A Vision in Bronze; A Sidereal quest

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The Cascading Garden, private island estate of Matriarch V'neef,
The Sideshores, off the coast of the Northwestern Blessed Isle,
Ascending Water, Realm year 770

You arrive days ahead of time, on a ship flying Cynis colours.

The craft is laden down with a fortune in luxury food, high quality narcotics, and other fine goods for the coming festivities. The cooperative nature of Dynastic wedding galas inevitably lead to a certain degree of extravagant showboating, both sides of the affair attempting to outdo the other. This gala in particular celebrates the marriage of Matriarch Cynis Belar's son to Matriarch V'neef's youngest daughter born of her own blood. It marks the capstone of a series of vicious political negotiations that more or less confirm that House Cynis will back V'neef's bid for her mother's throne. House V'neef is young, exceptionally wealthy, and has much to prove. House Cynis is well-known as the foremost purveyors of vice and beauty within the Dynasty, a reputation they intend to more than live up to.

As such, by the time you arrive, the island estate is already in frantic preparation for a full seven day gala, a highly ritualised celebration that will combine time-tested tradition with levels of excess and consumption that will be staggering even by the standards of the Dynasty. The place is already awash in extra servants brought on by both families. There is still some confusion, however, about your presence.

"She's the only one with this shipment?" The woman running the docks is a harried patrician somewhere in the dying years of her 40s. She flips through the ship's manifest with a frustrated air.

"Yes, dock mistress," the young man says, looking increasingly concerned that the error might be blamed on him. "The only slave shipment we're expecting today are kitchen workers, and they're not supposed to arrive for hours."

Flame gives him an incredulous look, gesturing in your direction without really looking at you. "Does this look like a kitchen worker, to you?" she asks.

The young man goes very red. "No," he admits.

Gaining access to the ship had been a matter of passing yourself off as a sailor — not wholly trivial, but manageable enough, given the abilities at your disposal. Actually being allowed to disembark and remain on the island is a different matter, and one that requires more significant effort on your part:

You've draped yourself in a resplendent destiny of the Lovers, one you've made especially for this infiltration. The identity it describes is a handmaiden of great skill and beauty suitable to serve a great lady of the Dynasty. Submissive, decorative, but obviously knowledgeable and talented within your sphere — anyone who looks at you can see that much, without ever questioning why they think so.

You wear a pale green dress, purple ribbon added frivolously to the garment like the wrapping on a gift. The brand of V'neef's own household is obvious on your neck — you'd painted it on in henna yourself, unthinkingly placing it in exactly the same place as your mother's. The magic of the destiny you're wearing should prevent anyone from noticing that it isn't really a freshly healed burn. Everything from the cut of your clothes, to your posture, to the way you address your betters tells anyone even passingly familiar with Realm high society that you are an expensive and well-trained slave.

That, on its own, may not have been enough. Security is very much a concern here — spies, sabotage, and assassination are all strong possibilities with how many powerful women and their families will soon be present. You could be anyone at all. But over top of the rest, you've carefully twined the strands of your own fate to bestow upon yourself the very essence of the Desperate Maiden who gave herself to Necessity — as much as you are a person, you are also a fine and valuable thing, left horrifyingly unclaimed on the docks without the owner and the gilded cage that you surely require. The world will conspire to provide you with one.

"'Assorted minor wedding gifts from Cynis Falen, for the Matriarchal household...'" the dock mistress looks from the line item to you one last time. "That must be you, then. You are a gift from Lady Falen?"

You bow your head modestly. "I hope my presence does not displease," you say. You put a trace of a Seatongue accent into your High Realm — fluent, but still noticeable enough to be exotic. It's what's expected.

The dock mistress nods her head sharply, and snaps the manifest closed. She fixes her assistant with a look. "Bring her to Cold Rain, tell her that the girl is a personal gift from Matriarch Cynis's sister. She'll sort this out."

The Cascading Garden is built along the shore of a natural cove in the island's coastline. Its outer walls, white stone veined in dark blue, swoop in to enclose the water feature, partitioning the manse's docks from the main estate. Today, the water is packed with vessels — arriving, departing, waiting for their turn at the docks. Workers swarm every which way, everyone with a task and a clear idea of where it should take her.

You follow the assistant through the outer gate with some gratitude. It's a brisk, windy afternoon, and your clothing is not substantial. The many guards on duty watch you go with only passing interest — they know who the assistant is, and don't challenge him. One even calls out to him in Low Realm, something to do with a card game later. The assistant only gives him a tight shake of the head, too busy for such concerns.

You cross a broad courtyard paved in spiralling, aniconic tile, then up a tiered staircase that brings you among the flowing water features that the manse draws its name from. In the cool air, steam rises up from the surface of artificial pools thick with plants in unseasonable bloom, the mere proximity to the floating gardens easing the spring chill.

The main buildings of the manse rise up ahead, flowing into and around each other, festooned with greenery and crystal clear waterfalls. Above the rooftops of even the highest of them, a single tower soars up above the rest of the island, its stone construction banded with blue jade, its twin arms folded and at rest. A sky mantis tower, an irreplaceable weather-working relic from the First Age.

The assistant steps past another set of guards, pushing open a side door to one of the grander buildings. You're led into a narrow, unadorned servants' passage that winds its way through the walls of the manse, ignoring the way that the Water Essence thrums against the supernatural awareness that the mortal you're pretending to be wouldn't have. It takes him long moments before he finds the woman he's looking for, standing in the hallway outside of a massive kitchen.

"Cold Rain!" he calls out.

A woman in the attire of a superior servant looks up from a huddled conference with several of her subordinates, fixing him with a look of vexation. "What is it now?" she asks.

The assistant takes a step back, gesturing to you. "She's a special gift from Lady Cynis Falen, for the Matriarch's household," he says.

You bow respectfully as she turns to look at you. Cold Rain's name suits her — she's thin, humourless, and dark-haired, her gaze thoughtful and assessing as she takes you in. "Does the 'special gift' have a name?" she asks.

"Pearl, miss," you supply.

Rain nods. "Concubine, entertainer, or domestic servant?" she asks, seemingly already putting the assistant out of her mind.

"I am trained to serve as a lady's handmaiden, to manage her wardrobe and appearance, and to handle currency if permitted," you say. You let a nervous, superficial smile slip onto your lips as you look at her — a girl thrown into the deep end after the ordeals of your training, uncertain about what's going to happen to you, looking to you for guidance. "I am also able to sing well enough at need, and to entertain as required. I won't have to go back to the ship, will I?"

Rain considers that for a moment or two longer, then shakes her head. "No chance of that, now. Come here." She takes you by the arm, firm but gentle — like she's concerned about bruising your skin. She begins to lead you briskly away from the other servants, who disperse to their various tasks. "Have you served a Dragon-Blood before? You know how to behave, what's expected of you?" she asks.

"Yes," you say, completely truthfully.

"Good. That's an improvement from half of what I've been working with lately," Rain says.

The first time you'd posed as a slave, in the early years of your service to the Bureau of Destiny, the experience had been distressing. You hadn't learned to separate yourself from your cover identities as well as you have by this point, weren't yet quite so confident in your skills and your capacity to do what is required to complete an assignment. All you'd been able to think was how it was everything your mother never wanted for you.

You're far past that now, feeling a certain sense of detachment at the way you're being handled. You want a place for yourself here that's legitimate, holds real supernatural resonance, gives you broad access to the estate for the duration of the party, and allows you to go unremarked. This is how that's going to happen. Once it's over, you can shuck this identity off as easily as all the others.

While you've been wrong before, on first impression Cold Rain does not strike you as cruel or dangerous in the way a head servant can be, merely practical and unsentimental. So you're not surprised when she speaks up: "I have known Lady L'nessa since she was a girl. She is exacting, and can be high-handed, but if you serve her well she won't mistreat you."

"... Thank you," you say, voice quiet. Only Dragon-Blooded can own slaves in the Realm, so in choosing this guise, you'd ensured that you'd be taken into the service of one. You couldn't be certain ahead of time who it would specifically be, though. You don't know V'neef L'nessa as well as Cold Rain does, but she is one of Ambraea's Hearthmates — her Sworn Kin — and you spent quite a bit of time in the company of L'nessa's personal servants at one point while you were still serving her. Fate truly does provide for is servants.

Rain lets you go in order to slide open a door in the wall, leading you out into a more opulent part of the manse. Knowledge of the manse rises up from your sleeping meditations on the subject, telling you that you are heading for the familial residence at its heart.

"Don't flinch at her being a sorcerer," Rain warns, taking your arm again. "That will annoy her."

"I'll do my best, miss Rain," you tell her.

"I think you will," she agrees, glancing back to study your face. "It's good timing, all considered. We—" Rain cuts herself off very quickly as she takes you around a corner and is immediately faced by two Dragon-Blooded, clearly sooner than she'd anticipated.

"I promise you, watching the first of my trueborn daughters marry will be one of the proudest moments of my life," says Matriarch V'neef, who does not appear to have noticed you yet. The realm's current youngest Great House matriarch and house founder famously favours the Scarlet Empress's looks. A tall, pale Wàn beauty, her hair a fiery orange like autumn leaves, her eyes a bright and verdant green. She commands attention wherever she goes and exudes a certain effortless charisma, her presence lighting up every room she enters. She's dressed in a blue that seems to reference her ownership of the manse, her hair teased up into a fashionable style. Behind her, a collection of attendants wait patiently for her to finish conducting her current conversation.

"Well, I'll do my best not to disappoint." While standing, V'neef L'nessa is perhaps half a head shorter than her mother, but the resemblance is obvious. She has similar features, the same complexion, the same famous red hair, although L'nessa's eyes are a matching autumnal shade. Here and now, she sits on a stone bench placed among a gallery of Shogunate era statuary, several orange leaves conspicuously piled at her feet without a clear origin.

The Matriarch stands over her, giving her a smile that has a degree of genuine maternal affection that few Dynasts would show so openly. "Small chance of that, I think, dear."

Upon seeing them, Rain had pulled you to the side of the passageway, and dropped into a deep bow. As befits your station, you'd gone one further, dropping to the floor and prostrating yourself. You can still see the two of them in the distorted reflection of a large mirrored bowl sitting on a low plinth, though, so you're aware of it when V'neef looks up to take in the two of you. "Yes, Rain?" she asks.

"My humble apologies for intruding, Matriarch," Rain says, head still bowed. "I have brought a gift from Lady Cynis Falen, for Lady L'nessa. I did not realise you were here."

L'nessa's reflection gets to its feet in obvious interest. You can tell that she's looking at you. "And when I'm short a servant, too. What a coincidence." L'nessa's voice has a slight trace of suspicion in it.

"You are marrying the son of one of the Cynis triumvirate," V'neef says. "That they're aware of your affairs, and may remind you of it, is only to be expected. I wouldn't read more into it than that — until there's a reason to, of course. She will take note if you don't make use of her gift."

"I suppose so," L'nessa says. She approaches you, stopping a distance away to take you in as best she can from this vantage point. "Stand," she tells you.

You do so obediently, rising to your feet with your head still bowed.

"She's apparently a trained handmaiden, my lady," Rain says. "Her arrival is extremely fortunate timing, if she's really going to be of use."

"By design, I imagine," L'nessa says. She frowns, but in the manner of someone considering an existing problem rather than directly at you.

"I will see you tonight at dinner, daughter," V'neef says, stepping away. "In the meantime, I really must go find that sister of mine."

"Ambraea is still in her chambers," L'nessa supplies. Dragon-Blooded are capable of sensing the precise distance and direction of their Sworn Kin as easily as a Sidereal can sense the stars overhead.

"Thank you," V'neef says. She steps past you, walking away down a nearby hall, trailed by her attendants.

L'nessa watches her leave for a moment, before looking back to you and Cold Rain. "Thank you, Rain. Make sure she has a bed with the rest. I may as well see if she'll be any use sooner rather than later."

"Of course, Lady L'nessa," Rain says. She bows low again and takes the words as the dismissal that they are. She shoots you a look that may even be encouraging, before she leaves you alone with L'nessa.

"Your name?" L'nessa asks, taking stock of you.

"Pearl, my lady," you say.

"Wavecrest?" she guesses, noting your hair and complexion.

"Amphiro, my lady." The largest of the Cowries, the island chain that your mother's homeland is a part of.

L'nessa nods in a way that makes you think she'll actually remember that. "Come along, then. If you've come from my soon-to-be aunt-in-law, I'm sure your training was rigorous, but I don't have a great deal of time for you to settle in, under the circumstances."

The so-called Cynis triumvirate refers collectively to the three Wood Aspect daughters of Cynis who have jointly ruled over their mother's house since her death. Cynis Barel is the eldest, and legally the Great House Matriarch, a famously ruthless politician and socialite. That she so willingly and publicly shares power with her younger sisters has led many to believe that she must have a truly horrifying amount of leverage over them, to be able to assure their cooperation.

Cynis Falen and Cynis Wisel manage the mercantile interests that are their family's imperial remit and lifeblood — an exclusive monopoly on the import of slaves and narcotics into the Realm. Falen handles the former, and any servant hand-selected as an early wedding gift for L'nessa's use would have to be a model of training and discipline. Fortunately for her, your current skills applied to your old profession will be more than enough to live up to that reputation and more.

As it transpires, L'nessa's best handmaiden has fallen ill and remained back in Eagle's Launch rather than making the journey to the Sideshores. The girl's most obvious understudy has faced the possibility of taking on her responsibilities for the wedding with such a powerfully alarmed and nervous spirit that L'nessa has rapidly begun to lose confidence in her ability to handle things. You're sorry to hear it in both cases — you know both of the servants in question a little, and certainly don't wish them ill. You're entirely willing to step in and take advantage of their misfortune in service to destiny and keeping the Realm from plunging over the brink, however.

L'nessa breezes into her chambers, where other servants are in the process of unpacking her things, the space a riot of silk and artwork and sweet smelling perfumes. The lady acknowledges them with a gracious nod, before entering a sumptuously appointed bedchamber. You follow her in, closing the door behind her.

"Wine, if you please," L'nessa says, moving over to perch on the edge of her bed. A lazy wave of her hand directs your attention toward several bottles and a collection of cups on a nearby end table. You waste no time in opening one, pouring her a helping of sweet red.

"Thank you, Pearl," L'nessa says, accepting the cold cup from your hand. She takes an appreciative sip, sighing happily over the flavour. When she opens her eyes again, she asks: "Are you a spy?"

"No, my lady!" you lie. At the very least, you're not one for the likes of House Cynis.

L'nessa studies your expression, trying to weigh your honesty. You can't sense anything, but you know she's drawing on her own power to see through you.

You offer her a smile, tentative but genuine. The subtle pull of Sidereal magic exerts itself, twisting her attentions to your advantage. "I am here to serve, my lady," you say.

"Well, that's certainly true regardless," L'nessa acknowledges, seeming to relent. "We'll see, then. I will not be pleased if I find out you're somehow carrying tales of me back to your former mistress — am I understood?"

"Perfectly, my lady," you say.

"Accepting, for the moment, that you aren't here to spy for Falen, I must sadly assume that you are here in part as a jab at my expense," L'nessa says.

"My lady?" you ask, making your eyes very wide and confused.

"The last time we spoke, during the final round of marriage negotiations, she made some fairly pointed comments about my tastes and proclivities," L'nessa says. She sets her empty cup down, and gets back to her feet, taking in your appearance once again. "'Picky', she called me."

You can take an educated guess what this is about. L'nessa has a reputation for being a bit of a scoundrel when it comes to young men, and exclusively young men. It's a pastime that is not uncommon for an unmarried Dynastic woman, but one that's viewed as somewhat irresponsible compared to pursuits less likely to result in an unplanned pregnancy. That L'nessa's extramarital activities might be better channelled toward other women once she and Cynis Barel Daro are wed would certainly be the conventional wisdom. And now here you are.

"I have been trained to serve in whatever way pleases you, my lady." You keep your eyes respectfully downcast, your body language utterly deferential. Wrapped as you are in the guise of the Lovers, every small and vulnerable feature you possess is unavoidably emphasised.

L'nessa reaches out a crooked finger to tilt your chin up toward her, admiring the blue of your eyes, angling your face to present it to its best advantage. There's a brisk, unthinking sense of ownership behind the touch, but there isn't any desire in her gaze. She is appraising you as an object of aesthetic beauty, something pretty to adorn her presence, nothing more. "You know," she says, obscurely amused, "I once made a very witty joke at my aunt's expense, about the prospect of her being engaged to a handsome young man. 'Gifting a good bottle of wine to a monk'. Do you understand what I mean?"

Despite knowing quite enough about the aunt in question and her proclivities to get the joke, you don't let your amusement show. "My lady?" you ask, very still in her grasp. Whatever the position you've put yourself in, you're not afraid of V'neef L'nessa. You're quite aware of what kind of mistress she is and what she expects of you, and even if she did do something particularly objectionable, you have the means to extract yourself from the situation.

She releases you, still smiling at her own joke. She resumes her seat on the edge of the bed, pouring herself another glass from the bottle on the nightstand. "What I mean, my dear, is that you are a perfectly lovely example of a vintage that I simply do not partake in. Give or take the occasional sample for novelty or politeness -- and I don't think I will require that of you."

"Thank you, my lady?" you say, feigning confusion well.

L'nessa laughs over the brim of her cup. "If someone makes the implication, let them think you spent at least a night or two in my bed. I can't have my new husband's aunt thinking me ungrateful."

You nod, gravely, risking a note of irony in your voice: "I'm certain that my lady was unforgettable."

This startles another laugh out of L'nessa. "I'm going to like you, I think."

---

Days later

In a seven day wedding gala, the actual wedding ceremony traditionally takes place on the fifth day, overseen by an imperial judge. The road leading up to it is long and winding, a gauntlet of lavish meals and elaborate entertainments, traditional ceremonies of cultural and religious import interwoven with the latest follies spectacles, and debaucheries that both houses together can devise.

The night before the gala really begins, guests have started to arrive in large numbers — the groom and his family, other important figures aligned with V'neef's faction, and a scattering of Dynasts who live close enough to receive an invitation as a matter of course. Tomorrow, the festivities will officially start with a carefully orchestrated reception, during which the bride and her parents will formally greet their opposite number. Until then, it is slightly inauspicious for the couple to see each other.

You slip your way around the edge of a room crowded with your social betters, scanning the crowd with quiet diligence. It's very tame by the standards of Dynastic social gatherings, just a casual gathering for the sake of the wedding guests already here, music and refreshments and barbed conversation. There are other servants present serving food and drinks, but no one thinks to ask you for as much — the combined influence of the Lovers and the Haywain have left you all but invisible to the Dynasts present, the momentum of their social privilege rendering your presence a part of the scenery.

At the far end of the room, you see Cynis Barel Daro himself. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with a spray of flowers growing amid his dark hair, he acquits himself well amid the barrage of jokes and advice he's receiving from the group of married men who have congregated around him. As you slowly approach, you make a point to try and put faces to names as much as is possible. V'neef Dancing Boar is conspicuous — a large, gruff former outcaste, now an officer with the V'neef legions. Near to him is a slender Fire Aspect man you recognise as Sesus Ambar, who had married into house V'neef several years before.

The young man you're actually here to find is inconspicuous beside the Dragon-Blooded and more flamboyant mortals. Cynis Wisel Wilim is a frail looking mortal man in his 20s, wide-eyed, sandy-haired. He moves at the edge of the crowd much as you do, observing the group with a veiled curiosity — he paints scenes of people from memory, you recall, crowds and couples rendered in a manner that's both highly stylised and strangely compelling. Time and again, though, you notice that Wilim's attentions fall in one direction in particular.

In the far corner of the room, largely keeping to their own company, a young Dragon-Blooded man stands with an elderly woman, both wearing the mon of House Peleps. There aren't many guests present from among House V'neef's worst rivals, but you've placed the two of them as Peleps Nori and Peleps Sava. Sava had actually been expected — nearing her 300th year and visibly wizened, she's the long term caretaker of a Peleps-owned manse on a neighbouring island, and hasn't left the Sideshores in nearly a century.

Nori is quite the contrast. Sava's great nephew and an artist of some renown, he had chosen to visit her the previous summer, and then, for reasons unknown, to overwinter in the Sideshores. Nori is tall, bronze-skinned, his shoulder-length hair the shifting blue of a tropical sea under the sun. He cuts a particularly striking figure in his pale robes.

Wilim could be forgiven for stealing more than one glance, you think, but something about the boy's lingering eyes raise your suspicions. Especially when you catch Nori looking back at him across the room, a curious expression on his otherwise sullen face. It could be just a coincidence, but it pricks your instincts.

Looking between the two of them, you gently run your awareness among the strands of fate connecting the two of them. Sure enough, you're struck with the familiar sense of discordant wrongness that tells you when a relationship is destructive to destiny's plans. It's a relief, in a sense — you very much want at least part of this job to be simple.

---

As you slip out of the gathering through a servant's passage, the shroud of the Haywain falls away again. You step aside past a group of servers holding trays of food, then take a narrow flight of stairs down to the level below. A short while later, you come out into a plain dining area, several off-duty servants grouped around a table.

"Pearl," says one of the servants, currently engaged in a rapid-paced card game with an off-duty guard.

"Five Gardens," you say in reply, tone respectful, but not deferential.

Gardens looks over at his partner, a thickset woman wearing V'neef colours. "She's Lady L'nessa's new handmaiden. Pearl, this is Wood Sparrow."

"Mm." Wood Sparrow barely flicks her eyes up in your direction, instead placing down several cards that make Garden curse. You hide a smile as you slip past them.

"So, the great spy returns triumphant," says another familiar voice, a taller woman falling in beside you.

Teng Evening Garnet is a Southwestern woman in her thirties, dark-haired with a wry smile. She has been Lady Ambraea's handmaiden for more than seven years, ever since you left her service. Not that Garnet knows that you're her predecessor — to her, you're simply L'nessa's new servant, a younger woman she's taken it upon herself to be kinder toward than she's obligated to. You understand why, of course. Despite her remaining in service to the Dynasty, Garnet is a freedwoman, someone who'd once been in precisely the situation you're pretending to be in now. You've never seen her wearing anything that doesn't rise high enough on her neck to obscure the place where a slave brand would be.

"That's being a little dramatic," you say, looking up at her. "I just had to check that he's arrived before I got the tray from the kitchens."

"Speaking of which, here," Garnet says, passing you a tray groaning under chilled wine and three tiers of dessert — apparently the refreshments you'd been ordered to pick up after you'd done a quick circuit of the gathering upstairs. "I thought I'd save you the time."

"Thank you, I hope I'm not making you fall behind on your own tasks," you say, taking it. It's very heavy, but you're stronger than you look.

"No, Lady Ambraea has left me at liberty for the next few hours. As long as I don't go anywhere word can't reach me," Garnet says. "You're on your own from here — I may or may not have someone to meet after this. Good luck."

With that, Garnet gives your shoulder a friendly squeeze, and walks away. You're genuinely grateful for her efforts, to the point that you try not to be too judgemental about just what she might be meeting someone to do. Even if it is a little unseemly for a servant to do so the moment her lady dismisses her.

You take the opposite direction, heading your way for a different staircase. You're already navigating the place with uncanny ease, thanks to your subtly preternatural knowledge of the manse. The servant's passages are sprawling and mazeline, winding their way around and under the more pleasing curves of the manse's main areas. It makes it very easy to get around if you're not going to get lost.

You pause at the base of the stairwell, looking at your appearance in a shabby mirror hanging on a nearby wall — entirely presentable. Then you walk briskly upstairs again, shouldering open the door at the top of the stairs and stepping out onto a broader, glass-lined hallway. Through one side of it, you can see the dark expanse of the water surrounding the island, the lights from Merchant Fleet warships standing guard at anchor.

When you reach the door at the end of the hall, you transfer the tray carefully into your offhand, and knock politely. To your surprise, rather than getting an answer, the door is practically flung open almost immediately. You're brought face-to-face with a very exuberant Dragon-Blood dressed as though she's only arrived on the island within the hour, still wearing a dark cloak clasped with the mon of House Sesus.

"Oh, good! I'm absolutely starving!" The woman who opens the door is your height, insubstantially built, with a distinctly unhale cast to her prominent Aspect Markings. She looks as though she's been drained of all colour and warmth — pallid skin, bone-white hair in almost the same shade, and wide, icy-grey eyes. She's standing too close, and you feel her mere proximity in your bones like winter's chill. She snatches up a full plate of fried desserts from the top tier of your tray and puts one hastily into her mouth.

You bow as best you can given your burdens, channeling the genuine alarm and fear this woman had once inspired in you to maintain your character. "I hope everything is to your liking, my lady!" you say, voice going a little shrill.

"Amiti, please accost someone else's servant and let mine do her job, if you will," says L'nessa from behind Amiti, long suffering in a fond way.

"Oh, yes. Sorry!" Amiti says, after she swallows. She takes a pointed step back, letting you duck your head gratefully in L'nessa's direction and come fully into the room. L'nessa shuts the door behind you.

You bring the tray to the large table at the centre of the comfortably-furnished room, and begin to efficiently unpack it, arranging sweets and finger food strategically around its edge, and pouring golden Eagle Prefecture wine for four.

Apart from L'nessa and Sesus Amiti, two women stand very close together near the back wall. One of them is another Air Aspect — like Amiti, she's dressed as though she's just stepped off a ship. Unlike Amiti, her attire has a distinctly martial bent to it, wearing sheathed daiklave belted on over a tunic embroidered with a pale blue cloud pattern. It's more than a little much, given the setting. Tepet Usala Sola is tall and strong, with light brown skin and dark hair perpetually tousled by a subtle breeze that surrounds her. She has one hand braced against the wall, looking deeply into the eyes of the woman who you served for most of your life.

You've caught glimpses of Ambraea since coming to the island, but this is the first time you've been together in the same room — had you been avoiding having to be this close to her, or had it just been a coincidence? Looking at her now, in her late 20s, you're struck by how much she looks like her mother and like V'neef. There are obvious differences, of course. She inherited her Prasadi father's deep brown complexion as well as his Aspect. Her hair and eyes have the vitreous lustre of black quartz, matching the chips of dark crystal scattered across the bridge of her nose and down her neck like freckles. Nearly everything else though, from her height to the specific character of her intimidating beauty, are even more reminiscent of the Empress than ever.

Ambraea leans back against the wall, her attention fixed wholly on Sola, a faint smile on her lips in response to something Sola has just whispered to her. A small elemental, a serpent of living green bronze, lays coiled in her arms. The snake lazily tracks your movements as you continue to set the table.

You find it oddly humanising that on the eve of her own wedding gala, V'neef L'nessa is choosing to spend her time in a quiet, private gathering with as many of her Hearthmates as she can.

"Has he arrived, then?" L'nessa asks you, without preamble.

"Yes, my lady. Lord Daro arrived with his mother and aunt. He's in the blue drawing room at the moment," you say.

"Which aunt?" L'nessa asks.

"Cynis Wisel," you say. "Peleps Sava and Peleps Nori are also here."

"I wasn't sure you'd get any Peleps," Sola says, finally prying her attention away from Ambraea. That the two of them are lovers is hardly a secret, but Ambraea would never have been so overt about it, once. Then again, she is more or less in a private space with only her Sworn Kin, women with whom she's closer than family. Dynastic social rules change under these conditions.

You're also here obviously, but a slave only conditionally counts for these things.

"Peleps Sava is quite a lovely old woman, honestly," L'nessa says. "I've seen quite a bit of her, spending summers here — she comes to all the parties in the Sideshores and tells some delightful stories. Nori is a different matter."

"He's Peleps Nalri's older brother," Ambraea says, speaking up for the first time. Her eyes skate over you to look at L'nessa as you finish your work. You don't recognise the name — someone they went to school with, perhaps?

"That's true," L'nessa says, "but he's not really anything to worry about. He's a bit of a famous artist — he's here hiding from debtors, though, I believe. Very poor financial decisions. And a notorious flirt."

"I suppose you would know about that," Ambraea says, drawing a laugh from Sola.

L'nessa rolls her eyes elegantly, and looks between Ambraea and Sola. "Yes, and you wouldn't, of course, being such a staid married woman — will you be retiring with your loyal husband for a chaste night's rest, after our gathering?"

"Ambar works best without me to weigh him down, most of the time," Ambraea says, not rising to the bait. "Which I'm glad of. When I decided to become a sorcerer, I was told that I'd be kept out of the social spotlight — apparently no one's ever told your mother."

"It's what you get for being reliable," L'nessa says. "Have you heard from Maia yet, by the way?"

Here, for the first time, Ambraea glances directly at you. You bow your head respectfully, putting the last plate on the table, and stepping back. For just a moment, she freezes in place, as though something is bothering her. It passes, though, and she looks back to L'nessa. "I'll tell you later," she says. Apparently, when there aren't any servants around to listen in.

L'nessa nods, snatching up a glass of wine, and taking an appreciative drink. "Were you nervous before your wedding?" she asks, her tone growing quieter, more serious.

"Yes," Ambraea admits. She steps away from the wall to stand closer to L'nessa.

"You didn't show it much," L'nessa says, taking another drink.

"She did to me," Sola says, smiling. "Kept fretting she'd make a mistake in front of the entire Dynasty the whole night before. It was a little distracting."

L'nessa smiles around the rim of her glass. "That's actually reassuring."

"You'll be fine," Amiti says, speaking up for the first time since she let you in. She's retreated to her own corner of the room where she's curled up in a chair with the plate of pastries on her lap, and a book in one hand. "You're so good at this sort of thing! I'm sure that I'll be a complete mess, whenever mother can find anyone willing to actually marry me." She doesn't seem particularly upset by her poor marital prospects. Amiti is a necromancer, a useful rarity for a Dragon-Blood, but not one that's popular with matchmakers.

"I suppose I will," L'nessa says. She glances to you, giving you a small smile. "Thank you, Pearl. I will send for you if I need anything further."

You bow deeply. "As you wish, my lady."

Ambraea's eyes fall on you one last time as you slip back out the door, but not for long as before. You're wearing a resplendent destiny, and it's been eight years since she last knew who you were — the lack of recognition is not as painful as when you have to introduce yourself to your own mother over and over again. It does still hurt, though, however you try to talk yourself out of feeling that way.

You assume that will be the worst thing that comes of her presence during this mission. Sometimes, you're simply wrong.

Article:

As the gala begins, you will continue to serve L'nessa in order to preserve your cover and to keep an eye out for Lunar sabotage, but you have a primary mission to carry out as well now that you've identified your biggest problem.

You will have to watch Cynis Wisil Wilim and Peleps Nori as closely as you can spare, and do what you can to prevent their connection from truly forming in the first place. As one of Venus's own Chosen, this part of your job should not be particularly difficult for you as long as you remain undetected. What approach do you take with this?

[ ] Curse Wilim's social skills

Descending Serenity Horoscope: Abstemious Monk's Regret: After witnessing Wilim turning down a fourth glass of his favourite drink, you're able to curse him with Venus's disfavour under the auspices of the Musician. All his attempts to make new friends or romantic connections during the gala will be plagued with inexplicable bad luck, fate itself conspiring against him.

This approach will make it very difficult for Wilim to deliberately attract anyone and will be very easy to inflict upon a mortal, although you will still need to keep a careful eye on things. It will completely ruin the wedding for him, but that's acceptable collateral damage.

[ ] Distract Nori

Handsome Boy Eyes: Nori has a reputation as a bit of a scandalous flirt — you can simply give him something to focus on more than Wilim. While you take no more joy in seduction than you do in violence, you can be preternaturally skilled at it when you apply yourself. More to the point, you can instill the attraction in Nori without ever speaking a word to him, while making him and anyone else believe you're doing nothing at all.

You won't necessarily need to go through with anything, but it will require your continued attention to make sure you keep yourself on Nori's mind. Should he attempt anything truly inappropriate with L'nessa's servant at her own wedding, it may even be sufficient insult for her to eject him from the gala entirely, solving your problem.

[ ] Redirect Nori and Wilim's relationship

Cash and Murder Games: You may sketch out the fate of the relationship that Wilim develops with Nori, making it take a form that's different from what either would hope for. You can instill in Wilim an intimacy of fear for Nori rather than desire, a feeling that will continue to grow of its own accord whenever they interact. This will likely prove disastrous for any attempts Nori makes to get closer to Wilim.

This approach requires the least active effort from you, although you will need to monitor things in case they manage to overcome the effect early, or else things take a strange turn — fear can still give Nori power over Wilim, even if it isn't the sort he's usually after.