[Exalted] The Last Daughter -- Dragon-Blooded Sorcery School Quest

Resplendent Fire, Realm Year 765
One year, eleven months after the disappearance of the Scarlet Empress

City of Pangu, Pangu Prefecture,
The Eastern Blessed Isle

Pangu sprawls languidly along the northern bank near the mouth of the Imperial River. A dizzying mix of architectural styles and fashions pile on top of one another to form the ancestral seat of House Cynis, and one of the Realm's wealthiest cities. While traveling Pangu's winding streets and waterways, beauty and decadent distraction seems to call you from all sides. Cynis manses are scattered like jewels amid the rest, more than one lit well into the night, alive with the sounds of revelry.

It seems like it would be quite a nice place to fritter away a week or a month, if you had the time or the inclination. As is, it's merely a stopping point, and a point of farewell — tomorrow morning, you and your retinue will take a ferry across the vast river to the Imperial City. Maia and her brother will take a ship the rest of the way down the river to the Inland Sea, and from there sail down the Jade Coast to Incas Prefecture.

You expect to see Maia again before she has to eventually go to serve House Peleps, but this was still to be your last night with her for quite some time. There had been wine, and music, and by the time the two of you had finally gone to bed together you'd almost been happy enough to drive the pain of yet another parting from your mind.

Sleep proves fitful, your dreams full of dark waters rising up to steal away everything you hold precious, and you wake up well before sunrise, staring up at the ceiling of yet another temporary room. When you roll over to reach for the woman who should be laying beside you, you find Maia gone, the blankets where she'd been cold to the touch.

Confusion fogs your mind, and it's several bleary moments before you think to reach for your Hearth sense. Immediately, the warming presence of both of your lovers blooms in your chest. One is distant, far away to the west. Sola should be in Lord's Crossing Dominion by now. The other is much closer, but still surprisingly far from your bed. Sitting up and glancing out the nearest window, your sense of Maia puts her somewhere out on the water, or under it.

Heart gripped with unease, you settle back down into the plush blankets, and resolve yourself to wait up for her as you feel her slowly making her return.

It's nearly two hours later, with the sun creeping up over the horizon, when Maia slips back into the room. You're not sure you would have noticed her if you weren't deliberately sensing it. She doesn't know you're awake, and is trying not to disturb you as she slips out of the clothing she'd worn outside for whatever dark task had taken her there.

You wait until she settles herself gently down into bed beside you before you roll over, revealing yourself to be wide awake. Maia freezes, staring at you with a guilty, slightly panicked expression.

You still can smell the briny scent of the estuary water lingering on her hair, feel the slight chill that clings to her dry skin. You consider asking her where she's been, what she was doing. and if this had anything to do with the task her brother had assigned her that she hadn't wanted to talk about. Who she'd killed tonight. Something about the way she looks at you stops you though, something harried, almost trapped in her eyes. With a soft sigh, you make yourself let go of the displeasure you'd been nursing. You refuse to mar your last night together with an argument.

Wordlessly, you reach out and pull her close to you, tucking her head beneath your chin. As you'd thought, a combination of night air and river water have left her skin almost freezing to the touch. You can at least give her back some warmth for a few hours, before it's time to rise. It takes Maia a surprised moment to fully relax into the embrace, but soon enough she stops second-guessing, and nestles closer in against you. She falls asleep soon after, her breath going steady and rhythmic as it whispers against your neck.

As you begin to follow suit, a horrible thought strikes you, one that has, perhaps, been playing at the edge of your mind for months, eclipsed by everything else. Maia had described her family as your mother's weapon, as the Empress's particular killers to direct as she saw fit. If Maia really has just done what you think she has, though, you have to wonder — who is it that's picking the targets at this point? The thought follows you into fitful sleep, and only the silent comfort of Maia's body against you stops you from slipping back into your earlier nightmares.

---

Denouement 2: First Daughter

The Imperial City, capital of the Realm
Scarlet Prefecture, the Eastern Blessed Isle

The day you'd parted with Maia had been appropriately gloomy, clouds rolling over the summer sky as you'd boarded the boat that would take you from the docks at Pangu to their counterparts across the river. You'd said all your emotional goodbyes in private — then and there on the pier, you'd been restrained, proper. You'd even said goodbye to Tranquil Depths Drown Deceit as though he weren't someone who you'd be very happy never speaking with again.

At its mouth, the Imperial River is vast, slow moving, and thick with river and seagoing traffic both. Your hired boat is just one of many making the crossing between two of the Realm's great cities. You barely notice the other boats, though, as the northern bank slowly fades away, and the stately towers of the Imperial City rise over the horizon, gleaming, under the partial sun. No matter what's waiting for you there, it still raises your spirits.

The docks swarm with activity, more orderly than Pangu, but only just. Fisherfolk, merchants, naval ships, and pleasure crafts all vye for space coming to and from the city. As such, it's only when the crew begins to take you into the docks reserved for Dynasts that you get a pleasant surprise: Your father has come to greet you in person.

You'd sent word ahead that you would arrive today, but this is more than you'd looked for. Burano Maharan Nazat stands beneath an awning with his hands clasped behind his back. A respectful distance from him are a healthy number of servants and guards, here to help you move your things, as well as to keep over eager dockside merchants from troubling your father. As the boat comes into the docks, you rise from your comfortable seat, the motion catching his attention. Even from across the distance between you, you think you see his stoic expression give way to a slight smile.

You disembark ahead of your things, confident that it will be handled by the ferry's crew as well as your staff, and make your way to him. Dock workers stay well out of your way, offering you a deferential bow as you pass. In many ways, Nazat looks much the same as ever — tall, broad-shouldered, his salt and pepper hair and neatly trimmed beard patterned like granite. In another sense, harder to put your finger on, he seems tired in a way you're not used to, worn down. For just a moment, with the backdrop of the city walls behind him, he looks almost small.

"Daughter, it's good to see you safely here," Nazat says. He's definitely smiling now, his stoic demeanor breaking at the sight of you.

"And you," you say. It's very good to see him, the only immediate blood family you have left, and one of the very few people in the world who you can be sure is entirely on your side. Your eyes drop to the daiklave at his hip, its sheath bright with white and blue jade arranged in a horizon motif. "You anticipate trouble?" you ask him. He's also wearing a mail shirt beneath his robes, you see now that you're close enough.

"I am prepared for it," he says, his voice turning a little more grim. "Much has changed while you were on the road. I would prefer to wait until we're at the palace to speak about it."

"Things are still safe at the palace, then?" you ask.

Nazat twitches a frown, very briefly. "Safe enough to control the risks," he says. He looks over your shoulder, scanning your party. "Your Hearthmate has already departed?" he asks.

"We met Maia's brother on the road, they stayed behind in Pangu to buy passage down the coast," you say, a note of caution entering your voice. The last time you and your father spoke about Maia, it had not been a pleasant conversation.

"A shame," he says. "I would have been pleased to meet her." It's a small peace offering, but the sense of relief it gives you is palpable. You doubt he's changed his mind about your Kinship Oath to Maia having been rash — it had been, from a pragmatic perspective — but he must understand that she isn't going to stop being your Hearthmate now just because he disapproved of a choice you made three years ago.

"I would like for you to meet both of them, someday," you say, "I'm lucky to have them." He and Sola in particular would like each other, you've always thought — she'd be fascinated by his legion stories from his youth in Prasad.

The next several hours are consumed by seeing all your things unloaded from the boat and onto the cart your father has arranged, then seeing you, your father, and your respective entourages all on the road and into the city proper. To your surprise, your carriage is held up for long minutes at the city gates while a woman from the Imperial Force speaks to your father about who you both are, and what your business is. She's unfailingly polite, but it's a level of official scrutiny for your movements that you're not used to.

As happy as you are to actually enter the gates and be in the Imperial City proper, the tension you'd felt at the gates doesn't relent. There's a strange quiet in the streets, a fearful, uncertain quality to the people you see hurrying to see to their business. As you get closer to the walls of the palace, you notice a great deal more house forces than should be normal, men and women in the colours of almost all of the Great Houses keeping watch over important approaches, or patrolling some of the streets with an air of pretending to be off duty.

After the second such group, you look over to your father, who has been strangely silent through this entire trip. He shakes his head minutely — later. Accepting that you'll need to be patient, you simply focus on the familiar buildings and monuments rolling past outside, one hand idly stroking Verdigris' head where she lays coiled in your lap.

---

Gaining access to the palace at least goes as swiftly as you'd expect — your father has been a fixture at court for long decades now, and you're especially distinctive while in his company. The palace officials let your group pass through the jade-enforced gates and into the vast grounds of the palace.

When you finally arrive at the grand complex of buildings that contains both your and your father's respective suites, you have to suppress a weary sigh as you step down from the carriage. And then you freeze in place, hit as ever by the overwhelming sense of your mother's power here. You know, much better than most people, that this is a consequence of centuries of sorcerous workings on her part, wards and protective curses and bound spirits layered on top of each other until her magic permeates the very air and the stones beneath your feet.

Seeing your father's questioning look, you say: "It almost feels like she's still here."

Nazat nods, his face closed. "I often feel the same." Then he's walking up the grand steps in front of him to enter one of the palace's many entrance halls.

After a further second to gather yourself, you glance to Evening Garnet. She and the other mortals have a distinctly weary air to them — understandable, considering the journey you've taken them on. "You remember where my rooms are?" you ask her.

"I do, my lady," Garnet says.

"See that my things are taken there in good order, then you all may have a meal and a rest," you say. "It will be a little while before I require you again."

"As you wish, my lady. Thank you, my lady." There is a relieved gratitude all around at this, and they're already carefully unloading the cart as you follow your father.

The slow, timeless feeling of the Imperial Palace is still present. It's filled with servants, courtiers, and ministers of all descriptions. Even here, though, you can detect a subtle change in the atmosphere, a sense that everyone knows something has gone very wrong, but no one is talking about it.

You walk alongside your father through familiar hallways and stairwells, priceless artwork from countless satrapies watching your progress all the way. Finally, you find yourself standing in front of the door to his chambers. Wordlessly, Nazat opens the door, and you step inside after him into a foyer furnished in the style of his homeland. He passes through it with barely a glance, going through a door to the left into what you know to be his sitting room.

"Sit down, we have much to discuss," he tells you, already crossing over to the cabinet where he keeps wine.

You take a seat on a richly upholstered couch, watching your father retrieve two silver cups and fill them both with red wine.

"There's been no word?" you ask, voice hushed as you accept yours.

"No," Nazat says, knowing immediately what you're asking. He studies the contents of his cup without really seeming to look at it. "None. Everyone with the capacity has been looking for her, obviously. The Great Houses, the Thousand Scales, the Immaculate Order, the legions... The contacts I have with the All-Seeing Eye have been typically tight-lipped, but I know panic when someone is trying to hide it. Even I've tried, with the resources I have. If anyone has found any trace of her, they're not talking about it. She went into the Imperial Manse last Calibration, and no one ever saw her leaving it."

"And no one is being allowed into the Manse?" you ask.

"No one but the Silent Legion, who presumably would have found her if she had merely been hurt or unable to leave," Nazat says. "The Legion is guarding it, and even if you got past them, it's not a place you can safely enter without the Empress's permission. She is simply... gone."

Your only response to this is to take a long swallow of wine, barely noting how good it is. Your father has always had excellent taste in such things. The news isn't unexpected, as much as it is disheartening. "Has something else happened recently? Why do the houses have so many people here?"

"You know the Celebration of the Seven Shattered Helms was meant to be last month," Nazat says.

You nod. It's a festival held every five years to honour the Imperial Legions' elite troops, who parade before the Empress just outside the palace. You have no idea how anyone was going to manage it without her, though. "Was it canceled?"

"In a sense," Nazat says. "With most of the generals gathered in one place, the Exchequer of the Imperial Treasury informed them that the throne could 'no longer afford' to maintain the legions. That they would be removed from command. At this point, the houses' forces moved in and made it clear that this was not optional." His tone makes it absolutely clear that he doesn't believe that this had anything to do with finances. It seems obvious to you that it was a naked power grab by the houses, made in advance of anything the Legions might do to assert their unmatched martial power in the Empress's absence. Your father almost immediately confirms this. "It is expected that the houses will divide the legions up amongst themselves — the Great House matriarchs or their representatives have started to gather in the city, in the weeks since. They will convene a council to discuss that, as well as the future of the Realm."

The fact that you had missed signs of this news on the road speaks to how preoccupied you've been with your own problems. "What about the Crown Marshals?" you ask. The Empress's personal military staff, responsible for refining her orders and passing them onto the legions. Like many of the officers in the Imperial Legions, they are all former Outcastes, loyal to her directly rather than to any of the Great Houses.

"Two have been executed, on charges of high treason and gross negligence, which seemed to have been discovered very suddenly and punished almost immediately," Nazat says, "I've heard a third has been imprisoned. The others have disappeared — whether they've gone into hiding or worse, I cannot say."

Your mind races with all that you've just been told. These actions would be utterly unthinkable if the matriarchs collectively had any serious expectation that the Empress might resurface. "They really are banking on her being dead, aren't they?" you say.

You don't expect to see your father's face twist as if you'd just stabbed him in the heart. "Don't say that. We don't know that!" For the first time in your life, your steady, towering, solid father looks abruptly fragile. Like he stands on the verge of shattering.

"Father?" you ask, not certain what else to say.

The animating energy seems to go out of him completely, and he sets his cup down on a nearby table, and collapses into the nearest chair heavily enough that it creaks under his weight. "Apologies," he says, "From anyone else, I can take it. Just not from you. Please."

A strange, almost unsettling thought occurs to you. Your voice barely above a whisper, you ask him: "Did you... love her?" You have never once in your life considered that there might have been that kind of affection between your parents, but it feels foolish for you to not have, with him sitting here like this.

Nazat is quiet for a long moment, his gaze going down to stare at his hands. When he finally replies, it's just as quiet as your question. "How could I not? Every day she carried the weight of all the world, and yet she was always so full of life. A goddess among goddesses, even if no one in this country is supposed to acknowledge it. There was no hope for me from the moment I first made her laugh." He looks up at you then, with such a sentimental expression in his eyes that you resist the urge to physically squirm with discomfort. "How could I not love her, when she gave me you?"

You're struck momentarily speechless, not sure what to do. You care for your father deeply, and he has been more active in your life growing up than Dynastic parents often are. Still, so much vulnerability or overt displays of emotion have never been part of how he's conducted himself around you. He's shown his care and pride for you in his attentions to your future, the way he's advocated for both your wellbeing and your happiness with your mother, the care he'd taken in personally training a young girl to wield a sword. You're aware, though, that you can't just keep staring at him like a fool.

You slowly stand, cross the room to him, and lay a hand on his shoulder. You hold his gaze when he looks up to you. "I miss her, too," you say, voice very quiet. However infrequently you'd met with your mother, however ambivalent the feelings she'd inspired the last few times you'd been in her presence, there is a difference between not seeing her because she hasn't summoned you and not seeing her because she's gone.

Nazat looks back at you for a moment, that same open parental affection brimming in his eyes. Then he surprises you again by getting back to his feet and pulling you into a crushing hug, driving the air from you. You lock up completely, your arms hanging uselessly by your sides. Never in your life have you embraced your father. A well disciplined parent maintains a proper distance from their child, because it serves the child poorly to spoil them for the sake of the parent's selfish indulgence.

You're not a child, though. You're a woman grown, the only woman in his life who he can look to for support or comfort within two-thousand miles. Where is the harm now? You put your arms around him, and hug your father back.

Eventually, he lets you go. "Thank you," Nazat says, seeming to have a better handle on himself now. He gives a slight start as he realises that, at some point in your embrace, Verdigris had slipped out of your sleeve to twine her way up his arm. You see him force himself to relax, tentatively reaching out a hand that she flicks her tongue over, tasting his scent.

You can't help but smile at the sight — it helps to take away some of the residual awkwardness you might otherwise feel. "It was nothing," you say, taking a step back. "I'd like to think you can turn to me for some things. I'm not a girl anymore."

"You're not," Nazat agrees.

"Do you want me to take her?" you ask, watching Verdigris settle onto his shoulders. She's never done this to someone who isn't another sorcerer — you don't expect your father to be as comfortable with spirits climbing on him as Maia is.

"I think we'll be fine," he decides. He takes up his wine again, and sinks back into his chair.

You do the same with your own cup, retreating back to your couch. You can admit to yourself that, for all the deep concerns that your father's news had given you, perhaps the hug had helped you as well. You nurse your wine for several minutes, before you broach a serious topic: "If the houses are already taking it onto themselves to decide the future of the Realm, our position is more tenuous than I thought."

"Yes," Nazat agrees, his expression turning serious again. "You're young, unestablished, and without formal allies beyond your family and your Hearth. You have less time to remedy that than I would have liked."

"The situation has changed enough that I don't imagine the marriage talks you were in before mean much now?" you ask.

"They might," Nazat says. "It's true that the households I was speaking with expected you to be under your mother's protection for the foreseeable future, but you are still an Imperial Daughter. And your accomplishments over the past two years are nothing to sneer at. Few Dynasts can claim to have survived as much as you have before you have, let alone triumphed over it. Many will look at your position as an opportunity to secure your loyalty more completely than they otherwise would be able to."

"I can't appear as desperate as I am, though," you say.

"You cannot," he says. "With luck, you will be approached, rather than having to appear to go begging — you have made connections while at school, after all. You would do well to remember your precarity, but behave as though you have options, and commit yourself to nothing until you know what they are."

You nod, mulling over the advice, trying to banish your worry that he might be overly optimistic in his assessment. Your father is a seasoned Imperial courtier and knows his business, but he also loves you, and you can't discount that bias. "It must be nice to simply be able to relax, tour some Threshold satrapies, and rely on one's parents to plan one's marriage prospects," you say.

"I would give you a more idyllic youth if I could, but I don't think it will be that easy," Nazat says. He hesitates, before saying, a note of caution coming into his voice: "However, If all else fails, there is a more drastic choice open to us."

You sigh, closing your eyes. "Prasad."

"Prasad," Nazat says. "I have received a message from your grandmother. She is... concerned, given the Empress's continued absence, and invites me to return to Kamthahar."

"And I am also included in that invitation?" you ask.

"She has always wanted to meet you," Nazat says. "She's not a young woman anymore. I was her last child, and she has always had a particular affection for me, and I suspect that extends to you."

In a sense, it's flattering that your paternal grandmother, rani-satrap Burano Maharan Rohavin, a woman who has never met you and who is an empress in her own right, might welcome you as he says. You can well imagine it — a flight to Prasad, throwing yourself upon the charity of your father's relations. Converting to the Pure Way, seeking adoption into his clan and his jati. Marrying a Prasadi man and starting a Burano household. And all it would cost would be your pride, and for you to forsake anything you have or had hoped to have on the Blessed Isle.

If Maia had to choose between you and your family — between what they require of her and fleeing with you across two Directions to start a life in a foreign empire she has no ties to — what would she choose? There's no question about Sola. As long as House Tepet clings to life, she will remain to do what she can for it. Have you formed these bonds only to hold them exclusively from afar?

You study Nazat. "You don't seem eager."

"I'm not," Nazat says. "The Blessed Isle is the only home you've known, and I would not expect you to relish abandoning it. And as for me..." He takes a long drink of his wine, his free hand rising to tentatively stroke Verdigris' head. "Should my Empress return, I would like her to know me faithful to the end. I am not willing to trade that for my own safety. I would trade it for yours, if required."

The sentiment is touching, but it also reminds you that you have a responsibility to avoid that eventuality if you at all can."We can hold that in reserve, then."

---

You come away from the conversation with your father with a mix of hope and anxiety, as well as the vague wish that he'd poured you more wine than he had. You could use another drink.

In that spirit, you decide to take a scenic route between your father's chambers and your own, passing through a garden courtyard you remember well from your childhood. It's home to ornamental trees and flowers from across Creation, as well as several families of beautiful songbirds. They're in full song now as you pass between the rows of flowers.

A group of young men sit together in a small pavilion, two of them watching as a third paints a floral pattern onto canvas with a meticulous hand — just barely this side of aniconic, but clearly inspired by the flowers. Not nearly brazen enough that you feel obligated to chastise them for flouting religious strictures. Besides, they have the look of concubines about them, and it could lead to a mess if you took it upon yourself to do so on such a faint pretense, without knowing whose they are.

As you pass, the three young men catch sight of you, hastily prostrating themselves before you as you pass. This lets you catch sight of a conservatively dressed woman sitting by herself at the far side of the pavilion, who merely rises from her seat to offer you a polite bow. She has a bit of an odd, surprised look on her face when she sees you.

Nothing particularly out of the ordinary, or that would have made you stop short, until the shouting begins.

"Making a scene? How dare you!" A strident voice cuts through the peaceful air of the garden, startling several songbirds out of their perches. You and all four of the pavilions occupants turn to locate the source. A woman in a bureaucrat's robes and hat is glaring daggers at a man with the look of a married patrician. The woman's face is pale with so much righteous fury that she seems to have forgotten her surroundings entirely.

The man has plainly not forgotten, from the mortified glances he shoots in your direction. He says something to the woman that's too quiet for you to hear.

"Oh, so now you want to keep things discreet?" the woman demands, "with the whole palace laughing at me behind my back? I'm surprised I haven't found you handing out copies of your letters yourself, with how many people seem to know their contents before I did!"

Everyone within hearing range is staring. The concubines, the young woman, several gardeners who had previously been tending to a stand of blue peonies, and several passersby in the arches hallway that opens onto the garden. And you, you realise — it's just such a morbidly transfixing display from a grown woman that it's hard to look away from.

The man, who you take to be the woman's husband, visibly cringes. "My dear," he says, voice placating, "please, we can—"

"Do you think you can just placate me like one of your peasant sluts?" the bureaucrat demands.

You become aware of the woman from the pavilion shooting you a meaningful look. Which is a little overly familiar, all considered, but it does remind you that you have a responsibility to act, and to set a better example.

"Enough." A thread of power in your voice makes it arrest the couple's attention, as you take a step toward them.

The official jerks up in surprise, briefly turning her glare onto you, before she recognises that she's being addressed by a Dragon-Blood, perhaps becoming aware of how much of a spectacle of herself she'd been making. She's easily twice your age and holds a position of some small authority, but she's still a mortal. She drops into a deep bow. "My lady—"

"This display is extremely unseemly for a woman in your position," you say, not giving her a chance to finish. Your gaze sweeps over to the husband, who is already bowing as well. "If you need to discipline your husband, you can surely do so in private, rather than disturbing the peace and setting a bad example in front of your lessers."

Face brilliantly red with humiliation, the official bows again. "Of course, my lady. My deepest apologies, my lady. I... I don't know what came over me." She seems genuinely uncertain.

"I'm sure you and your husband have much to discuss, elsewhere," you say, the words an obvious dismissal.

The official takes it as such. "Of course, my lady," she repeats. Then she bows again, already retreating. Her husband very quickly follows her example. Stares and whispers from the small crowd of onlookers follow them.

"Honestly, at their age. What was that about?" you mutter, shooting them a final, judgemental look.

"It's quite the scandal, among the palace bureaucrats, my lady," says the woman from the pavilion. She's young, small, with western features and blue green curls piled up in a current court fashion. She looks up at you with intensely blue eyes that seem to gleam strangely in the light. "Wave Bluebird's husband has been diverting household funds to support an illegitimate daughter behind her back — his correspondences with the girl's mother were discovered by the author of one of the more popular gossip papers among the patriciate."

You raise your eyebrows at being addressed so frankly. Something about the woman puts you at ease, though, as though having a quiet word with her like this is the most natural thing in the world. "You certainly are up on your palace gossip, miss," you tell her.

The woman gives a philosophical sort of shrug, almost wry. She has a soft, solemn voice that strikes a nostalgic chord somewhere in the back of your mind. "I'm a good listener, my lady. I used to consider myself above passing on such stories, but we don't always end up exactly where we expect."

"We don't," you agree, the sentiment resonating with your current circumstances profoundly. "Still, wherever I find myself, I will certainly do better in my married life than that." You cast a glance in the direction the couple had fled in.

"Better than which one?" the woman asks.

You shoot her a look. It's impertinent enough that you should put her in her place, but just before you open your mouth, you realise that somehow it doesn't bother you. In fact, her boldness toward a strange Dragon-Blood has a sort of inexplicable charm. "Either," you say. "I should hope that I'd have more of a handle on what goes on in my own household than she had, and more sense than to air out my grievances with my husband in public. And I certainly do not anticipate being in his position."

One of the benefits of looking to other women for pleasure and companionship. Even while Sola's particular situation with these things is less standard than Maia's, a brief, awkward conversation had confirmed that pregnancy on your part is still not a concern. Not that you'd ever be so careless in any case.

"Some marriages are simply destined to be unhappy," the woman says. "Still, no, I can't imagine this happening to you."

"Because you know me so well, miss?" you ask.

"Well enough to say that," the woman says. "I wish you the best of luck, Lady Ambraea." She bows, and without thinking, you give her a nod that she can take as permission to leave.

It's only after she's gone, and you're halfway across the garden that you stop to wonder at her knowing your name. It's not so unusual, though — you are distinctive, and it's not so unusual for a mortal who spends enough time in the palace to be able to place you. By the time you arrive at your chambers, you forget the conversation almost entirely.

---

As you crest the top of the red marble staircase, the sight of the front door to your chambers banishes the idle thoughts of the time you'd fallen down these stairs at age thirteen. You produce a key from within your robes, insert it into the ornate lock, and enjoy a moment of weary, end of journey relief as you unlatch the door, and step into your foyer. The artwork your grandmother had sent all the way from Prasad after you'd Exalted greets you from the wall, a reminder of your general predicament.

You're swiftly distracted by a conversation drifting in from elsewhere within your suite.

"... she has always been good that way." You recognise the voice of a woman who you haven't spoken to in two years.

"I will bow to your greater experie—" A second voice, which you recognise as belonging to Evening Garnet, cuts off as you deliberately close the door just loudly enough to carry. You do not, technically speaking, know that they were talking about you, and it would be kinder to them if you refrain from jumping to that conclusion, however positive or negative the opinions being espoused.

A moment later, Garnet appears in a nearby doorway, bowing. "Lady Ambraea, welcome home. Your things are put away, as requested, and your rooms have been prepared for your use." You notice that she's wearing a different dress than she had been this morning — a good sign that she has actually taken a bit of time for herself, at least. You don't exactly have use for a handmaiden poised to collapse from hunger or exhaustion for fear of displeasing you.

"Very good," you say.

Passing by Garnet, you coax Verdigris out of your sleeve and into your arms, ready to deposit her in the small bed set up for her use in your bedchamber. As you expect, you find Lohna Prince's Scribe waiting there. She bows lower than Garnet had, as befits their respective statuses. "Lady Ambraea," she says. You can't help but notice a certain caution as she straightens herself up, almost a sense of frailty beyond her years. Lohna isn't fifty yet, but the last few years seem to have been exceptionally hard on her.

It sends a squirm of guilt going through your stomach. When you'd seen her last, you'd hoped that by this point you would have good news for her that now seems frustratingly out of reach.

"Hello, Lohna," you say. You glance behind you. "Garnet, would you go fetch something for Verdigris' dinner?"

"As you wish, my lady," Garnet says. If she perceives that you're deliberately getting rid of her in order to have a private word with your childhood nanny, she gives no sign. "You have several letters that have arrived already — I have left them on your desk, in your study." Then she departs. You're extremely interested in the letters, of course, but they can wait a moment.

Lohna watches you as you slip into your bedroom and carefully lay Verdigris down on her bed, a measured wariness in her eyes as she looks at the snake. "Congratulations on your graduation, Lady Ambraea. I hope you're well, after... everything."

You straighten up, stepping back through the doorway to the room where Lohna waits. "I am as well as might be hoped," you say, only partially lying. Looking at her, as you sometimes do, you feel the urge to go to her the way you had when you were a child. To lay out your troubles before her so that she might comfort you. Unlike with your father, though, you have no illusions that such a thing would be entirely for your benefit, and while you might be within your rights to expect it of her, you can't feel right about showing such weakness to a mortal slave.

You gesture toward a low table set up beneath a window, with cushions to sit down on. "Please, sit. I... have something I wish to discuss."

She does so with a certain gravity, like she suspects where this might be going, and knows it isn't going to be a happy topic.

"I am happy to see you," you tell her. "I hope the recent turmoil hasn't affected you too negatively."

Lohna considers that, perhaps deciding how candid to be. "Well, I wouldn't call it enjoyable, my lady. But I have seen worse in my day."

You nod. You choose your words slowly: "My intent had been to go to my mother, and ask her to allow me to give you a place in my household. More comfortable circumstances, less work. I believe she would have done this for me. Things are more complicated now." You don't tell her that you would have freed her, once you had the chance — it feels too cruel a thing to dangle in front of her. You would have, you're now sure. Emancipating your nanny and giving her an easy retirement would not be a particularly remarkable decision for a Dynast establishing herself in the world, but it would have been considered a fairly sentimental one.

Lohna considers that for a long, silent moment, her expression both softening and, somehow, closing. "You are kind to still think of me, Lady Ambraea," she says, in a way that makes you suspect that she's neither lying, nor telling you everything she's thinking. "I am the property of the Imperial Household," Lohna touches the pentagonal brand on her neck. "Which is to say, of the Imperial Presence herself. I understand that while she is... away, she is unable to give her assent for you to take possession of me. My situation is not your fault, my lady."

You consider telling her that you might go to the Keeper of the First Imperial Seal and ask for his assistance in the matter, that you might find another way to help her. He is not famously fond of either the Empress's children or of Dynasts in general though, however loyal to your mother he has always been, and you have nothing to sway him with. Would you really be offering her hope, or would you be trying to induce her to assuage your own guilt? Has this conversation been about anything but that?

"I... regret that," you say, and to your disgust, your voice comes out a little thick with frustrated emotion.

Tentatively, as if unsure how you'll react, Lohna reaches out across the little table, and puts a hand over yours. "My lady," she says, voice quiet, "may I speak frankly?"

"You may," you tell her, not pulling your hand away.

"You aren't in a position to help anyone if you haven't secured your own safety," she says. "Even if you could take me with you when you start your household, would it be safer for either of us than the palace?"

Coming from Lohna, it stings more than it ever could from anyone else. Far more than having the same thought yourself for months on end. "No," you admit, closing your eyes. "I can't promise it would be."

Lohna nods with an air of kind understanding, exactly the way she always had when you were a child and had just admitted a truth that hadn't suited you. "If you would like, my lady, I can make you tea. Perhaps you could enjoy it as you see to the mail you've received?" She puts a slight emphasis on this last.

You frown, forcing yourself to think back to the correspondences that Garnet had mentioned. Lohna may have been here when Garnet had sorted it. You wonder what surprise might be waiting for you in the study, and whether or not it will be pleasant. You also have a suspicion that Lohna may be using the tea as an excuse to have a moment to herself, to process whatever it is she's privately feeling. That, at least, you can give her.

Lohna rises to go prepare tea, as she's done for you more times than you can guess. You rise to head in the direction of your study.

Your study is somewhat larger than the dorm you'd shared with Maia and L'nessa, featuring a large, glass window overlooking the garden courtyard you'd passed through earlier, a desk fashioned from ebony, and several shelves you're still in the process of filling with books. Over the two summers you've spent here in the past seven years, one corner of it has already begun to resemble more of a makeshift sorcerous workroom.

Today, you ignore that corner, instead looking at the mail sorted on your desk, where Garnet has laid out several letters sealed and addressed to you. There are four.

The first bears what you're pleased to recognise as the personal seal of V'neef L'nessa. You open it quickly, revealing a brief but friendly note, informing you that L'nessa has arrived in the Imperial City already, having arrived with Matriarch V'neef, and that she hopes to see you soon to catch up and discuss "several important matters". You try to be optimistic that these are about more than a personal nature, however good it will be to see your friend again.

Each of the next three are more surprising than the last.

The second proves to be from Sesus Kasi, who invites you to join her at her brother's home in the city. It's both more formal and less personal than L'nessa's had been, but you know Amiti's sister a great deal less than you know L'nessa, even if you'd liked her well enough.

The third letter is from, of all people, Ledaal Shigora, the famed Anathema slayer and smith who had made your daiklave at your mother's request. This letter is the briefest of all, saying only that she wishes to speak to you, giving her location for the next month as an estate in the Scarlet Prefecture countryside, less than a day outside the city. It's genuinely intriguing, if significantly less promising as far as your future prospects are concerned.

The fourth letter stops you dead as soon as you see the seal on it, the wax glittering with white jade and amethyst dust. Carefully, genuinely nervous as to what it might contain, you open it. In excessively formal language, it invites you to attend Matriarch Mnemon, who is already here in the palace, at your "earliest convenience", in order to discuss your future. It stresses, without being so crass as to demand, that you should send a reply as soon as possible. And that your earliest convenience should be very early indeed.

It's not really a choice which of these tentative meetings you're going to address first. You're not remotely in a position to snub your eldest living half sister, or to keep her waiting.

"Well, father," you say, staring at the letter, "I suppose we can safely say that I've been approached."

Article:

Where does your meeting with Mnemon take place? She decides the venue for her own reasons.

[ ] Mnemon's personal chambers in the palace

Vast, sumptuous, and as fully within her power as anything in the palace is, your meeting with Mnemon is held in private, something you might both benefit from.

[ ] The Pure Wind Pagoda

A famous structure on the palace grounds renowned for its beautiful floor reliefs, your meeting is secluded, but still ostensibly in public. She has a point to make with this location.

[ ] A table alongside Five Tranquilities Pond

Disconcertingly close to one of your favourite places for quiet reflection, your meeting is both very public and betrays a closer knowledge of your habits and preferences on your elder sister's part than you would have credited.