The fear L'nessa showed, felt like V'neef is playing herself up as the victim too much. Yes, Mnemon dislikes her. But is there really nothing she could do to protect her House? Offering her support in exchange for marriages that bind their Houses tightly together is the kind of thing dynasties are built on.
So, as I had hoped would be clear from the way that Mnemon cannot speak about her without getting pissed off, refuses to actually say her name, and expressed something to the effect of "why is she not more grateful that I'm not someone who would have had her murdered as a child", V'neef has very valid reasons to question the longevity of her house and the safety of her family in many or even most of the possible outcomes of this civil war unless she can make sure she comes out in a favourable position. She has no particular guarantee that debasing herself before Mnemon is going to move Mnemon to spare her family, and even if it does, that the manner in which Mnemon "spares" her family is going to be acceptable. Do you feel that when L'nessa worries about House V'neef being stripped of its titles and privileges and banished to the Threshold, this is an unlikely thing to happen? What power does V'neef have to prevent this, from her perspective, if she gives up her biggest point of leverage -- being an Imperial Daughter with a Great House and a theoretical candidate for the throne?
V'neef sent Ambraea's close friend and roommate of seven years to soften her up and convince her to come speak to V'neef. If she has this kind of connection, has taken pains to encourage it over the years, trusts her daughter to be able to manage this -- admittedly perhaps putting a little too much pressure on L'nessa a little too early, given everything -- why do you think she should not make use of this? Do you feel that simply summoning Ambraea to her presence, as someone Ambraea is not friends with, is not a peer of, does not like on a personal level, is in line with the kind of social tactics V'neef has been described as deploying, compared to Mnemon, who will simply be high handed and commanding and expect Ambraea to be grateful for the regard?
Gazetteer, are we going to meet with V'neef before or after Ledaal Shigora and Sesus Kasi?
also I'm curious. had we met Mnemon in a fully public venue, would she have still made the same offer just as candidly? if so, how much more attention would that draw to Ambraea from houses besides the four who had already messaged us?
Even without being a sorcerer, every Exalt type has a sequence of Charms that let them sense and interact with various immaterial things, which would include ghosts. So... "as much as they feel like" is basically the upper limit, here. They can make friends with a ghost, go ghost-busting, or even move to the Underworld without using any necromancy.
If we do end up with a mentor in the sorcerous arts, Mnemon or otherwise, Ambraea lacking such a spell is probably going to be the first thing they address, with an appropriate amount of Chastising.
"You have had a busy day." Your father, fresh from sword training, considers your explanation thoughtfully, sheathing his daiklave. You catch sight of your own pensive reflection in the blue and white jadesteel of the sabre's blade before he slides it out of view again.
"You might say that." You have found him in the small training courtyard set aside from his use. With sheer walls all around you, the door secured, and nothing overhead but rooftops and blue skies, you should have the privacy to discuss things with him unheard. Unless someone is hiding very well on the rooftops. That's not impossible, but you'll risk it.
"Mnemon has more to offer you," Nazat says, after a thoughtful moment. "Her house is older, more established, more secure — she is not unlikely to be the next Empress even if she is far too arrogant to imagine it might ever be otherwise. It would be difficult to ever find a mentor of your craft with more to teach you than her, I would imagine." He keeps his tone carefully neutral.
"You dislike Mnemon," you point out.
Nazat sighs, crossing his arms. "I won't deny it. She is apparently willing to disregard our personal and theological disagreements in extending this offer to you, and I am trying to show at least as much grace."
Considering how Mnemon had stressed your father's moral and spiritual failings and he'd just taken the opportunity to comment on her arrogance, you will admit that they're each bringing a similar spirit of reconciliation to the affair.
Nazat picks up his earlier train of thought. "I wouldn't imagine that she is above going back on her word, under certain circumstances, but if she is offering this to you so openly, I think she means what she says. She would take you into her own household, arrange a good marriage, and put you to work. Mould you in her own image, if you prove loyal and capable. And we both know you're both of these things. If she takes the throne, you would be an Imperial Daughter twice over, although you would have many more sisters than you currently do to be compared against."
Mnemon has had quite a few children over the decades, the fathers many, varied, and frequently later married to one of Mnemon's descendants. She famously commits half of her children to the Immaculate Order in an extravagant show of piety. However, she still has more than one daughter far older and more experienced than you, already heading their own households with their own children and grandchildren, to say nothing of Rulinsei.
Safety to grow, for you and your future family. Political capital with which to support your Hearthmates, at need. To say nothing of your father's safety, although he has voiced no opinion on that aspect — it is simultaneously touching and frustrating, the degree to which he's clearly willing to put your needs and your future ahead of his own. Your eyes roam around the courtyard, landing on what remains of a small pillar of stone, now strewn across the sand by a series of impossibly sharp cuts. "And V'neef?" you ask.
"As I said," Nazat says, following your gaze, "Mnemon has more to offer you. But you have more to offer V'neef."
You nod, following him quickly enough. "Her house is younger, smaller, less established. My talents make more of a difference, and she benefits more from being seen to take in a younger Imperial Daughter. I'd have more bargaining power."
"Yes," Nazat agrees. "She's still a rich and powerful woman in her own right, and she has many skilled and experienced Dragon-Blooded in her family — but they're former patricians, many of them former outcastes. Your marriage prospects would also aid her greatly, if you sought adoption. And the rewards could certainly be great, should she take the throne. You would be banking on her doing so, if you made this choice, and I assume doing all in your power to help ensure it."
Whatever small good that might do, in the end. But he's right, you would. "I doubt L'nessa would forgive me, if I went against her house now," you say. You hadn't been cruel enough to reveal the depths of L'nessa's desperation, or her utter loss of composure, but your father can certainly read between the lines slightly where the very sudden nature of your second meeting is concerned.
"Likely not," Nazat agrees. "And why should she? House Mnemon are her family's enemies. She has good reason to worry — Mnemon has hardly made her dislike a secret. It's very likely a strong factor in why V'neef feels compelled to press a claim in the first place. I don't know your school friend, but I have known Matriarch V'neef off and on since she was a girl. In her own way, she is a Wood Aspect to a fault. Her family is her garden, and she will do all that's required to defend it and advance its prosperity."
"Do you think they have a chance?" you ask, stung by his honest appraisal, even if it's not anything you didn't already know.
"Yes, I think," Nazat says. "Mnemon underestimates the number of enemies she's made, how many people and families would view her rise to power with fear and alarm. V'neef is young, but that's not even entirely against her favour — she strikes a much more sympathetic figure, and her supporters might hope to wield far more influence over her than they might through Mnemon. She is also an effortlessly charismatic politician and diplomat in her own right. If you did choose her, I hope that it is for these reasons."
"What are you saying?" you ask, frowning.
Your father sighs. He bends to pick up several small shards of the pillar you'd been examining. Straightening, he rolls them back and forth in the palm of one big, rough hand. "Speaking as your father, I don't want to see you making a decision based on what's good for V'neef L'nessa. I'd like to see you make this decision based on what's good for you. In the end, of course, you are also your mother's daughter."
"I take it you mean in more ways than simply literally," you say.
Nazat gives you a very sad smile. The shards he'd picked up begin to hover over his palm and slowly to slowly circle around it. It's a thoughtful gesture more than anything. "The girl has been your friend. You'd like to keep that, keep her with you. When you want something, or someone, or you set your mind to a course of action, you have a tendency to follow through, damn the consequences. Your mother is the same, at times. But you lack our Empress's shrewdness and her experience at picking the right battles — that can only come with age. You also lack her ruthlessness." He gives you a close look, then looks away, eyes following the stones orbiting his flattened palm. "That may also come with age. But I think you have the beginnings of it, when pushed."
You hadn't killed Peleps Nalri, but her death had only served to make you and Maia closer than ever. You should still regret it. It might have been avoided. Instead of a denial, your voice grows very quiet as you say: "I don't throw people away, so far. Or set them aside when I'm simply bored of them." He must know that you're thinking of the Empress's treatment of him, at times.
Nazat's face softens ever so slightly. "Earth can be more steadfast than Fire, but slower to move, less flexible at need. To both our detriment, I think." The topic of the Empress and your resemblance to her has clearly affected him, but he's keeping it in check more than he had the last time.
"As you say," you reply. You're still not entirely sure how to feel about the comparison, but you can do him the favour of changing the subject. "I suppose I'll see whether or not Sesus Kasi is really just trying to catch up with a passing acquaintance."
"Her mother is Sesus Cerec," Nazat says.
"Yes," you say, frowning. You'd only met Amiti and Kasi's mother once, quite a few years ago. She'd been speaking to Oban at the time, and had perhaps not made as much of an impression as he had. "Is that important?"
"I have not met the woman," Nazat says, "but I've heard her name come up more than it should, for someone who's just been a serving legionary officer most of her life. Always in connection to powerful people from her house, never the centre of attention."
Your memory of Cerec does paint her as a quiet, grey sort of figure — for a Dragon-Blooded Dynast, surprisingly adept at simply blending into the background. Amiti does not seem to have a tremendous amount of affection for her beyond her basic filial obligation, but this isn't so unusual for young Dynasts toward a busy parent. "Is she more important than she seems?"
"Possibly," Nazat says. He lets the stones in his hand drop to the sand again, one piece after the next. "Keep an eye out, tread carefully with Cerec if she makes an appearance. And in general while you're dealing with the younger daughter for that matter, even if you're school friends with the elder. The Spiral Academy teaches more than just bureaucratic processes."
You're certain that Sesus Kasi's gratitude for you befriending her sister hadn't been feigned, but he makes a good point. You don't know her nearly as well as you know Amiti, and she does not appear to have her sister's guileless good nature. "I will keep this in mind."
"Good." Nazat looks down at his sheathed sword for a moment, studying the Pure Way scripture spirally its way around around the white leather of its scabbard. "When things are slightly less chaotic, I would like the chance to see how your sword skills have progressed over the years, if you would indulge me."
It's a very sudden change of subject, but not an unwelcome one. You've improved a great deal — you wonder how well you'd stack up to him, now. "When things are slightly less chaotic," you say, agreeing. "I suppose I should return soon, to write responses to the other letters. Assuming I don't have any other surprises waiting for me today."
"You didn't see who left this?"
"No, my lady," Garnet says. "It must have arrived before I returned."
You nod, not even looking at her, your eyes still fixed on the letter in your hands. You stand over the desk in your study, your feelings in utter turmoil. You take a deep breath, and find yourself reading it again:
To my Lady Ambraea,
I apologise if what I have set out to do today will bring you pain. I have cared for you since the day you were born, nursing and raising you alongside ███████████████. If it is not too impertinent to say, I am proud of the woman you have become, and I am confident that you do not need me anymore as you once did. With any luck, by the time you are reading this, I will be gone, and you may not see me again.
I thank you for remembering me after all these years, and for your wish to see to my future. I hope you find it in yourself to take comfort in the knowledge that I have left for a safe place, in the company of one who will see me there to the best of ███ power. Please do not think of this as an aspersion on your ability to protect me. My first duty must simply be to ███████████████. I pray that one day, when you have children of your own, you understand.
█████ has told me that it won't work, but I feel I owe you an explanation, for why I am leaving you, and why I am fleeing my place here after all these years of serving the Imperial Presence. In brief:
█████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████. This is hard to credit, but it is true. I hope that, despite what ███ has said, some part of this stays with you.
With all my devotion and regret,
Lohna Prince's Scribe
You spend a silent, furious moment glaring at the ink stains on the page, having so perfectly obscured large swathes of the message. It had been your own fault, of course. You'd slammed your hand down on your desk, and the spill had happened before you'd noticed. The second, smaller letter is in even worse shape than the first, more or less completely illegible beyond your name at the top. Your thoughts are so scattered at the moment that, for some reason, you can't quite remind yourself what the substance of it had been, despite having read it only moments before.
Why, then, does looking at it fill you with such a sense of reassurance? You're still very upset, obviously — the woman who raised you has apparently been roped into some kind of escape plan by an unknown party, something that could spell dire peril for her whether or not she succeeds. And it's impossible not to feel a sting of mingled abandonment and failure. Is there no one and nothing that you can keep safe, from your Hearthmates to a single slave woman, such that she'd thought this was a safer option?
A dutiful, law-abiding daughter would have reported such an escape attempt immediately, of course. If you were confident in your capacity to shield Lohna from the consequences of her actions, you might have done so, out of simple fear for what might happen otherwise. You have no such confidence, however, and you're terrified of doing anything to directly call attention to her in a way that would invite the harsh discipline of the Imperial Household.
You can look for her yourself, for all the good that is likely to do, and you can hope for the best. Your eyes drift back to the second letter with this last thought, and you frown at it, trying to muster its contents in your head. A phrase slips into your mind, one that feels oddly familiar on your tongue as you murmur: "Where would I be without your singular grace? Here, apparently." You can't quite place where you've heard the phrase before, but you put it quickly from your mind.
"Garnet, some wine, I think," you say.
"As my lady requires," Garnet says. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her bow, and step out of the room.
The estate of Sesus Emeri, in the Imperial City,
The following day
"I saw them perform that play last year. It's still pretty good, of course, but honestly, I don't think their new lead actor is quite as talented as the last boy," Sesus Kasi says, looking back over her shoulder as she leads you through the halls of the stately townhouse. The pale silk of her dress whispers along with every spritely step.
"I'll admit, my own education has left far less time for keeping up with the arts," you say. Then, because you get the sense that she wants you to, you ask: "Why did the previous actor leave?"
Kasi falls back to walk more alongside you, leaning in close, a candid, almost mischievous look in her eye as she looks up at you. Despite your lingering anxiety for Lohna and your deep ambivalence over the play you'd just seen, you find yourself drawn in. "Well, the word is, he caught the eye of a wealthy Dynast and is now spending his days in luxury as a bureaucrat's consort. I don't blame her entirely — he'd definitely look pretty, adorning an estate or a bed chamber, but it is a little selfish, keeping him all to herself. He really was fantastically compelling. He sold the tragedy of the character without obscuring the depravity of the role."
Her presence almost seems to radiate a comfortable, subtle warmth, like an exceptionally pleasant summer day. Given everything going wrong lately, and how much you keenly miss both of your lovers, and whose face exactly Kasi happens to share, you are determined not to notice that she is genuinely quite pretty. Instead, you ask: "Isn't it a little morally questionable, though? A mortal playing that kind of role?"
Kasi laughs, managing not to make it seem too condescending. "Oh, don't be like that, The Cursed Son is a classic. Trying to get an Exalted actor everytime someone wants to put it on would be impractical, and it would ruin the effect of a sweet, innocent young man who becomes a monster while trying to deny it."
"I suppose so," you say, although you have your misgivings. The earliest version of The Cursed Son had been written at some point in the Realm's third century, and has been deeply controversial ever since. The youngest son of a great general watches helplessly as his family falls on hard times and his love chooses another man. In his desperation to right the wrongs against his family, he steals a piece of the moon's power, becomes an Anathema, and all the good intentions he had are twisted by his monstrous nature. He ends the play with his family in utter ruin, his love dead by his own hand, and a band of heroes hunting him. In a moment of clarity, he finally casts himself off a high cliff, in the end finally doing one single thing right.
The morality of the play has been debated viciously over the centuries, with numerous censored and revised versions having become popular at different points. The intended moral of the work is, ultimately, that the prince reaches for power beyond his station, and the resulting Anathema he becomes destroys everything he had once held dear. At the same time, the play still offers what feels disturbingly like sympathy for a Face Stealer, of all things — even with a fictional Anathema, particularly after what you saw on your first Wyld Hunt, it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
Whatever one thinks, it has always escaped being outright banned by the Immaculate Order or secular authorities, however, very likely due to having once upon a time been written by one of your mother's favourite lovers. How long will that last now, you wonder, without the prospect of her wrath falling down on a would-be censor? As you don't like the play anyway, you simply put the thought from your mind.
"Amiti would have liked it, I think," you say.
Kasi smiles a little wryly. "Oh, well, maybe! She only memorised Daimyo Willow Stream's entire romantic monologue as a girl so that she could recite it to herself and sigh longingly. So you tell me."
"That does sound a great deal like her," you say, amused at the thought. Never mind that the monologue is followed by the daimyo immediately being informed of her love's abrupt unsuitability for marriage. Knowing Amiti, that might be part of what she likes about it.
"I understand that she roped you into reading some of her favourite novels," Kasi says.
"Perhaps," you allow, too busy looking at the flame-inspired art on the walls to entirely maintain her gaze. "There has been little enough time for leisure reading amidst all our studies." Not that you'd have thought this was the case, with the rate Amiti had gone. You had read a romance that she'd lent you, maybe two. They hadn't been a wholly unengaging diversion.
"Perhaps," Kasi echoes, faintly amused.
She takes you up a flight of stairs, along a hallway where high windows give a charming view of the best parts of the Imperial City. You look out at it, at the distant splendour of the palace and the monuments to the Realm's glory. The street outside is paved with beautifully engraved stones taken from the dismantled temples of a conquered southern god.
"I hope you don't mind me saying, Lady Ambraea," Kasi says, bringing you back to the present, "but you seem troubled."
"There is much to occupy my mind," you say. "I hope you will not take it as an insult to the quality of your company."
"I won't," Kasi says. She stops by an open door leading to a small balcony overlooking a garden. Bees move industriously from flower to flower. "I can understand why you might be distracted. A great deal is happening at once, for you in particular."
"It is," you acknowledge. You suspect that some manner of pitch is coming — unlike L'nessa, Sesus Kasi did actually go through with properly entertaining you ahead of it, but you know that Kasi has you here for a reason.
"I'm sure that seeking the support of a powerful house has not escaped you as an option," Kasi says.
"A house like yours?" you ask.
"Well, yes," Kasi says. "There was already some preliminary marriage talk about you and my cousin, Sesus Ambar, and my family certainly won't forget that you stood by our forces in a Wyld Hunt against three Anathema. Things have changed, but maybe they haven't changed that much, in some ways."
"I have already been approached by two other houses," you admit.
"I'd heard," Kasi says. "Would you mind if I were direct?"
"Please," you say.
She lowers her voice, as if passing on a secret, stepping closer to you. "You don't have to throw everything behind the hope that one of your sisters takes the throne. There are more flexible options. There are only two great military houses left."
Out of loyalty to Sola, you feel the urge to argue that her house isn't gone, but you recognise that it would come across as splitting hairs, under the circumstances. "And you believe this gives you—"
You trail off as a servant rounds the corner, approaching Kasi with a serious look on her face. Kasi turns to follow your gaze, frowning slightly at the sight of the interruption. "Yes?" she asks. The servant bows low, before stepping closer to Kasi and whispering something in her ear. Kasi stiffens, a look of mingled shock and excitement crossing her face. "She didn't even send word!" she exclaims.
You raise your eyebrows. "She?" you ask.
"Yes," Kasi says, suddenly awkward, "I'm very sorry, I understand that this is unusual, but would you be willing to put this conversation on hold for a moment. Something important has just come up."
"By all means," you say, genuinely curious.
"Thank you, you're very gracious," Kasi says, stepping toward the corner that the servant had just come from. "If you would like to have a seat, our people can retrieve some refreshments for you." She nods toward a semi-circular bench on the balcony, currently some afternoon shade.
Kasi doesn't have the chance to actually depart, however. No sooner has she started down the hallway than she stops short, eyes wide. She's intercepted by a small, pale figure still dressed for the road. Shockingly, Kasi is then literally swept up into a brief, tight hug.
"It's so good to see you!" says Sesus Amiti, overjoyed.
Kasi herself seems torn between an annoyed exasperation and a genuine delight, the former fueled by your presence taking away even the dubious privacy the hallway might have otherwise had. The awkwardness of your situation conquers your own happy surprise at seeing your friend enough that you elect to study the window frame you're standing nearest to — very good carpentry, you think.
"It's good to see you too!" Kasi says, extricating herself from the hug. "Why didn't you write ahead that you were coming?"
"Well, you don't like getting Blood Mirror messages," Amiti says. Her smile hasn't faded and she is seemingly still unaware of your presence.
Kasi sighs. "I meant why didn't you write a letter, using paper, not sorcery to make your own blood seep out of my looking glass."
"That would have taken longer, and I was already on my way to the city," Amiti says, very reasonably. Then in a display of shocking patience, she waits a full second before adding: "It's necromancy, not sorcery."
You stifle a laugh. This draws Amiti's attention toward you, at which point her face genuinely lights up all over again. "Oh, Ambraea! I didn't expect to see you so soon!"
"The feeling is mutual," you say. "I'm pleased to see you. You really should have warned your family, though." You don't really mean the chiding. It's just nice to see a familiar face who is not having an emotional breakdown and saying hurtful things about your mother.
"Well, if I'd done that, then maybe mother would have told me not to come," Amiti says.
"Really, Amiti?" Kasi asks, long suffering.
"I wanted to see you," Amiti says. "It's been seven years. Letters aren't the same. And I have a few things I want to discuss with mother face to face, for that matter, and she certainly isn't going to be able to make time to come to me somewhere else anytime soon."
"She's not going to be pleased," Kasi says, frowning.
"Well, of course she won't be pleased, she'll be talking to me," Amiti says, unbothered.
"That's going a bit far," Kasi says, casting a meaningful glance in your direction. "We'll continue this later." You're not offended — it's obviously a family conversation.
"Alright," Amiti says.
"At least sit down," Kasi says, indicating the balcony. She seems to have wholly abandoned the rest of her plans for this encounter, at least for now. "You look like you're about to fall down."
"That's only because I'm paler than you remember," Amiti says, but there's a certain half-boneless relief as she settles herself down onto a bench.
"I wouldn't have said that was possible before you left, but you've managed it," Kasi says. "Bring us something sweet, and something to wash it down with," she tosses off to the servant girl, who has been standing awkwardly off to one side this entire time.
"At once, my lady," the servant says, before bowing and retreating.
You and Kasi take your own seats — Kasi nearest to Amiti, you on the far end. It's a little uncanny, seeing them next to each other like this. It isn't so much because of how similar they look, but rather the combination of that and the ways they look completely different. As she had been when you'd first met her, Kasi is golden blonde, red-eyed, and rosy cheeked. You'd already had the strange feeling of Amiti being a version of her that had been drained of all colour, but it's even harder to shake with them actually in the same room as one another — Amiti is the winter to Kasi's summer.
"You changed your hair!" Amiti says, looking at Kasi sidelong.
"I would hope that I'd change my hair at least once since I was fifteen," Kasi says, rolling her eyes a little. "It honestly rates more of a mention that you haven't."
"I don't like to think about my hair," Amiti says, shrugging this off. As it has been for as long as you've known her, her bone-white hair is kept at an unfashionable compromise length, not quite shoulder-length.
"Yes, I know," Kasi says, sighing again. But she's smiling despite herself as she does it.
"It really is good to see you again," Amiti says, seeming reassured by the critique more than anything. She glances at you, hastily adding: "And you, Ambraea! Although it's not been quite as long. Are Maia and Sola in the city? No, that's right, they both had to go home first."
"They did," you say, suppressing a pang of longing. "I'll see them again soon enough. L'nessa is in the city, though."
"Oh, I'd thought that she might be," Amiti says, "How did she seem?"
Awful, you don't say. "She seemed a little overworked," you settle on. "I think her mother has been relying on her quite a bit."
"Well, she definitely hasn't been relying on V'neef S'thera," Kasi says. "Drunk in public again last night."
"Oh no," Amiti says, "why is she doing that?"
"Her fiancé, Tepet Kedus, died in the North," you say. "He was also her Hearthmate." It's still a pathetic display, for a woman you'd been hoping to surpass all these years, but there are at least somewhat extenuating circumstances.
"Oh, I'd probably act out too," Amiti says, looking aghast enough to make up for your ambivalence.
"I think you'd be less likely to get drunk in upscale brothels," Kasi says, dryly.
"Well, I don't know what else I'd do if I found myself in an upscale brothel," Amiti says.
"No, you'd pull out a book and read. You're too old and too Exalted now for anyone to pluck it out of your hands and throw it out the window for doing that in the wrong setting," Kasi says.
"That's true," Amiti says, "but I don't imagine the lighting would be very good."
Despite everything going on, it's nice to have an actual pleasant distraction, at least for a short while. "Have you been keeping busy since graduation?" you ask Amiti.
"Oh, yes!" she says. "I got the name of a ghost who was a very famous necromancer in life. It's strange, but it almost never works out that way, did you know?"
You frown. "That a necromancer leaves a ghost?"
"Yes!" Amiti says, "There's a theory that the energies might draw your soul closer to oblivion. Almost all of them who can do necromancy are specters, which is fascinating. Anyway, though, she's been very helpful. I'm studying a spell to make accessing the Underworld easier without having to start opening up shadowlands, which almost no one ever likes. It's something Huwen suggested—"
Kasi cuts in, apparently hoping to avoid the two of you drifting into a highly technical discussion of ghosts and spells. "Randen Huwen?"
Amiti stops short, taking a moment or two to process the interruption. "Oh, yes, he's very clever about these things, and always so thoughtful. He was thinking— Kasi, stop smiling like that, you're being awful!" A rare touch of colour blooms in Amiti's face.
"Wasn't your necromancer boy a Daha-Ai?" you ask, amused yourself.
"The Empress struck House Daha-Ai and several neighbouring ones from the rolls before she vanished," Kasi supplies, having very much not stopped smiling when instructed to. "Dwindling numbers, and severe mismanagement of the lands they were ruling over."
"Well, it's not their fault if Anathema showed up and decided to be horrible," Amiti says, a little defensively. To you, she adds: "House Randen was kind enough to adopt Huwen's mother and sister, and the mortal family members were part of the bargain. He's taken it rather hard, though, poor thing."
"It's too bad you're not there to comfort him in person. I'm sure that would take his mind off things," Kasi says.
"Stop!" says Amiti, swatting her on the shoulder. It's a token gesture, with no true anger behind it. "He's a friend. I'd still like to meet him properly someday, of course, but that's not..."
As the two of them continue, you fall silent. Watching them gives you a strange feeling. The two sisters are obviously incredibly different, for all their likeness in voice and features, but there's a sense of genuine affection between the two of them. You can't imagine what it must be like, having a sibling who you not only care for, but feel comfortable loving so freely. Outside of possibly Mnemon and Rulinsei, you doubt any of your half-siblings have had that. It's not abnormal for the Dynasty, but your immediate family is, perhaps, a more extreme case than most.
But surely that much is by design. from the perspective of a ruler in the Scarlet Empress's position, you're forced to acknowledge that imperial children busy squabbling amongst themselves would be both easier for her to control, and less likely to band together against her. The fact that you know this doesn't make the conditions you'd grown up in or the feelings that they had instilled in you simply vanish, however. Any more than that same knowledge has let your older siblings do the same in all their longer years.
"... Well, there's nothing much to say about my love life," Kasi says. "One of us has to be responsible."
"Were you being responsible with that Thunderhead girl you wrote about?" Amiti asks.
"Extremely," Kasi says, unflappable.
The servant arrives with refreshments amid Amiti's protests.
The three of you enjoy some casual conversation to go along with a platter of sweets and a very nice dessert wine. Amiti's presence, and the evidence of your friendship with her, seem to make Kasi unbend in a way she hasn't in your presence before. As distractions go, it's a very nice time.
At length, Kasi finally induces Amiti to go rest from the road — it seems like a good idea, given how little sleep Amiti tends to afford herself when she's hit on an interesting research topic. You're still a little sorry to see her go.
Kasi watches her depart, before taking a polite sip of wine, and glancing back to you. "I brought up to you before that I was worried about her when we parted ways seven years ago."
"Do you think your fear was misplaced now?" you ask.
"Yes and no," Kasi admits. "I couldn't have guessed how successful she'd be at forming genuinely important connections — that you'd look out for her the way you did. It's not her fault that one of them is less valuable than it should be. I'm not trying to insult your Hearthmate, I'm just speaking practically."
"None taken," you say, although the reminder of Sola's predicament puts a damper on your mood.
"At the same time..." Kasi looks down the hall that Amiti had left through again. "... She's gotten very strange over the years. Well, stranger — she's always been like that. It's just worse now. Does being a sor— necromancer do that?"
You sense that this is a serious, delicate question. "Do you understand why Dragon-Blooded necromancers are so much less common than Dragon-Blooded sorcerers?" you ask.
"It's not my area of expertise," Kasi says. She refills your glass, which had been getting a little empty.
You consider how to explain this to a laywoman, even an Exalted layman. "Sorcery involves harnessing the Essence of Creation, taking it into yourself, and using it to perform certain effects, which are discovered, rather than created. Powerful, but less flexible and simple than our native magic." You hold up a hand, and one of your rings gently pulls off of your finger, floating into the air above your hand, suspended there by the gemstone. "Our native Essence is not exactly the same, but it is close enough — Dragon-Blooded with the talent for sorcery are not so uncommon. Amiti did not have this talent at all."
"What do you mean?" Kasi asks. "She can cast spells, she graduated from the Heptagram."
"Necromancy is a separate discipline," you say. "It involves harnessing the Essence of the Underworld itself. It is difficult for a Dragon-Blood to turn their Essence to be able to do so — vanishingly few can manage this." You don't add that part of you is quite happy that this is the case. "The effects of sorcerous initiation can be dramatic. Sorcerers have a reputation for a reason. Necromancy, much more so. Did Amiti tell you what exactly she did to initiate, years ago?"
"It was something about soulsteel," Kasi says, "I admit, I tend to skim the more technical parts of her letters. They're very dense, even with the diagrams." She seems increasingly concerned, and you doubt you're about to put her mind at ease. There isn't going to be a gentle way to break this to her.
"Amiti has forged a small piece of her lower soul into a soulsteel pendant, and the resulting spiritual wound has formed a wellspring that Underworld Essence can collect in," you say.
"Is that as bad as it sounds?" Kasi asks, clutching her wine in both hands.
"It doesn't seem to have seriously harmed her. Over time, however, I feel that it has made her more distant from worldly concerns, and more fixated on her passions and intellectual pursuits. It isn't as if she doesn't feel — many things simply matter less to her than they should. It has... exaggerated her natural tendencies."
Kasi forces herself to relax somewhat, although she doesn't seem pleased. She takes a slow swallow of wine. "I noticed in her letters, although I tried to ignore it at first. And then it's even more obvious in person."
"She is still a very good friend," you say, "and very sweet, in her way."
"That almost makes it worse," Kasi admits. "Her being sweet makes her too trusting, and too easily hurt when the world is cruel to her."
You think of Peleps Nalri, and have to privately agree. "We all have our shortcomings," you say.
"True enough," Kasi says. "I can continue to do what I can to paint her in the best light I can to our mother. Aside from that, I hope she is as lucky in her friends in the future as she has been so far."
"I hope to continue to count her among mine for years to come," you say. It's easy for friendships to become more distant away from school, of course.
"I'm not just worried about how she'll be treated, though," Kasi says. "I'm worried about what she might do. Where she might go. Her curiosity outstrips her sense, sometimes. I would feel better if she had companions versed enough in the occult to steer her away from the worst of her impulses."
"I feel that you're asking me for something," you say, your voice quiet.
"Your Hearth only has three members," Kasi notes.
"It does," you acknowledge. You care for Amiti a great deal, if you're honest, and her talents are undeniable, if sometimes disquieting. She really would benefit from some oversight, as well. It would give you two Air Aspects, but a perfect Hearth, one of each Aspect, is an idealised notion more than a practical one much of the time. "I would need to discuss this with my Hearthmates."
"Of course," Kasi says. "Apologies for my forwardness."
"It's nothing," you say, taking another sip of sweet wine. It remains shockingly good, notes of blackberry and cherry exploding across your palette. You believe that Kasi is truly trying to look out for her sister's best interests. You also think, however, that convincing you to invite Amiti into your Hearth would constitute a valuable tie that she and her family might be able to make use of, whether or not you attach yourself to House Sesus in other ways. You trust Amiti, but she's not immune from the influence of the one family member for whom she seems to hold strong personal affection.
When you finally part ways with Sesus Kasi after a further hour of pleasant conversation, you realise to your slight annoyance that the wine has affected you more than you'd ordinarily expect. Still, you manage to keep your pace measured and your gait even as you make your way to collect Garnet and be on your way.
"Ah, Lady Ambraea, how lovely to see you."
You had been so focused on maintaining your outward composure that the unassuming presence of the small, older woman sitting by a window completely catches you off guard. "And you, Sesus Cerec," you manage, speaking up before the pause is distractingly long. "It's been some time."
Cerec sits in a comfortable looking chair, the book in her hands making her look startlingly like Amiti, for a moment. She shuts it firmly without bothering to mark her place, setting it aside as she rises to greet you. "I hope my daughter has kept you well entertained."
"Both of them have," you say. Before thinking to add: "Have you been told that Amiti is here as well?"
"I have," Cerec says, tone a little dry. "After she'd already arrived, of course. I like to think of myself as a well-informed woman, but I suppose that girl has always been impossible to predict." Then without warning, she takes a deliberate swerve. "Are you a student of recent history, Lady Ambraea?"
"I'd like to think so," you say, your tongue distractingly thick in your mouth. Just how much wine had you drunk?
"Well, don't we all," Cerec says. She has a small and enigmatic smile as well as Kasi's red eyes. Her shifting, smokelike hair is a strange distraction. "I hope you won't mind if I remind you — a century ago, House Sesus had several great rivals. We vied against Iselsi and Tepet in different ways. Where are they now?"
Something about her tone sends a chill through your body. "What are you implying?" you ask.
"I am implying," Cerec says, "that we are adept at taking full advantage of whatever circumstances our family finds itself in, and at rising to the occasion. I think we could make use of one another."
A very conspicuous way to put things. "Maybe," you say, head swimming just a little.
Cerec laughs. "Well, I won't force you to make a decision here and now — although, Mnemon is not a woman who likes to be kept waiting, so you'll need to make a decision very soon, I think. If you're interested in what we have to offer, please let me know."
"You don't need to speak to your matriarch?" you ask.
"I can't see why she'd be averse," Cerec says. "And Oban is entirely willing to present your situation to her in the best possible light. I wouldn't worry about it, overly much, however — you're the kind of woman who Raenyah approves of, even if you're a sorcerer."
"I see," you say.
"I'm sure you do," Cerec says, retrieving her book. "So nice to speak with you, Lady Ambraea. Choose well."
With that, she departs, leaving you to mull over her words through the veil of your intoxication.
The countryside of Scarlet Prefecture,
Several hours beyond the limits of the Imperial City,
The next day
Well-ordered farmland rolls past under a slightly cloudy sky, vast rice paddies and fields of other crops stretching out to the horizon. Roadside tea-houses offer peaceful luxury for day trips out of the city, while in the distance, small villages dot the landscape in between the larger settlements. Scarlet Prefecture is one of the most densely populated and thoroughly tamed parts of the Blessed Isle, everything in its proper place. It presents a nostalgic vista to you. If you look behind you, the walls and towers of the Imperial City will still be plainly visible.
You once again sit in a carriage, albeit this time for a much briefer trip, your head churning with the weight of the decisions you will soon have to make. Tearing your eyes away from the world outside your window, you look back to Evening Garnet, who is quietly embroidering an intricate, vaguely floral pattern onto a square of cloth. What you know of the woman — and what you don't know of her — seems to intersect with part of what's on your mind in a strange way.
"Do you ever miss An-Teng, Garnet?" you ask.
Garnet halts her needlework, looking up at you with surprise. There's an unusually long pause as she processes your question, as if she feels she has to answer it with exceptional care. "Please forgive me — it has been several generations since my family left An-Teng, my lady, I have never been there myself," she says. "I was born in Zhaojūn. There are many Tengese there, and in the neighbouring satrapies."
You feel a brief flash of embarrassment, but accept the gentle correction. You never did ask. "Ah," you say. You stroke Verdigris gently, where she dozes on your lap. "But, you do have family in Zhaojūn, then?"
"I do, my lady. A large one, in fact." She watches you as if trying to gauge where you're going with this, as if unsure of the ground beneath her, just then.
"But, you chose to remain on the Blessed Isle once you'd been freed," you say. "Do you ever miss them?"
Garnet's embroidery stills entirely. After several seconds, in a very quiet voice, she asks: "Will my lady be offended if I answer that question frankly?"
"I should hope not," you say, although that doesn't bode well for this having a happy answer.
Garnet takes an almost steadying breath. "As I said, I come from a large family. It was not a wealthy one, though. I became a slave when they sold me to a Guildsman at age twelve. As such, I do not hold a great deal of lingering affection for them."
"Ah," you say.
"The Zhao also put a great deal of stock in race and lineage," Garnet says. "The Tengese are not... highly esteemed in their lands. There are legal and social restrictions placed upon a freedwoman of my ancestry there. I do stand out as a foreigner here, and not everyone is always kind, but I am treated better in the Realm proper than I would be in my homeland, all the same. I would have difficulty finding a place as well positioned as this one."
"Well, I'm pleased to hear that," you say. You suppose that a lack of filial loyalty is excusable, given her circumstances. You're not unsympathetic, and it is pleasing, in a sense, that she finds remaining in your employ preferable to other alternatives. It must be nice, though, to have familial problems that seem to have such a simple solution.
You arrive at your destination shortly thereafter. Farmland tapers off near the state, leaving the grounds a lush expanse of green hills and well-tended forests. The building itself is relatively humble by Dynastic standards — a handsome, stone structure with what looks like a working smithy behind it. You doubt that Ledaal Shigora is doing any of her truly legendary work out here, but from the smoke that rises up out of it, it would seem she doesn't like to stay idle while attending business at the capital.
When you arrive, you're met by a man with the bearing of a slave valet, who bows low and greets you formally. Once the driver has helped Garnet retrieve an important piece of cargo from the roof of the carriage, he leads you around the building, directly to the lady of the house.
As you approach the smithy behind the house, you see that its extended workspace has spilled out beyond its bounds to encompass a row of tables surrounding the forge itself, intruding on the estate's humble but well-tended garden. They're laden down with plans, diagrams, and projects in various states of completion. It's a mix of mundane swords and what look like wooden and base-metal mockups of daiklaves — the latter are intricate, beautiful, and far too heavy as anything but reference points or display pieces.
You see Shigora immediately. She's sitting on a wooden bench at the edge of the garden, dressed as though she's been working until relatively recently. This already feels like a highly irregular sort of visit.
"You came," Shigora says, not rising or looking up. She's staring out across a row of hedges and flowerbeds, to where you now see a group of young children are playing in the distance. From so far away, it's hard to tell whether any of them are Dynasts themselves, or if they're simply local children making use of an empty field bordering a seldom used estate.
"Was that in question?" you ask, surprised.
"You're a very busy young woman these days, I gather," Shigora says. "My whims certainly can't rate as highly as those of a Great House Matriarch."
"I was curious," you say, not quite denying it. Shigora's invitation had intrigued you too much to ignore.
Finally, Shigora looks up to look at you properly. She's much as you remember her from the day you'd received the White Serpent. A short, stocky Air Aspect, skin and hair dusted with a thin layer of unmelting frost that makes her seem paler than she really is. She doesn't look anything like Ledaal Anay Idelle, but different branches of a Great House are often not very closely related. "Did you bring the sword?" she asks, a keen interest in her eyes.
"Of course," you say. Garnet takes this as her cue. She steps forward, the heavy, lacquered box held carefully in both her arms — she's managing the weight well enough, as she'd insisted she could. Without attuning to it, a daiklave is an impractically heavy sword, but most of them aren't unfeasible for a mortal to lift, and Garnet is also simply stronger than she looks. You snap open the carrying case, lifting the daiklave out of it in both hands.
Shigora takes a subtly steeling breath, then rises to her feet. As she does so, you catch a flash of blue jadesteel from beneath the hem of her robes where a flesh and blood leg should have been — you'd heard that a crippling injury had led to her retiring as a shikari, and it would seem the rumours are true. "May I?" she asks, approaching you.
You transfer the daiklave into her waiting hands. She betrays the weight of the weapon even less than Garnet had, her eyes carefully running up and down the lines of the massive horse-cutting sabre. "You maintain it well," she says, sounding approving, "not all young Exalts bother — tell them that a sword will never rust and never dull, and they'll take it as an excuse to do nothing but wipe the blood off."
"Thank you," you say, choosing to treat it as a compliment, rather than as surprise for you meeting the bare minimum of care for your weapon.
Rather than respond, Shigora closes her eyes, stills her breath, and seems to focus on nothing but the sword in her hands. For a long moment, you all just stand there, the silence only broken by the sound of a bird chirping overhead. "Interesting," she says, opening her eyes again at last. "I've often found that a sorcerer's hand can make a blade's nature bend in strange directions."
You're impressed that she can glean so much so quickly, but you suppose that she is the one who forged the White Serpent to begin with. "How so?" you ask.
"The way a sorcerer views the world and the things she imagines a weapon might do are different from most Dragon-Blooded," Shigora says. "You, though, aren't so very complicated, I don't believe. A woman who wishes to act as a shield for others, and to rend apart curses and supernatural deceptions. Do you anticipate fighting other sorcerers so much?"
"I used it to parry a spell that the Directory Bound in Crimson had cast upon one of my yearmates," you say, frowning. "I think something about its nature shifted after that." You don't add that before that, everyone's collective inability to quickly remove Simendor Deizil's curse had been both very unpleasant and very annoying. Surely that can't have made so great an impression as to have affected the nature of your daiklave.
"That would help to explain it," Shigora acknowledges. She continues to examine the weapon in her hands, her eyes running over the orichalcum characters set into the white blade. "When Her Excellency commissioned this sword, I was of course honoured to accept her request, and for the regard for my craft that it demonstrated. She is one of the very few women in the position to truly pick and choose in such matters, after all. At the same time, a part of me was troubled. I'm sure you're familiar with my eccentricities, when it comes to who I make swords for."
"I had heard of the oath," you admit, "that you require anyone you bestow a sword upon to swear to heed the call of the Wyld Hunt, when it arises."
"Seldom something so formal as you're making it sound, but yes," Shigora says. "None could possibly claim to have done more to fight the forces of evil than the Scarlet Empress has. But when I was told that the sword was intended for an untested sixteen year old girl, well, as I said, I was troubled.
Sixteen. "Do you remember what month it was when the request came?" you ask.
"Resplendent Wood of 759," Shigora says, not even needing to think.
You feel a strange lump in your throat. Barely more than four years before the sword had been presented to you. And, more importantly, the very month that you had finally fully achieved sorcerous Initiation. You think back to the impersonal letter of congratulations that the Empress had provided you at the time, the scant praise that you'd drunk in so pathetically. The entire time, she'd held such confidence in your eventual success that she'd commissioned such a weapon from one of the most renowned swordsmiths in the Realm. The realisation fills you with a painful mixture of relief, sorrow, and resentment.
"What worried you so much?" you ask, trying to banish the emotions this conversation has stirred up.
"Well, that the sword might go to a spoiled princeling sorcerer girl who would never use it for what it's for," Shigora says, "one who would never put herself on the line for the sake of anything greater than herself, or wield a sword for anything but her own benefit. I am happy enough to have been wrong." She smiles then, for the first time, subtle as the first day of spring. "To stand against Anathema and the forces of darkness is the highest calling any Prince of the Earth might aspire to. To slay one is a rare and grim privilege, let alone at such an age."
You try not to bask in the praise too obviously, but it is very gratifying to hear her say as much. You had sometimes wondered how the creator of your sword might have felt about its commission. "I will admit, I didn't kill the Blasphemous with that sword," you say.
Shigora tilts her head, interest sharpening her features. "How, then?" she asks.
"I... may have crushed its skull under my boot." It sounds a little unbecoming, when put so bluntly. You had been very upset at the time, however.
Shigora barks out a laugh, harsh but sincere. "As long as the sword cut him at least once, I'll call myself happy."
"It did do a very good job of that," you say, remembering the lack of any resistance as it had sliced through the bone of the Anathema's arm.
"Good," Shigora says, offering you the White Serpent back. You take it from her, not immediately putting it back into its waiting case. "It's easy to lose track of what matters, during a political crisis. I'm not so sentimental or naive to pretend that the politics of it all are something you can afford to outright ignore, but I trust you'll still remember that."
"I'd like to think so," you say.
Shigora nods, brusque and approving. "Well, then," she says, "with that out of the way, would you care to go inside? We can start over, and pretend I offered you suitable hospitality. You've come all the way out here, you may as well get a meal and some actual conversation out of it."
It's your turn to smile. "I believe I'd like that," you say.
It's nice to have a moment of two of quiet, before you're forced to make the decisions you know you have to,
Article:
Ambraea is faced with one of the most pivotal decisions of her life. With her mother gone, faced with the buildup for an inevitable war for the Imperial throne, Ambraea must seek out patronage from one of the Great Houses. There are no choices that guarantee a good outcome, or that don't involve some degree of sacrifice. Through a mix of who she is and the choices she's made, there are three strong possibilities:
[ ] House Mnemon
The Scarlet Empress's eldest surviving daughter, Mnemon believes herself to be the clear Heir apparent to the Scarlet Throne. By accepting Mnemon's offer, Ambraea prioritises safety and security for herself and those she feels most responsible for ahead of her over other concerns.
In the years to come, adoption into House Mnemon reinforces some of the harder edges of Ambraea's worldview. Her conservative tendencies grow more pronounced, her adherence to the Immaculate Philosophy deepens. The mentorship that Mnemon hinted at will see Ambraea's sorcerous talents nurtured further in service to her new house — with the benefit of longer contact in a familial setting, her eldest sister is someone who Ambraea finds she respects and even likes.
Ambraea's friendship with V'neef L'nessa will be at an end from the moment Ambraea decides to accept Mnemon's proposal. Mnemon's ascension to the throne will only come at the expense of L'nessa's house, something Ambraea knew full well when she made the decision she did. Ambraea's Hearthmates will be saddened by this falling out, but they haven't sworn an Oath to L'nessa, and will ultimately side with Ambraea.
[ ] House Sesus
In the leadup to the coming succession conflict, Sesus is willing to watch and wait. With its vast military strength and array of unique assets, House Sesus is well positioned to either align itself with a promising candidate for the throne, or failing that, to put forward their own Matriarch, Sesus Raenyah. By seeking refuge here, Ambraea prioritises flexibility as she makes a future for herself, without tying herself so closely to either of her older sisters.
In the years to come, marriage into House Sesus and exposure to the house's internal culture reinforces Ambraea's more ruthless tendencies, advised by her fiancé and eventual husband, as well as Sesus Kasi, with whom she grows closer. Ambraea's relationship with her elder brother, Oban, is only superficially warm and barely familial, but he is willing to make use of her name and talents where they prove themselves useful, and to let her reap the rewards in turn.
Ambraea's rejection of L'nessa's request puts a strain on their relationship, but the friendship does not entirely fall apart. Mnemon will be displeased at the refusal of her offer, but there are many people in the Realm toward whom she holds far more of a grudge, and is unlikely to take things beyond mere annoyance.
[ ] House V'neef
Despite being the Scarlet Empress's second-youngest living daughter, V'neef is already a matriarch in her own right, having benefited from the Empress's favour all her life. A popular and charismatic figure who controls the powerful and lucrative Merchant Fleet, V'neef feels she must win the coming civil war to ensure the future of her family. By seeking refuge with House V'neef, Ambraea refuses to sacrifice her friendships and her ambitions in exchange for greater safety.
In the years to come, adoption or marriage into House V'neef will see Ambraea take on adult responsibilities and pressures sooner than would be the norm. She does all in her power to put V'neef on the throne. She will be forced to adapt quickly to the young House's eclectic internal landscape, and perhaps to find a more comfortable accord with a sister she has so far been unable to keep herself from resenting.
V'neef L'nessa will not forget Ambraea accepting her heartfelt plea. They become Hearthmates, and their existing friendship solidifies into something stronger and more enduring. Maia would worry, but not object to L'nessa joining the Hearth. Her handlers in House Peleps understand that asking a woman not even of their own house to betray her Sworn Kin is a risky venture at the best of times, and it will limit how much they will try to use her against House V'neef. Of her own family, of course, she will make no mention.
Honestly, I don't have an issue with anything here winning, but I like the idea of Ambraea still being able to pursue her ambitions to the greatest extent possible. And we've made the choice to stand by our friends pretty much every time it came up (with regards to Maia and Amiti). It's not the safe choice, but I think this best matches the Ambraea we've played thus far.
The request to add Amiti to the Hearth comes from Kasi, not House Sesus. I imagine it would still be on the table no matter which choice Ambraea makes. The point is to get Amiti loyal allies who can also serve as an external wisdom check for her, and Mnemon Ambraea or V'neef Ambraea would still be capable of providing such.
