10.46 L

(Maviola El’s last adventure has begun. Book 17 of The Wandering Inn, Lady of Fire, is available for pre-order now! Also, we have the Horns of Hammerad on a cover by the amazing JAD!)

 

<The new Bird and Mrsha plushies and two new mugs are also available now on the store!>

 

 

 

 

There was a fine, justifiable, nay, sympathetic answer to why Duke Rhisveri had acted so rashly. The first reason was obviously that he had no time, and Lyonette would have objected, hence his somewhat indecorous behavior, and he knew that. But he had many redeeming reasons, and the [Princess] did owe him a teensy favor for the emotional distress caused, if anything.

Once she stopped hitting him, he was sure she’d understand.

Alright, so what had happened was…

 

——

 

Earlier this day.

 

“The what?”

Duke Rhisveri was half-napping from a tiring morning of using teleportation to follow Dame Eclizza around. House Shoel, the ‘guests’…it was this entire affair that he didn’t have to explain to anyone.

Certainly not the nobility he cared to associate himself with in Ailendamus. The Duke of Ailendamus was notoriously reclusive, and he preferred not to be bothered, but even he had friends.

Fellow nobles he associated with was a better word, so he didn’t come across as a total recluse. He needed to maintain his social standing in some way, so, annoying as it was, he cultivated a group of peers and played politics in his ‘brother’s’ court.

It was odious, but good practice, and he normally had patience for it…and Rhisveri had to own, sometimes the nobles came up with good ideas. He half-turned to Baron Regalius, a man who got on with almost everyone.

The Baron gave him an understanding look.

“Worn out with celebrations for Dame Eclizza’s return, Your Grace?”

“Who, me? No, just…well, perhaps.”

It was a good excuse, so Rhisveri harrumphed, but Regalius gave him a knowing smile.

“I’ve scarce seen you in better humor, Duke Rhisveri! A smile from you is as rare as a Hydra with one head! That was my wife’s comment.”

Laughter from the group of nobles, which included a retired [General] and a [Minister] who was one of Sophridel’s puppets. Rhisveri harrumphed again, but what might have been a deadly insult in other kingdoms was only gentle ribbing here.

A [Baron] should be able to joke with a [Duke], a [Baron] should be able to joke with a [Duke]…he bared his teeth at Regalius.

“Yes, I am slightly exhausted. Magical casting as well. You were saying?”

“Merely if we were to see your presence at tonight’s banquet, Your Grace. I was saying that we seldom do—but surely this warrants the occasion. The gala is in Dame Eclizza’s honor, and she will be there.”

“The…oh, that.”

Rhisveri snorted, but genteely. He never attended social gatherings unless he had some aim. There were limits to even the Wyrm’s patience for such affairs…but if it was in Eclizza’s honor…

“Oh, very well, yes! Of course I’ll be there.”

He huffily remarked, and Regalius beamed.

“Wonderful! Ah, on that note, do you have a partner for the event? I hate to ask, but the dance card is rather empty—we need to fill the space.”

Of course he was masterminding the affair. It was the man’s entire gift, and you had to admit he was good at it. Rhisveri waved a hand.

“No, no.”

Regalius bit his lip as the group answered in the affirmative or negative; many were married. He turned back to Rhisveri.

“I could put you down with a Knight of the Thirsting Veil. It’s thought to be rather fashionable, you see, for single men. Even a few [Ladies] have offered to do the same. In honor of the Great Knight.”

Dance and spend a night with one of the stuffy Thirsting Veil knights? Dead gods, that sounded like fun. Rhisveri rolled his eyes.

“Hardly my interest, Regalius.”

The old [General], Bathnir, chuckled as he patted his wife’s arm. She was as white-haired as he; they looked like living statues in their military uniforms, but they both still taught strategy in their academies modeled after the Forgotten Wing company’s.

“Oh, I don’t know, Duke Rhisveri! Some company might do you well! That ever-present scowl and your attention to work might soften if you took the time to relax!”

A chorus of agreements made Rhisveri scowl.

“I hardly lack for company. It’s just that I don’t care to attend most social gatherings, company or not.”

He expected that to be the end of it, but a long silence made him peer around sharply. They were sitting in a huge glass half-dome along one of the hallways in Ailendamus’ palace, enjoying a cup of coffee and conversation as they watched the sun setting.

Rather pleasant, and this entire atrium had been the former royal family’s—until they’d looted it and the entire palace. Rhisveri always liked this room for that reason, but the sudden atmosphere made him squirm.

“What?”

“Er, Duke Rhisveri, it’s just that we never see you in company. Without offense, you’re known as one of Ailendamus’ highest-level bachelors.”

Grand Magus Detrida murmured as she levitated her cup of coffee up and took a gulp. He tried not to sound snippy as he shrugged at her.

“I’m very private with my affairs.”

That earned a loud chuckle from Sophridel’s Minister of Entertainment guise! The damn traitor, the half-Elf who never showed emotion, covered his mouth, but the damage was done.

“Something amusing, Minister Sophridel?”

In his guise, Sophridel was more human-like, but he still sounded like a damn Golem. Unfortunately…his lips curved upwards in a smile.

“I apologize, Duke Rhisveri. It is just that the thought of you in a relationship with anyone caused me to nearly have a nervous fit of exhaustive laughter.”

More tittering. They tried to hide it, but Rhisveri sat up and woke up as he realized…they didn’t believe him.

“I’m serious. Come now, what must you think of me? I just don’t care to—Sophridel, I swear, I’ll throw this cup at you if you don’t quiet down!”

He raised it, and Regalius leapt in.

“Come, come, ladies, gentlemen. What the Duke does in his own time is his business. A solitary life is one for many. My own brother was much like that, rest his soul.”

They were all nodding, respectful now, and Regalius smiled at Duke Rhisveri.

“Not to worry, Your Grace, your company is more than treat enough!”

He wrote in the notepad—until Rhisveri held out a hand. He knew he shouldn’t, that was the funny thing. A little voice in his brain told him ‘this is a bad idea’, but it was pride. It was always pride with Wyrms.

“No need, Baron Regalius. I’ll have a partner. Tonight, you said? An hour or two’s time is all I—I’ll just let her know to be ready.”

“Such short notice, Duke Rhisveri?”

“Plenty of time, Grand Magus! And I’ll introduce her to you all!”

Only silence greeted his statement. Everyone was giving him a…a look he hadn’t experienced before. Rhisveri blustered as his heart sank.

“Come on, what do you think of me? That I’m some—some Colth of Ailendamus? Ha. Hahaha!”

No one laughed with him. Rhisveri’s voice grew hoarse.

“You’ll meet her this evening. Then you’ll see.”

Then Sophridel cleared his throat.

“Her being…? Normally, I would assume a name is forthcoming.”

Sophridel got a kick under the table for that one from Rhisveri and shut up.

He made a show of hanging out with the rest of the nobles until they announced they had to get ready. Only four hours to go—barely any time for some of the ladies and Regalius. And it would go long, into the dawn. Even then, though, Rhisveri just lounged on the couch, making small-talk, sipping coffee, assuring them airily he’d be ready.

Only when the last person had gone did he leap up and race towards his rooms. Of course, he wasn’t panicked. He did have someone in mind—he just couldn’t tell them or it’d ruin the surprise.

 

——

 

“Eclizza! Ready for the night’s banquet?”

Dame Eclizza appeared in Rhisveri’s chambers as the Wyrm had his Human body throw on some clothing. She halted, like any warrior with good instincts, and eyed the two Thirsting Veil Knights who were standing straight at attention.

Eclizza could be…intense. She was the Pale Serpent of Ailendamus and, Rhisveri knew, an admirer of his. Not that he’d ever made anything of it à la the Dragonlord of Flames, that famous Satyr amongst Dragons.

Or was that Khetieve of the Waves? Bah, it was one of them. Eclizza didn’t look at the naked Rhisveri dressing himself and walked forwards to speak to the true Wyrm.

“Not particularly. I suspect I’ll be celebrated too much for my tastes. As for my fellow sisters, they’ve celebrated a bit too hard of late. I’m no Dioname.”

She glanced pointedly at Dame Chorisa and the other [Knights] under his authority, the ones who knew his secret.

“Nonsense, it’s what you deserve. And I’ll be there to cut the boredom.”

“Oh, indeed? You never go to such events.”

She was smiling behind her helmet, he could tell. The Wyrm cleared his throat a few times.

“Yes, so…well, just let me know when you’d like to head over. It’ll be tiring, but I’ll introduce you to the breakfast group I talk with. We might have to dance—dreadful stuff—but I think I avoided Regalius’ list.”

Eclizza’s possible smile winked out, and she tilted her head back. Then glanced over to Rhisveri’s Human body with a deceptive slowness. Her younger [Knights] edged back—they recognized a serpent moving in that way before it struck.

Irony of ironies, the Wyrm did not. He was busy watching his other self dress. He was a lot more coordinated after the [Palace of Fates] thing. Sensation, coordination, all increased the more mana you put into it. Almost like a simulacrum, but he wasn’t that stupid.

“Yes, all in the Court of Masks including Sophridel, ha-ha. They were talking out of their rectums about how I didn’t have anyone to go with.”

“You don’t.”

“Nonsense! We’re, ah—uh—going together. It’ll be grand. Right?”

He glanced over, and Dame Eclizza stared at him. Then she folded her arms.

“Rhisveri, I’m not going to my own banquet with you so you can reassure your friends you have a date.”

“What? But Eclizza—”

Rhisveri’s hearts sank as he heard an obstinate note in her voice. He protested.

“But surely—you’ve asked before! And I, uh—”

Don’t you like me in some manner? Dioname would have agreed, but the Great Knight just took a slow and measured breath.

“Yes. That was before I came back from the dead. Things are different. Whatever we are to each other—mentor, friend, ally, and my liege lord—it is not something I will sully by this little way for you to save face. And I would hope that in any reality, at any time, I would refuse you to your face.”

Wh—what did that mean? Rhisveri snaked around the room, blocking her off as she marched towards the doors.

“Wait, wait, Eclizza! I clearly offended you somehow, but it will be splendid! Come now, don’t be hasty—”

“The answer is no, Rhisveri. Move.”

Her voice was ominously flat, and when he tried to nudge her with his forehead, she put a hand on it—then punched his head.

Rhisveri was a several hundred foot long Wyrm. His head was larger than Eclizza’s entire body by far. So it really wasn’t fair how much that damn punch smarted.

Stupid auras. She slipped past him, and when the Duke Rhisveri tried to chase after her on foot, she grabbed his arm and tossed him back the way he’d come.

Several servants saw that. Duke Rhisveri lay on his back and stared up at the Wyrm. The two had the same thought since they shared one brain.

Uh oh. What’s my Plan B?

 

——

 

It would have been Magistrate Fithea, though she would have teased him endlessly about it. But he, ah—

It wasn’t his fault; it was biology. It was hard when your instincts said you had one shot at a romance, then you died. Male Wyrms only had one encounter to sire generations before passing on.

Fithea was dead. Yet some version of her had survived, in some world. Still, that meant no date—so once Rhisveri got up and dusted his Human self off, he turned.

“Dame Chorisa. Are you or any of your, uh, number free for this evening?”

The Thirsting Veil Knight stood straight and stared ahead.

“I regret to say that we are on guard duty this night, Duke Rhisveri!”

“Oh come on, I’m the person you’re guarding. I release you from your duty.”

“Thank you, Your Grace! However, I believe Dame Eclizza would object!”

“I outrank her.”

A pause.

“…With respect, you do not, Your Grace! In the Thirsting Veil’s hierarchy or in this matter especially!”

Rhisveri’s tongue pinged off Chorisa’s armor, but she refused to move. After several seconds of glaring, Rhisveri’s head lowered, and he whispered.

“—Then is there another [Knight] who, uh, is free?”

She hesitated, and then he recalled that Regalius had offered for a [Knight] of the Thirsting Veil to accompany anyone who was single. Damn!

“Nevermind that. Then…”

Well, it was obvious what he had to do. Rhisveri made a call. In moments, a gateway opened, and the smell of brimstone and steel filled the air.

“You called, Rhisveri?”

“Paxere! Excellent! I was just in need of someone from House Shoel to accompany me to an event tonight. Nothing arduous, just quick wits and a bit of footwork.”

Rhisveri sounded casual as possible as the young Lucifen stood there, and he almost missed Paxere’s twitching lips until he glanced over.

“What?”

“Nothing, Duke Rhisveri. I believe Lord Oxret is free for the evening.”

“Ah—er—a female member of House Shoel is essential.”

“Oh my. I’m afraid we are all engaged at the banquet, Duke Rhisveri. We shall delight in seeing you there.”

“Fine, fine! Then how about the Agelum—”

“Also occupied. And attending.”

It was only then that Rhisveri smelled a rat. He turned, and his eyes narrowed at Paxere, who was definitely fighting a smile.

“I’ll just ask Paterghost or—”

Her twitching lips stopped him. He was no idiot. The Wyrm’s vertical pupils narrowed too.

“Sophridel. That wretched, half-baked Mask Elemental—!”

He’d told House Shoel! And those damn—Devils—they were enjoying this at his expense! This was like the children broadcast all over again! Paxere bowed gracefully.

“We are so terribly sorry to fail to accommodate you, Duke Rhisveri. But I’m sure a Wyrm of your resource—”

He teleported her out of his chambers and a mile up. That made him feel better. Then the Wyrm of Ailendamus…definitely didn’t panic.

Because he was a Duke of Ailendamus! A famous, powerful man! One of Ailendamus’ most eligible bachelors, right?

Wait, they hadn’t said most eligible, just highest-level. And he’d intimated he had a long-standing partner. So he couldn’t just go out and find someone.

Still, not to worry. These kinds of problems…they just required more expenditure of resources. Now, true, it would take a lot of mana to teleport to Baleros and back, but Ryoka Griffin could dance. You had to be a good dancer if you went around barefoot and you were a Courier, right?

“Hah. Problem solved! I’ll just have to make her wear shoes, I suppose…”

Rhisveri grinned as he had the Duke adjust his bowtie in the mirror. Then he had a thought.

Wait, everyone knows she’s on Baleros. Well, rumor has her in Izril. But they know she’s not here. I’ve made a damn television show about her…how do I explain her just showing up? It’ll look like I’m desperate.

Which he wasn’t. It was just that he couldn’t justify her being here if she were on television in Baleros again the next day.

Damn, damn, damn—no, wait. Calm. Calm. Rhisveri exhaled. He had so many means…

 

——

 

Eighteen minutes later, the Knights of the Thirsting Veil peeked into the room where a female and very attractive [Lady] was trying to dance with the Duke Rhisveri. She managed a few steps, then tripped. After a second, Duke Rhisveri said:

“Damn.”

The [Lady] said:

“Ow. How the hell do you do it without…so that’s what [Parallel Thoughts] are for. Damn two legs! And how the hell does one dance in these things?”

She had heels on! Did you wear heels to a dance? Talking out of two mouths at once was…hard! After a few more tries, Rhisveri realized he might not even be able to get both talking simultaneously, let alone dancing!

Not without practice! Then he was really sweating acid. Think, think…

Okay, what about [Polymorphing] a [Servant]? A [Prostitute]? No, wait, that’s illegal, and even if I found someone who agrees, if word gets out, it’ll ruin my reputation.

Polymorph a squirrel? No, that would go bad. Uh, uh—

Wistram! Who else had [Mages] who could be here on short notice and loved shmoozing at fancy events? Rhisveri began sending [Message] spells. Not to the Terras faction, obviously, but if he showed up with a rival faction’s [Mage] on his arm, that would be a real move politically…or even if he had a Terras [Mage] as a date, come to think of it. A power move, a show of dominance.

Definitely.

 

——

 

One hour left to the banquet, and Rhisveri had a feeling they were laughing at him. Certainly, the last [Mage] he’d asked to attend, Sa’la, had seemed to know he’d asked dozens of [Mages] before her to go with him to the dance.

Free teleportation, drinks, food—was it him? Duke Rhisveri hadn’t been made that ill-looking, surely.

“It can’t be my personality? I work for Ailendamus! Everyone knows I’m gifted, and…you’re a fine fellow, Duke Rhisveri. It’s intimidation.”

The Wyrm was speaking to his Human self, and at this point, the Dame Knights were shoving each other. Chorisa was arguing with one of the others.

“It’s just one night. Whomever loses at rock-wand-paper has to do it. No armor—just put on a smile and do it. Look at him. He’s so…”

He could hear them. The Wyrm was about to accept their pity, but he knew the others would realize what he had done. He was lying on his side, out of options, when the idea hit him.

Wait a second. Wait…there was one person of excellent breeding and manners he could call on. Someone who would be impressive, who he knew, and who owed him a favor.

All he had to do was just—convince her. No, wait, get her first. He was sure she’d agree. But just, ah, in case, he’d teleport first, explain later.

Technically, kidnapping Lyonette out of her inn was a bad look, and he had a track record with Izril and doing that, which wasn’t great…but Rhisveri was desperate. So, you see—

 

——

 

“—It’s not even a huge issue! I don’t see why you’re so upset!”

The Wyrm had gotten this more or less out, and Lyonette was so aghast by the end of it she’d stopped trying to punch him. She turned, and Dame Ushar gave her a side-eye. They activated the mistress-servant telepathy for the first time in their lives in sheer haggardness.

“(Is he serious?)”

“(I fear he is.)”

Even so, Lyonette was outraged. Nay, she was furious! She’d just been catching up with Ilvriss and her daughters and not having a huge inn-event—that was tomorrow—and she’d been abducted!

“Take me back now, Rhisveri! I insist! My daughters will be worried! I have important things to do! One of my employees, Tessa, is in Tenbault, and I do not have the time to waste!”

He scoffed at her.

“I already left a letter explaining everything! It’s one night. You owe me this, Princess!”

“I owe you nothing! Your nation attacked mine!”

“Bah, that’s just politics! Come on, throw on a dress and just help me out. Something other than that apron.”

Rhisveri was trying to push her towards a wardrobe as she began to tell him he didn’t know good dress sense himself—but the ringing of steel on steel made him pause.

Dame Ushar had drawn her sword and placed it at his neck.

“Send Her Highness back, Your Grace. You are an enemy of Calanfer, and she does not consent to this abduction.”

Ushar! Lyonette was astounded, because the real Rhisveri loomed over her, eyes narrowed, and in the next moment, four [Knights] of the Thirsting Veil were around Ushar, blades pointed at her!

“Drop your sword, Dame Knight! Now!”

Ushar’s blade never moved. Lyonette raised her hands as Rhisveri froze, uncertain.

“Ushar, don’t—I don’t want you to get hurt! Lower your blade. That’s an order.”

“Not until the Duke agrees, Your Highness. I insist on his word of honor, dubious as it might now be given his actions.”

“You are in no position to demand anything!”

Dame Chorisa barked, but then Rhisveri deflated. He ignored the sword and sat down.

“No, it’s alright. Lower your blades, Knights. She’s right. No consent. I was just—nevermind. I’ll send you back. Just give me a second to make sure I’m not teleporting you a hundred feet up. I heard some idiot did that.”

Ushar blinked, and Lyonette turned, greatly surprised herself. He was backing down? The Duke scribbled magical signs on the ground with one finger, then looked up at her.

“What? If you don’t consent, you don’t. It’s fine. Mothers with children can’t leave them unattended. Yes, that’s it.”

This time, she and Ushar exchanged another telepathic glance as he muttered to himself, hugging his knees to his chest. The Wyrm was curled up into a ball, doing much the same.

“(Your Highness, no. Please.)”

“(Look at him, Ushar. I have to do it.)”

“(His nation attacked ours. You don’t have to.)”

“(Don’t you feel bad for him?)”

“(Well, yes.)”

“(You could do it.)”

“(…No, if you truly wish to, I support you.)”

Lyonette’s brow wrinkled up as Ushar avoided her stare. Then a third telepathic voice broke into the chat.

“(Please, we’re begging you. He’s going to be like this all month. Please.)”

…At least that was what Lyonette thought Dame Chorisa was projecting with her wide eyes and jerking head towards Rhisveri.

 

——

 

The first thing Lyonette did was regret her decision. Because the moment she agreed to help, Rhisveri sat up with such a self-important expression that she wanted to kick him.

“Ah, well, if you’re sure, we shouldn’t waste time then! I have a little sheet of notable people you should memorize. And of course, the event is in honor of Dame Eclizza’s return. Here’s a pamphlet on her deeds and titles—”

He produced a booklet that looked suspiciously hand-written. Lyonette glanced at it and then handed it to Ushar.

“Rhisveri, I am only doing this because of your actions in the [Palace of Fates]. And my investments in Ailendamus. I don’t intend to make a scene. I’ll appear, pretend to like you, and go.”

“Eminently reasonable. I won’t take you from your evening that much. An hour in, we teleport you back…”

Ancestors, he really was desperate. The Duke was smiling in relief, ego reinflating. Then he hesitated and added almost off-hand.

“You do have children to attend to. I’m not an idiot. That’s why I left the other [Knight]. It, uh, was good to see the little rascal. Mrsha. And the other one with the objectionable fashion taste.”

“Nanette. Thank you.”

He harrumphed, avoiding her gaze as he fiddled with his suit.

“Yes. Well—the ball awaits!”

She appreciated that, but then she realized she was committed. Lyonette groaned as she eyed the wardrobe and mirror set up.

“Very well, Rhisveri. We’d best make this proper if it’s done at all. How long do I have to get ready? It’s suppertime, you know. Is this some late-night get together? And clothing…”

She eyed his bow-tie and suit with the objectionable color-matching of dark purple on black. Dead gods, it appeared hand-tailored. Rhisveri straightened his bow-tie.

“An hour? No, wait, forty minutes, I think. It’s a late banquet until—”

“Forty minutes?”

She and Ushar shouted, and Rhisveri hesitated.

“What? Just throw on a dress and we’ll go over names. It won’t take more than, what, five minutes? How long does it take leggy people to dress, anyways?”

Another peculiarity of the Wyrm of Ailendamus was that he had no idea how to put on clothes. It transpired he had a spell that magicked them onto his body.

“[Valmira’s Spontaneous Attirement]. A lesser-known spell invented by the Archmage. I always thought it was practical, but Fithea and the Lucifen relentlessly mocked it. So what I’m hearing is you don’t want me to cast it on you…? And what is the problem with my clothing?”

Lyonette was tearing through the wardrobe he’d picked out for his fake dance partner and was tossing the expensive—and tasteless—dresses aside.

“This is utter trash! Rhisveri, are you insane? Forget the magic, I can’t wear any of this! It’s not sized to me—I’d have to be four inches taller! And it’s tasteless!”

“What? No it’s not! I had the servants gather up old dresses.”

I wonder what they thought of that. Lyonette just pointed.

“Sequins? Rhisveri, is this for a noblewoman or a [Dancer]?”

“Er…well, that one has lace.”

“Lace is out of fashion! Even you should know that! Dead gods—I have nothing to wear. I can’t even send you back to the inn because I don’t have anything fine enough to wear to a banquet with the monarchs of Ailendamus!”

She rubbed at her forehead. Rhisveri hesitated, and his main body slithered away.

“One second, one second—aha! I’ve got just the thing. I’m sure we can find someone to resize…this!”

He came back with a box, which he proudly dusted off and opened. It was rather like a giant briefcase—until Lyonette realized it was a custom-made Chest of Holding resized to be a walk-in wardrobe. A powerful spell, too; normally those did horrible things to living people, but this one was safe.

“What is that?”

“Some relic from one of the kingdoms we conquered. Caadnamis, I think? I use it to store some of my personal treasures. Here. Fit for a [Queen].”

To her horror, he levitated out a dress covered with so many glittering gemstones and cloth giving off its own light that it turned the entire room into a rainbow. She nearly went blind.

“What is that?”

“What? It’s the royal queen’s outfit. The Rainbow Dress of Caadnamis. Ah…I suppose that would be rather suspicious, wouldn’t it?”

It was so damn gaudy! Lyonette knew something of the old kingdoms that had gone under, and she didn’t recall hearing of that dress worn in public often.

I bet the old [Queens] hated that thing. It looks heavy as sin, and you’d blind your audience every time you curtsied. She folded her arms.

“Everything in that wardrobe is out. I’ll either outshine the royal family, be out-of-date, or wear a Relic-class dress to a banquet. Rhisveri, do you have any [Tailors] or [Dressmakers] in the palace with speed Skills? Extreme speed Skills?”

They might be able to alter something—Rhisveri hesitated, then he began to send his Duke form running off.

“I’ll get—”

“Oh, no you won’t. Your attire is just as bad. Ushar, do something about him. Send one of those [Knights]!”

Lyonette pointed at the Thirsting Veil Knights, who raised their helmeted heads. They seemed to be deep in thought about something, but one of them went jogging into the palace. Still—she was in doubt they’d be successful.

“Every time a banquet happens, someone needs a dress let out or something repaired. They’ll be in high demand. Who’s coming to this banquet?”

“Hmm. Everyone?”

This time, she actually went to stomp on one foot. Rhisveri was covering his lower half with a coat; Ushar was pulling out his outfits to find something less hideous. At least here he had a selection she suspected someone else had procured for him. She eyed him severely. Naked, Rhisveri was moderately fit and denuded of hair everywhere but his face. It made him appear very odd.

“How many nobles, Rhisveri? Don’t tell me you don’t know. Also, you look horrible naked.”

“What?”

He was highly offended. She scowled at him.

“Most people have body hair. You look like, well, a naked flesh-snake.”

“Hair. You primates with your hair everywhere. It’s disgusting.”

He grumbled as Ushar passed him some pants. Lyonette tapped her foot, trying to winnow down the dresses and find the best one, but it was hopeless. She hated them all.

The cast-off dresses of Ailendamus were either tacky, meant for [Dancers] or people who weren’t attending balls, or so ridiculously expensive—like black metal sequins sewn onto blacker silk so you looked like a glittering night sky…highly expensive and utterly generic as looks went, at least for someone who’d grown up with it.

Dead gods, the only person worse than Rhisveri is Nanette. Lyonette wished the girl were here to see this. She hoped Ushar’s message reassured everyone she was fine.

What am I doing? She wanted to go home and have a game of cards with Ilvriss. However, Rhisveri’s crestfallen expression and her memory of him fighting in the [Palace of Fates] made her relent slightly.

“If it’s not a huge gathering and it’s informal, we may be able to get away with an outfit appropriate for a sitting room or parlor. Slightly indecorous, but isn’t Ailendamus supposed to be oh-so-efficient and progressive?”

She tried not to let scorn enter her tone, but she did hear about the Kingdom of Glass and Glory, even if she’d never visited. Rhisveri sniffed at her.

“I wasn’t lying. I meant everyone. All the nobility who can attend are coming. This is a kingdom-wide celebration. I think there will be at least ten thousand of the nobility in attendance. Some Wistram [Mages] will broadcast the event since we’re being nice. A full legion of Hydra Knights has been invited—not one particular one, but various commanders and regular [Knights]…twice that number of commonfolk? Four times? And the diplomats are eating—”

He saw Lyonette visibly pale.

“Dead gods, Rhisveri! Even Calanfer couldn’t host that many people in a single space!”

“Well, we have the palace. It’s eight or more palaces combined. And it’s for Eclizza. Don’t worry, don’t worry! Well, actually, worry since we’re sitting at the front table with Itorin. Technically, he’s my brother.”

Rhisveri wore a self-satisfied smirk as he saw the two Calanferians’ dismay until Lyonette fired back.

“Well, you will either sit alone or with someone dressed so poorly they’ll assume I was paid to be there! Or that you treat your partner like trash. So help me find a dress or you can put one of them in a dress!”

She pointed at another of the Thirsting Veil Knights, and they went running for a [Dressmaker]. Rhisveri licked his lips nervously.

“I’m sure I can get someone to do good work. I am the King’s brother. I have precedence!”

Yes, but he’d have to fight a desperate [Lady] for a good [Dressmaker], and that wasn’t a battle Lyonette was willing to back the Wyrm on. She still needed a base outfit worth…something! Lyonette wasn’t just worried about that.

“I haven’t been to a Terandrian ball since I was seventeen. All my graces are surely gone. Oh, dead gods, this is a mistake! If only I had some Calanferian outfits. Not that I had good taste back then, but at least they would be decent!”

Rhisveri frowned at her.

“What does Calanferian fashion look like? Sunbursts and dawn imagery? That’s rather tacky.”

She was wishing for a miracle and was even tempted to raid the royal outfits of plundered kingdoms on the off chance they could make one suitably unrecognizable. She snapped at Rhisveri.

“We follow social trends! They’re beautiful atmospheric colors, Rhisveri. Not just sunshine. We have each state of sky in our wardrobes! Twilight gowns, celestial-themed outfits…and the colors of the dawn. But I took none of that from home, just my Cloak of Balshadow.”

“Oh, a Cloak of Balshadow? Not bad, not bad. Hardly more than Gold-ranking gear, unless it was a 1st-generation?”

Predictably, he grew distracted with talk of artifacts, and she pointed a finger at him warningly.

“Find me a dress, Rhisveri! There has to be one in your collection!”

“I don’t actually hoard apparel. The net value of it is too unpredictable. Dragons just grab everything. I make fiscal decisions, you see. I had this huge supply of sulfur a year ago when there was a huge buyout for some reason—”

“Get me a damn dress, Rhisveri! Check your rooms! That door!”

She pointed, and Rhisveri’s head snaked around. The Duke began to go running, then slowed.

“…That’s not a door that should be there. Take cover.”

The way he said that made her whirl and reach for a sword. Then Lyonette blinked and cried out.

“Wait, that’s my—don’t attack, it’s mine!”

Rhisveri’s mouth snapped shut before the Wyrm could blast the gilt door encrusted with flaking golden paint. He eyed her, swallowed, and rasped.

“You what? What is it with your inn and doors?”

Lyonette murmured, confused.

“It’s the [Treasury of House Marquin]. But it’s useless. I just store gold in there. See?”

She took a few steps forwards and swung the door open. This was one of Lyonette’s Skills she had gained but never really used, like her dance or gambling Skills. She’d been excited, but it was little more than a more impressive Chest of Holding—utterly useless with Erin’s Skills.

It was like a walk-in closet with wooden shelves lining a thin space, a rack of items on one side of the wall—nothing more. It was even slightly dirty, and she suspected no one in House Marquin had gained the Skill in generations.

The [Treasury of House Marquin] held all that Lyonette owned. Her Cloak of Balshadow, her tiara, the highly dangerous Ring of Conflagration almost out of magic…Lyonette really needed to get that recharged by Hedault. Even if they hadn’t been placed there, her possessions of value showed up.

She’d used it as a dumping ground for all the gold the inn had generated, and the shelves were groaning with stacks of gold coins, then just piles of gold on the shelves and floor when she’d gotten so desperate she’d just begun emptying full bags into it. A rather embarrassing closet, in short, full of grand titles and not much of value.

Rather like House Marquin, she supposed. It had tickled Lyonette’s fancy that if she forgot about it, at least a new generation of her family might one day get a bit of gold out of the Skill. That was the sight she intended to show Rhisveri. But when the door swung open, Lyonette saw no dingy shelves and walk-in closet.

Instead, she found a [Knight] in armor raising a mace overhead, about to swing on her.

“Aaah!”

This time, Ushar was there, and she swung her shield up to parry the mace as she stabbed with a blade of her own. Her sword pierced the battered piece of armor through the chest, and the mannequin fell over. The armor crashed to the ground.

“Huh? That’s—”

The helmet rolled off, exposing a simple wooden doll you could put armor onto. Ushar yanked her sword tip out of the armor; her enchanted blade had cleaved the metal in two.

Lyonette blinked at the strange weapon Ushar held, with a blue hilt flared out with very ornamental wings; the blade was unnaturally bright on its own. Then she remembered—Ushar had armed herself with weapons from Albez. This was one of Warmage Thresk’s weapons and it was clearly exceptionally sharp.

Still, Ushar’s first target in this world was an innocent suit of armor. Red-cheeked, the [Knight] shoved the armor aside and turned to the [Princess].

“Your Highness, this isn’t your Skill. Or rather, it is, but…”

It wasn’t anything like the walk-in closet that Lyonette remembered. It was bigger, and the room beyond was smoother stone rather than cheap wood. More than that…Lyonette saw the shelves were covered in dust. But there were traces of—

“Magic? This place is disgusting. I can see why you don’t advertise it. Do you people not clean your Skill-based rooms? That’s shocking. I take a cleaning spell around my part of the palace every week. But it’s hardly useless. I mean, the armor is, but that seems valuable.”

Rhisveri poked his head into the wardrobe as Lyonette spluttered and coughed.

“This isn’t my Skill, Rhisveri! It’s—dead gods, it’s filthy. What’s going on? I thought that was a man in armor.”

Ushar poked at the armor and helmet, shaking her head.

“Nope, just some battered plate armor, Your Highness. Terribly used; I wouldn’t give this to a [Squire] in the Thronebearers, for all it’s very good steel.”

It did appear horribly worn and cut up. It was thicker than Lyonette thought armor was, but Rhisveri just shook his head.

“You Thronebearers. That’s a Dragonchallenger-type plate. Nearly half again as thick on the chestplate. Heavy as you can wear and fight in. They retired that kind of plate, and we decided it wasn’t worth the mobility issues to mass-produce when we were designing our [Knights], but it’s very respectable. The wearer must have been strong, though.”

“This is a waste of time.”

Lyonette muttered, knowing they needed to focus on the dress, but her instincts were singing this was important. This…Skill had appeared when she needed a dress.

Could it be? She had too much experience with Erin to dismiss this. But that thought made her tense.

“Ushar, I think my Skill is doing something Erin-related.”

“Ah. Are we in danger, Your Highness?”

“From my Skill? I doubt it.”

“Very good, Princess. I’ll prepare handkerchiefs.”

Rhisveri’s head turned from Lyonette to Ushar, then he clearly remembered the [Palace of Fates] and tensed himself. He whispered.

“[Greater Identification]. Hmm. Not a big room. Two side rooms; there’s not much hostile magic in here, either. Most of it appears degraded. Actually, there’s layers. I’m getting magic that’s quite old and newer stuff, but the ‘new’ is still centuries in decline. Magic bindings faded. Oh, look at that hole in the shelves over there. Destabilized enchantments must have gone off. Shoddy work.”

He pointed at a hole in the shelves. Lyonette frowned.

“How long does it take for an enchantment to do that?”

“Very bad bindings from amateurs? Months. But this kind of quality…well, I guess centuries from the dust accumulation. And the old magic is…not as old as me, but very old. Thousands of years.”

That snapped her head around. Lyonette traded a glance with Ushar.

“But my closet was nothing! It only had my…stuff. This?”

They stepped past the fallen mannequin and saw a central pillar where it had been standing. The room split around it before ending after two dozen paces; then two doors to the right and left formed a ‘T’ shape to this place.

Hardly more impressive. The shelves were mostly still wood, though it looked richer than Lyonette’s dingy shelves, and she saw several objects lying under the dust. Gloves, a sword here, even a bottle of something—all of it old and probably useless or out of magic.

What the—then she saw the sign on the far wall and halted.

“Oh my.”

‘The Treasury of House Marquin’ was spelled out in faded, golden letters on a signboard hanging from the wall. Nothing more, and it wasn’t the product of a Skill, just someone with a steady hand and some paint.

That wasn’t what made Lyonette halt abruptly and put some of the pieces together. No, it was what was scribbled below the signboard. A neat hand had written the first part, and then the rest had been signed like signatures, all flourishes in faded golden ink.

 

Owners: Marquin Queen Marquin the First or something.

Prince Camridel King Camridel IV of House Marquin

Princess Angele, 4th Princess of Calanfer. Zekol 2311.

Princess Thie, daughter of Princess Angele

Marquessa Yinvinie, by blood of House Marquin, the honor of a lifetime.

Prince Amlet

King Amlet. I took your crown, Queen Marquin. Your armor is still too heavy.

 

That was it. Seven names, and one repeated. So this Skill had passed through owners exactly six times since…

Queen Marquin the Radiant. The original. The—Lyonette stared at the signboard in awe.

“Oh my. But how…her own Skill?”

Ushar had sunk to one knee. The two were transfixed until Rhisveri coughed.

“Dusty. Let me just get some water and a cleaning spell. Can’t cast [Cleanse] until you know what’s about—hey, there’s a roach over here. Dead. Oh, and a logbook. Excellent, excellent.”

Completely unaffected by their awe, he was paging through an ancient tome sitting on a lectern under the signboard. Lyonette shouted.

“Don’t touch—!”

“[Reinforce Bindings]. [True Stasis]…and [Repair]. Hmm. That’ll do. It’s not so old I can’t make it better, but you’d better re-copy this. We have thirty-three minutes, incidentally.”

He didn’t touch the old logbook, but levitated it up, and color washed over the faded, grey bindings until she saw green leather, and the pages brightened. Only then did he toss it to her.

It occurred to Lyonette that the best people to bring into a room of old artifacts would be Wyrms or Dragons, who had an interest in keeping valuables intact. She nodded at him as he wandered around, doing the same to other objects.

Then, with trembling hands, she opened the logbook. The first thing she saw was the same handwriting, blunter than the regal handwriting she’d been raised to, but legible. A [General]’s hand writing in bold words.

 

This is a logbook of my Skill, such as it is. If you’re reading this, then I had children or someone took up the name. Funny to be given a glorified storeroom as a Skill, but it beats bags of holding. I intend to leave anything of value for Calanfer itself, but I’ll put what I can in here. And how this damn Skill works. They never come with instruction manuals.

 

Queen Marquin’s writing. Lyonette flipped a page as Ushar poked her head over her shoulder in awe before realizing she should be on lookout. Another page was an entry marked ‘16’.

 

Had a word with one of Samal’s [Key Princes]. Nearly had to twist his arm off before he told me this kind of thing is normal. But all of their stuff is far fancier. I finally figured out how it worked! I was putting some of the funds I had while travelling in here and complaining how cheap everything was. Before I knew it, all the shelves were fine wood! Mahogany, nothing fancy.

…Damn room cost me 500 gold to do the upgrade, though. Five hundred? I could have done that with a saw and tools in a day!

 

Entry 17. 

Okay, everything’s too damn expensive in here. I built another room where I’ll store more private gear, maybe even put a bed in if I need to sleep in secret, but it’s not worth the cost when I have a kingdom to build. If anyone who comes after wants to shell out the gold, be my guest. But from where I’m standing, it’s not worth having a fancy ‘treasury’ Skill when a few shelves are all you need.

How many Relics are we going to have, anyways? Plus, if I bite the dust, I don’t think my little baby boy gets the Skill guaranteed. Better put only a few things in here, but what do I know?

 

Lyonette flipped the pages. The handwriting visibly changed after several more entries, which grew more sporadic as Marquin lost interest in this, but each new owner had something to say.

 

Princess Angele’s Log Entry #1, Zekol 2311, Era of the Seventh Nagatine Empire, 62. Solla 14.

I do not know who may read of this, so I am recording the dates as best I may. My predecessor, King Camridel, felt no need, nor did Queen Marquin herself, but I feel as though it is a necessity given that one hundred twenty-nine! whole generations have passed since the reign of King Camridel and my own.

I first must explain that I am indeed a [Princess] and not, I think, likely to succeed the throne. I would take this Skill as a sign, but as Queen Marquin herself noted, it is no mark of legacy for the throne. 

Perhaps it is needed, but I fear this is no hour when I see myself leading an army to Rhir…or against the Nagatine Empire. Not now. Perhaps I do not deserve this Skill? I am but a [Princess], but I wish to assure those who come after…

 

Two more pages were devoted to her justifying her gaining the Skill. At this point, Lyonette knew she had to stop reading; time was passing. But she had two questions.

One, why was this Skill so changed? It was clear to her now that she had accessed it much like Marquin had, in an unformed state. Could she expand her own Skill? The second was…why had it appeared for her? Surely there was something here she needed.

The answers to both came quickly, as Lyonette saw there was, in fact, several little leaflets of gold sticking out of the book.

Bookmarks. How handy. Someone had selected passages of note, like Marquin’s words of wisdom. Lyonette went back to one of the first ones and read.

 

Entry 21. Hey, it’s back! I was worried sick someone had stolen it. Turns out…this Skill only works on Terandria’s soil. I went on a trip to Rhir, where they’re setting up the Kingdom of Rhir. 

Brave boys and girls. But I tried to access this place to give them a few tokens of my appreciation, and I only got the empty closet again.

Turns out…turns out there’s a treasury on each continent! Hah! You know, I thought that was a good idea. Maybe it’s how I designed it in my head?

Think about it. You can’t steal from it if we keep things hidden on another continent, eh? I’ll put a few tools in the Rhir one next time I visit and open up ones on other continents. Not that I want to spread the wealth around, but if someone in House Marquin gets trapped on Rhir, they could always use another sword. I wanted to go and see if we could find more Crelers or where they came from, but everyone’s [Dangersenses] went off the closer we got to the Pit. 

Hell’s got places even I daren’t tread. Not even Dragons. It shames me to say, but we need to rebuild rather than chase the foe down there. Besides, if eight Named-ranks can’t report back…

I shan’t write about all I saw and whom I met there. Some secrets you have to keep, even in places as secure as this, and I vowed not to tell of it. We were warned. That’s enough to say. Not everyone wanted to listen, but it was fair. Warned and still, there’s something down there that no one dares battle. Not yet. We’re too tired, too beaten down, and if it’s worse than an Elder Creler, we must be ready. So that’s the plan.

They’ll build walls, they tell me. Walls so strong not even an Ancient Creler will break them. Let this be more of a lesson on how the treasury works, since I’ll write down my thoughts on Crelers and Rhir and shout that to everyone I know. But be damn careful.

Something’s down in that hole. Something that did for a lot of Crelers. I swear they were watching me long before I got close. I swear…there was a lot of ‘em, but I can’t write more. Hopefully by the time you’re reading this, it’s done and dealt with.

Anyways, also don’t store food in here. I had roaches.

—Marquin

 

When Lyonette glanced up this time, she saw one of the side doors was open. And there was indeed a bedroom with a very dilapidated bed inside. More personal possessions lay in there. Rhisveri was reading over her shoulder, and he seemed impressed.

“Do you know what this means?”

Lyonette saw Ushar had a wardrobe open, and she saw an old gown of magical fabric spill into the Thronebearer’s arms. The possession of one of the former owners. Lyonette’s breath caught as the dress whirled, and she realized it was enchanted so the green blew like a field of grass in the wind. Then she saw the sleeves changing color until they were like sundrenched wheat, shifting till the top was blue like the sky.

“Oh my. That…that could work. I think I have a dress after all, Rhisveri.”

Assuming it fit. But she wondered if someone dedicated enough to make an enchanted, color-shifting dress wouldn’t also make it resizable? Lyonette’s heart was beating fast, and she gazed at Rhisveri in wonder.

No heartbreak in this place—well, some. She remembered Marquin’s face as she led the charge against the Crelers and squeezed her eyes shut. The Wyrm, for all his bluster, was also more respectful of this place than he would have been otherwise. But he did smile.

“No, I meant—you know that armor your bodyguard stabbed? You know who wore that, don’t you?”

Lyonette’s eyes snapped back open, and Ushar faltered. Both women turned to Rhisveri, and he strode back to the front.

The battered Dragonchallenger plate armor and sword were plain, unenchanted, and scarred terribly by battle. Huge grooves were cut into the thick steel, as if produced by thin, weirdly curved blades. Or…claws of some kind?

Lyonette saw Ushar pale as she stared at the hole her enchanted sword from the [Palace of Fates] had left in the metal. Rhisveri knelt over the stand, righting it and murmuring to himself.

“Cheap for royals in any era. Why would they keep this around? It’s clearly been enchanted not to rust away…but if you think about it, this is the kind of armor you’d get if you couldn’t afford magic. Especially if you were in a war. Yep. Ahaha.”

He found something that had been knocked over and put it up. The plaque read:

 

Armor of Queen Marquin the Radiant.

 

The notched mace, the armor with a new stab wound in the chestplate—possibly one of the greatest relics of Calanfer stood there as Lyonette and Rhisveri turned to Ushar. The Thronebearer looked like she was going to throw up.

“It—it could be a replica.”

She tried, desperate, and on a hunch, Lyonette took the breastplate off the stand. It was so heavy she nearly fell over, but when she turned it, she saw some ancient padding inside the breastplate. It was covering the right side extensively. As if you needed a bit more there because you were missing something.

Like, say, a breast. Rhisveri whistled.

“If this is the armor she could afford back when she was, what, leading soldiers around, then she lost the breast when she was even less geared up. One angry Human with a mace beating down Crelers. That always struck me as a better founder of a nation than the Hundred Heroes. I met her, you know.”

He stood, smug, wistful, and amused, until Lyonette broke the paralysis by putting the armor on the stand. She turned and met Ushar’s eyes.

“Ushar, hand me that dress and anything that looks good. Rhisveri, you’re filthy. We have less than thirty minutes, and I have no makeup. Move!”

She clapped her hands, and the two jumped—treasury of her forebearers or not, Lyonette had a banquet to get ready for. Priorities!

She hoped Marquin would approve.

 

——

 

Only after the two were gone did the Thirsting Veil Knights let out a huge breath of relief. In fact, they began applauding like loons. Because they genuinely had been worried about the Wyrm in a strange way.

It was only after they’d relaxed that Dame Aine turned to Chorisa. The youngest Thirsting Veil Knight of the squad raised a hand and pointed at the young woman’s back.

“Er, Dame Chorisa?”

“Yes, Dame Aine?”

“A query and thought.”

“Only the one?”

The Thirsting Veil Knight didn’t really laugh.

“Hah. Two, then. Firstly, that female [Knight]’s armor was bright gold. Polished. She was good with her sword, though…does any other Knight-Order wear that armor?”

“Um…”

The other [Knights] stopped celebrating and began to catch onto Dame Aine’s thought. The young woman raised another finger.

“Second, he said ‘Your Highness’. And, uh, ‘Princess’. Never her name, but the other [Knight] said the duke as an ‘enemy of Calanfer’. Which…which [Princess] do you think that was?”

All four [Knights] regarded each other. Then the Wyrm, who’d curled into a ball to better control his other self for the night. They stared at the place the [Princess] had been, did some quick mental math.

Then two of them went running to find Dame Eclizza, fast as they could. But of course, by the time they found her—the ball had begun.

 

——

 

The Duke was late for the banquet he’d made such a fuss over. But King Itorin II didn’t mind. He’d heard Rhisveri had been running around the palace searching for a suitable date, and anything that made the Wyrm squirm amused the [King].

It was hardly as though you could realize Rhisveri was absent in a gathering such as this. Itorin wasn’t sure if it was forty thousand guests or sixty? They were spread out across many rooms, though the grand ballroom was probably accommodating at least a fourth of them.

A sea of species, not just humanity. Mostly Humanity, but he saw more than enough half-Elves. Normally, they might be shunned, but they mixed with Dwarves, long-lived beings who commented on how the palace had grown again since their last visits.

Species from other parts of the world were also visitors, emissaries or guests or sometimes just citizens brought here for their talents. A Garuda fluttered up to admire a golden visage of a former [King] of Ailendamus until they saw Itorin watching them and dove down, though he didn’t mind.

The Drakes were all gathered around the more flashy signs of wealth; they were admiring a rather horrible statue of King Itorin the First, made out of gold.

Just gold. Different colors like Truegold, Blacksand gold, purple gold—you could color it with effort—but it was just so horrifically gaudy that Itorin shuddered every time he passed it by. The plinth was reinforced to keep the horrible statue standing, but the Drakes always loved it.

Itorin put them out of his head. So long as they avoided fighting with the Lizardfolk—again—he was more minded to speak to the emissary of the House of Minos. The tall Minotaurs were standing, arms crossed, speaking to a group of Gnolls, all of whom seemed drawn to a huge roasting spit outside where generous cuts of meat were being handed out.

Lines everywhere, but Ailendamus under Queen Oiena had treated this like a battle and assembled hordes of food and entertainments such that if you didn’t want to wait for the meat, you could drift over to where an [Ice Mage] was lifting colored globs of ice cream into the air and compressing them into artful cones for dumbstruck children.

Or—a huge lure for anyone with a vegetarian attitude towards food—you could visit some of the gardens that grew produce, pick your favorite vegetables, and have them washed and prepared before your eyes. Oiena loved that trick. She called it ‘making the guests earn their food and prepare a dish they can’t complain about’. Itorin was sure there was a fancier way to say that, but Taimaguros didn’t go in huge for analogies.

Besides, as grand as the affair was, it hardly turned on the royal family. True, you had Wistram [Mages] in attendance recording everything, but this wasn’t going to be more than a mention on the news despite the massive number of guests.

It was a celebration for Ailendamus; once he gave the speech celebrating Dame Eclizza, he sat down, took the first bite of the food, and then the guests mingled and celebrated. The first illusion spells began activating in the gardens for people to watch, and several [Actors] were present.

Not to perform, but they’d been rushed all the way from Pheislant just to be here and add to the moment. The Players of Celum were booked for a full month in Ailendamus, and Itorin was only amazed that the Kingdom of Glass and Glory couldn’t get them for longer.

He supposed they were a kind of celebrity like the Singer of Terandria. He just hoped none of them were spies this time.

—The point was, when Duke Rhisveri Zessoprical was announced into the central ballroom looking out into the gardens, the banquet was already twenty minutes underway. Yet his presence was not…unnoticed.

Of course, the [Crier] drew eyes, but Itorin had been waiting for this, and so had a number of dignitaries in Ailendamus. House Shoel, both Lucifen and Agelum, were here, as well as many of the more reclusive ‘nobles’ like Menorkel. And Rhisveri’s entire social group was waiting for him. Their head-turns and clear interest made the rest of the ballroom focus their attention on the very nervous Duke standing with a sharp-looking suit on.

“Odd. More color than your brother normally wears.”

Oiena, the Queen of Ailendamus, remarked with a frown. She was in good spirits; a lot of Taimaguros’ delegation were here to celebrate with their allies, and she loved to talk of her empire with her people. She patted her mouth as she eyed Rhisveri’s outfit.

He did indeed have on a suit of off-white cloth with little twining serpents in purple on the forearms that ran up from the cuffs, but it was not his usual attire. It was a faintly golden white? Not cream, but…

Itorin would have said it was ill-fitting to most gatherings, but it worked. However, it was the partner who stood behind one of the doors he wanted to see. The [King] actually craned his neck.

Please be a polymorphed squirrel. Please be a polymorphed…if it was Ryoka Griffin, it would be a huge problem, but he thought he might die of laughter. But then Rhisveri held out an arm, making some comment to the unseen partner, and Itorin had another thought.

I haven’t seen Viscount Visophecin lately. What if it’s Visophecin under illusion spells?

He hid a smile with his goblet, then paused. Someone walked past Rhisveri, ignoring his arm. She halted, and Queen Oiena’s brows rose.

“Oh my, who is that, Itorin? I haven’t ever seen her in the palace. Is this Rhisveri’s mysterious partner?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

Itorin murmured, but his brows had drawn together, and he was focused on the young woman who stood, surveying the room of interested nobles. He realized in a moment that this was no polymorphed squirrel.

Her poise was too good. She stood, knowing she was on display, and her dress was clearly magical. It was a sunburst of yellow around her shoulders, radiating down to fiery orange and a deeper red, like a burning flame. Even as she curtseyed to the throne, he saw the colors shifting. Darkening like the sky itself, towards night.

Who is this? He was so focused on her, trying to understand, that he almost forgot to acknowledge the curtsey. When he did, she rose, and he saw her black hair curling around her shoulders. A brass ring flashed on one finger, and he saw no more he could identify about her. Only a certainty…

The [King] of Ailendamus crooked a finger, and a servant appeared. He murmured, shielding his mouth.

“Find out who that is.”

Then he stood as the Duke and his date approached the table.

“Brother, I thought I might not see you tonight.”

Rhisveri grumbled, seeming slightly pleased as he threw himself into a seat at the table. Oiena nodded at him as she smiled at the other woman.

“Oh, I had to show up, Brother. If only to prove I actually had a partner for this event. All these naysayers…”

“Will you introduce her to us? It is a delight to meet my brother’s paramour, Miss…?”

The young woman reacted ever-so-slightly to the word ‘paramour’; if he wasn’t watching, he would have missed the slight thinning of her lips. Well, well, even more interesting. Rhisveri cleared his throat.

“This is, uh, uh…”

He froze up, and the young woman leaned over.

“Eyonlett, Your Majesty. Though ‘Eyon’ is quite fine as well. It is an honor to be invited to such an auspicious occasion. I hope I shall not embarrass myself in your company.”

“Miss Eyonlett, anyone who can stand my brother’s company is already graceful in many ways.”

Itorin teased Rhisveri as the Wyrm narrowed his eyes at the [King], but he couldn’t say anything in public. There was laughter, and Rhisveri jerked his head.

“We won’t sit here long. I have to talk to my associates. Eyon—er, where’s your bodyguard?”

“Rusha? I believe she’s—yes, there.”

Itorin and Oiena turned, and the King saw, to his surprise, a rather stiff figure in a massive suit of plate armor standing with other guards. Dead gods, that looks heavy. It was half again as bulky as even a Drell Knight’s armor.

“What a fearsome [Knight]. Where does she hail from, Miss Eyon? Are you a lady of the realm or…?”

She smiled.

“One must be mysterious, Your Majesty. Do forgive me, but I fear I cannot say at this moment. As for my [Knight], she is sworn to defend me with her life.”

“Ah, a mystery. Delightful. Rhisveri, you snake, you’ve been keeping Miss Eyon secret from us all.”

Itorin smiled, but rather like a viper himself. He didn’t buy any of this for a moment. His first instinct was that this ‘Eyon’ was a young woman that Rhisveri had found, a servant or someone he’d teleported into the palace, and that ‘knight’ was much the same.

Or perhaps they were both [Knights] of the Thirsting Veil? You’d never know if one of them took off a helmet. Itorin didn’t like Rhisveri, and with due respect to the Duke’s poor dinner date, he intended to expose that she didn’t belong.

The easiest way being, of course, to just eat. Rhisveri and Eyon were served a course of food; leaves of salad fresh-picked from half-Elven villages, fresh produce from around Ailendamus, and a soup made by a [Masterclass Chef].

Itorin was sure every eye was on the duo, and he watched as the young lady…instantly picked up the right salad fork and delicately took a bite of the dish.

Huh. In fact, she caught Rhisveri’s arm and indicated without words that he was using the wrong spoon. The Wyrm corrected himself, and Itorin spoke.

“Ah, I have utterly failed in my own duties. My wife, Queen Oiena of Ailendamus and proud daughter of Taimaguros. Gura, over Taima.”

He smiled faintly as Oiena flashed a proud smile and introduced herself. The rest of the royal family were at the table, like young Oesca and her brothers, Ivenius and Votrin. There was even a young woman who was the center of attention—

“Princess Ozena of Ailendamus.”

One of Terandria’s most eligible noblewomen—along with Duchess Greina and Princess Telleis—smiled at the young woman, who did seem fascinated to meet the famous [Princess]. Ozena leaned over the table.

“Your dress is stunning, Miss Eyon. If you’ll pardon me, I should love to borrow the look.”

So saying, the [Princess] threw back her head in a practiced move. Her hair rose and hovered in the air behind her head—then the royal red of her hair, closer to ruby, began to ripple with colors.

Exactly like Eyon’s dress. There was a gasp from a few, and the [Princess] smiled. Itorin himself merely hid a sigh behind a bite of soup.

Only one of his offspring was wed, and his oldest daughter, Ozena, certainly attracted suitors like flies. She was gifted in magic and still studied at Ailendamus’ academies, but she was so capable she was often part-teacher as well. Ozena was also gifted with the sword, and she’d become that rare class that inspired so many to admiration.

[Battle Princess]. She was already Level 35 at her age of 24, and it was why she was considered to be one of the golden three along with her peers, who were already Gold-rank adventurers. She didn’t even have red hair; she could change colors without even concentrating. A level of magic that until Archmage Eldavin had been considered incredible.

Ozena also had a rather powerful aura, which she wasn’t letting wash over Eyon, because that would have been purely offensive, but it was hard to even meet her eye when it was strong. But to his surprise, Miss Eyon didn’t react to the theft of her dress’ style or Ozena’s aura. Instead, she laughed and clapped her hands together in polite applause.

“Princess Ozena, that is an amazing display of magic! Do forgive me; you must hear it all the time from non-[Mages]. However, I daresay that Ailendamus’ magical academies do prove that Wistram is not the only peerless magical institution in the world. Pray tell, are you studying at…Heltifens, I believe? In the Mayesh region? It must have taken days to reach the capital for this gathering.”

Itorin blinked. So did Ozena; Eyon met her eyes just long enough, and her face was openly delighted and respectful.

What a fascinating reply. In one moment, she complimented Ailendamus, demonstrated her knowledge of Ailendamus, and he thought she paved the way for Ozena’s reply.

“Oh, it only took a few minutes. I teleported here. The latest thing, you know.”

“My word. Teleportation at such distances? I heard Wistram was offering the service, but is Ailendamus doing the same?”

Despite himself, the [King] chuckled, and he leaned over; their voices were magnified by a subtle spell from the head table, so he knew even his confidential voice would reach others—and be recorded by Wistram’s [Mages].

“We have no intention to sell the magic on the same level as the Academy of Mages, but it is certainly a handy tool. I would have imagined Duke Rhisveri would have kept you up to date on all the magical goings on in the kingdom, though, Miss Eyon? He is our finest spellcaster, bar none.”

She smiled at him in a way that gave nothing away.

“I am well familiar with Duke Rhisveri’s ability to appear where he wishes to be, Your Majesty. But he is a hard man to compare to other [Mages] of Ailendamus or what is accessible to commonfolk.”

“Very true.”

And she gave nothing away. Not one thing! He even pushed at her subtly with his aura, but felt like he hit a rock wall.

She’s got anti-aura training? Or one of her own? If she did, she was suppressing it so hard that he couldn’t tell.

Who was this? There was a murmur in the background of their conversation as Ailendamus’ own smiled in national pride about their magical acumen. Several [Mages] of Wistram glowered as they spoke over their goblets, and visitors eyed Ozena appreciatively.

Few saw that Eyon had led the conversation that way. Itorin raised his glass. Despite himself, he was getting more curious than amused. And he wasn’t the only one. Ozena, as well as the queen, had focused on Eyon—perhaps they’d noticed Itorin using his aura or just picked up on her diplomatic abilities.

Rhisveri was the one who seemed uncomfortable by the clear interest the royal family was showing in his date. He pushed his nearly untouched plate back.

“Fine soup. Eyon, come, let’s visit my friends and not keep my brother too long.”

His rather presumptuous tone and jerk of the head made Queen Oiena frown. Oesca, her daughter, protested.

“But I wanted to talk too, Uncle Rhisveri! Your dress is marvellous, Miss Eyon. May I touch it?”

“Of course.”

Eyon bent over and offered her sleeve for Oesca to ooh over. Rhisveri coughed.

“Why don’t we go, Eyon? I’m sure you don’t want t—”

He took her arm, impatient, and she kicked him. It was so fast that Itorin saw the expression of agony on Rhisveri’s face as he sat up in his chair—and didn’t even see Eyon twitch.

Oh my. Now, the entire royal family was fascinated as they waited for Rhisveri to explode. The Duke’s famous temper…turned into a sickly smile as Eyon eyed him. Whatever passed between her steady blue gaze and his purple one, he sat back.

“Er—or we could enjoy the soup. What’s in this, cabbage?”

He took another bite of it, and Eyon addressed Oesca.

“It’s an honor to speak to you, Your Highness. This banquet is marvellous.”

“It’s okay.”

The [Princess] responded in that frank way of children. She glanced around, then lowered her voice.

“But it’s for Dame Eclizza, and she hates people making a fuss over her. The light show is very appealing, and the Players of Celum are delightful. You should meet both, Miss Eyon.”

She delivered that with all of a [Princess]’ dull training, but then added with a spark of independence.

“I just wish the Wind Runner were here! Did you see her on the news?”

It was indecorous, but Oesca was nine. And everyone had seen Ryoka Griffin’s daring rescue of that Lizardgirl a while ago. Here, too, Eyon said the most interesting thing.

“Ah, Ryoka Griffin? She is a daring woman. Have you met her yourself, Princess Oesca?”

“I have! And she gave me flying lessons and showed me how fast she can run and how to backflip—even if I’m not allowed to, yet—and she let me see her Faeblade, but not touch it.”

And she broke Lord Sammial Veltras out of the palace, killed Magistrate Fithea—we think—and cut off Archmage Eldavin’s head after paralyzing Baron Regalius. Terrible acts, but Itorin knew more than most; he’d hushed the death of Magistrate Fithea up, and he was well aware that Duke Rhisveri had first kidnapped Ryoka. Whether or not she’d tried to steal something from him to begin with, the immortal cabal had been the ones who’d orchestrated this entire affair.

They were a necessary evil in Ailendamus, but the [King] couldn’t grieve too long over losing Fithea, despite the fact that she was a national war asset. He liked Ryoka as a fellow mortal caught in the game of the ageless. So on the whole, Itorin was minded to forgive her, especially because of the Eldavin part. Eyon nodded, impressed.

“My, that is impressive. Backflipping is terribly dangerous, though, Princess Oesca. I should be quite careful if I were you.”

“I can do it! If I was allowed.”

Oesca shot a dark glance at her mother, and her older sister laughed.

“I can do a backflip! I’ll teach you, Oesca!”

The girl brightened up, and Eyon murmured.

“That is the Wind Runner of Reizmelt. I’m…glad she was kind to you. She likes children. And it seems you were never in danger. That’s not always been the case.”

Again, Itorin’s head turned from eying some of Taima and Guros’ people. They were such a headache—Oesca blinked.

“She’s rescued more children than just the Lizardgirl and Sammy?”

“Oh, yes. Several. You know about Hethon and Sammial Veltras when she outran the Assassin’s Guild? She’s saved a Gnoll girl too. The one that was at the Meeting of Tribes.”

“The white Gnoll? I mean, the Doombearer?”

“The very same. I think Ryoka taught her to backflip. And frontflip, sadly.”

“She did?”

Now, how did Eyon know that? Itorin knew it, but he kept up to date on…he snapped his fingers under the table.

Of course! I know who she is! He beckoned a servant over, and the flustered man bent down.

“Your Majesty, we cannot identify Miss Eyon. Nor how she entered Ailendamus. If the Duke vouches for her, we must trust his word, but no [Appraisal] spells are working…”

“Naturally. Drop the inquiry. I rather suspect she is part of the kingdom.”

Itorin sat back, smiling at Rhisveri, who eyed him. It was so obvious—

She was a [Spy]! Who else had the training, poise, and knowledge of this young woman? She was so refined—too refined. Rhisveri had gotten some poor [Infiltrator] to cover his tail. Itorin grew markedly less interested and sighed, acknowledging the Wyrm’s genius.

He turned his attention away from Eyon telling a fascinated Oesca about the white Gnoll and Ryoka Griffin’s exploits. She was very good with the young [Princess].

It was Ozena who decided to stir the pot. She didn’t return home often, so preoccupied with pursuing her mastery on multiple fronts. She’d been demanding to be an adventurer or join the army—both ideas that Itorin hated. Gifted didn’t mean invincible…and it was Uziel’s private analysis that Ozena wasn’t on the level of a real Gold-ranker yet.

‘Talented, well-bred, and gifted with too much. The first time she’s punched hard enough to break her jaw, she’ll waver, and that will be the end of her.’

The Agelum was frank in his analysis, and he was always right. Overconfidence had to be curtailed in Ozena or she had to be trained until she could survive those deadly mistakes. Itorin was actually thinking of bringing her in on the secret and letting her train in House Shoel…

However, Ozena enjoyed her fame. How could one not? She was young, extremely attractive among her peers, famous…and used to hero worship from her younger brothers and Oesca.

Seeing the girl talking up the Wind Runner made Ozena remark with a carrying voice—

“She’s still a known troublemaker who’s broken laws in Ailendamus, Oesca. And she can’t be that capable or she would have rescued the entire family, not just that Lizardgirl. Isn’t that the point of the ‘Windy Girl’ puppetshow? She’s a silly Courier.”

Oesca turned as the conversation died down at the table. The younger [Princess] protested.

“I like that show! It’s about making mistakes and doing better! Ryoka’s funny!”

“Doesn’t she fly by farting?”

Votrin remarked to Ivenius, and the young [Squire] in training nearly snorted soup out his nose. Oesca’s older siblings were markedly less impressed than Oesca by the Wind Runner, who they hadn’t met like she had. However, someone else rose to Ryoka’s defense.

“The Windy Girl and Rhissy is a beloved television show across Ailendamus. Which I invented. The Wind Runner collects enemies and children like Baron Regalius collects socks. She’s still a Courier, Princess Ozena. I would work more on your magic before challenging her to her face.”

Rhisveri sneered at Ozena. She flushed slightly, and Eyon spoke with a smile.

“She’s normally Izril’s Courier, Princess Oesca, but they do go everywhere! If I should meet her, I’ll remind the Wind Runner to visit Ailendamus so she may let you fly again. If you do the same for me.”

That was cleverly done. Oesca beamed and promised and offered her pinkie; they made a promise, and Itorin smiled. Right until he heard Ozena mutter to her brothers.

“Well, we’d better put some more [Knights] into Oesca’s bodyguard if she comes back. That Gnoll girl she saved had white fur, right? That means the Wind Runner got her entire tribe killed. She seems to bring bad luck with her. Unless it was the Doombearer who brought the bad luck.”

It was a petty comment, but no more out-of-hand than what Ozena had said so far. However, this time, Itorin sensed a flare of heat from his right. He glanced over, and now, he distinctly caught an aura suppressing itself.

A strong one. He eyed Eyon, now second-guessing his take on her class. [Spies] didn’t have auras like that. But Eyon fixed on Ozena as Oesca glared at her older sister. It was Rhisveri who laughed hugely.

“Look at the time! Eyon, I’d better introduce you to Eclizza and Regalius and—everyone. Let’s just, ah—”

He tried to take her arm, and Eyon did stand to curtsy and smile at Oesca. It was Oiena who murmured.

“I believe my daughter has been indecorous, Miss Eyon. Do forgive us. It’s the Gura blood.”

She was referring to Taimaguros, the empire split into two parts, Taima and Gura, who warred with each other and claimed their ‘side’ was better. It made Itorin’s head hurt whenever he had to deal with both, but Eyon just smiled at the [Queen].

“I understand completely, Your Majesty. Gura is as fiery and opinionated as they say. I have never visited the Dominion, but I should love to admire it. Well, one side of it.”

That pleased Queen Oiena, but not Ozena. She was giving Eyon a rather annoyed gaze. Like…she saw Eyon as competition.

That was an odd instinct. Itorin didn’t sense it, but his eldest daughter might have been tuned into something in her class. She stood as Eyon let Rhisveri escort her away from the main table.

“Ozena.”

Itorin said one word, warningly, and his daughter tossed her shimmering hair at him. She strode after the two and moved just close enough to do something very petty.

She shoved Eyon.

Not physically. Rather, it was the kind of thing a noblewoman learned in court. You took your aura and used it where you couldn’t use a hand or foot. Pushed—and made the other person stumble.

It could get more advanced, of course, such as blasting someone with an aura to leave them dizzy, or even being so subtle that you shoved a dagger of manifested aura in someone else’s ribs. They might not even know they were wounded until they dropped dead later that night. Itorin had heard that had happened once in Taimaguros.

He expected to see Eyon stumble into Rhisveri and perhaps fall over and was thinking of a punishment when the opposite happened.

He saw Ozena’s aura lash out fast and subtly—nearly invisible unless you knew what she was about to do. It hit Eyon—and bounced back so fast that it hit the [Princess] in the face.

No, wait, Eyon’s aura had lashed back out! It was so quick that Itorin blinked. He’d seen aura battles by masters, and that had been incisive. Like a counter-punch in a fistfighter’s bout.

Oesca’s mouth dropped open, and Oiena blinked.

“My, did you see that, dear?”

Itorin didn’t respond. He saw his eldest daughter blink, as if she didn’t know what had happened. She kept walking, shaking her head, and then feeling at her eyes and, he realized—her vision.

It had gotten her—

Wham. Princess Ozena walked straight into a servant carrying a tray of shot glasses of celebratory mead. The crash and cry was terrible. Down the [Princess] went, still clearly unable to see for a good ten seconds. When she rose, red-faced, the entire ballroom was watching her.

And they’d gotten that one on television. Oh dear. Itorin made a point to rise in concern and spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oesca, check on the servant.”

The [Princess] left the royal table to hurry over to the servant to check if he was well. Ozena was on her feet, red-cheeked, apologizing—she turned to find Eyon, but Itorin got to the [Princess] first.

He threw his aura like a pigeon across the room and hit her—just enough to be more of a tap on the shoulder. She jerked around, and he shook his head.

Drop it. Blushing, angry, she hesitated, and the [King] sat back down.

“These things happen. Please, Oesca, help find an unbroken cup, and we shall all toast our hardest-working folk today!”

He had the nervous [Servant] brought forwards and made that the center of attention. Ozena had to retire to change clothes, embarrassed, and the matter was left at that for now. But now, Itorin was watching Eyon closely as she began to mingle with the others. He beckoned again for a servant.

“Find out who that is. That’s no [Spy] or servant. Oiena?”

The [Queen] was watching Eyon too. And she murmured.

“She’s hiding who she is. A Skill. That’s why we’re not figuring it out, Itorin. It’s certainly not that dreadful hair dye.”

He blinked. He hadn’t even realized her hair was dyed black. The [King]’s fingers began drumming on the table with genuine interest. What kind of Skill worked on royalty like him?

Or perhaps—

What level was she?

 

——

 

Lyonette got a plate of food to cool down from that incident with Princess Ozena. It was as she was fussing over a table that she caught herself and wondered what the hell she was doing.

Here she was in the heart of Ailendamus, the Kingdom of Glass and Glory, the nation that had nearly wiped out her home.

They had killed thousands of her people, put her sisters under siege—and she was just talking and dining with the [King] and Rhisveri, the masterminds of the entire war.

This was wrong. She bit her lip hard as she stood there, staring down at her plate.

I buried my daughter too recently for this. I beheld the Goblin King and the end of worlds. I met Queen Marquin’s eyes, and she was everything I ever dreamed of and so much more. 

I should be trying to get Tessa back. I’ve ignored her, again. What am I doing?

The worst part was that she had been enjoying herself. Not Ozena sniping at her, but teaching that haughty young woman a lesson had been fun. Oesca? Delightful. King Itorin was good at politicking; she had thought her father would have liked trading coded quips with him over dinner.

But they were enemies. That was the problem. Blood had been spilled, and even if Rhisveri could approach her with a smile…

“Good job on that haughty Ozena. I’ve known worse, but I rather enjoyed that. Let’s meet my ‘friends’ and—”

“Rhisveri, I want to leave.”

His eyes widened in alarm.

“What? Don’t be silly. Ozena won’t hold a grudge, and if she tries something, I’ll teleport her into the biggest lake in the empire. No one noticed a thing. You’ve been doing…quite well, actually. And the dress is impressive. Real classic magic, that. Not some cheap ‘one ball and falls apart’ nonsense.”

He looked her up and down, and Lyonette hissed at him as a bulky [Knight] stepped over. Ushar activated a [Silence] spell as she glared up at him.

“Our nations are at war. This isn’t funny to me.”

“What—oh, that? That’s just politics, as I said.”

The Wyrm’s cavalier tone made Lyonette stomp down hard—and she had heels. He dodged.

“Yow, don’t do that! That kick hurt like hell. I’ve added a lot of mana to this body in case I have to dance, and the sensations—”

“You began a war with my home! Do you think I’m going to just forget that? You—I dealt and talked with you because I had to, but this is too much.”

Lyonette’s wave took in the entire ballroom, which had split, and the first dances were beginning as the music began to play. Not Cara’s music; something classical. She recognized the dances, and it filled her with heartache and nostalgia, but this was not her home. And the Wyrm?

He caught one hand before she could push him away. He seemed genuinely confused.

“But it’s a healthy kingdom. Or do you disagree? Look: commonfolk are in this royal gathering. They’re not malnourished. We could collect ten thousand nobles from across the kingdom in less than a week’s time. The food’s good.”

He indicated pickled beets on top of a complex little salad she’d put on her plate—she’d already had dinner in The Wandering Inn, but she was peckish. There were foods from all over the world, but Lyonette yanked her hand away.

“So? My kingdom is just as beautiful. The Eternal Throne is beyond this ballroom. It’s my kingdom who’s suffered during your war. Rusha, are you doing okay in that armor?”

She spun away. Ushar answered in a strangled voice.

“Trying not to spill anything on it, Miss Eyon. It’s, uh, very heavy. All the other [Knights] ask how I train in it and what Order I’m from. I’m managing.”

Lyonette patted her arm.

“Hang in there. Well, Rhisveri?”

She wanted to vent her frustration at him and knew this wasn’t the moment. Even with [Silence], there might be lipreaders in the crowd—well, she was being vague. The Duke just ruffled a hand through his hair.

He normally either looked supremely arrogant or silly and defeated in her mind. But right now, he only seemed surprised. The Duke glanced around and saw several people waiting in line for the salad and not-quite-glaring at them.

“Not here. Come on—”

He grabbed her hand again and began towing her across the ballroom. He was too strong; Lyonette glowered as she followed rather than cause a scene. Then there was the hum of a violin; he cursed as a man and woman moved towards them.

“Excuse me—”

He pivoted, and Lyonette acted on reflex. She took his arm and stepped in tandem with him. Rhisveri blinked down at her.

“What are you doing?”

“Dancing, you idiot! You just brought us onto the floor!”

She turned, and he copied her. Rhisveri cast around and saw a dozen men and women—he groaned.

“Oh no, Regalius’ damn dancing. Hold on, let’s just walk—”

“Do you want to look like a fool? Everyone’s watching!”

He was the most thoughtless person she’d ever met, and she worked for Erin! Lyonette turned, and Rhisveri followed her, copying the slow waltz.

Dead gods, I’m on television! I hope my [Conceal Reputation] Skill is working! That and the dyed hair; those were the only precautions Lyonette had taken for this ill-timed affair.

She hissed at Rhisveri as he stared down at their feet.

“I should have refused, but you were so pathetic—”

“Ah, I forgot you lot were so nationalistic. Hold on, I’m memorizing this stupid dance.”

His eyes flickered, and then he looked up and casually swung her around as she twirled. Lyonette blinked and almost missed her steps. She knew this one, a rather easy routine, but how did he—?

“You just learned it?”

“Memorized it. I’m glad I had practice in that other palace or I’d miss my footwork. I don’t dance as a rule, but I can if I want to.”

“You and what feet?”

The Wyrm smiled archly at her.

“I’m a man of many talents. Did you forget the songs? That was purely impromptu.”

She had almost forgotten that silly event with the [Songmistress]…Lyonette shook her head.

“I’m not going to compliment you. So you’re a wonderfully talented monster.”

His face fell, and she clarified.

“A warmonger. How can you not care about the people your war killed? Your war. I know you could have done something about it.”

A [Knight] of the Thirsting Veil and a blushing [Lady] whirled past them, and Rhisveri raised one eyebrow. There was that expression on his face again. Not pure, superior arrogance or the look of a fool.

More an exasperated skepticism of an intelligent man. He put his arm in the crook of hers, and they rotated. Rhisveri stared across the vast ballroom.

“Calanfer can’t afford this. Don’t argue, just listen. I know you have a ballroom this big in the ‘Eternal Throne’. That doesn’t count. That was a gift. Yes, it’s beautiful, perhaps more beautiful than Ailendamus’ palace in some places. But you could not do what we do so casually tonight.”

“So your nation is rich. Does that give it casus belli?”

She scowled at him, using her own Latin. Rhisveri just gazed down at her with old eyes.

“The war kills peasants and nobles alike. It’s a war; a terrible act by default. But let me put it to you like this: this ball will kill no one. Unless some idiot chokes on a mackerel or something.”

“Few balls kill anyone—aside from the occasional poisoning, assassination, or duel!”

She rolled her eyes, and Rhisveri’s brows rose.

“Really? In my experience, they kill more than a few. Not that you’d notice. Let’s say a nobleman puts on a ball in another nation. It costs a fortune. So maybe he raises taxes on his [Peasants]. [Peasants], a class devoted to serving nobles. He might have to confiscate some food if it’s a winter shortage. Or maybe he goes hunting and hangs [Poachers] or just people desperate enough for it. Someone drops a tray at his palace and they’re whipped. Or it just costs money and he doesn’t build the bridge that year for the spring floods. The ball kills someone in Calanfer. Not here. We don’t have [Peasants].”

She opened her mouth, surprised by how he thought. But hadn’t Ryoka talked about that? Lyonette hissed back as they passed by a duo, a young giggling couple.

“I can see your logic, and I don’t respect it. Is your point that Ailendamus is better? That all nations should fall under your control? I have heard that before.”

He shrugged, calm as he and she traced a more complicated pattern of steps. She had to work on it now, but neither one missed a beat. She wished she didn’t enjoy doing it so much.

If my [Tutors] and Mother could see this…I wish I could dance like this back home. Not like how Erin dances, but this.

She was royalty, and Rhisveri murmured.

“Wars are endemic to kingdoms, Lyonette. If it were not Ailendamus’ conquest, do you know what Terandrian kingdoms would do? They’d launch another Crusade. Against which foe? Demons? Very laudable. Send the peasants and [Knights] to die on hell’s shores for your glory. Baleros? Bring back Lizardfolk [Slaves] like last time.”

“We don’t have [Slaves] on Terandria in any numbers!”

“No, of course you don’t. Anymore.”

His gaze was so scornful, and he added at her confusion.

“The seventh Nagatine Empire’s fall. Look it up. I was there, you know. The defeated always suffer more, because, well, they lost, they deserve it. Wars are such a good excuse for a nation to ignore their problems. Yes, Ailendamus makes war, because each one brings something important.”

“And what does the Dawn Concordat bring? The Eternal Throne?”

He never blinked.

“That. You know why we’d want that. But also—the coast. The mountains of Kaliv are an endless amount of vertical space. The forests of Gaiil-Drome?”

“All owned by people who don’t wish to be Ailendamus’!”

She countered, and the Wyrm shrugged.

“We haven’t had a rebellion in any province in a long time. It strikes me that the ‘commonfolk’ don’t really care about who wears the crown if life is good.”

“You treat them like…cattle. Like children to be managed while you decide everything.”

She glared as the music died down to applause, and he offered her a bow.

“Yes. Don’t you? That’s what royalty is all about.”

He left her unable to articulate a response and so angry that she didn’t curtsey and followed him off the dance-floor fuming. Especially because she realized he had a point. She needed to think up an answer—but he’d caught her. Ielane would have had him for lunch, but she…

Calanfer wasn’t that poor! It had [Peasants], but they weren’t starving! Yet Lyonette recalled there had been a famine when she was growing up. And, well, it was mostly hard to make an argument against the privilege of royalty. Because she, Lyon the Peon-Hater, had lived that mindset.

But he was the Wyrm. Was that what he truly believed, or was it just convenient for him to argue with her?

Rhisveri was getting a drink, and Lyonette was thinking on how to re-engage with him, when someone meowed. She turned and came face-to-face with a furless cat wearing a sweater.

Oh, and a [Lady], who smiled at her.

“I recognize that expression. Clashing with the good Duke is never pleasant—if he’s in fine form. On his worst days, he’s just another loudmouth in the Court of Masks, but at his best, he’ll cut you down like a Gold-bell [Duelist]. I’ve stormed off more than once when he’s decided to pick on me. Miss Eyon? May I introduce myself to you? I’m Lady Yietha du Ecte.”

Lyonette’s towering fury was interrupted by her need to smile and compose herself—she contained the ball of anger into her chest and replaced it with a hurried smile.

“Oh. Oh—the wife of, um, the esteemed Baron Regalius?”

The name popped into her mind, and Yietha laughed, delighted.

“You are good. This is Grumpy. He enjoys headpats. I shouldn’t have brought him, but everyone wanted to meet him, and he’s better around company than you’d think.”

She showed the cat to Lyonette, and contrary to his name, the cat tried to lick her hand when she reached out to pet his head.

“A naked cat. I’ve heard of them—that is such a beautiful sweater.”

The cat didn’t even seem to mind wearing it, and Yietha smiled proudly.

“I knit them myself. It’s a blend of cotton and a specific type of hemp so it doesn’t wear out or bother their skin. Do you like cats?”

“We have one at my abode—though he’s rather insane. I apologize if I made a scene in any way.”

Yietha just chuckled as Lyonette grew red-cheeked, wondering how many people had seen the not-so-subtle strife.

“Miss Eyon, if I were to survey the nobility who live in the capital or visit regularly, I don’t know if I could find more than a dozen who have not clashed with the good Duke on some matter or other. He is rather famous for it. Though, may I ask what it was about? I confess, I overheard some of it while dancing.”

Lyonette hesitated for a microsecond, having to word around her identity, then spoke airily.

“Oh, something trivial. We were discussing the cost of war, the Dawn Concordat’s example being the most prescient. Duke Rhisveri rather seems to think Ailendamus’s virtues outweigh the strife of war itself on any conquered nation!”

Too late she remembered her audience and added hastily.

“Not that I would impugn Ailendamus in any way! It’s just—does the sovereignty of another crown have no weight or meaning? What stick does he measure Ailendamus by, and his use of it on other nations feels unfair. In my opinion.”

Lady Yietha didn’t immediately fly to Rhisveri’s defense as Lyonette thought she might. Instead, she transferred her cat to the other arm, stroking his head as he purred, and seemed to consider Lyonette’s words before actually replying. And her voice did lower as she spoke.

“As someone who was not always a noblewoman of Ailendamus myself, Miss Eyon, I must say that love for homeland runs in my veins, however young Ailendamus is. I am quite receptive to the idea that Ailendamus is…overly aggressive in how it tries to bring its idea of prosperity to other kingdoms.”

She gestured around at some commonfolk, who had brought their goods from their homes to show off and were speaking with nobility who didn’t seem openly scornful of them.

“For every citizen who thinks fondly of Ailendamus, you may find their parents or grandparents who remember the Kingdom of Glass and Glory far worse. It has been the work of [Bards] and experts in reconciliation to keep our many peoples together. And perhaps—the kingdoms that fell to Ailendamus were doing worse than they might, which prompted the peoples to rather accept their new home.”

Fine, excellent points! Lyonette was adding a few more of her own as she nodded briskly, arming herself to take Rhisveri down. Then Yietha threw a disarming blow straight into Lyonette’s righteous fury.

“However, that is the privilege of a noblewoman who has never seen war. And a [Merchant]’s daughter, who lived quite well before that. I think, Miss Eyon, commonfolk of both the Dawn Concordat and Ailendamus would rather an end to the fighting. It is valiant of both nations to continue the war, in many respects, but we here are not the ones who fight and die. It is the [Knights], [Soldiers], and commonfolk who have no voice at all in these debates, which I do think are well said between the two of you!”

She offered Lyonette a bob of the head, and the [Princess] flushed. All the fire she had for Rhisveri was doused, as if Yietha had thrown a bucket of water over her. The polite reminder that Lyonette had no notion of the war that had been fought was so incredibly embarrassing the [Princess] wanted to vanish.

Even Tyrion Veltras and Dame Ushar saw more of the war than I did. She wished she had something to drink, and Dame Ushar passed her a wineglass—Lyonette took a deep draft and then spoke, red-cheeked.

“You raise wonderfully eloquent points, Miss Yietha. If I may say so, I’d hate to arouse your wrath.”

The woman laughed in delight.

“I hope I wasn’t too pointed! I have argued this point time and again. Mine is a peaceful voice in the minority, usually. I do apologize. And there is someone else who wishes to speak with you.”

She beckoned someone over. Lyonette was apologizing again for the scene, but the man who strode over and beamed at her was even more sociable than Yietha. He had a mustache that curled at both ends, and his smile was like an infection for which there was no cure.

“Nonsense. We’ve all been dying to meet the legendary lady who can rival the Duke. From the way you handled yourself, I can almost believe you two see each other. Though my husband is a skeptic.”

She gave Lyonette a glance under the lid of her eyelashes, and Lyonette realized that Yietha was very good at dissembling. She wore a lilac shawl over a maroon dress cut in an oddly formal pattern, almost like Drake togas, but overlapping, each layer of light cloth a subtly different shade of red.

Unlike Nanette, the dress was hardly offensive to the eye, and the subtleties could be appreciated the closer you got. The quirk of Lady Yietha was in the odd ribbons of blue cloth, written with golden text that hung from her clothing.

Words were scrawled on the ribbons, like ‘Perseverance’ or ‘Dignity’. Virtues, Lyonette supposed. If you wanted to be uncharitable, it made the [Lady] look like she was festooned with bookmarks, but Lyonette knew this style. She’d seen [Knights] of Ailendamus doing the same, often with the names of the dead or vows written on them.

Yietha’s husband was wearing a matching outfit; the coat he wore was hung with smaller names, that of [Knights], like a living record of ranks. It gave both a very patriotic feel that might have been mocked in Calanfer’s courts. But they seemed disarmingly genuine and casual about the attire. In fact, neither one so much as commented on it, as if it were only natural to wear such dresses, which was self-confidence and style in and of itself.

Baron Regalius strode over with a laugh and such a firm handshake and infectious presence she smiled despite herself.

“I don’t doubt that Duke Rhisveri meets lovely young women of excellent acumen! I just…find it hard to believe they can’t do better. Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

He made a show of glancing around, and Lyonette laughed as she saw other nobles drifting towards her.

“Are you all the Duke’s friends? I confess, he doesn’t talk much about his peers.”

“Ah, that sounds like him. But Miss Eyon, I have a bet of substantive proportions that you’ve been hired for tonight. I am not asking you to betray your contract, but I will accept hints.”

A smiling [Retired General] introduced himself as Lord Bathnir before being scolded by his wife and Yietha.

“Lord Bathnir, you mustn’t be that forward! He’s all strategy. Frontal assaults and never anything circumspect, Miss Eyon.”

Yietha turned back to Lyonette, and she raised one black eyebrow.

“And then you would be the scouting party, Lady Yietha? And the rest of this fine company ready to besiege the breach? Is Duke Rhisveri your friend or sworn enemy?”

That set them all laughing. They were all incredibly sharp, Lyonette realized. She wished it were not so surprising; Rhisveri wouldn’t surround himself with dunces, but Regalius handed her a cup of wine and her plate of food.

“I rescued it from the table. Can you blame us for wondering? Rhisveri is all pride. An intelligent man, but you have to keep such a fellow honest. That he suffers it is well enough, but if you are, in fact, acquainted with him, you must be delightful to speak to.”

A half-Elf muttered drily.

“You must have the patience of a Golem, Miss Eyon.”

“Hush, he’s coming back.”

The laughing, merry group welcomed Rhisveri back, and he eyed Lyonette.

“Well, here she is. She exists. Eyon, this is the motley crowd I associate with. Mostly in the Court of Masks.”

“Ah, I’ve heard of that.”

Unlike Ryoka, Lyonette du Marquin did know the notable things in Ailendamus, and she was curious about the place where everyone could speak their mind. Someone snapped her fingers and produced a colorful shower of sparks.

“Another thing you’ve never shown this young woman, Your Grace? Highly suspicious. She’s never been to the capital, even once?”

Rhisveri scowled at the woman.

“Detrida, your illusion spells are miscalibrated. And this is her first visit to Ailendamus, I’m almost positive. She’s a private woman.”

“Doubtful. I think a young woman who could best our Princess Ozena wouldn’t be that retiring.”

Yietha murmured quietly. Lyonette blushed, realizing they’d all seen that. But the next thing she knew, they were heading out of the ballroom.

“Just a quick visit to the Court of Masks won’t hurt. So you can say you saw it. Though we mustn’t miss the lightshow. Have you met Dame Eclizza, Miss Eyon?”

“Not, ah, not yet. May I ask what you do in the Kingdom of Glass and Glory, Lady Yietha?”

“Oh, I help Regalius host [Knights] in celebration at our mansion. It’s a full-time job; we must have a party every night. We’re the fluff and fancy of the capital.”

“A vital position. Men and women must feel they matter.”

Regalius put in, and despite herself, she liked him. Because he understood why pomp existed. Plus, their cat was very cute. He was, in fact, a magical cat and had the ability to levitate food off people’s plates towards him if he scrunched up his face as hard as possible.

And he ate beets. Lyonette was so enthralled in feeding Grumpy beets that she didn’t realize they were at the famous Court of Masks until someone was offering a mask to her. And then she just had to go in and try it…

 

——

 

The Court of Masks was fascinating on an intellectual level. Lyonette quite enjoyed it, though she could see why Ryoka had decided to try and burn it all down on principle. That was just like the contrary Courier. However, she didn’t linger there long. There was so much more to see in the sprawling palace!

In the rush to enter the banquet properly, Lyonette hadn’t actually taken in the palace nor the people properly. Used to Calanfer’s wealth, she could gloss over a lot of richness as normal, not worth even commenting upon. But Ailendamus…

That the flooring was marble or smoothed stone was a given and just good architecture. Few materials were harder than stone or longer-lasting; wooden floors gave way or needed refinishing and resurfacing far too fast. Crystal or magical materials were also acceptable, but what you did with the floor mattered.

In each section of the palace, the flooring changed in a way that should have been disastrous and clashing. But it was like travelling from one zone to another, because, well, it was.

“—And here is the old Antivon palace. Note the zig-zag design on the tiles, the one that seems to roam endlessly?”

Lyonette gazed at a royal blue tile that interrupted the placid, whiter marble like a snake slithering left, right, even across the walls in places.

“Oh dear. That could be distracting.”

The blue snake had a golden body, and Regalius followed it as it split and branched. He turned to Lyonette as he had to twirl across the ground to keep from stepping outside the ‘lines’.

“One of the old Antivon family loved their son so much that they laid this funny path that traces every step he took. It changes, you see. One day, it’s this, the next, quite straightforward. Children—and adults—will follow it for hours on end. The game is not to leave the pattern.”

“Children, adults, and Barons, my love. Oh, and here’s another oddity of the Antivon’s—they loved pillars, but hated those big columns. See?”

A forest of thin trees rose from ground to ceiling, supporting the palace walls. Lyonette blinked, astonished; they were slightly hazardous where they grouped up and surely a nightmare to clean around.

“Wherever for…?”

“Earthquakes, I think. A central column collapsed and they realized the crack in the masonry had been buried deep. One of their [Architects] had the concept—why not build many smaller columns? If one fails, the rest will support the weight. And then, as we pass through here, you can see the old Rendova Palace. Dreadful people. Marvellous interior decorators.”

Red marble. It would have been an affront to the eye on a level that even Nanette couldn’t comprehend, except that the designers had paired the red stone with as many offsetting colors as possible. Not contrasting, just relaxing the eye until you didn’t feel like you were walking through an animal’s stomach, but a foreign landscape that demanded the bright lights hung from specialized chandeliers which filled the Rendova palace like the sky.

Of course, the marriage between these contrasting palaces, like the whimsical Antivon’s and Rendova’s, was the actual masterstroke. Bridging the gap between the two styles without feeling like someone had literally chopped a palace up and carted it here—which is what had happened—was the work of transitionary hallways, which made you feel like you were walking through a changing season.

Blue giving way to red. Lyonette gazed up at the tiles transforming colors and, for a moment, had an image of Rhisveri, as if a vast, multi-colored snake were passing her by.

“Marvellous, isn’t it? One of Duke Rhisveri’s ancestors apparently proposed the design.”

Regalius murmured. Lyonette nodded, and he extended a hand.

“Let me know if there is anything you’d like to focus on. You can spend weeks touring the palace without lingering on a single thing. Thire’s palace is the central wing—you hardly see it since the royal family lives in it. But we’re at Rendova-Antivon. Friends? Antivon’s bathing pools or Rendova’s steel art gallery?”

He took a vote of the others, and two-third chorused.

“Galleries!”

Yietha settled the matter by taking them towards the crimson palace.

“The bathing pools are very well without crowds, Regalius. Don’t be silly. Now, all the metal in the galleries was made by their rulers and the most talented [Artists] of the day, Miss Eyon. It’s a game to guess whether it was a royal hand or commoner who made each piece. Usually, you can guess, but sometimes there was actual talent in the family…”

Onwards they went, Lyonette shocked to silence at first by the vastness of the palace.

And every wing was full of people. Commonfolk and nobles. In fact, some of Rhisveri’s group weren’t noble at all. When they reached the garden, Lyonette thought she’d seen far too many encounters of commoners talking to their betters.

This wouldn’t occur in Calanfer, even in the most relaxed setting. At least, not without more adherence to protocol. It didn’t make her think Rhisveri was more correct. But it gave her perspective; the Court of Masks was an example of how Rhisveri and his allies thought.

Equality preserved by the mask. 

Even so, she wasn’t quite at home. Everything here still spoke of the enemy, and she wasn’t in a position to ferret out state secrets, so she was a bit at a loss of what to do. She kept getting distracted and enjoying herself asking Regalius how he did his ceremonies, or talking about all the things Ailendamus had—like massive glassblowing facilities. They produced glass for the entire continent!

It was Dame Ushar who snapped her out of it. Lyonette had seen her [Knight] doing her best to shadow her, but in this place, Lyonette felt very safe. There were guards everywhere, and if someone attacked her or slipped poison into her drink…

She noticed Ushar doing what all the off-duty [Knights] were doing: having a conversation with the nobility. Lyonette stepped back as Rhisveri’s group mingled outside and eavesdropped on a conversation between Ushar and a rather rude noblewoman.

“Ah, another foreign [Knight]. Which Order are you, Dame Knight?”

“I’m an independent [Knight], Your Ladyship. May I take it from your attire you are of Taimaguros?”

“Gura, yes. Dead gods, well, one supposes Ailendamus vets its guests. You’re not one of the ‘Ghosttouched’ nobles or some peasant of the same ilk who found some armor, I trust!”

Rather too-loud laughter. The Gura representative had a drop of blue hanging from her temples. Taima liked red—Lyonette saw Ushar tilt her head.

“Ghosttouched, Lady?”

“Yes, haven’t you heard? Or are you from abroad?”

A more cunning gaze—or an attempt at one. Ushar bowed slightly.

“I have been abroad with my ward, yes.”

“Aaah. Well, it’s not Taimaguros alone. They’ve been all over the place ever since last year. You truly haven’t heard? I heard it was more common in Terandria, but—they’re madmen and women. They claim to be ‘chosen’ or to be given quests. By ghosts!”

The laughter wasn’t joined by Ushar or Lyonette, whose eyes widened. The ghosts!

“And they are purely delusional, Lady?”

“Well, some find trinkets or claim to have classes—but it’s nonsense. We have one particular problem I intend to bring up to His Majesty. A native problem. Anyways, what was your question?”

Ushar had noticed Lyonette eavesdropping and shifted her feet, but it seemed she was too desperate to not ask.

“I…was merely inquiring as to the health of His Highness of Gura. And, uh, Prince Kanmis of Calanfer?”

“That traitor who married into Taima? Doing just fine. As for our Prince…no, I don’t think I’ve heard anything. He’s still sick, I suppose. Why?”

“Merely inquiring into his health, Your Ladyship.”

Ushar bowed hurriedly and stepped back as Lyonette smiled at the confused woman. But her mind was racing.

Wait, wait. Kanmis? No! No way! He was the 2nd Prince of the realm, but he had gone to Taimaguros and been co-opted by the other nation. He never visited, and Ielane considered him a rogue asset.

Was he the one that Ushar was interested in? Impossible. But…Ushar was old enough to have served Calanfer for a long while. If she had once been attached to Prince Kanmis…who was this Prince of Gura who seemed to be in ill health?

A clue. Lyonette smiled at Ushar, who sighed through her helmet. The [Lady] of Gura turned to her.

“And you would be…”

Lyonette was introducing herself, but the [Lady] wasn’t interested. She did wave to Rhisveri, who turned from the group.

“Ah, there he is. Your Grace, Your Grace! I was just speaking to your lady here about the Ghosttouched. You must do something about the one in Taimaguros. He’s agitating the commonfolk.”

Rhisveri pulled a face at Lyonette as he muttered.

“Which one is that? It’s not our problem to deal with, Your Gura-loving Ladyship.”

“Nonsense. He came from your nation. He was at the battle at the capital, and then after that, he came back raving that the First King of Taimaguros himself had given him a mission! Unity over the feud. Ridiculous. He’s been imprisoned twice, but now he keeps escaping the [Knights] of both Taima and Gura.”

Lyonette exchanged a glance with Rhisveri, and for once, they were in agreement—this seemed to be an issue Ailendamus shouldn’t be involved in. Lyonette spoke gently.

“Perhaps his claim has some merit, Your Ladyship? Can he prove anything he claims?”

“Prove? He should be beheaded just for his words! A commoner chosen over a noble by the ghost of our founder? That’s treason enough. Off with his head, I say!”

The [Lady]’s loud words were not, in fact, earning her much support in the audience of Ailendamus. However, Rhisveri put on his best smile and chivvied the [Lady] towards a [Diplomat] whom she could vent to. When he came back, he muttered.

“Our best allies.”

“Such an appropriate ally for an enlightened nation such as yours! Beheading commoners for speaking above their place! I can see you embody your beliefs.”

Lyonette smiled sweetly at Rhisveri, and he grunted.

“I suppose I deserve that. It’s the realpolitik to lofty goals. Someone has to hold the Restful Three from swooping on us. Not that it’s working now that they’re riled up. Those damn…Earthers.”

He spoke the word casually and, Lyonette thought, deliberately. A passing man in robes whirled and nearly splashed the man he was talking to with wine. The tall, clean-shaven fellow leapt back with an oath, and the [Mage] apologized.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I was just stunned by that, uh—word. What did you say, Your Grace? Magus Telim, of Terras, here for your fine food and drink.”

Rhisveri accepted the handshake with a dour glower.

“And to show off more magic, no doubt. Did you teleport here?”

“Absolutely. Anything for a banquet.”

The magus was a rather well-fed fellow, but he was more charming than Lyonette expected. Cleverer too. He shook her hand, then fixed Rhisveri with a smile.

“So you’re, ah, aware of Earthers too?”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, Magus Telim. What fascinates Wistram about the—what did you say?”

Rhisveri wore a snake’s smile, but Telim just chuckled and rubbed his belly.

“Oh, come now. Everyone’s been doing this song and dance, Your Grace. We’re two intelligent men. I heard what you said; you said it on purpose. This unpleasantness with the Archmage of Memory aside, can’t we speak frankly?”

“I don’t share information with the group that helped kill Great General Dioname.”

Rhisveri was not happy with the [Mage], but Telim just exhaled.

“War is a nasty business.”

“One that Ailendamus partook of, knowing the consequences.”

Lyonette stabbed Rhisveri in the back, and he gave her such a genuinely hurt gaze that she hesitated. But Telim beamed. He glanced up at some light spells that were making giant, long-necked creatures gallop across a grassy plain, chased by lions.

“Thank you, miss. A terrible business, but Wistram is willing to trade magic. Everything’s advancing, and we would hate to leave Ailendamus in the dust. Incidentally, do you like our illusions? Far higher quality. You can touch them. I made that myself. Giraffes, you know.”

Rhisveri just glanced up and sneered.

“Mere hardlight. When you can do smell, I’ll spare more than a glance at it.”

Telim rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, eying Rhisveri.

“You know, the Archmage said the exact same thing…well, perhaps Ailendamus is in way of being more competitor than friend. As for smells, I took a good whiff of those beasts and I felt like I’d rather hold off given the splendid event going on here. Certainly, you got the amazing, nay, incredible Players of Celum to perform here rather than at our academy! We were all terribly let down you know, Actor Wesle.”

He turned to the tall man who was brushing at his coat, and Lyonette’s jaw dropped and her heart began to thunder dangerously. Wesle stepped forwards with a bow, and he seemed taller, more confident, and certainly more impressive.

The [Actor] shook Rhisveri’s hand and laughed ruefully as he turned to Telim.

“I’m afraid we wanted to build a theater, Magus, and there’s just no room.”

“Yet. The Archmage was willing to build an entire—aw, it’s too late. I’ll just have to teleport to your latest performances. Have you seen them, Duke Rhisveri? Magnificent. I caught some scrying recordings of your work in Invrisil, but your levels make the new stuff incredible.”

Wesle bowed his head as Rhisveri rolled his eyes.

“No offense to your group, sir, but I’m not one for these…plays. But our Minister of Entertainment wouldn’t shut up until we hired you. I’m surprised he hasn’t accosted you.”

“Oh, Minister Sophridel? I think they dragged him off poor Emme back there. I hope I can impress you with some small performance though, Your Grace. Though I have to say…I can’t get your measure. You’re one of a handful of men I can’t read.”

Wesle eyed Rhisveri closely and got a smile from the Wyrm. Which said that he had read Rhisveri because that was the kind of thing that he liked to hear.

Wesle was so much more confident! And capable in situations like this. But Lyonette was trying to edge behind Ushar because—Rhisveri glanced around.

“Ah, manners. This is Miss Eyon. My date for the night.”

“Dead gods, you found one? Sa’la was nearly dying of—ahem.”

Telim blurted out, and Rhisveri’s glower intensified. Lyonette took Wesle’s hand as he looked her in the eyes and smiled.

“An honor to meet you, Miss…”

Ah, no. She saw his eyes grow confused and realized her Skill, [Conceal Reputation], might work on others, but he knew her. And he was far too high-level and experienced an [Actor] to be fooled by black hair.

“Is that—”

Before he could utter a word, Lyonette beamed and said the only thing she could think of.

“Fuzzylips! It’s me, Eyon! How long has it been?”

Telim and Rhisveri had been sipping from their cups and simmering at each other. When they heard the name, she saw them both blink and then make a calculated decision.

The two sprayed Winebreath Blasters at each other in a rather deliberate manner; wine flashed off barrier spells, and they both gave each other sinister eyes.

“Well played. I can see this isn’t your first Winebreath Blaster.”

Telim commented, and Rhisveri smiled nastily.

“Ever tried Umbral Throne diplomacy?”

“Oho. Oho, my friend, you may try—”

Their conversation was just a sidepiece to the one Lyonette and Wesle were having. He had levelled. His eyes widened, and he gave her an alarmed expression that focused on Rhisveri—and clearly, he understood what situation she was in, because the next moment, he threw his head back in a genuine laugh.

“Fuzzylips! Oh, dead gods, Eyon! I haven’t heard that since…how are you?”

He swung her around and then kissed her on the cheek. She was back in the center of attention, but now she had him on her side, and she was smiling.

“I came with Duke Rhisveri for the night. I never expected to see you here. Where’s Jasi?”

“Jasi? Sick, I’m afraid. The oysters got her. It’s just me, Emme, and Kilkran. They took us from Pheislant to here in a night! Magnificent—but you’re here on a date?”

Not being kidnapped or held hostage? His fingers squeezing her arms did the asking, and she gave him a relaxed smile.

“I hope to be feeding my dog sausages by morning at the latest.”

“Ah, the white one? How is Matty?”

“Well, she’s lost weight. Actually, it’s always chaos back home.”

“So I’ve heard. So I’ve…we haven’t had time to go back, you know. I would have sent some gold to help with all the troubles. We could if it’s needed, but you know, with the rest, it’s all political where we are.”

In Terandria where Erin is a wanted criminal and murderer of a [Prince]. Lyonette nodded tightly. As for the gold, she had no issues given the box.

The Players had been generous enough, really. They’d sent plenty of gold back until it had stopped—Lyonette just assumed it was going to Temile or their other projects and she hadn’t felt like it was needful to ask. She smiled warmly at the [Actor].

“Wesle, it is so good to see you. Rhisveri, he’s an old friend.”

The Wyrm wiped his mouth and eyed Wesle.

“Right. It’s always an old friend with you. I shouldn’t be surprised, really.”

He sounded calm, which was good, but she worried someone was reading into his words. Ah, well. She re-introduced Wesle to Rhisveri, hoping they could run into Emme and Kilkran before someone noticed.

 

——

 

The moment Regalius saw Actor Wesle’s reaction, he grabbed his wife.

“Yietha, our stalled mystery now has a clue! Did you see how he reacted?”

She was talking to none other than a servant of the crown and turned.

“I did indeed. She gave away nothing about herself, but that was unexpected for the both of them. Regalius, we’re on a mission from the crown. His Majesty wants to know who the Duke’s guest is too.”

“Magnificent. This is what I was hoping for.”

He rubbed his hands together. It was one thing to enjoy a nice banquet in honor of the Great Knight, of course, but this had his mind racing.

And all his co-conspirators’, which included not only Rhisveri’s friends from the Court of Masks, but servants of the crown. Regalius lowered his voice.

“They didn’t leak anything besides that they knew each other. But did you hear Rhisveri talking?”

“Old friends? I do believe he’s actually jealous. Maybe she’s seeing him after all?”

Yietha murmured, and General Bathnir muttered over his cup.

“That still makes her all the more fascinating. But a frontal assault won’t work twice with their guards up. I say we strike from the undefended tower.”

“The other two [Actors]? Of course.”

Regalius searched around, and someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“I do believe Manager Emme is with that fellow, Sophridel, touring the Court of Masks and the theatre he built for the Players. However, Actor Kilkran is in the main ballroom.”

A new voice. Surprised, Regalius turned and saw a [Mage] of Wistram there. A persona non grata in many ways, but he’d liberated an entire leg of seasoned goat and was levitating it behind him as he stuck out a hand.

“Telim. High Magus of Wistram, professional busybody, and expert gossip. I, too, would like to join in this delightful hunt for answers. Shall we?”

They went to find Kilkran. He was a tall and imposing bald man who was declaiming a few of his best lines with a voice like golden mead or thunder and assuring everyone that the Players of Celum would not disappoint. When Regalius interrupted, the man gave him a rather supercilious gaze.

“Excuse me, sir, but I was declaiming the Bard of Avon’s work. I know I’m among august company, but his words are unto that of kingliness. Nay, immortal words!”

He was slightly drunk or perhaps full of himself, but Regalius apologized smoothly.

“Do forgive me, Actor Kilkran, but I hoped you could identify yonder lady who’s speaking with Actor Wesle? We have a little bet running as to her identity.”

Kilkran glanced over as he took a sip from his drink. Then he frowned.

“I’m afraid I don’t recognize my many fans. So many, you see. Unless…wait a second…the hair’s wrong, but—dead gods. Is that—!?”

He almost said a name. No, he did say a name, and Regalius heard it, but it was sucked back into Kilkran’s mouth.

“[Retract Line]. Ah, excuse me, I misspoke. I, ah—I have to go and introduce—pardon me!”

He went running over, and Regalius rubbed at his ears.

“Dead gods, what was that? Did anyone catch that?”

“He used a Skill! Damn! I should have known an [Actor] could do that!”

Telim cursed. They saw Kilkran run into the garden, and his booming voice sounded before the mysterious Eyon threw her arms around him in a hug.

“Who is she? She knows the Players—and they are famous. She met the Duke…”

“But she’s not in Ailendamus. You were lip-reading her during the dance. What was that, Regalius?”

The Baron was using all of his talents to piece things together.

“A rather heated argument about the war. She was taking the Duke to task about Ailendamus and I think intimating she was on the wrong side of our armies.”

“So she’s in the Dawn Concordat.”

“Or Noelictus, Nadel, Pheislant…we have nothing to go on! There are plenty of capable women in all these nations, I’m bound to say! Damn, if only we had something to go off of! She’s using a Skill on us, and we can’t best it!”

The group groaned, and Regalius thought they were at their wit’s end when someone spoke.

“What about that ring?”

They turned and gasped. King Itorin II had joined the conversation as they locked onto Eyon. Regalius blinked.

“What ring, sire?”

“Do none of you see it?”

Itorin glanced around, and no one did. He frowned.

“I barely noticed it myself. Look. Right hand, not her ring finger.”

Then Regalius spotted it, as if it were something he’d failed to pay attention to and was obvious in hindsight.

“A brass…ring. That’s very odd. Brass? It’s plain, but—Magus?”

Telim was passing a hand over his eyes.

“Magical. Subtly, though. Very subtly. Powerful enchantment. If I hadn’t learned to upgrade beyond [Detect Magic], I’d never see it. That’s no Relic-grade enchantment, but it’s got enough force to be considered a top-tier artifact. Your Majesty, are you also interested in answers?”

“The Duke is my brother, Magus. I confess, yonder lady has been a delightful distraction tonight. Queen Oiena is also quite invested. If anyone knows jewelry, it would be her.”

“It could be any ring enchanted so finely, though, Your Majesty.”

Regalius protested in a bout of ignorance, and Yietha and Telim corrected him. His wife took his arm.

“As a matter of fact, Regalius, many rings must be designed to their function. If it’s an uncommon design, it will be a clue. Better yet…it might be possible to get a close look to see if there’s any writing on it.”

“And how shall we do that? Trip and fall and try to get a peek?”

Telim was ready to try, but Yietha just raised her arm.

“Oh, nothing so foolish. Grumpy? Can you look at the ring for me?”

The cat scratched at one chin, and Yietha coaxed him.

“I’ll give you a treat! Or His Majesty might offer something scrumptious?”

She turned, and Itorin promised.

“My personal [Chef] will see to it.”

The cat leapt from Yietha’s arms and instantly made for Eyon. Yietha smiled at Itorin, who was probably going to have to pay for some prime Griffin meat.

“I have a few [Beast Tamer] Skills, you see. I can get a mild image or a word of what he’s heard. Let’s see…”

The cat approached Eyon, dodging a [Knight] who tried to grab it, and she smiled and petted it. Yietha was focused on the air, staring, and then she gasped.

“Oh my. Oh my…oh my word. I think we had better consult with Her Majesty at once, sire! I have a very, very clear image of a word that explains everything.”

Everyone leaned in, and Regalius found his heart thumping. Yietha turned to Itorin, who had raised his brows and said one word.

“Salazsar.”

 

——

 

“It’s an engagement ring of Salazsar.”

Queen Oiena needed barely four minutes to figure out what it was. When she did, everyone gasped.

“Dead gods. What does it mean?”

King Itorin stood with the others, and his mind raced to the conclusion almost as fast as High Magus Telim. The rosy-cheeked [Mage] beamed around and tapped the side of his nose.

“It means, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been duped. Yonder lady is no stranger. Don’t you see?”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“She’s a Wall Lady of Salazsar! A Drake! That Duke’s transformed her or given her an illusion ring and smuggled her in from her city! Small wonder she’s never been to Ailendamus! But is she currently married or is that a sign of something else?”

Mouths dropped open. Itorin, who’d come to the same conclusion, thought something was off, but…there was only one reasonable conclusion to come to, right?

A Ring of Salazsar did not just get given out randomly. The nobles murmured.

“I have to confirm this!”

“No, subtly, subtly—that sly dog, Rhisveri! How did he get to talking with her?”

“By [Message]? I wouldn’t put it past him to be sneaking out…he travels a lot!”

“Your Majesties, thank you for the wisdom! We may, ah, tease our mysterious guest with your permission and see if we can get confirmation!”

Regalius bowed to Oiena and Itorin, and the King raised a hand, smiling. Fakely.

“Within reason. She is a guest of my brother, Regalius. Go soft. He has a temper.”

“Oh, naturally, Your Majesty!”

They left. Only after they had gone did Oiena stop playing with Oesca’s curls and turn. Itorin shielded his mouth as real privacy spells activated. And the two exchanged a far sharper look than before.

“Oiena, how likely is it that’s some Drake?”

“Unlikely. Itorin, there’s one other way a Ring of Salazsar might have found its way onto a finger not belonging to a Drake. I’m surprised the others didn’t remember it, but I remembered it being scandalous. Don’t you?”

He did indeed. He remembered reading the spy report, then watching the other ball in Oteslia. In fact, a servant already had the recording. The two monarchs leaned over the scrying orb. Itorin and Oiena watched, then he heard swearing.

“That Gura-loving idiot. That’s her.”

The woman dancing with the Wall Lord in Oteslia was the exact same as the young woman in the garden. The only difference was the black hair. Itorin closed his eyes.

“—She’s a Drake.”

“She’s a Princess of Calanfer, not—”

Queen Oiena began to hiss at him, and they realized their daughter, Princess Oesca, was right there. Fortunately, she didn’t appear to have heard, having snuck a second pudding from the desserts table. Itorin spoke slowly and deliberately.

“That is a Drake Wall Lady that my brother has brought. And she is going to remain a Drake Wall Lady until she leaves.”

Anything else would be…highly problematic. What was Rhisveri thinking? How did he even know…?

Questions for later. Oiena nodded and grabbed Oesca and pinched one ear gently.

“Who’s stealing sweets past her bedtime?”

“But Mother, it’s a celebration for Dame Eclizza!”

Oesca protested, pouting and trying to equivocate as hard as she could. Itorin laughed as Oiena fixed her daughter with an attempt at a severe look; she’d been very good tonight. The two had to deal with their daughter, but Itorin was entirely relieved no one had caught on. Otherwise…dead gods. He hoped the night ended without more eyes on Eyon.

 

——

 

Five minutes after their meeting with Their Majesties, the conspirators of Rhisveri’s friends, Telim, and Grumpy re-convened.

Not in the garden, but in the Court of Masks. You see…there was nowhere else you couldn’t be spied on. Not even other [Spies] or [Mages] could infiltrate there.

There was a long silence as Regalius, disguised, sipped from his drink. Then a crow-mask coughed.

“This is Telim. Ah, so. Did anyone else second-guess my conclusion?”

“She was rather coordinated for someone without a tail. And she mentioned being at war with Ailendamus. We haven’t fought Drakes.”

A lion-mask spoke. A sun-mask, Yietha, murmured.

“And I happen to know of one other Ring of Salazsar that wasn’t on a Drake’s finger. I credit my obsession with the television. But that would be—”

Beyond scandalous. The nobles and Telim eyed each other. Regalius let out a slow breath.

“This is incredible. But highly dangerous! Small wonder Rhisveri led us on. I’m just relieved Their Majesties didn’t catch on. Even for the King’s brother, if this should come out—”

“Dead gods, what does it mean? We don’t have proof!”

“No, but I have eyes. I took one look at another recording and her, and, well—”

“Dead gods. No one can know!”

Everyone agreed, even Telim. This was beyond hilarious. They had crossed the event-horizon into actually serious consequences, but for the sake of Rhisveri—for the sake of love—

For the sake of the best gossiping they would have for generations in Ailendamus, the secret had to be kept. Regalius went around shaking hands. Then he strolled out of the Court of Masks, dying to get to know Miss Eyon.

Dead gods, the name. He’d found a piece of paper and written down her name. Some days, you really felt like a fool.

 

——

 

Seeing Wesle was such a wonderful thing. Lyonette was delighted, if dismayed, when she saw Kilkran and Emme. Because, of course, they might well blow her cover.

Thankfully, they were actors. Emme was the best. She didn’t even bat an eyelash when she saw Lyonette.

“Ah, a former client of ours. How are you, Miss…?”

“Eyonlett. Hello, Emme! It’s a delight to see the Players do so well! You’ve moved from Celum to Invrisil to this?”

The [Princess] gesticulated around at Ailendamus’ grand ball, which was a sight even for other Terandrian kingdoms.

It was possibly one of the largest ballrooms in the entire world. Top twenty, she was sure. Another looted ballroom, made like a whirlpool.

Colors on the outer edges of the ballroom bloomed in each tile, stars of gemstone-bright stone that swept inwards as they deepened, losing their brightness, towards a center until a spiral developed.

A blackness, pulling everything inwards until the central point of the room where a tiny point of bright marble waited. Admired from above, it was, perhaps, like a great eye or the annihilation of a world into a vortex.

But for the dancers, it was a purely selfless floor that drained itself of color so they would shine all the greater. Closer you came until you were dancing in a midnight field with enough traction to step firmly, and smooth enough to spin into the arms of a partner.

Few people were even staring at the floor. Emme herself gave it a passing glance and then smiled into her cup of wine with a reserve that came from experience.

“It is lovely, but it’s far from our first such event these days, Eyon. If anything, I’m just glad that most of our number are sick in Pheislant. It lets us remain a mysterious commodity longer.”

“Plus, Andel might get into a fight if anyone dares criticize his writing.”

Wesle chuckled. He had a [Courtier]’s poise, Lyonette noticed, and Kilkran looked like a [Lord] himself, dressed up in all that finery. Had he gained weight? He kept stroking his beard, which glistened with oils, and his melodious voice seemed even more golden.

“Agreed, agreed. I’m just upset that we barely got a mention. We’ve come all this way to Ailendamus—who was the kingdom we chose in the face of every other kingdom begging for our talents—and the focus is more on their own ceremonies, that [Knight], and Wistram Academy!”

…He thought it was a problem that the Players weren’t the biggest focus? Lyonette craned her head back to stare at one of Wistram Academy’s magical demonstrations. Wesle glanced at it too, then laughed.

“Oh, that. I almost forget about it there are so many posters and recordings everywhere we go. Wistram has been all over us, recording our plays—”

“The decent ones. And they’re not to sell them or any of our newer performances. We need exclusivity, but we did partner with the Ullsinoi Faction, oh, a month or two after we left Invrisil? Because of E—the [Innkeeper].”

Lyonette hadn’t even known about that. She smiled.

“This is marvellous, you all. How was First Landing?”

“Oh, grand!”

All the Players lit up about Izril’s largest city in the north. Kilkran gestured expansively.

“Each one of the Five Families was hosting us night after night! We were the talk of the city—we founded another theatre, of course, and there was a bevy of talent to draw from there. They still missed us when we left! You can’t compare second or third-stringers to our act, but they’ll have to be satisfied with that. We ran out of new plays to perform; we have six [Writers] working nonstop, you see, on new material. Galina helps us adapt the ones she knows, but bringing them up to standard takes time.”

“Plus, Terandria offered far more than First Landing at that point. Between that and all the theatres we’re opening, and the television broadcasting deals, I think it’ll be a far bigger year than the last. Once we blow through Ailendamus by storm, of course.”

Emme had a shine to her eyes that made Lyonette blink. She spoke like a top-level [Merchant], and well she might—Lyonette had to wonder how much money the Players were pulling in. Not as much as the inn, but that was purely by virtue of the box. Wesle leaned over to her.

“I was just saying that we’d forgotten about the inn, Emme. Old Temile still sends a cut from Liscor and Invrisil—maybe we should send some gold back? And a few of the second-stringers who aren’t performing well?”

“Terandrian talent, why not? If he can make Invrisil, Liscor, and Pallass even bigger…I wish you could see Jasi, Eyonlett. She’s got the same aplomb and poise as you do.”

“Really? I’d love to see her, though I’m only here for the night.”

Kilkran smoothed his beard, sighing.

“A shame. But it is good to see you, and if you are here later, we will be touring Ailendamus at least a few months. More than enough time to make an impression on the locals.”

He winked at a young noblewoman staring with ardent admiration at the three Players. Lyonette hesitated, then coughed.

“Oh my, I need to get a drink—”

“Of course! Waiter!”

Wesle snapped his fingers, and she took a cup, then glanced at Emme. The Dwarf woman was thoughtfully eying Lyonette.

“Nothing exciting will be happening tonight, I trust?”

“Nothing that should bother the Players’ business, Emme.”

“Good! Then do let us know if the inn needs a donation of sorts. For old time’s sake? We’ll have to do it covertly, but I have people in Invrisil…”

“We’re actually well set up in that regard. I, uh, Grev is doing well too! Or so I think. He’s always in Invrisil, and I know Temile checks on him.”

Wesle chuckled.

“Grev, that scamp. Jasi will be glad. They talk now and then, and we might bring him on tour now that we have an entire support staff; Emme?”

“Eh, imagining the trouble he could get up to, I’d hate to bother our people. But Eyon, you have to give me some notes on who here is the most important…? I noticed that Baron you were talking to. Not highly placed, but I’ve learned to look for men and women who have everyone’s ear.”

Lyonette gave a few notes to the two for a couple of minutes, but they were happily interrupted by a young woman who came over. The same noblewoman Kilkran had been chatting up.

“Actor Wesle? I hate to interrupt, but may I introduce myself? I am the biggest fan of yours.”

“I’m always delighted to meet a fan. Eyon, do excuse me?”

Wesle’s smile could have charmed the swords out of a Redfang’s hand. He almost blew the young woman away due to tongue-tiedness, but three of her friends urged her forwards, and she burst out.

“I was praying and praying for this—I knew it would work! I’m, um, a [Believer], you see—”

“A what?”

Lyonette turned as well as Emme, and Wesle blinked.

“I’ve never heard of that class before. New or native to Ailendamus?”

“No, haven’t you heard? It is new, but…it’s from the Book of Levels. It’s a class for those who can simply have faith.”

The noblewoman’s comments were putting every hair on Lyonette’s neck up. Another consequence of the [Palace of Fates]? Wesle was purely interested, and he offered her a bow and his arm.

“I would love it if you explained it to me, Miss. And introduced me to your beautiful friends! Eyon, apologies, we’ll catch up later.”

He winked at her as the young women giggled and talked over each other. Lyonette needed to use the restroom, so she apologized to Emme—the [Manager] waved at her, already talking to Sophridel, the half-Elf who seemed in awe of her as much as the other Players.

Dame Ushar murmured to Lyonette as the [Princess] strode towards the bathrooms, which had, of all things, magical plumbing and running water.

“Your Highness, Kilkran seems to be rather drunk and flirting with a number of eligible young women. And possibly ineligible women.”

“That girl was, well, my age. Even Wesle’s too old for her! How rich are the Players, and do you know how they’ve been touring? They seem to have taken to the lifestyle.”

That was all she wanted to say on it, but Lyonette hadn’t missed how much magic and money they were wearing. Dame Ushar nodded and added it to her list of things to investigate. Besides that, it was fine. Though Lyonette kept glancing at the young woman who had a class of faith. She wasn’t the only one, Lyonette realized. Now and then, she saw someone say something then put their hands together. Tentatively. But in a way she had only seen Pawn do…

Faith was spreading at last. But in what? The Grand Design itself? She shivered. Then she really did have to pee. All this wine went through you like, well, wine.

 

——

 

The ball was going well. Everyone was vastly entertained by the attractions, of which the Players of Celum were one; they were broadcasting one of their recorded plays, actually.

On…

The sky.

That wasn’t an exaggeration, either. There was no handy backdrop like the palace walls or even a cloud. Rather, there was a three-dimensional image of the Players of Celum performing on stage, like giants striding to and fro, declaiming Hamlet.

The detail was insane. It was not that it was so detailed you could make out the Players’ pores, but it had a sharpness to the visual quality that surpassed Earth’s pixel-generated images. It was as if you were viewing them from afar, which was how the [Magic Image] spell had been cast.

However, the scale! The sheer size of the magic was allowing everyone in the city to view the play from miles away, and cities neighboring the capital could see giant figures moving to and fro.

The sound quality, meanwhile, wasn’t horrendously loud, but at a volume that increased if you focused on the image until it was loud enough to feel like a play occurring, no more. And this was but one of the magical demonstrations on show to celebrate the Pale Serpent of Ailendamus. There had been [Knights] dueling each other in friendly bouts of martial superiority, lightworks, the feast of foods, a travelling menagerie…

It was Wistram’s magical showcase that was most controversial, however, because this wasn’t a homegrown demonstration of Ailendamus’ magic. This was the enemy, but it was also new technology, so the Academy of Mages had an unhappy audience listening to them.

“Grand illusion magics. Tier 5. It’s the sheer scope of it that makes it Tier 5 magic; you could get to that kind of quality with a Tier 4-capable caster, but not this. We are offering this kind of magic to the highest bidders along with the magical carriages and other premium services.”

High Mage Telim was one of the [Mages] advertising the new spells between bites of his meal. He did it well; his was the exact opposite of a hard sell to the nobility. It was clear Telim wanted to enjoy himself, so he had to be asked what the spells were. It was also just as clear from the unsettled expression of Ailendamus’ own mage corps that this was magic on par with their best work.

“Services, High Magus? Even to Ailendamus, who was attacked by the Archmage of Memories?”

An annoyed nobleman asked the pertinent question, and Telim offered him a resigned smile.

“I’d say politics, Lord Verkith—”

“Politics don’t bandage Ailendamus’ war-dead!”

Telim didn’t react to the dangerous crackle in the other man’s tone; instead, he took a longer drink of wine.

“Nor does it the Dawn Concordat’s. The Archmage of Memories acted as he willed. He considered it a moral matter, and clearly, he has offended the Kingdom of Glass and Glory. I believe his willingness to offer these services to Ailendamus is by way of an attempt at mending bridges.”

Everyone waited for more, but there wasn’t any. Telim produced a goat’s leg and began to take measured bites out of it. There was an unhappy murmur that rose, then died down as they thought about what that meant.

No apology. Every other Archmage of the modern era would have played that differently. It was inconceivable to think of even a foreign Archmage not making peaceful overtures and promising this was a one-off, an exception to the rule. But Archmage Eldavin was not going to do that.

It was also—pointed. A clear reminder to Ailendamus’ nobility about who had started this war, an indictment of their national pride.

In Kaaz or another kingdom, that would have drawn blood. Here? Well, it was calibrated to its audience, but it told several listeners that the Archmage of Memory intended to be a force that needed assuaging on his own merits. Wistram had always been that political obstacle that could be problematic if it took the other side, but it had seldom offered any real teeth. Archmage Eldavin was a bared sword, and you had to have confidence to make his statements.

One look at a giant Wesle striding across the stage and you had to wonder if this was subtlety or the blunt mace of tactlessness. Certainly, the [Mages] had come armed to impress.

“What other services does Wistram offer Ailendamus, High Magus? Illusions and transportations are not to be ignored, but Ailendamus’ [Mages] are second to none on the continent.”

Lady Paxere of House Shoel asked that question. She was wearing white to mark her parents’ deaths, but her voice was cool and poised. Telim smiled at her.

“Why, spells, Lady…Paxere, I believe? You noted the desalination ritual that Archmage Eldavin created and sold at a nominal fee, in the name of the public good? That wasn’t old magic; he invented it specifically to aid in the New Lands colonization effort. That is not the only magic the Archmage of Memories has pioneered. The magical armor that some of his people used in the war…”

“You’re selling enchanted armor?”

Paxere’s voice was flat, and Telim waggled a finger.

“Artisan work from Wistram along with the spells themselves—though you understand tutelage commands a high fee on its own. Even…spells of very powerful Tiers.”

“Beyond Tier 5 magic. You’re selling Tier 6 magic?”

Now, every noble in earshot was listening hard. Tier 6 magic…even their [Grand Magi] would be considered exceptional if they could cast more than two such spells, linked. And such spellcasters had studied and practiced magic for four decades at least to get to that level. Paxere, though, she didn’t blink.

As if she thought she were equal to that level of magic. Telim recalled Archmage Eldavin’s briefing on Ailendamus: he had marked House Shoel as having magic on par with the other Archmages. So Telim smiled at the young woman carefully, like she were an enemy in Wistram.

“If I may name one spell, noblefolk of Ailendamus—then get back to socializing? I’m not a particularly good salesman, and I’d rather not have the class. This is a premium service to be offered to nations with coffers deep enough to make it worth Wistram’s while. Not to be spread around. But should there be agreement, then, yes. Archmage Eldavin walked Wistram’s higher floors before they were closed. A [Mage] that pre-dates Archmage Zelkyr and Az’kerash will teach magic. Such as—[Restoration]. Or [Regeneration], even, if you have [Restoration], though that one requires a [Mage] above Level 50. Now, I believe that pudding has my name on it. Do excuse me. [Greater Invisibility].”

The uproar that followed Telim and the rush towards the strawberry pudding to ask him what he meant was enormous. Of course…Telim wasn’t at the pudding table. He was eating cupcakes instead.

Someone who didn’t have the same worry about this great magic as the mortal nobles walked over as Paxere stood there. But then—Lady Paterghost, a former Great Knight of Ailendamus and immortal suit of living armor, had seen that kind of magic before. If rarely. She was over a thousand years old and pretending to sip a fizzy drink.

In reality, it was the Greater Mimic in her armor, Nube—her companion—who ate. The living suit of armor spoke in the refined accent of Taimaguros, her homeland, to Paxere; she had been in the royal palace for 1,011 years and styled herself as practically royal by association. Haughty, prickly, and annoying—most of the time. Right now, she and Paxere were firmly on the same side after all of Ailendamus’ losses, and so she kept her voice low as she nodded at Telim.

“He appears slightly rattled. Should you be staring at him so openly?”

Her engraved helmet, which featured the blue and red symbols of Taima and Gura, the twin beasts the kingdom had been named after, turned, and she picked out Telim munching on cupcakes, despite his [Greater Invisibility] spell. But then, Nube was a Mimic; illusions were hard to use on their kind.

Paxere had penetrated the spell with her own spellcraft. The young Lucifen sipped from her cup, eyes never losing Telim.

“Wistram is showing it has a superior amount of magic. A message should be sent that it is not alone.”

“Hah. Fairly said. As House Shoel’s leader, it is your decision. Know I would question Visophecin to his face in the same way.”

Was that a note of support? Paxere nodded after a moment of private debate whether to snap back. Paterghost’s head rotated again.

“The banquet is passably fine. I have, of course, known better.”

“Of course.”

“I am reminded of the Celebration of Gura eight hundred years ago. Eight spontaneous marriages, two murders, and five duels to the death. That was merely among the nobility.”

Paxere snorted, though she didn’t doubt something of that nature had occurred.

“One wonders how Taimaguros has enough nobility, the way they carry on and feud.”

The suit of armor paused and her haughty voice became slightly more retiring.

“Ah, well…they are prolific in their affections as well as hatreds. And I think, ultimately, it is not the nobility who war as bloodily for Taima and Gura. That was a particularly incensed time in the Empire. When I last left, it was so much more…showy. No substance. Hardly any bloodfeuds of note.”

Paxere raised a brow. One did not catch Paterghost badmouthing her nation in any way, usually. But the immortals of Ailendamus still mourned the Lucifen. They still mourned Fithea, Dioname.

“Young Eclizza lives. Let us not speak of death. The banquet is going well. I came to inquire, Paxere—who is that young woman who seems to be the talk of the Court of Masks’ regulars? She is practically beset, and her [Knight] is wearing a rather…impressive set of armor.”

Another oddity; Paterghost acknowledged no armor as worthy of praise unless it was at least half as old as she was. Paxere glanced over and snorted.

“Oh, her. I shouldn’t say her true identity. It’s one of Rhisveri’s foibles. Again. What will we do if he leads Ailendamus into more madness?”

The elders were far more upset than she, but Paterghost merely paused, again, and Nube burbled in an approximation of her voice.

“Sad.”

The helmet nodded.

“Yes, Nube, sad. We allow it because what choice do we have, Paxere? Just as House Shoel’s heart should not break, our leader is weak in his own ways. So. Who is that?”

She bent her head, and Paxere murmured the answer, veiled by privacy spells. Paterghost’s head rose.

“Ah. Well.”

She took a longer sip from her drink.

“…That may not be the wisest course after all.”

Her head turned towards the young woman talking and even smiling from where she and a group of nobles were touring the ball. After a moment, Paterghost remarked softly.

“She seems to be enjoying herself.”

“Yes. Isn’t it odd?”

Another moment of silence as Paxere realized her read was not the same as the older immortal’s. Paterghost simply shook her head.

“Nobility to some extent, but royalty especially is lonely. They speak and act a world unto their own. Regardless of where it is, a fish loves to breathe water. Excuse me.”

She advanced towards the young woman in her straight-backed stride as Paxere raised her brows. But then, like many others, she focused on ‘Eyon’, or rather, Lyonette du Marquin, 6th Princess of Calanfer.

She was indeed smiling.

 

——

 

Lyonette kept catching herself and wondering what she was doing. Enjoying herself. But she couldn’t help it.

There was fresh food from home on offer everywhere, fashions and gossip from across Terandria, familiar accents and people who didn’t gawk at you for asking odd questions, and it was just—

Relaxed. For all she was in an enemy kingdom, this wasn’t a life-or-death struggle, so she tried to remember these were her foes, but in truth, she was melting. Melting away as stress left her, because even hiding her identity in Ailendamus was about a thousand levels less stressful than watching a Goblin King charging at her through a dissolving [Palace of Fates].

Of course, her audience, some of whom knew who she was, found her relaxed demeanor incredibly shocking. They would have put it down to brainlessness or complacency but for the fact that Lyonette was asking sharp questions.

“So Ailendamus is not sending a colonial effort to the New Lands, Baron Regalius? Pardon me if I laugh, but surely we may be honest? Whatever the diplomatic line is…even though Ailendamus was barred from the alliance at Calanfer, I am sure an effort was made.”

He tried not to smile too obviously as he took a sip from his cup.

“Ah, but I am the very voice of our diplomatic line, Miss Eyon. Besides, no ships of Ailendamus have gone anywhere near the New Lands. How would you otherwise claim we were planning on a colonization attempt?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Baron, if I were a gambling woman, I would check ship hulls to see if some are in fact rechristened vessels of Ailendamus. But I’m not. I do happen to keep an eye on trade, and it didn’t escape my notice that a rather large amount of gold was spent by [Merchants] in Izrilian harbors. You’re simply going overland from Zeres, from the northern ports, and so on. Also, do half-Elves not count? Because I’m sure Ailendamus’ half-Elves are part of the colony there, but I suppose that’s ‘unaffiliated’?”

Lyonette remembered that from when the inn had been buying and selling goods to hide all the gold it was laundering. More than one Ailendamus-based [Merchant] had bought up food like Prelons in bulk; rather odd for a nation that didn’t often want such goods.

Yietha murmured and offered a tray of sushi around.

“Oh my, well done. The dratted food shortages meant we had to sell as much food as we bought, though. We have enough silos of grain that we could outfit our expeditions amply, but we did buy up food. Drathian cuisine is on display here because we’re shorter on our own [Cooks]’ efforts. Kitchens running day and night to prepare for the trip, you know. I shudder to think of that food being wasted by Chests of Holding turning off.”

Lyonette selected a piece of eel on rice with some chopsticks.

“Drathian cooking! This is cosmopolitan. If they’re wise, I hope Ailendamus’ expeditioners not caught by the magic-drain simply leave their Chests of Holding at the border of the New Lands. Establish an outpost and keep the food there and let groups enter and exit. A relay system, but that’s simply off the top of my head.”

“Ah, you say that, miss, but have you been spying on our war rooms? You’ve distilled the basic plan our [Strategists] came up with after three days and nights of arguing!”

General Bathnir teased Lyonette, and a chuckle went around the room. At this point, Kilkran broke in with a too-hearty laugh.

“Spies? No one here’s a spy, General Bathnir. No indeed—er—though we [Actors] are good at changing our identities. So if there was a spy, it would be us. Not that we are spying, that is!”

He was a bit too drunk and laughed far too hard at his attempt at a joke. Lyonette didn’t even let her face change as Wesle covertly elbowed Kilkran. Actor he might be, but the stage clearly didn’t work the same as real life—for some. Wesle was a perfect image of a resigned coworker trying to keep a drunkard from running his mouth. He turned to Bathnir, apologetically indicating Kilkran with a head-nod, then smiled.

“I was merely a [Guardsman], but I have some notion of northern Izrilian politics, Lord Bathnir. Spies are a valid concern in the New Lands, as are [Assassins]. I hope Ailendamus has taken countermeasures?”

“I thought the Assassin’s Guild was dead.”

Someone commented, and Wesle exhaled.

“Dead? No. Hurt, most definitely, but that’s, again, north Izril. The Drakes have their own version of an Assassin’s Guild, or so I’m led to believe. We had one of them enter Celum once; a bloody murder that was never solved.”

“Oh my. One would think Drakes were ill-suited to the class. My image of them is haughty, loud-mouthed, greedy—and entirely stubborn.”

Lyonette and Wesle exchanged a look before trying to assure one of the noblewomen that this was a broad generalization that didn’t do justice to an entire species. Then Regalius broke in as Telim appeared, twinkle in his eye.

“My, you seem so well informed about Drakes, Miss Eyon.”

“As much as other species, Lord Regalius. I confess, I had hoped to meet some half-Elves from your amazing forests as well. Is it true they’re forming traditional half-Elven villages? I can’t imagine how you handled the scandal amongst the other communities.”

The [Baron of Ceremonies] burst out laughing and tipped his glass to her again.

“What a fine riposte! And such an insightful question.”

Half the listeners were just confused.

“Why would traditional half-Elven villages be controversial within the species, Baron Regalius? Aside from the ah, issue of their presence which I personally don’t find meritful—I had no notion other half-Elves resented the practice.”

He turned to Lyonette, and she explained with an easy smile.

“Influence. And, I daresay, jealousy. Traditional half-Elven villages, the truly timeless ones, are often an inconvenience on other communities. They’re far too insular and require safeguarding to maintain their states. Forming a number of them in Ailendamus would give the half-Elves here so much prestige and influence it might pull more of their people into the Kingdom of Glass and Glory. So, one hears, you would get the worst of infighting amongst half-Elves.”

“Tossing roaches in the fields to ruin the lifestyle?”

“That—and half-Elves visiting and claiming the village isn’t ‘predictable’ enough. Which means you have to have more visitors, and before you know it—”

“Actually, our half-Elves benefited from the late Magistrate Fithea’s influence. There was some unpleasantness, but they began growing glass trees. It’s been sixty years of trading different kinds of bonsai between several notable half-Elven villages. A ‘new’ project that has dozens of them doing it, so I gather.”

Lyonette broke off her explanation and turned to Regalius, purely amazed. What? She hadn’t heard of that.

“Glass trees?”

Then they were calling to show her some plantlife unlike any she’d ever known. And she just enjoyed it. Being among witty, informed people…Lyonette felt someone tap her shoulder and turned.

“Miss Eyon, a message for you.”

It was Ushar! Lyonette had to break away from the gathering for a moment; she saw the Thronebearer activate privacy spells and angle herself to block lipreaders. In doing so, she stepped away from a rather tall [Knight] who seemed intent on her.

Lyonette whispered.

“Who’s your friend, Rusha?”

“A former Great Knight of Ailendamus, Miss Eyon. A Lady Paterghost who’s rather taken with my armor.”

The tension in Ushar’s voice was minimal; Lyonette could just tell how much strain the Thronebearer was under. Lyonette felt guilty before Ushar murmured.

“—She recognizes its value. That means something.”

“Yes, I imagine so.”

The two traded a look before Ushar proffered something to Lyonette. A [Message] scroll.

“I established contact back home.”

“Oh!”

Lyonette tried to act casual as she opened the scroll. Ushar handed her a quill, and she saw a name.

 

Mrsha: Hey, Mother. You’re on television, you know.

 

Lyonette almost dropped the scroll, then wrote back hurriedly.

 

Lyonette: Oh no. Do they know?

Mrsha: Nah. It was really hard to find the channel. It’s a Terandrian-only broadcast, and you only appear in a few seconds in big shots of the ball. It’s very pretty. I like the super-chandelier with the multiple light spells rotating around. It’s like the solar system! The showcase is boring. It’s all about Wistram’s magic. And Emme was on television!

Lyonette: The Players are here. Ushar told you I’m fine…?

Mrsha: Yep. We got it since Duke Smellyface left a letter. Ilvriss was the one who was all upset. He wanted to go rescue you. Heh.

Lyonette: Oh dear. Did someone explain properly? Dalimont? Is he—

Mrsha: We dealt with it.

Lyonette: You’re sure you did, sweetie? Ushar could get me a speaking stone if—

Mrsha: I didn’t do a thing. I got Nerul to talk to Ilvriss after Dalimont talked to him. Problem solved.

Lyonette: That’s a deft solution!

Mrsha: I know.

Lyonette: I’ll be back within the hour. Tell Ilvriss that, please, and rest assured, I’m quite safe. No one’s even caught on to my identity. I think they believe I’m a Drake.

Mrsha: Don’t come back—

Lyonette: Excuse me?

Mrsha: —right away. You look like you’re having fun, Mother. We’ll be fine. Go have fun. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re playing cards, and I have six trump cards in my hand. Have fun!

 

Then she stopped writing, and Lyonette stood there, surprised. She blinked down at the [Message] scroll and realized that Mrsha wasn’t saying anything that was wrong, it was just—backwards.

She was the one being told not to worry and have fun. And Mrsha was gambling?

Again, all things considered, what a fine thing to teach a girl. Lyonette just felt a pang that Mrsha was thinking of her. She turned, almost wanting to go back just because Mrsha had said that, when she saw Ushar trying to fend off Paterghost outside the privacy bubble. Lyonette exited the spell and heard the energetic old woman talking.

At least, she thought it was a woman—the [Knight] walked around with visor closed, like some of the Thirsting Veil did, though her armor was a grey metal elegantly patterned with blue and red. Quite beautiful; more suited to decorative armor than anything else. Her voice was purely old woman, though, haughty and refined and from Taimaguros if Lyonette was a judge.

“—splendid armor, young woman. Dragonchallenger Mk. VII if I am a judge, one of the rarest runs of armor of that pattern to be found in Terandria today! You may note, here, how the forging ran too cold and had to be flame-spell welded? A flaw of the forges back then.”

She was trying to show Ushar a part of the breastplate on the inner section, and Ushar was clearly loath to let anyone touch Queen Marquin’s armor or have anyone find out exactly whose it was.

“An honor, Great Knight Paterghost. Truly, but I was merely given this armor, and I cannot remove it—”

She tried to pull away, but Paterghost seized one arm—gently, Lyonette thought. But Ushar couldn’t tug away, which suggested how strong the old Great Knight was. Yet Paterghost’s voice wasn’t nattering. It was, if anything, somewhat desperate.

“One understands, one understands. Armor is made for a purpose. To guard and defend. What higher honor can there be? Yet, young woman…this armor is old. Older than…older than I can name and still be functional. Here. Here…was a recent slice. Closed by a [Repair] spell from a scroll, perchance? Even today?”

She traced a line on the armor that appeared normal, but it was right where Ushar had stabbed Marquin’s armor by accident. Lyonette raised her brows but let Ushar answer.

“I, ah, yes. How perceptive, Great Knight. Merely a field repair—”

“Please, do no more of the kind. The armor will be destroyed in six more castings of the like. It is too old, Dame Knight. Too old. I think, if it must be used to defend life and limb…if it must…let it. But the magic can no longer repair it. And I think no artisan of steel under Level 50 would have a chance either.”

There was such a pained note in Paterghost’s voice as she gently touched the armor. Ushar hesitated, and her eyes swung to Lyonette.

“No [Repair] spells? But why, Dame Paterghost?”

A long sigh exited Paterghost’s helmet.

“The metal is too old. Simply that, Dame Rusha. You have heard of flesh that refuses to be healed after it is scarred or healed too many times? The same with metal. This armor is beautiful. Ancient. It was made by no master; it was mass-produced in fires that were too cold to forge it beautifully.”

It’s Marquin’s armor! Don’t talk of it like that! Lyonette wanted to object, but Paterghost’s helm swung towards her, and her voice grew soft.

“That is not to denigrate it one iota. If anything, it makes the armor all the more beautiful. I…my armor was made by artisans to be worn and admired. This was forged in desperation, under dark skies. Mk. VII Dragonchallenger armor, forged by desperate smiths during the midst of the Creler Wars. Had I a week, I could even locate the very vein of iron mined by desperate miners in Silvaria, carted up to forges where it was hammered out for anyone willing to swing a blade in defense of the land. This is beautiful armor, Dame Knight. Whether it must be—used—or preserved, I only wish it to be honored to the last.”

She was so passionate about the armor that even Lyonette was left embarrassed and speechless. Ushar was the one bowing her head, voice low.

“I swear—I will swear to you that this armor will be preserved, Lady Paterghost. It was simply the only armor at hand. I-I had some notion of the value of it, but after this moment, I will preserve it. No [Repair] spells, you said?”

“None. [Stasis] is to be used if possible. That will give it…a hundred years, perhaps, but it has already been in something of the like. Books, armor, everything degrades in all but the most perfect time-stop spells. A hundred years is a chance. A chance for the armor to—to be appreciated. Short of that, you must bring it to a master [Smith] and hope one can restore it. Ah! A bath of iron sands might well work. The metal may take on some of the strength of the ore, you see…”

Ushar was taking notes as Paterghost went on. Was she the Great Knight of Armor or something? Lyonette herself was assuring Paterghost that the armor would be taken care of as it deserved. Ushar was bowing her head.

“I am ashamed, Great Knight. I am—”

“No, no. Armor must be worn. It should be used. I am merely passionate about…very good. Very good.”

The Great Knight seemed emotional; Lyonette was about to introduce herself properly when someone strode over and took the knight’s shoulder.

“Paterghost! Don’t natter at our guests! Great Knight Paterghost, meet Eyon. And her, uh, woman, Rusha. She’s not being obstreperous, is she, Eyon?”

Rhisveri looked flustered as he dashed over, and Paterghost turned to him, visibly offended. Lyonette halted him.

“She has been nothing but informative about Rusha’s armor, Rhisveri. You two are…friends?”

Oh, that explained a lot. Rhisveri caught himself and murmured.

“Paterghost, polite to anyone? I, uh, well! Yes! I knew Paterghost way back. She and F…”

He swallowed.

“—Magistrate Fithea knew each other. In fact, she was one of the first people I recruited.”

“Recruited?”

“From Taimaguros.”

Now, Paterghost was studying Rhisveri, and her head nodded. A bit more of her snappish tone returned, and she swept a rather flowery bow.

“Yes, I am of Taimaguros. A pleasure, Miss Eyon. The Duke rescued me from a small bind when I was a young woman. It has been my pleasure to serve and educate Ailendamus’ younger [Knights]. The era of my fighting in its defense has passed, though I retain a noble title from my time as a Great Knight.”

“An honor twice over, Lady Paterghost! Then are you from Taima or Gura?”

It was the question you asked anyone from Taimaguros if you didn’t want to be kicked for making a mistake. To Lyonette’s surprise, Paterghost hesitated.

“I would say I have spent more time in the service of Taima than Gura. But I was an—an exception who served the crown that ruled.”

Which would favor Taima over Gura as their descendants had taken the throne more than not, but only just. Who was she? Rhisveri seemed displeased by all this. He turned to Lyonette and folded his arms.

“You’re certainly entertaining my peers well enough. But you left me behind to discuss the New Lands! You’re my date!”

Lyonette rolled her eyes, and Paterghost made a honking sound behind her helmet.

“That charade will never bear fruit, Rhisveri.”

“No, she is! Just—demonstrate it more, would you? Do more date-like things!”

“Should I simper and hang off your arm, Rhisveri? Or confess my love for you in front of all and sundry?”

Lyonette gave him a cool gaze, and Rhisveri scratched at his chin, taking the question at face value.

“I’d rather not give off the impression you were some empty-headed trollop, thank you. Just…something in tandem! Less wandering away!”

He tried to tow her back to Regalius and the others, and he was annoyingly strong. Damn Wyrms and Dragons. Paterghost seemed to notice Lyonette’s distress and strode after Rhisveri.

“Leave the young lady alone, Rhisveri. ‘Tis not a shame to be alone in romance or relationship. Far more embarrassing would be to drag the unwilling into a farce.”

“Paterghost! Miss Eyon agreed to be my date.”

“Hah. A jest worthy of thrones.”

Her head swung back to Lyonette as they rejoined the social circles, and Lyonette hesitated, but only for a moment. When Rhisveri’s face fell, she couldn’t help but speak in a carrying tone.

“I know it may be hard to believe if you know him at his worst, but the good Duke did defend me and my loved ones, Lady Paterghost. This isn’t the first social engagement we’ve had together.”

Rhisveri’s friends, which now included Queen Oiena herself, all turned and gave the Duke a searching eye. Oiena cleared her throat.

“Oh my. I had no notion my brother-in-law was so gallant, Miss Eyon. What, pray, has he done in your company before this? Not to imply he begged you on hand and knee to join him tonight, but it is a rumor.”

There was merry laughter, and Rhisveri flushed again—he and Oiena clearly didn’t like each other. However, it was a gentle enough ribbing, and Lyonette once again made a choice that was easier than she’d thought. She gave Oiena a genuine smile.

“I’m quite familiar with Rhisveri’s worst instincts, Your Majesty. But when the moment appeared, he refused to back down in defense of what he considered righteous. That passes quite a lot of ill waters in my books. Well, enough to indeed say we’re more than mere acquaintances.”

A rather thoughtful silence followed her remarks as every eye swung towards Rhisveri, then Regalius applauded.

“And that is why he has the hallmarks of what we love in our Kingdom of Glass and Glory! A prickly man, difficult as a Tier 6 spell to love—but if I doubted those were his true colors, I wouldn’t call him a friend.”

“Hear, hear!”

Grand Magus Detrida lifted her cup, and the others joined in. Rhisveri blushed bright red and scowled even harder.

“You don’t need to lie.”

He muttered to Lyonette. Her response was to raise her brows and glance at Queen Oiena. Then the [Queen] of Ailendamus gave over with a true laugh. She seemed amazed by it and turned to address Rhisveri and Lyonette.

“Oh my. I do believe you were a hero, then, Rhisveri. I am endlessly curious. What social engagements have you two partaken of, Eyon? And it must be ‘Oiena’, since I am liking you.”

Lyonette curtseyed deeply and responded fast and quick.

“I would be nervous to say it in front of anyone but a daughter of Gura, Oiena. But, ah, um, gambling?”

This time, she knew she’d get a smile before she heard Oiena laugh.

“No! You gamble, Miss Eyon?”

“Like a damn Demon.”

Rhisveri muttered sourly, clearly remembering the famed night when she had played with the monarchy. Lyonette’s own smile was coy.

“It is somewhat entertaining.”

“I’m sure I saw a table—I always love watching the dice roll, if nothing else. Follow me!”

Nothing would do but for Oiena to take Lyonette over to a table. Normally, the monarchy shouldn’t be too interested in vices like gambling, but Taimaguros, and especially Gura, was known for having gambling houses that even the rich and powerful went to.

Lyonette’s experience in The Wandering Inn meant that all the stakes in the world would just bounce off her; she’d gambled for hundreds of thousands of gold pieces, and it had desensitized her. However, she was reminded of her Skill.

[The Gambler’s Dice].

She had never used it, because, well, you didn’t get a chance to literally gamble that often, especially in her inn. She stood next to Oiena as the [Queen] showed her a variant of Lucky Dice that she’d imported from Taimaguros; the simplest version was trying to get all 6s without getting snake eyes. More extensive versions added more dice.

“I can’t imagine my brother-in-law was good at gambling.”

She whispered to Lyonette, and the [Princess] hid a smile.

“He may have lost a small sum.”

“Oh my. He didn’t bet too much, did he?”

For a moment, Oiena wore the concern of a monarch, worried that Rhisveri had put himself in debt to a foreign power. Lyonette thought of Rhisveri gambling Ailendamus’ royal treasury, and her lie was the smoothest that night.

“Nothing he didn’t own. However, I daresay he walked away at the end of the night with more than he lost.”

She was thinking of the gold she’d lent him, but Queen Oiena took a different answer from the way she scrutinized Lyonette. One the [Princess] missed in a rare show of innocence. Ushar did not miss what Lyonette had implied and was sweating harder underneath her helm. She sidled back from Oiena’s sharp [Bodyguards] and got the worst message that night. She’d rather enjoyed seeing her [Princess] in action—until another [Message] spell buzzed.

 

Smoking: What is going on? Report this moment. You are on live television.

Knight U: Unable to brief at this moment. Standby.

Smoking: Pull her out of there this instant and explain why her net worth has jumped by a factor of at least one national treasure!

Knight U: I am wearing said treasure. Please stand by. They might notice the [Messages].

 

She dared not look any further. Instead, Ushar locked onto Oiena and Lyonette chatting convivially, ignoring the buzzing of her [Message] scroll. The [Queen] was laughing at something Lyonette had asked.

“A gambling Skill? Oh, no, one would never admit to using it. In other games, it may be genteel, such as chess, but the entire point of gambling is the illusion of luck. Someone with a luck-Skill would be banned from any game on using it.”

“Ah, so it’s all about using it in secret. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Oiena fixed Lyonette with a kindly eye and shook her head.

“In fact, most gamblers would never use a luck-based Skill in gambling unless they were in need of money, Miss Eyon. Many I know consider the game itself to be a passion, and Skills dilute the joy and horror of it. Your Skill should be used on all the other gambles of life.”

Lyonette’s eyes brightened, but then she wavered.

“But that is even more horrific. I can name a few gambles where I could have used such a Skill—the idea of wagering even more on that is beyond my courage.”

Oiena once again gazed at Lyonette with frank interest. She tapped her lips a few times.

“Well, it is the mark of a true gambler to know when it is worth betting at all. You are remarkably poised for your age, Miss Eyon. I do confess, my first thought on seeing you with Rhisveri was that he was far too old for you!”

Lyonette whispered back as Rhisveri glanced up from the board where he was betting with Regalius, frowning in suspicion.

“This is more of courtesy than anything else, Oiena. But please, I did truly wish to save his reputation! I owed him that, inconvenient as it may have been to have forty minutes to prepare.”

Oiena blanched.

“Forty—I should hit him with a vase! He didn’t! That fool—well.”

She sighed, somewhat perplexed.

“That you were so gracious to him speaks better of the man than I thought. Now, I should not keep you and our gamblers on your toes. It’s considered bad luck to have a sitting monarch watching the dice roll.”

She swept forwards to place a bet, and Lyonette exhaled when she lost, laughed, and paid her dues before returning to the high table. She whispered to Ushar.

“She’s so personable.”

“She is from Taimaguros, Miss Eyon. Friendly as a [Drunkard] until you say the wrong thing, then as bad as a Kaazian.”

Lyonette half-smiled, but she gazed after Oiena in dismay.

“I wish this dratted kingdom were worse in some way. It would make it so much easier.”

She made the unguarded comment out loud, and someone chuckled.

“They’re all charming in some way. Even Noelictus and the famous Court of Dusks has something to love—though that’s the easiest one to run screaming from.”

Lyonette jumped, and Magus Telim held out a hand.

“Do pardon me. High Magus Telim, Wistram, Terras faction and all that. May I make your acquaintance, Miss Eyon? I confess I rather am desperate to do so. I fought for the honor.”

Ushar saw a pile of people cursing behind him; it seemed like they’d all tripped over something, possibly a spell. Lyonette hesitated, on-guard, but then blinked.

“Magus Telim? I think I know that name! Aren’t you…the inventor of the Adventurer Quest games?”

“The Adventure Rooms. Yes, I had some part in it, though it was a collaborative effort with the Ullsinoi faction.”

Telim was pleased by Lyonette’s recollection. He bowed over her hand and nodded.

“It’s quite lucrative and moved me up in Wistram’s little power circles, though attaching myself to the Terras faction when it was starting out did even more wonders. Now I’m actually someone of import in the academy. Dreadful. I used to have nightmares about it, but here we are.”

He pulled a face, and Lyonette laughed.

“Well, how can I help you, Magus Telim? I’m hardly so interesting as to be sought by such a famous person as yourself! Unless the Duke confers that much attention?”

Telim studied Rhisveri, then shook his head. He met Lyonette’s eyes cheerfully as Ushar sensed a subtle illusion spell move around them. She signalled Lyonette, but hardly needed to.

“No, Miss Lyonette. I rather fancy a number of nobles themselves would greatly desire to meet someone connected with the famous inn. Myself? This is as close as I’ll get to meeting the [Innkeeper] I’ve heard so much about, and safer, too. Do forgive me if I seem desperate, but you have a charmed life of your own.”

Lyonette froze up, and her head swung to Ushar, but Telim flicked his fingers.

“My best illusion spells. I don’t think even their finest [Mages] can get through that easily. It defeated Eldavin twice before he cracked it. I don’t intend on sharing your identity, Princess Marquin.”

“You…you don’t intend to place me in danger, Magus Telim? May I ask what you want?”

Lyonette was on-guard instantly, but Telim just raised his brows.

“To meet you, as I said. On my word—I’d offer a [Detect Truth] spell, but they’re useless, I’m told. I’d hate to make your inn—or the Ullsinoi Faction—my enemy.”

Lyonette stared at Telim, then her face cleared, and she smiled so convincingly Ushar almost applauded. Telim chuckled.

“You needn’t do that. The spell is comprehensive.”

The [Princess] chuckled, and her smile never wavered. She studied Telim up and down, and she didn’t visibly change in demeanor, but there was something even more confident and authoritative in how she responded.

Not the act of it like Wesle had; the confidence that came from being the hammer and anvil and watching all between break in front of her. The same expression Erin Solstice could wear. And the same quicksilver strike that took even Telim off-guard.

“I’m not worried. You bely your competence, High Magus Telim. The Archmage of Memories acknowledges it too, far worse for you. I imagine social gatherings like these will be the most pleasant of things he subjects you to. Soon, you’ll be placed into more dangerous gatherings. Or perhaps war. Defense of someone who must be saved, if nothing else. Capable men are always used in such ways.”

Telim’s face fell as he took a hefty bite of a cupcake.

“Dead gods, you say the most horrific things, Princess Marquin. Not even a question about how I elegantly sussed out your identity?”

She shrugged.

“I imagine it wasn’t the hardest, sadly. For all I know, you have a Tier 6 spell that identified me purely based on magical talent. If you know more spells than that, you will be a [Mage] feared and marked across the world.”

He rubbed at his huge beard furiously.

“Incredible. There’s that Calanferian sharpness I’ve heard about; I’ve never been put off my feed faster. Have I offended you that much, Your Highness? I do apologize if so! I am not threatening your inn!”

“Magus Telim, the Archmage of Memories was at the battle at sea when my [Innkeeper] was fighting. You, respectfully, are either already on the list or not on the board. I’m merely pointing out the facts you may not have considered.”

Her sweet smile unsettled Telim, but he quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Ah. I’m being manipulated into…help me out, here?”

She took his arm.

“You could live a life of excitement, fascinating vistas, poisoned cake, and more, Magus Telim, or sit in an inn all day. The entire kitchen has a [Field of Preservation] on it. The record for a dish reaching the table after ordering is 2.1 seconds. Well, Asgra threw a pizza once, but that doesn’t count. Imagine it. A dreadful life where you can only sit, eat your fill, watch the latest incidents occurring in the center of it all, and cast magic when needed.”

He began beaming halfway through her description of the inn.

“My dear, that is the best recruitment pitch I’ve heard in the last decade! But what about the part where the inn explodes with Goblin Kings?”

Her eyes twinkled.

“You want to level, Magus Telim? You’ll reach Level 50 in our inn.”

“I’ll reach Wistram’s upper floors and Level 50 following Eldavin. Frankly, I’ll probably be safer eating poisoned cupcakes!”

He shot back, but he was fascinated by her. Lyonette’s eyes gleamed, and Telim followed her lips, forgetting to study her body language, drawn in by that charm.

Ushar, admiring Lyonette, was more resistant, but even she just listened with a pleasure that was her reward for this stressful night.

Lyonette didn’t have that two years ago. The [Princess] laughed at Telim like he was a silly man and gave him the look she’d given Captain Todi, Elia Arcsinger, and so many.

“You’ll stay when the Goblin King charges, Magus Telim—or be the first to run and save my daughters’ lives and many others. Either way, you’ll know the moment mattered far more than throwing spells down on armies or people you’ll never see. I’d put the biggest monster in The Wandering Inn against any [Mage] in Wistram. If souls have sins and weight, then they will always balance in our favor. Would you rather be the [High Mage] of a new era of magic or the magus who was there when the world changed and made his choice?”

High Magus Telim gazed at Lyonette. Then he blinked out of existence, and the illusion spell folded up.

“Teleportation!”

One of Queen Oiena’s [Bodyguards] spun and pointed as Telim appeared behind the gambling tables. He raised his hands as they surrounded him.

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry—do forgive me. It won’t happen again—ah, Miss Eyon. I do apologize.”

He strode back over and bowed to her.

“I merely felt like I had to get away. You are a terrifying woman, and I reject you!”

He made an ‘x’ with his arms, sounding merry, but only half-kidding.

“Please, allow me to enjoy my dinner and sterling conversation without putting me in fear for my life. Or soul!”

He bowed again, voice pleading. Lyonette laughed and took his arm as Rhisveri turned again.

“I’ll just have to charm you first, Magus Telim. Very well—you must tell me about the famous breakout with the King of Destruction’s agent and the Archmage of Chandrar! I heard a bit of what happened from a certain [Knight] who was there, but I am dying to know the rest.”

“Oh, safer ground! If I do that, what if I asked you about—wait, I have a list—Magus Grimalkin would be the top. Has the good Drake found a certain partner or is the magical gossip circle miscasting again? Because if so, the scandal and good man!”

Lyonette actually giggled. They began talking animatedly, and Ushar observed Telim’s eyes lighting up as they exchanged gossip. And—visibly—pulling back from Lyonette with genuine alarm.

She was so happy and capable, she was almost glowing in Ushar’s eyes. Almost—

 

——

 

“Radiant.”

That was Queen Oiena’s comment when she rejoined Itorin at the high table. The [King] gazed at her.

“The [Princess] struck you that well? I enjoyed how skilled she was at dissembling, but truly?”

Queen Oiena drank deeply from a glass of purified water, seeming troubled herself.

“She has backbone, Itorin. And conviction! She didn’t even blink at me. I wasn’t throwing my aura at her, but she treated me with perfect respect and didn’t hesitate to speak to me like an equal. She’s addressed foreign monarchs before.”

“Hardly surprising for Calanfer’s own.”

He wanted to down-talk the [Princess], who was a headache in his books, but Oiena shifted.

“I’ve met some of Calanfer’s [Princesses]—and one of their [Princes]—and she outstrips the lot of them, Itorin. Go over and see. Just go over!”

He resisted the urge to do that because it was too obvious and because the Players of Celum had drawn a huge crowd around them. More popular than the [King] themselves, and half as haughty. Itorin checked some notes his [Spymaster] had gotten him.

“Well, this is out of date. She’s supposed to say ‘peon’ and be haughty and condescending. Also, Level 5. I heard her talking about the New Lands. She had solid ideas, and I believe she came up with them on the spot!”

The two traded a look of exasperation and amusement, then Queen Oiena poured herself another glass.

“Do you think Rhisveri actually fell for her? Or is this some ploy of his?”

Seducing a foreign [Princess] sounded out of character for the Wyrm, but Itorin didn’t know. The idea of someone attracting his genuine friendship was implausible too. Then again, Ryoka Griffin was also tied to the inn.

“Hard to say. Let’s just make sure no one knows who she is. I have concerns about Magus Telim.”

Oiena nodded. He was acting suspiciously, which might mean the other nobles could catch on. They just had to put out some rumors with their people…they were arranging matters when another problem appeared.

“Father, I’ve returned. I apologize for the, ah, incident. May I have your permission to challenge Duke Rhisveri’s date to a public sparring match?”

Princess Ozena had reappeared after her incident with the glasses, and she was ready for war. She had a longsword at her side and a tunic and britches on. Itorin glanced at her and had a moment of telepathy with his wife.

“(She has no idea, and she will be a problem.)”

“(Yes, and she might lose, which would be worse! You think of something, Itorin!)”

Lose? His brows wrinkled, then he glanced at Lyonette and thought of the inn’s reputation. Hadn’t she killed some kind of Gnollish Demon with a sword? He frowned, drummed his fingers on the table, and thought back.

“(I have just the thing. Follow my lead.)”

Of their many Skills, [Parental Telepathy] was a low-level one that had many benefits. Itorin smiled at Ozena and lifted a hand as she glared at ‘Eyon’.

“My word, she’s done it! Ozena, fastest out of all the children. Not that Oesca is expected to keep up.”

He indicated his daughter, who was yawning given the late hour. Little Oesca blinked at him, confused, and Oiena just raised one eyebrow at him in amusement before smiling at Ozena.

“Oh, well done, Ozena!”

“I—er, what did I do, Father?”

Princess Ozena faltered as King Itorin nodded at the [Princess].

“Well, you clearly noticed who Miss Eyon was, correct, Ozena?”

The [Battle Princess] visibly hesitated this time, and he pretended to notice that and frowned. Ozena glanced at Eyon.

“Rhisveri’s date? I—I noticed she had a powerful aura when I, um, bumped her. And she has a certain walk that makes me think she can use a sword. I just wished to challenge her to a duel. Aura or sword—”

It wasn’t out of the question in Ailendamus’ courts, even between women, but Itorin’s frown was disapproving.

“Ozena, that’s unbefitting of you.”

“But she’s—!”

Ozena bit her lip.

“She’s more capable than whomever she’s pretending to be, Father!”

Now, he wore an innocent expression of pure confusion.

“Well…exactly. Which is why you came to me. Because you figured it out, didn’t you?”

He traded a look with Oiena, and she sighed.

“Itorin…now you’ve done it.”

Ozena and Oesca were turning to peer at their parents, and Ozena spluttered.

“Find out who she is?”

King Itorin pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned as if he were actually upset. He heaved a huge sigh.

“My fat mouth and I are too easy company. Well, I’ve done it now. Not a word to Votrin or Ivenius or Malenth, you two! This was meant to be a test. I thought you had passed, Ozena. The pieces were there. It’s basic statecraft—the obviously dyed black hair? That aura? I was sure you had it when you shoved her with your aura, though it was rather bald-faced of you…”

“Itorin, don’t belabor it. Perhaps it wasn’t that simple.”

Oiena scolded Itorin with a smile, because she’d caught onto his ploy now. Oesca burst out.

“Who is she, Mother, Father? She knew Ryoka!”

Itorin gave his younger daughter a slow nod.

“Well, she would. Rhisveri brought her into the ball for his own reasons, and of course, it’s a secret sealed by the crown. Neither of you are to repeat her identity in Ailendamus’ name. Is that clear? Ozena…no, thank the heavens you asked before dueling her. The problems that would cause!”

The [Battle Princess] was visibly wilting as he fanned at his face. She gave Eyon a second look.

“I—I apologize, Father. I did notice something was off about her, come to that! But I didn’t realize it was a test! I, uh—not a word. Not at all.”

“She’s quite dangerous, if not in your exact ways, Ozena. I hoped you two would be friends. It is such a rare opportunity…”

Oiena put in, clearly enjoying teasing her daughter. Itorin worried they were going too far, but Ozena did have to learn to watch herself and judge her foes. The [Princess] nodded several times, then licked her lips.

“Of course. I’ll—yes. I’m sorry, Mother. Father. But, um. Who is…?”

Itorin pretended not to hear. He leaned over to Oiena.

“I hope Ivenius figures it out. I know he’s just in his [Squire] training, but he has a shot. Surely everyone saw the ring? But then again, her Skill hides it well. I am glad that if they are investigating, no one is asking the nobility and causing a stir.”

She nodded gravely. Ozena opened her mouth and then hesitated. She squinted at Eyon, and Oesca slipped from the table.

“Father, Mother, I don’t want to sleep anymore! May I go into the ball?”

“For an hour longer, Oesca. Very well. Ozena, did you need something?”

The [Battle Princess] was suddenly very busy. She took her younger sister by the hand, and they raced out of earshot. Itorin watched out of the corner of his eye, then someone whispered to him.

“Your Majesty, Princess Ozena has contacted her siblings via her private magical spell.”

“Excellent.”

He sat back. At this moment, he was sure his two daughters would be finding their siblings and putting them onto the ‘test’, which none of them had been aware of.

“That should keep them busy and from actually confronting her. So long as they think we masterminded this.”

Otherwise, one of them raising a hue and cry might cause that diplomatic incident he didn’t need. It was all very well to be at war, but kidnapping a [Princess]…a bad look. Especially given where she should be!

“I had no idea Rhisveri was that powerful a spellcaster, Itorin. To magic her from that inn…”

Oiena had certainly noticed that. Itorin avoided her sharp eye.

“Rhisveri is a match for the Archmage of Memories, Oiena.”

“And he just…learned that? What war did he participate in to reach that level? Was he taught by a former [Archmage] after all? There’s something you’re keeping from me, Itorin.”

He sighed.

“Yes. It’s not my secret to share. It’s Rhisveri’s…perhaps the moment has come, my dear. But if you think today is startling, then know that it’s nothing compared to the truth.”

Her lips compressed because she didn’t like the idea of being the [Queen] and being coddled from the truth, but he fixed her with a serious gaze, and she nodded.

“Then I insist. Later.”

“Later.”

He agreed and watched Lyonette. It had all gone well so far, but Itorin had made one mistake in this ball. He had forgotten who it was about. As the hour grew later and the attractions gave way to more drinks, Great Knight Eclizza was finally located by two breathless Knights of the Thirsting Veil.

In hindsight, Dame Chorisa and Dame Lacres would readily admit that running to tell Dame Eclizza that Duke Rhisveri had brought an enemy [Princess] to the palace was a mistake. That they hadn’t located her all night was mostly due to being challenged by every level of security and having to prove their identities until they finally got access to the party. When they found her, she was already in a bad mood.

And her bad moods were legendary.

 

——

 

From [Fistfighter] on the streets to a Hydra Knight dining with the most rich and powerful men and women of Ailendamus. Hydra Knight Yoriven couldn’t believe his luck.

And it was luck that he was here; a common Hydra Knight with no great deeds aside from surviving the Dawn Concordat’s war (and being punched out by Ser Solstice) did not exactly confer upon him great status.

However, the Hydra Knights were utterly equality-based, so they’d done a raffle for who got to go to the huge party. Dame Merila had even offered to put in her place, but she was their Great Knight and had to attend as a manner of honor.

It was Yoriven’s luck to go, and only a few of the senior [Knights] like Knight-Commander Forcel were mandatory guests; the rest of the Hydra Knights came from far and wide as their ballots dictated.

He’d already had four platefuls of fine food, and Yoriven’s belly was groaning. He hadn’t spoken to many nobles; some were rather aloof, but Regalius had sought him out, remembered his name, and shaken his hand and talked about Yoriven’s latest deployment before having to head off.

Mostly, the Hydra Knight had stared at all the entertainments. His eyes hurt from Ailendamus’ wonders, and in truth, he felt too shook to enter the ballroom and hobnob.

The gardens were fine enough! Unlike the palace, they were transient, the work of each generation to maintain, but he had heard the royal gardens had only grown with each passing decade.

The late Magistrate Fithea had won awards for her work here. She had brought everything from the classic bridge-over-pond architecture to hedges carved into the shapes of animals, but always put her twist on the matter.

Instead of a perfect, neat pond, she had insisted on a lake being placed in the gardens—the royal palace was big enough to hold one in its grounds—and placed a vast pier that stretched into the center of it. But it was no tamed lake with over-fat fish; the lake went deep, and if you cared to fish, there were over two hundred breeds of fish, some in their own pockets of water that you could catch.

Applying for a fishing permit was apparently a mark of prestige, and some amateur [Anglers] had made it their goal to catch every species.

The same for the hedges. Instead of re-pruning delicate hedges into desired shapes, the magistrate had made a compromise. She’d hired half-Elves who encouraged thorny bushes to naturally grow into desired shapes; they’d bloom with flowers and then wither into their base forms each summer. And if you wanted traditional hedges, she allowed it, but only plants so robust the trimming couldn’t harm them.

So—Yoriven could turn his head and see a snarling bear about forty feet high, one of the super-hedge ornaments. He’d also heard tell that the greenhouses were filled with every plant species Ailendamus had ever catalogued…but those were in the academies, not here. The grand fountain set into the courtyard adjourning the ballroom was still enough for him; the garden’s nightlife was out.

Glowing crickets and fireflies hovering in the air and the buzz of insects as you ate and talked. Somehow, they knew better than to get close to the people who’d squash them, and the feeling of being in nature was disconcerting to some cityfolk, clearly. Yoriven himself just gazed at a moth glowing with faint light as it fluttered past him and thought himself beyond lucky to have won the chance to be here.

Though it was nature. He sighed as a bat grabbed the lovely moth out of the air and flew, squeaking, towards its fellows dancing in the night sky.

Yoriven had asked the servants to get him a hamper basket so he could bring food back to the barracks to share with the rest of the unlucky losers. He was actively fighting the urge not to drink too much to make the night vanish.

However, at this moment, the entertainment had died down in the palace, and the fireflies were blazing different colors in the night sky. Most of the guests were heading back inside where music was playing, and Yoriven didn’t know how to dance. So he did what [Knights] did: he stood around in armor and talked to other [Knights]. What else?

There were three Knight Orders in Ailendamus. All of different stations, like Drell Knights, who were all-nobility, and the mostly-commonfolk Hydra Knights, and the almost totally female Thirsting Veil Knights willing to use poison and subterfuge. Not just them; Taimaguros had sent their own Knights of Taima and Knights of Gura, red and blue respectively, and the two fought like cats and dogs. Between that and foreign dignitaries, Yoriven had plenty of people to jaw with. Some were, again, aloof and thought of themselves as true [Knights] by virtue of rank and blood, but many were charmingly down-to-earth.

After a pair of Drell Knights had excused themselves from a conversation with him and left a bad taste in his mouth, a [Knight] dressed in mithril had approached him.

“Ser, to whom do I have the honor of addressing? I am Ser Makren of the Order of Haegris. In service to Kaaz at this moment as a member of the Thousand Lances.”

Yoriven almost dropped his wineglass.

“S-Ser Makren? It’s an honor!”

The man was in his fifties and had peppery hair and a bluff face, and he waved away the bow with a chuckle.

“Please don’t. I’m hardly well-placed in the Thousand Lances.”

“Ser, you’re still amongst the most elite [Knights] in the world! May I know your title?”

They all had a title, and Makren grimaced.

“Makren the Munificent. Which is no insult, by the way; I chose it myself. I paid for this armor with my business—you know the Order of Haegris’ reputation, don’t you?”

“Haggle Kn—I do beg your pardon!”

This time, Makren actually laughed.

“No, no! It’s a compliment! I’m the only one in the entire Thousand Lances; I think they made me train just so we could say we have one in their ranks! Point of pride. And it is a point of pride to buy one’s own armor, isn’t it? It makes me worthy enough to join the Thousand Lances. Without it, I am not one, and the deed that won me my armor was no great quest, but slaying unscrupulous [Merchants] on the scales of barter time and again!”

He was being humble. Now Yoriven heard the name, he knew Makren was a very generous [Knight] who crusaded against poverty and disease much like his entire order did.

“You built a fortune trading, Ser? May I know how that goes?”

“Of course! Haegris gives every new [Knight] a leg up and some capital. We always put it back towards the Order once we do well, but in truth, once you have gold, making more is easier. It’s a distressing truth. So, for the small investment of a thousand gold coins, I started my business in metals, oh, thirty years ago…”

He waggled his eyebrows and gave Yoriven an accounting of how he’d gotten to where he was, then they talked about the Thousand Lances.

“We’re all stirred up about the New Lands. Instead of talking about Ailendamus’ wars, no offense, it’s all about there. I don’t mind telling you that I felt too old to go myself, but I can share that quite a few of my Order have gone or are intending to go!”

“With Kaaz?”

Ser Makren frowned and sighed, and Yoriven realized he’d brought up a bad topic.

“No, not with the colony ships. Some of our own fell against the Bloodtear Pirates. Independently. A few high-ranking members…we are not all equally weighted, we thousand. Actually, we have a rather simple system in which I am at the bottom—but I daresay well liked enough because I don’t strive to compete. A friend who knows finances is useful in the Thousand Lances.”

He was describing how they worked to a fascinated Yoriven when a small altercation caught their attention. Two Thirsting Veil Knights practically dashed into the gathering.

“Sisters! Are you off-duty? Join us!”

A rather soused Dame Knight of the Thirsting Veil waved an unsteady hand at the two newcomers. The Thirsting Veil Knights were largely bad partners for talking tonight. In general, they were surly and loners, who preferred their sisterhood, but tonight the opposite had happened.

They were so happy about their Great Knight’s return to life that all of them were drunk or ebullient. Pleasant to talk to, but too much so—the two newcomers weren’t drunk, though, and their alarm made Makren and Yoriven peek up from their discussions.

“We have no time. Is Great Knight Eclizza here? I am Dame Chorisa, and I need to see her urgently!”

Where was Great Knight Eclizza? Yoriven realized he hadn’t seen her all night, and the banquet was in her honor. Makren cast around with a frown as well, and the other [Knights] called out.

Then a shadow seemed to detach itself from one of the fountains. Yoriven jumped as Dame Knight Eclizza pushed herself off the bench where she’d sat hidden. How…?

He saw a man in a black suit stand and bow, then walk the other way. A member of House Shoel? But Yoriven’s eyes were locked on the famous Great Knight, the Pale Serpent of Ailendamus.

He’d never seen Eclizza before. Her armor didn’t seem noticeably better than the two [Knights] who rushed towards her, but then, it was jet black with only a few faint purple and green highlights. Yet just the way she moved and stood made him feel like he beheld a coiled snake, all readiness to action.

“That is Great Knight Eclizza, is she? I should introduce myself if she is willing to speak.”

Yoriven had talked to Merila, and meeting another Great Knight was vastly appealing to see what he should aspire to. However, Makren had shifted, and his face had notably clouded as someone else spoke up.

“I would not were I you, Hydra Knight Yoriven. She is ill-tempered tonight, hence her aura cloaking. I barely espied her myself, and I stayed well away. Ser Makren, do you know our Great Knight?”

Knight Commander Forcel! Yoriven bowed slightly to his superior as the Knight of the Thousand Lances saluted him with a cup.

“Only by reputation. I was amazed she had been revived…or her injuries kept hidden while she recuperated. A boon for Ailendamus, and I share your celebrations, but I must say, I pity your enemies.”

Makren muttered, wearing the same expression as Knight-Commander Forcel. The two older men eyed Eclizza, who was listening as one of the two Thirsting Veil Knights waved their arms and pointed back to the palace. Yoriven laughed uncertainly.

“Ser Makren, you are too harsh! Great Knight Eclizza is an inspiration to her Order; you see that in the celebrations of her order. I have never heard an ill word of her, any more than Dame Merila. Have you, Commander Forcel?”

Actually, Yoriven had heard several ill things about his beloved Hill Knight, especially about her failure to stop Ser Solstice and other [Knights] in duels. But he omitted that and looked to Forcel for support.

The [Knight-Commander] didn’t answer right away. He coughed, then spoke without taking his eyes off Eclizza.

“In conduct, she is the model of what a [Knight] is, Ser Yoriven. That much is true. But I—”

He searched for words.

“You have never met her personally, nor seen her in battle, Ser Yoriven, nor you, Ser Makren?”

They shook their heads, and Forcel exhaled.

“Then let me just say this: she is a perfect [Knight]. A fighter beyond peer, master of auras. I heard she has overwhelmed the Order of Seasons in their speciality and bested some of the Thousand Lances in combat.”

“Oh, aye. Before they called her Great Knight, even. A scandal indeed.”

Makren murmured, and Forcel jerked his head at Eclizza. The air seemed to be…tingling around her. No, not tingling, Yoriven realized.

Writhing. Like sickly fumes. He felt rather ill just regarding it, and he noticed the water coming from the fountain changing colors. Turning greener…and the grass was dying. Forcel eyed Eclizza.

“She is the opposite of Dame Merila. Even Great Knight Gilaw and her temper is nothing compared to Dame Eclizza. When she goes to war, she embodies the heart of the Thirsting Veil. Poison without mercy. She does not enjoy social graces, and I believe the Duke is the only man short of the [King] who she will take a direct order from. And…I rather fear something has spoiled her mood.”

Indeed—if her aura was any indication, she was very upset. The two Thirsting Veil Knights had stopped talking. One was still pointing back to the ball room, and Yoriven saw the hand lower and the knights suddenly make placating gestures with their hands.

Everyone was far too distant to hear what was being said, but a picture was a thousand words. Especially when said picture was of Eclizza’s hand reaching out and grabbing the first Thirsting Veil Knight.

By the top of their helmet. You’d think that metal gauntlets on more polished metal wouldn’t get a good grip, but if your fingers were currently denting said enchanted helmet and squeezing it—well, you got a good grip.

“Uh oh. Dame Eclizza! Great Knight!”

Forcel started running, and Yoriven was right with him. They saw the first [Knight]’s feet lift off the ground as the second tried to reason with Eclizza.

“Dame Eclizza, we were delayed in getting to you by security! We just wished to tell—”

“He invited her here? One of them? To be his date?”

Her words were practically dripping with venom. Yoriven felt ill the moment he ran into her aura, but Forcel reached out.

“Great Knight, you are hurting your junior!”

Eclizza’s head swung towards him, and Forcel’s aura pushed back her noxious one. Yoriven could breathe again. She glanced over—and seemed to see she was holding her sister [Knight] so hard the helmet was deforming. She let go.

Dame Chorisa dropped to the ground, ripping at her helmet and exposing her thankfully-unbroken head. She gasped.

“Dame Eclizza, wait—it’s just the Duke’s desperation, nothing more! We only wished to tell you because of the risks—”

“Rhisveri knows the risks. He treats this like some game. After all that has been done to Ailendamus? I am not amused. It seems I am interested in socializing after all. Let us see what his guest is like, then.”

The Duke’s guest? Yoriven had heard some joking about that earlier, but—he barred her way, and the Great Knight regarded him.

“Dame Eclizza, forgive me! I am a mere [Knight] of the Order of Hydra, Ser Yoriven! But you may be overly hostile in this moment of celebration! Shall we not drink to your health? With Dame Merila and Knight Commander Forcel and Ser Makren?”

He called out, looking to Forcel, the Thousand Lances’ [Knight], and Dame Merila, who was sitting near the hedge maze with a huge tankard in hand. All three [Knights] turned to gape at him—with every other [Knight] in the gardens—and Merila’s eyes seemed to suggest ‘leave me out of this’.

He’d never seen the Hill Knight abandon any fight. But wait…now that Yoriven thought of it, wasn’t Dame Eclizza the foremost Great Knight of Ailendamus? It was a small, small group so named, but she led them when they marshaled for a battle together. And she tested new applicants for worthiness. There had been some ‘Mirror Knight’ on the western border, but he’d died—and presumably been found unworthy.

Now that Yoriven really thought about it, Merila had once said that almost every fight of her life that had been the hardest had been against fellow [Knights]. Including…when she’d become a Great Knight…

He stared at the blank visor of the Pale Serpent of Ailendamus, and his heart quailed in the face of her overwhelming presence, though she was shorter than he was. But he had said his piece, and he was a [Knight]. So he held his ground.

“Dame Eclizza, this is surely not a night to come to blows.”

She studied him up and down.

“Your name again, Hydra Knight?”

“S-Ser Yoriven, Great Knight.”

Eclizza nodded once as Chorisa and Lacres stood there, Chorisa’s face pale with fear.

“Said well, Ser Yoriven. If you should live to Level 40, I will recommend you to train in House Shoel. Tonight is, indeed, no night for violence.”

He exhaled in relief and smiled, half-turning to search for some wine so they could drink to that. Then he saw Forcel’s eyes widen warningly and felt a chill run down his spine.

Eclizza was standing in front of him. But he’d turned—when had she moved? And she had a hand on his chestplate.

“However, I know the dance of blades in social settings as well as war. The good Duke is served by Great Knights and Great Generals and his peers. I merely wish to test Miss ‘Eyon’ by the same standards I hold to my peers. Excuse me.”

Then she shoved him. Or rather, her hand moved down and pushed up, and he swore it was a light shove. Amazing, Yoriven thought. Quite amazing—he wondered if Ser Makren could do that. Probably not; he saw the man gaping up at him in horror as the ground got further and further away from him.

Man wasn’t meant to fly. Certainly not in plate armor. Still, he gamely flapped his arms a few times as the palace drew closer and wondered how much this was going to hurt. Maybe he’d hit a window if he was l—

“Gotcha!”

Dame Merila grabbed Yoriven out of the sky and almost slammed into the wall of a tower. She caught it to steady herself, and Yoriven’s helmet nearly collided with a [Servant] frozen in an open window. Yoriven panted at the half-Elf.

“Good evening, miss. Sorry about the inconvenience—”

Then Merila was lowering him. Yoriven’s feet touched the ground, and he sat down hard. Merila was panting for breath.

“Ser Yoriven, you are a man after my own heart for bravery and a lack of sense!”

She gasped at him, and he remembered to breathe. In, out, in, out…he was amazed more people weren’t running over; only a few [Knights], including Forcel and Ser Makren. The rest were all following Dame Eclizza. Yoriven got up shakily as Merila offered him a finger.

“Okay, my attempt seemed to be lacking. Dame Merila, I nominate you for the next try. What’s she doing to that poor woman inside?”

Merila peered over everyone’s heads as they stared into the ballroom. Then she poked Forcel and touched her nose with a finger.

“Not it. You stop them.”

Forcel peered at her with betrayal in his eyes, then copied the gesture and touched Ser Makren. Instantly, the Knight of the Thousand Lances poked Dame Chorisa, who tried to grab Dame Lacres—then the [Knights] were arguing who was going to stop Dame Eclizza. All the Order of the Thirsting Veil instantly jumped back. Chorisa, in her desperation, tagged the lone figure not moving.

“You stop her!”

Lady Paterghost turned with a straw sticking out of a winecup. The former Great Knight of Ailendamus cast around as everyone turned to her in relief and consternation. Her reply was loud, brisk, and cheerful.

“Good heavens, no. I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

Then they all peered into the ballroom. Ser Yoriven told himself that he’d done all he could, and Eclizza had promised there wouldn’t be violence.

Fifteen minutes later, the aura clash blew out the windows.

 

——

 

Dame Eclizza halted in the glass doors that led into the ballroom from the outside gardens. Behind her, the shadows twined like snakes along the feet of armored [Knights], stretching out for hundreds of feet as the grand palace blazed in excess of size and grandeur to anything you could imagine. Ailendamus’ palace looked like your imagination’s greatest conjuring, not something lesser or smaller as so many palaces were, mere edifices of stone.

From the inside, you saw its many influences and could wander the labyrinthine areas as they twined together. From the outside?

From the outside, you saw what was more unto a fortress of improbable size that had led Drakes to calling it a Walled City—an admission that told you how impressive Ailendamus’ palace was.

It was just—too wide. Your eyes roamed from right to left, and then you craned your head, then realized this was three-dimensional space. It had too many towers and spires, for each palace it had been made of had been central and important, so it seemed like a city of buildings, each tip polished and glittering in the night.

Excess and conquest. Like some terrible being that had absorbed every defeated foe into it. Bloated, some said—but the vista was more overwhelming than corpulent.

Behold, my kingdom that shall last ten thousand years. How was it said? ‘Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair.’ This was that palace before the sands claimed it, and it took many’s breath away.

It was a child’s dream, this kingdom. Filled with majestic heroes, lofty dreams of noble government, magic, and beauty. Her kingdom. It was so…young. She knew what they said of it, the other nations. So many feared Ailendamus’ growing empire, but they said it could not, would not last. It would vanish within a thousand years, unable to keep the rapid growth and strength of its kingdom compared to the ones founded by the Hundred Heroes. Perhaps that was true; they had few of the same Relics or protections of old. But they had people in this kingdom who were the Hundred Heroes’ equals.

Immortals. That was the secret bet Ailendamus had made. Whether the struggle and strife of those who lived forever could match Terandria’s greatest classes and the weight of antiquity.

This duality, of being a superpower and recognizing how precarious their situation might be against an alliance of foreign nations, of the immortal secret, meant Eclizza was both proud and paranoid. Confident and insecure by turns.

The same for everyone else. For instance, Ailendamus’ culture was hodgepodge, made of the best things they took from other nations and, at the same time, deeply uncertain. It didn’t have ancient traditions of its own, just those of conquered kingdoms absorbed into the zeitgeist. So what did they play as the hours lilted down into darkness?

Terandrian ballroom music. But not ‘traditional’ Terandrian ballroom music, which had a gentle melody, slow cadence, the kind of thing even a child or the elderly could dance to without embarrassing themselves. No, they had to show off, so they were playing Alamarian five-step.

It was about twice as fast as traditional Terandrian music and more complex—the shifts from high notes to low indicated sweeping moves like lifting a partner up and whirling them about, or floor-spanning steps that could take a dance pair a hundred feet in less than ten seconds. Alamaria had been known for this kind of music; they’d designed it in response to other species’ mockery of ‘slow and boring’ Terandrian waltzes.

Predictably, few people were on the dance floor even attempting the slower songs. The few that were were trained [Dancers] or the best amateurs. It was showy, and people were applauding the sideshow as they milled around the dance floor, talking and drinking this late into the night.

Eclizza’s head moved across nobles and her sisters in the order, officials and commonfolk alike, and to her, they all seemed so…fragile. Untrustworthy in the sense that she could give them none of her burdens.

Not the knowledge of Ailendamus nor trust them to ward her back in battle. The truth of Rhisveri’s nature would break them. They were not her level. They could not stand against dead gods or armies. She had no doubt they were brave, honest, talented individuals, but she herself felt…insufficient.

It was why she had been in such a foul mood despite coming back to life. Eclizza flexed one hand in her gauntlets and gazed at the black, enchanted metal moving. Armor worthy of a Named-rank adventurer, enchanted by Fithea herself. Close to Relic-class gear as anyone in this world had—and the body underneath was just as well-forged.

She was a work of art. Hand-forged by Agelum’s training and tutelage by Ailendamus’ experts. The Wyrm had made her, picked her from the Agelum’s many adopted children and offered her training. All that she could take. So many children backed out of that fire, the other half of the Agelum’s kindness, and they had found fine roles for their offspring, because they were too merciful to push until the breaking. You had to have the will to endure it on your own.

Eclizza alone had survived that crucible to the end. For that, she had been trusted. Had been given the knowledge of Ailendamus and Rhisveri’s confidence. She knew she was one of the few beings he relied upon among mortals.

And she had died. The knowledge burned the Great Knight of Ailendamus. All her training, all her levels—and it had been ended by a single finger pointing at her, the Death of Magic’s careless spell.

Annihilated—and Fithea and Dioname had followed soon after. If she had been alive, perhaps they might not have died. It was no idle boast; Eclizza would have been able to watch Ryoka Griffin as well as counter the Lightherald and assist in the war against Archmage Eldavin. She had been made to fight men such as Tyrion Veltras.

“—But I was always inferior.”

The Eclizza who had died and the memories of the one who had lived were now one woman—and what she realized was that both her worlds had been so fragile. One had begun to crack with her death. The other?

The Wyrm diving at the Goddess of Last Stands to buy a second as the worlds vanished like dying sparks, sucked into the void. A breaking hallway and an army of Crelers without end.

Eclizza could still taste the thoughts of Crelers screaming their fury at her, like caustic bile in her mind. Her helmet swivelled around the ballroom as people chuckled and gossiped.

And Rhisveri wondered why she was not enjoying this party in her honor. Eclizza’s wandering eyes finally found her quarry. It was not hard, despite the vast room.

She recognized Princess Lyonette du Marquin the moment she saw her, black hair or not. More than just the fact that they had both been in the [Palace of Fates], which was a big clue…

The crafted [Knight] recognized another child shaped to her purpose. Differently made, but nevertheless, her posture was too-perfect. She stood with such poise, listening, head tilted ever-so-slightly, chin raised, a smile upon her lips that even touched her eyes—all fake. Even if the woman inside were truly that interested, the act was beautiful.

Like a sculptor who had obsessed over every line of a statue, Eclizza saw the training that had produced the [Princess]. Just as she saw the cracks.

Someone had made a beautiful [Princess] out of clay, shaping her to be a wonderful tool. But there was a flaw: a fire was burning inside the clay doll, and it was beginning to blaze out through her shell. Her very aura could not be contained; she wore the shell she’d been taught, but Eclizza almost felt like shading her eyes.

Only King Itorin was higher level. And his was the product of decades of ruling. She had hit this level…when? How fast had she levelled, how much had she endured to grow this fast? Eclizza recognized it. She almost hesitated when she saw Rhisveri standing with Lyonette, making conversation and seeming genuinely interested.

Is he actually enjoying talking with this [Princess]? How can he? He has no friends. 

She knew the Wyrm of Ailendamus. Both Eclizzas did, and he let no one into his confidence. But with her…

Eclizza walked towards Lyonette automatically, without thinking. She knew that the other [Knights] were trying to stop her, including Chorisa and the other idiots, but she was the Pale Serpent.

Made for war. The Agelum of House Shoel had taught her via their oldest ways to be a living weapon, and they had made any number of women and men like her. Children they trained to their arts of battle until they could kill almost as well as Agelum themselves. Not unkindly; the Agelum were nothing but kind, but they knew the battlefield would mince even [Heroes]. So the training…

A room filled with bright light, lit from glass ceilings and illuminated with magic. But the blindfold never let you see more than dazzling lights, worse than blindness because it played upon the eyes. There you stood, stick in hand, fending off blows from every direction until you could fight blind, eat blind, and walk an obstacle course without missing a step. Until your aura became your eyes.

Betimes, the memories overtook her, and she had to remember the rest of what she was: a symbol of Ailendamus. Someone who had memorized ranks and studied politics. The warrior was the deepest part of her. She saw the [Princess]’ aura, a glowing, yet-unfinished work.

Light and command. Basics of Calanfer. Nothing stronger yet. But Eclizza could still see elements even another expert might miss; the way it linked Lyonette to that [Knight] in the old, bulky armor. Her bodyguard. Level…30. The armor was thick, but there was a scar on the chestplate.

Draw your sword, pierce the armor with aura in that spot, and the envenomed blade kills her in six seconds. Simple.

As for the [Princess]…she glanced up as Eclizza drew closer, and Rhisveri noticed her and froze. Was that worry in his eyes? Eclizza recognized Baron Regalius and a number of nobles who turned and saluted her.

“Dame Eclizza! The [Knight] of the hour! Will you join us, Dame Knight?”

Regalius called out, and Eclizza ignored him. She swept towards Lyonette, who hesitated, then smiled, eyes flicking up and down Eclizza’s armor. She was wary, on-guard. Her black hair swished behind her in a ponytail as she bowed.

Throatstrike. Won’t kill her if she has a tiara. Grab the neck and twist. Then envenom your fingers and pull her heart out.

The only way to kill royalty fast. The knowledge of how to murder each and every being she laid eyes on was just background noise to Eclizza. The commentary only stopped when she stood in the Agelum’s, Lucifen’s presence, or another powerful individual.

Or Rhisveri himself. He gave her a very nervous smile as he swished his wine cup around.

“Ah, Dame Eclizza. Welcome. You’re looking…quite well. May I introduce to you Miss Eyon? My, ah, ah—partner for this ball? How are you doing? Is there enough wine out there for the [Knights]?”

He made a show of glancing out into the gardens, and Eclizza replied, her voice flat.

“I have decided to speak with those gathered at this festival in my honor. Your Grace, you seem well.”

A Wyrm vanishing with a triumphant smile as a woman with a sword cut everything to ribbons. Eclizza blinked, and Rhisveri smiled sweatily at her.

“Me? Yes, marvellously so! Is it hot in here? Well, lovely chat! We shouldn’t keep you. Eyon, let’s just head this way—”

He was clearly worried she was going to figure out who Princess Lyonette was. Miss ‘Eyon’ was more put-together and merely gave Eclizza a polite smile.

“Do forgive His Grace, Dame Knight. May I introduce myself? I am indeed Eyonlett, and it is my honor to attend this magnificent event! Much less to meet a Great Knight of Ailendamus! You and Lady Paterghost are quite impressive, so forgive me if I’m somewhat taken.”

She was well-made indeed. Chuckles from the other nobles indicated how this stroked their egos. Eclizza just met Lyonette’s eyes and saw the [Princess]’ blue irises widen as she felt the Pale Serpent’s aura pressing at her. Like a wave of venom with the weight of the sea behind it. Eclizza’s voice was, to her own ears, just as uncompromisingly direct. Whatever Rhisveri and this [Princess] intended—Eclizza was not of a mind to play their game.

“You say so, Miss…Eyon? But we have met before.”

Eyon barely froze a millisecond before laughing. She extended her hand lightly.

“Have we? Do forgive me, then, I would remember—”

Eclizza’s hand crushed Lyonette’s hand, and the [Princess] bit back a shout of pain. The [Knight] yanked Lyonette closer.

“We have. I remember you well.”

But she hadn’t been like this, before. Eclizza had only seen a broken [Princess] holding a dead child in her arms. Her ancestress calling on armies to make one final stand.

This woman…was far more than Eclizza had seen in the [Palace of Fates], and the Great Knight had taken the inn’s measure already. Even so, Eclizza had her doubts, so she pressed. Besides, her daughter had come back to life anyways.

Lyonette wavered, and the Pale Serpent’s aura blasted over her. Not purely hostile, just overwhelming. Venomous contempt and anger and frustration, not directed purely at Lyonette—but at her own weakness, the many foes they had witnessed, at the senseless death they had endured.

A snake preparing for war. Of course, Eclizza imagined it seemed like an attack. Certainly, the other nobles flinched backwards with cries of pain as her aura stung them. But the [Princess] was higher-level, and she guarded herself, a thin layer of light protecting her skin from the caustic venom.

She recognized she wasn’t under attack, and so did her bodyguard. No one else did.

“Eclizza! Don’t be so—hostile!”

Rhisveri’s first reaction was to try to free Lyonette from Eclizza’s grasp. He seized her hand in a powerful grip, and she was stunned.

Since when does he care for anyone like that? And—

When did his Human body become so strong?

He actually managed to pull her arm back until she shook him off. Eclizza’s helmet swivelled, and she flicked him with her aura; he went stumbling back into General Bathnir’s arms.

“Dame Knight, that is a—a powerful greeting! I hope Miss Eyon hasn’t offended you in some way?”

Regalius was trying to edge in between Eclizza and Lyonette, using his own aura like a shield. Brave man; he was visibly wincing and paling as her venom provoked an allergic reaction on his skin. Eclizza let go of Lyonette’s hand, and the [Princess] massaged her fingers, confused and wary.

“I hope I’ve not offended you, Dame Knight. I can’t imagine what I’ve done, but if I have done…anything, or anyone in my company has, I throw myself upon your mercy. Especially today.”

Her eyes were direct as she met Eclizza’s gaze, and she was unafraid. Just—wary. Of course, a woman who’d faced the Goblin King wouldn’t fear this. She seemed to think Eclizza blamed her for the [Palace of Fates]. The Great Knight jerked her head in a brief shake.

“Not that. I object to your presence here.”

They were enemies. Their nations were at war. What was she thinking? The [Princess] winced, and she bit her lip. Then her eyes slid sideways to Rhisveri.

“Circumstances do lead to strange bedfellows.”

“Some beds are filled with vipers. Even a fool would think better than to hop into them.”

The nobilities’ heads were swinging back and forth from Lyonette to Eclizza as they spoke in blunt code. Lyonette colored, then hissed back.

“Well, some people aren’t given much choice before they’re virtually teleported into said beds!”

Teleported into—? Eclizza had assumed that this [Princess] had been the fool in Dame Chorisa’s rushed explanation of what had happened. But the moment she heard that, she formed a different, and more accurate, understanding of what Rhisveri had done.

Her head twisted around, and now it was the Duke’s turn to back up a few steps. He opened and closed his mouth, then stared up at the ceiling.

“…Marvellous architecture; I say it every time I’m in here. The old Drenv palace roof, you know, reconverted into that marvellous radial design.”

He peered up at the distant beams which formed a spiral of marble over the dance floor. Eclizza didn’t glance up.

“I see. It appears Duke Rhisveri is as presumptuous regarding impromptu transportation as I recall.”

Like when you got me killed trying to apprehend a random Izrilian thief. Rhisveri was suddenly staring hard at his shoes, and Lyonette smiled sweetly.

“A close confidant of the Duke are you, Great Knight Eclizza? I was unaware he had any friends.”

An accurate statement, but it annoyed Eclizza to hear the [Princess] say it. Eclizza’s head turned, and the aura once again pinned Lyonette; the color drained from her cheeks until that [Knight] blocked some of Eclizza’s aura with her body. That had to hurt, but the woman did it anyways, even lifting a shield.

Thronebearer. Huh. Eclizza ignored the shield and focused her aura; she ran Lyonette through the chest with it, and the [Princess] paled further.

“I say, Dame Eclizza, however upset you must be, this is rather unfortunate! Miss Eyon has been the spirit of a good guest to Ailendamus! If I could offer you a drink and toast to the health of the Kingdom of Glass and Glory—”

Regalius was doing his best. Now the other nobles were trying to shove Eclizza back a step. All combined, they barely did a thing, much to their clear chagrin. Eclizza just pressed at Lyonette. The [Princess]’ chin rose.

“It appears I am unwelcome, Baron Regalius. Never let it be said that I cannot take a hint. But what would you call this, Dame Eclizza? This—impropriety to a guest at your own banquet?”

“A warning.”

Eclizza was waiting for the [Princess] to fire back her aura. She wanted it. She wanted to see what the [Princess] was made of, to see what had managed to catch Rhisveri’s eye, even for a second.

What are you doing, woman? We are at war, and I will break the Dawn Concordat if I must. Why are you here? Why Rhisveri, even for a jest or to assuage his ego? Why him of all beings?

Not him. Not the lonely Wyrm of Ailendamus. The odds of anyone ever charming him had been beyond remote, but it would have been the most alarming thing if someone had caught his eye. Because, Eclizza well knew, such a lonely being…what might he do for the one woman—or man—to catch his eye? And she had wondered if it might be a man, like the Agelum spoke of.

Her private worry, anger, and—jealousy that the [Princess] was in the position that Eclizza could not be in, for so many reasons, was in the silent strife between their auras. Eclizza’s aura was beginning to distort the air like a sickly heatwave, and all the food the nobles were holding had suddenly begun to rot, turn rancid.

Indeed, the rest of the diners and dancers were turning to watch the showdown. Concerned [Knights] filing in from the gardens, the royal family glancing up from their table, guests pointing and wondering who that woman facing the Great Knight was.

“Eclizza, may I have a quick word?”

Rhisveri was back, hissing at Eclizza, a smile on his sweaty face. She just murmured back to him.

“Once I am finished, you may explain your poor decisions to me, Your Grace.”

“Once you’re finished what?”

“Chasing her off.”

“There’s no call for that! Step back and pull your aura; that’s an order!”

He snapped at her, visibly angry. Eclizza’s helmet tilted slightly.

“But you do not give me orders, Duke Rhisveri.”

His eyes widened.

“I am—”

“—the Duke. I report to my superiors.”

The Wyrm of Ailendamus, not his Human self. The Duke hesitated, and he began to realize how truly furious she was. And accordingly—looked worried. Lyonette was breathing hard; she was barely keeping the lance of venom from touching her actual flesh.

“If I may ask, how far are you going to go, Dame Eclizza?”

Eclizza’s overbearing aura faded slightly, and she gave Lyonette a level look.

“You may go, if your lesson has been learned. Do not return.”

For everyone’s sakes. She thought the [Princess] would accept, but Lyonette’s head went down, then her shoulders went back, and her chin rose.

“—Odd. I rather thought I needed to do something wrong to incur such a stringent lesson, Dame Eclizza. And if I refuse?”

Despite herself, the Pale Serpent of Ailendamus grinned.

“Then let’s see if you’re ready to stand in Ailendamus’ palace. It is not in front of a Goblin King. I have no doubt you are a match for it.”

Then two pale glows burned from between the slits in her helmet’s visor, and the full weight of Eclizza’s aura hit the [Princess] of Calanfer. It washed over the 6th Princess, and behind her, Lady Yietha dropped her cup with a shout of alarm; the wine had turned acidic, and smoke was rising from the silver goblet, which had turned black.

As for the [Princess]? She blanched dead white, and then her eyes locked with Eclizza’s and began fighting back. The Great Knight beamed behind her helmet. Despite it all—the Agelum had always taught her to respect a great opponent.

What was the purpose of strife if there was no one worthy to fight against? Eclizza’s aura faltered as the light of Calanfer’s scion pressed against it.

Then it doubled in intensity.

The five nearest nobles watching instantly projectile-vomitted.

 

——

 

Oh my. Lyonette had known that she wasn’t a match for a Great Knight of Ailendamus in any way, but she had wondered if she could at least be a decent opponent in an aura-war.

The answer was: no. Eclizza was a full monster in every sense of the word. The only thing keeping Lyonette from puking her own guts out was her [Greater Resistance: Poison] Skill.

She’s so straightforwards. The [Knight] did not like Lyonette. She was making that very clear, and she was telling Lyonette to get lost in no uncertain terms. Honestly…it was almost commendable how straightforwards Eclizza was.

Why am I even fighting her off? Lyonette’s hand was sweating green beads as she tried to hold Eclizza off. She felt nauseous, and she really didn’t know why she was even sticking around. It was just—she didn’t feel like being run off by this angry [Knight], and—she shot a glance at Rhisveri’s desperate face.

This idiot owes me a favor, and I might need his help. So I can’t back down! Lyonette gritted her teeth. She tried to muster a sortie of her aura, but she was barely able to keep Eclizza from squashing her like a bug. Any second now, she’d buckle, and then the aura would probably make her so sick that she’d void her guts from every orifice she had—which would probably be as good as exile.

Unbidden, as Lyonette swayed and Ushar whispered an oath from her helmet, she wondered if Mrsha was watching this showdown on television. Are you having fun, Mom?

…Sort of. That was the crazy thing, and that was why the Great Knight’s aura faltered once.

“Why are you smiling, woman?”

Lyonette tried to stop and just ended up grinning harder.

“I’m sorry. It’s more relaxing than my life of late, that’s all.”

She almost laughed hysterically in Eclizza’s face as Regalius gave her a bug-eyed expression of disbelief. And two things happened next to break this stalemate. The first was that Lyonette blinked, gasped, and nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Now? I—”

She caught herself, and Eclizza wavered a second as everyone stared at Lyonette. But the [Princess] just closed her mouth, determined, and the second thing was more interesting anyways. Which was that someone came up behind Eclizza and tapped the Great Knight on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, Dame Knight!”

“Leave.”

Eclizza didn’t even glance around as the high-pitched, annoying voice shrilled in her ears. The person tapped Eclizza on the shoulder again, harder.

“It’s really important! I’d like to introduce myself!”

This time, Eclizza’s head turned, and she audibly growled…then went as still as Lyonette and Regalius and everyone else who was staring at the giant, blue sock puppet with button eyes. Rhissy the Sock Puppet beamed at Eclizza.

“My name’s Rhissy. And that’s my friend there! Hiyah!”

Then he headbutted Eclizza in the forehead. It looked stupid, but Lyonette felt the ground quiver under her feet, and Eclizza let go of the [Princess]. She took a step back, and her aura retreated. Lyonette withdrew several steps, gasping, and Ushar hurried her back.

“What is…this?”

Her cool voice was suddenly, exceptionally unsettled. Everyone else recognized Rhissy, but Eclizza hadn’t ever seen the giant sock puppet. Rhissy waved two tiny hands and did a hop to wave at the silent ballroom.

“Hey, everyone, it’s me, Rhissy! Ailendamus’ most beloved sock puppet! Have you all been good boys and girls? Where’s the wine! I—ulp!”

Eclizza grabbed the back of Rhissy’s ‘head’ and slammed the sock puppet down into a knee. It would have broken someone else’s jaw; she lifted the puppet up and shook it.

“It’s some kind of Golem?”

“Hey, that’s not very nice!”

Rhissy gave her an uppercut and ripped free. He jabbed a few times and backed up.

“You wanna cause trouble at your own party, Eclizza? I can throw hands! I’ve got two! Let me give you a lesson on manners! Don’t make me call the Windy Girl!”

He swayed menacingly left and right, and Eclizza silently turned to Regalius. The Baron was trying not to laugh in horror.

“That, uh—that would be ‘Rhissy’, I believe. In the flesh? Dead gods, it’s an amazing creation. It’s from the hit television show, Rhissy and the Windy Girl. By Duke Rhisveri himself.”

Eclizza’s head slowly turned to Rhisveri, who was hiding his mouth behind one hand.

“You made that abomination? Rhisveri?”

“Hey! Who’s an abomination? Your face is an abomination!”

Rhissy shot back as Rhisveri visibly spoke behind his hand. He was speaking and converting his voice into Rhissy’s!

Some of the foreign dignitaries—and children like Oesca—were having trouble standing up due to laughter. Telim had fallen down, and he was trying not to puke. But Eclizza seemed genuinely unsettled.

As well she might if she thought her beloved Wyrm was losing his mind. Lyonette was half-focused on Eclizza, half gathering herself.

“Miss Eyon, we should leave—”

Ushar was whispering, but Lyonette shook her head.

“I’m not running, Rusha. And…this is quite hilarious. Let it play out. Besides—”

Her eyes flickered.

“I think there’s something else happening to me.”

“What? Magic?”

“No, a Skill. But I won’t know what happened until after.”

That made Ushar confused, but Lyonette was certain she knew what was going on. Funny how it felt to be on the other end of the Skill…she watched as Eclizza made up her mind.

“If you have an issue with my conduct, deliver it to my face, Rhisveri. Dispel this…puppet.”

She grabbed Rhissy’s face.

“Hey! Watch the stitching!”

Eclizza ignored him and, with her other hand, delivered an uppercut so powerful it sent Rhissy flying upwards. For a second, Lyonette saw the imprint of the Great Knight’s arm jutting out of Rhissy’s back; then the sock puppet was spinning through the air.

“Rhissy!”

Oesca screamed in genuine horror as she ran forwards from where she and her older sister were watching. Lyonette whispered to Ushar.

“Would that have ripped through someone’s spine if it wasn’t Rhissy, Rusha?”

“I think it’d rip through unenchanted armor, Miss Eyon.”

People were gathered around the sock puppet, who lay like a wagon-hit victim on the floor, mouth open, a cloth tongue sticking out. Eclizza turned back to Lyonette…and the blue sock puppet lifted its head off the floor.

“Violence isn’t good, kids. Except if it’s in defense of someone or against Crelers or abusers. Did you think you could beat Rhissy with mere violence, Great Knight Eclizza?”

He lurched upright and swayed forwards menacingly. Eclizza turned back to Rhissy. He smirked at her.

“I’m Rhissy. The Great Sock of Ailendamus! Who’s stronger, me or the Pale Serpent? Mmm?”

His head twisted sideways, and his ‘face’ puckered up into a crazed grin as he shuffled around Eclizza. The Great Knight just stared at Rhissy. Then her hand shot out.

She clocked Duke Rhisveri in the face, and both he and the sock puppet doubled over. A voice came from both mouths.

“Ah! Dead gods, my face! My toof! Aaaah! It hurts—”

Eclizza turned her back on the sock puppet and strode to Lyonette with the air of ‘I have to get back to what I know’. Solid ground, like bullying [Princesses], not having a showdown with a giant sock. In fairness, violence was currently working.

But her aura was visibly rattled. Lyonette? Lyonette was just smiling. She’d seen crazier. That was already making Eclizza hesitate when someone walked forwards, nodded at Lyonette, and set herself before the [Princess] and the angry [Knight].

“Dame Eclizza, upon my honor and Ailendamus’, don’t you think this affray has gone a bit too far? I do not presume to speak for the throne, but I must insist you stop!”

Of all the people, of all the things, even Lyonette blinked in pure incomprehension as her most unlikely savior barred Eclizza’s path. She tossed her magnificent hair back and pointed a long, dramatic finger at the Pale Serpent, who did halt…if only to avoid running over Princess Ozena.

The [Battle Princess] of Ailendamus seemed very pleased with herself. She was giving Lyonette quick nods and smiling both at her and the royal table where her parents were watching. It seemed Princess Ozena had gotten it into her head that in order to redeem herself, she had better defuse this situation with the [Princess] of Calanfer.

Honestly…her parents couldn’t tell whether this was a terrible decision or a brilliant one. However, Dame Eclizza was not to be stopped.

“Your Highness. Good evening to you.”

“Dame Eclizza, it is an honor to be at your banquet!”

Ozena beamed and bowed lightly to the Great Knight. Eclizza’s voice was flat.

“Indeed. Move.”

Ozena’s bow wavered.

“—And if I refuse? Miss Eyon is our guest, and lest my royal father decree otherwise, it is your party…but this is highly unchivalrous.”

“Chivalry is not for you to use to lecture me, even if I respected the word. Move.”

Ozena flicked a sword from her sheath and pointed it dramatically at Eclizza.

“You shall have to force me to do so! We are both daughters of Ailendamus! Let our wills be the deciding vote for all to see!”

She was poised, dramatic, winning the eyes and attention of her people. Ozena smiled confidently at Eclizza until the Pale Serpent rolled her shoulders.

“Very well.”

Eclizza threw her full aura at Ozena, and it was actually visible as a black orb of writhing snakes. Ozena blanched, brought her sword up, and focused her aura—Lyonette felt a hand seize her and hurl her to the ground—

The explosion blew out the windows. Lyonette, shielded by Ushar’s armor, was saved from the reverberation which blew everyone near the two off their feet. When she poked her head up, she saw Eclizza standing over Ozena, who was gaping like a fish. But she was also surrounded by two dozen Drell Knights aiming their swords at her.

“Dame Eclizza, release your aura! You go too far!”

One of them was shouting over the ringing in Lyonette’s ears. The ballroom was in chaos, and Duke Rhisveri was using Rhissy’s body as cover. Lyonette sat up as Eclizza’s head turned to her, and she thought—

This is still so much more relaxing than I thought it’d be. I must be sick. 

Still, the [King] and [Queen] of Ailendamus weren’t taking control of the situation. Eclizza drew her sword, and Lyonette shot a glance at the high table. No, they weren’t being taken to a safe room or knocked senseless. She saw Queen Oiena chewing on something and sipping from a goblet of wine. She rather suspected the Queen of Ailendamus wanted to see what happened next.

Lyonette was just about to suggest to Ushar they grab Rhisveri and make tracks when her eyes widened. She heard a door closing in her head and blinked. Then she gasped.

“Oh.”

It had been what she thought after all. The [Pavilion of Secrets] Skill ended—

And then, Lyonette remembered.

 

——

 

Two Lyonettes appeared. One was in the ballroom of Ailendamus, being pressured by Eclizza’s aura. The other stepped back, adjusted her dress, and then walked through the door that had opened for her.

That familiar door that led into a gazebo in the middle of nowhere. Despite it all, the chaos, the weirdness, her angst over the party—she was already smiling.

Erin Solstice was sitting on top of the gazebo, her short, multicolored hair swaying in a breeze. When she saw Lyonette, she waved, but waited for the [Princess] to come striding towards her.

The first thing that the [Innkeeper] called down to Lyonette was a question.

“Hey, are you drunk this time?”

“Who, me, Erin? I’ve only had a glass of champagne at best!”

Lyonette cupped her hands to her mouth and laughingly called up to Erin. The [Innkeeper] weighed this with a frown. Then she sighed.

“Eh, good enough. Get up here, wouldja?”

She pointed, and glowing stairs appeared, letting Lyonette walk up to the roof of the gazebo. The [Innkeeper] eyed Lyonette’s clothing as the [Princess] ascended, lifting the skirts of her dress.

“Nice clothing.”

“Erin, this is the most magical and beautiful dress you’ve ever seen me wear.”

Erin squinted at the dress from the vaults of House Marquin and nodded.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice. Where’d you get it?”

“One of my Skills.”

“Oh, cool. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

The [Princess] blew out her cheeks, but she was still beaming as she pulled her knees up to her chest. They sat on the gazebo’s roof, and she shook her head.

“I’m just being threatened by an angry [Knight]—in a ballroom. In Ailendamus.”

The [Innkeeper] opened her mouth and closed it before opening it again.

“…Are you sure you’re not drunk? Because I was gonna call you back so I didn’t leave you like I did, but you sound drunk.”

“No, Erin, it’s this entire…remember when Magnolia Reinhart kidnapped you? It is that.”

“Oh. Oh. Wait, can you get back?”

Lyonette nodded patiently, and Erin relaxed.

“That’s good, then. Okay, I get it. We just spent another day on the road, and I thought I’d call you back.”

“Mm. Here I thought you wouldn’t talk to me for ages.”

The [Innkeeper] gave Lyonette a patient look.

“You were being extra silly last night. I was gonna pretend it never happened so you didn’t get embarrassed, but I guess that’s not going to be a problem. Do you want to see where we are now?”

Because she was too happy to be called, the [Princess] didn’t push that particular issue or needle Erin back and just nodded. So, the Fraerling-sized woman waved a hand, and the black void shifted as the wind blew again. Then Lyonette peered down and blanched.

“Dead gods, Erin!”

“I know, right? But Fraerlings don’t get scared of heights. We’re actually camped right here. I’m watching Mera and Zemmy do cannonballs into the lake down there.”

Down ‘there’ was at the bottom of a giant waterfall. Well, a waterfall proportional to Fraerlings. It was probably just some brook that led into a sheer drop, but it went down what looked like hundreds of feet—again, relative to their size. A small body of water below showed Lyonette tiny figures. Resting against the brook, lapping up water, was the Battle Hamster and the giant beetle with the tent on its back. A Fraerling with white hair was making a fire, and another was poking insect eggs onto a stick.

“That’s…Eurise, and that’s Matha, right?”

Erin smiled, surprised despite herself.

“You remember their names?”

“I was drunk, but not that drunk, Erin. Where’s Ulvama?”

The Hobgoblin wasn’t visible immediately, but Erin pointed.

“In the tent on the beetle’s back. We’re getting ready for dinner—a late one. Everything’s still good, see?”

She was smiling and kicking her legs over the edge of the cliff. Though, Lyonette noticed, she wasn’t looking down at the drop. The [Princess] gazed at Erin, surprised.

“I thought you hated heights.”

Erin glanced down, then shrugged.

“I don’t super hate heights, but really tall stuff bugs me. It won’t kill me, and it’s a great view. I’ve got to get used to them. In case we run into trouble, you know?”

Oh, so this was training. Lyonette’s smile slipped, but that was the reality of Erin’s situation, wasn’t it? Besides…dubious food content aside, the campfire seemed lovely enough, and some food and fresh water didn’t sound bad. Nothing Lyonette would ever do, of course. Mrsha and Nanette would love it, sadly.

“I’m having a bit more of a refined night myself. I’m at a ballroom in—oh, why don’t I just show you?”

Lyonette waved her hand and copied Erin’s technique; the ballroom where she was appeared, and Erin blinked around.

“Huh. Fancy. So this is Ailendamus? How’d you end up there? Was it…House Shoel?”

Again, the guilt, but Lyonette hurried to explain as much as she could. She didn’t tell Erin much about Duke Rhisveri, just describing him as ‘a friend’, and Erin listened with that amused, slightly disbelieving expression so many wore when they heard of an inn-event.

“…And now some angry [Knight] is trying to get rid of you? Are you gonna fight her? You want backup?”

Lyonette laughed in amusement.

“She’s not going to murder me, Erin. The worst she’d do is poison me with her aura, I think. I’ll be fine. What would you even do to help me, anyways? Throw your boon at me? That’d just cause a fuss.”

Erin tilted her head as she thought about it.

“No…I’d ask you what her name is. Then I’d use the [Pavillion of Secrets] on her. If you really needed help, of course. It’s risky.”

Oh. Lyonette’s smile slipped as she realized Erin did have power. She hastened to assure Erin she was fine.

“I’ll be okay, Erin. It’s just bullying. Not even bullying, really. She has a point. I don’t know what I’m doing with the Duke. I just…”

She sat there, chin in her hands.

“I think I just wanted a night off. Mrsha thought I needed it. She told me to stay!”

“Well, if you need a night off, you need a night off. Just don’t let her mess with you. We shouldn’t stand for that kind of thing after all we’ve been through.”

Erin chucked a pebble off the edge of the cliff and watched it fall. Lyonette nodded, gazing down…she decided not to after she felt the lurch of vertigo in her own stomach. Then she regarded Erin.

Should I ask about…? No, this was too pleasant. Lyonette didn’t want to pull that calm expression off Erin’s face. So they just sat for a bit, and Lyonette told Erin about how her [Treasury of House Marquin] Skill worked.

“Really? That’s awesome! And Ushar stabbed the ancestral armor of Queen Marquin? I bet she feels bad about it.”

“She’s wearing said armor, Erin. She has to since her armor’s too noticeable. I think she’s both going insane and delighted.”

The [Innkeeper] laughed.

“That’s so funny. Can I tell Ulvama about this? She was really happy to know that Mrsha was okay. Really happy. And I guess I’ll tell her about your dress. She likes that kind of thing.”

Erin peered at Lyonette’s dress, clearly trying to memorize how it looked, and the [Princess] got up to twirl around and show off. She was pleased about that, then eyed Erin.

“Does she know about the [Palace]…?”

Erin avoided her gaze and nodded. She coughed into one hand and thumped her chest.

“I told her. I don’t want to keep secrets from her. But I didn’t tell her all of the…bad stuff.”

Lyonette nodded. She searched for something else to say, but then she just spread her arms.

“I should get back to my party. Any advice?”

Erin peered at Dame Eclizza, then eyed Duke Rhisveri. She gazed around at the ballroom.

“Well, I’m no good at monarchs and stuff. I just make them upset. Or stab them, I guess. I’m just surprised anyone is giving you a hard time, Lyonette.”

“Why? They don’t know I’m a [Princess]. Pettiness is practically baked into such events.”

Lyonette was amused, wondering what Erin thought of such occasions, but the [Innkeeper] coughed into her hand again and gave Lyonette a mildly befuddled look.

“I know that. But I meant because it’s you. You’re the 6th Princess of Calanfer, Lyonette. You know how to talk to those people. And you’re—Lyonette. Are you taking it easy on them? If you really wanted to, you could knock their socks off, I bet.”

The [Princess] waved a hand, turning her head and smiling, pleased but embarrassed.

“You give me too much credit, Erin. I’m not like the [King] of Ailendamus or…”

Erin stood.

“No. I know that. But you could. Even if you couldn’t win an aura clash…you could do something amazing. I dunno, you don’t have to. It’s just that if this is a fun party for you, why don’t you do what you want to? It’s got to be better than sitting around and getting sniped at.”

Her words made Lyonette turn back to her. The [Innkeeper]’s voice was soft, and she was glancing back to the tent and campfire. She had to go back to the real world, and so did Lyonette, but the way Erin said it so plainly made Lyonette turn back to the exit. The image of Erin’s camp flickered and became the ballroom, and Lyonette saw it with fresher eyes. Pleasant and fun, but had she gotten all she wanted out of it?

I have just been trying to fit in. Why? To hide myself? Enjoy myself, Mrsha said. I could…

She gazed back at the still image of Dame Eclizza, and then her eyes lingered on the ballroom. On the dancers. She smiled as she gazed back at Erin.

“That’s good advice, Erin. I think I could do that. I may…have something to do.”

Erin grinned with simple pleasure. She nodded and indicated the campfire.

“I’ll—ahem—get back to my own party, then. I won’t call tomorrow or every day. But it was good to catch up—instead of—khak—sorry. I—”

She began coughing. Lyonette waited for her to finish, but Erin thumped her chest. Then she began coughing harder, a deeper cough that worsened until she doubled over. Deeper and deeper until it seemed like there was no way Erin should have that much volume of air in her lungs.

“Erin? Are you okay? Erin?”

Lyonette hurried over, and Erin tried to lift her head.

“Dry throat, I think. I’ve been a bit sick all—”

She coughed again, and this time, the explosive rattling in her chest made Lyonette reach for her reflexively. Erin coughed once more, and then her chest split.

For a moment, just a moment, Lyonette swore she saw Erin split in half. The tiniest gap, too small to even be called a cut opened—and then Erin was on her hands and knees. The coughing receded, but a thin scar seemed to travel from her forehead down.

“Erin!”

“I’m fine. I’m fine…”

It took the [Innkeeper] a moment to actually say the words. She was gasping for air, and suddenly—they were back in the gazebo, and Erin was glancing around.

“Door. I’ve got to go. In case it—I’m okay, Lyonette. Can you help me…?”

“Yes!”

Lyonette picked up Erin and began hauling her towards the door. The [Innkeeper] found her feet after a few steps, but she was weak. Her head was lowered, and Lyonette studied her.

“What is it? Sickness?”

“No. Just…a little crack in my soul. It’s fine. It’s a wound from the battle at sea. Ailendamus might actually—no. I’ll be fine, Lyonette. It’s one of the things I’m going to get checked out in the city.”

Erin managed a smile. Lyonette almost stopped and begged to know more, but it was self-evident what the problem was.

There was a crack in Erin’s soul.

“Oh, Erin…”

Lyonette felt tears coming to her eyes, but Erin was smiling determinedly.

“Ulvama’s not going to be happy. She thought I was all fixed. I’ll get better. Some things don’t heal that fast, I guess, Lyonette.”

She said that despite appearing so changed. Lyonette reached the door and held it open for Erin. The [Innkeeper] turned to her, guilty.

“Now I’ve made you worry. I’m fine, see?”

She straightened, coughed one last time, then thumped her chest to prove the moment was gone. And the [Princess] bet she really was okay…until the next time it happened. Lyonette stood in the doorway, as Erin gave her a worried look, hoping that Lyonette was buying it. The [Princess] just smiled.

“It’s not perfect, Erin. You don’t have to pretend with me. I’m not having the time of my life at this banquet either. But…”

She took Erin’s hands in hers.

“It’s not miserable, is it? It’s a bit better?”

She met Erin’s hazel eyes, and the [Innkeeper] blinked at her, then nodded. She smiled.

“Yeah. A bit better.”

“Then go tell Ulvama, and I won’t worry. Promise you’ll tell her?”

Erin hesitated, then made a face.

“Yeah. I promise.”

Thus relieved, Lyonette let go. She saw Erin sigh, then stand straighter. She rested a hand on the door frame and took a step back.

“I’ll call again soon. Good luck, Lyonette.”

“You too, Erin. You—”

The door closed.

 

——

 

“—too.”

The [Princess] cast around, and then she was back in the ballroom with people shouting at Eclizza, silken chaos abounding, and Ushar was staring at her.

“Eyon? You were a thousand miles away for a moment there.”

“Yes.”

The [Princess] almost laughed at Ushar’s worried expression, then straightened. Fearless of Eclizza, she gazed around, and again, all the tension of the ballroom—such as it had been—her worries, the inconveniences, they fell away.

Erin.

Lyonette hoped Ulvama could help. She hoped that someone could. And if they couldn’t…she would.

Oh, she felt so light when she thought that. The [Princess] turned, and she murmured.

“I feel free, Rusha. What a silly, funny little gathering this is.”

The Thronebearer seemed worried her [Princess] had lost her senses. But Lyonette was just gazing about, and she was reminded of the reason she’d even come here to begin with.

Right, it was always about him. She wondered if this was what he had wanted. The Duke, that was.

Duke Rhisveri was currently crabbing his way across the floor on his hands and knees, keeping below the eyeline of Dame Eclizza, who was having a merry little swordfight with the Drell Knights—some of her own Order had come to her assistance.

It seemed quite entertaining, and Lyonette admired the swordswomanship on display as Rhisveri hissed at her.

“Okay, she’s going to trounce the lot of them in five minutes at most. That’s just enough time—we’ll run to my quarters and get you out of here!”

A man nodded; Baron Regalius, looking a bit ruffled, was running cover, and he seemed ready to be a speedbump in Eclizza’s way, even if it cost him his dress coat. Lyonette just eyed the dishevelled Duke on the floor and then extended a hand.

“Rhisveri, this is more party than I thought I’d be getting myself into.”

“I know, and I’m sorry! I forgot she gets—moody. Listen, I’ll send you back now, with apologies, and—”

Lyonette spoke over him lightly.

“More party and less, Rhisveri. You haven’t even asked me to dance. And I imagine you would rather like to do so to prove you have a romantic life to your friends. Besides, I quite love dancing.”

The Duke’s mouth opened and he twiddled his fingers at Lyonette.

“[Greater Appraisal]. Your skull’s not cracked. What are you on about? We already danced!”

“That wasn’t dancing, that was shuffling in the vague direction. That sounds like dancing. Is that an Alamarian five-step?”

Lyonette nodded at the dance floor where the musicians were, in the best tradition of their class, still playing despite the sword-fight. Actually, the music was going quite well with the clash of swords.

Rhisveri and Regalius exchanged a glance as Ushar checked Lyonette’s head for contusions herself. Rhisveri spluttered.

“I don’t know what in Rhir’s hells a five-step is, but unless you want Eclizza to cut you from head-to-toe—”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Rhisveri. She wouldn’t do that. I rather think she doesn’t approve of me being your date. Is she like your younger sister? Or something similar? I am not going to soil myself if she growls at me, and she’s still a [Knight]. I doubt she’d do more than pull my hair. Now, do you want to dance or should I find another partner?”

Baron Regalius choked as he turned to Rhisveri, but the Duke was just blinking at Lyonette. She held a hand out—then whirled.

“Will anyone dance with a poor lady new to Ailendamus?”

She called out lightly above the sounds of battle behind her, and all the nobility in earshot were so dumbfounded they just gazed at her as if she were loony. But then someone did call out.

“I will dance with such a charming lady, salt’s word on it!”

A dark-skinned young man came striding across the ballroom, dressed in Chandrarian clothing. Rhisveri recognized him on sight and blanched, but Lyonette had never met the man in her life.

“Isomen! What are you doing here?”

Rhisveri seemed to emphasize each word in his question differently, and the young man grinned as he bowed to Lyonette. He knew…her? Or seemed to recognize her when she had no idea whom this was.

“Lord Uziel gave me permission to attend. My companion, Hith, refused, but I couldn’t resist. Such a lovely lady. Do you wish to dance, Miss? Anything you desire, I have a mind to grant.”

He bowed over her hand with such fluidity and poise that Lyonette was surprised. And the man seemed ready to lead her onto the dance floor, but Rhisveri was in the way and shoving him back.

“Get back before someone sees you! Have you not seen our other dignitaries, you idiot? I’ll do it!”

So saying, he yanked Lyonette towards the dance floor, and she glowered.

“I’m so sorry—”

She apologized, but Isomen seemed hugely amused and simply swept her a bow before retreating. Lyonette hissed at Rhisveri as he practically shoved her towards the open space.

“What was that ab—”

“Inndji.”

Rhisveri said it only after a slight ‘pop’ that meant silencing spells, and even then, it took Lyonette a second to realize what he meant. Her eyes widened.

“He’s…?”

“An idiot, and I think he was she last time we talked. The Agelum are just as—argh! What am I doing? Eclizza is going to kill us!”

Rhisveri shot a glance at the Pale Serpent, who had indeed bested her opponents and was tracking them across the floor. Lyonette just waved at her with a relaxed smile.

“Let her, if she really wants to. But I’m just here to dance. I’ll dance with her if I must. Do you actually know how to dance, Duke Rhisveri? This isn’t a waltz you can just memorize.”

He sneered at her as the [Musicians] noticed they had actual dancers and began to play a bit louder. The Duke’s eyes flickered.

“Let me just have my body summon the scroll on this stupid dance and I’ll do it. One dance and then…huh. Um. Wait, is this a half-Elven dance? They get picky about everything. Dead gods, how many steps are in…?”

He developed the same expression as most [Dancers] who were introduced to the five-step for the first time. Lyonette just giggled. She concentrated and remembered the steps that had been drilled into her head by her tutors. She let Rhisveri take her hands in the first step.

“You know, my mother had us learn this dance just so we could do it if we had to, but good protocol is to bow out, because anyone who actually wants to make you dance this is just trying to bully you. Out of all my sisters, I’m the only one who managed it.”

He blinked at her, and then the music began. Rhisveri jerked, took a step—and was left standing, staring at the spot where Lyonette had been a moment ago. She was already sixteen feet to the left and twirling.

Laughing. Her dress changed colors and whirled open as Yietha nudged one of her friends and pointed with a fan. The Duke went running after Lyonette, crimson-faced, and slid across the polished marble floor—he went skidding again as she made a perpendicular right-hand turn and moved the other way.

The Alamarian five-step was a cruel dance. It was meant to embarrass someone who couldn’t keep up, so if one partner could perform the moves and the other couldn’t, the other one would rapidly fall behind—and you could perform your part of it without your partner in most sections. And it was very, very obvious when you didn’t know what you were doing.

As in the Duke’s case, he was chasing after a bobbing, weaving figure whose dress kept changing colors. One second it was a maroon red flashing to a golden Faerie-Flower yellow, the next, it was aquamarine blue and deepening as if ink was poured over it.

That was already eye-catching and funny enough, but the fact that it was Eyon, the focus of Eclizza’s ire, meant it took bare seconds for people to lock onto her. And the [Princess] was…

Concentrating.

Her feet were a blur of steps, and it was an art of a dance. You had to do a complicated cross-step where one foot went behind the other, then in front of it in a pattern taking you left in Begiza IV—one of the intro parts of the dance—and you did that for thirty-two steps, then spun, stepped back like you were gliding—

It was hell on the feet and at such intense speed that you’d turn a heel in a second if you weren’t fit enough. And—Lyonette had to be honest here—

She wasn’t doing it right. 

Oh, it looked good enough, and she heard laughter as Rhisveri chased after her, cursing. But as ‘good’ as Lyonette appeared with him being a foil, she knew it was nothing to how the dance should look.

It was a half-Elven dance made by a dying kingdom with nothing to do than show off its command of the dance floor. She’d seen her [Tutor] doing it at half-speed, and it had been beautiful. Something to delight the eye, if you could pull it off.

This is so embarrassing. I shouldn’t do a dance I haven’t practiced in years! But I wanted to dance like…

Like she had in Oteslia. Sometimes, Lyonette would have terrible dreams about the Daemon of the dead Doombearers, Nokha, or nightmares about any kind of thing from Toren to the Face-Eater Moths.

But some, rare nights, she dreamed she was on that ballroom floor in Oteslia, dancing and feeling like she was flying. Or teaching Antinium how to waltz. She’d wake up, heart beating, and want to do it again—but the inn was never large enough to let her do that with all the tables and chairs down, and she had no one to dance with.

So she tried. Her feet moved faster until she thought they were catching fire, and she was using her Skills.

[Basic Footwork], [Balanced Posture], [Lesser Stamina], [Lesser Strength]—it wasn’t enough. She stumbled at one point when she should have thrown out a leg in a circle and spun, like she were Ceria on polished ice, and her cheeks went red as she saw how many people were watching.

No one was booing or making sounds of disapproval; who would try this dance in their right minds? And she was doing well enough. Of course she was:

This was her [Flawless Attempt].

That alone told Lyonette how demonically hard this dance was. But after six long minutes, she slowed, covered in sweat, and found Duke Rhisveri stumbling after her.

“Damn shoes. I think Ryoka had a point! How do you move in them like…are you wearing heels? How in the hells did you do that?”

He was red-cheeked too, but he hadn’t quit the dance floor. If anything, he’d stayed just close enough to her for her to think he was trying to keep up. Lyonette, panting, heard a scattering of applause and blushed.

“I remember doing that at a quarter-pace and practicing for a month to pull it off! Dead gods, it’s even more nightmarish than I remember.”

“Right, well, let’s leave. You certainly impressed people with that ludicrous dance. Much less the spinning jump.”

Rhisveri croaked, eying her feet. Lyonette just shook her head. Some people like Yietha were applauding her, but she didn’t deserve it.

“The real thing is far more beautiful, Rhisveri. I wish…”

She heard another bar of music and sighed. That was the thing about this kind of place. You couldn’t jaw around all the time—the next song was starting.

“Oh, damn—”

He seized her hands in a panic, but it was a far slower song that Lyonette recognized. It seemed dancing was back in vogue, so people wanted onto the floor. The musicians had obliged them, so Rhisveri swung Lyonette about, and she glanced around.

“No Eclizza?”

“She was watching, but I think she gave up. Ah, she’s over there. See? She’s not going to haul off and hit you.”

Lyonette saw the annoyed Great Knight standing to the side and eyed Rhisveri.

“That’s what I said.”

“Yes, well…you dance passably well. And you fought off her aura. Few people can do that, even if she was taking it easy on you. Well done. This wasn’t my intention, you know.”

Rhisveri stared past Lyonette as they saw more people entering the floor. Regalius winked at Lyonette, and he and Yietha moved past them, dancing in perfect sync. There was a couple who danced privately and practiced!

Lyonette eyed Rhisveri.

“I imagine everyone knew this wasn’t your plan when the sock puppet appeared. Why…him?”

“Rhissy? He inspires the children.”

Rhisveri seemed quite hurt. Lyonette snorted.

“He’s ridiculous. But he is endearing, I suppose. In a horrific way. Mrsha’s too old for him, I hope.”

“Bah, he teaches intelligent lessons and—why am I defending him to you? Listen, we’re dancing. You had an eyeful of Ailendamus, and an earful. We could talk about our gripes, but if you’re not going to write me an angry letter, we can call it here. I think I have made my point to my…friends.”

Rhisveri contrived to glare at some of his noble acquaintances, and Lyonette just sighed at him.

“Rhisveri, you are simultaneously the most selfish and conscientious man I’ve met. And I dated a [Priest].”

He might not have known the class, but Rhisveri snorted.

“Why, yes I am. Thank you for noticing.”

Because that was deliberate, that did make her smile. She continued as they traced the steps of the dance.

“I took this rather ridiculous charge on for you. Have you gotten everything you desire out of tonight?”

He blinked at her, then searched around.

“I suppose we presented ourselves to the throne, went to the Court of Masks—you held your own in terms of elocution, and so on—I can’t imagine any other way you could show off. What else would there be?”

He sounded so thoughtless she poked him like a Goblin. He jumped and hissed at her.

“Stop that! I feel things now.”

“Rhisveri…what is your last name?”

“Zessoprical.”

“Rhisveri Zessoprical, you fool. You’re treating yourself like the ornament at a ball to be fancy and admired, not just me. Did you want anything from this night beyond showing off and keeping your status, or is that the entire point of ‘Duke Rhisveri’?”

She glared at him, disappointed if that were the case, and the Duke hesitated. He opened his mouth, then thought about it. He stared past Lyonette, turning with her in the steps of the dance, then murmured.

“Well…not normally. You see, I don’t engage with these social activities with the expectation of liking anyone. Few people manage a century, let alone a thousand years. If I were here with associates, I’d talk to them. But the ones who knew me best are gone, now. Fithea always told me to find someone else to dance with. So I suppose this is a first.”

Fithea. That name…Lyonette remembered an old Dryad made of stone, and she didn’t think that was a lover. No, something far sadder. She gazed up at the Wyrm and thought that he was somehow lonelier than the Dragon who hung about her inn.

“Really? You’ve never had a partner at such events? Not one you remember?”

He avoided her eyes.

“Why should I? What’s the point? Should I look to be inspired by someone who has lived a mere, what, forty, sixty years at best? I would have said last year that such people can’t surprise me under Level 50. Now…I suppose they can, once or twice.”

He meant her. She smiled and actually felt her cheeks redden at the compliment. The [Princess] turned, walking with arms linked with his, and she gazed at his face.

“What a sad and lonely way to live, Duke Rhisveri.”

That brought him back to himself, and he scowled at her.

“Thank you for noticing, again.”

She shook her head.

“No, I would know. That sounds like how most Calanferian [Princesses] approach balls at some point. Too many, too much the same—no one genuine to talk to. It’s work, not play.”

“Ah, so you do get it.”

“Yes, but I found something to enjoy, or at least, try this evening. I hope that if it’s forced upon you, you will too. With respect to boring company—it’s my experience that everyone can surprise you. It’s just whether they choose to that makes them interesting.”

Step back, bow, and then you could change partners if you so desired. Lyonette and Rhisveri found themselves in a merry group of dancers, young and old, and he eyed her oddly.

“Well, thank you for the opinionated remarks. I shall take them to heart. One more?”

Lyonette was about to demur as she glanced around, because she was noticing she was the center of attention, and she didn’t care for all of it. But then she saw someone dancing past her, to the light intermission music, and froze.

“Rhisveri. Who is that?”

Lyonette’s hand tightened on his arm, and he turned, puzzled.

“Who? Oh, that’s Menorkel and Gilaw. Younger members of, um…Gilaw’s a Great Knight. Menorkel wants to sing. He was throwing a fit about the Singer of Terandria just the other day. Why?”

Her face had drained of all color. Lyonette was gazing up at Menorkel, the Titan in disguise. Of course, even then, he was like…

A half-Giant. Suddenly, she was reminded of Moore. They were nothing alike, of course. Moore had a much kinder face and a beard, and Menorkel was lankier, far, far taller, and yet…his earnest face, the way he shuffled about so timidly, apologizing to the grandly dressed nobles who looked up at him and smiled made Lyonette ache.

Lord Moore was at her inn. It wasn’t just the fact it was another half-Giant that suddenly invoked the Moore she had known in every memory and made her feel as though he was just out of sight if she turned her head. It was a desire. A compulsion that would never come true.

She wished Moore could be here. Could meet this shy youngster, someone just as out-of-place and timid as he was, and—would they be friends? Would he come over and be the adult, the one who had walked this lonely path, and would that boy’s face light up to see someone like him?

Lyonette realized why the blow to her was complete; Menorkel was hiding something in the crook of his arm, which he’d used to both fend off the need for socialization and while away the long banquet.

A book. She wished Moore had retired and become a librarian. She wished she could have shown him Calanfer’s library and her beloved half-Elf mentor and her fox. And then Lyonette realized she hadn’t thought of home in so long and remembered the people who she had missed.

Mexte. Lorentha. I haven’t written them one letter. They would have been worried.

Like an Earther far from their world, Lyonette had just…forgot, that selfish girl who thought no one would care about her.

It all hit her at once and left her clutching her heart, chest heaving, eyes over-bright. Moore…Lyonette felt faint. She saw Rhisveri glance at her, and the Wyrm noticed her sudden change in complexion. He looked around for a chair, but one appeared for her as she sat; Dame Ushar had produced it from her bag of holding.

“Lyonette, are you well? Damn, was it the food? Do you need water?”

“I’m—I’m fine. My apologies, Rhisveri. I just felt faint when I saw.”

Gilaw and Menorkel were striding over. Rhisveri turned, and he flapped his arms at them as they drew closer, concerned.

“Menorkel, Gilaw, shoo! I think Miss Eyon is worried you’ll step on her.”

“Hurtful, Duke Rhisveri!”

Menorkel shot back, and Gilaw cawed rudely, but they saw Lyonette’s face and respectfully stepped away. She waved her arms, urgently, not wanting them to think she was scared of Menorkel’s height.

“It’s not that. He just reminds me of a friend. A half-Giant. Just let me sit—is there anything to drink? Water?”

Rhisveri opened his mouth for another remark, and then saw how pale Lyonette was. Without a word, he snapped a finger and a glass of it floated over. He murmured as he handed it to her and she took a gulp, which helped.

“Who? Someone from the palace? The other palace…?”

“Yes. No. He was just—”

Then she was sitting there, trembling, as he told Gilaw to get her a cup of water, and she had to explain how it was just Moore. Moore, the half-Giant of the Halfseekers, who had died at Liscor’s gates.

She hadn’t even been there when it happened, just heard of it. Brave Moore and Halrac.

Halrac, standing at the exit, bow in hand, challenging Kasigna with the knowledge of fate shining in his eyes. Halrac the Grim.

Ah, and then she was back in the depths of her sadness, tears leaking from her eyes. The Duke knelt there, listening. Menorkel sat too, taller than everyone else, blocking out the ballroom from view, eyes wide. And the Wyrm?

He didn’t mock her. He just watched as Lyonette wiped at her eyes and accepted a handkerchief from Ushar and a glass of water from Gilaw.

“I’m sorry. I—and things were going so well tonight.”

She sniffed, and the Duke raised his eyebrows.

“Grief is an acceptable response to death. Better than if you were smiling all the time. We have a name for such people in Ailendamus. Psychopaths. Or Lucifen.”

Menorkel tried not to laugh at that. He covered his mouth with his hand and bent to whisper.

“I’m entirely sorry if I distressed you, Miss Eyon.”

Oh, and he was kind, like Moore. Lyonette wiped her eyes and shook her head.

“I should apologize, Menorkel! You did nothing wrong. It’s good to meet another half-Giant!”

“Ah, well, you should meet Dame Merilla. I could get her for you?”

Menorkel offered, and Lyonette refused politely. It was Rhisveri’s turn to sit there for a moment and shake his head.

“The palace was a painful place. Filled with…opportunity. If only it had been done better. But one is a miracle.”

That was all he said as he peered towards Eclizza, and Lyonette nodded. Menorkel and Gilaw gazed at Rhisveri, and he studied Lyonette’s hands. Then patted them awkwardly.

“Huh. I suppose there is one last thing to do that I would like. Stay there. If I make a fool of myself, just pretend you don’t know me.”

So saying, the Duke of Ailendamus stood, swiped the cup of water from Lyonette, and walked into the center of the ballroom as the dancers broke for another song. Lyonette peered at him and saw the Duke snag a teaspoon from a used tray of dishes.

Dame Eclizza started from where she was still mad-dogging Lyonette. The Great Knight seemed ready to harass Lyonette again, but like everyone else, she focused on Rhisveri.

He stood in the center of the room and calmly, loudly, clanged his cup with the teaspoon. The metal-on-metal violence was loud—he tossed the deformed teaspoon to the ground as everyone turned to him.

“Excuse me. I have a speech to give. Exalted guests, friends of Ailendamus, king and countrymen, shut up and listen…please.”

Oh, dead gods, a speech. The thing everyone wanted to hear the most at a time like this when they were actually enjoying themselves. Especially from Rhisveri. The man stood, casting around the vast room, and he projected his voice as he spoke. His face was relatively blank as he glanced at Lyonette.

“This isn’t a sanctioned speech by my royal brother. Just something I would like to say as the Duke. We are gathered here to celebrate the return of our Great Knight, the Pale Serpent, Dame Eclizza. In our dark hour, she returns, and no one is happier than I.”

“Hear, hear!”

Several people shouted, perhaps hoping that this was the entire speech, but Rhisveri ignored them. He gazed at Eclizza, who hadn’t moved and seemed to project hatred at him for putting her in the center of attention. But then the blank-faced man just searched around, and again, Lyonette thought he met her eyes.

“Victory in defeat. And it was a defeat. Perhaps not in the grand scheme of the war, which goes on, but we have lost…friends. Soldiers. [Knights]. They were someone’s lovers, friends, sons, daughters. Mother. On this day, I remember Magistrate Fithea, who was lost in an attack on the palace. And the Great General of Ailendamus, Dioname.”

He swallowed as a sudden silence fell over the room. People began reaching for actual cups, realizing this was not the triumphal speech they expected from Rhisveri. Yet his face hadn’t changed. He spoke now, staring at his shoes.

“Few things would give me any joy in life, but seeing them return would be worth all the treasures I possess. For I am a greedy enough man. For Fithea or Dioname…or Dame Eclizza, that is worth a kingdom’s treasures. So I am grateful.”

He regarded the Great Knight, and then to Lyonette, and then she detected a wobble in his voice. Rhisveri whispered.

“Grateful. And I will be and remember it, I swear, this great favor that…fate bestowed upon me. Even if I wish they could all return. But that, I suppose, is how grief works. For it to hurt, you have to know there was a world that could be otherwise. You have to dream of being whole to understand what it is like to be sundered and never whole again. So, thank you. I do not mean to sound ungrateful.”

His throat worked, and his eyes were glimmering. He turned to Eclizza.

“Thank you. I think they would agree, if they could hear it. Fithea, Dioname. Children should live longer than the old. So, to the Great Knight of Ailendamus. May she live at least a thousand years.”

He lifted the cup higher and drank. When he lowered the goblet, it seemed as though he intended on refilling it. Tears ran from his eyes and into his pointed beard, which dripped into the cup. He stood in silence, in the center of the room, until someone began applauding.

It was, of course, Baron Regalius, but the man only preceded the applause a second, and then the room was filled with cheers and similar toasts. Lyonette herself found a cup on a platter and raised it. Duke Rhisveri didn’t seem to understand why she toasted him. He just stared ahead until the Great Knight moved.

She took one step forwards, towards him, and bowed, holding her arm across her chest. A single bow, and his eyes never left her, and hers him. Then, and only then, did Rhisveri brush at his eyes as if confused to know why he was crying and stomp away from the ballroom.

“Oh. That…I think that, in a moment, did more for your reputation than you could dream, you silly man. More than the rest of the night.”

Lyonette whispered, and she heard a sniff, then a honking sound, which was Gilaw blowing her nose. Menorkel just gave her a wide-eyed stare.

“I’ve never seen Rhisveri cry. Did you do that?”

“Me? No. I’m just his date for a night.”

She smiled at the young man, and Menorkel eyed her before remarking gravely—

“He’s never had one of those either.”

What could Lyonette say to that? She stared ahead, and as Rhisveri spoke to Eclizza and the music began again, Lyonette had a sudden vision. It was of Moore, Halrac, Jelaqua, and Ulinde laughing at a table in The Wandering Inn.

It was Brunkr grinning as he was served a cake, and Seve-Alrelious and Erek sitting in the common room. It was like Erin’s garden of statues, but instead of tearing her to pieces…it just made Lyonette think of Tessa.

“Ah, I have to go back soon. I have things to do. More memories to make.”

She wiped at her eyes, delicately, and turned to Ushar. Lyonette smiled, then began to stand. Menorkel seemed wistful.

“Are you sure, Miss Eyon? I know it is late, but I wanted to meet the woman who made Duke Rhisveri come to a banquet! Everyone is curious about you. Even Lady Paterghost likes you, and she likes no one!”

Gilaw made a cawing sound, and Lyonette had to admit she was mightily curious to know who these other immortals were. But she wanted to see her daughter.

“Maybe another time, Menorkel?”

If Rhisveri needs another banquet, maybe? It wasn’t the worst thought, though she was amazed she was even thinking it. Menorkel was nodding when someone leaned over.

“Ah, Miss Eyonlett. Did I hear you right? You are leaving? I had hoped to introduce myself before the night was over. May I just have a single word before you leave?”

A sharply-dressed woman in a dark uniform with gold and brass on it stopped with drink in hand, and Lyonette turned.

“Oh of course, Miss…?”

The woman leaned over the table to shake Lyonette’s hand. She smiled, then yanked Lyonette close.

“Brazier Lady Linvene. You are marked, Princess Lyonette. I am amazed you had the gall to appear tonight. But know that you are marked, and retribution shall come the sooner for this.”

Lyonette stiffened as the hand crushed hers, and Ushar’s arm was suddenly between her and the [Lady]. She recognized the sigil on the woman’s breast belatedly, and the color scheme fell into place.

“The Blighted Kingdom’s emissary in Ailendamus?”

She should have known Ailendamus would have one! The Blighted Kingdom had diplomats in every major kingdom, and at this function—

“Let go of Miss Eyon, please.”

Ushar warned the Brazier Lady, but Linvene let go without fuss.

“Your inn survived hellfire, but it has a shadow, and the Blighted Kingdom has marked it. That is your only warning, Princess. Leave it or watch it and all those within burn.”

Lyonette knew that Erin had made enemies, but such an open declaration of war still chilled her. At a gathering like this, no less! She lowered her voice.

“I’m shocked that a single inn merits the wrath of an entire kingdom, let alone one so important as the Blighted Kingdom. Do you intend to raze it and everyone in it to the ground? We have not been your foes. Guests, and our [Innkeeper], yes, but there are children within! Leave us out of whatever revenge you have planned.”

“Goblin Kings do not arise from nothing. You are warned.”

The woman was studying Lyonette and Ushar up and down, her eyes flinty. She glanced to one side and stepped back.

“And I see I am not the only one.”

“Good evening to you! Lady Eyon, is it? And Brazier Lady Linvene. I had waited for the good Duke to step away. A lovely speech about the fallen, isn’t it? I am [Diplomat] Ke’len of Erribathe. In the name of the Kingdom of Myths, I, too, would like to convey that we do not forget.”

The Dwarf who appeared at the table had runes braided into his beard and a far more relaxed attitude than the emissary of Rhir, and he put his cup on the table and treated Lyonette to a smile. She exhaled, loudly.

“One would think my disguises needed work. Or that emissaries would be good enough not to cause a fuss, wouldn’t they, Ushar?”

The Thronebearer nodded without a word as she watched the two diplomats gazing at her.

“We are not the only ones, Princess. You are marked from Rhir’s hell to the gates of Roshal. This is no time to enjoy your repast.”

The Brazier Lady warned Lyonette, though Ke’len’s lips twisted at the mention of Roshal. Lyonette sat very still for a moment, then exhaled. She leaned back over the table, and if the two had thought she was going to quail—she met Brazier Lady Linvene’s eyes.

“As far as I recall, Roshal is still mostly dust. Have they or the Blighted Kingdom not learned the lesson of picking the wrong fights? Because I believe a reminder was delivered—twice.”

She enjoyed watching the blood drain out of Linvene’s face. The Dwarf [Diplomat] just glanced sharply between Lyonette and Linvene, clearly wondering what that meant. The Brazier Lady’s fist tightened on her goblet, and she was about to snap back when someone reached down.

“Excuse me. I believe you are being rude to Rhisveri’s guest.”

Menorkel’s finger was big enough to push Linvene away from Lyonette. She recoiled, then spoke.

“Sir half-Giant. I was merely—”

“You were leaving. Miss Eyon is a guest of Ailendamus, and you two are being impolite.”

Menorkel frowned at the two of them from above, and when both hesitated, the shorter woman folded her arms.

“Gilaw agrees, and she’s a Great Knight. Go away.”

In the face of a Great Knight of Ailendamus, both Dwarf and Human had to bow and retreat. Menorkel turned to Lyonette and grew anxious.

“Are you alright? That sounded bad.”

“It was just a threat. A…known threat.”

Lyonette exhaled and began to rise. It seemed that this party had everything from joys to drama, sadness and reminders of the reality of her situation. Yet she refused to feel bad or worried. She smiled at Menorkel.

“I should be going, though. I’m sorry, but it really is late.”

Of course, it was never that easy to just leave. Rhisveri had to be told, but he was surrounded by people, and you had to pay your respects to the crown, especially since Lyonette had met with both of them. And then Regalius and Yietha and the others were trying to get her to stay and remark on everything.

“I saw the Brazier Lady storming away, Miss Eyon. Did she have words with you? She can be tactless when it comes to Rhir’s defense…”

“You must stay a bit longer! I have so many questions! The dancing has begun again, and you could have another shot at the five-step—”

Queen Oiena herself called out.

“Miss Eyon! Are you truly going? I almost but feel that you would benefit from a night in the palace!”

To that, everyone agreed Lyonette should stay, but the [Princess] was adamant. She was trying to refuse Queen Oiena as politely as possible.

“Your Majesty, I must go. I have little ones to attend to.”

Oiena did a double-take, then shot a glance at her husband.

“Little ones? At your age? Why then, you must go, of course! But an escort at this hour is essential…where’s Rhisveri? He should see you back home.”

At last, Rhisveri appeared, and with him, the final obstacle of the night. Dame Eclizza cut through the crowd, and even Queen Oiena was wary as she held up a hand.

“Dame Eclizza, it is late, and with respect to your quarrel with Miss Eyon, I insist on peace.”

“Peace, Your Majesty. As you will it.”

Eclizza bowed and lifted her head without looking away from Lyonette. The [Princess] stepped forwards warily and nodded to Eclizza.

“I cannot help but feel that we have gotten off on the wrong foot, Dame Eclizza. It is a shame, because I hope we are on the same side in some respects.”

The [Knight] scrutinized Lyonette up and down, and then she walked forwards, and her aura engulfed Lyonette again, but like wet gauze, not an attack. A privacy effect.

“We have been on the same side. But I do not trust you, Miss ‘Eyon’. I have returned and beheld my weakness and my kingdom’s weakness, and you come as a reminder of change. An omen of the greatest danger I have ever beheld. I do not know you, and more importantly, I have no measure of you. Should I welcome you with open arms?”

That was very fair, and yet, Lyonette still thought they were missing something. She turned to Rhisveri, and the Wyrm shifted from foot to foot.

“Er—time to go? It was a productive night, all things considered. Can you ask for better than that?”

Threats and publicity. A battle with a [Princess]—Lyonette shot a glance at Princess Ozena and realized she was throwing up into a waste basket, still suffering the effects of a full aura clash with Eclizza. The [Princess] gazed about and saw the Brazier Lady and Dwarven Emissary watching her.

And she was sad.

She was upset.

She was enjoying herself.

She was afraid for the future, but mostly for Erin.

—Lyonette knew what she had to do. She turned to Ushar, who was wearing Queen Marquin’s very armor, and the [Princess] gazed at Rhisveri, then looked around at Queen Oiena, Menorkel, Regalius, and realized she wasn’t done.

Show them…the [Princess] reached out and took Rhisveri’s hand. He blinked at it stupidly, and the [Princess] turned.

“Your Majesty, may I make one small request of you before I depart? I think that if this is a night to be enjoyed, there is one last thing I must try.”

“Oh, and what would that be?”

Queen Oiena leaned forwards with an interested smile, and Lyonette took a breath and felt her heart race. She gazed into Eclizza’s visor as the Pale Serpent tensed, and she smiled.

“Why…the Alamarian five-step. Crossing the Dwarven Mountains, I believe the song is. Would you give me one last chance to perform it?”

Of all the things…Oiena blinked, and Eclizza’s helmet tilted. The [Queen] hesitated.

“I can certainly give you the song, and I doubt anyone else would join you, but are you sure? It seems to me it’s all risk and little gain.”

Lyonette laughed in the confused [Queen]’s face. She explained, kind.

“It’s for none of my gain, Your Majesty. It’s simply because I want to try. Wonder for wonder’s sake. I will never know if I can if I do not try. I will never succeed if I’m not willing to humiliate myself. Besides, the Great Knight Eclizza wishes to know who I am? I’m someone who wishes to dare it.”

She turned to Eclizza and then to Rhisveri.

“And I rather think the fine Duke might be a good partner—if he’s willing to risk his sterling reputation?”

He gazed down at her, then adjusted his suit huffily.

“Bah, that sounds like a challenge. And I never back away from those.”

The Queen of Ailendamus was from Gura and loved such things, so she clapped her hands and laughed, then gave the orders. This time, the [Musicians] actually went silent when they heard that one of the last songs of the night would be the devilish song. But they began playing with twice a will—not just for the mysterious Eyon.

If you’re gonna go down, go down blazing like a [Fireball]. Lyonette began limbering up discreetly as people gathered around. Rhisveri did the same, muttering.

“I’d better memorize this thing fully. Don’t look at me like that Eclizza. She wants to dance? I’m not the one who’ll fall flat on my face!”

It was Regalius who drew Lyonette aside, nervous.

“Miss Eyon, are you sure about this? Every eye is upon you, and with respect to your skills, this is a dance that I doubt you could do better on a second try.”

She smiled at him.

“I know that, but I have to try. At worst, I’ll twist my ankle, and my daughter will die of laughter.”

Which was a positive! Regalius’ lips twitched, and he gave her a wondering look.

“So you do have a daughter?”

She made no reply, and Yietha murmured.

“But you used your best Skill! At least, I think I recognized you using one, didn’t you?”

[Flawless Attempt] was indeed still on cooldown. Lyonette shook her head.

“I have one last one.”

“It had better be a good one. Everyone is watching—I rather fear they’re too interested in your success, Miss Eyon.”

Queen Oiena warned them as she swept over, and Lyonette felt a butterfly fluttering in her stomach as she realized everyone was watching. The ballroom was packed with people, and no one was in the center. They were all waiting…for her.

“Oh dear. I thought someone would dance or be busy?”

“For the woman fighting with Great Knight Eclizza? And I think some of those diplomats added to the fire. I shall have words with them—but the damage is done. Miss Eyon, you can bow out. There is embarrassing yourself to be daring and ridicule.”

The Queen was offering her one last chance, but the [Princess] just took a breath. She stretched out her ankles, then turned. She walked towards the center of the room; Rhisveri was already in the middle, arms folded. She gave the Wyrm this: even when he was being an idiot, he could do it unashamedly.

“I should have asked him to dress up as Rhissy. Either way, it would make the dance better.”

She whispered to Oiena, and the [Queen] nearly performed a Wineblaster as she snorted. She gave Lyonette a genuinely admiring eye.

“My dear, I confess, I am finding myself your unwitting admirer. Were you always like this?”

Lyonette beamed at Queen Oiena, and she stopped by a table.

“No, it’s only been the last two years that made me like this. Someday, Your Majesty, I’d like to tell you all about it. Now, you gave me excellent hospitality and advice.”

“Oh, I did no such thing.”

Lyonette picked something up from the table and turned to the [Queen]. She showed Oiena what she had.

“But you did! So, Your Majesty, whether I do make myself the greatest buffoon in Ailendamus’ history or not—I hope you will respect the attempt.”

Every eye upon her, the [Princess] lifted what was in her hands, and Oiena gasped as she realized what Lyonette was doing. Then she actually cheered, and Regalius pointed with a finger that drew every eye, that fanciful [Baron of Ceremonies]. Yietha added in a stage whisper, setting Lyonette up. Teammates she had never known she had.

“The dice!”

The [Princess] had a pair of golden dice from the gambling table in hand. She turned, and the Skill she’d never used flashed into her mind. A reward for betting the treasures of kingdoms in a single wild night.

She threw the dice as hard as she could across the room, and the well-dressed men, women, and [Knights] took cover as a pair of flashing dice flew across the floor. Lyonette was running the moment she threw them, and the music was rising as she jumped and slid across the floor, fifty feet, towards the surprised Duke.

[The Gambler’s Dice]. One of the gold-painted dice bounced off of Hydra-Knight Yoriven’s helmet and spun, glittering on the floor. Another landed in High Magus Telim’s cup, and he peered down into it, then raised his goblet and drank the wine down as he toasted the [Princess].

And the [Princess]? She felt a wild, nervous energy surging through her body and wondered if it was luck or adrenaline. She grabbed one of Rhisveri’s arms and saw the same panicked expression on his face. He gazed at her, open-mouthed, and she breathed.

“Surprised by us mere mortals yet, Your Grace?”

Then she was sixteen feet left, spinning, and he was face-to-face with her as they whirled in a figure-eight. The gasp filled the room, and they caught themselves in the first move, eyes wide. He managed to reply—

“Well, anything you can do…”

 

——

 

Dame Ushar was recording the entire thing from the beginning. Of course, later, people would find the recording and replay it and there would be a to-do about the identity of the mysterious dancer.

People would tout it as an example of the famous five-step dance performed in the modern age, but they’d never have the perfect angle. Because wouldn’t you know it, a strange [Knight] in Dragonchallenger plate armor was always in the right spot, recording it.

For posterity. And her mother. The Thronebearer saw Lyonette and Rhisveri flash past her and cover a hundred paces in ten seconds. They were flying. And, it seemed to the Thronebearer…

 

——

 

“Glowing?”

Wall Lord Ilvriss was up late, and he had a cup of goat’s milk mostly unfinished in one claw. He’d not been happy despite all the explanations about where Lyonette had gone and had been glowering at the scrying orb all night.

He had dark suspicions of this ‘Duke Rhisveri’s’ intentions; he didn’t see why Mrsha and Nanette liked him. He’d probably bought them off; he seemed like an arrogant blowhard. But his speech had seemed genuine. And now—this?

Ilvriss knew Lyonette could dance. Ancestors, he’d danced with her himself, but this was dancing taken to a level that made Ilvriss’ calves hurt just watching. But the [Princess] was doing it, and the Duke was keeping up!

It had to be a Skill, but it was no less impressive for all that. What made Ilvriss sit up and a snoozing Mrsha open her eyes was—

“She’s glowing.”

At first, Ilvriss thought it was his imagination, but as Lyonette and Rhisveri shot across the floor and slid the last ten paces, they glowed. And it seemed to Ilvriss that the light pulsed off them.

A familiar glow. Like the light of a certain [Innkeeper]’s magical fire, except light, flashing over their audience. It bathed the room in colors as the two turned, and Ilvriss shaded his eyes.

“What is that…?”

He’d seen this before. He swore he had. At Oteslia. Only this was the Skill born of that moment. He caught Lyonette’s face, concentrating, breathless, and when it flashed towards him—

A beam of light streaked from the scrying orb, hit Ilvriss in the chest, and knocked him out of his chair.

“Ilvriss!”

Nanette shouted, and Mrsha waved a card.

Drake down! Drake down! Take cover! Mom’s shooting lasers!

More beams of light flashed out of the scrying orb, and the rest of the inn did take cover, aside from Asgra, who was standing on a table for a better view. A beam of purple light hit her in the chest.

“Argh! I’m dying! I’m—”

The Cave Goblin writhed around on the floor and then felt at her chest as Ilvriss sat up. Asgra poked at her uniform, which had been all smutched up and slightly ragged from wear. It was pristine, warm, and clean as could be.

Ilvriss glanced down at his clawed hands and saw the blisters under his scales vanishing. He looked up, and Mrsha gasped.

That’s Mom’s Skill! Her [Dance of Blessings]! She’s never used that either!

That was it! The [Princess] was throwing off light which washed over the cheering crowd, and it touched individuals and knocked them down. Blessings delivered like a flying brick to the face. They sat up, minor injuries healed, sicknesses pushed away, or just—changed in ways that made them smile.

A laughing young woman who rose with beautiful, glittering topaz-colored hair, faintly translucent. An older man who felt a slipped disc unslip—a Hydra Knight who remembered where he’d left the keys to his personal storage chest.

Laughter and tiny miracles coming off the whirling [Princess] smiling fit to burst. Ilvriss sat himself back down and watched as Lyonette flew across the floor. After a moment, he turned.

“It’s a good dance. Well, she is doing most of the work.”

Mrsha just turned to him and, after a moment, patted Ilvriss on the hand. Then she went back to watching.

Wall Lord Ilvriss couldn’t understand why Mrsha was smiling so contentedly. He bristled; his tail lashed, and he began to bark more comments until he caught sight of something. His reflection in a mirror. The man recognized that supercilious expression of outrage and wounded pride, and because it was so familiar, he stopped. And then he wondered why he was wearing his old face.

In silence, the Wall Lord sat a moment and thought until he was as introspective as the child beside him. After a while, he did murmur.

“She’s enjoying herself, isn’t she?”

Then, Mrsha turned and nodded and smiled, and Ilvriss took a drink from his cup.

“Ah, very good, then.”

He felt like the approving smile coming from Mrsha was a strange thing, but fit the child’s face. Ilvriss just wondered what they were teaching her in that school in Liscor. Then he wondered if he could enroll his officers and fellow Wall Lords there for a week.

Only then, after the applause, after the panting [Princess] hugged the surprised Duke and kissed him on the cheek…

Then Lyonette went back home.

 

——

 

Duke Rhisveri Zessoprical took little credit for the dance afterwards. He just breathed in and out, mopped at his forehead with a handkerchief, and demurred, which was so uncharacteristic of him that everyone thought the wrong thing.

When he sidled over to Sophridel, Paxere, Menorkel, Paterghost and the other immortals, the Wyrm just sniffed at them.

“I was following along with the actual choreography the entire time. That’s not difficult. She did it according to memory.”

He nodded at the breathless [Princess] being congratulated by all and sundry. She still seemed to be giving off faint motes of light. Her [Dance of Blessings].

“Besides. It wasn’t a perfect dance. It could have been done better. She missed a half-step in the fourth pattern, and the musicians definitely slowed down from the original pacing.”

It was amazing how his mouth kept working, sometimes divorced from his brain. Well, the Wyrm had several. When no one said a word, Rhisveri just shoved his hands into his pockets.

“That’s the power of those who hold classes. They get to shine, briefly.”

Then he saw the [Princess]’ head turn his way and stepped forwards to the gathering around her. And they did gather, nobles of Ailendamus, [Knights], even the young Princess Oesca, holding her mother’s hand and asking Lyonette if she could ever dance like that. To which the [Princess] merely replied with a huge smile.

“If you practice, Your Highness, anything is possible. But you must try hard.”

“I try hard on lots of things!”

Oesca protested loudly, and there were chuckles, but Lyonette fixed her with a serious gaze.

“Do you try hard for a person or a [Princess]?”

Oesca’s face grew confused, and her mother blinked, but Lyonette went on in a voice that was calm, level, and understanding.

“That dance is hard for anyone, Princess Oesca. There are no favors, nor Skills, that can let you do it properly without effort. So if you really, truly want to learn it, you must try as hard as you can. The same with backflips like the Wind Runner.”

It struck the girl, and she stumbled a bit, or perhaps it was just the late hour. Oesca replied faintly, gazing into Lyonette’s face with a sudden solemness.

“Oh. I think I understand. Thank you, Miss L—Eyon.”

The little girl looked like she had a million questions to ask. She hopped from one little, glittering shoe to the other, then put her hands in her dress. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered into Lyonette’s ear.

“I was wondering if you think—if you think Lord Sammial Veltras was okay? And, um, if you think Gnolls would like me? I’ve met a few, but they’re all adults. I’ve always wanted to meet a Doombearer.”

The [Princess] blinked and then whispered back.

“I think Sammial is doing just fine, though he could use a friend or two who’s sensible. As for little Gnoll girls, I hope they’d all like you if you met, but I can’t guarantee that. You have to do your best to make friends, don’t you? Being a [Princess] doesn’t impress Gnolls that much, so you have to try extra hard. [Witches] too.”

“[Witches]?”

Oesca’s voice rose in a nervous, excited exclamation, and her mother raised her brows. Everyone tried to edge forwards, but before the girl could ask more, someone brushed past her.

“Oh no, here we go again. Dame Knight, this isn’t the time for—”

Someone actually tried to stop Dame Eclizza this time, but she simply halted in front of Lyonette and her aura blasted outwards. Lyonette jumped as it shoved everyone back, even Oesca. A sphere of pale green venom encircled her, and she braced—but she realized this wasn’t an offensive tactic.

A bubble of isolation formed around them, a natural privacy field—if not so subtle. The Great Knight folded her arms, then flipped her visor up.

Her face under her armor was too-pale, devoid of sunlight, and her eyes were likewise pale. Lyonette realized how the Pale Serpent of Ailendamus got her name. Another kind of cruel joke like the Titan’s nickname. Dead gods, she hoped no one ever named her.

She was relieved that these eyes weren’t trying to run her through. Rather, Dame Eclizza spoke as a few people banged on the aura-barrier and then waved their singed hands in agony.

“I thought you were well-made, Princess Lyonette du Marquin. But you’ve risen above your mere craftsmanship. Enough to dance with a Wyrm and not embarrass each other. I still resent your presence, but don’t doubt, now, that you may bring something to Ailendamus for all you take.”

The [Princess] scowled at Dame Eclizza, and to the horror of all watching, including the Duke and monarchs, she strode over and poked Eclizza a few times in the chestplate.

“Is that all this was? I wasn’t ‘good enough’ to be his company? He told you that he was so desperate for a date he teleported me out of my inn! If you were so concerned, you could have gone with him, or one of your Order! Though I can see how you would have avoided that!”

Eclizza’s eyes flicked to Duke Rhisveri, who was signing emphatically at her, and then to Lyonette—then down at her feet.

“That would not have been appropriate. I am his sword and champion. I would die for him and Ailendamus. I would be his…lover, if I fit. Not his doll to play with.”

Lyonette’s mouth was open, about to spit another furious condemnation. She closed it hurriedly.

“Oh. Oh my. I didn’t mean to—”

The visor slid shut, as if this gap into Eclizza’s soul was too much. She turned to stare past Lyonette, at Dame Ushar.

“Jealousy befits a Wyrm’s kingdom. Besides which, this is a dance that has been done before. Other of his mortal champions—all of them—have walked this line. I am but the last to learn the lesson. The only one living. It was my jealousy which prompted me to challenge you. But also…the question of whether you were just cost. I researched The Wandering Inn. It is folly to assume you will not call in your debts again. If you can give nothing to the Kingdom of Glass and Glory, why should we entertain you?”

That was a logical counterpoint, and Lyonette nodded. She gestured lamely at the dance floor.

“I don’t know if that qualifies. But in terms of gold and other factors, I do believe I can help. My boon is still working on Rhisveri.”

Again, Eclizza gazed at Lyonette, purely surprised.

“You put a boon on a Wyrm? That is…thought to be impossible. Though how many royals have ever tried it or Wyrms let it happen?”

Lyonette thought a smile flashed over Eclizza’s face, but the helmet obviously didn’t let her see. Then the Great Knight shrugged.

“I have made my decision. We shall not necessarily be pleasant. Perhaps we shall clash again. It is good practice for you.”

“Please, no. I feel like I might puke if I did it again.”

“We must level. That is the only way to keep up with them.”

The Great Knight nodded at Lady Paterghost, Menorkel, and the immortals in the audience. She whirled on her heel abruptly.

“I shall bid you goodnight with the assumption we are allies in the true sense of the word. Though…how much gold could your inn give Ailendamus?”

She turned her head, clearly skeptical, and Lyonette coughed into one fist.

“It’s more of a loan, and it is more than the Duke owed. There was a gambling night, which I will admit goaded his pride…I could prepare the ledger, but I believe it’s upwards of four million gold coins lent? We’re not pursuing any repayment at the moment.”

The Great Knight froze, and when her head cricked around, Rhisveri stopped signing and began to appear faintly worried.

“I see I have more words to speak to my liege. Well done, again. An ally with teeth. Taimaguros is powerful, but dull. Anything…else?”

She turned to Lyonette, waiting. And the [Princess] had a sudden thought, an urgent one. She was weary to death, emotionally exhausted, and ecstatic as well. But the look of Eclizza, standing there, a dark shadow to her master, provoked a kind of similarity in her mind.

Black armor…like scales.

“I—yes! Yes, I have something crucial to do when I get back. This dratted evening has put me behind. But Dame Eclizza, you’re a master of poisons, surely. Do you know, um, how to deal with someone suffering from a drug addiction? I intend to bring her back, but it is no use without treatment and help. And what we had to help her with no longer exists.”

The Faerie Flower medicine was gone. Eclizza glanced back at Lyonette, again seeming to be surprised that the [Princess] had brought something up that the Great Knight had never expected of her. She replied fluidly as she switched back to facing Lyonette, hand on her bag of holding.

“If it is a mere addiction, Duke Rhisveri himself could cast [Restoration] and solve the physical effects of it. The mind is harder—or even Dame Chorisa could mix an antidote to most drugs. This is a matter for [Thought Healers]. Ailendamus has enough. Also, it is not a cure-all situation, spells aside. Which drugs?”

“Um…all of them?”

The Great Knight stared at Lyonette like she was an idiot.

“Are you a fool in this or do you just not know?”

“No, I resent that! I mean it! She’s a Named-rank adventurer, and I do believe she’s tried every drug under the sun! Her name is Tessa, or Shriekblade, and—”

Eclizza nodded once and glanced down at Lyonette’s feet before sweeping her gaze up and down the [Princess]’ body. Lyonette reflexively tried to shield herself, as if she was naked, and she didn’t know why until Eclizza spoke.

“Ah. Once again I underestimate the foe. That you aren’t carrying a hidden dagger or blade…you should. Queen Oiena carries one on her inside thigh, and her daughters and sons have a blade on them they never take off.”

“Thank you for the advice. Tessa?”

The Great Knight paused, then nodded.

“Procure me a list of what she took or is likely to have taken. It sounds…interesting. She could have killed herself or done permanent damage to her body long ago, but if she’s Named-rank, perhaps not. I have tried every drug I have ever encountered and come up with countermeasures for them all. I will assist though I will not teleport to Izril without greater cause. Is that all?”

Everyone was watching the standoff between the [Princess] and [Knight], and from the outsiders’ perspective, it seemed like they weren’t fighting. Just…talking? What did Eclizza turning away, Lyonette jumping and covering herself up mean? They kept glancing at Duke Rhisveri, who was trying to play it cool and looking increasingly nervous, as a man who knew he had things to be embarrassed by might when two people who knew him were conversing.

The final thing the [Princess] did was hesitate, scuff a foot on the ground, and then make a writing gesture on her palm. The Great Knight stared, then her aura collapsed. Lyonette chased after her.

“Just one autograph, Great Knight? Well, two—it’s not for me! I’m sure there are two fans of yours, and if not them—!”

 

——

 

What a strange [Princess]. King Itorin II had never, ever seen Dame Eclizza sign an autograph even when it had been the pitch of fashion. He leaned over to one of the people sitting with him.

“Knight Commander Forcel, has Dame Eclizza ever signed an autograph?”

The equally-fascinated Hydra Knight shook his head.

“Never once in all the time I have known her. No, wait, I tell a lie. She once signed her emblem into an enemy [Knight]’s helmet. With her finger. But never—that.”

The [Princess] bowed to the Great Knight, who threw up a hand in a backwards wave as she strode away. And then she was right there. In the center of attention as if it was natural to her. More than just a royal, she turned, and King Itorin II wondered—

They cannot all be like this, the [Princesses] of Calanfer. It reminded him almost like that new treat everyone ate while watching the scrying orbs. Popped corn. As if someone had compressed all this potential and zest for life into a tiny, miserable shell. And when the right pressure and heat baked them, they exploded outwards.

He decided he liked that analogy. Popped corn [Princesses]. He wondered if it had been on purpose. If so, he didn’t really want to meet the Queen of Calanfer, even if they ever took Calanfer.

 

——

 

Lyonette tucked Dame Eclizza’s autographed cards into her dress pocket, and the respectful silence became a buzz of voices instantly. Everyone wanted to talk to her again, but she was so tired all she could think was…pockets.

The [Princess] who’d commissioned this dress had once insisted on pockets. Most clothing for women didn’t have them.

Dead gods, we’ve fallen so far from what we used to be.

She turned, ready to tackle the next person coming her way—Baron Regalius, who looked positively delighted by the turn of events. But an arm blocked the Baron respectfully. Duke Rhisveri. He cleared his throat meaningfully, and a silence fell, and he looked at Lyonette, questioningly, noting her flushed cheeks and the late hour trending towards the dawn.

“On that fine note, I think it is time to depart.”

Lyonette nodded, despite the instant protestations the comment created. She bowed to the [Queen], who seemed oddly tongue-tied for a moment, and then to Regalius.

“I must be going, truly. I thank you all for your hospitality, especially you, Baron Regalius. It has been an honor to meet Rhisveri’s friends, and Duke…”

She turned to him, a smile crossing her features as she brushed black curls of hair from her face. She was barely twenty years old and, it seemed, at least a decade older. The [Princess] gazed around, then coughed.

“I—thank you, Rhisveri.”

“I’m not sure what for, but you are welcome.”

He wore his little caustic smile, and Lyonette coughed again. She covered her mouth, and someone proffered her a cup. She took it and sipped, and gazed at him, then around. Then brushed at her face.

“No, I enjoyed myself, truly. I…oh dear. Oh no, I’m so sorry. It’s just the dancing and…”

Then Rhisveri’s smirk changed as he and everyone else heard the wobble in her voice. Regalius, with the power of his class, reached for a sidearm without thinking; the handkerchief was in his hands before he saw the tears. And they were falling from her eyes.

Lyonette took the handkerchief as everyone drew back, worried they’d be blamed for the tears. But the cause of them wasn’t clear. The [Princess] dabbed at her eyes, then her nose.

“Thank you, Baron Regalius. I’m sorry, it’s nothing. I’m alright. It’s just—I am so tired of the death and dying. I’ve been exhausted, and this was something. It was small and pleasant, and I could relax. That’s all. I shouldn’t be crying; how embarrassing. Thank you. I’m so sorry…”

Small and pleasant. The death, the dying? Regalius gazed at his wife, and the nobles in the know were giving each other significant glances, which the rest of the audience picked up on. Queen Oiena cleared her throat.

“I think our dear guest is overwrought, which is a fine emotion to have on such a night. Let us give her a moment, in respect.”

At her words, the crowd drew back, and Rhisveri awkwardly tried to shuffle back before Queen Oiena pushed him back into the center. Then Lyonette stood in the center of attention, a stranger with dyed hair, still faintly glowing with another continent’s wonders.

It was Baron Regalius who drew back into the private circle of Rhisveri’s friends, the well-placed nobles who had enough power to be important. No one spoke as they watched Lyonette speaking to Rhisveri, but there was a thought that ran through the group. A treasonous one, perhaps, but one that still appeared, slithering like a snake in long grass.

A pleasant event. Despite an aura clash and a hounding from a Great Knight of Ailendamus. A [Princess] in disguise who had to get back to her children, driven to tears because she had been granted a single night of respite.

The death…and the dying.

Only a fool wouldn’t know who she was at that moment. For proof positive, even Princess Ozena was eying Lyonette and whispering with her brothers. And look at her.

Where was that haughty Calanferian arrogance or the cold-blooded politicking? If those were fake tears, then she was a master of her class. Few of the nobility here had ever ventured to Calanfer or known it beyond the enemy in the war. But for once…Yietha whispered into her husband’s ear.

“Regalius. Do you think she’s talking about the inn or the war with the Dawn Concordat?”

“I’m not certain.”

It was a distinction that they made, since he and Yietha were more aware of where Lyonette truly hailed from after some quick research, but the [Baron of Ceremonies] glanced around and sensed it. For the first time, he thought a seed of discontent against the war had sprouted through the ballroom.

A more principled, moral individual with a weaker grasp of politics might say that the seed should not have come from this moment, but the nobility were a people who had to witness something with their own eyes. This [Princess]…Regalius eyed the good Duke, who was motioning towards the exit.

Either this is a plan deeper than I can follow on Duke Rhisveri’s part, or he does not fully understand the ripples of his actions. For better or worse?

He couldn’t say. Regalius was only reminded, strongly, of a breeze passing through Ailendamus, like the Wind Runner. He watched it swirling again through the ballroom, changing the course of opinions, blowing on the tiller of empire. So he murmured back to Yietha.

“I do hope we’ll see her again.”

For better or worse, he thought he wanted to get a measure of that woman. Regalius watched the 6th Princess of Calanfer departing, and then he glanced away. For the image of the 4th Princess walked beside her, and he was too ashamed. For that deep debt he owed Princess Seraphel, no one would hear Lyonette’s true name from his lips.

Regalius saw the High Magus Telim was also watching Lyonette depart. Holding his cup of wine in hand like a shield against something, and the three Players of Celum had stopped, and all bowed deeply when she peered their way. Men and women swirling around an individual whose reach had touched even Ailendamus. So Regalius wondered to himself and to his wife.

“Dead gods, if that is the [Princess], who must that [Innkeeper] be?”

 

——

 

The 6th Princess of Calanfer still wore the dress of her ancestors as the rain chilled her skin for a moment. Then, the umbrella opened, and her [Knight] held a glowing umbrella like the sun over her head.

“Welcome back, Your Highness.”

Ser Dalimont bowed to Lyonette as he glowered at Duke Rhisveri, but the weary Wyrm just stood there. Casting a gate spell across the continent and the night of festivities had drained even his stamina. But he managed a short bow.

“Thank you again…Princess. I will remember the favor.”

She nodded to Rhisveri.

“Have a good night, Rhisveri. Thank you for the opportunity.”

There was more they could have said, but she was too weary, and they had said it all.

To each other, at least. Everyone else had something to say to Rhisveri, like the angry Drake who strode up.

“Excuse me, sir. I don’t know who you are, but I’d like to discuss your treatment of Miss Lyonette—”

Rhisveri gave Wall Lord Ilvriss one glance, then turned to Lyonette.

“Do you know this Drake, Lyonette? How important is he?”

That stole Ilvriss’ momentum for a critical moment. He opened his mouth, and someone brushed past him.

Bird, Elia, all the inn’s staff and guests—even if you didn’t know who Rhisveri was, you just had an instinct.

“Excuse me, sir, autograph?”

That came from Menolit. Rhisveri stared at the card. He almost reached for the quill when Bird shoved Menolit aside.

“Excuse me, sir or madam.”

“Wh—me?”

“Yes, I would like to post this message to the King of Avel, among others. Thank you. Here is my Runner’s Seal, and here are coins. And my friend here has messages for her home, Gaiil-Drome. Courier, please. She’s very important, apparently.”

Rhisveri was handed a stack of letters. And a Runner’s Seal with a feather glued to it. Then Bird showered several gold coins on top. She leaned over to Elia Arcsinger, who was at her most professional, and whispered.

“I forget. Do we tip him if he’s not technically a Runner?”

The Duke was stuffing the objects into his bag of holding and trying to get a final word out to Lyonette. Or a dignified farewell. But then he was kneecapped by a flying kick.

“That’s for stealing Lyonette! Mrsha, get him!”

The Duke’s eyes rolled up slightly as Nanette executed a flying kick to his kneecap with all of her weight. She landed with a black-and-white dress divided like piano keys fluttering around her. Mrsha, in her kilt, hesitated and didn’t stab Rhisveri with the fork. Because when he saw her, he froze up.

The energetic witch was still kicking at his legs when he picked her up and, without looking at Nanette, handed her to Lyonette. The Wyrm hesitated, and then he knelt down.

“Hello. Do you have a moment, girl? I…I know we spoke via the theatre Skill, but I don’t think I was that coherent. I’d like to—to apologize.”

Nanette’s squirming ceased, and the Wall Lord stopped trying to elbow the other guests out of the way. Lyonette’s head snapped around, and she remembered what Mrsha had said.

A crying Duke…his voice was already filled with that vibrato from his speech about Eclizza. She was about to cause a distraction for him, but her daughter was faster.

Why don’t we talk in the garden, Your Grace? I know just the place.

She took him by the hand and led him towards that glowing door, and he flinched. Of course…Lyonette and Nanette eavesdropped on them. They couldn’t help it.

 

——

 

A tall man with a sharp goatee and brilliant emerald eyes dripped in the garden filled with sand, dust, and a single moonbeam shining down onto the top of that mountain of sand. The wind howled at his face, but he didn’t care.

“I’m sorry. I should have stopped and fixed things.”

It’s not your fault. Everything was falling apart. You can’t blame yourself for that. You weren’t even there, only your magic body, and you did so much. It all worked out, in a way.

He was shaking his head. Tears were leaking down his face no matter how many times he used the handkerchief she’d given him.

“I could have healed you. I should have. I’ve seen battles. I let you down.”

Rhisveri, I caused that mess. I knew what was coming. I don’t blame you. Please don’t beat yourself up. It’s okay.

She tried to pat his hand, and he half-shouted at her with a hint of that arrogance, that ire towards the world that dripped out of him at times like his venom.

“You cannot tell me that! Not you. Children shouldn’t…children do not get to make that decision. You should have been safe.”

Even if it was my choice?

He knelt down in the sand and looked around, but his watchers were lying on their bellies, out of sight under a dune. He met her little eyes with his own, and she thought, suddenly, he understood her.

“Yes. You might have the character of Giants and the courage of Unicorns, but you still should never have to choose.”

Perhaps he’d once been her. Having to make hard decisions before he was ready. He, too, had lost his family and been adopted…the Duke whispered.

“It was my fault, and nothing will change that. I’m just glad…I can talk to you. Mrsha. Mrsha, I have had a conversation with those who can judge me. Bright folk who hide their wings. The times when they carried flaming blades has long passed. But they are still the only people whose wrath I fear. They raise many children. Keep them safe. It is in Ailendamus, and I know it is far, and you do not know my kingdom. But…if you wish to go, I will take you. Your mother and anyone else who will come too.”

She blinked at him. Then glanced around with more awareness than he.

Even if she didn’t want me to?

“I’d talk her into it. It would be safer than this. You deserve peace after everything.”

He stood awkwardly, hands in his pockets, gazing down at her. The girl just reached out and patted his good knee.

Thank you. I don’t wish to. If I ever do, I’ll ask you. You’re a good piece of corn, Rhisveri.

“…I don’t understand the analogy, but thank you.”

The girl cast around, then wrote something that not even their eavesdroppers could read. Glowing golden text cupped in her paw. He bent down to read it.

I wish someone had been there for you too. You deserve it too.

He blinked. Then shook his head. His eyes became distant. He looked around the sandy garden and raised a hand.

For a second, the winds stopped blowing, and Mrsha saw green plants rising out of the ground. A temporary field of flowers. Even trees, rising, until they shed their leaves and became withered. Then hard, like stone. But the Wyrm stood there as if it were the most beautiful thing in nature.

“I did. It just took a bit longer.”

He whispered to her. Then they were standing together, and Mrsha sat on a stump. He sat with her.

What are you going to do aside from taking my Mother to dances?

He shrugged, murmuring so only they could hear.

“Go back and be scolded? But after that, we are at war. There’s much to do. Armies to rebuild. But after seeing the palace and the truth…”

The Wyrm’s eyes narrowed, and they both saw the six beings standing there. The death of some of them. Rhisveri whispered.

“I have only thought in terms of war. That is what we default to, time and time again. Or perhaps it was just the Creler Wars which showed me the existential threats that no peaceful kingdom can endure. I had never been ashamed of the cost of lives…it was meant to be a place of safety. But what safety exists in the face of contempt itself?”

She nodded. The Wyrm glanced at her.

“Prepare. For both strife and the consequences of that. I promise you, I will not forget the lessons I learned here. That’s all. The dances are just obligations. We must be people in between being heroes and martyrs and legends.”

He stood, dusting sand off himself, and then blew his nose again. He handed her the full handkerchief, and she made a face.

Thanks, pal.

One tap and it fluttered, clean. The Wyrm turned away.

“She’s not so bad, you know. Fithea was far more dignified, knowledgeable, magical, and superior in every respect, but you have a fine runner-up as a Mother goes.”

True, but we don’t want to give her an ego. Second place is more than she needs. I’ve always thought that Colfa was very cool, myself.

He grinned, and then they were walking out of the [Garden of Sanctuary].

Lyonette and Nanette met them outside the inn again. Mrsha and Rhisveri eyed their dusty clothing, and the Wyrm coughed into one fist.

“Well, I must be going. You have something all over you, Miss Lyonette. Thank you.”

She couldn’t scowl at him. The Duke walked back to the waiting gateway that opened in a flash of light. The [Princess] called out.

“It was fun, Rhisveri. Next time, please send advance notice?”

He hesitated, and his eyes fell on her hair as the black dye vanished and the royal red of her hair shone. Then he bowed again and stepped back into the portal, which closed behind him.

 

—-

 

Afterwards, everyone stood around for a moment, talking quietly, savoring the magic and the moment before it faded. Then they realized it was late. Very late.

Dame Ushar was still wearing Queen Marquin’s armor, holding her gaudy Thronebearer’s armor like a child’s outfit in her arms. Her eyes were wide as the night caught up with her. Then she started, handed the armor to Dalimont, and breathed.

“I must report in. By your leave, Your Highness?”

“Go.”

Lyonette nodded to her, and Ushar strode off. Ser Dalimont stood there as the rain pattered down outside the inn. He pointed towards the glowing door.

“Your daughters are in bed, Lyonette. They began washing up when they saw you leaving. The Wall Lord has taken himself to his rooms as well.”

“Oh my, it is late. I’ll check on them.”

Lyonette grew guilty, but Dalimont forestalled her.

“I believe they were quite happy to see you enjoying yourself. However, in interest of avoiding questions, we might use the [Garden of Sanctuary]? It is 3 AM, and I believe the common room has a number of guests and spies who would dearly love to question you.”

She nodded gratefully and conjured the [Garden of Sanctuary]’s door. When she stepped into the 2nd floor hallway, she took a second to peek at her daughters asleep and whispered a goodnight to them.

Nanette waved blearily; her pajamas had little glowing [Witch] hats and broomsticks sewn onto the cloth. She must have made it. It was the most normal-looking thing that she had worn, so Lyonette didn’t comment on the fact that the pajamas were red and the glowing symbols were bright blue.

Mrsha was dozing away, but her eyes flickered as Lyonette kissed her forehead. She reached up a paw and touched her mother’s cheek. Then she wrote.

Your makeup is all tearstained, Mom. Good night.

That made Lyonette laugh. She bade her daughters good night, then walked back to her rooms. There she dismissed Dalimont.

“Go back up Ushar, please, and disperse the onlookers? Thank you, Dalimont. Tell everyone the plan for tomorrow is still on.”

“Are you sure? The hour…”

“We’ll have a late breakfast.”

She shooed him away, and then, after he was gone, Lyonette studied her face in the mirror. Dead gods, she was a mess. Makeup had run with her tears and sweat. So Lyonette washed her face with some water, then exhaled.

The next thing she did was go to the outhouse, using the [Garden of Sanctuary] to teleport right outside. Because she had been holding it for at least an hour. As the rain pattered down on the roof, Lyonette decided that plumbing in the new inn would be a delight.

After that, she returned to the [Garden of Sanctuary] and called out.

“Apista? Are you asleep?”

The bee flew down from her roost, and Lyonette hugged her and whispered to her for a while. It was so late that she let Apista fly back to bed, but Lyonette wasn’t quite asleep. She was still coming down off the adrenaline and emotions of the night, so she stood in Erin’s garden, breathing in and out, gazing at the place where gold coins still littered the grass. The Box of Incontinuity still hung there, waiting for another use.

“Dancing with a Wyrm. What a strange night.”

She shook her head, then stepped back into the hallway of the 2nd floor. Lyonette walked softly down the hallway, listening. She could hear and sense the inn around her; people winding down their own long nights.

Bird’s door was ajar, and the Queen’s voice was coming from the inside.

“Go fish.”

“…Do you have any 5s?”

“Go fish again.”

That was Elia and Calescent? They were playing cards. Which suggested that Bird and Elia and Calescent were friends. Lyonette didn’t interrupt them, just passed on with a smile. Above her head, she could sense Kevin in his rooms, and there was a faint clank and muffled oath as he dropped something. Working late on a project involving metal.

A sleepy pair of Goblins, Sticks and Asgra, were trailing back to their rooms with Goldbody; they started, then waved at Lyonette as they headed upstairs. Now the entire inn was going to rest. Even the staff.

They were waiting for me to get back. That touched Lyonette, and she ran her hand along the nameplates as she reached one end of the hallway and turned back. She was thinking of the night. Pondering the consequences of her actions. Because they had been her actions, even with Erin’s encouragement.

Oh, Erin. The memory of the [Innkeeper]’s wounded soul dovetailed nicely with the threats made by Rhir’s ambassador. They will notice. They are coming. We are not safe.

But she’d known that ever since the Winter Solstice. The [Palace of Fates] hadn’t changed the dynamic, just, perhaps, advanced the timeline. Lyonette didn’t want to worry or obsess over the inevitable danger. It was coming, and she would deal with it. She had to.

Dancing the five-step with a Wyrm. That little Princess Oesca, who might have made a good friend for Mrsha. And, Lyonette hoped, would have a happier life than she herself had had.

Ailendamus, glowing and delightful, for all it was the enemy’s land. Lyonette walked down the hallway, a half-slumbering [Princess] not weighed down by grief or anxiety for once. Just…existing with the weight of what she had to do upon her.

“So that’s how you felt, Erin. I should have understood. Coming back from the dead meant you carried that burden until the Winter Solstice. Baleros is more restful, splits in your soul and all.”

How terrible. How perfectly, painfully beautiful it was to see Erin sitting there, scarred, healing, at more peace than she had been in her inn, amongst friends.

Let her rest. I shall handle Roshal, Rhir, and Erribathe. And if I can…more than merely that.

The [Princess]’ steps slowed. She glanced at the smooth wall and realized she’d stopped running her hands over the nameplates a few minutes ago.

Yes, indeed. She was the last undamaged member of the inn. Erin, her daughter, everyone else was hurt and needed rest. But the [Princess]? No one had stabbed her or taken their pound of flesh and blood. Lyonette gazed ahead and then looked around, and it was dark.

A single window let moonlight spill into the long, empty corridor. There were no bedrooms around her, just the same wooden floor and hallway. Rain fell from outside, but Lyonette had never been in this part of the inn.

It did not exist.

“Erin’s new Skill. [Long Hallways].”

It shouldn’t be that impressive after the night she’d had, but there was something about the long, unbroken stretch of impossible architecture that gave Lyonette chills. She walked on, grateful for a place to muse all to her own.

That was The Wandering Inn. It had a personality of its own. When someone needed something, they found it. So, the [Princess]’ slow steps took her down the dim corridor towards the door at the far end. It had no nameplate, but she slowly put her hand on the brass doorknob and spoke.

“The other new Skill? What had Erin called it? Her [Room of the Traveller]?”

She wondered what that did and why it couldn’t wait till tomorrow. Smiling slightly, Lyonette swung the door open, thinking of her own Skills that she’d used for the first time tonight. So many useful ones…and the [Treasury of House Marquin]. She had to go back to Terandria to collect more of the treasures. To read that book. Oh, she’d forgotten to bring it back! Next time, she’d get it.

“Next time? Oh my. Oh no—”

Lyonette was chuckling as the door swung open. Then her breath caught. She stopped and flinched.

What lay beyond the plain door was not the [Room of the Traveller]. It was, in fact, no special room at all. It was a plain, empty room maybe twice as large as one of the bedrooms, denuded of windows or anything else.

Blank space. But it was not empty. There were…three things in the room, and the sleepy [Princess] froze when she laid eyes on them. And for the first time today, she experienced true fear.

For the tallest object sitting like a hunched giant in the corner of the room, big enough to hold an entire person, gleaming with dark grey metal, was a vault. A solid door shone dully on the plain-looking prison. It appeared ordinary, but it seemed to repel everything as well. As if those walls would survive the death of everything, including the world itself. It had no handles. No markings.

It waited.

[The Transient, Ephemeral, Fleeting Vault of the Mortal World] sat there, and next to it was a far smaller object. This was a towering repository that gleamed with burnished metal, mithril-bright, like a piece of the stars brought down and forged into a vault with a spoked metal handle.

The [Evanescent Safe of Passing Moments] sat on a plain table, the smallest object in the room. Its contents a mystery, a small container as promising as the vault was ominous.

Longing to be opened.

Along the far wall, the most ordinary-looking of the three was a huge chest sitting on the floor, wide and worn, the old brasswork scratched.

The [Faded Chest of Then and Them]. Of the three objects, this one was humblest and filled with the most painful of things.

A memory.

Lyonette saw them all fully as the door swung open, and she didn’t move. She had frozen, her eyes wide, her breath caught in her chest. This room. She’d never seen it. No one had. Had they always been here? Why was she here?

They didn’t move. Of course not. They were just objects. Just like the box…but she was feeling for the handle of the door behind her. Lyonette’s fingers found it, and she flinched. Tried to move forwards, towards the vault, but could not.

It towered above her. It felt bigger than the dimensions of the room. The [Princess] cowered away from it, heart thundering in terror. It didn’t move, of course. It was just an object.

But it terrified her. She saw it, now. Erin’s true Skill.

“Not one, but four. Oh, oh dead gods.”

The box. The [Box of Incontinuity] was the smallest of the four objects. The smallest…and see what it had done! Now there were four.

Lyonette had been face-to-face with the Pale Serpent of Ailendamus and not wavered an inch. She had seen the Goblin King charging and refused to run. But right now, her hands were groping for the handle of the door, and she was pressed against one wall in a mindless terror. She didn’t understand.

Why now? Why now? Why, when everything had gone so well…

The safe was glowing, but there was no light in this room. Its glow bounced off the faded brasswork of the chest, and Lyonette’s fluttering heart calmed slightly as she gazed at the beautiful cube. Yet the vault terrified her. She felt like anything could be behind that impenetrable door.

“I don’t want this. I don’t need—leave me alone! Please!”

Was someone doing this? The Grand Design that Mrsha talked about? If so, Lyonette had something to say to it already, and she’d be adding her complaints!

But no…that’s not how it was supposed to work, was it? The [Princess] took another shaky breath and then remembered something.

She wasn’t just a [Princess]. She was [Princess of the Inn]. Her powers literally let her use Erin’s greatest gifts. What she needed, the inn provided. Just like how the Box of Incontinuity had appeared for her…

“O-oh. I see. I asked for this, didn’t I?”

The three objects didn’t respond, of course. She was almost…almost positive they didn’t work like that. It was just Erin’s greatest Skill.

Just Erin’s greatest Skill. Lyonette’s arms were spread against the wall as she kept her face to the objects, like they were wild animals, but she made herself leave the wall. Take a step forwards.

Nothing happened. The doors didn’t swing open. The horrors of hell didn’t emerge to drag her screaming into the receptacles. Of course not. Far worse…

They were waiting to be used. By her. All the consequences, all the responsibility was on the person who called for their use.

“Me.”

The [Princess] conjured a ball of [Light] into one hand. As she lifted it, the [Vault of the Mortal World] refused to acknowledge the light. There was no glow off its walls. It existed independent of light itself; in the pitch black of the void, she would have seen it.

Lyonette’s head swung to it, then to the safe and the chest, and she tried to understand what was going on.

“I summoned you. I wanted this, I think. Or I’m being given the opportunity to…do something. But that’s a silly thing to say, because I already know, don’t I? I know why I came here.”

She did, too. There was one, no, two last things to do before she slept, and it had been a long day. But if she had to name the two things to wrap this eventful, gentle, and now mildly earthshaking day…the [Princess]’ lips moved. She closed her eyes and spoke. It was easier when she couldn’t see the containers.

“You know, it truly has been a—a gentle and pleasant day. All things considered, it has been! Not an uneventful one, but I wouldn’t trust that even if I had one. It had that silly Wyrm, Ilvriss, and…it was not wholly good, but it was what I wanted. Truly.”

She took a breath, eyes still closed.

“There were only two things that took away from it. Only two. Not Pawn nor Eclizza; that was just living. No, what disturbed me, what I fear is the Blighted Kingdom’s threat against the inn. Their promise. And…Erin’s wounds.”

Yes, those two things genuinely hurt. Seeing the [Innkeeper]’s injury, which did not look like any healing potion or, perhaps, even Potion of Regeneration could fix, had upset Lyonette. And the Blighted Kingdom, Erribathe, Roshal, and the other foes of the inn…

Hectval had once taken Erin away. Hectval. If that little Drake city could do that, then what about world powers? Vaulont, Elia, the Calanferian servants would do their best, but in the face of that danger, Lyonette feared for the future.

“We have survived worse, and we will survive it. Erin and the inn. But it upsets me. So. That’s why I’ve called you here tonight.”

Detective Lyonette du Marquin came to the conclusion and reflected that Zevara really should have asked for her help. She was smart, insightful, and knew the Antinium! Anyways…she swallowed as she opened her eyes and looked again.

The room had changed. The Vault of the Mortal World was now in the center of the room, right in front of her. She was a foot away from the metal. This time, Lyonette barely flinched, and she didn’t scream. A vast improvement.

“I’m terrified. I rather fear I need the outhouse again. Unless I were to pee in one of these objects.”

That would be a rather funny way to end the entire world. No, no, that wouldn’t happen.

Probably.

Lyonette didn’t know what to do. But she did, at the same time. She had seen how the Box of Incontinuity worked. She didn’t know exactly what each object did, but if you extrapolated the powers of the Box of Incontinuity, then each object had some kind of authority that was the same as the box. Only…greater.

She had an idea, and it was very, very scary. But the [Princess] knew that was only half of the solution being offered here. She went on, speaking to herself and her audience.

“I can do something important here. But with respect, that isn’t the only important thing that will happen tonight, is it? I’ve been putting it off, and I think, so have you for a while. I’m overdue, though pardon me if I sound impertinent, um…Miss? Sir? No, Mrsha said you don’t have a gender. Uh—uh—Grand Design of Isthekenous?”

Yes. There was no movement in the room, no response, but she was addressing the only other thing who could hear her. The thing that heard everything.

Lyonette had heard a prayer to the Grand Design in the ballroom of Ailendamus, after all. But even without it, she would have known what to do. After all, Mrsha had told her mother of her great adventure. Besides that…Lyonette’s hands were clasped together. She knew the motion. She had heard the words.

She’d dated Pawn, after all. Even tried to pray with him for the Antinium’s heaven, but Lyonette had never been a true believer in this or even the future-Pawn world. She might wish for his heaven to be real, but it was an Antinium desire, and Lyonette didn’t see Erin as a goddess.

But the Grand Design? Oh yes, she could believe in that. She had witnessed its miracles from the first time it had given her levels. It had brought her daughter back for her. Even if she didn’t have the faith for a class…Lyonette prayed to it. A conversation before she reached Level 40.

“My family has records about this. Reaching capstones, that is. I’ve heard of people…requesting Skills. I think it works like that, doesn’t it? Queen Marquin had that happen to her. So, if you’ll excuse my presumption, the way I think it works is that we can ask for levels and classes. If it fits us. If you agree.”

She knelt on the ground, her dress changing to soft moonlight colors in the glow of the safe. Lyonette licked her lips.

“I wasn’t sure what I wanted to become. I rather feel like my [Princess of the Inn] class was well done. It fit what I wanted to be until now. Thank you.”

It never hurt to butter up your recipient, she reasoned.

“But I have reached Level 40. I have lost so much, and now it’s just me. And all the staff, of course, but I’m the one in the inn. I…I don’t know if I can do it. I am leaning on Erin’s Skills. I suppose I’ll do that until the day I’m no longer in the inn. That’s alright with me, but you understand, don’t you?”

Lyonette opened her eyes and stared up at the vault.

“I just want to help her. Erin. My daughter took on the burden of the [Palace], because she thought she had to. So that’s what I desire. Let it be me, next. I am so tired of watching someone else step forwards.”

Halrac challenging the Goddess of Death. Ser Sest throwing himself forwards with a laugh. Lyonette squeezed her eyes shut on more tears.

“…So that’s what I want. Give it to me. A class that I desire. I have no name for it, but I will take on some of Erin’s struggles. And I will defend this inn. I will open the vault and protect the world.”

Her right eye opened, and the blue of her eyes caught the light.

“Protect Rhir, Roshal, and Erribathe and all our foes. For I will not be so kind when they come in wrath and death. This is the kinder option they do not deserve. If you agree, please, make my class interesting. Amen. Thank you for your time.”

She unclasped her hands and rose. There was no response, of course; she didn’t expect there to be. But she had said her piece, and the words seemed to echo in her chest with the faintest reverberations of that grand voice she had once heard.

Queen Marquin’s bellow. Someday, Lyonette wanted to speak and have the world listen like that. It was terrifying. A heavy weight that made her think she had never understood what the crown truly meant…but was beginning to.

There was nothing for it now. The [Princess] knew what she wanted, and she would see if the Grand Design thought she had a right to it. She stood, and the [The Transient, Ephemeral, Fleeting Vault of the Mortal World] was again in the center of the room.

But no longer waiting. Her breath caught; she had heard nothing, no lock undoing itself. Nor the sound of its hinges moving.

Yet the door was open. Just a hair, and inside the vault was nothing. Nothing at all.

An empty tomb, an unfilled space that you could put…anything into. The Princess touched the door, and it was lighter than a feather. Heavier than a mountain.

She swung the door open and knew what she wanted to put inside. She didn’t know…how. But the vault knew.

“Ah. How terrifying. Once and never again. Right?”

The [Princess] gazed down at what she’d put inside the vault, and her arm was shaking. Her eyes were wide—but she stared down at the little diorama that had appeared. A perfectly detailed, utter recreation of an inn on a hill, the rain falling around it.

The door closed on it. The [Vault of the Mortal World] made no sound, but when it was done, Lyonette stumbled backwards, gasping. She clutched at her chest, sweat soaking through her dress.

“I’ll need a bath after this. That’s one…we’ll see what that does. Tomorrow.”

She didn’t know if she’d be able to sleep after this, but—her heart was beating even faster when she turned to the second object. The small safe on the table.

The [Evanescent Safe of Passing Moments] somehow scared her worse than the vault. This would be harder, and she didn’t know if it was possible, even with the idea in her head.

The Grand Design knew what she intended, too.

Even it held its breath as Lyonette took the handles of the safe and tried to move it. This time, it was hard; the safe didn’t want to open. Lyonette threw her weight onto the handles and felt it shift ever-so-slightly.

“Please? She doesn’t need it. She trusts me, and I…I can handle it.”

Slowly, one turn after another, she got the safe’s door to open. Bit by bit, the mechanism unwound, and the panting [Princess] saw what was inside. She reached for it and then paused.

“It’s terrifying.”

She hesitated there, uncertain if she wanted what she had asked for. For a long time, an [Immortal Moment], she stood, pondering her decision. Then the [Princess] smiled like she had at the Goblin King.

“It fits this pleasant day. Some deeds should be done only when you’ve seen all there is to lose and know what the sunshine feels like. Just like Rhisveri said.”

So saying, she reached into the safe and murmured.

“Oh, it hurts so much, Erin.”

Then she carefully gathered it up and pressed it to her chest, hobbling away. The safe’s door slammed shut as the [Princess] turned and fled.

Something taken out, something left behind. Lyonette du Marquin stumbled out of that room that didn’t really exist and found her rooms waiting for her. She collapsed into the bed, and then, after a long moment, the Grand Design of Isthekenous spoke.

For not even it had known what her class would be until the last moment of those dice rolling. It whispered the class out, where the inn had once shook for Erin Solstice. A whisper that would run across Liscor and the world as they awoke to find out how, once more, the inn had changed.

 

[Class Change: Princess of the Inn → The Cracked Princess, Keeper of the Inn!]

[The Cracked Princess, Keeper of the Inn Level 41!]

[Condition – Soul’s Crack Assigned.]

[Condition – Impaired Sight Assigned.]

[Condition – Crippled Reflexes Assigned.]

[Condition – Pained Nerves Assigned.]

[Condition – Resonant Flesh Assigned.]

[Skill – Grand Act: Reforge My Shattered Soul Obtained!]

[Skill Change: Lesser Charisma → Greater Charisma Obtained!]

[Skill – Give Me Your Best Obtained!]

[Skill – Ritual: Designate Heirloom Obtained!]

 

——

 

The next day, King Nuvityn was sitting in his tents for breakfast, having a scrying orb chat with one of Erribathe’s [Diplomats]. Not a group he usually interacted with, but this was apparently urgent.

The King of Myths was not in a good mood. He didn’t like surprises of this nature. And it felt to him like he was behind events. He really didn’t want to hear that one of his foes had appeared at a banquet thousands of miles from where she should be in the heart of a kingdom he disliked.

“You’re certain it was her, Diplomat Ke’len? There is no place for mistakes in this regard.”

He knew he was leaning on the Dwarven man, who spoke slightly tensely into the scrying orb, but if this was true…

Ke’len was a hundred and twenty years old, and he’d been [Diplomat] for half his life. He was maybe not the highest-levelled since Erribathe didn’t do much diplomacy, but his experience was still valuable. He was one of the sort who wanted to go outside Erribathe, and Nuvityn did trust his opinion enough. The Dwarf bowed again.

“Her hair was dyed, but she was unmistakable. Her name was an anagram of Lyonette—it was not the most involved disguise, Your Majesty. Either it was a poor fakery or the original [Princess], and I must believe my eyes and the reactions of others, including the emissary of Rhir.”

Nuvityn uttered an oath and turned in his seat.

“Across the world in a moment. How? Did that Duke waste a [Grand Teleportation] spell, Magus Tserre, or was Wistram in on it?”

The magus was sleepy as she glared at Prildor, who looked in fine fettle. Amusingly, for being a half-Elf who lived a routine in the timeless villages—Tserre was not a morning person and would wake up at noon or late if she chose. She snapped back at him as breakfast dishes floated around her, preparing her plate.

“It’s far from impossible. It just requires a lot of mana or preparation. A dedicated [Gate] spell. I could make one.”

She shrugged at his expression.

“If this Duke Rhisveri is a capable spellcaster, he could do it too. Though it speaks to his mana reserves and acumen, either way. He’s then on par with a modern Archmage. Whatever that’s worth.”

He couldn’t countenance this, even for a King of Myths. Nuvityn snapped back, irked.

“I have it on good authority that the Order of Seasons can perform a similar ritual, but it costs a fortune in magic! You’re on par with their grand ritual then, Magus Tserre?”

She rolled her eyes.

“The Order of Seasons. Hah! Yes, I am, Your Majesty. I am on par with a Knight Order’s grand magic they stole millenia ago! What they can do is force a massive gate spell open anywhere in the world at great cost. Like throwing a hammer when they please. I can’t do that, but I could teleport one or two people a continent away. So it’s very possible.”

Her snap back made Nuvityn nod and turn to the scrying orb. Belatedly, he remembered the old [Archmages] like Zelkyr had pulled the same stunt now and then. Even then, it wasn’t that casual; they’d rather just fly from spot to spot. Or have those obnoxious flying Golems that the Drake had made…say what you would about the Necromancer, but the undead Wyvern chariot had been classier. And quieter.

“Then I acknowledge it was her. I am not pleased, Diplomat Ke’len.”

“Nor would any reasonable man expect you to be, Your Majesty. The only question is whether I acted in accordance with your will.”

The Dwarf bowed again, and Nuvityn thought.

“The warning was in vein with what I would have ordered. Establishing it was her—all good. Have you anything else to add?”

There would be consequences for this. There had to be. If not from him, then from her enemies. He was wondering if he should hire someone after all when Ke’len coughed. He tugged at his ornamental runes still sewn into his beard for friendship, honor, integrity, the kinds of things you would want in an honest [Diplomat].

“Merely, Your Majesty, a question. When the threat was given directly from the Blighted King’s emissary, she invoked the Slavers of Roshal. Knowing your opinions, I hesitated to agree. There are strange bedfellows in conflict and then there’s this.”

Nuvityn’s own mouth soured at the name, and he glowered. Tserre just shrugged. At his questioning glance, she replied drily.

“The Blighted Kingdom considers Roshal to be one of its better allies. More than most Terandrian kingdoms.”

“Your statements, Magus, are objectionable.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You send yearly support. Roshal is more generous. The Blighted Kingdom calculates its affections based on the value of support, not the sender.”

Well, he was in a worse mood yet, and Nuvityn growled back at Ke’len.

“You did well to be distant. Anything else?”

“Only that there was apparently a reprisal of some kind. ‘Sent twice’. Something that the Brazier Lady noticed, because it rattled her composure greatly.”

That made Nuvityn eye Tserre, and she raised her brows.

“That’s quite interesting. Nothing you heard about, Your Majesty?”

“No…but Erribathe’s spies are not exactly prolific. If it is not in our purview, it must have been hidden from ‘public knowledge’. Interesting. You have done well, Diplomat Ke’len. I shall consider this. If you see Her Highness again, notify me at once.”

The Dwarf bowed, and Nuvityn cut the scrying orb off and drummed his fingers. Once more, the inn moved at speeds that made his army feel slow. He turned to Tserre.

“I do not like this, Magus. It may simply be a singular occasion, but a reprisal may well occur before we even reach Izril’s shores.”

“Likely. Roshal and the Blighted Kingdom are rather direct and quick to reply with force to their perceived enemies. I imagine a…reprisal would already be underway, in fact.”

To that, Nuvityn just grunted.

“I am aware of one unsavory individual who has contacted me in hopes of securing funding for just such an act. I refuse to work with such forces and would rather slaughter the group itself—time permitting, we shall.”

He did not like that thought either. There were children in that inn, a fact that other powers seemed all-too-willing to ignore. Though he would be loath to defend the inn before he could hold it to account, Nuvityn realized he had to inspect the board before a move was made.

“Magus Tserre, will you perform a simple scrying spell on the inn for me? I wish to view it and perhaps…make some deliberation. I invite you to give your input as unstintingly as ever.”

Better her than his advisors like Andromeda who would argue for the most extreme option in the heat of emotion. Tserre sighed, clearly unhappy at having a [King]’s ear, and waved her hand.

“Very well, [Long-Ranged Scrying: The Wandering Inn].”

Nuvityn turned back to the scrying orb expectantly. He checked his reflection in it, noting the white hairs in his beard. He wondered how long until he was fully white-haired given how slowly he aged. After a few seconds of finger-combing his beard, he heard Tserre mutter again.

“[Pinpoint Scrying]. Hmpf. Those damn idiots in the [Mage’s Guild] have the wrong coordinates. One second. [Regional Scrying: Liscor]. There. Zoom, zoom…”

Then she went silent. Nuvityn realized after another half a minute that something was wrong. Tserre was staring at the air, lips moving.

“Magus? I can have our [Mages] pull the coordinates. They’ve scried it before.”

“I can find it!”

She snapped at him, and he let her work, but motioned one of his other [Mages] forwards. After a minute, Tserre whirled.

“It’s not there.”

The [Mage] working on the scrying orb peeked up.

“We have the exact coordinates, Magus Tserre. It should be right here…[Scrying]! There!”

He pointed, and Nuvityn stared at the blank scrying orb. Tserre scorched the other [Mage] with a look. She turned to the [King].

“The inn’s vanished. I can’t locate it.”

“What?”

He sat upright, and Tserre said it slower, overly patient.

“I can’t find the inn. I tried locating it via scrying spells. I scried the entire Floodbowl or whatever you call it, Liscor—I know where it should be. It’s gone, Your Majesty. Not just on scrying spells. I can’t find it.”

“Ridiculous! Did they use some kind of anti-scrying spell? If that Duke is a good spellcaster—”

“No, Your Majesty, it’s gone. I’m no idiot, I can bypass anyone’s wards! I can’t find it!”

She floated after him as he strode over to call for some maps. Andromeda came running, and Nuvityn stabbed a finger at a map of central Izril he’d gotten just for this purpose.

“Just find the location of Liscor and move towards the inn. It’s right…”

Then he felt his heart skip a beat. His finger stabbed down on the map of Liscor and the Floodplains, and, slowly, his eyes roamed the map. Andromeda gazed down as well, and her expression grew confused.

“That must be an outdated map, sire. Let me just—”

Tserre’s eyes had gone wide. She bent over the map and when Andromeda tried to grab it, pushed the woman back. Nuvityn murmured.

“This is the same map I’ve been using. This…”

His finger roamed the map, trying to find something he knew was there. Or did he? Had he been mistaken?

He couldn’t remember. But he could remember he remembered, and that shook him more than anything. The King of Myth’s fingers crossed over the Floodplains, then moved up, down, across the High Passes. But no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find it.

The Wandering Inn, which had been clearly labeled before…was gone. When Nuvityn’s head rose, he met Tserre’s eyes.

“Would a spell do…this, Magus Tserre?”

She licked her lips, then spoke in a too-calm voice.

“Yes. A Tier 8 spell would. Or maybe some kind of highly-targeted Tier 7 spell, but I would sense a Tier 7 spell, I think. This strikes me as a Skill.”

When someone said ‘Tier 8 spell’ in that tone of voice, it provoked a silence. Every advisor in his tent turned to the King of Myths, waiting for him to decry it as impossible. Nuvityn had embarrassed himself as a younger man too many times doing just that. So, he simply rose and spoke, face calm even if his insides weren’t.

“Mages. Contact Erribathe’s Mage’s Guild right now. And Liscor’s. Contact the Adventurer’s Guilds, the Cartographer’s Guilds in Invrisil—”

He suspected he already knew what they were going to find, but he had to do the silly thing and check. His heart was beating now, damn it. With frustration, anxiety, and excitement.

How? How? And then he thought—

If I am so calm, it is because I am not frothing at the mouth with madness. But I wonder—what is their reaction?

 

——

 

A Level 4 alarm was being called in the Blighted Kingdom. It began as a lower-level alert, of course. A [Strategist] tasked with the inn first suspected improper filing of their maps, already a huge issue, but it was upgraded to deliberate sabotage within minutes.

When it became clear no map or scrying spell had the location of the inn, a [Court Mage] was called for, who upgraded the Level 2 alarm into Level 4. Of course, the matter escalated from there.

The Blighted King himself had been waiting for news of a reprisal after the Antinium Incident. When he heard that the inn had vanished…he almost ordered the cringing [Strategist] thrown out a window.

Instantly, he demanded every spy they had in the region go find the inn and provide a beacon. Half of them refused on the spot, and he ordered them stricken from the lists of capable agents. Which the [Royal Spymaster] objected to because independent agents needed to be handled carefully.

Normally, such criticism was allowed in the Blighted Kingdom, but the Blighted King’s wrath was such that the [Spymaster] was ordered to be silent. Then the courts waited, as the [King] fumed, for a [Spy] to deliver news. Only…after an hour, the first reports came back.

No one could find the inn.

“Impossible! That door is still surely working! The inn provides transport for multiple cities! Has it ceased to work?”

The Blighted Queen snapped, annoyed herself at the incompetence of the agents. To which the [Spymaster] replied, cautious—

“The door is working, and one [Spy] moved from Invrisil to Liscor to report it was working.”

“Then go through the door to the inn! That…the door is connected to the inn, isn’t it? Or is it some kind of waystation outside the inn?”

Suddenly, her brows crossed. Even she couldn’t remember if the [Door of Portals] was actually in the inn itself. And she was the most certain person in the room—the court were trying to remember the layout of the inn, and if they had even known it…the [Spymaster] licked his lips.

“That’s the problem, Your Majesty. The [Spies] can’t. They’re not sure where they go. One even left the portal room. He wasn’t sure if it led to the inn, but he did try. He failed to reach the common room of the inn and was lost in the Floodplains of Liscor for half an hour before he managed to run back to Liscor.”

The Blighted King stared at the map. And his hands trembled on the armrest of the throne as someone summed up the problem.

“The Wandering Inn cannot be located.”

The court was dismissed as the Blighted King began to rage. Which, incidentally, was somewhat lesser than the reaction of the Slavers of Roshal. When the bad news was delivered to them, several people were thrown out of one of the tower windows.

Well, Thatalocian just laughed as he rolled a die and picked it up and found all the numbers had melted off the sides.

 

——

 

Mrsha du Marquin watched aimless [Spies] and guests wandering around the Floodplains over breakfast until she felt bad for them and took them back to the portal room. They were like lost chickens. It was funny; not a single one could tell where the inn was.

Mrsha could. It was, well…

Actually, she doubted she could find it on a map, but she could at least get back through the door. She doubted anyone could pinpoint the spot well enough to blast it with a long-ranged spell, let alone march an army or [Assassins] in.

Leave the inn and you might be in trouble, but as a security-measure, she had to admit, her mother’s gambit had worked. Mrsha just wondered if there would be…consequences. But then, this wasn’t the most important thing of the day.

It was barely a blip on the radar, really. The inn was a flurry of motion. Calescent was packing a lunch and his death spice. Ishkr jogged into the room, breathless.

“I have the wagons ready to go. Is…is Lyonette ready?”

He asked Mrsha, who shrugged as Wall Lord Ilvriss argued with Ser Dalimont.

“I’ll go. She’s in no condition to—”

“Her Highness insists, Wall Lord.”

“She insists? Then tell her no! She’s not—we need a [Healer], not travel!”

The frantic Drake was arguing until someone spoke. Mrsha turned her head then and heard a voice which sounded like the one from yesterday. But there was a faint…rasp to it. A crack. Just like her skin, really.

“I’m fine, Ilvriss. I am going to see a Healer.”

Mrsha stared at her mother as she came over and hesitantly reached up, then thought better of it. She didn’t want to hurt Lyonette, but the [Princess] took her paw and winced.

“Ow. That only smarts a bit, sweetie. Don’t worry. I’m ready. See?”

A smile. Mrsha gazed up solemnly at Princess Lyonette du Marquin, and Nanette reached up to tug a hat she didn’t have.

“You look beautiful today, Lyonette.”

She spoke solemnly to Lyonette, and the [Princess] smiled and winced again as her lip split. She dabbed at it, then looked down anxiously at Mrsha. But all the girl wrote was…

You found something you had to do too, Mom? How does it feel?

Lyonette felt her hair and gazed into Mrsha’s cup of water. She couldn’t see well, and no one was rushing to hand her a mirror, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t quite like greying of hair; more like a spiderweb of grey in her beautiful red hair. Much like her skin, and…Mrsha peered up. Lyonette’s left eye had a crack, and the iris of that eye was grey.

“Better me than Erin. I’ll be fine. I will be.”

The [Cracked Princess] smiled again, and Mrsha hugged her. Ilvriss opened his mouth, and both glared at him, defying him to speak. After a second, he bowed, and Lyonette whispered.

“Now, I apologize but it truly was a night to remember. Now for Tessa. Wall Lord, will you tarry a moment longer? We must go, but we must have a place for her, too. But we have been remiss, you and I.”

She met his eyes, and the Drake nodded. He murmured.

“Yes, we have. What can we do this time to avoid the same tragedies as before?”

Lyonette tapped her lip once, with a finger that shook. She tried to make it stop, then just smiled as Mrsha helped her still it. She whispered softly.

“I don’t know. And it seems so silly, but we have forgotten this thing in all our bleeding and patching our wounds. I need to…to build her a proper room. To see how you treat what she’s going through. But mostly? I think we need a [Thought Healer]. Let’s find one.”

She looked around, and the Wall Lord opened his mouth to protest or downplay the notion. Then he looked around too and tried to count—who might not need one. He gazed into his cup of water. Mrsha held up a card.

Good idea, Mother. I think everyone but me needs one.

The [Princess] and her daughter giggled until they fell over laughing. Then they rose to rescue a Named-rank adventurer. Lyonette shielded her eyes as the first ray of light broke through the rains of Liscor. A moment of sunshine.

It looked like another fine day.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

It’s receding. The brain fog that is.

I am in the middle of writing the poll chapters, which I must own, I did not expect was going to be the Halfseekers. But I’ve written some darn good chapters, and just the other day, I wrote a sub 10k chapter!

I’m really mastering this ‘short story’ thing, but I woke up one day with this familiar feeling. You know that mode you get into where you’re doing chores before they’re necessary and being proactive?

I was planning the chapter out, thinking of ways all the pieces connected, and I realized then that the brain fog was reducing. When I’m in my more optimal states, I can move plotlines and characters together like that guy with all the red string in my head. Only, it’s not that hard or crazy—it just makes sense.

People often ask how I hold it together and assume a lot of work goes into the story…and it does. But it’s not always a ‘hmm, I must sit here in my thinking chair and think big thoughts’. It’s more of flashes of inspiration, of going ‘this makes sense!’ If you think hard enough about something, even in the back of your head, you add onto it. Like an idea you slowly build upwards and outwards and connect to other ideas you’ve held for a long time.

That’s my analogy, and I’m very pleased the ability is returning. I still cough a bit too much and have to blow my nose, but I’m on the mend, and the break I had in Iceland is starting to show itself in increased motivation and energy. For as long as it lasts.

I’m building up that backlog, so I can’t tell you which chapters will come after this, but I hope you really enjoyed the Lyonette arc. I do have a third Tessa chapter that’s needed—I cut the very short reunion I wrote on stream because it was too fast, too rushed, and didn’t have the gravitas it deserved.

I think Zevara and Lyonette have been great stories to write, but it is time to move from Liscor for a bit. Ironically, the Halfseekers bring us back to Liscor real fast, so I may try to fill with other chapters, but we’ll see! Thanks for reading, and wish me more clear thoughts. It’s real nice.

 

 

Cutting Bangs by Karu!

 

Fetohep Hope by Kazah! (He still lost the poll.)

 

Smug Lyonette and Yay Lyon by Bobo Plushie, commissioned by Robin!

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Bobo_Snofo

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/boboplushie

 

Ulvama Lolita, Goth Erin, Sleepy Erin, and more by Chalyon!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/chalyon

 

Rhisveri by Spooky!

 

Fishes by Phosu!

 

Lyonette by Ran Chan!

 

Izril Propoganda by Relia!

 

Mrsha, Lyonette, and Nanette by Beige Art!

 

Lyonette by Carbon!

 

Rhisveri Breakfast Animation by Sehad!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/F1F096BR

 

Rhisveri by LeChatDemon!

DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/demoniccriminal

Stash with all the TWI related art: https://sta.sh/222s6jxhlt0

 

Erin by Blukohi, commissioned by LFIM!

 

 

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