The Last Daughter -- Dragon-Blooded Sorcery School Quest

Maia's presence still carries that heavy, cool quality at the edge of your senses, like the still air before a storm warning of torrential rain. As it happens, however, that is a very nice feeling to get when you're warm and safe in your own bed, sheltered from the weather and the scrutiny of the outside world. For the first time in what already feels like many years, simply letting yourself be close to someone you care about.

When the gentle knock comes on your door in the early hours of the morning, your requested wakeup call, you try to slip out of bed without waking her. You think you've succeeded, until a small hand closes around your wrist. There's no force behind the grip, but it stops you short.

"Were you leaving without saying goodbye?" Maia's face is lit by the dim morning light filtering through your curtains, her eyes dark and drowning-deep as she looks up at you.

"I didn't want to wake you," you say. You settle yourself back down, sitting on the edge of the bed. She draws in closer to you.

"You're not that stealthy, Ambraea." A smile tugs at her lips. It's endearing, even if it's really not fair to compare you against her standards of what constitutes stealthy. Absurdly, Maia had had five hidden daggers and a set of lockpicks in her clothes last night, now left piled on your bedroom floor — you'd both laughed over it, even if you have to wonder if she ever really feels comfortable without such precautions.

You put a hand under Maia's chin, drawing her up into a firm, almost fierce kiss. She returns it with unresisting enthusiasm. "I'm going to miss you," you tell her.

"I will too." She flings her arms around you, giving you a brief, tight hug. "Don't forget about me while you're in the capital?" It's a joke, but at the same time, it isn't.

"You are a much less forgettable person than you seem to think," you say as she lets go, voice affectionately dry.

As expected, a small amount of relief creeps into her posture. Maia's insecurities are unavoidable, sometimes. You don't mind assuaging them. "I mean what I said before, though," she says. "I won't be jealous, or anything, if there's someone else while you're in the capital. Just as long as I'm still... special, when you see me again. I don't want to be too clingy."

"I like it when you're a little clingy," you say. She's making it very hard not to want to just get back into bed with her, for all that you don't have the time. Surely a few more minutes can't hurt, though. "I admit, I've barely thought about what I'll do with myself in the Imperial City after my audience."

Maia examines your face closely, and gives a small frown. "You're nervous about this, aren't you?"

It would be very easy to just say yes. But if you can't be entirely honest here with her, where could you ever be? You glance away from her, studying the pattern of sunlight on the brightly patterned carpet. Then, fighting not to swallow the words, you make yourself say: "I'm... afraid."

"Of seeing your mother?" It's not really a question that this is what you meant, but she seems to know you need the prompting. You feel her arms slip around you again — this time, she sits up straighter, and draws you in. It's a startling feeling to be the one being held like this. You don't pull away.

"I am happy she's sending for me," you say, truthfully. "But, yes. She's..." Infamously capricious — you won't say that even to Maia. "... unpredictable. I never know what she wants from me."

"You're the best in our year," Maia says. You feel the whisper of her gentle voice against your skin as she presses her face into your hair. "Won't she be pleased by that?"

"Hopefully. Probably." You take in a slow, steadying breath, trying to regain your equilibrium, as nice as it would be to keep letting the fault lines show. "You don't talk about your family very much," you add, without really thinking. The same family that had clearly raised her to be someone's terrible sorcerer-assassin. Such things are both alarming and noteworthy in an individual sense, but far from unheard of in the Dynasty, and Maia's family has a patron Great House.

"That would take longer than we have right now," Maia admits. The way she's holding you, you still can't see her face. "You'll have to ask me another time."

The reminder of your time limit makes you understand that if you don't get up now, you might not get up anytime soon. You gently push yourself back up, and out of Maia's arms. "I'll see you again near the end of summer," you say.

Maia nods. Her mood has definitely fallen, presumably because of the farewell. "Good luck on your journey," she says. "I hope— Wait!" This last word is accompanied by her diving half off the bed to snatch something up from the floor, holding it out to you hilt first.

"A knife?" you ask, examining it with a perplexed air. The blade is both slender and flat, designed to be easily concealed. You don't test the edge — you know how Maia keeps any blade she carries.

"Well, it's, um... my favourite knife!" she says, face colouring. "This would be a great time to have some kind of meaningful piece of jewelry I could give you and say, 'wear this over your heart', but, uh... this is what I have onhand."

You look up from the little knife and smile. "I'll be sure to wear this over my heart, then," you say.

---

Interlude 03: A Mother's Fond Regard

You feel the little sheathed blade against your skin, hanging from the same chain as Diamond-Cut Perfection's scale does, tucked safely under your clothes. Through the carriage window, you watch the outskirts of Chanos give way to farmland and stretches of rugged, scrubby hill country. The mountains loom large and picturesque behind it all, the Imperial Mountain stabbing upward into the slate grey sky.

After leaving Maia, you'd hurriedly washed, gotten dressed without assistance, and allowed Peony to braid your hair with the efficiency that no one else had ever quite been able to match. Breakfast had been similarly rushed. For all your dallying in the bedroom, no one will have cause to believe you were anything but prompt in departing.

"When I told you you didn't have to come with me, I meant it," you say, voice quiet.

Across from you, Peony starts out of whatever private thoughts she's using to try and soothe her obvious nerves. "I... yes, my lady," she says.

"It isn't entirely fair for me to expose you to powerful spirits like them, beyond what can't be helped." Peony is your servant and has a responsibility to you, obviously, but a Dragon-Blood does likewise have a responsibility not to be reckless about the spiritual health and wellbeing of mortals under her care. Serving a sorcerer is always going to toe the line in that regard, but that's different from expecting Peony to make a long, two-way trip in the company of a lesser elemental dragon. Verdigris, curled up in your lap, doesn't count nearly so much, you'd like to think.

As far as more practical matters are concerned, Peony is obviously a little bit terrified at the prospect.

She shifts uncomfortably, almost looking you in the eye. "I... will manage, my lady. You'll be there, after all. And it wouldn't do for you to arrive in the Imperial City with no one to attend you." The impropriety of arriving via lesser elemental dragon would rather eclipse this, but you don't interrupt. "And, it has been several years since I have last seen my mother as well." She adds this second point tentatively, like she's uncertain of how it should be received.

"Well, you'll get the chance soon, then," you say. For all that you wanted to offer Peony the option to back out, you can't say that you're not relieved at her coming with you. "I've missed your mother as well."

"I'm sure she will be proud to see how you've grown, my lady," Peony says.

You raise your eyebrows. "Just proud of me?"

Peony doesn't answer, but she does give a small smile.

The road marker is a carved stone pillar at a crossroads, indicating how far to Chanos and several outlying settlements. A small Immaculate shrine is set back a ways from the road, one of many in the countryside this close to the prefectural capital.

Today there are only two figures in sight. One of them, you're here to meet. The other, you're apparently going to have to deal with.

"I will ask again, spirit," the woman is saying, choosing her words carefully, "would you be so kind as to explain your business here today?"

"And I will answer again," says Diamond-Cut Perfection, "I'm waiting on a friend. Nothing sinister or untoward. And, look, here she is!"

The dragon is in their human shape, lounging on the base of the road marker, looking a little incongruous in their spotless finery. The woman standing over them is a mortal, but one dressed in the robes and trappings of an Immaculate monk. When she sees you emerging from your carriage, she is both startled and relieved. Even mortal monks receive special training to prepare them to deal with the supernatural, but if she has any inkling of what Perfection is, she knows full well that they're far above her pay grade.

"Good morning, Sister," you say, approaching the two of them. Behind you, Peony and the driver see to the small amount of luggage you intend to bring with you. "I hope that my friend is not causing any undue trouble?"

The monk gives you a respectful bow. "They alarmed some of the local farmers when they flew in," she says. "I have been trying to ask after the reason for their presence here unannounced."

"And, I told you, I was waiting for a friend," Perfection says. They twine a finger through their white-blonde hair, their smile as flawless as it is insufferable. "Hello, Ambraea. You look lovely this morning."

You're wearing your black and gold jacket over practical travel clothes, your sabre belted on at your waist. It has a new sheathe — a birthday present sent to you from your father, adorned with a quotation from the Immaculate Texts praising Pasiap's resilience in face of adversity, as well as an intricate pattern of triangles meant to put one in mind of mountains. Verdigris is currently out of sight beneath your jacket, but you're quite certain that lovely is perhaps overstating things, going by the monk's reaction. You think she might recognise your name.

"Diamond-Cut Perfection," you say, sparing them a nod. Looking back to the monk, you continue: "I must shortly depart for Scarlet Prefecture, by Imperial request. My friend has offered to take me there far more swiftly than I would be able to travel otherwise. Please, convey my apologies to your superiors. I take it they have already been informed?"

"Yes, my lady," the monk says. If nothing else, she can be pleased that the dragon will be leaving soon. "I had sent word ahead to Smile-of-Hesiesh Temple. I am certain someone more... Equipped to handle a being of your 'friend's' stature will be arriving shortly." Meaning, someone Exalted, and likely more than one. There's no open reproof in her words, given your relative statuses, but you hear it nonetheless. The Immaculate Order takes a dim view of sorcerers who allow summoned spirits to wander freely, where they might injure or corrupt ordinary people. That this is not quite what your relationship with Perfection is makes the impression all the more galling, but you're not about to get into the finer points.

"And thank goodness you're here to smooth this all over. And to think, when we first met, you asked why I wanted to make a pact with you in particular." The scale around your neck goes subtly colder as Perfection's voice speaks in your head. They sound so pleased with themself that you briefly entertain the fantasy of telling the monk that they're a dangerous criminal.

"As I have said, please convey my apologies. Should your superiors wish to discuss the matter with me upon my return, I will be happy to assuage their concerns. But for now, I must depart as swiftly as possible. I trust you have no objections?" You're being more respectful than you technically need to while speaking to a mortal monk, but you don't have any desire to make a habit of antagonising representatives of the Immaculate Order. The woman is only doing her duty, after all, and quite bravely, considering what manner of spirit she's been stalling.

"No, my lady," the monk says. "May the Dragons guide you on your journey." She bows again, retreating to a safe distance.

"Well, that's taken care of," Perfection says. "Which one is coming with us?"

You follow their gaze, seeing Peony standing by the carriage holding both your bags, the driver attempting to calm down a pair of horses made nervous by Perfection's presence. Peony interprets your look as a signal for her to approach. She does an admirable job of keeping her earlier nerves hidden, although you're willing to bet that her heart is still hammering.

"This is my mentor, Diamond-Cut Perfection, Lesser Elemental Dragon of Earth," you explain to her. Peony takes her cue perfectly, setting the bags down and bowing deeply. "This is my handmaiden, Demure Peony," you tell Perfection. "She will be accompanying us, as discussed."

"Charmed," Perfection says. "Now, I gather that we're in a hurry." They take a few steps away, and in a crystalline flash, they're in their draconic shape, glittering in a thousand different shades. This startles all three mortals, to say nothing of the horses. Perfection deigns to lower their coils to the ground with a mildly earth-shaking thud.

You note a decorative chain around their serpentine throat, each metallic link larger than most humans could comfortably carry.

"Hence the rope you asked for," you say, having expected something like this.

"Well," Perfection says, "if it's beneath your dignity, I could always just carry the carriage the entire way."

Tempting, but you can well imagine the roof tearing away at an inopportune time. You, with the help of a slightly pale looking Peony, set about climbing up onto Perfection's back and securing yourselves to the chain with a length of sturdy rope. You make sure that Peony is in front of you, holding onto the luggage, so you can put a practical arm around her.

She seems on the verge of protesting that, but falls silent when you tell her: "Propriety matters less to me than having to explain to Lohna that you fell to your death off of the back of a dragon, Peony."

"... yes, my lady," she says.

"And, remember, where would I be without your singular grace and dedication?"

"At this moment, my lady, I couldn't possibly tell you."

Almost sooner than you expect, Perfection pushes themself back up into the air, and all three of you are flying.

---

It is not a fun journey for Peony. While you are in somewhat of a better position to enjoy the stunning views and novel speed that this mode of transportation affords, you do have to admit that it's far from the most relaxing trip you've ever taken.

While you travel, the wind is cold and sharp as a knife, and howls so loudly that it's a struggle for you and Peony to say anything to each other without literally shouting in one another's ear, and you're forced to speak to Perfection exclusively through your scale. Verdigris burrows into your jacket and refuses to come out, disliking being so far above the ground.

During the day, Perfection flies over snow-capped mountain peaks and secluded valleys, cutting their way across the North-Eastern Blessed Isle at a diagonal that only sometimes intersects with roads far below. The miles eat away shockingly fast below you — over the course of mere hours, you make a journey that would have taken weeks by conventional travel.

You spend nights at a series of settlements ranging from mountain hamlets to small towns. In every case, your arrival is heralded by equal parts fear and awe, the local residents wasting no time in insisting you take whatever the best accommodations they have available. Peony emerges from these flights unsteady on her feet and slightly chilled, but you made sure she was at least dressed for the trip. Her initial fear gives way to a sort of grim determination as the days go by. She's as studiously polite to Perfection as you'd expect, but avoids inappropriate familiarity with the spirit.

For your part, you and Perfection end up conducting lengthy, mental discussions about sorcery, spirits, and other arcane matters. That these conversations are productive matters a little bit less to you than the helpful distraction from your mounting nerves.

Shockingly fast, the mountains give way to foothills, and then to plains, and then you're flying over the Imperial River Basin, following the river's course toward the sea. The Basin is the most heavily populated region of the Blessed Isle — where before there had been tracts of scarcely inhabited wilderness beneath you, now you see city after city, town after town, farmland stretching on and on to feed them all.

It's late morning when you finally arrive, less than a week after you set out, a pace which Perfection smugly describes as "leisurely". The Imperial City seems strangely small on the horizon at first, but rapidly grows to a size that better fits your memory. And as you make your final approach, you see the city spread out from above, spires and domes and mile upon mile of sprawl radiating out from walls that have never once been breached. Even this high up, you can pick out familiar sights: The multi-coloured domes of the Palace of the Deliberative gleam in the sun, each a breathtaking masterwork. You pick out plazas and avenues you've been borne through, each lined with splendor hard won from every Direction -- temples to defeated gods, captured monuments turned into trophies of conquest, the shattered remnants of manses and palaces rendered into paving stones at your mother's command. And there, shining like a jewel at the city's heart behind high walls and gates gleaming with jade, is the Imperial Palace -- the truest home you've ever known.

Although...

"Something wrong?" Perfection asks, their thoughts somehow carrying the feeling of a grin.

Of course there's nothing wrong. You're looking down at the greatest city in all Creation from a vantage that few have ever gotten to see. It's merely... different, from how you normally see it.

"Oh, I see!" they say. "You don't normally see those parts, do you?"

Admittedly, you do not -- the Imperial City's great buildings and major streets are cleverly arranged to present a view worthy of the Realm's crowning glory to those of means. From above, though, you can see what had always been hidden from you, even from the highest towers of the Palace: Thousands upon thousands of homes crammed in amidst factories, workshops, slaughterhouses, and all the other small and petty drudgeries that make a city run. Teaming masses of peasant laborers and beasts of burden and slaves throng in those narrow streets, making up the lion's share of the more than a million souls living within the Imperial City's protection.

It isn't really discomfort you're feeling. Just surprise. Inside your coat, Verdigris stirs, nuzzling a scaly head against you. You ignore Perfection's laughter in your head, and try to join Peony in simply taking in the view.

Not wanting to find out exactly what supernatural defences the walls have against aerial assault, you don't land in the city proper. Instead, Perfection sets down in the middle of a broad avenue half an hour out from the nearest gate. It's a neighbourhood for relatively well-off peasants: artisans and businesswomen and other such folk settle their families here, where their money stretches farther than it would within the walls. You're surrounded by comfortably modest looking homes, many with quaint little gardens all the more charming for their simplicity. Anyone out on the street immediately runs for cover as Perfection lands — this gives you and Peony time to climb down with your things before anyone immediately bothers you. Peony has the air of a woman who has weathered a tribulation and isn't certain how she emerged unscathed on the other side.

"Believe it or not, I have things of my own to attend to," Perfection tells you, "and it doesn't involve answering a thousand suspicious questions from humans who watch my every move."

"Yes, that's probably for the best," you agree. "Thank you for your assistance." You incline your head at an appropriate angle.

'I've always wanted to see this part of the Isle," Perfection says, flicking their tail as if the whole business was just a whim. "I'll be in touch — I have a task for you while we're both here, I think." Then they're winging up and away in a rush of wind and a riot of gems gleaming in the sun.

And so it was that when the group of distinctly nervous Black Helms come to investigate the reports of a dragon setting down in the suburbs, the only one they find is you.

"Excellent timing," you tell the officer, as if your presence here is entirely normal and expected, "I have urgent business at the Palace, and require proper transportation. I trust you will see it arranged?"

---

Your mother's presence has always been overwhelming, the sheer weight of her attention like a vast bonfire — the palace itself often felt a little like that to you, whether or not she was in it at any given time. Like the very architecture of the place had taken on some of her essential being. Now, far more attuned to the mystical energies of the world than you had been when you last walked these halls, you recognise that this was never your imagination. Her sorcery permeates every part of the vast building, the power of it a constant background hum.

"Our revered Empress has of course been notified of your arrival, lady Ambraea," the well-dressed mortal woman tells you. Her tone is deferential but confident. As a deputy to the Keeper of the First Imperial Seal. "She will send for you at her convenience, but I shouldn't expect that to be before tomorrow."

You don't resent that — it gives you a chance to be clean, rested, and fed by the time you face your mother. "Of course," you say, "I am happy to await her pleasure."

You follow the deputy down a hallway that you know of old, one wall made up of high archways leading out to a vast and splendid courtyard garden. This time of year, it's host to a riot of flowers from across Creation, brightly coloured birds singing in the branches of ornamental trees.

As you pass one such arch, you briefly eye one of its large, marble pillars, and have to refrain from rubbing at your nose in a distant memory of pain. From her place beside and slightly behind you, Peony follows your gaze. The trace of a smile on her lips is so faint that no one could have credibly chided her for it.

There's an itch at the back of your neck intruding on your sense of childhood nostalgia. You eye one of the archways up ahead critically. On a hunch, you let your fingers brush along a massive vase of polished silver as you're led past it, putting a thread of Air into it as you go. In the distorted reflection, you can now see a figure standing in the archway, tireless and intangible, inhuman eyes tracking you all as you pass.

You take your hand away from the vase, and pointedly don't look at the arch again. You'd always known, abstractly, that more than the Silent Legion guards this place. Reasonably, this changes nothing.

You leave the courtyard behind, following the deputy down a route you could have walked in your sleep, through the grand corridor adorned with Zephyrite wall hangings, up the flight of red marble stairs, and finally coming to a halt at a particular door on the landing above. The deputy bows. "Your rooms have of course been prepared, my lady, and a meal will be delivered shortly. Do you require anything else?"

"No, thank you," you tell her, nodding in acknowledgement, "You have been most helpful. I'm sure you have many duties to attend to."

"Very well," the deputy says, seeming to approve this answer. "I wish you a good day, my lady." With that, she strides purposefully away with the air of a woman already mentally readjusting her day's schedule down to the minute.

You take a moment to take a deep breath and let it out again, savouring the moment of relative solitude. "Well, welcome home, I suppose," you tell Peony, reaching to open the door to your private chambers. As a child of the Scarlet Empress, you have your own dedicated suite of rooms here, maintained in your absence in anticipation of your eventual return. Whether that be after a month or a decade.

The foyer is exactly as you remembered it. You step through onto an intricately patterned carpet, the space decorated with antique mahogany furniture. Prasadi artwork on the walls, gifted to you very belatedly by your paternal grandmother to mark your Exaltation, aniconic designs in a style both exotic and striking to Realm sensibilities. Also familiar is the servant woman standing here waiting for you, carefully putting some finishing touches on an arrangement of fresh flowers sitting on a table. As you enter the room, she turns around, smiles respectfully, and bows very low. "My lady Ambraea," she says.

Lohna's hair is darker than Peony's, and closer to a kelp green than Peony's seafoam blue, but she has the same dense curls, the same narrow frame, and the same warm, brown complexion. Her dress is simple, but clean, cut to plainly expose the brand burned onto her neck — the version of the Imperial household's mon used to mark your mother's personal property. You'd had many nannies and tutors over the course of your childhood, but Lohna had been among the most consistently present. She'd nursed you as an infant, helped teach you to walk, and to speak your first words. She'd been the one you would always run to with scraped knees or hurt feelings, a sternly kind presence, affectionate in the way a servant is permitted to be.

She's older than you remembered, for all that you only saw her three years ago, with grey in her hair and lines on her face you're sure weren't there before. For a moment, you're filled with the childish urge to hug her. You don't, of course. "Hello, Lohna," you say, smiling. "It's good to see you."

This acknowledgement gives her permission to straighten, relax. "And you as well, my lady," she says. "I am happy to see that Chanos has agreed with you so well. I trust my daughter has been taking good care of you?"

"As always," you say.

"I do my best," Peony says. There's a subtle loosening of her posture here — you can tell she's already glad she came with you, however much she hated the journey.

"You look healthy enough," Lohna decides, plainly satisfied. "I was worried; I don't trust Northern food."

"We didn't exactly go to Whitewall, mother," Peony says, but she's smiling.

"The food in Chanos is perfectly adequate," you say. You won't complain about the school food, but you pointedly do not include it in that assessment.

"I'm sure you're right," Lohna agrees, without giving the impression that she's sure of anything of the sort. You're fairly certain that she's never been North of Pangu Prefecture, just across the Imperial River, and possibly never will. "I'm sure you'll both enjoy a change of pace, regardless. I hope the journey wasn't too difficult — I've heard rumours about you flying in on a dragon, but I'm sure that can't be true."

You open your mouth, but you're cut off by a knock at the door. Instantly, both Lohna and Peony straighten up to a more formal posture. At a glance from you, Peony moves over to the door, and opens it. You smile again at the sight of the man on the other side. "Father," you say. "This is sooner than I'd expected to see you."

"I suppose it would be," he says, lightly. He glances at Lohna and Peony, then back to you.

"If you would give us the room?" you say to the servants. You know they'll be grateful for the chance to speak to one another alone as well. They both bow, and retreat in the direction of Peony's bedroom, leaving you alone with your father.

He closes the door behind him, and to your startlement, moves to clasp you by the shoulders. "Look at you," he says, smiling down at you, "I barely recognise that girl I sent away."

"I'm sure the sword helps," you say. You don't pull away from him.

He laughs. Burano Maharan Nazat, Imperial consort, is a tall, broad-shouldered man with your complexion and dark eyes, dressed in court robes of a rich green. The grey in his hair looks like a sign of old age, at a glance, but as always, closer inspection reveals something closer to a granite pattern. "I'm pleased to see you wearing it," he says. "I suppose a sorcerer does still find need for such mundane matters."

You give a small laugh at that. "I should introduce you to Tepet Usala Sola, someday. I think you'd like her. She's half responsible for me keeping up with my practice."

"And I would hope that a sense of duty and dedication are the other half," he says, releasing you, "and not that V'neef woman putting you on your back in a practice bout?"

"I was hoping that you hadn't heard of that."

"Please," Nazat says, wandering over to one of your cabinets to look for something to drink, "I keep an ear out for news of you. And it's really nothing to be ashamed of, losing to a swordswoman like V'neef S'thera at age sixteen. I haven't met her, but her reputation speaks for itself."

"So I understand," you say. You don't voice the snide remark that comes to mind, about S'thera's 'reputation' being as much for putting women on their backs in another way as it was for swordswomanship. It would make you seem like a sore loser, after all. And you're here talking to your father.

Nazat produces a bottle of very expensive looking wine, and two cups, and sits down at a nearby table. The seal stamped onto the bottle is from a minor lineage of Wood Aspect vintners, and costs so much that you strongly suspect he planted this in your rooms ahead of time. Even after so long as an Imperial consort, there are signs of his homeland's faith, if you look for them. He avoids food and drink prepared by mortals wherever practical.

You unbuckle your sword, setting it on an ornate stand meant for that purpose, and shrug out of your jacket, leaving it hanging on a hook by the door. Then you follow his lead and take a seat across from him. Despite the carriage ride up to the palace, it feels like days since you've just had a chance to sit down. "I don't suppose you know what this is about?" you ask, trying to keep your voice casual.

From the cryptic sort of look he gives you, you're not sure you succeed. "I know as much as you do," he says. "She keeps her own council, as ever. Does a mother need a reason to seek such a meeting with her own daughter?"

In your experience, yes. "It was just... very sudden," you say. He pours you a cup, and you take a moment to savour the smell — floral and complex.

"She won't call for you before tomorrow morning," he says, with more surety than the woman who'd escorted you here. "The Empress is in meetings for the rest of the afternoon. And for the past month she's been spending her evenings with her latest plaything." There's no venom or resentment behind the words; jealousy is neither a trait your mother appreciates in her consorts, nor one that is particularly likely to survive more than two decades in her household.

You let out a deep breath, and take a grateful sip of the wine. It's heavenly. When Verdigris pokes her head out of your shirt sleeve, you let her take an exploratory sip. She's been hiding wrapped around your arm all day. "This is Verdigris," you tell your father, when you catch him staring. "She's a sign of my particular approach to sorcery."

Nazat masters whatever discomfort this might bring. "She seems like a well-mannered enough snake."

"She is," you say. Unless you get angry, but there's no reason to mention that. A moment or two passes in companionable silence, the three of you enjoying the wine.

At length, however, Nazat speaks to you: "I don't promise that I'll follow most of it — I had a cousin who attended the Mandir of Sixfold Insight, and half the things he talked about afterward went entirely over my head. But I would not mind hearing what your time at school has been like."

"I write letters," you tell him.

"You write letters like you're dictating a shopping list," Nazat says, faintly amused, "it reminds me of your grandmother. Please, indulge me."

"As you wish, then," you say. And so you tell him about your year, the wine and the quiet comfort of his company helping to ease your anxieties about tomorrow. Between this and Lohna, you're finally, truly able to feel like you're home, at least for a little while.

You only wish your meeting with your other parent could go this smoothly.

Article:

You will shortly have a private audience with your mother, the Scarlet Empress. Ostensibly, this is a mother-daughter interview, her taking an hour out of her busy schedule to discuss your academic progress and other such matters, as well as to dispense advice or instructions or corrections to your behaviour. This is not uncommon for a Dynastic mother, particularly with a secondary-school-aged child she has not seen in several years. It is never that simple with her.

The Empress will give you something you do not want, which will cause you pain. Because she cares.

However, you will at least come away from this scene with something more unambiguously beneficial to you, as little comfort as it will be in the moment. What is it? You may choose as many options as you like, but only the option with the most votes will win.

[ ] [Empress] Advice on binding and treating with spirits

The Empress has encountered more great spirits than you have years. Even her passing insights are invaluable.

[ ] [Empress] Advice on the advancement of your spellwork

You are inclined to take any direct guidance from the person who first inspired you to become a sorcerer very seriously, and you would be foolish not to.

[ ] [Empress] A small gift of great value to you

A lesser artifact — little more than a trinket for the wealthiest woman on Creation, but she understands its use to you.

---

After your meeting with the Empress, you will still have some weeks to spend in the Palace and the wider Imperial City. Who are your most memorable encounters? You may vote for as many options as you like, but only the two options with the most votes will win.

[ ] [Social] Ledaal Anay

Demon Fang Anay, legendary Wyld Hunt shikari and mother of your classmate, Ledaal Anay Idelle. You are not close to Idelle, but Anay manages to save you a great deal of trouble.

[ ] [Social] Mnemon Rulinsei

Mnemon Rulinsei is both your elder sister and your adoptive niece, an Imperial daughter who aligned herself with one of her siblings for her own protection. Her position offers you unique insights.

[ ] [Social] Sesus Kasi

A student at the Spiral Academy on her own academic break, and the twin sister of your schoolmate, Sesus Amiti, despite their stark differences. Oddly enough, books are involved with this encounter as well.

[ ] [Social] Tepet Usala

It isn't so strange to encounter great figures in the Realm when you're staying in the Imperial Palace, but the Matriarch of House Tepet is still a memorable acquaintance to make. The mother of your schoolmate, Tepet Usala Sola. Usala is a busy woman, but you briefly catch her interest.

[ ] [Social] V'neef S'thera

A blind swordmaster who is both your niece, and the elder sister of your schoolmate, V'neef L'nessa. The last time you made her acquaintance, she destroyed you in a series of practice duels. Will you do any better this time?