The Last Daughter -- Dragon-Blooded Sorcery School Quest

Descending Wood, Realm Year 763,
Seven Months before the disappearance of the Scarlet Empress

The Port of Chanos, the Northern Blessed Isle

"It can't be a coincidence," you say, frowning at the two letters laid out side-by-side.

"It might be," Maia offers. "My grandmother would have had words and instructions for me regardless. She may simply have been in the capital already, and it was convenient for me to go to her."

You nod, unconvinced.

The two letters rest on the same garden table where you once planned a trip with L'nessa and Ophris Maharan Teran. It's a pleasant, cloudy day, nice enough weather to take tea outdoors by Chanos standards. It really is appalling what the Storm Coast has done to your standards for what does and does not constitute good weather., One letter is another Imperial summons, this one instructing you in extremely flowery language to present yourself before the Throne within the month. The other is a much more innocuous seeming missive, requesting Maia's presence at her family residence in the Imperial City. From the way she frowns at the words, you take it that they contain coded meanings beyond your capacity to understand.

You're quite certain she wouldn't be showing the letter to you at all if it were otherwise, for your own safety as much as anything.

"Well, at least the journey will be made in good company this time," you say.

Maia smiles, a little guarded but still sincere. "I'm sure it will be the highlight of our summer."

You laugh. "Well, I hope we have a few moments together in the Imperial City that we enjoy more, but I'm sure we'll make the best of the journey."

"Is it just going to be the two of us?" Maia asks.

You sigh. "Well, it's not exactly proper, but I can hardly expect my handmaiden to come by the means we're likely to travel." The girl who has been fulfilling the role for you is still so skittish of you and anything relating to sorcery that you think it might outright kill her.

Maia leans forward across the table, her voice dropping lower, her smile taking on a shy quality. "If my lady requires someone to brush her hair, and help her out of her clothes at the end of the day..."

You laugh. "How good of you to endure such hardship on the behalf of your social betters, with no ulterior motives at all. Truly, you're a credit to the Patriciate."

Her face colours under your intent gaze, but she's still smiling, taking the time to savour the moment before she changes the subject to more practical matters. "That aside, how are we getting to the city?" Maia asks.

"One moment," you say. You close your eyes, reaching out to the dragon scale hanging around your neck.

"Ambraea." Diamond-Cut Perfection's voice is familiar in your head. As always, they seem like they're laughing at you. "Whatever can I do for my favourite Dragon-Blood?"

"I've been summoned to the Imperial City again," you send back. "I was hopeful that you could carry me in that direction again."

"Hm..." Their presence is thoughtful for a moment, before they reply with: "I have business that requires I not stray quite so far. But, I would be pleased to fly you over the mountains, at the very least."

Less convenient than a full trip by dragonback, but still something that could cut your travel time but more than half. "That would do nicely, thank you," you send back.

"Well, I could never pass up an opportunity to see Peony again. You don't deserve her.

They say this with a typically insufferable air, as though it's something that should make you annoyed with them. Instead, you're only caught off guard by your complete lack of recognition. "Who?"

There's a moment of confusion on their end, before they say, suddenly uncertain: "Demure Peony. Your handmaiden. She's served you your entire life."

"I..." It's almost there, something important that you've forgotten. Something you should never have forgotten in the first place. But whether by coincidence or the whims of fate, it once again slips through your fingers, and you're left only barely certain of what it is you're discussing. "I'm terrible with servants' names," you admit.

Perfection is silent for a long moment. By the time they answer, you've started to worry that they've already left. All they say is: "... Interesting." Based on how they say it, it's not a good kind of interesting.

"I beg your pardon?" you ask.

"It's nothing." they say. "Where shall we meet? I take it we don't want to meet that delightful monk again."

---

Interlude 5: The Precipice

Two weeks later,

Scarlet Prefecture, The Eastern Blessed Isle

In the middle of a lush field, the ground shakes, splits, and finally disgorges a massive serpent, its scales formed of overlapping pebbles. It opens an unhinged jaw large enough to admit a small house. Or, two Dragon-Blooded.

"Next time, I'm summoning an agata," Maia says, making a face.

You're not entirely certain why she's complaining — a siltwinder's mouth is entirely cool and dry, if dark. It's a perfectly viable method of travel. "On the way back, maybe," you say. Fortunately, the field doesn't appear to be active farmland this time. Which is a minor miracle, given how densely populated this part of the Isle is. You've frightened enough shepherds and villagers for one trip. Instead, you're standing on a low, rocky hill surrounded by grass.

"That's the city in the distance," you say, nothing the towers the horizon.

"Are we just going to arrive in the nearest town on foot and demand passage?" Maia asks.

"Yes, that was my thought," you say. "It's what I did last time, more or less. The elemental can guard the baggage until we can arrange for it to be collected. Why are you laughing?"

"Sorry," Maia says, smiling behind her hand, "I just love you."

"I'm not sure why the two things are related," you say with great dignity. Your hand goes to your hair. "How do I look?"

"Like a mad but beautiful sorceress descending from the mountains in the mouth of a monstrous snake," Maia says. Then, sobering: "You look like you've been on the road, travelling unconventionally. We're sorcerers, no one wants to think too hard about how you get around as fast as you do."

"I suppose not," you say, touching your hair, tightly coiled around your head. True to her word, Maia had done this for you. She's quite good, honestly. You'll still want a new handmaiden sooner rather than later; it will be easier to find one in the Imperial City than in Chanos, of course, but then comes the problem of bringing the poor girl back with you...

You begin walking, Maia falling in beside you. Verdigris emerges from your sleeve, wrapping around your arm to enjoy the sun. It's been very nice, just the three of you. You and Maia both know it won't last.

"I'll send word to you within a few days," you say.

"Hopefully whatever my family needs from me will leave time to see each other," Maia says. She frowns. "Assuming they don't invite you to come meet them. Which they might."

Accepting would mark something of a condescension on your part, but not an unexpected one, for the family of a Hearthmate. Of course, the fact that you know very well that the Erona are far from an ordinary patrician family does put a damper on things.

"Well, we'll see," you say. "Wish me luck." You're trying very, very hard not to think about how your mother might react to recent developments.

Maia puts a gentle hand on your shoulder for just a moment. "Me as well."

---

You arrive in the city late in the day when all is said and done, between wrangling suitable transportation and the journey itself. You'd parted ways soon after arriving, Maia to her family's home, you to the palace.

You're led immediately to your chambers for a quick meal, a hot bath, and a good night's sleep. This time, when you'd rather have a bit of time to gather your wits, there will be no appreciable delay: You are to present yourself early in the morning, before your mother and the entire court. Somehow, you sleep soundly and dream of nothing that you can recall.

You wake to sunlight filtering through the window of your bedchamber, birds singing in the garden outside, silk bedclothes smooth against your skin. You're able to lay like that, enjoying it all, for all of a minute and a half. That's when a knock comes on your door, quiet but oddly assertive.

You slide out of the bed, casting a frowning eye at your appearance in the nearest mirror — ignoring the sensation at the back of your mind that you're being watched which you get from most mirrors in the palace. You won't say you're presentable, but it's almost certainly just a servant.

"Enter," you say.

The door opens, admitting a tall, willowy young woman who immediately drops into an appropriately low bow, holding it as she introduces herself:

"My lady Ambraea, I am Teng Evening Garnet. It would be my great honour to assist you in preparing for your day."

"Very well," you say, stepping over to the mirror.

She takes this as the permission it is, straightening and closing the door behind her. You have a seat in front of the mirror, allowing her to begin on your hair. As her practiced hands begin unbraiding Maia's handiwork, you say: "You're not one of the palace servants." Neither her manner of dress nor the introduction pointed to that.

"No, my lady," she agrees. "My services have been procured for you by your lord father, if it pleases you."

That takes you by surprise — you'd mentioned the need for good help in one of your letters and asked him to keep an ear out, but you hadn't quite expected him to take this kind of initiative. Maybe you should have — he is always keenly aware of what's required to present you in the best possible light. It makes you feel a little guilty: He won't be pleased about what you did this year. It won't have made things easier for him. Obviously you'd do it again, but all the same.

"What are your qualifications?" you ask.

"I have the honour of having served as handmaiden to Winglord Sesus Lystra," Evening says, her eyes carefully averted, "as well as valet to her while she was on campaign with the Imperial Legions."

That makes you take a second look at her.

Evening Garnet is fetching more than pretty, her hair short and black, her high-collared dress made in a subtly foreign cut. Her voice has a trace of Flametongue — based on her features and light brown complexion, you'd guess Tengese. "How is it that you came to leave the winglord's service?"

"It is my lady Lystra's custom to free her valet at the end of a particularly... difficult campaign. Such that I might carry her bad luck away with me."

It doesn't surprise you that your father would think for you to take a freedwoman into your service. Long years in the Realm have made him inured to many things, but he's still not entirely comfortable with owning slaves. You suspect that Teran, or anyone else fresh from Prasad, would have been nearly as uncomfortable with a mortal woman of such low origins serving as a body servant to a Dragon-Blood to begin with, but time wears down even the highest mountains.

Not that you particularly mind; you've always had a free handmaiden. You think. What you say is: "Bad luck?"

"It is of course not my place to criticise my former mistress," Evening says, "but your lord father, at least, felt that I was unlikely to bring such misfortune to you." Her tone is perfectly, appropriately servile, but there's a certain dryness behind it. Not a trait everyone would appreciate in a servant.

You think of Lohna all at once — most of her life spent as a palace slave. It's your intention to eventually grant her a comfortable retirement. You can only imagine that at her age, it would be exceptionally difficult for her to find anything else if left at loose ends. Evening, though, must not even be ten years your elder. When her mistress had set her free, she might have returned to the Threshold, surely, or sought her fortunes elsewhere in the Realm. Instead, she's attempting to find someone who will pay her for the skills she learned as a slave. They do make for a useful combination, admittedly.

"You understand that I am a sorcerer, I hope," you tell her.

"I do, my lady," she says, not sure where you're going with this.

"If you went into my service, you would have to witness things that might frighten you. I have no use for a servant who falls apart or fails to maintain sensible distance when confronted with spirits or other parts of my craft."

On cue, Verdigris stirs on her cushion nearby, looking curiously at Evening. In the mirror, Evening's eyes flicker to the snake. She swallows, but doesn't stop preparing your hair. Her hands are confident and efficient. "I don't frighten easily, my lady. And I'm prepared to follow your instructions precisely, of course."

"We'll see." You're not yet certain, but your need is great enough to make you willing to give her a chance. "I assume your former lady's household provided you with a recommendation, at least."

"Yes, my lady," Evening says. "I can provide one."

It will be few enough years before you have someone else to vet your servants for you, but it's good to at least have a hand in it for a personal body servant.

"I have taken the liberty of laying out several gowns for you to choose between, my lady. In the interests of getting you ready for court on time. Forgive me if I don't yet know your tastes as well as I might."

"Very well," you say.

---

You don't regret your father's liberty, by the time Evening has you wrapped in the many layers of formal court attire. Apparently, someone told her you like black. The style of this gown is more form-flattering than the one you wore for your private audience with your mother two years past, both to chase current trends, and to give you a more mature look. Likewise, simpler hairstyles have come into fashion in the intervening time, but Evening has still found a way to incorporate your favourite serpentine ornament, threaded subtly into your hair.

The exchange with Evening Garnet had served as a pleasant enough distraction from the day ahead, but leaving for your audience, you're keenly aware of the butterflies dancing in your stomach. She walks behind you now, calm and poised, well used to playing accessory to a Dynastic lady.

You aren't that far down the hall when you spot a familiar face, and it's a relief, at least for a moment. You catch sight of Lohna down the hall, standing beside a set of ornate Dragon sculptures. You increase your speed ever so slightly, but pause as you see that she's in close conversation with someone you don't recognise, the other woman having been concealed partially behind the tail of the Sextes Jylis statue. She's a young woman of similar Western heritage to Lohna, her blue curls worn in a fashionably styled, her clothing marking her as above a common servant, without really marking her as someone of import. You wouldn't have looked twice, ordinarily, if she hadn't been speaking to Lohna so intimately. Although...

She glances up, her gaze meeting yours, and a look of startlement crosses her face. Then she darts in to give Lohna a swift hug, gives a hasty bow to you, and turns to walk away in a hurry.

"Wait!" You call after her, and whoever she is has the gall to ignore you, and slips away down a side passageway. Her eyes had been blue -- you're gripped by an absurd certainty that this is wrong, somehow.

Lohna, still plainly somewhat shocked by the hug and by your shout, quickly bows a little lower than normal. "Lady Ambraea! I apologise, I hadn't noticed you."

"You've done nothing wrong," you assure her, although you frown. "Who was that who was talking to you? She was being excessively familiar."

Lohna tilts her head slightly in confusion, obscuring the brand on her neck. "Who was I-- I apologise, my lady, but I'm not sure."

"She hugged you," you remind her. There are others entering the hall now, a group of clerks laden down with paperwork, but they're still a ways off.

"... Did she?" Lohna blinks, as if trying very hard to recall. "It might just be my old age catching up to me, my lady. I'm certain you're right, but I can't remember a word of that conversation. It's all fallen quite out of my head."

"Are you feeling unwell?" You ask her, feeling more concern than you permit yourself to voice.

"No, my lady. Why do you ask?"

"You're crying."

---

"Presenting Ambraea, Chosen of Pasiap, Twenty-Second daughter of the Scarlet Empress."

Face schooled and back straight, you step through massive, jade-barred doors and into one of the single most opulent rooms in all Creation. A great expanse of red marble and gold stretches before you, pillars rising up to the vaulted ceiling overhead, walls and ceiling and even the floor dripping with scenes of the Realm's glory and the Immaculate Dragons in relief and mosaic. Here, so close to the heart of the Empress's power, and with so much Immaculate imagery present, this amount of iconic artwork doesn't seem quite so spiritually dubious.

All around you is a respectable representation of the Realm's elite, Dynasts from every house, Exalted and mortal, along with the odd foreign dignitary. Enough silk and other fine fabric to smother a small Threshold Kingdom, enough tasteful jewelry to drive a lesser queen to despair. Every one of them is looking at you as you walk down the carpeted aisle at the centre of the room, all of them trying to decide what they make of you.

There, flanked by imagery of the Realm's founding and her closest advisors, is the Empress herself. Your mother sits on the Five Dragon Throne, garbed in full Imperial regalia, silently watching you with eyes that see much and betray nothing. You recognise most of the men and women standing near the throne. Your father has been afforded a place of honour today, dressed in a martial Prasadi style, looking at you with pride tinged with a veiled frustration — he'll certainly have words for you later. Beside him, to your surprise, is V'neef. You hadn't known she was in the capital. She actually gives you a small, encouraging smile. Despite how much it reminds you of L'nessa in her kinder moments, the sight of it sends a stab of irrational resentment through your chest.

Of course, even on a day when she is ostensibly honouring you, the Empress wants her favourite daughter close at hand.

As for the rest of the crowd, you also recognise Amon Mora, an aged Air Aspect who serves as Keeper of the First Imperial Seal, one of the few patricians in the room. He was apparently in conversation with a woman in the attire of a legionary general, who for some reason keeps sending discreet glares at your father. Near to them is someone you don't recognise — a thickset woman bearing the mon of House Ledaal sewn into the fabric of her gown, a detail you can just barely make out. Air Aspect Markings dust her clothes and hair with a fine layer of frost, despite the warm summer's day.

Just before you reach the dais of the throne, you catch sight of an elderly woman standing at the back of the crowd, as far from your mother's sight as possible without making it too obvious. Mnemon Rulinsei leans heavily on her cane, looking deeply unexcited by the court and the ceremony. Still, when she catches your eye, for just a moment her lined face twitches into something like a wry smile.

But then you're there, standing before the steps of the dais. On cue, you sink down to your knees, forehead nearly pressed to the floor as you prostrate yourself before the Imperial Presence. This is not a private audience between you and your mother. Today you are gazed down on by the rightful monarch of all Creation and the mother of the Dynasty. The weight of her presence falls over you like a blast of heat from a mighty flame.

"Ambraea," the Empress says, and her voice utterly silences the room without a shred of obvious effort. Everyone present is helpless to do anything but hang on her every word. "My daughter. This year, you are twenty years old, a woman grown who must soon look to the responsibilities of a woman. Today, I acknowledge your accomplishments, and prepare you for that responsibility. You may speak."

Without rising, you speak into the projected silence, raising your voice enough to let it carry despite your positioning. "I am honoured by my Empress's regard."

Taking up your phrasing without missing a beat, she continues: "As a symbol of that regard — that of a mother and a ruler both — the first gift I present you with is one to recognise your skill as a swordswoman. May you only ever wield it justly, to defend your life, your Hearth, your family, and your Realm against those villains who might threaten them. May you pass it down to your own daughters in turn. Ledaal Shigora."

You see an unfamiliar set of feet approach the dais, but the sound of the name sends a jolt of excitement through you. Ledaal Shigora is one of the Realm's most celebrated swordsmiths, as well as a heroic slayer of Anathema. You see Shigora kneel, holding something in her hands. With a rustle of fabric, your mother rises to her feet. "Look upon me, Ambraea," she says.

You raise yourself to your knees, looking up at your mother, crowned in gold and mantled in scarlet, the five solid jade dragon heads of her throne seeming to all peer down at you with an air of fierce judgment. On the dais, the Air Aspect woman you noticed before kneels, a large, ebony case held in her arms. A young man — an apprentice, you assume — steps forward with his head bowed, undoing the golden clasps, and reverently opening the case.

The Empress lifts the blade inside off the yellow satin it rests upon — a large, single-edged sabre of white jadesteel. She steps forward with it held across her hands. Literally, for just a moment, she's holding a sword over your head. But she's smiling as she offers you the weapon hilt-first.

You take it carefully, accepting the weapon's great weight into your hands. The blade is broad and gently curved, tip ending at a sharp diagonal point, the metal itself almost glowing a soft, glossy ivory under the sunlight streaming through the chamber's windows. At first you think the brighter metal decorating the over-sized hilt and the symbols etched into the blade are done in gold, but from that way they gleam, you recognise the ornamental elements as pure orichalcum. For a moment, it's heavy and unwieldy. Then your soul reaches out to touch the weapon's Essence — it feels cold, sharp, and dangerous. Still, the blade becomes light enough for you that you could easily wield it in one hand.

Or you might wield it in one hand later, perhaps, when you're not standing this close to the Scarlet Empress. You dearly want a chance to properly test the balance, but you're not about to do anything foolish. Instead, when the apprentice leans down to offer you the case, you gently set the sword back down in the box, beside its sleekly ornamented sheath.

It's a beautiful weapon, and even for a smith of Ledaal Shigora's calibre, it's one that would have taken at least several years to complete, under ordinary circumstances. Not only that, but the hilt meets the blade in the shape of a gilded serpent's mouth, as though it means to swallow the blade whole. Not only had your mother felt enough confidence in you to commission such a weapon much earlier in your academic career than this, she had also made such personal specifications as to include that. Even though proxies were almost certainly involved, it's the most thoughtful thing she's ever done for you. It does a great deal to drive out the worst of your anxiety. What you say is: "My Empress is very kind. It's beautiful."

Ledaal Shigora steals a look at you, coolly appraising. You can't say for certain what she's looking for in you, and you don't get the chance to ask.

The rest of the ceremony is more or less expected; a particularly generous stipend to establish yourself with, along with a demesne for your use, upon which you might have a manse constructed. Other, lesser gifts suitable for starting a Dynastic household, most of which will come into your possession once you graduate.

Above anything else, however, you'll remember that smile on her face for the rest of your life, always wondering what, exactly, she was thinking.

---

"No Tepets?"

"Ultimately, even this preliminary list was subject to Her Excellency's approval." Your father sits across from you, his expression blank and unreadable. His chambers are much the same as ever — the sitting room you're in is an almost bewildering array of Prasadi art and furniture, from the lush carpets underfoot to the elaborately carved writing desk in one corner. A series of paintings dominate the walls, imported at ruinous expense — landscapes, for the most part, showing scenes of verdant plains and glittering seawater and a great city of towers and gardens. Among all these is what looks like a copy of an official portrait depicting a woman with your father's stern bearing and Aspect Markings. An ornate, sheathed daiklave hangs over the empty fireplace, just as fine as the one you've recently received.

"As you say." You return to studying the list of potential marriage candidates. For most Dynastic households, it would not be normal for him to have this conversation with you at all at so early a stage, let alone to seek your input. It would be a matter handled by a young Dynast's mother and house matriarch working in concert, deciding what matches are best for both their family and their house. You have no house, however, and therefore no matriarch — you have your mother, who chooses to delegate a great deal of the minor decision making to your father. And you have yourself, who will be the founder of your own household at an exceptionally young age. As such, your father sees fit to consult you far sooner than would otherwise be sensible.

As your eyes skim down the list of young men from half a dozen Great Houses — V'neef, Cathak, Sesus, Mnemon, among others — you're aware that your father has other things on his mind. His cool and remote manner is a far cry from the warm welcome he'd given you the year before, and you can practically feel the unspoken issue hanging between you in the form of the oath you'd sworn to Erona Maia. Your determination to have him be the one to broach it finally pays off after several minutes of strained silence:

"When I was young in Kamthahar, I attended the Spire-Upon-the-Bank," he says. "I, too, had a lover. The son of an outcaste adopted into my clan. We cared very deeply for one another, in the manner of lovesick teenagers everywhere. Do you know what happened?"

You resist the urge to sigh. "I'm sure you did the prudent thing, and set him aside when the time is right."

Nazat actually scoffs, the first actual show of emotion you've had from him. "No, we fell out of love. We drifted apart. He married an Ophris woman and still serves honourably in her clan's legions, when last I heard. Young love is like beach sand, Ambraea. Easily worked, but you can't build anything on it to last."

You swallow your immediate response. Instead, you say: "It's too late to take anything back now. Maia is bound to me."

"I know," your father says, letting an actual frown mar his features, and he gives you a meaningful look. "I had thought you had more sense than this. I've heard it brought up by the mothers of two of the names on that list already."

You want to tell him that he simply doesn't understand, that he had no one back in Prasad who mattered enough to him to keep him there, but it would be both childish and cruel to voice such things. Your father will not bring himself to draw attention to it explicitly, but you understand the fundamental precarity of his situation. His status as consort and father to an Exalted Imperial daughter buys him some security here, but only so long as he retains the Empress's favour. Substantially, only so long as you retain the Empress's favour. She has set aside more than a few consorts in the past, and her moods are not reliable enough to be certain of her response to something like this. So what you say is: "It grieves me that you are disappointed."

Recognising your complete lack of apology, his frown deepens, and he leans forward. He only has time to open his mouth, however, when a sharp knock comes on the door. Whoever is on the other side doesn't wait to be let in.

A servant steps forward into the study, her hands clasped smartly behind her back, her eyes fixed on the space in the air somewhere between the two of you. "Her Imperial Excellency, the Scarlet Empress!" the woman announces.

Both you and your father are kneeling in an instant, the papers somehow having been placed on a nearby table as neatly as you had time for. True to the servant's words, your mother's presence enters the room ahead of her. This time, she at least doesn't make the two of you maintain this show of supplication for long. "Please, rise," she says, "I think we've had enough formality for one day." And she actually offers your father a gallant hand up. He of course takes it, her hand very small and pale in his.

"I am surprised to see you, My Empress," your father says, as you climb to your feet beside him. "I was told that you had an important engagement."

The Empress laughs as though at a private joke. She's less ostentatiously dressed than she had been at court earlier, but even in a more casual gown, she doesn't sacrifice an ounce of her authority. "Yes, I do have a private audience to attend," she freely admits, "but it's nothing that can't be postponed. I enjoy teaching that man the value of patience, sometimes — for old time's sake."

Something about the comment does not invite inquiry about who she means, although part of you burns with curiosity.

The Empress takes a seat on the sofa that your father had lately occupied, draping herself across one side of it like a lioness surveying its domain. "Please, both of you, have a seat," she says. She motions for the servant who announced her: "Pour two glasses of wine, set a third aside with the bottle, and then wait outside and close the door behind you," she says. The servant will hardly be waiting alone — a retinue of attendants, guards, and hangers-on wait outside the room, all studiously pretending not to have been eavesdropping on the conversation so far.

The servant follows her instructions to the letter, and soon, you're left alone with your parents, a novel experience that hasn't occurred in many years. Your father takes his seat beside the Empress and pours his own glass of wine while you sit down across from them on the sofa you'd previously occupied.

"Ambraea, why do you look so pensive?" she asks, breathing in the nose of her glass of white. She studies you from over the crystal rim like you're something fascinating. "Whatever could be bothering you?"

You sense that she knows very well, and so you don't bother with evasion. "You have my utmost apologies, my Empress," you say.

She arches her eyebrows at you. "For?"

"For failing to heed your advice."

The Empress takes a long drink, considering that. "Well, I won't pretend that I don't enjoy extracting an insincere apology from a proud woman now and then, but today, I find it tiresome."

"My Empress?"

"When I want to give you an order, Ambraea, I will give it. I gave you information that you were to use as you saw fit. I find that a daughter's character cannot truly be revealed unless she's given room to make her own decisions. Some choices may make her life harder, but such is the way of the world."

The pit of anxiety you'd been carrying in your stomach slowly eases. "... Thank you, my Empress," you tell her.

Your mother quirks a fond smile. "You're very welcome," she says. "I must say, I didn't expect you to flout my suggestions and seize what you desired in quite so dramatic a fashion, but honestly, it pleases me. I had always seen a great deal of your father in you; not without intelligence or wit, but solid, steady, reliable. Your passions safely hidden behind propriety. This took some fire, though. It seems you inherited more from me than just your looks after all."

You feel a disorientating mix of emotions — a swell of pride at the praise, along with a visceral rejection of your relationship with Maia being described as though you'd insisted on keeping an inconvenient pet. "Thank you," you say again.

Your mother turns her attention to your father, reaching out to put one hand against his jaw, tilting his face toward hers. "Nazat, my pet, don't frown so, it plays havoc on your beauty. Ambraea has made her decision, what's done is done."

Your father's frown had in fact been getting deeper and deeper through the exchange between you and the Empress, full as it was with veiled allusions to a conversation he had not been privy to. Now, though, he has little recourse but to let his objections go, their having been so thoroughly overruled. "As you say, my Empress." Despite his broad shoulders and his standing half a head taller than her, your father never seems quite so small as when he's next to her.

To seize what you desired... Who you desired. Is this how she sees herself in you? The thought leaves you deeply uncomfortable.

"Well, I'm glad we could clear a few things up," the Empress says, her gaze lingering on your father, before flickering back over to you. "I'll be interested to see what comes of your last two years at the Heptagram, daughter. I believe I shall have more words for you then."

"I'll look forward to it," you say, and you're not sure if it's the truth, a lie, or something in between the two.

"Good. Then we have all come to a necessary understanding," the Empress says, downing the rest of her wine as though it weren't the best the Realm could offer. She turns her attention entirely back to your father. "I hope whatever you were going over can wait — Nazat, would you walk with me for a few moments? I'm afraid that I can stay longer, and I find that I must know exactly what it is you told Marshal Azure Raven that's had her grinding her teeth at you over the past week. I've heard other versions, of course, but I always enjoy how you phrase these things."

"If it pleases you, then it would be my great honour," Nazat says, following her cue and finishing his own wine just as quickly. He glances to you. "We will have to reconvene later, daughter," he tells you.

You understand that, while your mother may have other reasons for doing this, you are being rescued from a deeply uncomfortable conversation that was unlikely to reach a satisfactory conclusion. You can only hope that, by the time you see your father next, the benefit of hours or days will have blunted the worst of his disappointment and frustration. There's very little he can do about it at this point, since your mother has decided that your actions please her after all.

You stand up to watch the two of them leave, your father walking along at your mother's side, exactly as instructed. "Enjoy the rest of your summer, Ambraea," she says, "and, I wish you luck with the paths you've chosen."

You have never spoken with your mother in private without it inducing a unique mix of positive and negative emotions. Whatever validation she gives you is always tempered by disquiet. At the same time, however, all considered, this might have been the best such encounter.

Fitting, almost, that it will also be the very last time you speak to her.

You finish your wine slowly, savouring it as it deserves. Then you take your leave.

Article:

While the assumption is currently that your marriage is still years away, you understand that it will be a complicated matter, even for a Dynast. As an Imperial daughter, you are by definition a desirable match for most young men, in theory. Your bloodline is beyond reproach — your mother goes without saying, and your father has provided meticulous records from Prasad demonstrating the Maharan jati's respectable lineage going back to their departure from the Blessed Isle. Your exact future is uncertain, but you're more likely to amount to something than not at this point, and if there is a House Ambraea someday, there are few Dynastic mothers who wouldn't wish to have useful ties to its foundations.

At the same time, you're a sorcerer, a dubious quality in a daughter-in-law. And well-bred or not, your father's family are viewed by the Dynasty as heretical cadet house members, utterly lost to barbarian influences. The business with Maia might speak to a certain unpredictable rashness of character. These are not things that many will voice too openly, for fear of offending the Empress, but the concerns are undeniable. They hang over the preliminary talks that your father has been carrying out with your mother's blessing.

Nothing will be decided yet, but these things can take a great deal of time to negotiate, and you are of an age where it is customary to at least see how you get along with several young men under casual but carefully-observed circumstances.

You understand that a suitable match is extremely important to your future in the Dynasty, and that refusing one is likely to make your life more difficult. Regardless, that decision will be a long way off, after it has been carefully weighed and measured against all factors. You cannot know how swiftly your mother's protection will be stripped away, or how gravely important whatever connections you can call upon will be in the years to come.

What such meetings will occur during your stay in the capital this summer? You may vote for as many options as you like, but only the two options with the most votes will be selected. This is not a binding decision about who Ambraea will marry, but they will have an effect on future marriage negotiations. Nor is this a romantic vote, or something that will directly affect Ambraea's relationship to Maia — they would both be confused by anyone drawing such a connection.

[ ] Cathak Isri

A Wood Aspect who has graduated from the Cloister of Wisdom several years' past, who you would speak to at length while on a tour of one of a grand manse owned by his family. Despite his religious education, he is far more dedicated to intellectual pursuits, rather than spiritual or martial, having a particular gift for finances and mathematics. His occasionally nervous disposition and failure to meet his mother's unreasonable standards mean that he would leap at the chance for a good match to remove himself from her direct influence. As is common for Cathak households, Isri has only a middling bloodline by the standards of the Dynasty, his family seeking marriages that bring useful talents into the household above breeding. This match would bring connections to a military house second only to Tepet in might, in addition to a pliant husband with a gift for household management.

[ ] Mnemon Tomon

An Earth Aspect, and a recent House of Bells graduate who you would meet at an otherwise unbearable gala. A quiet, serious, reliable young man, his household is only middlingly wealthy, but they have excellent ties to the Immaculate Order and an admirable history of service with the Imperial Legions. This match would bring your family respectability, military contacts, and a strong bloodline, as well as connections to a very powerful and well established Great House. Unfortunately, he may be a little too much like Ambraea in temperament.

[ ] Peleps Lai Vemi

An Air Aspect recently graduated from the House of Bells, and a grandson of Matriarch Peleps Lai, who you would participate in a religious festival alongside. Despite his naval-focused education, Vemi has the grace and frail beauty of a romance novel hero, paired strangely with a love of excitement and novelty. The Lai household is both well-established and very powerful, but its bloodline is unfortunately only middling — House Peleps has long prized excellence and accomplishment over blood purity. This match would go a very long way to smoothing over your budding issues with House Peleps, and it would make your situation with Maia less difficult after graduation. It would put a significant strain on your friendship with L'nessa.

[ ] Sesus Ambar

A Fire Aspect and a Spiral Academy student, who you would meet for a hunting trip that will prove rather more exciting than anyone intends. A young man with very pleasing manners and sharp instincts, with a trail of broken-hearted boys laying behind him to put L'nessa to shame. His immediate family is closely aligned with Amiti's, which is both positive in terms of bringing you closer to a friend, and complicated in terms of exposing you to clandestine activities that you can only guess at. This match would bring you connections to a great military house of the Realm, valuable social connections, and a strong bloodline.

[ ] V'neef Darting Fish

Your former classmate, a Water Aspect who has recently graduated from the Heptagram, who you would see on a several day long sailing trip on V'neef's private pleasure vessel. A talented sorcerer in his own right with a mother who is very influential in the Merchant Fleet, who Ambraea already likes, he would be able to match her skillset and balance out her temperament. Unfortunately, his bloodline is not particularly strong. This match would bring wealth, connections to a young and dynamic house, and the pooled resources of two sorcerers. It would make L'nessa pleased with you.