good look. “Are you the girl with four ears? The one that went around eating everything?”

“Yup!” said Sylvia. “And it was all super tasty.”

“You have been causing us a lot of trouble,” huffed the maid. “I would be willing to wager that you were the one that assaulted Agnes in the kitchen too.”

“Agnes? Who’s that?” asked the troublemaker.

“The manor’s dairy cow. She was meant to be providing us with an ample supply of milk so we made tonight’s dessert, but she suddenly stopped producing it and is no longer allowing anyone near her.”

“Uhmm… I don't think so,” lied the fox, through her teeth. “A-anyway, your fiance must be a really neat guy, right?”

“He is!” the centaur’s eyes almost seemed to light up at the mention of her beloved. “Sirius is the most gallant knight in the force, and I believe one of the most powerful as well.”

Claire tilted her head. “You still haven’t answered. Which Sirius?”

“Postumus.” The lady’s face reddened, but only slightly. “Sirius Postumus.”

“The one that’s inherited the marsh closest to the Langgbjerns?”

“Yes, him.” She began fiddling with her hands. “We’re set to marry near the end of the year, right in the middle of the eight month.”

“Really, Marie?” Claire sighed. “You’re going to marry the lord of the northern lands on the winter solstice?”

“I know it certainly does have an element of banality or two, but it has always been his family’s tradition!” shouted the maid. “A-and besides, I do think it is rather romantic.”

“Of course you do.” The halfbreed slowly shook her head before raising her eyes to meet the maid’s, her lips a small smile. “But congratulations.”

“Thanks, Claire.” Mariabelle returned the gesture with a shy grin of her own. “I was really hoping that you would be able to come. Where should I send your invitation? Would it be to the manor, or maybe some oth—”

The maid was cut off mid sentence by a light knock on the door. A pair of centaurs walked in almost immediately after. One was Mariabelle’s promised, while the other was the one man she had not wanted to see. Marquis Timaios Pollux, in all his familiar glory.