Fifty minutes later, Xinthe, who had appeared with refreshments, sliced oranges, and all a [Princess] might need, poked her head into the ballroom with some reservations.

Especially about…this. No matter what Ushar claimed about Lyonette’s innocence of intentions, it looked like—

She halted. Xinthe saw a [Princess] lying flat on her back and a Wall Lord clutching at his shins.

“Ancestors! How do they do that? I think I’ve snapped something.”

“It…it’s not fair! I used to dance like that!”

Lyonette wailed. She was visibly exhausted and tried to sit upright.

“One more try! One more—Dalimont, help me up!”

She waved her arms, and the Thronebearer motioned for Xinthe.

“Your Highness, perhaps a rest?”

“Damn the rest! I can dance! Just—just get me a stamina potion! Mrsha du Marquin, stop that!”

Mrsha stopped running around the ballroom. She and Ekirra were playing soccer with Kenva, Rittane, and Visma on the other team. Lyonette scowled.

“This is a ballroom!”

Exactly, but it sucks. Calanfer’s sigil sucks! Hexel only put it there so you’d be happy. We’re gonna tear it up and put a cooler thing there. Like the Order of Solstice’s flames.

“Don’t you dare, young lady! Don’t you—ooh. Wait, multi-colored flames spiralling out of the center? I…hm…but we are dancing here!”

Ekirra kicked the ball, and it bounced off a wall, hit a chandelier—the crash made the kids flee. Xinthe slowly put down her tray and went to get a broom. Wall Lord Ilvriss held his shins.

“At least it’s exercise.”

[Wall Lord of Corporate Opulence Level 38!]

[Wall Lord of the 5th Rank maintained.]

[Skill – Adaptive Plumbing Obtained!]

[Skill – Fancy Footwork Obtained!]

Wall Lord Ilvriss got up in the night, stared at his aching shins, then walked over to a wall. He began slamming his head into it repeatedly until his neighbor, Rosencrantz, knocked on his door and asked if he could keep it down.

——

Wall Lord Ilvriss supposed that surviving the Hunter-Killer, besting Ulva Terland, and his work with the dig site and the cookout had all contributed to this level.

Dancing was part of a [Lord]’s repertoire. It was just…

“[Adaptive Plumbing]? Really?”

He couldn’t meet Lyonette’s eyes as she snorted, utterly appalled. She was trying not to make fun of him, but he stared at his breakfast: poached eggs on toast, plain, for the road. He didn’t deserve anything else.

“It, ah, might have been me thinking of some projects I wanted to achieve at the dig site. And [Fancy Footwork] is a standard in many classes! It’s just—”

He knew where his heart lay! He wanted a digging Skill, a mass combat Skill, an anti-undead Skill! Ilvriss put his head down, and Lyonette turned sympathetic.

“I’m sorry, Ilvriss. Look, it was probably just an excess Skill. You get those! Look at me, I’ve got, er, [Endowment of the Thief] and I’ve never used it properly! Sometimes, you get superfluous or edge case Skills since our noble classes get so many.”

“Fascinating. And here I thought Erin was the one who wasted all her Skills and potential. You truly are her heir to the inn.”

Lyonette gasped. Nanette and Mrsha fell over each other laughing and cheering the Wall Lord. He felt bad; he got snappish when on the defensive. She delicately put a fork’s tines between one of his neck spines and levered it back. When his head rose, she gave him a cool gaze.

“Wall Lord, I trust you’ll be back on Beithday after returning to your dig.”

“Beithday? Why so soon?”

She gave him a sweet smile.

“To continue our practice. Do remember to stretch nightly.”

Then she let his face plop down in his eggs again. Lyonette smirked for a moment, then lost it when Nanette and Mrsha gave her looks.

Whoa, too far. Lyonette hesitated. Ilvriss looked so miserable.

“I just—oh come, I can’t tease? I am sorry, Ilvriss.”

“It’s fine, Lyonette. I just wish I could get something. It’s damn hard to level a [Lord] class, as you well know. But I didn’t even update my rank! I’m still just 5th Depth. You’d think someday I’d hit the 6th Depth. But no.”

“…Say what now?”

Nanette had stopped munching down on her breakfast. She peered up, and Ilvriss hesitated, then coughed.

“What? Nothing. Say, you know, I wanted to consult with Captain Earlia and her team about digging…”

He got up and hurried off, egg still on his face as Lyonette turned to Ushar. Then hurried after him.

——

Captain Earlia was a very helpful woman to talk to. She was a former [Miner] and liked to hear about Ilvriss’ woes. Not that she professed to be better than a company of Drakes from Salazsar.

“I knew the [Ranchers] would be trouble. Magic spells stop working at around a thousand feet?”

“Eight hundred. The [Geomancers] shift as slowly as someone with a shovel whenever we hit magicore. Slower, then stop after twenty minutes and complain they’re out of mana.”

Earlia chuckled knowingly.

“Checks out. We tried having [Mages] with us, but the moment they run into any stone that eats mana, they’re tapped. Pretty funny too. Some hotshot Wistram [Mage] gets called in for some noble’s project and tells us all to leave. Ten minutes later, they’re begging to have us back. Er, no offense.”

“None taken. You wouldn’t happen to be interested in overseeing any of it, would you?”

She shuddered.

“What, a project that big? We’re not that good, Wall Lord, and I like my job.”

“Damn. But if you had any recommendations—”

He was showing her the plans of the sites and talking over local rock when Lyonette squeezed onto the bar next to Ilvriss.

“Hello, Earlia, Ilvriss. Don’t mind me. I just had a question, Ilvriss, about something you said—”

“Ah, look at the time. I should be preparing to go back at some point. You know, I need to buy souvenirs to keep up morale in camp.”

Ilvriss rose and excused himself. He walked towards the common room exit and glanced over his shoulder. Lyonette was striding after him.

Well, rockmites in his stew. He really shouldn’t have mentioned…Ilvriss peered around. Then he opened the door, shut it behind him, and ran down the hallway.

“Liska, pretend I went to Pallass!”

“What? Oh, sure—”

He slammed the door, cast around, and ran out the actual door to the inn. Then he charged through the rain. Maybe she’d give up on it—

Ancestors, who was he kidding? At least it was somewhat funny. Ilvriss searched for a hiding spot.

——

The aquarium was quite lovely. It had sea anemones, kelp, and exotic fishes already. Hexel had bought a bunch as a showcase, and a fish with beautiful ‘wings’, the flying fish that could leap out of the water at great speed, was doing so now in the room filled with blue light.

An Antinium woman was sprinkling fish food into the aquarium, cooing to the fish.

“Hello, my little fishy friends. You can fly. I can fly. It is not cheating on birds if you can fl—”

She half-turned, and Ilvriss hesitated, shuffling his feet.

“I was just hiding from Lyonette, Bird—”

“It’s just a passing interest! Do not judge me! Aaaaah!”

Bird threw up her hands and would have tried to drown herself in the tank but for Ilvriss reassuring her that he didn’t judge her for her fishy dalliances. She ended up showing him the fish in the tank.

“They are quite delightful, though I think Hexel does not know which fish survive with which. The anemones have eaten several smaller fishes.”

“Ah, should we tell him…?”

“Well, he and his apprentices keep coming in and nabbing fish as snacks. So no, I do not think he cares. Would you like a fish, Wall Lord?”

“Hmm, freshly grilled with Calescent’s seasoning? Or a sushi?”

Bird edged over and put an arm around Ilvriss’ shoulders.

“I may like sushi. But this is a secret that will ruin my reputation. So I—”

They jumped as the door slammed open, and Lyonette, panting, pointed.

“Aha! There you are!”

“I was just flirting with Wall Lord Ilvriss, nothing else!”

Bird leapt up, making excuses. Lyonette halted, and Mrsha and Nanette peered in after Ilvriss. And he? He just chuckled ruefully.

“Oh, come on in. Let’s have some sushi since I think I got most of the egg on my face. In the breakfast nook? I’d like to eat there. It’s not the biggest secret around. I’m surprised Calanfer doesn’t have the same, but perhaps it’s too young or something.”

He led the way upstairs, sighing.

——

“It’s a sub-class. Or something. The world of levels has depths. If you have long-standing organizations, you get classes themed around it. Like [Knight of Gura] is a class. Salazsar’s been around longer than most—so at some point we began getting unique…ranks.”

So [Wall Lord of the 5th Rank] isn’t a real class?

“It’s a rank. Different from a class.”

Mrsha held up a card as Ilvriss munched on some fresh sushi in the lovely breakfast nook. Nanette was agog with delight.

“Mother said covens could have those, but only the really old ones! You have to have a purpose or place or—what do you get?”

“A lot less levels.”

Ilvriss grumbled. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t hit Level 40, despite all he’d been through.

Well…aside from the Meeting of Tribes and Winter Solstice, he hadn’t done that much to credit his class. He’d been low level 30 when he’d tried to take on Zel, and vastly outmatched. However—

“My father hit the 7th Rank. Which tells you how much he’s done for Salazsar in his lifetime. I tried. I’ve given to charitable causes, grown my company as best I could—it’s still part of Salazsar, so it counts—but there’s nothing like fighting in wars for your city.”

So it’s an incentive to be good and help out? Classic Drakes, am I right?

Mrsha was teasing gently, but Ilvriss nodded.

“I doubt Pallass has it anymore. Oteslia…I think they do something with [Druids]. Manus is all army. Though I think they have classes above [General], so that’s something. And Zeres uses their authority to create the Serpentine Matriarch, who’s functionally a Ruler class.”

“Right, right, but what do you get?”

Lyonette wanted to know, and Ilvriss, amused, just sipped from his cup.

“Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t—ow!”

Everyone had poked him. Ilvriss sighed.

“It’s not great, okay? It’s one Skill or Condition or even a [Sword Dance] or something every time you achieve a new Rank. Something you can only get from Salazsar. It slows levelling a bit—but it is rewarding the higher rank you are. Allegedly.”

He grumbled to himself. Lyonette murmured.

“Did Marquin have…? Is it because we’re too young as a kingdom?”

Might just be Calanfer’s not cool enough. Yeow!

Mrsha got another poke, but Ilvriss high-fived her. He snorted.

“It might legitimately be that. My father hit the 7th Rank, and guess what he got? [Company: The Lucre of Drakes]. It means every hundred thousand swings or so, someone tends to find an extra gemstone. Sounds bad, but he got it right as he was retiring and I was taking over. Alrric tried to calculate how much it’s made House Gemscale over the decades. Before that, he gained [Swordmaster of Salazsar: Diamond Cleave]. He’s never been well enough to use it. Damn, I should have asked. But it’s secret.”

“So this is a secret only known to Salazsar’s Walled Families?”

“Yep. Well, it’s not just the Holders of the Wall, but it is regarded as classified information we keep the public from knowing.”

It wasn’t that important, actually, but Ilvriss was rewarded by their beaming faces. He just sighed.

“I’m 5th Rank. I thought beating Zel would get me to 6th, but I think staying in Liscor and, uh, taking the Gnolls’ side aren’t really patriotic things to do. My best Skill is [Formation: Opulence Guard]. Because of my class. The more expensive your gear, the sturdier you are for the Skill’s duration.”

Nothing incredible. Very respectable, obviously, but…he sighed.

“And now I have [Adaptive Plumbing].”

Everyone sniggered, but gently, and Mrsha put a solemn paw on Ilvriss’ shoulders.

When you gotta poo real bad, Wall Lord, you will thank your Skill. Incidentally, do you think I could be a good Wall Lord? I’m technically related to royalty or something, but I don’t mind switching nations.

“Mrsha du Marquin! You’re Calanfer’s daughter!”

Yeah, and what’s that gotten me? Marquin’s one-breasted breastplate that Dame Ushar stabbed? No thank you. All you’ve got is an empty walk-in closet for a Skill, Mom. Ilvriss, whaddya say?

“You wouldn’t be the first Wall Lady as a Gnoll, even right now, Mrsha, and Tasilt’s son does have the 1st Rank class. So Salazsar acknowledges him. Tell you what, I’ll write up the adoption papers today.”

“Ha ha, very funny, you two—”

That did make Ilvriss feel better. Even if he wished he were even Level 40.

At least the Wall Lord had something to do all day. He ate sushi then asked the others to help him buy gifts for the camp, not wanting to go back to his mundane, boring, stinking—

Welsca ran into the breakfast nook, soaked from the rain, still in her pajamas. Which had little miniature Dragons in colored thread. Nanette instantly wanted a copy.

“Wall Lord! They dug up something major! And there was an incident at the dig s—”

Wall Lord Ilvriss was running for the portal door before she finished getting down the stairs.

——

They caught Ilvriss up to speed as he rode into camp. It was a flurry of voices. It was none other than young Wall Lord Dramm who reported in, which dismayed Ilvriss until he realized all the real officers were actually at the danger site.

“We’ve sealed off the tunnel, sir. It’s some kind of mining shaft.”

“One of ours?”

“Nossir. A…new one. Infested with advanced undead. The Rubirel Guard engaged them to seal the hole and recover the [Advance Miner] who entered it.”

“Oh no. Are they dead?”

Ilvriss expected the worst; he knew the job, but to his surprise, Dramm shook his head.

“They, uh, got lucky. It’s Georgie, sir.”

“Oh, the troublemaker. How’d he make it? Advanced undead? What kind?”

“Spidercrawler, Sneaking Devourer, and an Invisible Ghoul were what the Rubirel Guard reported.”

That drew Ilvriss up short.

“Really? Dead gods! Make sure that cordon has detection spells! How’d Georgie get out of there? Escape Skills?”

Dramm was following, a bit nervous. He cleared his throat a few times.

“Nossir. Apparently, he went in when he should have fallen back. We found an enchanted pickaxe on him and an artifact lantern in his bag of holding. It appears he may have been trying to make off with some of the items. Then ran into the undead.”

“Serves him right.”

Welsca glared, and Ilvriss half-nodded.

“A hazard of the job, but if he survived—again, how? I know he was earmarked for our special initiatives, but he’s only just past Level 30.”

“Level 3…6 today, sir. Two levels from surviving. As to how, he used the pickaxe and a Skill. Collapsed the tunnel onto himself, which bought enough time for the Rubirel Guard to deploy.”

“Smart man.”

Ilvriss admired those instincts. Dramm shifted as he tried to keep up again.

“Yessir, Wall Lord Ilvriss, sir. The thing is—there’s complications. You should speak to the [Healer]. He’s under guard. The undead did savage him up, but no lost limbs, and we had to put a potion on him.”

They’d gotten some from Lyonette and the inn, so this wasn’t a huge concern to Ilvriss. He frowned, wondering what had Dramm antsy. But the mine took precedence.

There were nasty undead down there, and the Rubirel Guard themselves didn’t fancy engaging unknown undead in the dark. Ilvriss gave quick orders.

“Firstly, I want no one speaking of this. Lock down information. Alrric has [Corporate Secrets]; have him deploy the Skill until further notice. Second, we need to clear the mine and dig carefully. Do we have eyes down there?”

Osthia, under her guise as Asrira Shieldscale, nodded to him.

“We do, Wall Lord. We put a movable sensor spell down the shaft, rolled it around. There are a lot of undead. Several hundred, all pretty advanced.”

“So there were a hundred or so [Miners] here? How old?”

He glanced around, and one of his [Mages] coughed.

“Probably far more, Wall Lord. Undead combine and some, like the Spidercrawler, are the product of multiple bodies. This isn’t even a high-magic area. Some of the dropped equipment maybe gave off residue, but if it’s like the pickaxe, the magical bleed is virtually nil. The fact they advanced to this level indicates a long, long gestation cycle. And far more bodies originally.”

“How many?”

“Could be over a thousand were here and amalgamated, sir. Not much more than that or we’d see a Wailing Pit or super-undead.”

A thousand and a long time. Ilvriss glanced at Osthia and felt it.

This is it. But they had to be careful and slow, and apparently, there was one last problem.

“Sir, we went to both ends of the mine shafts. It’s an odd construction. Lots of zigzag patterns which is fair enough, but it looks like they were exploring. The thing is…there’s no exit. Nor entry.”

“What?”

He turned to one of his [Foremen], Dirr, and the Gnoll wore an unsettled expression.

“Just as I said, sir. They showed it to me, and I mapped it out, here.”

He showed Ilvriss a familiar diagram, and Ilvriss stared. There was indeed no exit or entrance.

“The mine leads nowhere?”

“It looks like they collapsed the lower exit, sir. Deliberately. Which indicates there might be something down there. If we can dig that deep…we’ll excavate it. But right now, we need to breach the tunnel carefully. There aren’t actually many ways in. There’s a lot of stone, and those supports are amazingly hard, as are the tiles. It’s why the undead never got out. That and they probably didn’t sense any life this far down. We need to clear it. I suggest we send for adventurers. Heidan the Fireball if he can make it.”

Ilvriss listened to one of his officers, then turned.

“No adventurers. This is a Gemscale operation. The Rubirel Guard will clear this tunnel with [Soldiers]. Captain Asrira will take charge. Once she’s healed.”

“Sir!”

The soldiers didn’t necessarily like the order; monsters were not the same as the foes they liked to face, who were other soldiers. But Ilvriss wanted no one blabbing.

This was it. They just had to clear the mines, and he let Osthia talk about protocols and the time it’d take to slowly weed the monsters out—it didn’t matter. Ilvriss was galvanized.

Right up until he heard the horns blow. He turned and groaned.

“Oh n—”

——

Marvus Lischelle laid Ilvriss out with a punch, went to stomp on his chest, and only when two Rubirel Guard tackled him did he run for it. Wall Lord Ilvriss lay on his back.

“Well, that took the victory out of things nicely. Tell me they don’t know.”

One of his [Aides] was lying flat on his face.

“Nossir. Just a regular raid.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

Just another reminder these damn fights were draining manpower. Ilvriss sat up and groaned as he saw streams of cattle racing away.

“How many did they get with all our people down there?”

“Er…eight hundred, sir.”

“Eight h—”

——

The provisions Ilvriss had bought to boost morale turned out to be needed that night. He nursed his sore jaw as he told Osthia to not make it obvious she was taking troops away while clearing monsters.

And now we need diggers more than ever. You’d think they’d need only soldiers now, but no, they needed to widen this shaft to bring down troops in good order, not in a treacherous single-file. They needed to open the mine shaft, then close it with speed.

Still, progress. Apparently, there were magical items in the tunnel, dropped by the [Miners] who’d starved or even suffocated, to hear the [Mages] speculate. Ilvriss had seen the pickaxe that Georgie had found. He stared at it.

This is the most beautiful pickaxe I’ve ever seen. There is nothing like it in Salazsar. Maybe the museums—but we used our old gear until it broke.

He wanted it appraised. Because he suspected the appraisal would tell him what he wanted to be true.

This was gear only a Walled City in its prime could manufacture. The City of Purity’s equipment.

They were onto it. Only, his [Geomancers] said they didn’t detect anything underneath the mines, just the mines themselves. Was this some kind of offshoot mining operation from the city? It had to be nearby.

Dig and dig more. Ilvriss’ spirits rose and fell, and he wondered if the Terlands were going to kill him. Stress.

He wanted to go back to the inn. Oh, right, stretching for the dance. At least that was fun. And he’d sent the letter for the poor boy who’d jumped in the bull’s pen. His family might have…questions. Who was he again? Oh, right.

Liuss.

Ilvriss felt tired again. And they’d nearly lost a good [Miner] on the dig. Fighting monsters would lead to casualties.

So busy was the Wall Lord he forgot about one last thing he apparently needed to do. It was only when Dramm came by again that Ilvriss frowned.

“Georgie. Right. Something was off about him? Infection?”

“Nossir. It’s, uh—it’s hard to say.”

Dramm stood there, saluting. Oddly formal. Ilvriss eyed him.

“Just spit it out, lad.”

The young Drake’s mouth worked. And he had no idea what to say.

——

Wall Lord Dramm had thought this job sucked, no matter what his father, Brilm, had said. He knew Brilm wanted to help his friend, but it was…politics. The Wall Lord had taken his eldest son aside and spelled it out for him before Dramm had applied for the expedition.

“Listen, Dramm. Ilvriss is my friend. I’ve known him since we were hatchlings. I trust him like you trust your mates. Heh. Stupid word. Look, here’s the thing. I trust him, but he’s made odd decisions. Changed since Liscor. Now, we all want to know what’s going on with this weird dig.”

“Who, Father?”

“Everyone. You just report to me. Be precise. Don’t mess around or get kicked off. Got it? Ilvriss is fair; he might promote you, and then you’d gain some actual damn levels. Just…let me know what happens, alright?”

Dramm got that. Corporate espionage was normal. He bet there were other spies in Ilvriss’ expedition who also sent word to their employers. It was obvious there was something valuable here, or why else dig? What Dramm didn’t get was, well, Ilvriss himself.

The Wall Lord wasn’t like his father said he should be. Or like other Wall Lords. He didn’t take Dramm out drinking. Apparently, he’d stopped. He socialized and was friendly, but he was all work.

Most Wall Lords quit at, like, 1 PM. Brilm did and left it to his subordinates. But Ilvriss would be at a dig site all day until dusk, which meant Dramm and the younger leaders had to do the same.

Then he put other oddities in place. Like…he encouraged subordinates to skip parties he threw, which was weird. And he hired so many Gnolls…not that Dramm hated Gnolls. It was just, why not Drakes? There were more Drakes than Gnolls in Salazsar; Gnolls had a temper and got weird and touchy.

Then had come the cookout, and Dramm had thought he’d had Ilvriss all figured out. He had been about to write to Brilm it was so obvious. That woman, Lyonette. Duh. The Wall Lord was any male Drake. Well, Humans were a bit weird, but he had that [Courtesan], only she was pretty plain for someone who was apparently high-level…

Then had come Liuss. Dramm still had nightmares about it. He saw Liuss hesitating before jumping the fence, and then the angry braying and his body going up in the air like a doll—

Everyone had thought it was funny. It wasn’t Dramm’s fault. They’d all said it. But he’d been the ranking officer, and Ilvriss had looked at him and—

Damn Humans. That haunted Dramm. But he just didn’t understand Ilvriss, even now. His father kept writing to demand updates on the Terlands and things Dramm was kept out of the loop of. Captain Asrira was a cold fish who didn’t chat with him at all. Didn’t respect his rank, and she was military, so he couldn’t make her tell him things—

The mineshaft incident should have been simple. They found the treasure. Something buried there—tell his father. Get a share of the glory from whatever Ilvriss found.

Easy, right? Only, one last headache for Dramm. And this one wasn’t even his fault! Ilvriss stared at him like he was an idiot, but then he got up.

“I see I need to witness this complication myself. Lead the way, Dramm.”

“Yessir, sorry, sir.”

Dramm marched stiffly to the [Healer]’s tent, conscious of the eyes of Foreman Dirr and a few other people on him. The Rubirel Guard, the [Advance Miners], and the officers had all seen the—complication.

They’d told everyone to shut up, but the rumors were probably all through camp. Dramm had done his best and told Ilvriss that. The Wall Lord just gave him a patient gaze.

“And the nature of the issue is?”

“I don’t know how to say, sir.”

Dramm really didn’t. Ilvriss sighed.

“Proceed. Ah, here we are. Healer, Georgie, is everything alr—”

There was a clamor in the [Healer]’s tent. An angry, shouting voice Dramm knew well and an upset [Healer]. Two soldiers barking.

“Lie down! Lie back down!”

“I’m out of here! Get out of my w—”

Wall Lord Ilvriss walked through the tent flaps as Georgie tried to tear out of the two soldiers’ grips and the [Healer] waved her hands. He was throwing fists, cursing. He turned, punched, and clocked Ilvriss in the jaw right as the Wall Lord walked in.

The same spot that he’d just been punched by the [Cattle Baron]. Ilvriss wobbled. Georgie froze, and so did the [Healer], [Soldiers], and Dramm.

Uh oh. Dramm backed up, but Ilvriss didn’t draw his sword or punch the luckless [Advance Miner] out. He just held up a claw, closed his eyes, and exhaled.

“This day gets worse and worse. Miner Georgie, there had better be a damn good reason for you to be fighting with my people. I’m glad you’re w—”

He stopped and blinked. Ilvriss stared at Georgie and saw the issue. So did Dramm.

[Advance Miner] Georgie was not well from his run-in with the undead. Despite a healing potion, he had visibly regrown scales on his ribs, legs, and the potion must not have been all-encompassing; he had plenty of nicks and cuts, numerous bitemarks. A huge section of his thigh was off-colored. Exactly the size of a rather large mouth that had eaten…

He was lucky to be alive. The [Healer] had cut his shirt and pants off, bandaged him up and been applying a poultice. Georgie didn’t look like he should be walking; his scales were very pale, not their classic green. Because of that, he was in a fair state of undress, despite the robes he’d wrapped around himself, but his punching at the [Soldiers] had shifted them.

Which revealed, to Dramm’s keen eyes, the problem. He stared at the two rather obvious things that he was pretty sure Georgie shouldn’t have.

Breasts.

And, he hadn’t seen the other bits, but it had been confirmed to him that [Advance Miner] Georgie, the annoying fellow, the troublemaker, was in fact…

Ilvriss’ eyes lifted to stare at Georgie’s face. Dramm’s stayed low. Ilvriss blinked.

“Oh, a Turnsc—”

He hesitated. And the word made the two [Soldiers] pause. The [Healer] was waving her claws, but she didn’t want to touch the [Miner]. Georgie paled, then tried to shove past Ilvriss.

“Let me go. I’m out of—”

He—she—was trying to push out. Dramm put his claws out.

“Ma’am, Miss, you’re not allowed to leave.”

Georgie snarled, and Dramm would have happily put the idiot on his ass any day of the week. Only, it turned out Georgie was actually a woman. Dramm didn’t hit w—

Ilvriss saw the [Advance Miner] punch the younger Wall Lord straight in the face. He was rather gratified to see Dramm go down in a single punch. It made him feel better. He cleared his throat.

“I think I’d like some explanations.”

Georgie turned to run and saw the entire camp eying him. He hesitated, went pale, and backed up into the tent. Ilvriss rubbed at his jaw again.

Damn, it hurt. And he felt like, somewhere, Erin Solstice was laughing at him. None of his business at the moment. He just had to say that to her face.

——

“Some clarity. Healer Chali, is Georgie’s present…condition the result of the undead attack? The pickaxe? Er, the healing potion malfunctioning in some spectacular way?”

The Drake [Healer] hesitated as, later, Ilvriss sat in his tent, holding an icepack to his jaw. Georgie was in the [Healer]’s tent with guards posted. Dramm was resting.

“No, Wall Lord. That is to say, that’s what Georgie claimed when he—she—woke up and realized I’d removed her clothing.”

“I see. But we could take them at their word—”

Chali shook her head.

“No, Wall Lord. It was an excuse. There was no magical residue on them, and the potion I applied personally. It only recovered wounds. The first thing Georgie tried to do was convince me to stay silent. Then they made up the lie.”

“So this isn’t a magical effect.”

“No, Wall Lord. They were just…pretending to be male.”

The [Healer] seemed as baffled as Ilvriss felt. He drummed his claws on the table.

“I don’t understand. It’s not like we pay based on gender like other companies. And there are female mining groups, male, mixed—did they assume another name? Do they have a criminal background?”

He was running down the list of options, but the most obvious one was the one Chali brought up.

“I think, Wall Lord, that Georgie was just…pretending. To be male.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, sir. But they’re very clearly ill. I can refer them to a sanitorium in the Walled Cities, and I know Wall Lord Dramm ordered everyone to keep silent, but I heard the [Soldiers] talking.”

Ilvriss sat there, stumped. He was trying to wrap his head around this one.

“But why would someone want to pretend to be a man? I mean, what’s the point? Is that—that’s being a Turnscale. I think. Is that being a Turnscale?”

He didn’t actually know. Ilvriss thought he knew what Turnscales were. Erin had told him, and he wasn’t an idiot. It was when two male Drakes or two female Drakes…you heard about [Soldiers] going crazy during long deployments, but you’d crack down on that hard.

Only, according to Erin, he was on the wrong side of that line of thinking, and she had asked him, to his face, to help with their rights and equality. And he’d agreed, but thought…

Damn it. Was she laughing at him? It wasn’t very funny. Ilvriss had the City of Purity to dig up, but somehow, he was dealing with this.

“Advance Miner Georgie found the mineshaft I believe I wanted at great personal risk. He mitigated that by possibly stealing—”

“She, sir.”

Chali interrupted. Ilvriss paused.

“Right, she. Either way, Georgie is also under investigation for theft! I imagine this is more pressing than the Turnscale business?”

He turned to the [Healer], and her lips compressed.

“I can’t speak on Georgie’s record with the company, sir. But I can refer them to the sanatorium. As a [Healer], it is a matter of moral decency.”

“The thefts?”

“Them being a Turnscale, Wall Lord.”

“Ah.”

He stared at her. Ilvriss glanced down at his feet. The City of—he nodded.

“I’ll consider my next course of action, Healer. As Dramm ordered, keep quiet about this.”

She bowed, appearing uncertain, and he rubbed at his forehead. Ilvriss had no idea what to make of all this, so he sent for someone who thankfully was an expert, or so he hoped.

——

Xesci heard out the vaguely convoluted string of events and sat there, cross-legged. They’d had to pull her from the brothel where she was working.

Baffling to Ilvriss why anyone…but she was in a Gnoll’s body today, rather short for one, with jet black fur. She sniffed.

“This place stinks. It’s gotten worse since you dug that mine shaft up, and not just the undead. They’re actually pleasant by comparison.”

“Xesci, please. I need consultation. What do you make of all this? Could it be a magical effect? The City of Purity?”

She blinked at him, then bared her teeth in a toothy smirk.

“What? Oh, that’s simple. Georgie’s just a man.”

Ilvriss relaxed and stood up.

“Ah, so it was a magical effect. Perfect. Do you think it was the pickaxe or—?”

“He’s a man trapped in the wrong body. He always was.”

Ilvriss sat back down. His head began to ache.

“I don’t follow.”

The [Courtesan of Change] stretched her back out, sighing.

“Nothing in your life would help you with that, Wall Lord. Ancestors, I hate this conversation. Let’s see if you can keep up. Georgie’s a man.”

“But she—”

Xesci wiped at something in her nether regions, balled up a wad of cotton, and tossed it at him. Ilvriss dodged with a shout.

“Xesci!”

“You were doing well, Wall Lord. He’s what he is. I recognized him in a moment, of course. I can always tell with Turnscales. I make them very uncomfortable and worried. They’ve tried to assassinate me before. I try not to take it personally.”

She was always like this. Too calm, too odd, but in this case, Ilvriss had to bark back.

“Xesci, stop—cleaning yourself and make sense of this!”

She shot to her feet and growled at him, hackles rising.

“I just did. Whoops, sorry, temper. This body’s all fire. It’s simple, Wall Lord. Imagine that this pickaxe here was enchanted. You pick it up, you switch genders. Wall Lord Ilvriss becomes Wall Lady Ilvriss. Very demure, same scale coloration, but I imagine you’d probably wear heels.”

She waved the pickaxe at him. Ilvriss eyed it. She held it out. He didn’t take it.

“That’s not the effect. Correct? We haven’t had it appraised—”

Xesci rolled her eyes.

“Ilvriss, it doesn’t do that. But imagine you picked it up. I imagine you’d be unhappy with that change.”

She eyed him.

“…You probably would be. Some take to it.”

“Are there spells like that out there in point of fact or—?”

“Oh, absolutely. You run into all sorts in my line of work. I heard an old Face of the south say they used to use that on other Drakes. Obviously, because to them it was worse than death. But the blood feuds got so bad over it—”

“Wait, wait, wait. This kind of thing is normal?”

Ilvriss couldn’t believe that, and Xesci hesitated. Her tail lifted, and the tip pointed down until she traced a figure eight on the floor in front of them. Ilvriss stared at it. He’d never seen any Drake with as much tail control as Xesci. The [Courtesan] frowned.

“No, not normal. I just ran into it now and then. Three times in my life feels like a lot. There’s a Skill, artifact, or just tonic, and it changes someone’s life forever.”

“But it’s not around any more? Or was that some alchemical recipe passed down…?”

“No, the materials were lost apparently. And, well, if someone finds the artifact that does it, inevitably it goes missing.”

“Why?”

She smiled, briefly at him. Her voice kindly, as if it were obvious.

“Because someone takes it and vanishes. The curse to other people is something that one person will do anything for, Wall Lord. But we were speaking of how it feels. So…imagine how it would be if you were hit by a potion that turned you female. What would that be like? What would you do?”

Ilvriss tried. He didn’t really want to.

“Unpleasant. I’d search for a cure. Where is this going?”

“Well, imagine someone handed Georgie that pickaxe when he was a baby, right when he was born.”

“But no one did—”

“Imagine it, Wall Lord. Use your head.”

He did. He credited his Erin-experience with that and being able to yank himself out of just the standard incredulity or confusion of a moment. Ilvriss rubbed at his temples.

“Alright. I see it now. But how did Georgie know…?”

“He knows because he knows himself. So would you.”

“Even as a child?”

“If someone put you in a dress, made you play with girls, or told you to kiss other boys when you really wanted to—”

“Alright, alright, I get it.”

Ilvriss sat back down and stared at the ceiling. He muttered.

“So that’s also what being a Turnscale is? I see why Healer Chali and Dramm were so upset.”

“Want me to throw something else at you?”

Ilvriss raised his claws rapidly.

“I see why they’re upset! It flies in the face of Drake culture, Xesci. I, personally? I’m rather more invested in Georgie being accused of theft! The City of Purity! If I’m really, truly honest? I don’t care. I have bigger gems to mine!”

He snapped at her and braced for her to toss something unmentionable at him, which would ruin his entire day if he was hit despite the discovery. But Xesci just sat there and smiled wearily.

“If every Drake shared your point of view, Ilvriss, I think Turnscales would be a lot happier. Where’s Georgie now?”

“In the Healer’s Tent. Why?”

“Under guard?”

“He tried to run away and punched me. And the theft.”

“Good. No one will try to kill him tonight. You’d better let him run or figure out what to do. You don’t have long.”

The Wall Lord sat up slightly. And there it was. He recalled the panic on Georgie’s face when he’d seen the camp. He recalled Erin’s warnings.

“They wouldn’t…”

“You think they wouldn’t beat him to death? Maybe not in this group, Wall Lord. You act like you’ve never seen a Turnscale getting lynched or tossed off the walls.”

She eyed his face.

“…Well, maybe no one’s done it, high as you live up there. And I imagine Salazsarians in the Walled Families handle things internally. Poison or being locked up in a sanitorium. You do like your institutions in the City of Gems. One for the elderly, one for anyone you think is crazy.”

“The retirement homes are so they’re cared for and happy.”

“Oh, sure. A bundle of happiness up there.”

Every time he talked to Xesci, she threw him. Mostly because he wanted to argue with her based on what he believed or had been taught the world was, and he had a sinking suspicion she saw the world more clearly than he did.

She reminded him of Erin, but older, more experienced, and way crasser about sex. Ilvriss sat there.

“I don’t understand. No…I feel uncomfortable, Xesci. Don’t throw things at me.”

“I won’t if you’re honest. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

She watched as he sat, not squirming, or rather, most of his body. But his tail was making weird squiggly shapes. It curled up again and again on itself as Ilvriss pulled a face.

“Two Drakes kissing each other who aren’t…it makes my scales itch. Georgie? I don’t get it. It feels wrong. It feels like I shouldn’t stand for it, but that’s much the same feeling I used to get about, well, Nerul. Anyone who objected to Salazsar going to war a traitor.”

He remembered that. The Wall Lord turned to Xesci.

“Anyone who wanted to be friendly with a Human a fool. Then Zel told me I was an idiot. He wasn’t the first one, you know.”

“It wouldn’t have worked the first time. Tell me. Who was your first?”

She cupped her chin in her claws, genuinely interested, and he hesitated.

“Wording aside—it was my friend, Tasilt. He married a Gnoll. We fought about it, and he punched me in the face. The first time he ever hit me like that. I wasn’t a good friend, but I continued to associate with him, and I saw how he was treated. I think that…then there was Alrric, a Gnoll who was unquestionably the best at what he did. And I suppose, by the time I met Periss—she didn’t challenge me aside from being my junior. But her parents were mixed-species. One a Gnoll, one a Drake. That would have been enough for some Drakes to avoid associating with her, or even hiring her. But I fell in love. These are not big things.”

But it had changed him, even among Wall Lords, even though he’d been as hidebound and arrogant as many. In a way, it relieved Ilvriss.

It was not just Liscor. Even if that had been a catalyst. He twiddled his claws.

“Nevertheless, it feels like a lifetime of being a fool and feeling things are wrong only to realize you were the wrong one after all. The feeling’s not always right. The feeling is just what I think I should feel, so I’m receptive that I can be wrong. But it still feels…”

The Wall Lord shuddered, and he couldn’t help it. Xesci peered at him and spoke cautiously.

“Wall Lord, you’re rather courageous. You want to fight the Necromancer himself, and you’ve shrugged off a Terland assassination attempt. You are less bothered about that than this.”

“I’m hardly happy about either.”

He tried to smile, but she tilted her head at him.

“Your feelings about Georgie shouldn’t matter. Treat him like an annoying, thieving [Miner]. But perhaps understand why he steals and has a bad reputation. I imagine he bounces from company to company. Especially if someone begins eying him sideways. You can’t build a life if you’re always worried about being found out. Well, unless you’re Alrric.”

The Wall Lord froze.

“Is Alrric a—?”

“Doombearer.”

Ilvriss unfroze. Sat down, then laughed. He brushed at his forehead.

“Dead gods, Xesci! Is that all? Wait, really?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t tell secrets, but you did employ me to find the Necromancer’s minions, so…”

Ilvriss rubbed at his forehead.

“Actually, that makes…there are clues. Mountain’s riches, you’re incredible Xesci. And terrifying. You haven’t told anyone else, correct?”

She shook her head, and he steepled his claws.

“Don’t tell anyone. I’ll honor his secrecy. Alright, I see Georgie’s concern, especially in light of the danger. Do I have the facts?”

She tilted her head. He watched her tail before realizing a Gnoll’s tail wasn’t as adaptive, but she sat so still he couldn’t read her. As good as Nerul with her body. Xesci spoke slowly.

“I think you don’t understand just what it’s like to be a Turnscale, Ilvriss. More danger, more fear, more…pain than you think.”

“Well, I’ll have to settle for you educating me. There’s no other frame of reference I have. I’ve never met a Turnscale. I mean, unless there was one in hiding?”

He turned to her, and she raised her eyebrows.

“No one, really?”

For just a second, Ilvriss wavered, and he thought of Navine. Hadn’t Xesci said…? No, she’d said two female Drakes. Navine had always been a rebel and someone who tried things. It didn’t mean she was—

Not that he was about to disown her. You heard stories of Drakes on campaign in all-male regiments getting a bit desperate. The same for Zel; Ilvriss had never seen anything, and the Drake himself had never brought up any of the scurrilous allegations you heard in private. Ilvriss stuck to his crossbows.

“Not definitively, no. Certain behavior? Perhaps, but that’s a serious accusation—er, I don’t care to point claws! So, no!”

Xesci’s eyes narrowed as Ilvriss blustered.

“Do you want me to tell you? Because I don’t think I should. Alrric’s a dangerous man, even if I think he’s fairly loyal to the company so long as he thinks you’re not anti-Doombearer, which is why I brought it up. Turnscales you don’t need to know about.”

He bit his lip.

“Fine, fine. Don’t tell me. I’m just curious.”

“It would shock you.”

Now he sort of wanted to know. The Wall Lord frowned at her.

“Just give me one point of reference like—Georgie. Or just a Drake who likes other Drakes of the same gender, Xesci. So I understand.”

She thought about it. Then smiled mischievously at him.

“Sure, Wall Lord. Me.”

He blinked.

“You? But—”

“Wall Lord Ilvriss, I hinted to you once I can literally change genders. I am what some Turnscales dream of. What some would be in horror of, just like you might be. I’ve had clients of every species, every gender. If I’m not a Turnscale, then who?”

Ilvriss’ mouth fell open at her obvious statement. And it was true, but his scales didn’t do that prickling thing. He even checked his tail, and it was just naturally lying there. Xesci was just…the [Courtesan] who became people.

“It doesn’t feel the same.”

“I’m higher-level, true, but I’ll kiss a woman for you. If Captain Osthia volunteers, I’ll do a full demonstration.”

“I think that’s not necessary. Darn. I still can’t wrap my head around it.”

He muttered, and the [Courtesan] eyed him, then leaned over the desk.

“Want to experience it?”

Ilvriss’ tail got up and hid around the corner of his desk. He leaned back ever-so-slightly in the face of her wide and suddenly interested smile.

“How do you mean?”

“If you’re curious, I can be a very explicit guide. Any way you choose. There’s all kinds of methods, and as I said, I’ve had plenty of clients who are Turnscales who needed help. Want me to try and play someone you could fall in love with? Or a situation where you figure out a different side of—”

He jumped up.

“Nope! Thank you, Xesci. I think we’d better figure out Georgie’s situation now.”

“Coward.”

She relaxed, appearing disappointed. Ilvriss leaned on his desk.

“…Just one last question, Xesci. I can’t just address the thievery, give Georgie a bonus for the mine, and sweep this under the rug, can I?”

She regarded him, and he knew the answer before she shook her head.

“I’m sure he’d like that. But it’s not Turnscales, it’s your people who won’t let it lie.”

He sighed.

“I was afraid of that.”

——

In the end, Wall Lord Ilvriss issued a simple proclamation on Georgie’s situation and marked this as a matter for his personal attention.

It had to be him; Welsca was clearly uncomfortable. Dead gods, Osthia didn’t want to really talk about it. When he asked her input, she began talking about the mine. Which made Xesci call her a coward, and the two nearly fought.

Given concerns for Georgie’s safety, which was an issue, Ilvriss thought the easiest answer was…a compromise. He put out notice that Advance Miner Georgie had fallen victim to a curse rune upon entering the mines.

Which Georgie shouldn’t have done, and there was the matter of perhaps him trying to pocket some reclaimed items; they’d found the two tile shards in his boots too. Dramm had apparently turned out the [Miner]’s things and found only that. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The upshot of all this was that pending his recovery, Georgie would be assigned to a female [Miner] team, and Ilvriss hoped that’d hold.

Again, he sort of had the undead mine, Lischelle raids, and Terland Assassination Golems to attend to. But he knew it’d come back up.

Just…

Dead gods. He audibly complained to Xesci as his subordinates filed out of the room.

“It’s just damn sex and gender, and I understand people being sensitive to it, but we have bigger issues, Xesci!”

“So says the Wall Lord who hasn’t had any for over a year.”

Welsca walked into a tent pole, and Ilvriss pointed at her.

“Do you mind? Can you turn it off?”

“I think it’s ordinary, banal. Not worth making a big deal about since I do it so much. You’re the ones who get all precious about it. I think it’d take your mind off things, but don’t snap at me, I can tell you’re traumatized.”

She stuck her tongue out at him; she’d become a half-Elf that looked suspiciously like Ceria Springwalker. He glared at her.

“You’re not using the faces of famous Gold-rank adventurers for your clients, are you, Xesci?”

She froze, creeping away, and hid her right hand in a pocket.

“…No?”

“Banned. I put my foot down on that.”

“You can’t ban—”

“It’s disrespectful. Ceria’s a friend.”

“Oh—fine. I won’t do it. But there are still wigs for a reason!”

She stormed off. Ilvriss put his claws over his face. Welsca hesitated, and her tail drew amazing patterns on his rug that Ilvriss eyed. She wavered for a good half a minute and then coughed.

“Sir, if you wanted t—”

“Out, thank you.”

She left. Ilvriss was dying to go back to the inn suddenly. Dancing. Dancing was nice and simple and only made you want to amputate your legs when the Highstepper gave you a leg cramp. Lyonette was doing far better over there, he was sure.

——

Krshia Silverfang brought a bunch of election posters when she came to The Wandering Inn to meet with Lyonette. The [Princess] stared at the one with Lism on it.

“You can’t put those up in the Portal Room, Krshia.”

“Lyonette, please, it’s a close race!”

Krshia Silverfang had a little team of followers, all Gnolls, who shuffled to one side, staring at Lyonette as if she were a Hydra. She didn’t know them, or their classes, which seemed to be [Aide], [Policymaker], [Bureaucrat]…

New classes for a new city that actually needed people to keep up with so much work. It felt weird to her. She didn’t know this Council that had campaign flyers.

She didn’t know Krshia anymore. The Gnoll who’d called her tribe-sister once…was a stranger.

It had been a long time since the Gnoll had visited. Now, instead of her usual outfit—a [Shopkeeper]’s light clothing mixed with some Plains Gnoll style—she wore a vest and undershirt, spelled to keep her cool with all her fur, and long pants with Liscor’s crest on it.

She looked like, well, an official. The kind Lyonette might have seen in Calanfer’s wide diplomatic core. The [Mayor] of a city. She even came into the inn differently.

Awkwardly; she’d been here before with Lism and Zevara whenever an incident occurred, but as a guest, a friend?

Seldom. She’d been busy. Lyonette hadn’t visited her or Zevara as much and felt bad about that, but now, Krshia walked into the inn after exclaiming on being ‘shown’ the door, and it was different.

“Ishkr, Nephew. How are you? We never see you in the city, yes? Unless you’re just skating around for fun. Plenty of young Gnolls want to learn from you, and it’s not just us old ones wanting to set you up! You should come by and let us feed you! And Bird, hello. How is, er, being female?”

She came over, hugged Ishkr, and then shook Bird’s hand. Bird jumped as she hesitated over a bowl of hard-boiled eggs.

“Hello, Krshia. It is alright. I am resenting muchly the fact that there are differences. Mostly in how I am treated. Biologically, it feels very similar.”

“Hrr. Er, well, I’d love to have you over for tea sometime. Calescent, yes? And Adventurer Arcsinger…”

She knew them. She was familiar enough to joke with Calescent, to admire Sticks’ new stick he was waving around, and the Antinium she was completely fine with. It just felt odd to Lyonette, who was watching her, because Krshia was introducing herself. Shaking hands.

And, Lyonette couldn’t help but note, she’d zeroed in on the people with the highest levels first. Nothing she did was wrong, but the staff and guests of the inn felt it. Valeterisa practically vanished the moment she saw Krshia going around with handshakes.

“I’m sorry, must be going. Building magical academies and whatnot.”

She flew out the window before Relc ran after her. He had to cut the water to run on it.

“Valley, Valley, wait! I packed you a lunch that Calescent made!”

“You did?”

She came back, wide-eyed, and kissing ensued. Krshia, meanwhile, seemed to pick up on the staff eying her. She hesitated, then apologized to Peggy.

“I must still be in elections-mode, yes? I’ve shaken half the city’s paws it feels like. Er…I brought gifts!”

Snacks and trinkets from her store. Some figurines, including one of Bird that the Antinium promptly threw out the window. She followed it, vowing to get royalties or get even. But again—

Lyonette saw it.

The Krshia of old wouldn’t have come in shaking paws. She’d have greeted people less, actually, but just chatted with them whenever she had a moment. Asked them how things were and had a longer chat, for an hour or two, even, as fancy permitted. If she brought gifts, it’d just be some silkap to share. Or a trinket she was selling. Something nice, easy to please.

This Krshia felt like she was on a timer and that if you got forty minutes with her, great. But it was forty minutes of her time she was allocating to you. Lyonette got it.

But it still made them strangers. Because when Krshia turned to her, the Gnoll stopped, then adjusted her clothing.

——

“Sorry, Lyonette. You just…intimidated me a bit there.”

“Me?”

Krshia blinked at Lyonette again, then averted her gaze as she sipped at some tea. Lyonette was having coffee. Another change between them, if small.

“Something about your presence is rather more impressive these days. My [Political Instincts] were telling me you could make or break things for Liscor. I know it’s just our classes. [Princess] versus [Councilmember]. The inn looks fine.”

“We don’t have much business, but I’ve been pursuing ventures abroad. Calescent’s bored, but he can do fancy stuff like this latte.”

He’d been trying to do designs with milk and foam, but he didn’t have much artistic sense. He’d done an arrow in milk. Lyonette sipped at it, and Krshia sighed.

“So many people like drinking your bean-water, like Lism. It’s got no elegance, yes?”

“It’s better than drinking mild leaves. Or roots boiled in mud! Do you want some actual caffeine, Krshia? You could need it!”

Lyonette jabbed back, and Krshia blinked, then turned her head.

“Hah! Very true. I could try a cup, yes?”

Silence. Lyonette sat there as Sticks hurried over with a cup and then saw Krshia take a sip, politely grimacing. When the Gnoll looked back at Lyonette, the [Princess] said it.

“Krshia. Your class is eating you a bit.”

The Gnoll woman froze mid-sip, and Lyonette just eyed her. The Krshia of old wouldn’t have backed down from her anti-coffee position. All Lyonette had done was jest with her and she’d folded.

Why? To be polite? Because she wanted Lyonette’s help and a small concession won a big one? Because Lyonette’s class was overpowering her?

Lyonette didn’t know, but all the reasons weren’t the ones that she could have ascribed to the [Shopkeeper] she’d known. Krshia put her coffee down and took a breath.

“I deserve that, I suppose.”

“It’s not an accusation, Krshia. It’s…I’m sorry, but you’ve changed a lot.”

“My sister and other Silverfangs new to the city remind me of that nonstop. It’s been a year, a long year of trying to lead Izril’s fastest-changing, fastest-growing city, Lyonette. I’m sorry if I’m being political. Thank you for meeting with me. I have been asking, but I didn’t want to push. And my class told me to push.”

Then Lyonette felt bad. She linked her fingers together, sighing. Gazed at them.

“Krshia…no, you know why I don’t want to bring the inn into this. I’d love to know how you’re doing, but I realize this is stressful. I still don’t want posters in the Portal Room; it reminds people we own it, and that puts Liska in danger.”

“Fair, but if you were to say something, or we could borrow Ishkr—he’s very popular with young people, you know. And Wishdrinks, Timbor’s inn, plenty of people would all chime in with just a single endorsement—”

“Of who? You? You don’t need help, Krshia! I’ve followed that much of Liscor’s elections!”

Lyonette interrupted, smiling. She beckoned, and Xinthe had a list of candidates and faces for Lyonette. She lifted a page, eying it critically.

“You’re up against ‘Mama Vala’ for your district. There’s also Rubige, a Gnoll challenger, and Tolla…but they don’t have a chance. Of the three, Tolla’s probably the only genuinely independent challenger. Rubige and ‘Mama Vala’ are both backed by the old Council, angry [Landowners], and the Guilds. ‘Mama Vala’ runs the Jeweler’s Guild. Eternal Throne, I hate her nickname.”

Krshia grumbled.

“You do know what’s going on! I hate it too. She’s styled herself as some sweet, caring woman when she voted for plenty of laws that kicked Liscorians out of their homes who couldn’t make rent…right when we first moved in. But not everyone knows or remembers that; she was an old Councilmember, and she put a lot of gold into her campaign. Gifts for citizens, a new park—”

“She’s still second place to you by a huge margin. Darn, I wish we had numbers.”

Krshia’s ears perked up.

“Numbers? Of what? Who’s voting? The election is the only time we’ll know, Lyonette.”

The [Princess] sighed.

“My father has more complex ways to obtain data. It’s some weird system with [Bards] who go around conducting surveys. Then you do some math to account for all the people you didn’t talk to and you can, uh, what’s his favorite word? Extrapolate how people are feeling and put it into numbers.”

Calanfer was one of the most advanced, politically savvy nations in the world. Krshia blinked and leaned forwards.

“If only we had that—! I’d pay a fortune to know exactly how we were doing, Lyonette! We just have to use [Gut Sense], [General Census], and so on! And [Gut Sense] doesn’t work if someone had indigestion!”

A rather bored [Mathematician], who’d stopped working on his grand project at another table, blinked. Yelroan perked one ear up, then began scribbling notes. Upon such little moments, great and terrible things were created. Yelroan fancied he could sell this to most democracies or savvy kingdoms who appreciated this kind of thing. He never had the time to do this kind of thing in Plain’s Eye, but here he was all independent projects. This sounded like fun.

—Lyonette and Krshia paid no notice to the rogue [Mathematician]. The [Princess] was arguing with Krshia.

“There’s no need to back your election, Krshia! You’re going to win! So’s Elirr, so’s Raekea! Mind you, I see your concern about having to fight to keep a majority of people like you, but there are strong candidates battling it out in other districts! Like the four new seats in 3rd District!”

She pulled up another candidate poster.

“Guildmaster Okr, ‘Building a New City for Tomorrow’! Not a bad slogan, but he could do better…but he’s the Mason’s Guild’s Guildmaster!”

“Yes. We’re a bit worried about him. He’s not running with us, or the old council, and he doesn’t want to chat. Well, that makes sense; anyone even seen to talk with us gets called a traitor or has a huge crowd outside their door. It’s gotten nasty. Some fights in the streets over the election. Lots of skullduggery. We had some idiot break into my shop, either to burn it down or…”

Krshia sighed, and Lyonette winced.

“I wouldn’t know about anyone burning down your shop. Terrible. Um, but Okr’s not an issue, Krshia.”

“You think so? He’s a Guildmaster, and they’ve mostly united around taking us down. Alonna’s been fighting to keep her place as Guildmistress of the Mage’s Guild; Wistram’s pressuring her, and she’s admitted her loyalties are conflicted.”

Lyonette sighed.

“Of course she is. Well, I can’t speak to that, but the Mason’s Guild is largely independent. Pallass might pressure Okr, but they can’t do much. Why, you ask? Because he employs Antinium. He has to, and he’s built the city up with Hexel. If anyone’s going to be pro-Human, pro-immigration, pro-change, it’s him! And good luck beating him! I imagine the old Council thinks they have a shot, but his buildings are very well made and there are few problems. Citizens will remember that and know he’s kept prices down.”

Krshia brightened up.

“That is good to know. Well, we do have hopes to keep a majority, but if you’d just—just one or two statements, Lyonette? Even a quote?”

“But you’re not going to lose, Krshia.”

The Gnoll woman bit her lip.

“No. But Lism might.”

Lyonette du Marquin blinked and shuffled through her papers. Krshia was in a fairly Gnoll-heavy district in the new map they’d drawn up. Hard to beat especially since she had her people on her side no matter how much ‘Mama Vala’ worked.

Lism was in a far more traditional part of Liscor. Yet he had a lot of adherents; she remembered the last election. But when she eyed his competitors…

“Three old Councilmembers?”

Krshia nodded miserably.

“It’s not just his competitors running stronger races. Lism, ah—he’s had pushback from his people. He was very anti-inn, you recall? Anti-Antinium?”

“Right. And he’s…oh dear.”

Lism had done an about-face of sorts when he’d gotten into office. Or rather, he’d taken his vehemence against Antinium, against the Erins and Humans of the world, and turned it on his true opponent: people charging too much rent. He’d pushed through plenty of initiatives Lyonette liked. Expanding Liscor’s services for the elderly or those in need, like the orphanage. Incentivizing people to come from cities like Cellidel, backing Olesm and the war against Hectval—

But she could see how he’d lost the very people who’d voted for him. Krshia elaborated as Lyonette winced, studying his less-than-stellar poster.

“He’s gained supporters as well as lost them; people aren’t blind, and they see how the city’s improved. But he’s having trouble because he’s, well, Lism. He has to brag and claim he’ll do something amazing, and he’s running into plenty who claim he’s a sellout. In truth, it’s the new Council who’s the real problem. Us. Me. He ran against us so hard people think he’s sold out and joined us.”

“Not exactly far from the truth, even if it’s more like you all teaming up to take on the upper classes.”

Lyonette eyed the rough notes Xinthe had prepared and thought that Krshia was right: Lism was tied with the runner-up, Councilmember Grillt, a very respected member of the Merchant’s Guild who’d served as the Guildmaster. Or even behind. She put the paper to one side.

“I see. We could definitely help your new candidates if the inn put its voice behind you, Krshia. Assuming we’re a net boon. Are you sure?”

Krshia Silverfang hesitated. She coughed into one paw.

“I know how the city regarded you after the Winter Solstice, Lyonette. And I am sorry—to Rheirgest as well. However, The Wandering Inn is still a name everyone in the city would listen to, yes? And—and it is a close race. We have used every trick we have. We need a miracle.”

And who else did you turn to for miracles but the inn? Lyonette exhaled and nodded. Certainly, if Imani, Temile, Timbor, and other influential figures who liked the inn spoke out, it would probably gain attention.

“We can at least be loud and attention-grabbing.”

“Then you’ll do it?”

Lyonette’s blue eyes met Krshia’s, and she felt at a crack along her jaw, wincing. Then she turned that wince into a frown.

“For Lism.”

“For the current Council maintaining a grip on sanity, Lyonette. The idiots running against us will try to revert things, and the inn is one of their targets.”

“I know that. But for Lism.”

Krshia was staring at the ceiling, breathing in and out, calculating.

“We lost Jeiss. Tismel and Zalaiss aren’t running, and they were easy to ignore. If we don’t have a clear majority, we lose the ability to act fast. We shouldn’t have agreed to the election, but most old Liscorians got stirred up by the campaign the old Council ran, and it’ll be two years of trouble if we don’t halt this. They want to start regulating the Free Hive, banning people entering the city—idiotic things. Lism and all the candidates running with us see a real future, not a regression to the past that won’t work.”

“So I’m helping. Lism. Lism.”

Lyonette’s tone finally caught on, and Krshia sat up. She gave Lyonette a frown, then a weak smile as she spread her paws.

“Lyonette, please! Isn’t that old water under Liscor? After all this time and him helping the inn, helping Liscor—”

Lyonette du Marquin was no fool. No willing dupe. No Erin. She fixed Krshia with a gaze that pinned the [Councilmember] and sat back in her chair.

“He’s better than the Merchant’s Guild. He’s changed, it’s true. For all those reasons, I can see your argument, Krshia. But I have one question for you that I need answered. I never asked because, well, I didn’t know for certain at first, and some things you don’t bother friends about. I’m going to ask now. Krshia Silverfang. Why Lism?”

Why vote for Lism? Because despite him being bombastic, despite all his foibles and—Krshia’s mouth was open, and she was about to run her pro-Lism spiel when she realized that wasn’t the question. She froze up, and her hair rose slightly. Lyonette stared at her.

Krshia glanced around. No one was paying attention that she could see; Yelroan was busy getting volunteers for his project, and he was one of the few Gnolls around. She lowered her voice.

“Lyonette, I think that’s personal, as you said—”

“Krshia. I may not have been in Liscor as long as Erin, but I know you. I know him, and I know your reputations. He has said some of the most heinous things about Erin, about you—you hated each other’s guts! That wasn’t a joke or a rivalry. He was a hostile ass of a Drake, and you two are…”

Lyonette linked her fingers together. Krshia avoided her gaze.

“I don’t think my private life is any—”

“How about this?”

The [Princess] started making way more explicit hand-gestures she’d learned from the adventurers. Nanette glanced over, snorted coffee out her nose, and Krshia jumped.

“Lyonette!”

“I’m serious, Krshia! What’s the reason?”

It genuinely offended Lyonette when she engaged with it. She got tolerating Lism. Erin had actually let him into the beach garden with less fuss than Tyrion because she understood he had become a useful pest instead of just a detriment.

But she knew how he’d first treated Erin. It might have been something Erin overcame, but he’d been genuinely nasty. Lyonette could shake his hand today, serve him food, and only give him a hard time. Umbral thrones, she’d even go to his birthday with a nice present if necessary!

But never in a million years could she imagine sleeping with him. And why was Krshia, Krshia who sold marital aids and who was so frank, embarrassed?

Because she knew how everyone felt about it, that was why. Krshia was glancing around, looking to her assistants for help, doing everything to get out of this. But the assistants who’d begun to come forwards with help ran straight into Xinthe, and whatever their political savvy, they were no match for six thousand years of Calanferian aplomb.

Krshia had to answer Lyonette. Her ears went flat. She fiddled with her tail, checked a fancy magical Wistram watch, peered up, then deflated. She met Lyonette’s eyes, then hissed.

“You have privacy spells?”

Lyonette nodded to Ushar, who activated them and stepped back. Krshia still drank from her tea, then the coffee, then snapped.

“It was supposed to be a one-night fling! Do you recall when Maviola El was in Liscor? Right when we were elected and we had our first meetings? It was then that we put the first rent fixes on the Council and I realized we might have common interests. We met gazes across the room and just nodded at each other, and then we hit Tismel, Zalaiss, and all the idiots with everything we had for three hours! We put so many laws into place—they couldn’t do a thing! And then we were all celebrating, drinking, and—”

“And you jumped him. You—and him—how drunk were you? Was there Rxlvn being served?”

Lyonette was considering pouring her coffee into her eyes to get the images out. Krshia was probably blushing like mad under her fur; it made the hair ripple if you knew Gnolls.

“He flirted with me first. We started arguing when we were having shots, and it became bets. We always bet—well, we didn’t want to do coins, so we did articles of clothing and—”

“Please stop. Sticks, acid please.”

Lyonette handed a cup to Sticks, who hesitated, then walked off, shrugging. The [Princess] listened. Krshia, for all she’d changed, was still a Gnoll. In that she was willing to give details.

All the details.

After a while, Lyonette took the cup Sticks had come back with and actually did splash it in her face. Unfortunately for her, Sticks was a literal sort of Goblin. She asked for acid?

He brought back acid.

Fortunately for Lyonette, even Sticks had changed. He’d gone over to Imani’s restaurant and filled it up with her acidic vinaigrette.

It still hurt like hell.

——

A bit later, Lyonette lay with Xinthe and the other staff applying hot towels to her cracked skin. Krshia stared at Lyonette’s…condition.

She hadn’t known. But the pain helped. It made Lyonette focus on that rather than anything Krshia and Lism got up to in the bedroom.

“You do what with…? No, don’t answer that. Don’t tell me what kind of perverted, insane acts you get up to behind closed doors. It doesn’t matter! That’s not the question!”

“We’re good at it, though.”

Krshia huffed defensively. Lyonette opened her mouth. The Gnoll gave her an arch look.

“You think it’s all an even playing field, Lyonette? Tell me about you and Pawn, then. You told me about your bedroom mishaps—I can’t imagine either of you two were good at anything.”

“I—we were both younger—don’t deflect from—it is not a competition!”

“No, it’s a performance, and being good at your part does matter.”

“So that’s it. Lism and his—what does he call it? He names his penis?”

Krshia sighed.

“It’s a perk, Lyonette. You asked. I told. You want to know the real reason?”

She leaned back in her chair, and Lyonette felt vinaigrette burning in the cracks of her skin. It still hurt less than thinking Krshia was just mad or so degenerate she put pleasure over principles. But the Gnoll [Shopkeeper] fixed Lyonette with a look that reminded the [Princess] of the old Krshia, because she was still there. Just changed. The [Royal Shopkeeper] spoke gently.

“Lyonette, Lism is a pain in my fur, even now. There are days when I want to dangle him outside the window and shake him. I can only do it inside, because, well, it’s a secret. Some days, I do have to literally pull his neck spines or put him in a headlock until he figures out he’s being an idiot. And some days, he says something I didn’t think of or reminds me that I’m fixated on an idea that won’t work—like trying to force the Guilds to hire equal members of all species. He’s not a complete fool.”

“He’s still a complete piece of Creler crap, Krshia. And he was, even more than now. Why did you continue?”

Krshia exhaled. She stared past Lyonette.

“Ten years, almost. Ten years of starting up my stall in Market Street, and the first thing he did was ask ‘how many of us’ there would be. It set the tone, no? Years of warring with him. He served Drakes, I served Gnolls. Fighting over prices—it wasn’t always just species. Hurling insults, though he never tried to actually attack me. Probably because he knew I’d end it with a punch. A few times, we had trouble. Soot’s gangs trying to run a racket, and we all had to team up to run them off. Monsters? Fighting poo slimes with brooms.”

“So you knew him as more than a fool.”

Krshia shook her head after a moment of thought.

“No, he was mostly a fool. If I’m honest, his one redeeming quality was Olesm, whom he raised. He never understood Erin. Had to be dragged into tolerating Goblins, Antinium. And I did some of that dragging. I told him that if he bothered Erin again I’d throw a Flask of Fire in his shop. That first time was probably just…hate sex. Which was fun.”

“Pleasestoptalking. And then?”

Krshia glanced at Lyonette.

“He changed. Just a bit. By the time he made Councilmember and we were fighting Tismel and Zalaiss, he was better than the Lism I knew in Market Street. After ten years in Market Street, he was better than the Drake I met when I first entered Liscor. Today? I might have actually liked him a bit if that was the Lism I’d first known. I think he wishes he were that Lism, but he’ll never admit he knows it’s for the best.”

“So you’re fixing him?”

Lyonette could see that, but Krshia just snorted.

“Fixing. What am I, one of Kevin’s people? I don’t have that much time on my paws, Lyonette. No…I gave him a chance after that first night, told him he would have to convince me to put up with him a second longer than I did. And I have changed.”

She glanced at her empty cup of tea, then glanced around. Back through time.

“Krshia Silverfang, the Plains Gnoll, never quite liked her tribe. She loved it and hated it in all the ways you do a family, but she had to leave. Liscor was her big break. She mobilized so many to go there, to take a chance, not just her tribe but those who wanted to try and change a city. Give her credit for that. But she did have a full ego. It took ten years of work, not running into a city and being the most important thing ever, to make her Shopkeeper Krshia. Now she’s a Councilmember, and I think it may have gotten to her head, but not as much as it would have ten years ago. I hope.”

She peeked at Lyonette for confirmation, but the [Princess] was just listening. Krshia glanced down at her cup.

“As for Lism, well, Krshia Silverfang doesn’t have many friends. Customers at her stall? Sure. Silverfangs? Her people, but she’s a leader of them, not always just one of the tribe. Time to do much else than work? She’s always worked, so who does she talk to? Elirr? No. Raekea’s married, Alonna’s in the same boat, Jeiss was married, Tismel and Zalaiss—she’d rather sleep in a sewer.”

“So, Lism. Huh.”

You met people in your work or the hobbies you engaged in, and by that standard, who was Krshia going to run into? Lyonette herself didn’t meet many people. Pawn had always been at the inn, and these days, it was just employees, which meant never, unacceptable, or…

…Someone she worked with outside of the inn. She fiddled with her fingers.

“I can relate to that. Even so, Krshia. It’s a change.”

“Maybe I should drag him to the inn someday, outside of work. Or invite you two over.”

“I will never set foot in your apartment again without having Ushar disinfect it first.”

Krshia rolled her eyes as Ushar shook her head behind Lyonette. The [Princess] smiled though, after a moment.

“I get it, Krshia. I do. People change. It’s just—Lism? Lism?”

Lyonette sat back in her chair, then sighed.

“Okay. I’ll try to figure out something tactful. No promises!”

Krshia smiled in relief. She stood and held out a paw—Lyonette slapped it down, glared, and went to hug Krshia.

“Don’t let your class change you entirely, Krshia.”

“I know. I think some Gnolls think I’ve become this City Gnoll entirely. Even the ones who came with me. But I just…this is how we change a city, Lyonette. We need Gnolls in government.”

Who could argue with that? Not Lyonette. She sighed as she promised to have something ready for Krshia soon; the voting would begin shortly, and it did matter. She hoped it wouldn’t bite her in the ass, but she wanted to re-establish her friendship with Krshia.

…Just as soon as she stopped Ilvriss from being murdered. Lyonette groaned after seeing Krshia off with a more casual meeting scheduled for next week.

“I have a meeting with Xitegen after this, don’t I, Ushar?”

“Yes, Princess.”

“…Is there anything I should know about other friends and their personal lives that will distress me? I’m ready for it now. Anything?”

Lyonette swivelled around. The staff all bustled away. After a moment, Nanette raised her hand. Lyonette stared at her. But the young witch innocently smiled.

“Your sister Menisi’s back in Calanfer, Lyonette. Ser Dalimont sends me update-gossip from home. You should read the rumors about her.”

The [Princess] sighed.

——

Lism was waiting for Krshia in the Portal Room, actually. He dashed over the moment she ‘appeared’ from out of nowhere.

“Krshia! Did she agree to help?”

“Yes, yes. Not here. You’re lucky—”

They vanished as people from Liscor eyed the two famous Councilmembers. Some cheered, others shouted at Krshia or Lism, asking what would be done about this or that, hecklers and supporters alike.

More against Lism than Krshia. That was the state of things, and Lyonette would have paid the election little mind; she had bigger fish to fry.

However, a person who’d followed Krshia and Lism now stepped into the inn itself. A rare guest. He came down the trapped corridor, was recognized and seated by Picker, after checking his pockets because the little Goblin had a reputation, and then tried to get a meeting with Lyonette.

Naturally, he’d fail. The [Princess] had some time before meeting with Xitegen, but a rather smug Xinthe came over.

“A busybody wants to speak to you, Princess. A guest, but not one I recognize. Should I send him on his way?”

No friend of the inn like Krshia. She indicated the man, or rather, Drowned Man, who was below Menolit-class and certainly couldn’t just meet w—

Lyonette shoved Xinthe out of the way.

“Nollesc? Is that you? My favorite [Spy]! Hello, I’m so sorry Xinthe kept you waiting.”

“Wh—but—he’s a spy!”

Xinthe spluttered to Ushar as the half-Clam Drake Drowned Man rose and bowed. Ushar sighed.

“He’s the inn’s favorite spy. Which means he ranks above you, most likely.”

The Calanferian woman stood there, poleaxed, as Nanette shot into a seat with the spy that Erin had made friends with.

It was one of the cannier things that Erin had ever done. Not least because it meant Lyonette had a contact who wasn’t an employee, but certainly remembered the inn doing him a good turn like with the spellbook, and who liked to be fed and not be treated as, well, a spy.

It was also why Nollesc was allowed to find the inn. Everyone needed a way to leak information and get important info. He ate for free. And today, he wore a slightly troubled expression as he sat down.

“I came here pursuing some light work, Miss Lyonette. If I may—my client hasn’t paid me to be discreet. Quite the opposite. This is the report I’m about to submit. I’d like you to see it first.”

He handed over a neat file to Lyonette, who opened it. Nanette peeked over Lyonette’s shoulders.

“Oh my—”

Lyonette closed the folder fast, pushed Nanette away, then peeked again. Her face went red.

“Oh no. Nollesc, I appreciate you coming to us. I’d like to buy your silence and if—”

The Drowned Man gave her a pained gaze.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option, Miss Lyonette. I’m just one person hired for this, and it’s not exactly…hard to do this job. This is probably already in their hands. Frankly, I suspect they have far more than one report and they’re waiting to use it.”

Lyonette opened the folder and stared down in dismay. Among the [Magic Pictures] that Nollesc had taken with an artifact—and he had multiple angles—she saw his quarries exposed.

Lism and Krshia, kissing in his apartments. And then a far more explicit—

She stared. Krshia hadn’t been exaggerating. She turned to Nollesc, and he turned red.

“This isn’t my usual line of work, but with the inn quiet, I am one of the top [Spies]…”

“No, I quite understand. And others have the same…images?”

“If not so clear; it wasn’t hard. They have no security on their apartments. They try to be secret, but—”

Ushar’s face was a full wince. The Thronebearer leaned down.

“It’s probably not occurred to them that they need security, Lyonette. They’re learning, but until your first breach—”

“Oh dead gods. Krshia.”

Lyonette closed her eyes. Then she thanked Nollesc and sent Ishkr with an urgent message. Because she didn’t think she could stop this even if she had Vaulont go into Liscor and start stabbing spies.

The election…had just gotten a lot more complicated. But again, Lyonette thought of Ilvriss. Much like his issues with Georgie—

They had bigger problems. Killer Golem ones.

——

Ulva Terland did not feel great after nearly dying and coming back to life. One seldom did especially when one’s heart stopped, for all they’d put her in the best healing apparatus possible.

It didn’t matter. She lived. And she had the will of Petria in her veins, and she would use it. Once more for the north.

She was debating triggering the Hunter-Killers on the Wall Lord now. She had sent for far higher-grade versions to be placed, but it might make more sense to just send a hundred and take out the entire camp.

“A hundred.”

One of the Lords of Stone accompanying Ulva as she strode around—well, limped fast—was breathless. Milksops and complacent children, the lot. It was her fault, really; she’d kept House Terland insular after the Second Antinium War. Not made them go out and about; the younger generations had some spark, but the older ones were content to sit and manage their holdings.

Again, it made sense. All the brave ones had died in the Sacrifice of Roses.

“Take the entire camp to pieces if we must, yes.”

“To pieces, Lady Ulva?”

She rolled her eyes. It was as if he’d never seen the Battle Golems do what they did—she glanced at the man in his late forties. Oh, right. Lord Moltin was their new [Mint Lord], and he loved numbers.

He probably hadn’t ever seen a battlefield. She snapped at the scrying orb that reflected a bouncing man’s face, covered in sweat but for different reasons than Moltin.

“It will start a war with the Drakes, but if it curtails what they’re planning, I will do it. It’s cost and reward. I take it that’s your comment, Xitegen? Stop jogging. I’m getting sick just looking at you.”

“I have to exercise, Great Aunt. And I am just pointing out that war seems undesirable. But far be it for me to countermand your wisdom. Are you planning on taking command of another Hunter-Killer?”

He was polite as could be, and the gasps from Moltin and the others were like squawking doves, but Ulva just grunted.

“You sound like your mother. She always could score blood. I want them prepared. Just house them in your city, Xitegen. If the Bloodfeast Raiders appear? Waste them.”

“Well, I won’t turn my nose up to that. I am cautioning against killing the Wall Lord, though.”

“So you’ve said. Get me those reports on Liscor and that [Princess]—now. You fought with him at the Winter Solstice, didn’t you, Xitegen? Sentimentality with a war-buddy?”

Ulva was catching herself up on everything that had gone down around Liscor. She knew the trite things like the beach garden, some of the stuff about the [Innkeeper]; she wasn’t blind. But she didn’t have Xitegen’s familiarity, and even he’d come late. He replied slowly.

“I won’t deny that killing a Drake that I fought Draugr with cramps my legs, Great-Aunt. I suppose there’s the flaw in allying oneself with the enemy. You get to respecting them by accident. But more practically, I am worried about the state of Izril. Far too many powers eying our lovely new posterior in the New Lands.”

“Not a time to waste Golems. Very well. But I shall not ignore my grudge.”

Let alone to that thing who’d taken Petria’s face. Ulva growled, and Xitegen nodded.

“Far be it for me to suggest we don’t have a grudge. How dare they thwart our assassination attempt. Those damn Drakes.”

She snarled at him.

“If you have a comment about Goblins not being so bad, I will have you checked for mind-control, Xitegen!”

His reply was as cool as those cucumbers he wouldn’t stop snacking on.

“I saw the Goblin King again, Great Aunt. I just know I’m not ready to greet him a third time. Allow us the time to level. If war with the Drakes gets us there, I won’t argue. But if it leaves us without the Golems to send at him—don’t.”

A frank assessment from the man she thought could lead her House when she died. Ulva strode towards her chambers.

“I hate Drakes. He will not conduct his business in the north without reprisal.”

The only question was…whether killing him was the right move. She was annoyingly torn on that for one reason alone. Petria had mentioned owing the [Princess], Lyonette du Marquin, a favor. So Ulva sat down as a serving Golem began opening reports and passing them across her desk.

Three hours later, she had a headache.

——

How did one damn city result in this many events? She hadn’t even known about some of the insanity that was, apparently, occurring there!

“Confirm this one too! Mihaela Godfrey, the Mihaela, and our own Eldertuin and other Named-ranks failed to kill one monster?”

She threw another report at the Golem who bowed.

“The report has been confirmed…{SIXTEEN} times, Lady Ulva. I shall do so again if necessary.”

She was one of the Maid Golem styles popularized about two thousand years back. Like one of Magnolia’s servants, perfectly sculpted, ceramic face and a maid’s outfit made out of the tough pottery.

Ulva wasn’t the biggest fan, but the Maid Golem didn’t have interior knives or a combat-form that could mince you, unlike some versions. This one just…was good at chores and paperwork, a mid-grade Autonomous-class Golem. Like Primera and Seconda, the two Golems that Xitegen loved, she could ‘think’ in limited terms, but it was still just her running routines, not true adaptive sentience.

Not like a true Sentient-class Golem, let alone Cognizant-class like Cognita and a few others, but the response was adept, fast, and would have rattled a younger member of House Terland.

Not Ulva. She had made it happen. The Golem-Maid’s glowing heart was an emerald set into her outfit with a brooch’s outline. It…pulsed.

Slowly. But each pulse seemed to add to the Golem’s finesse as she swept the report up, giving her replies more clarity, sharpness. Her eyes seemed to have something behind them.

[Awaken, Hearts of Stone]. It was the power of the Terland Family. The great Skill passed down from leader to leader. It let Golems be what Terlands had always wanted them to be: for a bit, closer to people.

They are still Golems. Ulva had less infatuation with Golems than most of the current generation. She didn’t love them. She regarded them as invaluable, beautiful tools. Works of art. Companions and bodyguards, but she knew they were not people.

“Confirm it again and have the person on speaking stone to explain it to me, Golem. From your limited understanding of the world, give me a report on something…modern. Less stories. More current facts.”

The Maid Golem paused and went still. Ulva cursed.

“Overloaded her cognition circuit. Even with a slow heartbeat.”

She waited for it to finish thinking as she glanced at more files.

“If we only had some Zelkyr-made Golems. None of their Golem Hearts or circuits would have atrophied…but that Drake never allowed a single Golem of his design to go to anyone but Drakes.”

He hadn’t been dead that long before her birth. She’d even met a few Zelkyr-Golems, and the Archmage of Golems’ reputation was well-deserved.

Oh, not in all ways. His Truestone Golems, his masterpieces, had only ever numbered three. In the great Golem Ages of the past, many had been created, apparently. Zelkyr had been a jealous Drake, hoarding his greatest techniques, so no one had ever rivalled him. Nor, arguably, was he even the best maker of Battle Golems. He’d done dangerous ones, but she had access to all the surviving Golems of House Terland.

They had some really nasty variants. What Zelkyr had been best at was, well, intelligence. Mannerisms. He created Golems with personality, splendid Sentient-class Golems he arguably didn’t need to make so adaptive.

Or so many that were just attractive women. She snorted. At last, the Maid Golem came to life.

“…This is a modern report, Lady Ulva. I shall inquire about the veracity of this report. Ex-cuse me.”

She placed a report in front of Ulva, which was indeed fresh. Marked today. This hour. Ulva opened it, stared at a nude Drake and Gnoll engaged in—

She closed her eyes.

“Serving Golem?”

Another appeared.

“Yes, Lady Terland?”

“Eyedrops.”

Only after that did Ulva read the report and realize these were two Councilmembers. She sighed.

“I don’t care about who’s getting elected or the scandal. The [Princess] of Calanfer!”

She slammed a fist on the desk. She wanted to know about Lyonette du Marquin! Ulva was furious at her too. She’d helped the Drake! But if Petria said she owed the [Princess] a debt…Ulva sat back.

She had a headache. The first thing she’d done was stamp out that newspaper article about her ailment. Some fool had gone crying to the newspaper—it would have led to war, no doubt. But it would also have showcased House Terland’s weakness.

She did not need that with the Reinharts about. So…she checked on the progress of Golems marching to Xitegen’s lands. From there they could reach this Wall Lord Ilvriss fast enough.

But to live or die? She drummed her fingers on the tabletop. Her instincts said kill him. Apparently, Wall Lord Zail had also flown into the north, which meant the Drakes had their damn routes through the High Passes again.

Eschowar of Salazsar. There was a Drake she’d kill in a heartbeat if she thought they could get to him.

War. Battles with the Drakes. It felt like she was young again, before the Antinium had come. Ulva stared at her hand and a liver-spot on the wrinkled skin.

“Mirror.”

She whispered, and one reflected her face. So bitter, so untrusting, and paranoia had aged her. She touched her face.

“We cannot all die like Maviola El. Damn the Lady Firestarter, setting the bar on how to die.”

“Lady Terland? Please repeat the command.”

“Silence.”

Ulva stared down at the documents in front of her, then stood. She turned to the window—before realizing it was sealed up. Someone had placed bricks behind the beautiful window in her office. Enchanted them too.

It was an ugly addition to the House of Stone, but she’d insisted on it…years ago. Because she hadn’t wanted a window at her back. In case of assassins. She gazed at the brickwork now, wondering why she’d never put an illusion on—

“Why did I never put an illusion on this ghastly window?”

“The brickwork reassured you, Lady Terland.”

So it had. Now, the [Lady] gazed bleakly at the wall in her office and turned away.

“I can’t understand it. I don’t know the south anymore. [Cattle Barons]? We used to have nobility down there, not jumped-up [Ranchers]. It’s all changed.”

She hesitated, confronted by the annoying truth that The Wandering Inn was responsible for so many events she’d ignored in the complacency of the north. Terandrian affairs had been her concern, like Ailendamus, not some border-city of Drakes.

“Small wonder Xitegen went south or that Magnolia set up a base in Celum. If I’d paid any attention…very well. This [Innkeeper] is another Larracel, then. Hah, I never cared for the Haven as much as the rest of the infants squabbling to visit her inn.”

Ulva could not deny it, then. From the events on the scrying orbs to now, the inn and city of Liscor had been a locus of events. She chewed on some bitter salad of nastiness—the Quarass had prescribed it to keep her strength up. Ulva snatched a cup of water and drank, then spat her next words out.

“…And so what? It’s just like one of the Five Family’s scions racing around. The true scions, not a single family head like Tyrion or Magnolia.”

She glanced at the accounts of an [Innkeeper] overthrowing the [Mayor] of Esthelm in a day and leading an army of Goblins against Tyrion Veltras.

“Not bad. But that only makes her a successor to Maviola. Not that she’d kiss Goblins. But if the rest of Izril is reeling over the Goblins…they are Goblins, but what about Lady Wuvren? Her little baron’s still around, and she had death-threats and [Assassins] for years for bedding a Troll.”

That was it. There was nothing that this [Innkeeper] had done that was that much more insane than the old days. Goblins were one thing, and the Antinium, but even old Linter Veltras had once rode down through the Bloodfields and set the Drake cities to chaos for half a year, fighting on behalf of the Steelfur tribe with that boy who’d become Chieftain Iraz.

Dead now, the both of them. Ulva leaned over her desk, and the names came to her like a litany. Linter, Fulviolo, Maviola and Gresaria, Petria—

“She’s just a girl. Just one woman capable of changing things. If she had been born fifty years ago, she’d be warring with the Wellfars. Treading lightly both north and south. Clashing blades against the Cyclops, the likes of the Lightning Lord of Salazsar, and if she took up arms against House Veltras, she’d have an army of [Druids] coming to sort her out. And on those ships…”

Ulva Terland saw an image of an [Innkeeper] sailing into the distance. A dying [Prince]. And she imagined a fire-haired [Lady] standing next to the [Innkeeper], ablaze with her own righteous flames. Perhaps, it would have been Gresaria Wellfar’s spear running the [Prince of Men] through. Wellfar ships colliding with Bloodtear Pirates.

No. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe. Ulva leaned on the table, and then she re-read the reports. Not the details, but how they were written.

Like stories. [Informants] assuring the reader, again and again, that this had happened. They had proof! Like children trying to convince adults they’d seen Dragons.

Ulva didn’t need to be convinced. But it hit her, then.

“That’s what we lost during the Antinium Wars. People like her. She’s the Goblinfriend of Izril today, the woman who’s shifted Izril by herself. In my time, she’d be just one troublemaker among many.”

That was it. Ulva wanted to sneer at Erin Solstice, but she was not the Ulva Terland who could. Decades ago, the Twin Virtues of House Terland would have already been at the inn, challenging the [Innkeeper]. Today?

Ulva Terland gazed at the bricked-up window. And she didn’t even know if it was sunny or raining outside. She read the reports of the south. And it was a strange land she didn’t remember.

“I’ll never understand the situation where I am.”

Her heart palpitated, and she felt at it. But she remembered Petria and that land beyond. She feared death so much. She still did. But that would not be terrible, to see her sister again. So Ulva Terland closed her eyes, then spoke.

“Prepare me a team of Golem Horses and two bodyguards from the…sixth vault. I am going with the Golems south.”

She would see this Wall Lord and [Princess] for herself. And if she found reason, she would deal with them all. Of course, her family argued.

They thought she had gone mad, that she would die out there. She flatly told them to follow or shut up. Ulva left. Only later did she realize her ‘death’ and her years of inaction had cost her in other ways too. Her command of House Terland was no longer perfect, merely absolute in places.

There were more Golems stalking the Wall Lord’s camps, deployed from House Terland’s holdings. Not all of them were under her control.

——

It was a tragedy. A betrayal. Nothing would ever be the same.

Damia Reinhart held a Gnoll woman’s hand as the Silverfang [Huntress] cried.

“I trusted her.”

“We all did. This is unacceptable, no.”

“With—with him? He tried to—! Is she mad?”

Damia awkwardly patted the Gnoll woman’s paw. She hadn’t ever comforted anyone, but here she was. Sitting with a bunch of Gnolls in Timbor’s inn, commiserating.

Mostly because she had nothing better to do. The last few days had not exactly been lucrative for Damia. But to say they’d been boring?

Hardly! She’d been frustrated at times. Angry at not finding work or opportunity, mostly with herself, but in her seeking of things to exploit, Damia had fallen into a trap.

The trap of Liscor. She had become fascinated with the city itself. Everyone had a story, you see. So much had happened here, and if you were a bored [Lady] asking questions, they’d tell you.

Like these Silverfangs. Damia had been asking about the Gnollish perspective in the city when the news had come in. The reaction?

Horror, shock, outrage—she had heard Gnolls howling. Damia didn’t quite get it.

“So this Councilmember, Krshia, is sleeping with a Drake, Lism? I’m sorry, I don’t know either one—”

“It’s our Councilwoman! Honored Krshia—Lism is a nightmare! He’s a fool, a speciesist, Human-hating—and they’ve been together?”

“It was a rumor. It’s not like it came out of nowhere. But to think—”

There were, um, pictures. Rather explicit ones the Watch had torn down, but it was in the newspapers, everywhere. Damia was impressed, in her Reinhart way, by the smear campaign. But interestingly, it seemed to hit the Gnolls way harder than the Drakes.

In fact, she’d heard a lot of Drakes laughing about it. But to the Gnollish population—

“It’s a betrayal, then.”

Damia hazarded, and the Gnolls growled and nodded.

“It is! It’s one thing for Honored Krshia to have a relationship with someone. If it were anyone, a Human, another Drake, an Antinium, who’d care?”

“Antinium is an exaggeration, no? But yes, broadly, who cares? But him—he’s everything Krshia ran against! Has he been having her do him favors? Compromising on what she should be doing for us?”

“She didn’t vote for that policy to deal with the Guilds that one of the Silverfangs brought up at our meeting last month. Do you think…?”

Ooh. That was bad. Damia smiled, fascinated.

“But Honored Krshia, she’s the Gnoll who first met Erin Solstice, right? And Akrisa Silverfang’s sister? She brought you to Liscor!”

The Gnolls turned to her, surprised. The female Gnoll sniffed.

“You know a lot, young woman. Er…yes. How did you hear all that?”

“I asked. It’s fascinating to me! Your city’s gone through so much!”

“Well, it’s hardly as big as Pallass or Invrisil—those are bustling cities.”

The female [Huntress] demurred, but Damia shook her head.

“I know Invrisil. I’ve visited plenty of times. It has fads and entertainment, but it does not change. Did you really have a [Druid] come to the Floodplains and fight a hundred thousand Shield Spiders?”

One of the newer Silverfangs angrily ordering another ale hesitated and turned. He began to laugh, but the [Huntress] just sniffed and blew her nose before nodding.

“That? Oh, yes. It was so good for all us [Hunters]. So many Shield Spiders dead; I fell into a nest the week after, thought I was dead, and it was empty. Way more animals appeared after that. This summer will be a good one—excuse me, but this news is bad. I think we have to speak to our friends. I’m so sorry.”

“No, not at all. Binevy, cover their drinks.”

The Gnolls gave Damia a second look and thanked her, asking her name. She introduced herself, and the [Huntress] blinked at her.

“I am sorry, but this—I think I need to reconsider my vote.”

“Even though it’s Krshia? The Gnoll who fought at the Meeting of Tribes?”

The [Huntress] stared at the table, hesitating. Another Gnoll growled for her.

“A vote for Krshia Silverfang sounds like a vote for Lism. I’d rather eat shit.”

The rest of the Gnolls snarled agreement and stormed out. The [Huntress] hesitated.

“Wait, Beirl! She has a point! Excuse me, I’m so sorry—[Farstep Interception]. I said w—”

She took one step, and Damia’s eyes widened. The Gnoll flowed around Damia, out the door, and down the street. She appeared thirty feet away, in front of the snarling Gnoll, and he jumped as she grabbed him. All in a single moment.

“—ait!”

They began to argue as they stormed off, and Damia stood there until Binevy returned.

“That was an amazing Skill! Was that [Huntress] Level 30?”

She half-turned, and Timbor peered up from cleaning their table.

“Her? Nah, that’s a regular of mine. She’s Level 20-something, but that’s one of her Skills. I think she got it after the Raskghar attacks. She fought one off taking her younger brother—gained the Skill.”

“House of thorns, that’s impressive!”

Damia was jealous at once. She’d only levelled once since coming to the city, and only because she was so low-level. But that…that was no ordinary step-Skill. Binevy bowed.

“Lady Damia, should we head back to Invrisil? It’s been three days.”

And we haven’t found anything for our trouble. The only work Damia had found was from the stupid [Recruiter] to get her to work in Wall Lord Ilvriss’ dig site—and a [Madam] trying to get her to work in one of Invrisil’s red-light districts.

Damia refused to go. She strode into the rains as Binevy found an umbrella, sighing. Damia didn’t need one; she had a little charm on her belt shaped like an umbrella that made the rain pelt off her body. She smiled.

“This is the city to be in, Binevy! Follow me!”

——

Okay, she admitted it.

She was having fun. It was such a novel experience Damia didn’t really know what to do about it. It was far headier than even sneaking expensive wine from her mother’s cabinets or her illicit relationship with Wernel.

Taking a carriage for a joyride was more thrilling for a bit, but this felt…fun. How else could you describe it? Damia would walk down a street, find something that caught her eye, and make a purchase of a burger for lunch, a healthy chicken burger marinated in the fish sauce that was special to Liscor, with a smashed patty liberally infused with cheap but flavorful spices.

Then find a charm-seller and ask how that had all started. See a half-Giant doing a stump speech with hundreds listening to him talk about his vision for Liscor.

Binevy was worried.

“Your mother has been asking about you, Lady Damia. She believes you’re overwhelmed or striking out without any direction.”

“Tell her I’m fine and don’t answer her queries.”

Damia didn’t like the ‘no direction’ bit because it was partly accurate, but Binevy fussed with her sheets.

“Lady Damia, she sent an allowance for ‘indulgences so you remember our agreement’. A hundred and fifty gold pieces.”

“Add it to our budget. We can’t go back.”

“But Lady Damia, there are far more amenities in the north—”

Binevy didn’t get it. Damia snapped at her.

“I can’t afford to pay your salaries or the servants that Aunt Cosoi left me for more than a few months, Binevy! I may have a lot of personal gold, but if you add up all the servants, I need a source of income! So unless you’d like to find other members of the family or join the general roster?”

The [Head Maid] shuddered. Being a ‘general servant’ of House Reinhart was the most dangerous job of all; the Reinharts valued their personal servants. The expendable ones were the ones in danger.

“How did you work that out, Lady Damia…?”

“I did the numbers.”

Damia had sat down in her rooms at the inn and worked it out with a quill and ink. Using her brain to actually take stock of her assets instead of relying on Binevy had been wonderful. Even if the problem remained.

After some thought, the [Head Maid] hurried to keep in step with Lady Damia.

“…Perhaps this is the place to be, Lady Damia. But I fear you need bodyguards, and I need more staff. Should I send for all the servants to join us here?”

“Yes. Find us apartments or something…cheap. Actually, look into a mansion or—what do people live in that’s not a mansion?”

“A house, Lady Reinhart?”

“Yes, one of those.”

Binevy got to work, and Damia wondered if it was her [Lesser Charisma] or [Basic Leadership] Skills that made the younger woman seem to actually be working with a will. Or Damia pointing out she was doing this to keep Binevy employed.

Damia was on a time-limit, especially if she racked up expenses like a place to stay. Trivial payments like buying someone a drink? Simple. But anything major was going to cut into her limited budget.

So she kept doing what she found fun in. Exploring and just…okay, falling in love with the city a bit. For she had a question.

——

“What’s the city’s name?”

“Name?”

“Of course. Invrisil is the City of Adventurers. Pallass the City of Inventions. Liscor is what? Surely it must have one for a city that does so much.”

A [Craftsman] was using Shield Spider glue to put together a piece of custom-made roofing tile. It was shiny, black—Shield Spider chitin held together with the same glue.

Not cheap, and it gave Damia a wonderfully eerie feeling. Not everyone wanted it; a few Gnolls had backed away in horror when they’d asked about it. But as the Drake explained, it had value.

“Name of Liscor? We were once called the Mercenary’s City. And the Floodplains City. But…it fits, but it doesn’t.”

“A city should have a title. Shouldn’t it? After all, this city is so important.”

“It is? It is, isn’t it.”

Thoughtfully, the [Craftsman] glued another piece of the tile into place, then checked it. He tapped it with one claw, then produced a little wind with a glowing clawtip.

“Almost done with this tile. It needs to hook together, see? You can’t nail this down. If the nail even goes through the chitin, it might splinter.”

“This seems awfully expensive and cumbersome compared to a piece of slate or clay.”

Damia eyed the tiles he was working on, enough for a new house’s roof. The [Craftsman] snorted.

“It is, and it costs a fortune even with Shield Spiders being plentiful. But this roof won’t crack or atrophy, even if something hits it in two years’ time. Nothing better, except a good [Roofer] with long-lasting Skills. Some idiots, well, their Skills last a month then fade away. [Rush Roofers] or just [Corner Cutting Contractors]. There’s been an uptick in those bastards, but Liscor’s better than most cities. Hard to beat Antinium. They don’t know how to lie, but I’m better. Unless this roof blows off entirely—and if they put it together like they should, it won’t unless the entire roof comes off—it’ll last four decades if no one damages it!”

He rapped on the hard tile and let Damia run her hands over it.

“Not just that; it keeps in temperature like nothing else. You can’t really enchant it, so I suppose it’s not one of those fancy magic roofs, but there’s only so much magic you can put in a home anyways. Put a rune in each room, on the windows, and enchant it all up and all the magic just…only half-works or fails to work.”

“Ah, because there’s only so much ambient mana or interference. I understand that.”

He nodded, pleased.

“This roof is exceptionally fine without a hint of magic. Took me a while to figure out how to make things like we used to, but my grandfather knew the trade, and he walked me through it. Worth learning. I’m an [Arachnidparts Craftsman]. If you think it’s just for looks, well, when the Necromancer attacked twelve years back, he hit the city with spells. Threw undead and rocks at us. There are still roofs made of this stuff around today, despite everything. And if they’re that old, they probably pre-date the First Antinium War too. Go ask the owners if they remember.”

“Really?”

That was impressive. The Drake went back to work.

“It’s very helpful to have Shield Spider chitin. I don’t do armor, but I’ve heard it’s better’n leather, if less flexible. Good if you can’t buy steel.”

“And this all came about because someone figured out how to make the glue again?”

The Drake scratched his chin.

“I think it was some Human [Alchemist]. Saliss of Lights revitalized the industry and got a lot of [Alchemists] making it. I owe the fellow a drink if I ever meet him. Now, here’s the final trick. [Microweb Coating]!”

He ran a brush down the edges of the locking parts, and Damia peered and saw the smallest webs imaginable there. The Drake nodded proudly.

“Once they’re stuck together, they won’t come apart. I use it on all things. Carpentry, anything I need to hold together—I built this bench out of just the webs. Not a single locking joint or nail. It was just to see if it’d fall apart, but it hasn’t so far.”

Damia blinked at the bench she sat on. Binevy adjusted her skirts nervously as if checking for baby spiders, but there it was again. She peered at the Drake before asking how much his rates were.

No good on hiring him for much. Too expensive, too custom, but it was just—

——

“Oh sure, I used to deliver to Erin Solstice all the time. Me, I’m still voting for Krshia. She’s my aunt, distantly related. Everyone on her street knew she and Lism were like that. I mean, gross, but Liscor’s way better’n it was.”

One of Liscor’s top City Runners was a Gnoll named Sasquatch. Or nicknamed that; she had big feet. She was pretty popular, not least because she’d just received a notice saying she was being considered for Courier rank in time.

She’d need training, but she had hit Level 30, and she had Skills. She watched as Hawk warmed up beside the gates; they were going on a run north from Liscor so he could appraise her for the Runner’s Guild.

“You ready, rookie?”

He shouted at her. The Rabbit Beastkin Courier was not in a good mood, and he had refused to talk to Damia. Sasquatch leaned over.

“Don’t mind him. He’s been mad since his last girlfriend broke up with him.”

“I heard that! Let’s play a game—you don’t outrun me, I kick you!”

Sasquatch jumped and winced as the other City Runners groaned. Damia frowned.

“Wasn’t that months ago?”

“Yeah, but he’s still pining. I heard he was gonna marry her and everything.”

The two whispered together, and Damia peeked at Hawk. He was amazingly fit.

“And he ran against the Assassin’s Guild—twice! Did you ever meet Seve-Alrelious, the Hundredfriends Courier?”

Sasquatch’s face fell slightly.

“Yeah, he visited the Runner’s Guild. I really liked him. He was super cool. I mean, everyone knows Hawk, but Courier Seve was magic. I guess that’s why I kept pushing. I saw all the Runners from Celum and the Wind Runner, and I thought if she could do it—”

“Ready, rookie? You’d better be because I’m getting this stupid job over with! We’re picking up Runner Fals and Garia. None of you are going to pass the test. Well, Garia might.”

Hawk stormed over, and Sasquatch jumped. She’d been yakking with the other City Runners, barely stretching, which seemed like a bad move to Damia. However, Hawk’s narked expression said he wasn’t going to give her time to warm up.

“Here’s my kicking foot. Since you’re so ready to chat, you must be ready to go! Onetwothree, go!”

“Aw, Courier! My friend—wait, wait, sorry, Miss—[Outrun Trouble]!”

Hawk went for a boot to Sasquatch’s rear and missed. She ran ahead of him and he blinked, then shifted onto his feet, sprinted after her, and went for another kick.

Only…he never caught the Gnoll. She went racing up the battlements, leapt off the walls, and Hawk followed.

“You little—huh? Hold on, that Skill can’t—”

He accelerated, and now he was using his Skill. [Physical Overdrive]. The Courier was—a Courier! But as Damia watched, open-mouthed, with the [Guards] and other City Runners who’d been utterly forgotten, the young Gnoll raced over the bridges, leaving a spray of water behind her.

And Hawk didn’t catch her.

“Dead gods, what Skill is that?”

Someone exclaimed, and Damia breathed.

“She said she got it one time when the moths attacked the inn. It’s…it even works on Hawk?”

It was insane! The faster he went, the faster she did, and he didn’t seem to believe she was beating him. They were over halfway across the Floodplains when Damia saw the distant flickers slow.

“Ooh, it ran out. He got her.”

A Human City Runner commented, but even so, that had to have been ten minutes of free escape time. It probably had limits; Damia just bet that even if Sasquatch was faster than whatever she had to outrun, you could nail her with an arrow or force her into bad terrain.

But…

“Alright, everyone off the walls! Move it, people!”

An Antinium Soldier barked and chivvied the watchers off the walls. One of the City Runners groaned.

“Aw, damn. I was gonna run with them…well, I have to go to the villages. [Waterfoot]! [Nullify Short Fall]!”

He leapt onto the water, and one of the [Guards] snapped down.

“Don’t make us rescue you, kid! If a monster in the water gets you, we won’t be there fast!”

“I’m not asking an Antinium to rescue me!”

The City Runner shot back, and the [Guard] waved a fist. He had a mustache glued to his face, Damia realized.

“That’s Mister Guardsman to you, brat! And I have [Emergency Escape: Water]! You think I’d be on these damn walls in the rain without it?”

He huffed, and Damia had to introduce herself to him. He turned out to be Guardsman Bushyface—he had two eyebrows as well.

“The Skill? Got it during the last rains. Nearly drowned. Damn water. Hates it, so I does. But that’s the job for me. Listen, you a local of Liscor? No, damn. I need more people to vouch for me to apply for Senior Guard—be about your business, Miss!”

She did, smiling, and the Antinium Soldier watched her go, then muttered to a [Guardsman] who gazed after her.

“That’s the Reinhart we’re supposed to keep an eye on? She’s pleasant! I guess that is suspicious.”

——

Here was the conclusion Damia furnished Binevy with, the reason she liked Liscor and wanted to be here.

“Skills and stories, Binevy. Everyone in the city has a Skill and a story. Anyone who’s been here has survived something, seen something, and gained a Skill as a result!”

It wasn’t even always traumatic! They passed a young Human whose entire job was crazy, but only fit this city.

“Lost your ring? Lost some keys? Lost anything made of metal down a privy, down the sewers, in the water? I’ll get it!”

He had a piece of metal on a string and a fishing pole attached. He’d grab your lost things via the power of magnetism. Or as he called it…

“Electricity! I saw some Hobgoblin playing it on a guitar once, and I taught myself a shock spell! Turns out you can make it attract stuff. Like lovely ladies for a drink after work?”

He tried the line on Damia, and she shot him down, laughing but amused. She turned to Binevy.

“You see? No city back home is like this!”

“I do, milady, but where do you fit in?”

Damia’s face fell.

“I wish I knew. If only I could get to the inn!”

She’d tried. She’d asked Timbor, tried to get into Imani’s restaurant, but she had to book a reservation, and no one important enough with the inn had time for her. Or trusted her.

Damia had gotten a bit obsessed with the inn. It sounded fun. It sounded wondrous. And after days of literally drinking up stories, she knew more than most Liscorians. Like those facts about Krshia.

“Where are the Silverfangs at, Binevy? Can you find that out? If they did come north, I wonder how they’re doing. And how is no one asking anything about Rhaldon Flemmings? The [Alchemist] comes here, rediscovers Shield Spider glue, and no one thinks to follow him?”

She felt alive again—right up until Binevy found out where Rhaldon was.

“He works…with Uncle Calidus? And they sold aphrodisiacs that actually work?”

Damia sagged onto a bench and lay there, face-down in the rain as it bounced off her charm, which took that moment to fail since it didn’t last forever without needing a recharge. Binevy stood over her with an umbrella, patting her back.

A white Gnoll girl walked out of the school next to the bench, Ser Dalimont holding an umbrella over Mrsha the Vaguely Soggy’s head. The Gnoll girl eyed Lady Damia as she, Ekirra, Visma, and Kenva walked back to the inn.

This city gets weirder every week, I tell you what. You think Krshia’s cooked like a hot dog now everyone knows about her and Lism…?

They walked off. Damia’s head rose after a minute of screaming silently. She missed the white Gnoll entirely.

“I’m not giving up, Binevy! If I just hang around here long enough, I know I’ll find my chance! Or someone from the inn!”

Binevy opened her mouth, belatedly putting two-and-two together. She eyed her new mistress and gave her a very wide, very fake smile.

——

The inn didn’t want anything to do with a Reinhart anyways. Damia tried.

“So, what’s a cool Gnoll like you doing around here? Mind if I buy you a drink?”

Binevy’s note on Liska said ‘Turnscale’, and Damia thought it was way more profitable—and age-appropriate—than trying to settle for Timbor or someone else. Liska was supervising the people coming and going through the doors with increased speed even for her.

“Sorry, I have a new favorite bar and girlfriend. Next!”

“Er, but I’d love to talk, even as friends! I have money for plenty of drinks. Are you open to throuples?”

“Hey, lady, you’re holding up the line. Next to Celum!”

Binevy whispered in Damia’s ear.

“The Silverfangs are around Celum, Lady Damia. If we head north a bit we’ll find them.”

Damia slunk into Celum, and Liska watched as two lines of people flowed through the door she was operating via her Skill that allowed for multiple consecutive entrances. She was so focused on being productive and levelling that only after a moment did she turn.

“…Wait, throuples? Aw, damnit!”

She fell to her knees and put her head on the floor. She was sacrificing everything for this job! A few people waiting in line eyed Liska as she rolled over and stared up at the ceiling.

——

Without the Unmarked Coach, Damia had to ride a horse. Which wasn’t the worst…she didn’t have much muscle or practice though, so she was thoroughly saddle-sore by the time they reached the Gnolls’ iconic camp north of Celum, just shy of the Remendia-Ocre borders.

This was the Ruins of Albez area, and it was buzzing a bit; the opening of the old laboratory with its treasures had resulted in a huge haul, but there were still things in the area worth taking, from the tiles to the trap spells in Udatron’s laboratory, and so both cities had engaged in their own smaller economic booms.

It didn’t look like the best grazing area, though. The Ruins of Albez were rocky and a bit depressed into the land. Silverfangs were [Miners], but like every good Gnoll tribe, they preferred to raise their flocks.

Were they going to mine Albez? As it turned out, they had been inquiring, but the several thousand Gnolls would have been far surplus to requirements. Not that they were all here; Gnolls were riding into camp, tending to cows, or returning from day-jobs.

They didn’t seem…happy. They didn’t look that unhappy, but their leader was a Gnoll named Rayna Silverfang—at least the one who minded the base camp.

She was as young as Damia with markings down her arms and legs that made her a full warrior of the tribe, but the Meeting of Tribes had aged her, and she was growling as she spoke to a number of people wanting her time.

“Listen. Listen, we will move our camp, yes? Within the week! Just let us pass through your lands. We cannot march the herds nonstop, and we have been searching for work! Have we been stealing, taking your grazing lands? Albez is unclaimed! We’ve slain monsters here, yes? [Clan Leader] Plisce has spoken with your [Mayors]!”

The representative from Ocre hesitated.

“Yes, and we don’t mind you staying, but this is our shared land. So the matter of a fee—”

Okay, older the Silverfang might be, but Rayna threw up her paws.

“Fees! No one is using this grass! No one else is even hunting here! Why must we pay a fee? Is there a fee for the road? For drinking water from a stream? Or just for Gnolls?”

She was mad, and from the way the two representatives shifted, they were uncomfortable. The [Negotiator] from Remendia hurried to clarify.

“Not at all, Chief Hunter Rayna! We completely welcome Gnolls to the north! There won’t be any Drake hostility here.”

“Absolutely not! We’re not warmongering speciesists!”

Both Humans insisted, and they were earnest. The Meeting of Tribes being televised meant that no one was exactly in a rush to be anti-Gnoll at the moment. They even smiled at Rayna, but her expression was stony as Damia strode forwards.

Someone blocked her.

“Excuse me, I believe I am next.”

A rather travel-weary, but distinctly less saddle-sore, Lady Desinee El was holding the reins of a horse she’d rented after growing tired of Overnight Carriages. She and Damia blinked at each other, then warily nodded as Rayna rubbed at her face and turned to a [Shaman].

“For this, I came north. For this, Irit. I should have joined the younger Gnolls forming a tribe, like Kerasil’s band. There would be adventure and a young leader to follow as he became [Chieftain]. Or just stayed in the south.”

“We should have brought Honored Tkrn. He knows the north. But he just had to do his Tkrn thing and put a baby in Honored Inkarr.”

“Bastard. I’d like to see him deal with this.”

Irit was just as young as Rayna and badmouthed the Humans to their faces. Then they turned and gave the two Humans the most insincere of smiles.

“Apologies…friends. Let me explain the situation as [Clan Leader] Plisce might. We have heard, since passing Liscor, so many say the same thing. We welcome you Gnolls, you will find no hostility here, and it is true, not an arrow has been shot—aside from [Bandits]—nor offense truly given in our time here.”

Both Humans nodded as Damia and Desinee listened. Damia was nudging Binevy. Who was Honored Inkarr? She had more to learn!

Irit jumped in as the [Shaman] picked a bug off his clothing and flicked it away.

“Yes, we are welcome. However…it is strange. Drakes, they have their cities and so many rules. You may not graze here. This is our land. You may not trade here, this is our trade. You may only enter our cities like so, with our documents. But Humans do not do this.”

“That’s right. We’re very open, very free compared to Drake lands!”

The Ocre man smiled. The [Negotiator] hesitated because Damia could hear the largest ‘but’ in creation coming. Rayna eyed him.

“Yes, only it seems like every place we go, someone owns the land. We find a forest? The city owns the forest. We find a brook? A [Merchant] has a part-share of a river. A river. Everything has a fee, even camping near a dungeon site!”

She pointed at Albez, and the Humans glanced at each other.

“Well, our cities do claim the area. It’s a very nominal fee, friends—”

Rayna growled, and they backed up.

“Don’t call us friends. Being pecked to death for coins is not better than one giant claw scooping it all up at once. If we were welcome, we would feel it. We will go, but if you respect us, don’t charge us for something that costs you naught, no?”

Likely, the two representatives had their orders, so they began trying to argue the Gnoll around. But at that moment, Lady Desinee interrupted.

“I believe that is quite fair. Let the Silverfangs camp without need for a fee. If Remendia and Ocre object, they may present the bill to House El.”

“And House Reinhart!”

Both negotiators jumped and turned. When they saw Desinee glancing with annoyance at the vibrating Damia, they paled. But Damia just had to jump on the moment. They stepped forwards as Rayna blinked and eyed them. She ducked her head.

“Thank you, [Ladies]. We appreciate such generosity. Be sure I will tell my [Clan Leader], and it is witnessed by [Shamans]. What brings two such famous names to our small camp?”

She was more formal as Desinee introduced herself. Desinee indicated Damia.

“We are not together, incidentally. I have merely stopped by on my…long…trip to Liscor to advertise some new products. The Kaalblade series of House El!”

She flourished and produced the long, almost hacksaw-like design that generated the energy-blade that Ryoka Griffin had popularized. Rayna’s eyes lit up, then she sagged.

“Marvelous, but we cannot afford one, surely.”

She turned to Irit, but Desinee smiled, the consummate sales-lady.

“Not to worry, Chief Huntress. For such an important tribe, I would be delighted to demonstrate. You see, we’ve upgraded the features, modifying Maviola El and Archmage Valeterisa’s designs.”

They had, in fact, finally managed to come up with a new design that no longer meant you had to have a wooden guide-rod for the magic. Now the blade held its shape without need for a guide, and Desinee slashed through a rock to show everyone how they’d improved the ‘edge’ of the magic. It deformed a bit when it contacted the stone, but it was an improvement, no doubt.

“It no longer merely melts through anything it hits. Our, ah, collaboration with the Wind Runner has resulted in far more advanced edge geometry. Not to mention, we have these! Kaal-arrows! And even a Kaal-glaive!”

There was a long-handled, well, spear attached to a modified Kaal-blade for long-ranged magical stabbing and even an arrow that would hit a target and burn through before going out.

Expensive as sin, though. Damia might have bought the Kaalblade until she heard the price, which exceeded all the money she had in her account at the Merchant’s Guild. She could have bought…three Kaal-arrows. The Silverfangs were highly interested, but as they pointed out—

“We could arm ourselves all in steel like [Knights] and Dekava is doing for the Order of Solstice for these prices, Lady Desinee, yes?”

The [Lady] sighed.

“It’s true. This is more of a commander or private citizen’s defensive weapon. And between you and me—I didn’t invent the Kaal-glaive. Dreadful name. That was another member of the family.”

She shuddered as she folded it back up for her bag of holding. Then finished her pitch.

“The real benefit is for the adventurer, the foe facing high-magic. Such as, perhaps, the Archmage of Memory’s famous flying soldiers? He’s lent a few to that dreadful war in Terandria, but I have heard that someone bought a Kaalblade and used it to some effect on even his flying super-soldiers!”

“Really?”

Desinee smiled with pride for her family’s craft.

“Oh yes. When Maviola El came up with the concept, she envisioned Kaalblades as expensive weapons that did require mana stones to function, but would be deadly against most foes who resist lesser magics. Crelers, [Knights] in advanced magical plate—even Djinni! A blade of magic to hurt magical beings.”

“Fascinating. We shall of course tell our [Clan Leader], but at this moment…”

“Of course. If you would like to speak, I shall be in this area, likely Liscor, for at least a few weeks.”

Desinee handed them a card and gave Damia another look before leaving. When it was Damia’s turn…she realized she didn’t have anything to say.

She’d hoped she’d find the Silverfangs engaged in something profitable up north, but it seemed they were a bit aimless or stymied by the local authority of cities. However, her being so flustered and admitting she had just come to say hello actually amused the annoyed Chief Huntress Rayna.

Damia was served some silkap as the young Gnoll woman chatted with her.

“A visit is fine! We appreciate it more than all this polite ‘we love Gnolls, pay us’, yes? We’re looking for more than just a place to stay. We want work! We’d mine around Esthelm, but we want to be further north than just past Liscor. Sadly, everyone owns land here.”

She was rather miffed about it; apparently, the Drakes, for all they enforced their territories, would let a Gnoll tribe graze because grass…was grass.

But even grass was worth something if a [Merchant] owned the area. Damia gnawed on a lip.

“That’s certainly a problem. Around most cities, you’ll find the same issue.”

“So we know. We’re looking into places less settled, but we would like to be near a city! We have never been the wildest tribe…ach, I shouldn’t complain. Did you have a project to hire us on, Lady Damia?”

Rayna cast a hopeful glance at Damia, and the young woman grimaced.

“I couldn’t afford to hire even a few of your people for more than a week! I don’t have that much money.”

“True. It is hard for us Silverfangs to generate profits if our members have to find work for a day, a week. We prefer to have our own mine or task. We might have to stake a claim in the High Passes at this rate. I’ve heard the further north you go, everything is owned by a Human.”

The thought made the Gnoll so gloomy that Damia didn’t know what to say. They were in the same boat.

——

How did one make money?

By receiving it for something. A service, an item you created, be it fighting or consultation. You got money from work.

Unless you were just born with it. Then you could lend it out. When you had money, you got to change the rules, but if you had no money, you had to go for far simpler exchanges.

Or you could steal it.

Damia was so busy pondering the money problem on the way back to Celum she didn’t notice they were being robbed until Binevy squeaked.

“Lady Damia!”

Someone put a knife at her throat. Damia froze and saw a masked figure grabbing at Binevy’s belt pouch.

“No trouble and you don’t get cut, Miss. Who’re you, fancy nobles?”

Damia saw a trio of highway robbers had jumped them on the road to Celum. She made a quick calculation and spoke frostily.

“I am a member of House Reinhart. Accost me or my servant and regret it.”

It was a risky move, but one of the men had been tugging at Binevy’s blouse. He froze, and then the one with the knife grinned.

“Oh? Sounds like you’re worth a bundle then. Maybe you come with us.”

“Maybe my family feeds you to the snakes if you touch us. No one attacks a Reinhart and lives. Take the money and go. Kill us and they will find you.”

The [Highway Robber] didn’t like that. He raised his hand to hit her, and Damia locked eyes with him.

“You can kill me and try to run—and my mother will find you—or leave and consider my gold your reward. Hit me, and I will be the consequences.”

She rather liked that line. Unfortunately, she might not have been quite as savvy as she thought. The [Highway Robbers] hesitated, drew back to confer as Binevy clung to Damia, then one gazed at her.

“Good point. We don’t need a damn [Assassin] on our backs, Miss oh-so-fancy noblelady.”

Damia turned her head, already annoyed, and began to walk since she assumed they’d take her horses. She stepped over the fallen log they’d set up, and one of them spoke.

“[All-Concealing Hood].”

He put a bag over her head, and she froze, then tried to scream. The [Highway Robber] spoke cheerfully.

“Let’s see what you’re worth as a ransom! Very respectfully. [Nap Tap]—”

[Sharp Dame Level 12!]

[Skill – Sharp Remark Obtained!]

——

Damia Reinhart woke up with the bag over her head. She mumbled.

“Binevy?”

“Your Ladyship, we’ve been kidnapped! Did they touch you? Oh, dead gods!”

“No. They didn’t touch you? I guess that worked. Next time, I think I’ll refrain from using my name…no, it’s better than being assaulted. Mother is going to lecture me forever.”

She felt woozy, very unhappy with herself for not having those bodyguards, and relieved nothing worse had happened to two young women. Still…as she wiggled around, she ascertained they were in a stone room.

It smelled a bit. She guessed it was someone’s basement. Given where they were…

“We’re either in a farmstead or—no, we’re in Celum. Damn, they must have brought us into the city, and for all Xitegen claims he’s controlling the city, the rats passed his Golems. Maybe I can use my aura to signal him.”

“H-how do you know it’s Celum?”

“Smells like a privy. We’re near sewers. Either that or they’ve got an outhouse too close to the basement, but I doubt most people would be that stupid. Let me just throw my aura…”

Silence. After a few minutes of them listening and hearing dull sounds from above, a rumble that was probably a wagon, and concluding Damia was right—Binevy coughed.

“Lady Damia, do you know how to throw an aura?”

“No. I skipped lessons with Lady Zanthia because I didn’t see the point. Damn it, Aunt Magnolia!”

Damia was trying to teach herself until she had an idea. [Think Harder]! She concentrated, then spoke.

“Binevy…those three only got us because we were careless. If that’s the quality of criminal around here, no wonder other gangs are moving in.”

“Yes, milady! They were nothing more than rogues! Lord Gorthes would have run them down in a heartbeat! D-do you think they’ll ransom us?”

“If they know how. Hold on, that wasn’t what I…Binevy, you could have been braver. You collapsed like a wet noodle. Have some dignity.”

“Lady Reinhart, they had knives! I’m no Ressa—”

“Shut up, will you? I don’t mean it. Well, not really. I suppose that’s the point. Damn all of this, I’m not the consequences, I’m the conesquenced! I don’t have time to be bothered by half-witted, lowbrow idiots I have to do all the thinking for!”

Her words seemed to grow more and more pointed on her tongue until she spat the last remarks out, and what she was going for worked. She heard a faint tearing sound, and then—

The bag on her head developed a hole. A dim basement appeared as she jerked, and Binevy gasped.

“What was—?”

“[Sharp Remark].”

“Sharp…? You can use that to actually cut? I just thought you hurled it at someone you didn’t like!”

“Any Skill is broadly applicable if you’re intelligent. Keep up, idiot.”

After a few more tries, Damia figured out how to activate it with a cutting comment and raised her bound hands and legs. They hadn’t even bound them behind her, and while they were sturdy, a few remarks about her situation, her captors, and how she felt frayed them enough for Damia to rip her hands free of the rope and rip the bag off her head.

Good thing too; her hands were tingling horribly and swollen. She guessed that they’d tied her too tightly with the ropes.

Even if mother ransomed me right away, I might have lost digits. They hurt terribly, and she couldn’t even free Binevy, so she just used her Skill until the young woman freed herself.

“What now?”

“Now? Either we hide here and trick them into thinking we’ve left…or we run. We have to run at some point.”

Plus this basement was not exactly furnished with helpful little gaps two young women could squeeze into. It looked like a damn root cellar, and when they crept up the old stairs, they found the door wasn’t even locked!

“Idiots.”

Damia rolled her eyes as she pushed the trap door open. The noise intensified, and she motioned to Binevy.

“Quietly, we’ll get up, find a window, and bail out. We just have to scream for a Golem and we’ll be safe.”

They emerged into some kind of closet room in what sounded like an inn or other such building. Excellent. Damia went for the door, levered it open a bit, and realized a single flaw in her plan.

Escaping the basement and getting onto the streets worked—so long as the building you escaped into had a handy exit.

As opposed to, say, a room full of lowlifes. She froze the moment she saw the room full of carousing criminals.

Great. This is some kind of safehouse for gangs, and our captors probably rented the basement so they could begin ransoming us. She began to close the door, going back to Plan B, which was hide or throw her aura or—

The problem with a room full of lowlifes was that they might be scum, criminals, and whatever other ill-appellation you wanted to give them, but they were…good at that.

Some of the laughter and music playing—a very familiar guitar and Hobgoblin—died down suddenly, and there was a voice.

“Oi. Did anyone else just see the door to the cellar open?”

“Yep.”

“My [Criminal Instincts] went off too.”

“Right, right. Just checking if any of you were too stupid to notice. So d’you reckon it’s some brave [Rogue] or adventurer going in to rescue whomever’s down there, or them escaping? Knew we should have checked on those three idiots’ work.”

Damia squeezed her eyes shut. Then she threw the door open.

“Run, Binevy! Help! Lord Xiteg—”

They made it three steps before they were captured. Then the members of whatever gang this was had both young women trussed up again—expertly—and were laughing about it. One checked their bindings.

“Seems like someone knows a cutting Skill. Damn, you’re lucky you got to us, Miss Kidnappee. Look at that; they nearly lost their hands. Idiots tied ‘em too tight.”

“Amateur work. Should we charge the idiots three when they get back?”

They were caught. Damia groaned as the group went back to listening to the song-crystal of Numbtongue’s performance. She made one attempt as they began to shove her to the basement.

“I’m important enough to ransom. If I promised you gold, would you accept a better offer than whatever they’re paying?”

“From the Merchant’s Guild and from Lord Xitegen? No thanks, we like not having a Golem’s foot in our brains.”

The [Rogues] laughed. Damia groaned again, but at least they wouldn’t lose limbs because of blood loss. She stared around and heard that Hobgoblin’s voice.

“That song. How is it already on song crystal?”

It was so banal, but now she knew it was no less than Numbtongue, the [Bard] of The Wandering Inn, she was amazed—both by the content of the song and the coincidence. She’d been in the presence of a legend! The [Rogues] blinked.

“You know it? It does get around fast. We got put onto it, and it’s hell of good music.”

“You like music?”

“Who doesn’t? Mind your head, Miss Servant. It’s called ‘Woman of Nothing’. Reminds me of my last breakup. Alright, I can tell you’re being charming. In the basement you go.”

Damnit, they were so good! Damia groaned, and she muttered.

“Think, think…”

Her eyes snapped open. Song crystal? How could they know about it unless—she began struggling at the entrance to the basement.

“Hey. Hey! You—do you know a pair of [Gang Leaders] who just entered the city? Big names. Faces, I bet. One’s got a collapsible spear, the other’s got two daggers. They were riding the Unmarked Coach! Or—or the Sisters of Chell!”

The [Rogues] paused. One of them about to shove the wiggling Damia down the stairs frowned.

“How the hell d’you know the boss?”

“Your boss? I was sitting with him in the coach! We survived a half-Elf together! Tell them it’s me! The Djinni was kicking down trees when we left!”

The group hesitated. One of them let Damia swivel around, and she saw a [Rogue] with a scar down one milky eye glancing at the others.

“Sounds like a trick. She’s got a fancy mouth on her. If this is some [Bard] trick—”

“Just ask! How could I trick a high-level [Gang Boss]? I was on the Unmarked Coach! With the Sisters of Chell’s bean-flicker!”

One of the [Rogues] snorted.

“She even knows what they call ‘em. Damn…wouldn’t hurt to ask, right?”

They hesitated. Eventually, one put Damia downstairs, and she sat, heart pounding. It was only about twenty minutes before the door opened again, and someone went strolling downstairs.

“Well, well, well. Lady Damia Reinhart? I know we said no names, but I suppose you can’t blame me for hearing it from the three yokels who got you. Alright, let ‘em loose. I suppose friends from the Coach who escaped a crazy half-Elf deserve to give each other a turn.”

The spear-carrying male [Gang Boss] grinned at Damia, and she sagged in relief. Then spat.

“Who puts a kidnapper’s basement in an inn?”

“Someone who gets tired of them getting busted out.”

…You had to admit it was a smart idea.

——

It was a breach of the underworld etiquette, Damia using the [Gang Boss]’ name. But he didn’t give his to her, and as he acknowledged, they’d had an incident already.

He had her and Binevy sipping on drinks as he introduced her to his crew.

“I suppose it’s my fault you ended up in there. Those three were just local toughs. We’re offering clandestine entry into Celum, which was why they got in contact with us. We offer other services too; we were setting up the ransom. Did we even bother the Reinharts yet?”

He frowned, and one of the apologetic [Rogues] coughed.

“No, Boss. It was gonna go to you.”

“Good! Because I don’t fancy some [Assassin] coming down south to put a dagger up all our asses! Gah. Just as well. No hard feelings?”

He offered her a hand, and Damia took it, smiling.

“Not from me. But those three [Highway Robbers]…”

The man had scars on his wrists and hands—though he wore a cat burglar’s gloves. She realized his gang was actually more of the [Rogue] type. Kidnapping, burglary, but not as much thugging.

“Oh, they’re all dead. Unless you’d like to see it done? I’m not keeping them around after this hassle.”

Binevy swallowed at the cheerful, careless way he said that, and the man eyed Damia, but she didn’t even blink. That was also a Reinhart for you.

“I’m just curious how you’ll do it. I don’t feel the need to be vindictive.”

“Very reasonable. I think we’ll just put them in hoods, walk ‘em out into a field, and put a crossbow bolt between their eyes…is what I’d say if I knew they were getting killed. Or giving orders. Y’know, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ll say anything about them. They might just vanish. Who knows what happened to them? Not me. Not you.”

So that’s how you passed a truth stone. Damia nodded and sighed.

“What a day. And here I was worrying about finding work.”

“Hah! If a noblewoman can’t find work, what’s the world coming to? It’s hard in Celum too—damn Golem Lord is fast. He busted into a safe-room himself the other day. Well…we’ll see. Let me get someone to walk you to a safe street, and again, I hope we’re all very square. No Golems, no problems.”

The warning was that if she called Xitegen down, she’d regret it, but Damia just shook her head.

“I prefer someone who at least seems to like me than an elusive [Gang Boss] with a grudge. I doubt Xitegen could catch you even if he brought every Golem he’s got.”

He relaxed a bit.

“Smart lady. Now, if you want my advice, there’s just no profit these days in the actual action. You knock down a Jeweler’s Guild and the Watch is on your ass like the Brothers. The real money’s in having the entrance to Celum that the Watch don’t know about. The intermediary’s money. Our friend, the female [Shank Boss]? She’s old school.”

Damia appreciated that. She grinned at the man.

“It’s [Sharp Dame], not lady, actually. I like old school, though. I like Liscor. It’s got that ‘old school’. Do you know about the [Innkeeper]?”

He sat there, and his wide smile thinned a bit. The man took a drink.

“The innkeeper? I know a bit. Wanted to visit but—well…not my turf. As for bein’ old school, just remember it’s all glory and guts until it runs out. Turns out we shoulda split at Invrisil. Not your fault, or even the Coach’s; we just didn’t know the score. That safehouse that got busted into? Her gang got nabbed by the Lord of Thighs himself. She’s hanging tomorrow, noon. If you want to see her off, I’ll buy drinks.”

Damia’s smile vanished. The [Gang Boss] lifted a mug as the rest of his gang did too.

“Knew her sixteen years. That’s a real Lord of House Terland for you. You grow up into a fellow half as scary as him, I reckon you’ll do just fine, Lady Damia.”

——

For some reason, that made Damia feel bad. She didn’t even know the female [Gang Leader]’s n—

“Varnie. The Sorcerer’s Knives gang. Well, what’s left of ‘em is going up. They fought hard, but you don’t fight a Golem with knives.”

…The other [Gang Boss] told her that since that was that. She almost asked if he wouldn’t break out a fellow friend or acquaintance like that, but then she reconsidered.

No matter how good a [Rogue] was, Lord Xitegen probably had some of the finest Golems on the prison. The odds of evading Golem eyes in a limited space…no.

She sat in Liscor after her kidnapping, a bit melancholy. Her servants were arriving; the first had already presented themselves for her security.

“Lady Reinhart, I’m your [Bodyguard]. Don’t know the job that well, but I had teachin’ from Lady Cosoi’s staff, and I’ll do my best.”

…A literal farmboy stood to attention. His name was Sule, and he looked like had been born with hay in his hair. His accent and innocent demeanor as he stood straight, forgetting to check for any kind of danger around Damia, had her smile then instantly turn to Binevy.

“Tell me this is a joke.”

“He’s…trustworthy, Lady Damia. He comes from House Reinhart lands, where your family is, um, actually respected. Lady Cosoi draws new servants from there.”

Damia almost told the boy to get lost, but she felt like it’d be like kicking a puppy. Not something you did, especially because Binevy smiled worriedly at Sule.

[Servants] liked other [Servants]. Damia still frowned.

“My aunt’s no fool. Why’d she hire him? No offense, Sule, but you are not [Bodyguard] material.”

He only appeared vaguely hurt by that and saluted her.

“No, Lady Damia! I’m not! But I can hit any fellow who’s trying to kidnap you! I have practice with a club and everything!”

…Was this so she had someone vaguely appealing to sleep with? That was Damia’s first thought; he was well-built. Country strong or whatever the saying was. Then she thought about it harder.

“Think, think—”

She prodded the side of her head. Binevy told the open-mouthed Sule to stop staring—this was his new [Lady], and he’d better get used to her, uh, eccentricities. Damia, though, had a thought.

Aunt Cosoi might do it for fun, but I doubt she actually cares about me that much. Or she’d send some note or something. 

“Binevy, was Sule on the employee list before I came to Cosoi?”

“Well before, Damia. I mean, Lady—”

“That’s fine.”

So, he was chosen for a reason. Loyalty, most likely. Aunt Cosoi probably doesn’t like opportunists like the family. But why him? She eyed Sule, then spoke.

“Do you have [Lesser Strength], Sule?”

He blinked at her.

“No, Lady Damia.”

“Ah, then—”

“I got [Enhanced Strength]. And [Lesser Toughness]. It was exactly what Lady Cosoi asked about.”

Ah. Damia’s brows cleared instantly, and she smiled. Binevy did a double-take and checked her notes.

“Country strength indeed. And potential. You’ll need more training, Sule. But rest assured, I intend to treat my loyal servants quite well.”

He beamed.

“I reckon that’s good, Lady Damia. I was worried you were like, uh, the rest of your—”

Binevy stomped on his foot, but Damia waved a hand.

“No, no. I understand. Binevy, manage the staff. Now…”

…What did she do? Well, she had to ask Timbor if he had another room for her staff, and he warned her he might run out. So they needed that housing, which cost money, and Damia had no idea what was going on.

Gloomily, she sat down. There had to be something! She felt like she had a bunch of nothing. And who should come by in her moment of weakness other than—

“Hello, Miss. Still down on your luck?”

“Hey, Catsel. Still recruiting for the stupid dig site?”

The [Recruiter] flashed her a grin. He was Salazsarian, apparently, and Sule eyed him like a threat, but the Drake just flashed his card.

“Plenty of work if you’re stuck in a rut.”

“I’m a [Lady], Catsel.”

He blinked at her. Then he actually grew more interested.

“A [Mine Lady]? Because if you were, I could offer a far larger bounty—”

“No. Those don’t exist.”

“Not in the north, apparently. Work’s hard.”

He sighed and walked off to another table. Damia was glad to see someone else struggling to do their job. She muttered.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss’ dig. Wait, Wall Lord Ilvriss?”

She sat up in interest. And she approached the table where three Drakes and a Human were waving him off. They seemed like they were around her age, and, she guessed, none of them were apprentices or had the most well-paying jobs. Mud covered their britches, and they’d come in tired and swearing about hauling jobs. But they weren’t having the pitch either.

“Listen, dude. We don’t want work.”

“It pays better than a [Hauler]’s job. Trust me. And you’ll have an actually valuable class.”

“Oh yeah? Who wants to mine for a living?”

“The pay’s double what you’re making, and there’s bonuses.”

That drew the quartet up, but one of the Drakes just snatched the card and read.

“All the way in—I have no idea where this is!”

“It’s not far via the door—”

“Listen, listen. No one wants to go digging in some nowhere place. This is the spot to be. Between Esthelm, Liscor, Celum, all we gotta do is find the right work and get a few levels. Who’d go off to a place without even working toilets?”

The Human interrupted, a young woman with impressive biceps, and everyone nodded. Catsel was biting his lip. He was really not the best at this pitch, or he’d used his Skills throughout the day. Damia was sure he could find anyone who wasn’t employed, hence him continuing to seek her out.

However…Damia jumped into the conversation, because she couldn’t help it.

“Hold on, Catsel. This is for Wall Lord Ilvriss, right? The Wall Lord Ilvriss?”

The group of potential workers eyed her suspiciously. So did Catsel.

“Er, yes.”

Damia peered around. No one got it? She spoke to the table.

“Are all of you new to Liscor or something?”

“Hey. Us two are from Cellidel. We followed Senior Guardsman Relc here—this idiot’s moved from Pallass, and our Humie friend is from Esthelm. We’ve all been here for months!”

They glared at her, and Damia threw up her hands.

“So you know about The Wandering Inn.”

“Of course.”

Timbor half-turned as a few other patrons looked up. Damia pointed at Catsel.

“But you don’t know about Wall Lord Ilvriss? The Wall Lord who came here with Zel Shivertail? The one who danced with a certain [Princess] in Oteslia, proposed to an [Innkeeper], and gave her his ring? He’s fought monsters at Liscor! Dead gods, he charged Fissival during the Meeting of Tribes! That Wall Lord is digging in the north, and you think the best opportunity’s here?”

She pointed northwest as the table blinked at her. Damia was excited. She saw it, suddenly.

“If I wanted to get a piece of some levels, I’d be going there in a shot. Let alone getting paid by Salazsar. They’re the richest of the Walled Cities! Either you get paid and come back or you run into a Solstice event and come out with lots of levels!”

“Hold on, if it’s so profitable, why aren’t you going there?”

One of the Drakes raised a claw, and Damia sighed.

“I’m a [Lady]. I’ve never swung so much as a hammer once in my life. You think I have the muscle to dig?”

She gestured self-deprecatingly at herself, and the Human girl snorted.

“Fair point. Gimme that card again, Rosc. Hey, the pay is nice…and we’re strong.”

“I dunno, it’s pretty damn far.”

“Still, Wall Lord Ilvriss. I know that guy. Didn’t we hear he was actually decent? I heard Watch Captain Zevara liked him.”

“Anyone that stick-in-the-mud likes has got to suck.”

“If he knew the Tidebreaker…”

“You want to die?”

“You want to haul campaign boxes for the stupid election all day? Who you voting for?”

They were arguing, and someone else came over to check the card. Damia stepped back and nudged Catsel.

“You’d better have a Skill or some charm. Hurry up before you lose them.”

He jumped in hurriedly, and she watched him sign no less than five people up right then and there and get more interested names. To her surprise, he came over to her as he promised to run and get more details for the people who wanted them.

“Damia, right? I think I owe you this!”

He handed her a gold coin. She blinked at it.

“What—for that?”

He looked very happy.

“It’s hard enough getting people to sign up, even with all the incentives the Wall Lord’s company gave me! That was a good pitch. I’m going to copy it. How do you know all that about the Wall Lord?”

“I keep my ears open.”

“Well, do you have time? Because if you do, I’ll cut you in on my profits.”

Damia stared at the gold coin, and her brain lit up. She pocketed the coin, then smiled at Catsel.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, well, then—”

He turned, and she walked with him to the door.

“Who’re you working for? Put me in touch with them and sign me up as a [Recruiter]. I don’t want the class, but I have charisma-Skills. I don’t want a cut—I want a job.”

Her eyes gleamed, and she remembered her advice. Don’t just provide a service, be the middleman. Who had more gold than a desperate Wall Lord? Catsel blinked at her, then shrugged.

“I could put you in contact with the supervisor, but listen, I’ve been doing this for weeks. You don’t have a chance, good spiel or not. No offense.”

“Really?”

She eyed him, then strode over to the table. Damia smiled down at the group toasting an adventure in the north.

“Hey, do all of you have friends who’re also searching for work?”

The Drakes and Human blinked at her.

“Sure we do.”

“In that case, I have four silver coins per person if you get them to join you. I’ll pay you for every friend you refer to me.”

“Four silver? You serious?”

One of the Drakes stood up, and Damia’s winked.

“Absolutely. So long as they actually sign up. And if they’re hesitant, let me talk to them. Actually, does anyone know another story about Wall Lord Ilvriss? I heard he once got literally hit in the head by a frying pan that the [Innkeeper] threw…”

——

By the end of the day, Catsel, who was working for Damia, reported they’d signed eighty-eight people. Which made Damia sad.

She’d been going for a hundred. However, her Skills seemed to have a strong effect, or maybe it was the way she talked Ilvriss up. She thought it was obvious.

“Anyone with eyes can see he’s up to something in the north. What kind of Drake goes digging up there for nothing?”

“Smelly? Dirty? Sure. You know that City Runner, Sasquatch? She’s being appraised to be a Courier, and she ran deliveries for The Wandering Inn.”

“Oh, sure, it’s probably going to be hard work. And maybe there’s nothing up there. If there’s not, you’ll see everyone back here a month or two later with spending gold. Or you’ll see us in the news. Your choice.”

Binevy had to remark after the eighteenth time hearing Damia talk someone into it.

“Lady Damia, you’re rather persuasive when you want to be!”

The Reinhart [Lady] winked at Binevy.

“I’m just being honest. Honesty is easier than lies.”

“But you talk up the inn so well!”

“Well…yes? Doesn’t everyone like the inn?”

“Not a lot of people. Are you going to, ah, be working like this?”

Damia Reinhart had gotten in touch with a bored [Supervisor] who worked in Ilvriss’ dig site. They’d signed her up with zero expectations on Catsel’s recommendation. After she’d reported eighty people, they’d begun telling her if she hit certain quotas they’d pay her very well.

…But only enough to make her a good living as a person. Damia shook her head, sighing.

“No. This is just good for a day. But it can’t pay all my servants’ incomes unless we just do this for a living. Plus, once we get enough people for Wall Lord Ilvriss we’ll be out of work unless I start Damia’s Recruiting Services.”

It wasn’t the worst idea in the world. However, Damia just felt like she was missing something. She thought of the [Gang Leaders], of the Wall Lord. There was money there, but she’d never recruit enough people, even if she did this sunup to sundown! The [Supervisor] had told her flat out that if she recruited a thousand people, they’d take all thousand.

They’re dying for more help, but experienced help. I get way more of a bonus for signing anyone with [Miner] Skills.

…Silverfangs…

An idea came into her head. Damia sat up on her bed and put her fingers to her temples.

“Wait. Wait…[Think Harder]!”

“Does she always do this?”

Sule whispered to Binevy. The young [Head Servant]’s eyes lit up.

“Oh! Lady Damia, what if you hired the Silverfangs for Wall Lord—”

It was a genius idea! Damia snapped at her.

“Shut up, that’s obvious!”

“Oh.”

There was something else. Something deeper. Damia’s eyes snapped open. She began to sweat as she tried to put it together. Then something went ding in her head, and she leapt up.

“I have it. It’s a Solstice event! A Damia event! I need—but if—we have to—”

She ran around, waving her hands as her two employees stared at her, and then stopped.

“It all hinges on one thing. We need the power of The Wandering Inn. If we can’t get it, it fails. Follow me!”

She ran down the steps, then turned.

“Wait. Binevy, my things. Get me the most slutty outfit we’ve got.”

Binevy exchanged a glance with Sule. He wore a happy expression. He’d heard you saw all kinds of stuff in House Reinhart. Good and bad.

——

“All aboard to Riverfarm? Choo, choo!”

Liska might have been getting a bit delirious after pulling a ten hour shift. She didn’t even know what she was saying; she’d just heard Kevin say it once.

The people in line were giving her worried looks, but she was doing her job. Too much, actually. Yelroan had come out twice to try and relieve her, but she’d insisted.

Working hard levelled you! Her girlfriend got it. Her new girlfriend.

I’m gonna work so hard today, then I get a day off, and it’s smacking lips time. Wait, that sounds terrible. I gotta be cool and impress her. 

Liska wobbled around deliriously.

“Man, I need a break.”

“And a drink, Miss Liska? Can I change your mind about having one? Is there anything you…want?”

The [Doorgnoll] turned and came face-to-face with Damia Reinhart. She stared at the [Lady]. Then down at her low-cut bosom.

“Whoa.”

She kept her eyes low as they had a conversation. Damia was speaking fast.

“I need a favor—”

“Hold on, hold on…one more second…”

Liska raised a paw, slapped her own cheek, and sighed.

“Whatever it is, no. I don’t know where the inn is, I don’t want to deliver whatever it is, no special treatment, no free money. Bye!”

She began shoving Damia to the door. Damia spluttered.

“Wait! I need your help! Only Liska, the [Doorgnoll] who held off Tyrion Veltras himself, can help me! Please! Isn’t there anything you want?”

Well, if she put it like that—Liska squinted at her.

“What makes you think you have anything to offer me? Besides, uh—my partner’s cool, but not throuple-cool. I think.”

She’d have to ask later, because that felt important to bring up, and a certain [Dancer] might really be into it. Which would be—but this [Lady] felt like trouble. Not that Liska knew her aside from today. But Damia was protesting.

“I can surely offer you something! Everyone wants something!”

“Listen, Lady. All I want is levels. Not gold, not s…all I want is levels!”

Liska snapped. But to her surprise, Damia smiled, and her eyes lit up.

“Oh, is that all? And here I was prepared to try sleeping my way to what I need. If it’s levels you want—listen, I have something I need help with. You don’t have to do anything illegal. Well, it’s mostly not illegal. Well, you won’t get in trouble. In any major way. I think. But it’ll level you, I’m positive! Just…”

She explained her idea in brief. Liska was about to shake her head before Damia got to her role. Then Liska wavered.

“That…sounds sort of awesome. And I’d probably level. But—”

She glanced towards the door. Damia snuggled up to her in a very distracting way.

“I swear, it’s not for anything criminal. Despite how it sounds. Plus, you know, House Terland did try to kill Wall Lord Ilvriss recently.”

“Yeah. They did. Yeah…hold on. Let me just get approval for this from, uh, my boss.”

Damia’s face fell as Liska rubbed at her chin.

“No, wait! Please! If you just—”

Too late. Liska wobbled off-duty as Peggy replaced her with a sigh, and Damia stood there, woebegone. It was over. Doomed!

…Where had Liska gone? Damia was wandering around the room, utterly mystified, convinced the [Doorgnoll] had some kind of secret door. And she might know where The Wandering Inn was! Maybe. That was just a dim theory Damia had.

She sat there for a long time, trying to figure out countermeasures and realizing she didn’t have any good ones. Worrying and waiting for an age.

Then the door opened, and Liska came back. Damia was about to throw herself at the Gnoll and beg when Liska held up a thumb.

“Boss approved it.”

“What. Really?”

Liska grinned.

“Yeah.”

Then Damia’s head came up and she beamed. She ran for it before Liska could ask her name and invite her for that drink. Only later did it occur to Damia to ask…who was Liska’s boss?

She had no idea.

——

Lyonette du Marquin wasn’t exactly happy that evening. She was lying down, trying to sit up.

“Lyonette—Lyonette, it’s a valiant attempt, but let’s just do some classical dances. It’s fine—”

“I—can—do—”

She couldn’t get up. Her red hair was splayed over the ballroom floor like blood, and her cracks were showing, an angry, unhealed red.

She hurt.

She couldn’t move. Her legs…she refused to show him her frustration, but tears sprang to the corners of her eyes.

After three dance meetups, something was abundantly clear about the Highstepper.

Lyonette couldn’t do it.

Now, this wouldn’t be a problem in a bubble. There were dances meant to break the Human condition, to crush the soul and spirit. If you couldn’t do the impossible, fine.

Here was the problem: Lyonette couldn’t do the dance. It was abundantly clear that Ilvriss could.

He’d come back from the dig site several times by now, riding in and out before dawn to justify the excursion. He claimed he enjoyed the time at the inn so much it was worth it, and [Twofold Rest] certainly made up the travel time. He’d even found time to exercise.

“Lots of nervous energy with the mine monsters. I engaged them twice, but everyone shouted at me so much—I can’t risk my life.”

So he’d actually practiced the dancing, which he claimed had killed his ankles. Lyonette believed it; she’d been so excited, doing her own stretches and practice to get back in shape.

Right until she’d realized something.

His stamina, his ability to twist, to keep up with the rhythm of the dancing, to even have his muscles remember the complex pattern of the Highstepper? It was incomparable to her abilities.

Her condition. The damage she’d taken from Erin. [Crippled Reflexes]. Lyonette had told herself she could get past it all, but even with [Flawless Attempt], there was a point where her legs just gave out or she failed to move with the rhythm of the dance.

She had no energy. After six minutes of dancing, it was gone. Six minutes! She knew how much she could dance. Before this…

“Just give me one chance. Go—go practice with Colfa, please, Ilvriss? I’ll…”

Lyonette, panting, had Ushar help her up. She gulped water, trying to recover as their instructor and Ilvriss practiced the dance. The worst part was seeing Ilvriss deliberately do a prat-fall to pretend like he wasn’t getting it.

Colfa had picked up the Highstepper once she’d realized Lyonette was serious about practicing it. She and Himilt had come in and done it in six tries.

Damn Vampires.

Then Dame Ushar and Ser Dalimont had tried to help demonstrate parts of the dance as they had been studying it. Dalimont had sworn off it after literally stomping on his own foot, but Dame Ushar had managed most of it with Ilvriss.

Damn Thronebearers.

The final blow, though, was seeing Nanette and Mrsha go tap-dancing past Lyonette, doing a complicated shuffle that was part of the Highstepper. The [Princess] beamed at them, then burst into tears.

——

“I’m sorry! I just—I want to be able to dance. I know I gave it up. I don’t regret it. I just wish I could…”

Everyone was trying to console Lyonette and not doing a great job.

“Don’t worry, Lyonette! It’s a hard dance! Mrsha and I just know how to do that one because we have young bones and we’re all floppy!”

Forsooth, it’s too difficult!

“It’s extraordinarily complex, Lyonette. I just happened to have a lot of training as a dancer, and I am a high-level [Lord]. You couldn’t get even a Named-ranker to dance it. Look at Elia.”

Elia Arcsinger wore an unusually offended expression, but she said nothing as they sat with Lyonette. The [Princess] sniffed.

“I just wish I could heal myself. We’ve tried so much. Healing potions just bring me back to this state…”

“No [Healer]’s helped?”

Ilvriss inquired. Lyonette shook her head.

“No. We subtly went to Demerra and other good [Healers]. Valeterisa tried [Restoration]—it makes sense. This is what I chose. It’s Skills, not just…but oh, I wish it could help! I asked some of the Free Antinium to try healing me, but it didn’t take and Pawn’s gone…”

Normally she’d have been a bit smug about things that faith couldn’t overcome. But he was in Khelt and this…

Lyonette sat there as Mrsha peered around, then fled the table. Nanette glared at the coward abandoning the Lyonette front, but then she turned.

“Lyonette, not even Colfa’s family can dance that well. Right, Colfa?”

The Vampiress was grimacing.

“No. The young ‘uns might, but the Highstepper literally can snap your ankle tendons. Saw it happen once. Not that they don’t gloat; my sister’s already asking me when I’ll have them over. That arrogant udderhead. Look, she even wrote to say she’s sorry we were dressed so poorly. And she sent these.”

She pulled out a pair of custom boots made from magical leather, stained a classic brown but so deep and each stitch so finely placed that Ushar sighed.

“Dead gods, what an insult. That monster.”

“They’re such good boots.”

Nanette spoke plaintively. Lyonette agreed. They were the boots of boots. And worse, Aronia had sent three pairs, one for her, Colfa, and Nanette.

“It must have cost a fortune. This is Splendor Leather. Softer than the ass of a Sariant Lamb and tough enough to walk on nails with.”

Colfa was so upset her hands shook. Ilvriss just stared blankly at the boots.

“They’re nice boots, I agree. What’s the problem?”

Everyone else glared at him.

“It’s showing us up, Ilvriss! Nanette, don’t do it!”

“I have to wear them! Don’t worry, Lyonette. I’ll paint them with all kinds of colors. I think I’ll do a blue base paint and put splotches on ‘em so they’re cool.”

“Oh, good idea Nanette. We can do a [Magical Picture] thanking Aronia for yours! Colfa!”

“I’d rather die.”

Colfa stroked the boots that had been dyed black for her. Truly, a diabolical gift. Lyonette would have to keep the boots, obviously. You didn’t throw away such an excellent gift! But she’d never put them on, unless she visited the Lischelles, obviously. Just stare at them and know how horrible it was.

Aronia was a monstrous woman who could have held her own in any Calanferian court. Worse…Lyonette turned the boots over.

“She put Calanfer’s seal on the bottom. How did she even get it custom…? I’m going to cry. I’m never going to learn the Highstepper, I’m not going to prevent Ilvriss from being ripped to shreds by a Golem, I’m not going to get Nanette to ever put anything fashionable on again—”

She began sobbing again. Ilvriss and Nanette frowned and chorused.

“Hey!”

Liska lifted a paw as she entered the inn and saw Lyonette crying. She shuffled over to a table. Not a good time.

It was Mrsha du Marquin, Lyonette’s first daughter, the one who knew her mother best, who came walking down the stairs and sighed heavily. She leaned against one wall with all the weight of the world on her. The [Survivor of Fates] slapped the wall for everyone’s attention, then wrote with a glowing nail.

I didn’t want to do this. But…it seems I have no choice. Come with me, Mother.

She held out her hand, and Lyonette looked up, tears stopping. She tried to get up, and Nanette and Ilvriss had to help her. The [Princess] wavered.

Should a mother be afraid of her daughter’s eyes? She tried not to be, but she shook slightly, and not just from her overtaxed limbs. She walked forwards.

“Hey…Lyonette…I made it. Don’t mind my condition. Slightly sick. Kids safe? Who’s this Drake fellow?”

Duke Rhisveri inchwormed out from behind a table, lying on his front. Nanette screamed, kicking him in the face. Lyonette glanced down at him.

“Why are you bright scarlet red? Is it contagious?”

His skin was flushed. Duke Rhisveri wobbled.

“No, no! Just—”

“Excuse me, then.”

She stepped over him. Well, stepped on his back.

“Ow! What the—”

Then past him and up the stairs. Rhisveri lay there. Then he rolled over to stare at Wall Lord Ilvriss.

“What’re you looking at? You’re the incompetent who can’t even deal with his own mess and has to call on a [Princess]? Disgraceful.”

He tried to sneer at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord stared at the scarlet duke, then the bulge in his pants. Rhisveri glanced down.

“Er—don’t mind that. That’s temporary—”

Ilvriss tossed Rhisveri out into the rain and watched the Duke roll down the hill and into the water uttering oaths the entire way down. The Wall Lord wiped his hands on his jacket, then went to wait for Lyonette.

——

Mrsha took Lyonette not into the [Garden of Sanctuary], or some dread location like the [Vault of the Mortal World], but to a spot…slightly less terrifying.

Only slightly.

Erin’s room. Lyonette froze as Mrsha entered, hopped onto the desk, and rummaged around.

“Mrsha, dear? W-what are you searching for?”

What I know is here, Mother. I want to cheer you up, and it occurs to me that if you were working so hard…listen. Erin has lots of secrets. Sometimes, they’re right to keep, but other times, I think she legitimately forgets. I saw her working on this one time. Well, I didn’t. Apista did. Where…here!

She was writing one-handed and came up with something with the other paw. Triumphantly, she spread it on the desk. Lyonette feared to approach.

HERE LIES THE LAST TOMB OF THE DRAGONLORD OF DAWN.

<Legendary Quest: Destroy the King of Krakens, Hebowhatisfibh, the Devourer of Nations!>

A guide to casting Tier 8 magic for dummies!

…Were not what was written there. Lyonette was terrified to look until she saw the weirdest of all things scribbled down in Erin’s usual sketches.

“Is that…a person dancing?”

Mrsha wore the pained expression of a child regarding someone with worse artistic skills than she had.

Yeah. And Ulvama tried to teach Erin art. Can you believe it? Look at this, Mom.

Lyonette didn’t know what she was looking at at first. There were illustrations, in the beginning stick-people but then a bit more refined, of people waving their arms around. Then little black marks on the ground, reminiscent of ants.

She thought it was some devilishly complex code on the scroll before she remembered it was Erin.

“If it’s a code, it’d be in chess notation. This…wait a second.”

She saw lines pointing to the footmarks and blinked.

“Are these instructions for a dance, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll girl nodded.

I’m pretty sure they are. Apista said Erin was ‘doing stupid dances, cursing, and writing it down to show Ulvama’. Remember her promising to give the Lord of the Dance some magical dances? I think this is it. Problem is…I don’t think she knows how to write dance choreography.

That was abundantly clear. No one had taught Erin how you actually noted down a dance’s steps. Which, to be fair, was really hard to do in the first place, representing three-dimensional movement and timing on a page.

Erin’s answer was to do a bunch of little footprints that represented where you should be and sketches of poses. As well as incomprehensible shorthand.

Do the hip waggler here! 

Very hard. Hurts the back.

I dunno if you’re supposed to go left or right here. Either? Wish I had that ghost around.

Just as Mrsha had said. Lyonette’s fingers were trembling as she gazed down at something fit for a kingdom’s treasury. The kind of thing you’d pass down for generations.

A magical dance.

Mrsha held the scroll out to Lyonette.

If you can’t dance the Highstepper, Mom, what about this?

“Mrsha, are you sure?”

We can ask Erin when she checks in for the week. But I reckon it’s fine. Here, this is the most complete one. Um, don’t take that one.

She snatched another scroll back from Lyonette. And there it was. The girl who’d seen the many paths of fate hid that one behind her back as Lyonette hesitated. That last scroll was black vellum and drawn on in red.

“What one’s that, Mrsha?”

I think it calls someone. Things get…complicated if you do that one right. In the best case scenario. Use this one instead.

Mothers were allowed to be frightened of their daughters. Sometimes. Lyonette took the scroll and peered at it. Then? She smiled.

——

A little while later, Lyonette, Ilvriss, a fascinated Colfa, and the staff were in the ballroom, pouring over the plans and insulting Erin roundly.

“This makes no sense. Dalimont?”

“I fear my teachings have not prepared me for…perhaps like this?”

“No, drat. It’s just like Erin.”

“Ancestors. Are you sure it’s not in code?”

But they were having fun. Trying this new dance, which was interesting, and they had permission!

Erin checked in once a week. Briefly, and not with Lyonette who had, um, excuses, because she still didn’t want to let Erin know she had inherited her weakness. Her response to Nanette had been—

“What? You found my sacred writings? Aw, c’mon! …No, I didn’t forget about—stupid [Pavilion of Secrets]. I was just…saving it. For moments like this. Go ahead and use it. But not the one on black paper. Why is Lyonette dancing with Ilvriss? No, she doesn’t need a reason, but—”

Permission granted. Magical ghost dance obtained! Figuring it out was the fun! After watching Dalimont do a few moves, everyone was laughing. And Lyonette got a tap on the shoulder from Liska.

“Miss Lyonette? I have a weird request. Can I, uh, bother Lord Xitegen Terland?”

“Lord Xitegen? Absolutely not, Liska! Hold on, let me just—”

——

Lyonette’s legs gave out three minutes into trying to join the others dancing. They fell silent. She lay on the floor and realized the same problem applied. Mrsha slapped her forehead.

Fool of a Mrsha!

Lyonette stared at the ceiling.

“Liska?”

“Er, I’m just gonna tell the lady no. Sorry, I’ll just clock off and—”

“Do it.”

The Terlands were not her friends. The Lischelles were not her friends. Lyonette spoke softly.

“Xinthe? Please help me to my rooms.”

“Lyonette, why don’t we—”

“I just need a minute, Ilvriss.”

“We don’t need to—”

“No. It’s a magical dance. You’d be a fool not to learn.”

She limped off. Feeling…

Weak.

——

The despair of a [Princess] turned into acceptance of another day as it dawned. Wall Lord Ilvriss actually hung around today to learn the magical dance, though he didn’t want to tell her that. Everyone was practicing it in the inn, and Lyonette’s one comfort was that no one could do it.

Colfa’s the best dancer with mom out of the way. Can you learn a Skill without classes?

“If it’s magic, yes. If it’s a Skill, no…”

“My leg! My leg!”

Nanette was screaming. Asgra, Sticks, and Picker bore her in; she was the first casualty. Nanette had pulled a leg muscle which refused to unpull. It turned out Erin’s dance was not only hellishly hard, but provoked that kind of thing.

Small joys. Lyonette picked at her breakfast despondently.

I knew this would be the case. I can’t keep up with anyone anymore. I have to be a [Princess] in many ways. I need to sit often, I need to lead by intellect and poise, not…activity. That’s fine.

It wasn’t fine, but she resolved herself to do it. Then she had a thought.

…What was Liska talking about yesterday? She hadn’t really remembered.

——

Lady Damia Reinhart had a schedule to keep. So she met with the Silverfangs after riding through the night without actually, in fact, sleeping.

She caught a few winks, but she was alive on coffee alone as she met with [Clan Leader] Plisce, the local head of the Silverfangs. He was a polite [Silversmith] with good negotiating Skills. No warrior. He had not come to the north for a fight, though his Chief Huntress was ready for one.

And he heard her out, recognizing her status. Then he refused.

“Miss Damia, I am afraid that even if it is lucrative, my tribe does not wish to work for a Walled City. Even Salazsar. You must understand, after the Meeting of Tribes…”

He wanted to let her down gently. Rayna eyed Damia, whom she half-liked, and was surprised by the young woman smiling.

“I completely understand that given your history, Clan Leader Plisce. But, I believe, this is the one exception. For Wall Lord Ilvriss, of all Drakes, might have a tiny bit of respect from Gnolls, wouldn’t he?”

She’d saved that part for last. Plisce’s ears twitched.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss? Wait…”

He had to confer with Chieftain Akrisa via scrying spell, of course. And she was highly skeptical of some [Lady] of House Reinhart vouching for Ilvriss.

“Hrr. What is your angle in this, Lady Damia?”

The [Lady] won the trust of Gnolls with the power she had learned in Liscor: honesty.

“I want to get paid the referral fee, Chieftain Akrisa.”

They blinked at her, then snorted and began to ask what kind of rates they might take if they went and had a look. But Damia had another knife to stab into them with.

“Not only would Wall Lord Ilvriss hire every [Miner] you have—and his company is known for working well with Gnolls, Chieftain Akrisa—but I have it on good authority that the, ah, Cowpat Plains are not held by any noble or city.”

“Meaning…wait, are you serious?”

Meaning that the Gnolls had grazing room. There might be conflicts with the local [Ranchers], but Damia bet there was plenty of room for Silverfang camps. And as everyone said, no one had a beef with Gnolls. She was worried that might change, and Akrisa said as much.

“We will promise nothing. I will have my tribe head that way; it seems the east is less developed, so we might settle there if anywhere, but this is no promise, Lady Damia.”

“Absolutely not, Chieftain Akrisa. And I intend to go right with you! My people are still recruiting from Liscor and other cities, and as such, I’ll go with you all!”

Especially if it meant getting paid for all this. Plisce blinked.

“If you are willing, we will ride with you, though it will take time, even if we can all use the door. And to strike camp.”

“Excellent! I have something to do, anyways. I’ll see you at the portal stone at, oh, one o’ clock?”

Damia was hopping from foot-to-foot, and the Magical Carriage they’d rented at great expense from the Mage’s Guild was ready to go with Binevy. The Gnolls watched her dash back and order the carriage to head straight to Celum.

“Do you think this is some kind of grand trick, Chieftain Akrisa?”

The Gnoll was frowning as she chomped down on mustard pickles.

“Hrm. Who can say? Reinharts are known to be tricky and dangerous, and I have heard nothing but ill, even about Magnolia Reinhart. But there is a funny saying about them too. And she is young. Better to be valuable than smiled and condescended to. And Wall Lord Ilvriss is no enemy in how he has acted. Confirm it with The Wandering Inn.”

“I will do so.”

Akrisa paused, then leaned forwards.

“Then tell my sister to stop sleeping with scaled rodents. I told her it was a bad idea.”

——

Lord Xitegen Terland was attending the hanging not out of any real interest, but because Varnie of the Sorcerer’s Knives was a Face. The odds of someone trying something without security was high.

Hence why Primera, Seconda, and his best Golems surrounded the square, ready to kill anything that so much as sneezed near the executioner’s noose.

He didn’t care for executions, but he was making a statement. There weren’t enough specialized Skill-blocking manacles for the rest of this woman’s gang, so they’d be executed later. A Face was a statement in itself.

This is my city. If you want to conduct crime, do it elsewhere. He rather felt like it was almost wasting time, even if he had taken out a famous gang. He kept thinking of Ilvriss and his Great Aunt, on the move for the first time since…

He kept eying the noose with that weird prickle down his spine, checking to make sure that yes, Erin Solstice was in Baleros and Lyonette was in The Wandering Inn, or at least, not in Celum.

Sometimes, you developed an instinct. He watched as the blank-faced woman stood there, hands behind her back, and the [Executioner] put a noose around her neck and readied the trapdoor. You just took your eyes away for one moment, and blam, there was a [Swashbuckler] trying to cut the ropes or whatnot.

“Hailarrow Golems, full spread of [Arrows of Blast].”

“Yes, Lord Xitegen.”

Lord Xitegen was prepared for everything, he liked to think. What shocked him, genuinely, what he wasn’t prepared for even with his exposure to The Wandering Inn—which was a bit like a plague—was to see Lady Damia Reinhart clambering onto the platform.

“Intruder.”

Seconda and the Golems took aim, and then she spoke.

“Member of the Five Families detected. Do not kill or maim.”

The young [Lady] had frozen when the Golems aimed at her, and she relaxed. She was indeed…smarter to realize they wouldn’t kill a member of the Five Families on sight. Rather stupid in many other ways, Xitegen concluded.

“Well, I expected something else. Primera, grab the young woman and give her ten across the rear, then throw her into Invrisil.”

The Golem began to march forwards, and Damia shouted.

“Wait! Lord Xitegen Terland, I demand to speak to you as a member of the Five Families!”

He held up a hand, sighing. Xitegen saw Damia’s one bodyguard staring at Primera and not really wanting to square up with the Golem. He cleared his throat as the [Gang Leader] regarded Damia with unguarded emotion.

They know each other. His eyes narrowed.

“If you want to invoke the Five Families, Lady Damia, I listen. For your sake, I hope it’s good.”

She swallowed. Then she closed her eyes and spoke.

“I realize I intrude on your domain, Cousin. Celum is indeed yours. You took it and have remade it, even if Magnolia was here first. But you have made it better with the might of Golems. Once you were moved to it…after a decade of hiding in the north. Truly, it feels like my aunt was the only member of the family who cared about the south. I suppose that’s why, for all your commendable, lauded thighs, you have such a paunchy frame.”

The crowd had come here for an execution. They hadn’t realized it included a roast. Their heads turned to Lord Xitegen apprehensively, and several leaned out of the way of his Golems. He just exhaled.

“You have about twenty more seconds before I lose my temper.”

Damia went on, stuttering a bit, but getting louder. What she didn’t know was that she had an audience beyond Celum. Some of the Gangs of Izril were watching to witness a Face dying. Karsaeu herself was in the crowd; she’d choked on some popcorn when she saw Damia up there. The member of Haple and the Sisters of Chell eyed the [Lady] as she cleared her throat.

“I-I shall! Who could argue you are in the right place at the right time, Xitegen? You faced the Goblin King. You were there at the Winter Solstice, an event so few even believe occurred! My family barely believes the evidence of their eyes! A shame on it! It feels as though Magnolia’s Skill only half-left some of them! Or perhaps they were always halfwits.”

Lady Desinee El stopped in the midst of walking to the Merchant’s Guild. She stared at Damia. The [Lady] pointed at Xitegen, whose brows had risen.

“Who could deny there stands Xitegen Terland, first of his house in nobility and pride and thighs?”

“Is that really all I’m known for?”

He whispered to Primera.

“Yes, Lord Xitegen. They are exemplary thighs.”

Well, if even Golems thought so…he waited, and Damia’s eyes flashed. She spoke slowly and with more dignity than he expected.

“I envy you, Cousin. For being what I wish I was. I am trying. But I say to you one thing: for all you are Lord Xitegen, and you have been there when calamity threatens to fight it, for all you are a brave, high-level man—you seem so complacent as to sicken me. There, but for a door, stands Liscor! The Wandering Inn, wherever it is! A Wall Lord dares the north, and instead of aiding him, of going to see anything, you let your family take the most banal of courses!”

She pointed down at him and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t like that. Because…Damia went on, glancing behind her.

“Someday, the Goblin King will come again, or the moons fall, and where will you be? Here, no doubt, Xitegen! But that is all. You have come creeping into Magnolia’s place, and reacted to the inn and the changing of eras! No more. I didn’t think that the Thigh Lord of Izril liked to stand still as a statue.”

Oooh. Lady Desinee winced. Every head swung back to Lord Xitegen, and he stood there, face growing much like his Golems. He took a breath.

Then he heard a snap, a thunk, and [Gang Leader] Varnie landed on the ground behind Damia. She sat up, and Damia whirled as Xitegen’s eyes narrowed.

“Ah, it worked. Good. Um—run—”

The [Gang Leader] incredulously got up, and the [Executioner] stared at the noose.

The noose…which had been cut nearly in half by a tiny blade while no one was watching. In plain sight. [Sharp Remark].

Xitegen figured out what Damia was trying to do in a moment. He pointed.

“Kill the [Gang Leader] and arrest—”

“Attack!”

Seconda blocked him a second before the smoke pellet exploded in his face. Xitegen’s rings flashed, and he coughed, waving a hand. Then it was chaos. He heard his speaking stone activate.

“Lord Xitegen! The prison! There’s been a prison break! Someone’s disabled the Golems! They’re running through the streets!”

Ah, another gang. Coordinated. Xitegen took cover behind Seconda, but he was tensing to leap forwards. He growled.

“Pursue and arrest the gang! And Lady Damia! Even for her, this is stupid. What—”

Another explosion of smoke above his head. Xitegen’s eyes narrowed.

[Rogues] were in the audience! They fired slingshots filled with marbles that exploded into mud, confusing flashes of magic, even a bunch of parakeets that obscured the Golems’ sensors. Damia Reinhart screamed.

“Run for it, Varnie! This way!”

——

Damia Reinhart’s conclusion was this: she wanted to save Varnie’s life. Not for any reason she understood. Just…they’d been on the carriage.

There was a saying among Reinharts she recalled as she ran, shouting at Varnie to get to the door. The [Gang Leader] sprinted as the other gang covered them. They were headed straight for the door that would save their lives.

Damia…almost made it. She had just seen Varnie dash through the door when Seconda, a seven-foot Golem running so hard and fast she shook the flagstones, caught her.

A Golem moving that fast in the pure form of a runner was terrifying. Damia nearly wet herself. She screamed, flailed, and realized she wasn’t dead when Lord Xitegen appeared.

Dead gods, he was fast. Some of his Golems were pelted with the distraction alchemy, but he just glanced at her.

“Do you know that [Gang Leader] or was that a Reinhart’s idiocy? I’ll deal with you later. Golems, kill that escapee.”

Primera ran towards the door and slammed into an invisible barrier. She didn’t recoil, just bounced with a sound like a brick wall hitting another. Xitegen paused.

The door was still open. Still active, and a panting [Gang Leader] was whirling, shouting for—someone walked forwards.

“Door to Invrisil. This way, Miss. Follow the Silverfangs. Oh hey, where’s the cute [Lady]?”

Liska peered around and spotted Damia, who waved at her. Xitegen spoke politely, but with that sense of a man feeling the walls of a trap closing.

“Liska. I am in pursuit of a known criminal, a Face, sentenced to death. Kindly admit my Golems.”

“Oh, hey, Lord Xitegen. Sorry, no can-do. No moving weapons of war or [Soldiers] through without explicit permission from the boss. Them’s the rules.”

Liska folded her arms, and Xitegen inhaled.

“I believe my cousin has bought your loyalty. I don’t believe that is wise, Liska. Allow me to purchase it or speak to Lyonette—”

“Oh, no. I’m not doing this because I’ve been bought. No one’s paid me a thing. I’m just doing this because I like Wall Lord Ilvriss. Don’t want to help send Golems near him.”

Now, the Lord of Thighs was silent. He spoke, the picture of politeness, but with an intensity that made Damia shiver. His aura was condensing around him, and it was pointed. Fast. Like a hail of arrows.

“Liska, I’m being polite. I am not warring with the inn—or you—because we have been quite helpful allies when the need arises. But I am running out of patience. I will go through that door, and you will regret it.”

“Sure. If you can. More annoying men have tried.”

Liska pulled down one eyelid and stuck out her tongue, trembling with nerves. But she held her ground.

She was so cool. Damia was beaming—until Xitegen turned to glare at her. In the end, he was many things. Pragmatic, friendly, athletic—but he was still a noble of the Five Families.

Pride flashed across his face. Pride and fury. He began to walk forwards towards the door. Liska lifted a paw.

“No one goes through this door that I don’t want to.”

——

Five minutes.

Five minutes and Damia’s mouth was open in delight—which made her hack and spit dust out. Five minutes and Celum’s citizens were watching, and Lady Desinee was wondering if she wasn’t going to be able to get to Liscor today and very impressed.

Five minutes and Lord Xitegen could admit he wasn’t stronger than Lord Tyrion Veltras. It stung mildly, but he was a pragmatic man. Liska was panting hard, but she held her paws out and grinned at him.

“You are indeed a valuable Gnoll, beyond belief, Liska Silverfang.”

“Th-thanks. And it’s nothing personal. Just…counterlevelling.”

He had to smile at that. So that’s how Damia had gotten her. A Reinhart after all. He still had to have his say.

“Neither is this. Seconda, drop Damia hard. You and Primera—break through that door.”

Liska swallowed. The two Golems advanced. Primera hit the space between the doorframe, and it sounded like a vast, hollowed gong. Liska staggered, wiped at her nose, and snorted out some more blood.

“Good. I was just warming up.”

Xitegen stormed away from the door as the real war began. He stood there, staring ahead, until Damia half got up.

“Don’t want her to see you smile?”

He peered down and put a foot on her back. Lord Xitegen spoke down to Damia.

“Tell me, Cousin. Why should I not hold this embarrassment to my authority against you? No…why rescue her? You have no business dealings with her, to my knowledge.”

He put more of his weight on her back, and she shouted. Then gasped.

“I just—felt like it! We shared a carriage ride! I don’t regret it! A Reinhart—a Reinhart’s loyal to their own!”

She shouted it at him, and he stopped pressing on her with aura and foot. Xitegen lifted his foot, and she rolled away. Binevy helped her mistress up, and Xitegen eyed her.

“A Face will cause death across the north. That is upon you, and I do not accept—”

“No. She won’t.”

Damia groaned. She felt squished. Xitegen glared at her as there was a thunderous sound from the door. The two Golems rebounded, glanced at him, then set themselves.

“Lord Xitegen, permission to activate spell effects?”

“Granted. Do not cause casualties or collateral damage. Explain.”

“Punishment.”

Damia whispered. She sat up, holding her back.

“You are the judge and jury here, Xitegen. Maybe she’s owed a death sentence, but I argue for a lesser punishment. I request a sentence of labor. Hard labor.”

“Such as…?”

“Mining.”

She gave him such an innocent, calculating expression he was reminded of Magnolia. Lord Xitegen tilted his head and saw the pieces.

“She will, of course, run.”

“If she doesn’t have any honor. You’ve broken her gang and shown her face, Cousin.”

“Whereas you want a pet dog, even one bathed in filth. Very clever, Cousin. And it just falls on me to take one upon my chin for the good of House Damia. At what point do I accept and not kill the [Gang Leader] when my Golems blow through Liska’s door? Because as strong as she is—”

He saw the flash out of the corner of his eyes and grunted.

“—She can’t block a Skillbreaking Fist, which Primera has. Take Lady Damia with us.”

He strode over to the door and walked through. Xitegen Terland held out a hand, blocking Primera a moment, then helped Liska up.

“Damn, damn, damn—”

“Get this young Gnoll a stamina potion and water. Take my handkerchief. It’s nothing personal.”

How did she block the first punch? He quite cordially shook her hand, then eyed the door dial.

“Where did they go?”

She refused to speak, so he snapped his fingers.

“Seconda, analyze the magical dial for the last activated mana stone. Change to that.”

“Yes, Lord Xitegen.”

He did know how to use his Golems. Lord Xitegen Terland strode through the door as Liska cursed, eying Damia as she was carried with him.

Why was she still smiling? He was prepared to go through anyone to kill that [Gang Leader]. He was not above being rude. He’d shove Lyonette to one side—gently since it seemed she was hurt—have Ishkr tossed out of his way, the delightful, respectful chap. Even have Miss Ryoka Griffin hung upside down and shaken if she appeared in front of him.

He was willing to be rude to anyone—

——

The Silverfang Gnolls were walking or riding towards their new job, and there were a lot of them. They had padded wagons, some with enchantments to avoid anyone stealing from them. Or even looking inside.

Like, say, a Golem. And they were very polite.

“Surely, you understand we cannot wait for our entire camp to be searched, Lord.”

The Gnoll [Huntress] smiled at him. He did not.

“If you are concealing a criminal—”

“Will you stop us, Lord? Upon the authority of…hrr…a Terland noble around Invrisil?”

He was scowling now. At Damia, who was beaming at the Gnolls. Xitegen pursed his lips.

“In pursuit of a Face, I am very tempted to.”

“If we must, Lord. It is a very public road, and I hate to see Gnolls being impeded by terrifying Golems.”

Rayna heaved a huge sigh and put up her hands. Xitegen’s cheek twitched.

If he knew for certain the damn [Gang Leader] was even here, he’d risk the embarrassment. Instead, he switched tacks.

“May I ask why you are taking Lady Damia’s side? House Terland has done nothing against Gnolls and expressed support for the tribes entering our lands, the few who have come. It seems odd t—”

Then he hesitated.

Closed his mouth. And Huntress Rayna gave him the sweetest smile imaginable.

“For such a generous Lord of House Terland, who allowed our passage on his lands but informed us the areas around Celum were his lands, not to be grazed upon? I cannot imagine why we’d hold a grudge.”

Lord Xitegen Terland inhaled and exhaled.

“I merely considered that House Terland intended to claim Celum. And as I said to your Chieftain, I would welcome a Gnollish tribe in my area under my governance. A separate entity in another power’s lands causes issues…”

He could have done it. He’d weighed the option, but the local [Farmers] and [Ranchers] had been afraid of the Silverfangs outproducing them and begged him to refuse.

Damia’s words felt like a poker in his back. Rayna bowed her head.

“Naturally, Lord Terland. Well then, shall we begin being strip-searched?”

Lord Xitegen knew when a battle was lost. He turned on his heel.

“Back to Celum. Root that other gang out for me, now.”

“Yes, Lord Xitegen.”

They began leaving, and he didn’t even bother arresting Damia; the Reinharts would make a stink, and he was tired. She tried to not look smug, so he nodded.

“Seconda, let Damia Reinhart go. After you give her a spanking.”

“What?”

“Of what duration and intensity, Lord?”

“Whatever you think is best. Beat, hearts of Golems.”

He strode away, shaking his head as an outraged voice rose behind him. Xitegen Terland needed a drink. He fancied he’d buy Liska one.

——

The [Doorgnoll] levelled. And so, presumably, would Damia.

But she paid a heavy price for it.

Literally, actually. The Silverfangs were much amused by all this, even the skullduggery. They’d had some qualms about being involved in politics, but their annoyance with Xitegen had swayed them.

However, the sight of Damia Reinhart’s, uh, comeuppance actually motivated them to let her lie in the wagons with some ice on her buttocks.

Even Varnie was mildly impressed. She’d been mostly silent until the Lord was gone, and she’d come out of the hiding spot by the road.

“Never had a [Lady] take, what, fifty across the ass for me?”

“D-do you have a healing potion?”

“Nope!”

Damia had heard—colloquially—such things could be fun. This was not fun. It hurt so bad she couldn’t believe it. Varnie just sat with her.

“So why’d you do it? And how? How’d you get Ferxon to join in? He doesn’t take risks. I knew he’d not go for me; it’d be suicide. Even if you laid it out for him…how?”

It wasn’t something that her friend had planned. This was all Damia. The male [Gang Boss], Ferxon, hadn’t actually been planning on trying to rescue Varnie. But Damia just smiled weakly.

“He’s not all logic. I barely had to pay him much for the distraction.”

“Ah, business.”

Varnie snorted. She sat there until Binevy came back with a poultice. Damia began to shout in agony when Binevy tried to apply it.

“I’ll do—”

The [Gang Boss] kicked Sule before he could do it and grabbed the poultice. And a towel, which she applied the cream to. The abrasive sensation did make Damia start crying. But then Varnie sat there.

“Most’ve my gang’s dead. At least those who came into Celum. That Lord takes no prisoners. Funny guy.”

“Don’t…try to kill him. He’s guarded, and those two Golems are top-tier.”

Damia’s head rose, and Varnie didn’t look at her.

“I won’t. Right now. It is how it goes. I reckon I owe you. Got a favor to collect?”

“We’re heading to a dig site…”

Varnie nodded. She sat there and exhaled. Then she just eyed Damia as the young [Lady] talked, cheeks flushed. She’d gotten to see a legend of the inn, made this all happen. She was smiling, but the [Gang Boss] was just as mystified as, well, everyone.

Damia Reinhart. Was she just not like the others? Or was there something Varnie didn’t know?

——

Lord Xitegen Terland poured an upset Liska a drink at the bar of The Wandering Inn.

“I would offer to do it twice, but it only works, truly works, once. A clever Reinhart. If the rest of her family were so…agreeable…I’d be happier. Would you believe Damia Reinhart is rather young, innocent, and accordingly, likable?”

Liska had two wads of toilet paper stuffed up each nostril and was gloomy.

“I thought I could do it. I really did.”

“You held off two Terland Golems and myself for six minutes.”

“Yeah, only two. Only six. What I don’t get is…she is a Reinhart, right? Isn’t Magnolia the best of the lot?”

Everyone wanted to know that. Xitegen was the only man who could explain. He’d come to the conclusion after hearing Damia, and he exhaled.

“Best of the lot by what terms? She was always strident. She took her House over at sixteen; does that strike you as that likeable? She’s the most courageous in many senses, most devoted to common good. Best? No…no, let’s give it to dear Magnolia. There was still a reason for it. Loyalty.”

Liska spat her drink onto Asgra and got a punch. She apologized as Xitegen eyed the Goblin, but forbore comment. He pushed his drink back, though. Then he spoke.

“A bar in Celum. My treat.”

He rose, and Liska dragged herself up. Xitegen walked towards the door with her.

“It’s often a joke. Reinhart loyalty. But they are loyal in their twisted ways. A den of vipers that protects only their own. There’s a reason we were the Five Families, Liska. We weren’t the only ones who took Izril back in the day. We are just the ones who survived. It’s all the old quotes, you see? I suppose they’re not as common down south since we stopped paying as much mind. Poor as an El, and creative as one too. Haughty as a barefoot Wellfar on deck. Stubborn as a Veltras. Brave as a Veltras. Loyal as a Reinhart. And I suppose, the heart of a Terland. Some call us sentimental, for all we’re in love with stone.”

He held the door open to Liska, and she eyed him.

“I’ve never heard any of that in my life. Mind if I call my g—a really cool lady? Hey, do you have a special someone?”

She peered at Xitegen, and his face went carefully blank.

“One could say Seconda and Primera fill that role.”

He waited for a reaction of horror, scandal, disgust—Liska just glanced at the two Golems. Then she leaned over.

“What? Aren’t they thousands of years old? They’re way too old for you. You should try uh…uh…Cognita! She’s pretty young comparatively, right? Also, what’s it like?”

Xitegen began laughing and clapped her shoulder. He liked Liska.

[Sharp Dame Level 16!]

[Skill – Loyalty of the Low Obtained!]

[Skill – Bridge the Gap Obtained!]

[Skill – Daring Getaway Obtained!]

[Portal Guardian Level 35!]

[Skill – Door: Reflect Damage Obtained!]

——

Lyonette du Marquin did not hear about the incident in Celum for a while, and she didn’t really connect it to Ilvriss since she didn’t know Damia Reinhart.

A certain Mrsha paid attention when she heard, but it was not their battle. Mrsha was at school, battling the forces of amateur carpentry.

And Lyonette was lying in her rooms. Not dancing. Ilvriss had respectfully let her go, but the Calanferian staff kept trying to get her to dance. So had Nanette, but in the end, even the witch had given up and gone to poke at a body floating in the rainy Floodplains.

Rhisveri. Lyonette knew something was up with him, but she was just sad. She really wanted to dance.

“I know it’s a sacrifice, but I love it. What would mother say?”

She screwed her face up, then spoke.

“‘What matters more to you? Your enjoyment or your friend? Choose.’ Or something like that. ‘The Crown does not choose when the nation is at stake.’”

She laughed, then sighed. Lyonette hugged her knees.

“Can’t I have both, Mother?”

Her modest little rooms didn’t bother her. She loved them and had decorated them nicely; she sometimes missed her old bedrooms in the Eternal Throne, but this was a fine compromise. Working was a good compromise. Callused hands, likewise. Cracks in her skin, agony when she encountered something that set off her [Resonant Flesh]…

But dancing.

I want to dance. I want to dance! She wanted to do the Highstepper and rub it in the [Ranchers]’ faces. She wanted it so bad. Lyonette stared around the room, then saw something at the foot of her bed.

“Oh dead gods.”

Aronia’s gift. The amazing, beautiful boots. Lyonette picked one up to throw.

“It’s so soft on the inside and beautiful. Bah.”

She hurled it at a wall. It landed two feet away, and she groaned in pain. So weak. So pathetic.

Apista buzzed down from where she’d been smoking. She landed and lifted the boot up. Lyonette realized she was weaker than her bee and sat there.

“Oh, Apista. I know I can probably build some more muscle, and this is what it was like for Erin. If only I could just…fix this!”

She clenched her fist. But no. There were no shortcuts. No easy ways out. She had known this; she had changed from the spoiled [Princess] who had never worked for anything. Rather like Damia Reinhart, Lyonette du Marquin had forged herself upon the anvil of the inn.

She grabbed the edge of her bed and tried to do an assisted sit up. She failed. But she tried again.

“Just ten today! Just five! Just three! J-just one! Just one, and I’ll recover. I’ll build up muscle. I’ll do it. If it takes a year, I’ll get strong enough, and—”

She couldn’t sit up. Apista buzzed around Lyonette, worried, as she told Apista not to help. Lyonette’s abdominals hurt. Her muscles were—overtaxed from the dancing. She was red-faced. She lay on the floor.

Tried to rise. Couldn’t even with her hands gripping the edge of her bed. Lay down, panting, for eight minutes. Tried to sit up again.

Effort! Just a bit of effort! Please, body! She could do it! She could—

Lyonette’s head rose just high enough to see over the edge of the bed. She saw something sitting there. Collapsed.

Apista morphed into her Scourgebee Form and lifted Lyonette up. The [Princess] half-dangled, half-clung to the bee buzzing like the doom of civilizations and saw what lay on her bed.

The [Box of Incontinuity]. Lyonette du Marquin stopped. She stared at it, then looked down at her body wracked by conditions. Red Skills. She thought of Erin. And then she thought of Maviola El.

——

A little while later, Xinthe peeked in on the [Princess] and saw Lyonette sitting on her bed, clothes a bit rumpled, with Apista lying on her shoulder, working on a small notepad. She asked Xinthe for a bit of painkiller, a juice, and snack.

And she was calm. The Box of Incontinuity sat next to her, but Lyonette didn’t use it. She didn’t think she needed to.

It was just…a reminder.

She could do it. She had always done ‘it’. Her body had never failed Lyonette, and even now, she’d thought she’d be like Erin should have been from the start and work her way back to health.

“But that’s not how it works, Apista. I’m cursed. Not out of shape. Sometimes something happens. And you need help, like how Maviola couldn’t fight age. Erin needed a wheelchair; no one made her crawl around.”

Exactly. Look at my legs and wings!

Apista buzzed happily on Lyonette’s shoulder. So the [Princess] stared down at the list she’d made and remembered the true advice she’d gotten and, well, hadn’t acted on. The advice of none other than Mrsha the Wise.

…And Ilvriss the Inconsiderate. Lyonette had a list of the one thing in which she emulated her unfortunate role model, Erin Solstice, at times.

It was a list of Skills. All the Skills that Lyonette had and had barely used.

[Enthralling Glance]. [Endowment of the Thief]. [Remember: My Defining Moment]. So many useful ones.

“[Royal Contract]…I only used it once on Cirediel. I should have done so many more agreements with it. [Royal Tax]? I stopped using it after I felt bad about how much I was taking. Who do I tax these days, Rheirgest? [Seafood Cooking]? Argh! It’s rained for months and not once…at least I used [The Gambler’s Dice] once, but [Traveller’s Advancing Techniques]! Oh no!”

There there, you lovely idiot. It’s not your fault I’m the brains of the two of us.

Apista patted Lyonette on the head, and Lyonette’s head rose.

“I do know what you’re telling me, Apista. [Wildspeech].”

Oops. Oh shit, gotta fly.

Apista buzzed away, and Lyonette gazed down at her list.

“Well, let that be a lesson. Apista? Apista, help me.”

The bee came back, and Lyonette pointed.

“I need those. Both of them. Don’t drop it on my—ow.”

The bee winced and apologized, but Lyonette took a deep breath, then underlined the Skill she’d circled, and her eyes gleamed. Apista read the Skill, and her wings buzzed excitedly.

[Royal Artifact]. [Ritual: Designate Heirloom].

Lyonette smiled with all the wonder of a [Princess] and held up Aronia’s boots. She spoke and waited…then coughed and put her boot down.

“Xinthe? Get out of hiding and come over here.”

A squeak; the [Servant] scrambled out from behind the doorway and began apologizing. Lyonette wore a pained look.

“Get me Erin’s wheelchair, would you? Not a word of this to my daughters! And, uh, get me to the [World’s Eye Theatre].”

——

The Quarass of Germina was not a happy woman to be called up. Oh, she liked the gold she was using to great effect, but answering anyone’s beck and call irked her, especially Lyonette, who’d made her act as a [Healer] for Ulva Terland and find the Silver Swords lodging.

She was going to collect on these debts, despite what Lyonette had paid her, and—

The aged being wearing the body of a girl rubbed at one ear.

“Wait. You wish me to teach you how to use your Skill? [Ritual: Designate Heirloom]? And [Royal Artifact]?”

“Er, yes, Quarass. I’m terribly sorry to take up your—”

The Quarass stared at Lyonette.

“You want me to teach you how to use your Skills.”

“If you don’t mind? I wanted to make these boots something that could help me dance in light of my condition…”

Lyonette’s voice trailed off, and she shrank. The Quarass eyed Lyonette.

“Your conditions, which you took to help Erin Solstice and gave yourself five Ichor Skills and [Grand Act: Reforge My Shattered Soul]. The Skill of [Inspirations], [Heroes], and [Visionaries].”

“Y-yes?”

The Quarass held out a hand. Someone put a drink in it. She threw it and held it out again.

“Quill.”

One was put in her hand. She wrote this all down. Then she sat back on her throne. And smiled.

“Take a seat, Lyonette du Marquin. The first thing you will understand is that the ritual requires intention much like [Witches], but also actual ceremony as you are a [Princess]. I suggest a Calanferian ceremony that dates back to the dawn of your kingdom’s founding; old is best. And simpler to enact with less requirements for nobility to participate. Queen Marquin’s honoring of Hell’s Wardens comes to mind; she had a sense of ceremony despite the poorness of her nation and the rumors about her. Secondly, the quality of the item matters, and you must add a quality of what you seek into the material. I suggest, in this case, the most high-grade Potion of Stamina and Potion of Strength you can find. Hmm. No, flexibility. Do not do a shapeshifting potion; it may lead to undesired effects.”

Lyonette’s jaw dropped, and she began to hurry to take notes herself. The Quarass was being helpful? Her? Then she realized that for once, she was doing what the Quarass actually wanted to do.

Improve upon a talent. Teach someone about their own Skills.

——

It took time. One of the Quarass’ pieces of advice to her pupil was personalization.

“Make the boots your own. Your daughter, Nanette, is intelligent in witch-ways. Even if it is mostly a child’s willful desire to stand out. Take this gift back from this [Cattle Baroness]. She is [Smothering You With Kindness].”

“She is? That dreadful—hmm. How do I make this stylish? Beautiful? I want it to be…to make me feel strong. And it’s so damn well made.”

“An exterior coating. Paint?”

“Ugh, I wish I had Erin’s Skills. H-how about the ritual? Does this look right?”

Lyonette had done some rigging up with colored pieces of fabric, which she dithered over, but it wasn’t the materials, but the effect. The [World’s Eye Theatre] had its eye-dome which let light stream in…only now, each pane was covered by fabric.

So it was red or yellow light that shone down. Lyonette waved at Rosencrantz as he adjusted the careful tapestry of fabrics and created a stained glass window’s effect. They had blocked some panes and organized the rest until a rainbow of lights formed a flower in the center of the domed room. The Quarass paced around it.

“Well done. Marquin had the same idea when she spent all her coin on food for her new nation and a delegation of Hell’s Wardens was sent to embarrass her by the King of Desonis. She took them into the Eternal Throne’s heart after this ceremony where she put crowns of paper on their heads and called them her equals, and they caught poor fish that floated in the gravity-less void. She was a genius of diplomacy, just not traditionally elegant. I think she thought less of herself.”

Lyonette du Marquin stopped and stood there, eyes filling up with such longing and—understanding—that the Quarass wanted to know what she’d seen. The immortal coughed after a moment.

“D-did you meet with—?”

Before she could bring up the question that made even her nervous, there was a honking sound, and someone sat up in his chair. Duke Rhisveri looked sick; he was wrapped in a big blanket, and being drowned in the waters for a day and night hadn’t made him much better, but his main body was the one with a fever.

“Das Marquin! I remeber dat! Berry cleber. She had dis thing where she walked up an…and she knew exactly where she’d fought with you. Every single one ‘a us. Then she’d take a cup and hold it to your lips. Got you drunk and made you love her.”

The Quarass’ shoulders hunched, and she glared at Rhisveri, but Lyonette drank that in too—even as she waved at Xinthe to get Rhisveri another handkerchief. The two beings who had met Marquin watched her descendant stand there in the center of the room.

She had placed lanterns in a star around the boots she needed to customize. Each lantern glowed with a different fire, taken from the Order of Solstice.

Blue’s sadness, honor’s bright green, pink’s glory, the kindness of red, grey mercy…no ill flames. Not for this. The [Princess] turned, despairing.

“How shall any of us ever live up to Marquin? Ever? She was a woman who led the charge into Hell itself—and won!”

“Maybe you won’t.”

Rhisveri muttered. Lyonette didn’t scold him, but just gazed at the Quarass.

“No. But I should be ashamed to even be…to even wear her name as I am. We must be more to even call ourselves Marquins.”

Then she turned, and the woman who had threatened to murder the Goblin King placed two potions next to the boots and eyed them critically.

“Wait. I think I know how to make the boots…beautiful. I’ll be back! Xinthe! Push me!”

——

When she came back, it was with a very amused little girl. Mrsha the Recently Trimmed snorted.

Mom, it’s going to look gross.

“No, it’s not! We just take some lovely white paint, and…”

Lyonette wanted to put the fur around the tops of her boots. Just a delicate trim, and she wanted to paint it white. Whether Mrsha wanted to acknowledge it or not…this was what Lyonette thought when she imagined bravery.

It meant something. Wall Lord Ilvriss had finally been told what was going on. He and the staff of the inn watched as Lyonette put the boots in the center with a lovely fur trim around it. The Quarass nodded briskly.

“Good. Now, some ceremony. There are plenty of old speeches Marquin gave, but I want you to come up with it on your own.”

The star of colors glowed around Lyonette, and the flames burnt. She hobbled around, and the boots she wanted to help her sat there. Mrsha waited with Nanette, eyes on her mother.

And…Lyonette didn’t know what to say.

“It feels so selfish to make a grand speech to designate some boots as an heirloom.”

“Yes. It does, doesn’t it?”

The Quarass’ eyes were locked on the [Princess]. She could help, but she was waiting…and Lyonette glanced around.

“It’s selfish. But I want to dance with you, Ilvriss. I want to dance magic and reclaim what I’ve given up. I’m selfish. But you know what? We’re allowed to be. [Princesses] and Drakes.”

He sat there, staring at her, and she smiled with that cracked smile that refused to break. The [Princess] gazed at the scroll Erin had made.

“Oh, but it’s such a silly dance! Even the end. I just want to dance. Like…”

She gazed at the two objects she was giving up for the ritual. The Potion of Swan’s Grace was a stupid-sounding title, and the Potion of Limitless Stamina was false advertising, but Octavia had given her two of Saliss’ best.

The Quarass supposed they’d be good enough for a decent result. But even she wasn’t prepared for Lyonette to uncork both potions and down them.

“Ergh, Saliss can’t make these taste better?”

“Lyonette, the ingredients!”

She ignored the protest from above. The [Princess] took a breath and felt at her legs. She grimaced; she still hurt. But then she turned and bowed to her small audience. She met her daughters’ eyes as she rose.

“It’s petty. But Marquin witness me, we are all petty women. These boots will win no wars, but may they give me the strength to step forwards when I need to. To forge friendships. And to just…dance. As so.”

Then she spun on one leg, and twirled, raising one leg up and pressing her foot against the other leg. Like a ballerina. She spun, again, and Ilvriss recalled a [Princess] dancing with a dress that opened like a flower.

He half-rose, then saw her tracing the steps she remembered. Dancing around the burning flames and the lights which seemed to suddenly shine. On those plain boots with off-white fur-fuzz. Which no longer seemed so silly and hastily painted.

The [Princess] danced. Hair flowing behind her, moving from the poses she knew, and she had to be in pain.

The Quarass knew that. Those potions didn’t overcome the fact that her literal nerves were…but the [Princess] danced faster and faster. She only stopped once to let Xinthe charge down the steps and throw up a screen. And when she emerged, she wore a proper dress. The [Princess] threw her head back and lifted a gloved hand.

Then someone was playing music. Ser Dalimont had found a scrying orb. Not a song crystal; who had Terandrian ballroom music? So, instead, he’d just set up a scrying spell back to Calanfer, and the royal band was playing.

A [Queen] watched her daughter and said not a word. The [Princess] kept dancing, smiling, and the Wyrm and Quarass watched magic moving. Magic…and meaning. Following her.

Silently, the two immortals locked gazes. And they heard the [Princess]’ question.

How do I stand in Marquin’s shadow? They, who had met the huge woman who had founded a nation and shouted defiance to the eldest of Crelers, gazed down at Marquin’s descendant. So long had passed…and yet some things you never forgot. It was their right and privilege for passing the ages to see both.

And imagine what Marquin would say to her descendant if she could see this.

——

Lyonette didn’t know how long she danced, ignoring the pain, the protestations of her body. She knew she would pay for it, but for a moment, the magic in her veins let her defy the Skills, so she did.

It was no grand act. Not like Mrsha had done. Just a [Princess]’ defiance. Clinging to what she believed made her special. She only stopped when she could go on no longer.

Then they showered applause down on her, and she thought her audience was being polite until she stared at the staff on their feet, cheering. Even…Calanfer’s royal orchestra!

She gawped at them and turned to Dalimont, wondering how he’d arranged that. He just gave her a mysterious smile, that [Knight] of mysteries. And only then did Lyonette turn and let out a soft sigh.

“Oh…”

The boots that Aronia had gifted her were gone. Oh, roughly the same boots were there. Beautiful, costly leather cut to perfection. The snow-white trim of delicate fur was beautiful. And below it…

The white leather of the boots had shifted. Even when they were taken out of the multi-colored flower of lights, they still had the same colors washed over the leather.

Blue, red, green, the colors of the rainbow, stained like a glass window, had been embossed on the leather.

“It’s so…eclectic! It doesn’t match—”

Xinthe worried audibly the ritual had failed. The boots looked—well, they were a bit—!

Then Lyonette’s head turned as she tried to put one on, and Xinthe saw Nanette’s bright, garishly dyed boots that were just as multicolored. The expression of delight and gratification on the young witch’s face…Xinthe saw Mrsha turn her head and draw a claw across her throat.

Xinthe covered her mouth. She was learning.

Lyonette put the boots on and stood. Which in and of itself was a miracle, because after the potions had left her, she’d fallen down. But she stood now, the boots lifting, and she took a step. Did a twirl on one heel.

It was a fast, sharp twirl. Even faster than she’d been dancing before. She stared down as Ilvriss half-rose. Then she did a jig. A high-knee. A kick-step from the Highstepper, and her face lit up.

The Quarass smiled and spoke.

“What will you call them? A [Royal Artifact] needs a name.”

Lyonette, flustered, said the first thing that came to mind.

“I…I suppose I’ll call them the High Steppers! The High Steppers of House Lischelle!”

She turned, and Colfa blinked. Then she looked proud. She came down to inspect them, and Lyonette gazed around. Wearing magic on her feet. Tears sprang to her eyes, and the Quarass whispered to Rhisveri.

“Just as well she wasn’t too foolish to use her Skill before asking me. She won’t be able to do that for quite some time.”

He didn’t respond. He was staring at Lyonette, and the Quarass snorted when she eyed his face. But the only thing the [Princess] did was raise a hand.

“Ilvriss? Would you care to dance?”

Her voice trembled, and she smiled at him. He slowly stood, and she walked up with him to the ballroom. Wearing magic upon her feet. When she danced—Mrsha watched her mother leap, twirl in the air, and land like an ice skater, spinning on the smooth marble.

Damn, now I want to learn to dance too.

Queen Ielane’s voice came from a speaking stone as she watched her daughter through a tiny marble that Xinthe was holding.

“I inspired my daughters to learn by showing them the best [Dancers] we could find, inviting the Lord of the Dance to Calanfer. Odd. Lyonette applied herself more vigorously than most of her sisters, but she did not have this will to dance.”

Mrsha stared at the stone.

Yeah, well, if her mother danced with her and taught her, maybe she would have tried even harder.

Ielane du Marquin exhaled some smoke after a moment.

“…A [Queen] does not need t—”

Mrsha picked up the scrying stone and hurled it down the ballroom. She watched Xinthe run after it, screaming apologies, then sat, smiled, and high-fived Nanette.

——

Lyonette du Marquin lay on her face as Ilvriss called for a stretcher a while later. Fun fact: The High Steppers of House Lischelle gave her incredible footwork and dancing ability, even more than she’d normally have.

…They were only good for three dances in a row before they needed a day to recharge.

She was still happy.

Author’s Note:

I’m told that a lot of people like Damia’s presence in the story. That’s good—she’s a pretty fun character to me too. Something about the Reinharts makes them one of the more entertaining of the Five Families to read or write, like Calidus.

I think it’s the lack of moral boundaries most have. Which lets them do more unhinged things. Well, I also quite liked when Xitegen strode into the story. Between Maviola and Tyrion’s amazing ability to cause cringe, we’ve got good representation of all the Five Families, with Wellfar being the one exception.

Etril and Gresaria are nice, but, well, the seafarers have always just been more removed from The Wandering Inn because of their actual geographic distance. Few of them would go so far inland, and Erin has no real opportunity to meet them in their home turf.

Perhaps that will change, but this ambitious arc will confine itself mostly to familiar ground and the Cowpat Plains. I hope you liked the insight into a new area of Izril—there are more I want to write! Like that port with the Fabledust I recall hinting at in one chapter—that’s semi-important to a plot thread coming up. You gotta remember all this stuff, and I have lists I write down to remind myself of all the things I want to show.

But for now, dancing and chaos. Look forwards to more in this arc next chapter, although we might stop for a second to focus on a certain [Heiress] or unhappy Captain. Stories I think you’ll enjoy too. See you then!

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