A Green Sun Illuminates The Void
Chapter 8: A New Day's Dawn
{0}
The spring light seeped through the long curtains, the sun rising to the east to cut away the darkness.
There was a smack, as a bare foot resounded against a stone floor.
The dawn chorus of birdlife was already singing, a barrage of noise enough to wake, if not the dead, then at least the moderately ill. The enchanted windows would have been proof against them, had they not already been thrown open, to let in the dew-scented air.
The air hummed like a finger on a wine glass, as the sweep of the pole cut through the air. In the passage of the jagged, asymmetrical blade, a faint smell, like that of the air after lightning, was left lingering. Forwards, into a lunge, back into a guarding position, forwards and forwards, only stopping before it hit a wall. The gouges in the decorations suggested that such attempts had not always been successful. A turn, and then around again it swept, and again, before its base was slammed into the floor, bringing its motion to a sudden stop. In that frozen moment, a shape in colourless fire flowed across the crystal blade, like fallen petals, before vanishing once again.
Louise let out the breath that she had been holding, and adjusted the strap on her nightdress. Slightly foolishly, she grinned at her shadowed reflection in the mirror. She was only glowing slightly this time! She was getting better at working out her endurance at doing... whatever it was she did before she caught on green fire!
"
Can't we go back to bed?" Marisalon grumbled in her head. "
It's cold out here, and although the bed would be warmer if there was someone else in it, it's still only just light. Urgh. Why do all other suns need to be the wrong colour?"
"You're the one who told me I needed to practice, and get used to it," Louise said, placing down the staff, as she practiced punching and kicking in front of her mirror. "You've been complaining at me all week, making me get up to practice before classes and not letting me sleep until I did."
"
But I finally got the hang of your calendar and its silly names!" the neomah whined. "
And I know it's voidsday today. Fairest lady, I told you that you could have the morning off! Why did you not take it?"
Louise grinned, taking a step forwards as she went to wipe her brow, only to find it as dry as always. "I woke up early," she remarked.
"
Why! Accursed sun, with your malignant cycles and variable position and unnatural orange-yellow light, why must you torme..."
"Marisalon. Shut up."
Despite the whining of the neomah in her head, Louise felt... good. Over the last two weeks, she really had been getting better at this. Whatever the full range of her powers were, she seemed to now be naturally
good at combat. Normally, only elite, powerful mages like Mother or the royal guard ever managed to cast without incantations or wands, turning the motions of their body into the focus for the magic, but... it flowed with her. The strange green fire that she could make flowed equally from fist and around the Staff of Destruction, and although she hadn't yet worked out how to do that easy trick of any dot Fire mage, the humble fireball, she had found day before yesterday that she could make clouds of lacerating sand. So she was apparently both a dot Fire mage and a dot Earth mage, although Marisalon continued to deny that such categorisations were at all relevant to what she did, and express perplexity about simple things that even the peasants knew.
That might also have been contributing to her happiness somewhat. Marisalon was somewhat less lecherous when she was confused or worried, and in their time together, Louise had already leaned to treasure such moments.
Of course, the fact that she was now entrusted with the care of an exceptionally rare, powerful and potent magical item, the Staff of Destruction itself, might have had something to do with her happiness.
{0}
Two weeks earlier
Wet flannel on his brown, Headmaster Osmond sat back in his chair, and peered down at the girls in front of him. He had come to, slumped on a table, and had a splitting headache. And the tale he had just been told would have been confusing at the best of times, let alone a few hours before dawn after just being poisoned.
He had asked them to repeat it, heard it again, and it still didn't make much sense.
Eh. He was just going to act like he understood it, and blame any misunderstandings on them failing to explain such a tale properly to an old man. "Mmm," he said out loud. "So. Mmm." He winced, as the throbbing in his forehead intensified for a moment, and then retracted. He'd been poisoned before, of course, but it was no more fun this time than it had been the last few times. He was getting old, sadly. "Mmm. Let me be clear. You, Miss de la Vallière and Miss de Montmorency were... ah, yes, in the infirmary. And you, Miss von Anhalt-Zerbst and..."
"Late coming in," Tabitha said, clearly. "Didn't eat before it had an effect."
"Mmm, yes." The old man leant forwards, the wet cloth sliding off his forehead onto his lap with a splat, as he rummaged through some desk drawers, eventually finding a small pouch of smoking weed. "Fortunate," he added, peering at the blue-haired girl as he pulled out a pipe from a pocket.
Tabitha stared back, blankly.
The headmaster shook his head, and lit his pipe. And immediately began to cough, deep hacking coughs, as waves of nausea overcame him. Taking a deep breath, he glared in disgust at the old, rounded clay bowl of his third favourite pipe. So, he wasn't going to be able to smoke without feeling sick, was he, until he got over that? Oh, someone was going to
pay for that. He sighed again, and muttered as he extinguished it.
The four girls were staring at him now, with confusion on three faces.
"So, golem shows up, Foquet begins stealing things inside using more golems, etcetera, etcerera..."
Kirche nodded, scraping back a lock of hair from her face. "Yes," she said. "We arrived later, because we had to fetch Tabitha's dragon as we were sure... just sure... that the Academy was under attack in some way."
Osmond glanced at the Germanian girl, noting the way that she had acquired what looked like the jackets of one of the Academy's guards, which was fastened up tight. "Mmm," he said, "... and then Foquet is confronted, etcetera, and..." This was where it got more than a little unbelievable. "Miss de la Vallière apparently destroyed both its hands with..."
The pink-haired girl in front of him puffed up her chest. "It was labelled as the 'Staff of Destruction', Headmaster," she said, proudly, hefting the strange, spear-like staff up.
"I know that," the old man said, bluntly, before smirking. "Who do you think discovered it in the first place?" The look of shock on three of the girls' faces, and the expression of mild interest on Tabitha's was rather pleasing to him, so he continued, "I wasn't born old, you know. Why, back in my youth, I was quite a little ragamuffin and adventurer."
The snort from Montmorency indicated that she could not really associate the wizened old mage before her with the term 'ragamuffin'.
"Yes indeed, it's not funny, Miss de Montmorency! Why, I got up to some rather scoundrel-full things, and, well, for one reason and another, it was felt best that I take a tour around the nations, so that the rumours could die down." He waggled his eyebrows at the girls. "Rumours which, to this day, I refuse to confirm or deny. Well, one thing led to another, and I was ended up in eastern Germania, heading even further east, with a nun who decided she didn't want to be a nun any more – especially that whole 'vow of chastity' thing, a Albionese skywayman, and a man who juggled geese and who had been caught in a rather compromising position with one of them."
Kirche's mouth was hanging open. Slowly, she closed it again. "... how do you juggle geese?" she managed. "Aren't... they a little large?"
Headmaster Osmond stroked his beard. "Goslings, my girl. Goslings."
The redhead worked her mouth. "I... see," she managed, before grinning. "So what happened next?"
"Well, to cut a long, and rather enjoyable story short... because that former nun was feeling rather frisky, we ended up being paid by a baron to make a map of parts of the east, because he wanted to set up a mine there." The headmaster groaned, rather theatrically, and put the back of his hand to his forehead. "Could one of you girls be as nice as to bring me another wet flannel. I feel quite ill."
One was promptly provided.
"Well, yes." He shook his head, as he mopped his brow. "It's a terrible place, over there. You might know, Miss von Anhalt-Zerbst, but the lands there are cold and barren and desolate. And... people are impressed by Albion, yes? Well, there are floating islands there that put Albion to shame; barren rocks that blot out the sun, forming a dome over the world. There are... savages up there, too; barbarians who strap windstones to their chests and jump from rock to rock."
"Those used to be the Germani homelands," Kirche said, squaring her jaw.
There was a noise from Louise. "Until you came in like a savage horde bringing the Yellow Pox and r-raping and pillaging, you mean?" she interjected.
Kirche shrugged. "Well, yes," she said, flatly. "As our ever so wise headmaster has said, people can't live in that kind of place. But please," she said, smiling winsomely at the old man, "carry on, without this ill-bred girl interrupting."
"Ill-bred!"
"It's a wider sense of breeding than the mere lineal sense," Kirche said, looking down her nose at Louise, which wasn't hard considering the comparative difference in their heights. "You're acting like an ill-mannered peasant."
"You'd know exactly how peasants act, considering that Germanians live just like..."
"It was at one of these barbarian tribes that we found we could trade some of the beads we found, and just pay them to make maps," the headmaster continued, loudly. "That was a lot easier, and made us all feel like fools. And, well, they had their own magics, primitive rituals, but compared to a real mage, they were nothing. We struck a deal, where we'd raid their enemy for them, and in return they'd get us to make maps. The enemy were up on a floating island larger than the capital, you see... and right in the middle of it, the Staff of Destruction was embedded. In the middle of a crater, too, and the crater was flooded. The tribe that lived there were powerful, you see, because they had this safe source of water, and there were plants growing around it, and would you believe it, but they worshipped the staff, as some kind of god-spear!" The headmaster chuckled. "Well, we had our magic and our guns and the skywayman had been training the former nun to shoot all our way east... rather good shot she was, too. They had a treasure trove at the bottom of the lake, clearly taking shiny things and throwing it in, so we all knew we'd hit the jackpot."
Kirche was grinning widely, by now. "What kind of things?" she asked
"Gold, gems, some other things... now, I was a mage, so I knew what was most valuable. Of course, the man who juggled goslings tried to kill me on the way back, but that just meant that the three of us had more to split up." He sighed. "The Staff was the real prize, though, but it was like... like it was made of lead. Inordinately heavy. We had to pay some porters to carry all the things we'd got, back. The ex-nun and the skywayman and me went our separate ways... well, those two went off together, and I heard they bought a title of nobility together, somewhere in Germania... but I headed back to the Academy, with my treasures, and more than enough to quieten any mutterings down."
Monmon blinked heavily, and hesitantly raised her hand. "Uh... sir," she asked, wobbling slightly from the tiredness she was feeling from the use of magic and the lack of sleep. "Why are you telling us this? About... um... the things that you got up to which... um, might not have been proper? And uh... well, you said people weren't telling the stories anymore, so... why tell it?"
"Because it's a really good story," Kirche answered for him, eyes ablaze.
Osmond smiled benevolently, despite his headache. "Yes, it is," he said, "and, who knows? Some of it might even have been true." Kirche made a disappointed noise. "But the Staff," he continued, ignoring her, "... ah, the Staff. It went to the Academy, and it was still here when I became a teacher, and then later, as headmaster. And, Miss de la Vallière, it has never got lighter. In fact," he said, leaning forwards, raising his brows, which would have been snowy white were it not for the slight yellow tint from his smoking habit, "it seemed to get heavier, whenever I tried to work out what it was for, though that may have been me getting older. Miss de la Vallière, are you exceptionally strong?"
He kept his gaze focussed on the girl, and noticed how she blushed. "Not really?" she answered, her voice rising as a question. "It's... uh, it's started being light." She demonstrated, by lifting the crystal-tipped metal staff in one hand. "It... it was a strain at first, but now it's like it's made of wood."
With an effort, the headmaster pulled himself to his feet, feeling his age more than usual, and hobbled over. "May I?" he asked.
The girl nodded, her head bobbing. "Of course," she said quickly, thrusting it towards him, almost asking him to take it back.
That was what he had been trying to avoid, because it seemed no lighter to him, and he sagged, dropping it, where it made a clunking noise not unlike a heavy weight being dropped, and incidentally gouged a hole in the stone floor.
"Impressive," Tabitha said, tilting her head slightly, even as Louise babbled apologies and picked it up again easily, and as Monmon helped the headmaster to his feet.
The old man hobbled back around to his seat, slumping down onto the cushions with relief. "It doesn't seem any lighter to me," he said, letting his voice shake slightly. "But it's a mystery. An interesting one, that is... interesting to me." He paused, and coughed. "Miss de la Vallière, do you feel you can look after this Staff properly? Some mages wield them, after all," he nodded towards Tabitha, "although, of course, we will need to get you a covering for it, because it is rather... obvious right now. All... shiny."
"Y-y-you're giving it to m-me?" Louise stammered, her face scarlet.
"You're giving it to
her?" Kirche blurted out, her own face reddening.
The old man shook his head, gravely. "No," he said. "This will remain Academy property. But it... well, there are accounts of enchanted weapons or staffs, made for only one wielder. It is said that the Gandalfr, one of the servants of Brimir, had one, as did... well, your own ancestor and near namesake, Louis de la Vallière, who pushed the borders of Tristain up to Lake Ragdorian and beyond in the Glorious Century. And one of their properties is that they apparently choose their masters. Or," and he raised his eyebrows, "as the case may be here, their mistresses."
"Wait." Montmorency raised her hand again. "Are you saying that... a staff worshipped by barbarians in the far east, which you found when you were a young man... is somehow...um... the destined weapon or something of the Z... of Louise?" The girl swallowed. "Isn't that...implausible?"
Kirche let out a bark of laughter. "Apparently the Zero can set herself on green fire. Maybe it comes with the territory. Maybe it only works for people who've learned the strange and mystical art of self-immolation. Hah! I can't wait to tell people apart this."
Louise didn't retort, but her gaze looked slightly unfocussed, as if she wasn't quite paying attention to the conversation.
"And this is where we come to the second part of the conversation," Headmaster Osmond said. "Do you girls understand what this means? Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt managed to break into even our vaults, and escape with so many treasures. This place is more protected than anywhere but the royal vaults... and they're only about as protected. That means... and you said 'he' was a she, didn't you? That's useful." The old man steepled his fingers together, and then gazed at the girls over them. "That means, though, that
anywhere in the country is vulnerable. We must tell the Palace, but we don't want to spread further. It could cause a panic. And... uh, be rather embarrassing for the school."
Kirche puffed out her jacket covered chest. "You mean we don't get a reward for saving a lot of the treasure, or
almost stopping her? No titles or jewels or... well, the Zero gets a magical staff, but nothing for the rest of us?"
There was a twinkle in the headmaster's eyes. "Oh, I think you'll find the Academy will be grateful, if you know what I mean. Certain... exam marks can be raised. Misdemeanours overlooked. Things like that." He cleared his throat. "But if you want to benefit from this, it has to stay
secret. All of it."
"Eve-even my m-magic?" Louise stammered.
"If it happened tonight, it doesn't get mentioned," the headmaster said, clearly. "You two were in the infirmary," he said, nodding at her and Montmorency, "and you two were in the main hall. By the sunrise, the lawns will already be repaired. No-one is to know, understand?"
{0}
And, indeed, the old man had been true to his word. As far as most people were concerned, the drugging at the meal had been a student prank gone rather wrong, and the Academy teachers were hot on the heels of the perpetrator.
Louise, incidentally, knew exactly how much of his tale had been true and how much had been false. Over the last two weeks, she had found
exactly how useful the ability to test if someone was lying had been. It was just a shame that it wasn't more overt and 'magic-ey' she thought, looking at herself in the mirror with a sceptical eye, checking that her flowing golden gown was fastened at an appropriate level. She would be having dinner with Marius tonight, poor man, and the last such get-together had been rather... rudely interrupted.
The girl flinched and shuddered, the gold and the light and marble melting away to leave only her, in her nightdress. These moments were coming too frequently for her liking. All the gold was... beautiful, but instinctively the pink-haired girl had a distrust of it, because it didn't work with her complexion. And she had no idea who 'Marius' was, and that wasn't even her mirror that she had been looking herself in. She sighed. It would be nice if her mirror was a vast wall of that beautiful substance that didn't seem to be glass.
"
Do you want to talk about it?" Marisalon asked, her voice soft. "
Fairest lady, I feel you are upset, but I do not know what upsets you."
Louise shook her head. "Not really," she muttered. "Just a daydream. Nothing real." Even if it was a daydream which felt more real than any daydream should, and which seemed to feature things that she had no idea that she should know...
... not that that wasn't already a problem. In some classes, she'd had flashes of knowledge telling her that things she knew, that she was being taught were wrong, or incomplete, or written in the wrong language, or... well, it was an irritation, and also confusing. And worrying.
She still wasn't going to tell Marisalon, though. The neomah was in her head all the time. If there was something in there which was her own, which the voice didn't know about and didn't experience, then she wasn't about to give up some of her last personal space.
Even if it
didmake her wonder if she was going crazy. On the other hand, that was usually considered to come with the voices in your head telling you to do things, and...
"
If you're up early, of course, which is to be most intimately praised despite the fact that it's cold out here and I told you that you could sleep in for this day, then we can get started. As I have, eloquently and precisely, informed you, your previous task to spread the most joyous worship of the true rulers of the world through the city of Paragon is no longer valid because there is something exceptionally perplexing going on" the neomah said, her voice turning shriller towards the end, "
but I'm perfectly sure it will all be sorted out and fine and we can find out why there are two moons and a lot of the things about this world are completely and utterly wrong and it will be... fine. Hence, fairest maiden in all of the lands, assemble a base of power independent of all the major powers here such that you can command loyalty from those who owe no loyalty to others. Bring forth your dominion and gather your power, so that you may crush the foes of the creators!"
... she already had that. So maybe she was crazy. But she didn't
feel crazy, and that was probably what mattered. Also, just being crazy didn't give you the power to make things explode with green fire, and fire cutting silver sands around, and she could certainly do that. Which was a wonderful feeling, and as soon as she could actually show it off, no-one would ever dare call her 'Zero' again.
Louise shook her head, and began to practice the basic moves which Marisalon had told her about, and which, more so, felt
right and proper to her. It was barely dawn, and they wouldn't be serving food for hours yet. And it felt so
nice to have something that she could do easily, that she didn't have to strive for hours for no effect. Hopefully she could show this off to Mother, next time she saw her, and impress her. Hopefully.
{0}
The Great Hall was warmly lit by the morning sun, streaming in through the vast east-facing windows, and the magical lights were tuned such that their illumination matched this morning light. The white cloths covering the tables were painted in rosy hues, and the silverware shone, freshly placed delicacies and delights on the table. Some were not even native to Tristain, and were instead imported or grown in the schools botanical gardens. Either way, the morning's sun revealed great wealth and privilege, beyond the comprehension of the peasantry.
Despite this, the hall was largely empty, with more serving staff present than students. It was a voidsday, after all, and neither the students nor the staff were particularly well inclined to rising early on the sacred day of holy rest. As a result, breakfast was a prolonged affair, with people dribbling in to eat right until the tables were cleared for lunch. In many cases the late-risers would head kitchenwards to try to scavenge from the remnants, which was a bone of contention with the help, who seemed to believe that scraps were their right.
Louise smoothed down the slightly puffed-up sleeves of her pale yellow dress, and rebalanced the Staff of Destruction on her shoulder, which was what responsible for the mussing, as she looked for a seat. The artefact itself was wrapped back back up in the coverings – a leather sheaf over its crystalline blade, and bandages tied around its oddly-shiny metal shaft – and so looked much more like a normal mage's staff. With a raise of her eyebrows, she noticed Montmorency Margarita la Fère de Montmorency sat at the table, apparently feeding crackers to her frog-familiar, and headed over to sit with her. In the time since the incident with Fouquet, the two of them had come to a... a sort of a friendship, at least. There was certainly vitriol, and jibes, and use of the nicknames 'Flood' and 'Zero' without prior provocation, but there was something about an attack of a giant golem smashing through the ward in the infirmary you were sharing that created a certain bond.
"Morning," Louise remarked, sitting down, and yoinking a menu from the stack of parchment in the centre of the table, to see what the hot specials were today.
Montmorency looked up. "Mmm," she said in response, as she provided her frog with caviar-smeared cracker, which it appeared to be eating with great relish. "Morning. Sleep well? Set yourself on fire this morning?"
There was a pause, as one of the serving staff hurried over to hear that Louise would be having spiced porridge with quail's eggs.
"No," Louise said, coldly. "I'm getting better at not setting myself on fire."
"Progress." A ribbet from the frog, and Monmon looked around, to make sure that no teachers could see that she'd bought her familiar in –where, technically, they were not meant to be, but the blonde held that such a rule didn't apply to a familiar you could fit in a pocket – and then poured some watered-down wine into a spoon, so that the frog could drink it. "Last voidsday, you were glittering when you came down."
"As I said, I'm getting better." Louise smirked. "And there's nothing wrong with..." she yawned, which rather broke the flow of the conversation. "Anyway," she added, "so, what will you be doing today?" she asked the blonde, toying with her fork, as she swept her eyes over the table.
"
Grapes! Mistress fair, beautiful, wondrous, and glorious! Look, grapes! Eat the grapes!"
"Hmm," Monmon said, tilting her head slightly. "I think I was going to have to do something. What was it?"
"
Please! Please, in your uttermost kindness, please?"
Slowly, Louise reached out, and speared a single grape with her fork, bringing it painstakingly towards her mouth.
"
Yes! Yes! Yes!"
The blonde sighed. "That was it. I've had the base elements of... of a potion soaking in nacre for two nights, now, and the reagent should undergo albedo at midday, if I had the timing right... and I should have, because I've been keeping the ice bath topped up, so it's at a constant temperature. It's not hard, but it's time consuming, and once that happens, I'll need to be fairly quick before xanatosis happens and ruins it."
"Oh?" Louise remarked, tapping the skewered grape against her teeth, to the protests of the neomah in her head. She knew little about alchemy, and cared less. Quite apart from the fact that it was, according to her father, worryingly mercantile in practice, if not according to theory, she didn't have the water magic needed to make best effect of it.
Montmorency smiled to herself, in a rather self-satisfied way. "Oh, yes. If that happened," she dropped her voice, "well, quite a few people here might be having surprises in nine months or so."
Louise spluttered, and dropped her fork.
"
Noo~oooo! My precious! My beloved grapes! My..." Louise grabbed a handful from the table, as just to shut the head-familiar up, "
My delicious! My beloved grapes! Mmm."
'Be quiet, now,' Louise mentally ordered. "What?" she replied to Monmon, as she bent down to recover her fork.
The other girl looked momentarily surprised. "Are you that naive?" She wrinkled her nose.
"
I can explain it in full detail if you want to avoid seeming ignorant to her, fairest lady," Marisalon contributed. "
I have crafted many, many infants over my life, and also borne a few while summoned. When a human mates with one of the neomah, it works much like it does for two humans." There was a weary sigh. "
Of course, that was rather a surprise to me first time it happened. I'd only flesh-crafted children the proper way before."
"I know where babies come from," Louise blurted out, to both Monmonrency and the voice in her head. "And..." she added, to thwart a joke that her older sister Eleonoré was fond of, "how they got there in the first place. I've even seen it with horses." She coughed. "I just..."
Montmonrency sighed. "Let me spell it out for you, then, since you can't get subtle implications and you're so pig-headed in your self-absorbed 'well-bred' manner," she said, slightly caustically, after looking around to make sure that there weren't any teachers nearby. There weren't. They tended not to get up that early on resting days. "Maiden's Reassurance. Fairly easy to make, if you're a competent alchemist. Most people aren't. People pay me
money so they don't have to try to find an apothecary in the capital who won't tell their parents," she said, as if explaining to a small child. "So, incidentally, if you want to have to avoid that yourself, I can get some of it for you, too. For the usual price."
"Not an option... even if I w-wanted to," Louise managed, trying to keep the blush off her face, and appear mature and dignified. "And if any of the b-boys here were actually... worth anything. M-Mother would kill me if I did anything to ruin the marriage she's arranged for me."
"Yes." Montmorency tapped her fingers against the table, the conversation taking another pause as Louise's breakfast was served. "Yes, they aren't worth anything." Viciously, she stabbed her spoon into a melon. "Guiche is flipping between 'wooing' me, trying to get me to forgive him, and spending his waking hours with that hussie in the first year. Hah! Doesn't he think I can see him from the windows? Doesn't even have the
decency to flirt with other girls
behind my back! Or maybe he's just an
idiot!" she exclaimed, concluding her sentence by working the spoon even deeper.
"You Tristainain girls are so shallow about that," Kirche remarked, passing by. "Your need for ego-justification by your elaborate courtships are just delaying the fun part, you know?"
"Germanian hussy," both Louise and Monmon snapped together.
"And don't listen into other people's conversations," the blonde added.
"Look, I'm providing this advice free," the redhead said, with a roll of her eyes. "Do you like him, or not? If so, chase after him, if not, don't. But sitting around stewing about him acting like a boy won't get you him back, and is a waste of time that you could be using to find someone more fun."
"Well, thank you ever so much," Monmon said, coldly. "But some of us have standards, and expect them from others. You apparently have none, so why don't you respond in kind to his constant and
unfaithful attempts on others, then?"
Kirche smirked. "What makes you think I haven't?" she asked, relishing in the way that Montmorency's face suddenly went white.
"What are you even doing up?" Louise added, sneering. "Surely you've had a busy night."
"
Maybe... no, I won't say that, fair lady."
Kirche ran a hand through her red hair. "Maybe, maybe," she said, letting out a peal of laughter. "But, you know. You Tristainians might want to stay inside, getting weak and flabby and preserving your pale skin, but some of us come from less decadent countries, and a girl needs to stay in shape. Else a boy will never want her, and she won't be able to look after herself." She flicked her head. "I do so enjoy these little chats," she added, "but, really, I must eat. I have a full day planned, you know."
Louise swallowed hard, and unclenched her fists, noting the slight bloodied marks, already healed over, where she had cut her palms. "She's just saying that to wind you up," she told the other girl, staring at the blood in disgust. She wiped the bloodstains off her brassy fingernails on a napkin with a sigh, and picked up a spoon, to begin on her spiced porridge.
"I know, I know. Guiche wouldn't go where so many men have gone before. Would he?" She shook her head, and with a conscious effort refocused. "No matter how much I see those, they never stop being strange," she said, changing the subject with a flick of her blonde curls. "Fingernails should not be made of brass. And you're getting worryingly casual about minor cuts."
The pink-haired girl sighed. "They grow, too," she said, her shoulders slumping. "And I blunted my nail file on them. That's one of the things I'm going to have to get when I'm in Bruxelles today. It's really annoying. I liked that nail file. And... look. If I went to the infirmary every time I cut myself on them, I'd look like an idiot. They heal up almost instantly, anyway."
"My shoulder still aches, thanks to you. I wish I was having to suffer healing like that."
"The only
problem with the cuts," sighed Louise, looking at the small crimson spot on her sleeve, ignoring the other girl, "is that while
they disappear fairly quickly, the bloodstains
don't."
Monmon sighed, and shook her head. "So you're going into the capital?" she asked, changing the topic away from the topic of unnaturally fast-healing hands.
"Mmm. Yes. I need some more clothing for casual wear, and," Louise smirked, "some of my dresses are getting a little short. You have no idea how happy this makes me."
The blonde raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I have a clue. I'm hardly some Germanian barbarian," she shot a vicious glare at Kirche, who was sitting on another table eating bacon, "or a peasant. Civilised ladies are petite, after all, but..." she blushed, "there's such a thing as too short."
"Oh, I know, when the serving staff can look down at you! It's... terrible!"
"Yes, or when you feel tiny because peasants years younger than you are the same height!"
The two girls nodded in mutual sympathy, consoling each others on the terrible suffering inflicted on the nobility, and the trials imposed on them and their bloodlines.
{0}
Once again, Professor Colbert had been dragged from his nice warm... well, actually it was rather drafty at times, and the roof leaked on the south side... dragged from his pleasant, if a little chilly laboratory-workshop, to do a task for the Academy. Sometimes he wondered if any of the other teachers ever did anything beyond simply teaching. Why was it always him who got chosen to investigate strange phenomena and anomalies? There was the work he was doing on translating that book in the archives – and the colbertotype was working with no more than normal problems and the occasional spills of mercury, the fascinating conundrum which was the apparently-undying crane which had been involved in Miss de la Vallière's failed summoning, the issue of Miss de la Vallière herself, and now, on top of that, this.
He would have been complaining more that he had been tasked with searching for reports of where the infamous Fouquet had gone, with her ill-gotten gains, had it not been for the fact that Miss Loungeville, the headmaster's secretary, was aiding him in this long and tedious search through reports.
Why, he was quite sure that with her extremely attractive aid in his investigations, he would be able to get closer to Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt than any man before!
"Professor? I have something." Ah, there she was, holding a report from the capital. "Something from the report package from the south. Look. A roadwarden reports finding a section of road ruined by giant footsteps. And..." she flipped over the parchment, "there was even a sketch, with a scale. I thought..."
"Ahah!" Colbert exclaimed, with a gleam in his eye. "Yes, let me just..." he rummaged through the papers in this commandeered office, "... yes, the scale matches. Precisely. From this, we can be pretty sure that Fouquet was heading south! Good job, Miss Loungeville!"
The woman paused, fiddling with her collar. "It isn't my place," she said, a touch shyly, "but you're wrong, Professor. That only means it was her golem heading south. We don't know what the criminal herself was doing. Remember, she was smart enough to arrange a heist like this. We have to assume that you're dealing with a criminal mastermind." She looked down at him, papers clutched to her – rather notable, in the man's attention – bosom, her expression demure. "Of course, I might be speaking out of place..."
Colbert leaned back. Yes, that was true, that was true. He really had been too fast to declare triumph. "That's well said, Miss Loungeville," he said, adjusting his glasses. "Snap judgements... very dangerous and often wrong. Yes, thank you. You're food... I mean, you're good. Sorry. Getting slightly peckish, despite the fact I've only just had breakfast."
She let out a nervous titter. "Professor, I'm a secretary. Following trails of paperwork is what I do, and if there's one thing I've learned while working here, it's that just because someone's signed the paperwork, doesn't mean that that they've actually done this. In this case, Fouquet has left her signature, but that doesn't mean that she went that way."
The man leant back in his seat, and rubbed his balding patch. "Hmm. Miss Loungeville, I would like you to check the other districts for any evidence that Fouquet passed through there. Look at roadwarden's reports, complaints of use of earth magic on fields... things like that. I'm going to see if I can track down the golem, because we don't know that she split from it, but I'd like you to look for a rogue earth mage. I mean, you're perspective, and..." he let out a chuckle, "... well, you seem to have women's intuition, while I," he spread his hands, "do not."
The dark-green haired woman blushed. "Th-thank you, sir," she stuttered, before heading back to her own desk filled with paperwork.
Jean Colbert grinned, once he was sure that she wasn't paying attention to him. She was very useful indeed. Certainly far more than eye candy, which was what the headmaster normally seemed to select for. Still, from that hair colour, she was probably a bastard child of some noble who hadn't taken proper care when engaging in conjugal relations with commoners. Bright and attractive was not exactly an uncommon pair of attributes among those types. And certain other of her attributes were uncommonly, and uncommoner-ly, good.
He let out a contented sigh. Yes, this was much more pleasant than being attacked by an ill-tempered immortal crane.
{0}
The coach, emblazed with the emblem of the Academy of Magic, rattled along the earth-mage created road. It was full with students of all ages heading towards the capital. Louise had been early enough to get one of the inside seats, rather than having to sit on the rather colder and draughtier roof, and so was leaning against a window, staring out the window, as the other boys and girls chatted. The Staff of Destruction was an ever-present weight, leaning against her shoulder, and she had already dodged, evaded, or told to go away several questioners, asking for details on her new magical staff. Most people used wands, but staffs were common enough that it was by no means unique.
Instead, to pass the time, she had Marisalon talking about... she was still a little confused exactly what manner of creature they were, but these 'first circles' sounded sort of angelic or spirit like. She was pretty sure they weren't angels, though, because the neomah in her head was apparently a fairly normal example of such things. And angels shouldn't be stupid perverted head-familiars, but should be rather more... holy. And non-perverted.
"
... and among the barzinoa, fair lady, who, if you remember our previous discussions on this topic, are the lesser souls of the mighty, wonderful, beautiful, fair, and not at all spiteful or horrifically acid, except in the best possible sense, Great Mother, the Sea Who Marched Against the Flame, Kimbery... counted among their numbers are the tarcalae, the Fisher-Children, who ultimately descend from Ululya, the Blood Red Moon." The neomah paused. "
Can you please, with the greatest respect, stop staring up at the sky, my fair lady?" she pleaded. "
It is illegally blue, and it is making me feel uneasy."
'It just looks like it's going to be a nice day, today,' Louise thought back.
There was a noise of discomfort. "
Yes, but it's so... blue. And I'm having to... no, no, you are right, fair lady. But, yes. The tarcalae are most easy to identify, my lady, for from the back, they look like six-year old mortal children. That, however, is a most deceitful appearance, for from the front, one cannot but help notice that they have no lower jaw, and instead they have two coiled up tongues, each twenty metres in length. Their skin, too, from the front can be seen to be made of coral, and it can vary in hue from white, to brick-red, to a green which brings to mind the light of Ligier. Now, they are interested in the services of the ne..."
Louise leaned forwards, paying more attention to the world around her. 'Ah,' she thought. 'We're almost there. Look, there's Bruxelles!'
Through the window, coming into view from behind the hill known as Marie's Blessing, under a pall of smoke was the city. From this slightly elevated position, the slums and townships of the settlements built outside the walls, sprawling and enveloping the city on the plains of Tristain. The poverty could be seen, for they were built in wood and brick. Indeed, to the north of the city, a thicker black pall rising to the heavens marked a fire. They clustered around the grey and solemn outer walls of the city, and the River Senne like children around a mother's skirts, and yet were not permitted access. Within the walls, building standards were at least somewhat maintained, and though the tenements and houses would often rise perilously to three, even four or more stories, the tallest ones were built by proper earth mages, in stone, and so stood as islands of wealth and taste within a sea of commoner constructions. This was the city of Bruxlles proper, the capital of Tristain, but compared to the city within the inner walls, where the true nobility and the wealthiest of the
inexprimé houses had their holdings, its commoner-borne poverty showed through.
The inner walls were notably taller and better maintained than the outer ones, and sheathed in marble, rather than grey stone. Despite that, even from this distance the soot and rain streaks on the inner walls were distinctive, taking away some of the gleam that the builders had intended. And this theme continued, for despite the fact that it was built on the expanded-by-Earth-magic island in the River Senne where Brimir himself was said to have set up camp, the inner city was newer, dating back to only a hundred or so years ago. Several kings and queens had spent a lot of time, and money rebuilding the oldest city into a place of wide boulevards and marble. The cathedrals and churches and palaces were seemless constructs, earth mages raising them from the ground and building them without mortar, giving them a strength and beauty than no commoner-built structure could have had. Yet, even there, the organic growth of cities could be seen, for some of the widest of the streets now had buildings encroaching on them, narrowing them, and in some cases whole new buildings had been built in the middle of grand promenades. The palace dwelt in the precise centre, and stood almost as a city to itself, for in less peaceful, though more prosperous times Bruxelles had been the regional capital and stalwart against the Gallians, and the palace still showed its roots as a military fortification, even though it had been gentrified. In total, maybe two hundred thousand souls called this city home, not to count the slums and townships that surrounded it.
"
Mmm..." Marisalon said. "
So, where's the city? Is it behind that hill over there? Or... aha! Of course, it must expand a long way below the surface town!"
'No,' Louise thought, mildly insulted, 'that's it.'
A pause. Then; "
So it has folded realms into Elsewhere within?"
'No. That's Bruxelles."
Another pause. "
Are you sure?"
'Yes,' the girl thought, with growing irritation. 'Quite sure.'
The noise in the coach was growing louder, as the other students began to grow restless. "
Well, that's not much of a city," was Marisalon's measured opinion. "
Maybe for some backwards nation in the Scavenger Lands or something, but the capital? Compared to the Imperial City of the Realm... or, of course The City, I must say that I have seen better."
'Oh yeah.' Louise crossed her arms, and closed her eyes, to prevent the neomah from picking out any flaws with her nation's capital. 'What's so great about those places, then?'
"
Well, clearly, the glories of the City are so much better, for the City is the King, Malfeas..."
Louise blushed at the mention of that name, her heart fluttering. 'Well, yes, clearly he's better than any lesser thing,' she thought, tenderly. The very mention of him, and his glory made her feel warm and fuzzy and... made her want to giggle, for some reason. 'But... I can't see how any so-called Imperial City could be better.'
"
Well, let me begin, if you will. This, of course, fairest lady, is no attack on you and your tastes, and is merely a list of a few civic improvements which may be made if, so you wish, you achieve complete and utter control of this polity, you can construct a superior monument to the grandeur of the rightful rulers of the universe, and, of course, yourself. Well, first off, the geomancy of the city is frankly ugly. Where is the proper design for such things? It's like people have been, in a most inelegant way, simply building where they feel like it, which is terrible gauche and..."
The coach rattled through the outskirts, along the main roads, and across the earth-mage made bridges to the inner parts of the city.
"
... and another thing! There's nowhere near enough music. How are you meant to ward off the Silent Wind with such shameful quietness! With bells of silver, and..."
Louise was by now staring rather vacantly out the window. Some of these things seemed... impossible. Massive towers that scraped the sky made of of glass, or brass, or basalt, or marble, or jade or... she shook her head. 'Are you telling the truth?' she mentally asked the neomah.
"
Fair lady, of course! With no more than acceptable levels of poetic licence!"
But something else had caught Louise's eye, as the coach pulled to a stop. 'You see that stall over there?' she asked. 'If I buy some fruit, and eat it, will you be quieter?'
"
... nice fruit?"
Walking away from the stand, biting into an apple, Louise had to admit that it was pretty nice. Not as nice as the ecstatic and rather disturbing sounds that the neomah was making would suggest, but then again, it had been a while since breakfast.
The dark-haired man, gangly and in his early twenties at the market stall by the gates tilted his head slightly, and nodded. Looking down, he scribbled a few ideograms on a piece of parchment, before folding it up, and marking it with a thumbprint.
"Marie!" he called to the urchin that lounged in from of his stall, a prepubescent child swathed in tied-up adult's clothing. "Take this to the Charming Fairies Inn, and bring back a reply, if they have one. An' I'll give you a shiny silver denier, yes?"
The little girl stared up at him, eyes flicking greedily to the stall. "Wanna carrot first," she said.
The older boy waved a finger at her, before picking one up, and chopping it in half. "Half now, half later," he said, handing it over with the message.
"'Kay!" the girl nodded, before running off down the street, into the crowd.
{0}
The white cloth which covered Montmorency's desk was stained in many colours. The coasters placed on it were burned and singed, in addition to the ever-present stains. Her blonde ringlets were tied back in a headscarf, to prevent her from leaning over and burning her hair on either the candle flame, used for testing the colour mixtures made when they burned, or the small brazier which was currently keeping a bowl of water on the boil. Her face was mostly covered by a soaked handkerchief, apart from her eyes.
The window was wide open, and there were multiple buckets of water around to dump on anything that got out of control.
At this present moment, Montmorency Margarita la Fère de Montmorency was crushing rosebuds in a mortar and pestle, while something effervesced in a bowl floating in the bowl of boiling water. And she was singing to herself. "Twirl the princess's wand," she sang, voice muffled by the wet handkerchief, "... nah nah nahnahnah nah the land of magic. Twirl that magical wand, and I'm pleased to meet you, nahnah nah."
There was a rapping at her door, which she ignored, instead choosing to pour something blue-coloured into the mashed-up rose buds, and nodding, as small flecks of copper formed in it. "Lightning, sweep, exterm..." the knocking came again, and she sighed. "Who is it?" she asked, dipping a twig in the mess in the mortar and pestle, and frowning when she noted that it was still burning blue-green. More rose-buds were added, and the mashing continued.
"Who? Who else, but I, your most humble and handsome servant, Guiche de Gramont!" responded a florid and extravagant male voice. "Come to seek your most beautiful, most humble forgiveness! Again. After the last few times."
Montmorency glanced at herself in the mirror. The people who bought perfumes and other... helps from her never grasped how much hard work and unpleasantness went into actually making these things. She certainly didn't feel beautiful right now – as opposed to sweaty, her eyes watering, but then again, the tales of beautiful evil witches brewing their potions naked around caldrons were just that, tales. And stupid tales at that. Even at a young age, when she was only getting started on alchemy, the blonde had already been of the opinion that anyone who was willing to have long hair and be naked near any kind of boiling liquid over an open flame deserved all the burns and poisoning that came to them. The kind of person who wrote that thing had probably never been near a potion which wasn't bottled and for sale. And was probably a man.
Wait. No, certainly a man.
"Go away, Guiche! I'm still angry at you!"
"But, my dear! My sweet! My Monmon!"
An unfortunate rosebud got crushed rather more than needed, as the blonde's knuckles whitened. "
I am not yours." She paused. "And you can't call me 'Monmon'. You don't have the
right!"
"But my dearest one! I come bearing gifts! And promises of eternal servitude. I realise that I have sinned, fair rose, and that I am but weak, cursed, possibly by an evil fairy, to search endlessly for beauty, despite the fact that you are like the rose, the most beautiful of all the flowers."
The blonde wiped her brow on her sleeve, and put her mortar and pestle down. She certainly didn't want to let him in when she was like. And she needed to get these potions made today, or else the reagents would go off.
She relented, somewhat.
"You can't come in!" she ordered him, "but you
can praise me through the door."
"But, my beloved..."
"Guiche, you're not coming in. I... I don't want to see you after how you... broke the last set of oaths you made! Now..." she thought, "yes, it's going to be harder to win me back."
"Like a challenge!" the boy responded immediately. "Of course, my rosebud! I shall best any quest you set of me! For you are like the rose, but... um, less prickly, and your eyes are like... limpid pools and..."
{0}
In her head, Louise did a quick calculation of how much money she had left in her term's allowance. She certainly didn't want to be too profligate...
"
Indeed, fairest lady, that is a most wise consideration. As a key point among your profound and righteous mission, might you not consider the virtues of an independent stream of income?"
Propping the Staff against her shoulder, Louise leant against a nearby wall, letting her eyes drift up to the sky, to stare at the fluffy white clouds high above the smoke of the city. "Hmm," she said out loud. 'That's actually pretty sensible,' she thought. 'More money would be nice.'
"
And, incidentally, have you considered acquiring some more weapons, my fair lady? It would be best for you to familiarise yourself with the many and diverse styles of combat which you, as one of the chosen princesses of the King himself, are now naturally the finest at?" The neomah hummed a short melody. "
Aha! A place with a bronze sign of a sword on the door! Let us go browse their catalogues, and then demand discounts when they fail to live up to the expected standards of one of the Brass Tigers!"
'Ah...' Louise let out a nervous chuckle, and then flinched. 'I think I'd rather learn how to use this,' she bounced her glaive on her shoulder, 'first. And it's not like anything else would be... well, as pretty, as this.'
"
Most true, my lady, most true. Now, let us talk about jewellery. I think you should look for earrings, first. By getting some nice chiming ones, you can both be the centre of attention, so that others can recognise your glory and pay attention to you, and also contribute to defences against the Silent Wind..."
{0}
The sun was high, shining directly down on the forest near the Academy, and the enclosure and barn recently erected beside it. Despite the appearance of the structure, it did, in fact, contain any of the large and varied arrays of livestock owned by the Academy. However, from the spit-roast in front of it, upon which a partially consumed cow was impaled, whatever lived there was a predator.
The blue-haired girl with eyes the colour of the midday sky looked at the jar of oil in her right hand. And the oil-stained rag in her left hand. With completely silent footsteps, she made her way into the barn, only to immediately step sideways as a large, blue-scaled, white-bellied beast with emerald like eyes came rushing out. It turned, immediately, and gave Tabitha a lick which left her dripping with saliva.
"..." Tabitha did not say, although the slight upturn of the corner of her mouth suggested that she was pleased to see her familiar.
Tabitha gestured, the dragon bounded in an almost puppy-like manner, if puppies were giant winged lizard-things, over to the partially consumed cow, and rolled over, positioning its head as to be able to chew idly on the meat. Dipping the rag in the oil, the girl climbed up on top of the dragon, and began to oil her underbelly, taking specific care over the still-injured areas where the spikes from Fouquet's golem had injured her familiar.
The dragon cooed, and wriggled, clearly enjoying itself, and Tabitha smiled faintly.
{0}
It was as she headed off the grand boulevards, and into the tighter streets, cutting through to another set of markets, than it happened. And it took Marisalon to warn her that she wasn't paying attention before she noticed, because... well, she wasn't paying attention.
It was quiet. Too quiet. The street, which was really more of an alleyway, was abandoned, save for the men lurking around. They were not nice men. They were muscular, with that certain build that came from hard manual labour now partially eroded away by alcohol. The tattoos visible on the bare arms of some of them indicated that they were formerly of the Tristainain Sky Navy, but others were wearing the heavy leather aprons of butchers or blacksmiths. And there were perhaps ten to fifteen of them, standing in this street which maybe six men could walk abreast in, the scent of poor sanitation and cheap booze wafting in from the inn in front of her.
This was not a
good place.
"
I count eleven," Marisalon said, her voice clinical, no longer lilting. "
My lady, they have ill intent."
Louise felt that she probably didn't need the neomah to point that out to her. The way they had moved to cut off her exit, and that she was a single, petite noble girl was quite enough of an indication of hostility, in her opinion. Clutching the Staff of Destruction tight, still bound in its leather wrappings, she carefully shifted into the simplest of the training positions she had picked up in the past two weeks, and took a deep breath.
"
Remember, fair lady, you cannot dodge them if you do not know they are coming," Marisalon stated. "
From my experience in the City, you would have been best to surrender when you were a mere mortal. But now you are a Princess of the Green Sun. Kill a few, and they will no doubt flee."
Those words were enough to return a bit of free thought to Louise. Killing? "I... I am trying to pass here," she managed, a little shriller than normal. "Pl-please get out of the way!" Inwardly, she cursed the stammer and hesitation. They were just commoners! They shouldn't be making her feel scared.
One of them, a square-jawed man with a shaven head stepped forwards, the splat of his foot in a puddle a noise above the muted sounds of the city. "No," he said, flatly, before his voice took on an almost-insinuating, oily tone. "Well, look, my lady," he said in Low Tristainian, the words of respect dripping with irony, "spare some money for some poor out-of-work men down on their luck?"
"We got kids to feed," another one added. "Kids an' wives."
"An', really," a third one added, his mouth concealed by the great big bushy beard that could probably hide a blackbird "nobles like you are why we ain't got no jobs. You go keep makin' serfs an' not hirin'," he spread his arms wide, "... honest day labourers like us! Down with serfs an' stuff, I say, so you'd gotta pay a man."
Louise's eyes flicked from man to man, as they moved in. They had knives, too, or cudgels, and they were big and she was alone and
why was no-one else here?
"Not so hard, really," said the bald one. "I mean, we just want money, an' you nobles are rollin' in your écus."
And that was a lie, the cold hardness in Louise's head told her. She barely needed Marisalon's prompting to lash out with ostentatious force, bringing the Staff's bottom in a half-circle into his ribcage. The cracking noise that resulted was not too unlike the sound of an egg-shell breaking. And then she was back into her guarding position, thankful that her head-familiar, for all that it was a perverted idiot, had forced her to practice. As soon as they wanted more than money... she was a noble girl, alone. And her mother had taught her what the right and proper response was, should a proper Tristainain lady be put in such a threatening and potentially dangerous situation.
Brute, uncompromising force.
"Go!" she roared at them, spinning to face them, emptying her lungs with her fury. Before her, the bald man wheezed, his panted breath liquid as he gasped in agony. "Leave me alone!"
Some ran. Above her, in the nested crooks of the alleyway, the birds scattered, while from the corners cats shrieked and fled from her presence,
Some didn't, as, with various battlecries of revenge, rather than greed, which echoed in the narrow street, they charged in.
"
Two left, one with a knife, take him out first," Marisalon advised. "
Isolate, overkill, eliminate."
Spinning to her left, Louise lunged with the butt of the Staff with all her strength, catching a man in the hip and sending him collapsing to the ground. That left her overbalanced, however, and as she tried to recover from the overextension, his companion swung a heavy wooden cudgel at her head. This would have been rather more of a threat, had she not been remarkably closer to the ground than his usual opponents, and this the blow was on the high side, dodged, by throwing herself lower.
Like a coiled spring, Louise de la Vallière unfolded into that assailant, leading with her shoulder, and sending him staggering back. With both hands he tried to seize her in a bone-crushing bear hug, only for his arms to meet on nothing but sand, as the pink-haired girl he was trying to grapple passed
through him, and he fell forwards into a puddle of waste with a rather unsanitary splash. That might have been enough to persuade him not to get back up, but just in case, Louise followed it up with a solid stamp on the kidneys of the prone man.
"I said, leave!" she commanded them, gesturing with her polearm. "What are you, stupid! Look what happens if you try to touch a noble like that!"
But they did not leave, the remainder, and that bought up certain flickering of suspicions, from a deep, unknown part of Louise's brain that she was pretty sure shouldn't exist. These are someone's pawns, it told her. They're not after money, or, at the very least, they'll only take the money off your body.
"
Maybe they're after your Staff of Destruction," Marisalon suggested. "
Fair lady, if my estimate is correct, it is of almost incalculable value. Though... hmm, who would send such base and unskilled thugs? A testing probe? Or maybe they found out themselves, via drunken employees of the Academy? Hmm. Indeed, a question of..." and that was about all that Louise could listen to, as the muscular men advanced again. There were people at the other end of the street, she could see, behind them, but whether they were the Tristainain mob watching free street entertainment, reinforcements for her foes, or someone who would actually be of some help at all, she was not sure.
Checking behind her, she gave way, trying to get to an area where there were more honest civilians around, someone who could interfere, anyone. With a high block, she caught a cut on the shaft of the Staff, which cut through some of the bindings but bounced off the metal with surprising force. Up close, she couldn't swing it properly, and instead kicked the man in the shin as hard as she could. The momentary flare of green fire and the sudden shriek of agony as he dropped to the floor was enough to persuade him that he was incapacitated.
"
They're after you," Marisalon remarked. "
No one would be as foolish to keep on attacking like this when you've proven you can trivially incapacitate them." She paused. "
On the other hand, the Staff is worth a lot of... look right!"
The light glinted off the grease-smeared butcher's blade, more akin to a machete than anything which could be called a knife, and Louise squeaked in terror. The cut was fast, and she barely managed to get her spear's blade in the way in time, the blow numbing her fingers, and she leapt backwards rather than try to block again. It was stupid that a large man with a knife was scaring her like this when she had fought Fouquet's golem like that, but this was different! It was... and it was at that moment when the fact that she was thinking rather than actually reacting to what was going on caused a problem, because her last step back took her onto a slick area of the alleyway, and she fell backwards, her bottom hitting the ground heavily.
The man chuckled, darkly, and took another step towards her, as she tried to scramble backwards, getting the filth that littered this place all over the back of her skirt and legs. From down here, he looked even bigger, and the machete-like blade looked like it could cut her in half.
Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière threw out a hand, and the walls of the alleyway erupted inwards, each tiny granule of silver sand flayed from the structure surrounded by a corona of green flame. The brute had a fraction of a second to flinch, moving to block with ineffectual instincts, before the incoming blasts slammed into him and the stench of the alley was joined by blood and cooked meat.
Globules of molten glass cascaded down, as the man swayed for a few seconds, cooling in mid-air to produce a noise like rain or hail as they pattered down upon the floor of the alley, steaming. The clatter of the butcher's blade was almost lost among its wielder's screams, his leather apron torn to shreds, exposing the glass-embedded charred meat of his torso. The sound of his agony was only broken by his gasps for air, as he backed away, falling backwards himself only to bring further pain.
The girl stared in shocked horror at the effect she had produced. She... hadn't expected it to look like that. She hadn't expected him to get burnt like that, or for it to smell like... like pork and the height of summer. Her gazed darted to each of the other attackers who weren't already on the floor, and each of them backed away. After a moment's thought, she remembered that she still had her hand outstretched, her index finger pointing at each of them in turn.
She considered lowering it. She decided not to, despite how it was shaking. They... they had all attacked
her. A bunch of brutish
peasants with
knives. She had been scared, and it was their turn to be as scared as possible, so they'd
never think of doing that again. Ever.
"Go
away!" she yelled instead, putting all her breath into that single command. "Just... go
away!"
One made the mistake of stepping forwards, weapon still raised. This time, there was no fire, but only lacerating silver sand, howling like a dust-devil as it cascaded forth from the air around her hand, which folded and warped and bent, the finger retracting to timelike infinity. The man managed to get his hands over his eyes, dropping the heavy cudgel in his hands to do so, but as the glimmering, glittering silver drifted down to the floor it was weighted by red droplets, and another agonised scream joined the wails of the charred man on the floor and the bruised and battered masses.
The rest fled, often dragging their less injured companions with them. Nevertheless, as she pulled herself to her feet, the ground was littered with bodies, groaning and screaming in their own personal little worlds of pain. There was a scent of blood here, a sharp, metallic undertang to the less clean smell of the place, and she suddenly sagged in shock, clasping onto the Staff, the only thing keeping her upright. Hobbling slightly, for her leg ached from where she had fallen, Louise made her way away from the battleground, feeling numb.
A clatter of clogs behind her, and she whirled, polearm held to guard despite her slumped posture. The peasant girl, hair tied back in a headscarf squeaked, and backed away, half bowed in a submissive position. Seeing that, Louise slumped back down.
"Wh-what happened?" the peasant stammered, "... uh, my lady?" She flicked her eyes from left to right, half turning to glance at the fallen figures. "I... are you hurt? Please? Let me help."
Louise forced herself to straighten up, to be still, and not shake. "I will b-be fine," she forced herself to say. One was never meant to show weakness in front of the lower classes. "Indeed, I am fine. Completely fine. Thank you for the offer," she said, with forced magnanimousness, "but I will be... am fine."
"Oh, but you poor little girl..."
That, as it happens, was precisely the wrong thing to say. "I am not a 'little girl'," Louise stated, with the kind of forced, clipped calmness only comes in the depths of fury. "I doubt that you are much older than me, and you are a peasant, so address me with
respect. Now," and she cleared her throat, hefting the Staff of Destruction onto her shoulder, "if you will excuse me,
peasant..."
Clearly, her jaw squared, she turned and marched away from the other girl.
Jessica shook her head, and sighed, as she picked her way through the filth of the alleyway. That could have gone better. And then she tilted her head, nostrils flaring. That smell... and what was this? Bending down, stepping over the groaning bodies of the people who one of her cousins had paid an hour or two ago, she found silver sand, splattered with blood, on the floor, on top of the detritus which naturally accumulated there. It wasn't limestone, or even ground up marble; letting some cascade through her hand, she doubted that she'd ever seen it before. She pocketed another handful... that wasn't normal magic. Earth mages didn't just make rock like that, especially not funny silver sand. Was it actually silver? If it was, that was ridiculous, impossible. And further along, instead of sand... there was glass; tiny droplets of glass, each smaller than a denier, which crunched under foot.
The girl reached down to touch one, to see if it was really real, but the heat radiating off it was enough to ward her off. And all around, the walls were subtly eroded, something she could only see from where fresh brickwork had been revealed from under age-painted muck.
Behind her, a man pulled himself to his feet, his face a mess of flayed flesh, one eyesocket ruptured, a hand clamped over the other. Jessica shuddered from the face of horror, and backed away, going for the knife she always kept in her skirts, but he didn't seem to see her, and he slumped back down, whimpering.
A lock of her dark hair fell out of her headscarf, and Jessica idly started to chew on it, before realising what she was doing. With a frown, she spat it out. She only did it when she was nervous, the Dragons knew. And now they had more evidence to support the reports her cousin, Siesta, had been providing from the Academy, on the presence of one of the anathema, and she had observed some of its powers. They were... unlike... the tales her grandfather had told her, though more data was always necessary, and it was clearly not the act of a normal mage.
But this was bad news. It would have been much better, and cleaner for everyone if the thugs had worked, or that arrogant little noble brat had come with her. She would need to get back to the inn to talk and note this failure.
{0}
The voice in her head had a mix of concern and petulance. "
Are you quite sure that you wished to turn down such a generous offer, my fair lady?" Marisalon asked. "
Quite apart from her attractiveness, you do have some of the... less pleasant offerings from that alleyway on you."
Louise leant against the whitewashed wall, breathing deeply. "I'm..." she gasped, out loud, "I'm... I'm fine." She swallowed. "I don't know why I'm p-panicking more about that...those men than about the fact I got... th-things on me. I... I had every right to defend myself and... and... and Mother wouldn't have hesitated, and..."
"
Hmm." The words were precise and measured. "
You are as yet unblooded, my lady, are you not? Unlike the dynasts of the Scarlet Empire, you have not been raised with the expectation of violence, least of all against your fellow man."
"Hah!" Lousie said that, rather than laugh. "No, my mother expected violence. But..."
"
But the golem-construct was a mere construct; destroying it was like destroying a statue to you, yes?"
The girl turned around, to stare up at the clouds, leaning back. That... was probably not inaccurate, she had to admit. They had been scum, filth, the worst kind of gutter peasantry who had dared to not only attack a noble, but one who was young and... she suddenly went sheet-white, slumping back as she realised what would have happened if something like that had happened a month ago. She would have been... completely and utterly vulnerable. She would have been unable to defend herself against being killed or... w-worse.
She rubbed her forehead against her sleeve, but it was as dry as it always was. 'Yes,' she thought, hating how weak she felt. 'Am... am I a bad noble?' she mentally asked. 'We... w-we have to always be strong, and able to defend ourselves and our lands, because that's our God-given duty. But... I... I froze up and... and...'
"
Violence is hard, at first," Marisalon said, gently. "
I am of the neomah. We are not made to be killers. But we need to learn to survive in the City, and though that never happened to me, these are those who bind and summon us for that, though we choose to do that not. And that, my fairest princess of the green sun, is something that you will need to learn, for your life and your task in the name of the Creators is vital. They were going to kill you, were they not? Do worse things to you, maybe? Were you not right to fight back? Did you note act to spare them, by not using the blade of your magnificent staff upon them?"
Louise bit on her lip. "Yes," she muttered. "But... the way his flesh... the glass and the heat and..." she gagged, gasping for breath. "It smelt... like pork," she managed, closing her eyes.
"
Hmm... not quite..."
The girl's nostrils flared. "Shut up!" she blurted out, out loud, drawing quite a few stares from various passers-by. Some of them seemed sympathetic, for here was a clearly noble girl, somewhat distressed looking.
The neomah's voice, when it responded, was oily. "
My mistress fair, please calm down. Do not let your distress overwhelm you. You are fair, and you are clearly upset, and for this you show the endless bounty of your generous heart, that you would feel upset about meaningless serfs such as those men. Remember, first, that they attacked you, and second, that as a princess of the green sun, you are so far beyond them that to even let them see your face is a mercy. They are ugly, brutish, and little more than eryamanthoi in human form; you transcend them, through your learning and kindness."
Louise swallowed, shaking slightly. "I... I do," she muttered to herself, before sniffing; an act which bought some of the scent of the filth from the alley into her nostrils. "And... and I need to get cleaned off. Or some new clothes. Y-y-yes... some new clothes. This is... dirty." She shuddered, at the specks of red on it. "I... I don't want to be wearing these. Anymore."
And so, prompted by the neomah, which continued to try to reassure and comfort her, the girl made her way to the fabrics markets and the clothiers. The places where the nobles shopped were quite distinct from where the commoners made their purchases. One of the major differences were the prices. While the commoners paid in deniers and sous, the prices which nobles paid were in écus. The filth and soot of the poorer parts of the city were absent, too; magical lighting removed the need for dirty torches, while small marble blocks placed at regular intervals cleansed the air of the scent of the city.
"
Now, this is more like it," Marisalon remarked, happily. "
My lady, I misjudged the level of your civilisation. To take such wise precautions shows that you are indeed rather more urbane than I might have first thought."
Louise managed a watery smile, and looked around the brightly coloured stalls, searching for one of the more upmarket shops which would allow her to talk to the proprietor and explain properly what she wanted. Maybe... yes. Yes, she had been to that place before, and had even conversed with the owner. She would offer her a drink, let her sit down, help her select things and get dressed; all the proper things one should do when getting served. The woman had the de la Vallière seal up, obvious, in a discretely tactful way, and therefore could be counted on to be reliable, honest, and fair... at least in her dealings with Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière.
And, really, that was what mattered.
{0}
Fingers smeared with ink, Miss Emmanuelle Leterme made another note in the margins, and swung her compass over to connect the two stars in an arc. Leaning back, she squinted at the diagram of intersecting arcs, lines and polygons that she had created over the records of the stars from that night, and frowned. It still wasn't making any sense.
Somewhere in the distance, the school bells chimed for the fifth hour since noon, and the dark-haired woman pursed her lips. She was getting hungry, and... yes. With a wave of her wand, and a squinting, muttered incantation, she heated the water in the basin she kept besides her workbench, and dipped her hands in, letting the warmth sink into her stiff-feeling fingers. The water bled to dark blue as she started scrubbing off the ink, leaving her pale skin reddened. Reaching for a handcloth, she dried off, and then began to strip off her shirt, something more appropriate for a man than a respectable woman. If she was staying in her room, working on star charts, she could look how she liked, but outside, she had to be more respectable.
Pulling a light blue dress from her wardrobe, she rested it down on her bed, and paused, as she pulled off her breaches, checking that her mantle was clean.
Dark locks fell down in front of her face, as she drifted over, back to her charts. Muttering to herself, she checked the numbers scrawled down, and, clad only in her corset and bloomers, wandered over to her log books to cross-reference the tables. Yes, she thought, that matched. As far as her maths was correct, and her diagrams were correctly corresponded, she could see no flaws. Connecting the pentarchal aspect of the Knight Errant to the rising aspect of the Shattered Lady, and then... she reached for a quill, toying with it... no, the Regretful Oath should not be having an influence, considering the tertiary predominance of the Fearful Heart.
It just didn't make sense. According to the stars, Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt was already captured, although the proximity of the Ring, Water-as-Dynamism, suggested a possibility that she might escape or be released. But... she – and that information that she was female had been one of the things limiting astrological readings in her before, though it would be better to know her real name – had escaped. And people would
know if such a criminal had been captured at all.
Miss Emmanuelle Leterme sighed. It didn't make sense... but, then again, reading the stars was hard. It was possible that this was just an unknown conjugation producing anomalies in what the stars said to what was read. Certainly, she'd need a lot more evidence before she could report it back to the observatories of Versailles or – and how she hoped they would survive the civil war – Greenwich. The problem was clearly at her end. She sighed again, and began to put on the dress.
The mouse watching from the carefully placed hole also sighed, as did its master, sitting in his office. Headmaster Osmond had been rather enjoying the view. The fact that she was having problems with the astrological divinations he had asked her to do was also interesting, and he stored that memory for later consideration, but... ah. Such was life.
When you were his age, it was best to make the most of what was left.
{0}
New garments in the trunks under the seats, Louise was still quiet on the way back, though the shaking had long since stopped. Her justifications, and the flattery of the neomah, were enough to calm her down, and she had decided that her actions were justified. After all, it wasn't like she had killed any of them. Indeed, given that she had had the chance – as, after all, the blade on the Staff of the Destruction was wickedly sharp – the fact that she had not, even when provoked, and had merely inflicted pain with sand... that meant she was a good person, right? Kind and compassionate.
And that was what Mother would have done.
Nevertheless, she felt, as she arrived back at the Academy, that it would be better to go straight to her room, to have a lie down, and a think. New clothing draped over her arm, wearing a new dress which just happened to look the same as the one which had got dirtied, she unlocked her door, and stepped in.
The young lady sitting on her bed, perhaps a year or two older than her, smiled broadly. "Louise Françoise," she said, warmly. "It's been some time, hasn't it?"
"
Well, hello there, beautiful lady on our bed," Marisalon exulted, her mental voice singing out. "
Calibration comes early!"
Louise was too speechless to even mentally command the neomah to be silent. She was speechless, because she simply fainted.
{0}
"Louise Françoise! Louise Françoise! Are you alright?"
Louise groaned, and opened her eyes, to see concerned blue eyes hovering close above her. Wincing, she realised that she was lying on the floor, and groaned again.
"
Kiss her!"
"No!" Louise blinked heavily, as she realised that she had said that out loud, and winced. "I... I m-mean, my pr-pr-princess, I'm... fine." She swallowed deeply, and wet her lips with her tongue. "Just... you j-just surprised me."
Princess Henrietta, heir to the throne of Tristain – and only uncrowned due to her age of minority, her mother serving as regent – gazed down at her old friend, and giggled. "I suppose I did sort of break into your room," she said, smiling. "How you've grown, too! It's been years! But if I'd told people, then there would have been a
fuss, and then I couldn't have snuck in to see you, and... and Agnes, you don't need to keep your pistol out like that," she said to the scarred older woman, who had apparently been lurking by the wall.
"It is my duty to keep you safe, my Princess," the woman, dressed in the uniform of a musketeer, said. Louise stared at her, and then tried not to look like she was staring, because the woman's face was covered in a mesh of scars, crossing at right angles, like a cross-hatched sketch in pink and sickly white. When she spoke, her face barely moved, but her oddly-shaped eyes, a bright sea-green, flicked constantly around the room, never resting in one place for too long. Compared to the spectacle of her face, her boyishly-cut red-blonde hair was an after note.
Henrietta sighed. "This is Louise Françoise," she said, offering Louise her hand, and bringing her into a hug. "If I didn't trust her, who could I trust? Some of those maggots at court?" She snorted. "I think not."
"
Mmm..."
Louise hugged her back, ignoring the noise in her head. "I've missed you so much," she responded. "Where've you been? Last thing I heard, you were visiting Germania." Her cheeks flushed. "Was it all right there? Were you eating properly? You can't trust the food there, you know." Her mind whirled. "And it honours me to see you coming to a humble place like this. Have you even been back to the Palace yet? When did you get back?"
"The day before yesterday," the other girl said. "I was going to have a larger procession, but by the end of it, I was just so exhausted that I had them cancel the stop by the Academy. The number of tours and processions and formalities in Germania quite wore me out. You'd think they'd just want to get the treaty negotiations over and done with. And, yes, I was very careful to make sure that I had both my own chefs and my food tasters," Henrietta told her seriously, before she grinned again. "It's not like Cardinal Marazin would let me get sick of food poisoning," she added, the corners of her mouth turning down. "Not with all those meetings and conferences. They went on
forever."
"Ah?" Louise asked, guiding her over to her bed, and sitting her down, taking one hand. "My dear princess, such tedium, among all those Germanian barbarians."
"
Yes, yes, take her to bed! I had no idea that the Princess was such a beauty! That luscious hair, so silken and..."
'Shutupshutup!' Louise thought furiously, 'or I will slam my head into... into the wall until it hurts! As soon as she's gone! I'll do it!' The pink-haired girl forced herself to relax, releasing the princess' hand, which she had been gripping a little too tightly, and tried to pick up the conversation. "I have a von Zerbst in my class and..." Louise made a forced disgusted noise.
"Louise, you don't need to call me 'my princess' all the time," the other girl said, with a suppressed sigh. "You can call me by name, remember? I gave you a royal warrant and everything!"
"I was five, and you just wrote it on my hand," Louise said, her lips creeping up. "And my mother told me off afterwards because I got ink on my dress because of you, and the nursemaid scrubbed my hand pink getting it off."
"It's still a valid royal warrant, because I marked it with a thumb print, using wax from that candle."
"Which hurt!"
"So, please," Henrietta continued, ignoring the interruption. "I get enough 'my princess'-ness from everyone else. Call me by my name, Louise Françoise."
"Soon it will be 'your majesty'," the pink-haired girl reminded her, slyly. "Will you have to reissue the warrant, Henrietta? Because I'd prefer to not have a burn on my hand from the wax."
The other girl giggled. "Depends whether you're naughty," she said.
"
Be naughty. Yes, very naughty!"
'Head. Into wall. I'll do it.' Louise took a deep breath. "Everything's been very... confusing for me, lately," she admitted to her old friend, out loud. "I've..."
The older woman in the corner nodded, intruding. "The Palace is aware of the recent events at the Academy," she said.
"... thank you, Agnes," Henrietta said, bouncing slightly in the bed as she turned, "... but I was going to say that myself. Yes, Louise Françoise! Apparently you and some other girls managed to stop the dreadful Fouquet, from
completely pillaging the Academy bare. While the Crown is, of course, disappointed, that anything could be stolen," she said, adopting a false air of pomposity, "... can I see it?"
"See what, my pri... Henrietta?"
"The Staff of Destruction, of course!" The princess beamed. "My father told me about it, back when he was... he told me about it, and apparently it's really beautiful."
"Of course." Louise stood up, and turned her back on Henrietta, heading over to where the Staff had fallen when she had. 'Listen to me, you stupid head-familiar,' she thought. 'This is Henrietta. She's my friend!'
"
And I like her greatly, my fairest of mistresses," was the response she got. "
Her lips are the beautiful crimson of the fur of an erymanthoi, her hair is beautiful beyond compare, and the sight of her eyes would be illegal under the laws of the Endless Desert. She is fair and powerful, and her seduction would be both pleasant and provide you with ample chances for power and pleasure. I can provide most eminently useful advice, for one of my former mistresses, Cyni..."
Louise's face was flushed bright red by now, both hands covering her cheeks. It was only a small mercy that she was turned away from Henrietta. 'I... I... p-p-perverted head-demon!' she thought, feeling weak at the knees. 'She's my fr-friend and I owe her loyalty and... she's a girl!'
"
... your point is?" Marisalon said, sounding mystified.
'Shut. Up.' Louise snatched at the Staff, yanking it up in a way which had the bodyguard, Agnes, with her sword half-way out of her scabbard. With a little more care, she deliberately took her time taking the leather covering off the top, partly because she was aware of just how sharp the jagged piece of crystal was, but also because it gave her a chance to get her expression under control before she faced her friend. 'Stupid, stupid perverted stupid head-familiars and their stupid perverted ways,' she grumbled mentally, as she unwrapped the bindings which kept the metal concealed.
Behind her, Henrietta moved to push Agnes' hand away from her weapon, before she gasped at the revelation of the Staff. "That... that really
is beautiful, Louise Françoise," she exhaled, staring at the polearm.
Like most people seeing it for the first time, she tilted her head from left to right, and watched the odd refracted sparkle of yellow and blue and red and green and purple, on the silver of its shaft. The main shaft of the treasure began low, flaring around the end, as if there was something missing there, to rise in delicately spiralling whorls that made the strange sparkling metal appear as if it had been grown into that shape. This impression only grew stronger, as it separated into five strands, which looped into an egg-sized receptacle before closing again, twisting, and forming a cradle for the crystal inset at the top. And the crystal... Henrietta blinked, and blinked again.
"Can... can I hold it?" she asked, softly.
"Oh, oh, of course!" Louise blurted out, holding the Staff of Destruction out. "But... um, it's a lot heavier for everyone apart from me, so you might want help because..."
"I doubt you're that much..." Henrietta let out a squeak, as she felt the weight, and Agnes rushed in before she could take an embarrassing fall. "How on earth do you make it look so light, Louise Françoise?" she asked, as Agnes, who was now supporting it, glared at Louise.
Louise stared back, a momentary green light flashing unnoticed in her eyes when she looked her friend and the musketeer, and she let out a slight smile. "The headmaster says it's the weapon doing it, not me," she explained with a shrug. "I don't understand it."
"
Ah, interesting. Interesting indeed. That princess, who is almost as fair as you are, is strong indeed," Marisalon said.
And that woman...
'I know,' Louise thought. Now she had questions for Henrietta.
"Oh, you mean like the Derflinger, sword of the Gandalfr," Henrietta said brightly, unaware of the dialogue going on in her companion's head. "Well, that is... amazing." Letting Agnes take the weight, she stood on tiptoes to stare at the oddly asymmetric crystal which was either a blade, or a mage's focus. And she squeaked again, for the second time in less than a minute, as she saw a blossom-shape of colourless fire drift through the crystal, vanishing as if it was never there.
"The fire-light?" Louise said, in a tone which made the princess feel a little suspicious. "It happens. I... think it's magical of some sort."
"It certainly is!" Despite herself, Henrietta let out a shudder. There was something about this which seemed to be challenging her, a sensation which only got stronger when she touched the strange Staff. It was a feeling of... contempt. No, she thought, readjusting her thought, it didn't have this contemptuous disdain for
her. It... it disliked her with a vehemence which could only not be called hate because of the patronising disdain, in her role as the princess of Tristain.
And then, suddenly the feeling was gone, leaving only a slightly oily feeling on her fingertips, as another blossom of colourless fire drifted petal-like across the blade. Narrowing her eyes, she let Louise take the Staff back, and prop it up in a corner. Despite the fact she was still feeling slightly odd, she still smiled, because her old friend's tendency to be less than meticulous was showing from the gouges in the wall where it had clearly been leant before. "Louise Françoise, forgive me," Henrietta began, "but much as I would have loved to merely talk to you... and I really would love to merely talk, I cannot." She sighed. That was true; she had been lonely since her father had died and she had been taken from the schooling she had expected to have to be privately tutored in the arts of monarchy which she so desperately needed, as well as her own magic. "Louise Françoise, I am here because I need your help."
On Louise's part, she at that point was having to drown out the excited speculations of what Princess Henrietta could want from the neomah in her skull, so she merely nodded, and said, "I am your loyal servant, and your friend, my pr... Henrietta."
"I know you are!" the other girl exclaimed, taking her hand. "You've kept my secrets before..."
"... I never did tell anyone that it was you who'd taken the meringue." Louise's eyes flicked over to Agnes. "Uh... she doesn't count, right?"
"... and I've kept yours." Henrietta sighed, pursing her lips. "My problem is that I have done something very, very silly, and I need a friend. I don't need a servant, or a vassal... I need someone I can trust who cares for me," she said, patting the bed besides her, inviting Louise to sit, and taking her hand.
Louise licked her lips. "... uh. Okay," she said, slowly, not quite sure of where this was going.
"
Do you think she is with child?" Marisalon speculated.
That... was not impossible, Louise had to admit, from this line of approach.
Henrietta turned, to stare out the window, despite the fact she was still holding onto Louise's hand. "The truth is, why I was in Germania?" she began, speaking carefully. "I'm... I'm getting married."
"To... to whom?" Louise blurted out.
"The... the Emperor of Germania. Matthias I."
Louise's face turned as pink as her hair. "You... they can't make you do that, Henrietta!" she blurted out. "Make you marry some Germanian pig... I'm pretty sure he's ancient, in his forties! An ill-bred, barbarian warlord with no legitimacy and..."
"... I have to," Henrietta said, softly. "It's part of the treaty. It'll seal an alliance between us and Germania, and he's... he's not a complete barbarian. He's at least a mage." The expression on her face showed quite clearly how willing this would be, though. "It's not personal," she said. "I don't have to love him. I'm not a trophy bride; we'll be allies, not their inferiors. He'll only be Prince Consort, not King. He can stay in Germania and I'll stay here and I'll provide him with an heir and..." Henrietta began to sniffle.
Louise didn't hesitate, but instead pulled her hands free of Henrietta's grasp and pulled her into a hug, the other girl's damp cheek resting on her shoulder.
"
Yaaaaaay!."
'Shut up.' Louise's mental voice was burning cold. 'This is not the time.' Out loud, she said, forced joviality in her tone, "Well, at least they're not making you live in Germania. Uh. And... after all, it's all rightfully your territory anyway! Yes, the Germani stole it from you, my princess. Um. Uh." She hugged her friend tighter. "It'll be all right," she managed.
Henrietta unfolded herself, and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief which had appeared from a sleeve. "That's what the problem is," she told Louise, in a coldly intense voice, her tears not audible. "Because this alliance is vital. The Germanians are expanding to the east, with several Otmani nations already having fallen to them. Their armies are much, much larger, and better trained, and they have combat experience. Even our higher number of mages won't be enough. And our old alliances with Albion won't hold; in fact, worse."
"
Logical," the neomah said, with a mental shrug. "
Weak powers align themselves with stronger ones. It's how everything works. And if this Germania is a new power rising in the east, well... you might want to look towards them as possible assets, once you have most ingeniously acquired your own power-base.
Louise paled, as she focussed on her friend's words. "You mean the rebels have already w-won, in Albion?" she asked, hesitantly.
"I hope not, and I... I pray to God and Founder every night that they can keep on fighting. But from observers we have, the rebels have pushed the rightful forces of Albion to the north-east of the island; Londinium has already fallen. And this is terrible. Because... because, a few years ago, I did something stupid which is dangerous. And wrong. And not a princess's function."
Louise worked her jaw, her shoulder feeling rather damped. "What?"
"I can't tell you, you understand?" She wiped at her eyes again. "Before negotiations for the treaty started, of course. I'm not that foolish. But, still. You understand how vital this point is? That you never, never speak of this, or of what I am about to ask of you to anyone ever? Can you do this for me, Louise Françoise?"
The pink-haired girl nodded. "Of course, Henrietta! You don't even need to ask it of me! I will never tell another living soul of this."
"
Clearly, I don't count," Marisalon said, smugly.
'Shut it.'
Letting go to rest her hands on her lap, smoothing down her dress, Henrietta cleared her throat. "There are clearly those who oppose this marriage," she said, her voice soft. "I know that some of our nobility will hate it. After all, you reacted that way, Louise Françoise. And there will be opposition in Germania; the other prince-electors will oppose the increase in power of the Emperor, because... well, the Germanians aren't a proper Brimiric nation, so they don't rule by right of descent from Brimir. They have their independence... and they spread that kind of idea among other nobles, just by existing. But the Albionese traitors, the rebels, will also oppose it, because they know that we're the easy target compared to Gallia and Germania, and if they have any ambitions... and we're close to the Albionese royal family, so that makes us their enemies. And they're the ones in a position to... interfere," Henrietta explained, picking her words carefully.
"Why?" Louise asked.
"There is... a letter in the hands of the Prince Wales of Albion. If... if it is found, then the Albionese rebels will be able to... to ruin the treaty, in addition to having..." she swallowed. "If they are ever in a position to have their hands on it, they will already be victorious in Albion, and we will have lost that ally to the hand of traitors. I... I am afraid I must ask a favour of you, Louise Françoise, out of friendship rather than loyalty. I will be sending a mission to recover it, but officially, the mission exists to offer asylum to members of the Albionese royal family, and those among the nobility who remain loyal. But... if that does not work, I want...no, I
need someone loyal to me personally, to ensure that the letter is saved or destroyed. Someone who I can trust will not read it, who will never think to use it for their own
corrupt political gain, and you, Louise Françoise, are the only person I can think of. And..." she sniffed, "that's a little sad, isn't it?"
"
Ooo~ooooh," Marisalon cheered, in a lilting tone. "
I smell an romance! How delightful and beautiful, young amorous affection! First love... unless she's even more of a prodigy than I could have hope to believe! And it shows that she is already open to such..."
'Silence, perverted thing!' Although, considering the talk she had already had earlier today, and with that prompting... hmm. Louise stared at the princess through slightly hooded eyes. "Henrietta," she said, flatly, addressing her as she had when they were children, "what you did was fall in love with the Prince Wales, wasn't it?"
There was something which sounded remarkably like a snort from Agnes, who by now was seated on one of Louise's chairs, positioned so she could see both the door and the window.
"
So cute! The way that she's blushing is adorable! And my lady, you really should trust me more in these matters. I am most well informed of the concerns of the heart, and other related organs!"
"It's not exactly subtle," Louise remarked, sympathetically. "And he was rather... cute, from what I can remember, though I was quite a bit younger when I was introduced to him. I remember seeing him at those parties we went to when..." she trailed off. "It was then, wasn't it!" she accused. "When you had me pretend to be you in your bed while you snuck off to do something! You were sneaking off to meet him!" Her cheeks were red. "I... you... I mean, it was a prince and a princess, so it's really romantic, but... you... that was wrong!"
Henrietta was likewise just as pink, and Agnes seemed to be repressing laughter, from the way her shoulders were shaking. "How did you..." The other girl swallowed, and began to suck on her lower lip in nervousness.
"
Why would it be wrong?" Marisalon asked, clearly puzzled. "
Such things are indeed commonplace in the Dynasty, I know as much from the times I served, bound, at parties. What matter of a man or woman would care as long as no bastards exist to ruin the family sanguine lines?"
'I already explained that to you! At length! There are such things as standards!'
"It was pure, beautiful love," Henrietta continued, face distraught, entirely unaware of the dialogue going on without her. "The purest kind. Untainted by... anything like that! And we both knew... and even when I wanted him, he said that it was foolish of me to even ask that of him, because it was unbecoming of a princess and that we should organise a marriage properly. And then the civil war started, and..." she let out a shuddering sigh, and dabbed at her eyes again. "I'm... you would be going into danger, Louise Françoise," she said. "Although Newcastle – that's where the true government was... is still holding out..."
"At least according to the last dispatches, from ten days ago," Agnes interjected.
"... yes, but they will be holding out! They need to!" Henrietta closed her eyes, raising her head towards the glowing magical lights in the room. "No, I need to look at the world as it is, not as it should be. That's why the ship will be a merchant ship, with a legitimate cargo; if Newcastle has already fallen, it will sell its goods, and we must pray that God spares us all the challenges which will be to come. But the majority of the Albionese Royal Fleet has turned traitor, and the rebels control the shipyards at Port's Mouth and have since the start of the war. As traitors, they'll no doubt be a bunch of brigands and thieves, and probably will target perfectly innocent merchants. And then there's the danger of brigands, and of travel, and... oh, when I say it like that, I worry more and more that what I am asking of you is not acceptable."
"I see," Louise said. "But... Your Highness," she said, dropping into formality, "Be it the deepest depths of the lands of the elves, or into the jaws of a dragon, if it's for Your Highness' sake, I'll go anywhere! There is no way the third daughter of the House of la Vallière, Louise Françoise, guardian of the Staff of Destruction, could overlook such a crisis for Her Highness and Tristain!"
"
Of course, such loyalty is rewarded generously, I hope. And... my fairest lady, it was most cunning how you give her the impression that you are as vulnerable as a normal mage, when even now, I doubt there is much that one of your rather pathetic native dragons could do to you. I mean, they're little more than flying river dragons, and despite their elemental abilities, they are certainly not Elemental Dragons or... heh, indeed, they are not the Immac..."
'Trying. To think here.' Louise coughed. "And you said that I would not even be going alone," she added.
"... yes," Henrietta managed, after such an ebullient pledge of allegiance, before blinking, and forcing a smile. "The commander of the expedition is the Knight-Commander of the Griffin Knights, Viscount Wardes, and..."
"My fiancé, yes," the pink-haired girl said. "He
is the bravest man in the kingdom," she said, confidently.
"Quite so. He will have a squad of his finest with him. And," Henrietta nodded, "I will be adding to that. It would not be... proper to send you with all those men alone, so you will have chaperones."
"
Awww. No fun."
"And by that," Agnes said, quite definitely, "she means four of the Royal Musketeers will be accompanying you, one dressed as a member of an
inexprimé house, and the other three as servants. They will be there exclusively to protect you."
"And prevent your virtue from being sullied by unfair rumours," Henrietta hastened to add.
"
Oh. Well, they could be attractive, I suppose."
Louise squared her jaw, and ignored the voice in her head. "I understand, Your Highness," she said, clearly. "When will I depart?"
"The expeditionary force will be passing by the Academy at around the third hour after sunrise," Agnes answered for Henrietta. "Viscount Wardes will collect you. Do so
subtly. Take only what you need; my musketeers will provision for you. It is estimated, if all goes well, it will take no more than a week at maximum."
"I understand," Louise said, butterflies churning in her stomach at how fast this was all progressing.
"
Make sure you take this wondrous artefact with you, my fair lady," Marisalon all but ordered her, something which, for once, Louise completely agreed with. "
You would be a fool to leave this Staff of Destruction behind, and you, my lady, are not a fool."
"And one last thing," the princess said, standing, and taking a hooded cloak from the back of one of Louise's chairs. Reaching in with one pale hand, she withdrew a sealed parchment envelope. "Give this to... to the Prince Wales. Tell Char... tell him that it is from me. Take any answer he provides, and
make sure you get my letter back. If possible, I would like it returned, but... if you are to be captured... and I will pray to Lord and Founder that you are not, destroy it." Sweeping her cloak on, she fastened the ties at the front, pulling a pair of dark gloves out of the pockets, before bringing Louise into a sweeping hug that enveloped the smaller girl. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she whispered into Louise's ear. "I... I knew you'd agree, my friend. I pray for your safe return."
And with that said, she hurried out of the room. Agnes followed her more slowly, turning back to stare at Louise, whose eyes glinted green momentarily. "Do
not betray her trust," the woman with the criss-crossed scars said, voice soft.
Louise did not dignify that with an answer, but instead glared back, her back stiff as a ramrod. And then the older woman was gone, and she let herself sag back down onto her bed, lying flat stretched out, staring at the ceiling.
"Well," she said out loud. "That was..."
"
... interesting?" Marisalon completed for her. "
Potentially advantageous? Or dangerous? Far too many things in your world are unfamiliar, and I don't know enough to advice you as I would like, though, of course, fair maiden, I serve you as best I can.
"Her companion," Louise said. "I checked. Again. Henrietta... she's a water mage, as I've always known, but that 'Agnes'? She was... hollow. Cold. Dark. She smelt of..." the girl smoothed down her coverings, where they had been mussed by being sat on, "... the way the air smells late at night. An equal, though. So the equivalent of a dot-class mage."
"
And why did you not sense for truth and lies in that, my fair lady?" Marisalon chided her. "
She could have lied to you, and..."
Louise closed her eyes. "She's my friend," she said, wearily. "But you don't understand friends, do you? Yes," she continued, with sudden force, as her own words suddenly rang true, "you don't understand friends. You understand masters and servants, and you understand... rutting, like some animal, but you don't understand friends and I don't think you understand love."
The answer when it came had unusual bitterness in it. "
There is no such thing as love without pain," the neomah said, cynically. "
Rutting, as you so eloquently call it, is pleasurable, enjoyable, and allows the crafting of new life. It is an artform; the highest and most perfect of artforms, save dance. But love is only pain, for someone."
"That's not true," the girl answered hotly, rolling over, to glare at her pillow. "Love is beautiful and wonderful and... and... and it's lovely!"
"
And it hurts." The neomah let out a sigh. "
Take your princess. I'm sure that she thinks she loves this Prince Wales. But to turn down the pleasure of mating claiming love is higher than that? Foolish."
Louise did not comment on the impression she had got that it had been
him turning
her down, and sat up, beginning to unfasten her outer layer of the new clothing. "Don't be so bitter and cynical and... and unromantic and perverted and annoying... actually, that! Stay quiet when I tell you I'm trying to concentrate! And no perverted lechery over my friends and Henrietta is one of my friends and she's the princess... and also stop being like...
that over girls! Girls don't like girls in
that sort of way!"
There was a chuckle from the neomah, but no response.
"And anyway," Louise continued, "Viscount Wardes is leading the mission, and he's wonderful and brave and handsome and the Knight-Commander of the Griffin Knights, who are the best soldiers in the country. And he's
my fiancé, believe it or not." She jutted her chin out. "I'm sorry that whatever happened to you made a perverted cynic," she told the neomah, earnestly, "but you'll see that love can be real and proper when he's there." She folded her arms, as she pulled off her skirt, leaving her in only her undergarments and her – woefully underfilled, to her own continual disappointment – corset. "Now, I'm not going to spend more time explaining obvious things to a perverted head-familiar," she lectured the air, "because I'm going to bed. We're going to need a good night's rest."
"
Fairest lady, we only just got back from the trip into town, and we have not eaten yet. Would it not be best to head down to the kitchens... after first putting some more clothes on... and ensuring that we can have a nice, solid, healthy meal, with grapes, before your big trip tomorrow."
"I said we're going to bed! It's your punishment for being an annoying perverted head-familiar when I was trying to talk to the princess! See how you like it."
"
My fairest lady," Marisalon began, in an oily voice, as Louise finished changing into her nightgown, and began to tidy her new clothes away, "
that is not the wisest decision you could make, as you can well see. You need your strength."
"I also need a head-familiar who doesn't letch after my friends and try to... imply
things about girls! You're just... just insolent and rude and perverted because I can't punish you like any other servant who was half as rude and perverted as you are would
rightfully be punished!"
"
I could say I was sorry?"
"You'd be lying. We're going to bed. Now. Once I finish tiding up. And clean my face. And a few other things. But no food!"
"
... well, clearly someone's
feeling better! But are you? Maybe, my fair lady, you should be sure to eat to make sure that you have got over the shock from the violence? After all, being so kind and generous as to let them live must try even one as mighty as you...
"Nuh uh! You're not getting around me that way!"
{0}
Leaning against the carriage window, watching the darkness outside go by, Princess Henrietta sighed, watching the dark night go by. Somewhere in the fields, there was a single burning torch isolated, and she sighed again. "Do you really think I had the right to ask that of her?" she asked the air.
"Yes," Agnes said flatly, hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "You are the princess, and you will be queen. She's one of your subjects."
Looking away from the window, Henrietta shook her head. "Not in that sense." Her hands, resting on her lap, balled into fists. "It's all my fault," she said, softly. "I shouldn't have to send my friend out like that, to Albion, where they're having a civil war. Especially when I haven't talked to her for years. And... and it's all my fault for getting in this mess in the first place. And... I don't want this marriage anyway," the princess said, eyes reddening. "I don't love him; I only met him for the first time in the treaty negotiations. And... that's just me being selfish."
Agnes stared at her silently.
"Oh, I know full well I'm being selfish!" Henrietta blurted out, to the unspoken thoughts. "My body isn't my own. I am the crown's, I am the state. It's my duty to marry the Germanian emperor. Even if he's old, and... we need this treaty. Better solve this now, because I've seen the projections, and Cardinal Marazin is right. This way, we have a partnership of equals, rather than be crushed under the Germanian boot, or taken as an a trophy of Albionese traitors because we lacked allies. Yes," Henrietta said, speaking only to reassure herself now, "we need this, and my feelings don't matter."
"She's not a mage. Nor is she a commoner," Agnes said.
Henrietta blinked. "What?"
"Louise Françoise, as you call her, is neither a mage, nor a commoner, nor indeed a spirit." Agnes tilted her head. "I don't know what she is. I've never seen anything like her before."
The princess pursed her lips tight, pale fingers tapping against the glass of the carriage window. "Are you sure?" she asked, unnecessarily. Agnes was not wrong about these things. Ever.
"Yes. She is not a commoner, though; she has power akin to a dot mage."
Henrietta sighed, massaging her brow. "Why?" she groaned, going to bite her nails before she caught herself. "Why can't something ever go right?" And then her mind began to whir. "Hmm. On the other hand, she's always had problems with magic. And she was acting normally when I talked to her, and I did specifically check that she recalled certain events." Tapping her index finger against her teeth, she paused. "Hmm. Mmm." Then she nodded. "I think I can trust her."
Agnes' eyes narrowed. "My princess," she said, carefully, "you are aware that I said that I do not know what she is, and that I have never met something like her before?"
"Yes." Henrietta's eyes narrowed. "However, I know
her, and trust her enough to entrust this mission to her." She sighed. "She's the most reliable person I know, who I have apart from you, and she can keep secrets. And... Agnes, I would send you, but..."
"Viscount Wardes is officially loyal to the Crown, and you are not yet crowned, my princess. I am officially under your command, loyal only to you. Should the worst come to the worst, he is merely a Tristainian soldier snooping around in a civil war; I am a sign of your personal intervention. She is your best option."
"I know," Henrietta said, slumping back down into the soft leather seats. "I just wish she wasn't. As a friend."
The carriage continued on in silence. Then;
"Agnes? How much are you familiar with the tales of void mages?"
The older woman's hand went up to one of the many scars which criss-crossed her face. "Only a little," she said, cautiously. "I can't remember much. They're as rare as hen's teeth."
Henrietta let out a small smile. "Considerably rarer, actually; chickens are occasionally born with freakish teeth in their jaws. I've seen one, in a curiosity jar. But..." the princess made a curious noise, "everyone agrees that they are powerful, that their spells can destroy cities, that they can bind and break and mend all sorts of things, that they have strange familiars and are powerful and holy." She let out a small chuckle. "Which is to say, we know almost nothing. But from the tales, they could do things that even the entire royal family of Old Tristain, working together, couldn't."
Agnes stared at her, her oddly-shaped eyes narrow. "Is there a point to this, or are you just thinking out loud again?" she asked bluntly. "Do you want me to respond or not, my princess?"
"Hah." Henrietta nodded. "Thinking aloud. But Louise Françoise and I once spent almost a summer, when I was seven, trying to get her magic to work. Well... I say a summer; after she'd blown all those craters in the lawn, I filled them in with water and then we moved pond weed and frogs into them, and we were both rather scolded for that." She flapped a hand. "I digress. But... the way you said it. Looking at the tales, the things that void mages could do were so unlike normal mages that I wonder if they would read as mages, too."
The response was flat, efficient. "You think your friend is a void mage. Do you want her killed?"
"No! Why would you even..."
"A void mage is a saint in the making. A saint, or a martyr. That is how the Church will see it, and that is how the Germanians will see it. You have no proof but idle speculation, and so, my princess, do not speculate where unfriendly ears may be listening. And she is a threat to you. Do you really want such a religious figure? Interfering with your secular authority?"
Henrietta screwed her eyes shut. "... no. And she wouldn't do..."
"It is a pretty little theory," Agnes said, keeping her eyes on her superior. "But you have no evidence that anyone will find acceptable. I will have the musketeers sent with her keep an eye on her, though. And if their evidence suggests that she is a threat to you... that is when you will have to make a hard decision." The horribly scarred woman's sea-green eyes were intense, as she stared at Henrietta. "I couldn't care less for the Church, my princess," she said. "I am loyal to
you and, through you, the Tristainain crown, and I
will not let you be hurt. But as it stands, it is merely your pet theory, and so you do not need to act."
The younger woman leant against carriage glass again. "Yes. It's for the best," she said, softly, before yawning.
Agnes leant forwards, gently placing her hand against Henrietta's brow. "You are tired," the scarred woman said, her voice soft. "I will wake you when you get back to Bruxelles. Cardinal Marazin will wish to see you, as will your mother, and you do not wish to fall asleep on your feet when dealing with either of them." She picked up a cushion, fluffing it up, and passed it to Henrietta, to place against the glass. "Rest."
"Mmm," Henrietta said, shifting about a bit. "Marazin is a bore, isn't he? He means well, but his voice makes me drowsy when he drones on and on. He's usually right. But his voice is boring."
The carriage continued on through the night, heading back to the capital and the Palace.
{0}
"Father!" Jessica called, poking her head into the sideroom in the Charming Fairies Inn. "Father, father, where are you!"
"Oooh," smirked a man lounging in a chair, his doublet wrinkled and creased, "this is a prett' one indeed." He leered, dislodging the topless redhead who was the cause of the wrinkles and creases, who leant closer, tracing her finger along his jaw. "I think I want her too."
"My good friend, dear Baron, it is entirely up to my daughter whether she chooses you to bestow her favours upon," the proprietor of this establishment, Scarron said jovially, propping his chin on his hand.
"Prett' bountiful favours," the man slurred, staring at her chest. "Ver' pretty."
"Ah,
mia figlia, why are you here," Scarron asked, straightening up slightly, his eyes becoming slightly sharper, as he glanced back at his daughter.
"I just got sent by the backroom staff to say that the last delivery of the new wine you ordered from Tarbes has been moved from to the basement, father. It's been checked, and it's all in good condition. Elloise says it's all a proper vintage."
"A new deliver' of wine from Tarbes?" The noble squinted down, at his now empty goblet. "That'd be just the thing, actuall'. I think I drank it all already." He reached for one of the three goblets in front of him, and chose one of the ones which didn't actually exist, slumping onto the table. "Maybe I can have some more, ol' boy?"
Scarron beamed. "
Mia figlia, that is wonderful news indeed," he exclaimed. "Would you say that it's ready? And, Emma, give the Baron more wine!" he instructed the redhead. "As he is my good friend, he deserves only the best!"
"Yea', I do," the nobleman slurred "You're... you're so good t' me, Scarron. Not... not like m' wife."
Jessica, keeping a smile on her face, leant forwards slightly. "Yes, it's all ready," she said. "The vinyard say that they want this wine to sell well."
"Wonderful!" Scarron exclaimed. "Then we just need to..."
"
Mi mademoiselle," the redhead reported, turning to face Scarron, "the Baron appears to have fall... I mean, be worse for wear." Idly, she tucked her breasts back into her loose dress, doing the buttons up with one hand as she waited for further instructions.
"Ah, such a shame." The man clasped his hands to his chest. "Such a shame indeed. Well, well. Emma, get one of the lads to carry him up to one of the rooms, to help him sleep it off, and make sure he is suitably
debonair by the morning. You are his sweetheart, beloved of him; make him happy!"
Jessica stared flatly at her father, sweeping over to take the cups to be washed. "He fell worse-for-wear a little faster than usual," she remarked, raising an eyebrow as she sniffed the sweet-smelling wine.
Scarron gave a one-shouldered shrug. "The Baron, he is not a nice man," he said. "But he is rich, and the Baroness, she is charming. And clever. She prefers him out of her hair. So maybe I sweeten the tap a little, to spare Emma having to handle him."
"And I'm happy about that," the redhead added, as she levered the unconscious man to his feet. "Can I get some help here?" she called out. "He's got a gut and an 'alf."
The man shook his head, as a man in the dress of a valet stepped in, to help with the unconscious baron. "So sad. But," and he perked up a bit, "Jessica, you will have to look after the place for the next few days, yes? I will be selling our new wine, and we will be away. With luck, it'll only be one day, but otherwise you will need to manage the bookings on airsday and that means..."
"I already know, father," the girl said. Her hands balled into fists, but she relaxed, placing one hand on his brow. "And you'll be careful? I don't want to have to run this place by myself, and I saw what the... she could do."
Scarron puffed his chest up. "Don't you trust me,
mia figlia? When I was a younger man, I fought in Romalia! I am a glorious champion of war! Bravest of men! I can deliver wine!"
"I
know father," Jessica said, wearily, "but... still, take care."
{0}
