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The Last Daughter; Dragon-Blooded Sorcery School Quest

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Close vote, clock ticking down, nothing better to doTally Updated. It's super close and second place could still go either way. Conversation and Insight? Or Combat & Banter? Which will prevail? You decide!
 
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Vote closed, Interlude 3 01
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    • Scheduled vote count started by Gazetteer on Dec 22, 2022 at 1:46 PM, finished with 56 posts and 41 votes.
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    Interlude 3: A Mother's Fond Regard 02
  • Threadmarks
    • [Empress] Advice on binding and treating with spirits: 24

    [Empress] Advice on the advancement of your spellwork: 11

    [Empress] A small gift of great value to you: 6


    [Social] Sesus Kasi: 28

    [Social] Mnemon Rulinsei: 23

    [Social] V'neef S'thera: 19

    [Social] Tepet Usala: 11

    [Social] Ledaal Anay: 4

    The summons comes with your breakfast, delivered to your suite first thing in the morning in the form of a red card sitting politely between your tea and your bowl of noodles. It informs you in flawless calligraphy when to present yourself at your mother's residence, as well as how much time you can expect the Empress to set aside for you. An hour — which is only reasonable, of course, for all that you've flown all the way from Chanos on such short notice. Many people travel much further for far less, and you're grateful for so much consideration.

    And so you rise early, and begin to ready yourself for the day. Fortunately, as it would happen, your father has quietly taken some pains to ensure you have a suitable wardrobe on hand — you gather that he had Lohna request your latest measurements from Peony some months ago. This is good, considering the height you've put on since you were last in the palace.

    With her usual efficiency, Peony selects a gown cut in the latest court fashion, suitable for formal daytime wear. Black silk is broken up by bright blue and cloth-of-silver embroidery: elegant, swooping patterns that evoke serpents. "You look capable and sophisticated," she tells you, carefully braiding a series of serpentine ornaments into your hair.

    You haven't had to express any misgivings out loud. "You would say that, you picked out the outfit," you remind her.

    "Well, my lady," she says, voice careful, "then I've chosen well."

    You give a small, nervous laugh, careful not to move enough to disturb Peony at her work. "You have," you acknowledge. You catch the flash of her smile in the mirror, quickly obscured by your shoulder as she gets to the tips of your hair. Now that she's finished, the ornaments give the impression of a metallic snake winding its way through your dark braid. You glance at Verdigris, watching you from her place on a nearby cushion with alert, metallic eyes. Apparently, you have a motif.

    Dressed in your finery, hair carefully styled, and wearing just enough cosmetics to emphasise your Aspect Markings, you reach into the collar of your dress, and unclasp the chain that carries Perfection's scale and Maia's dagger. You stare at the knife for a long moment, idly flicking open the mechanism to reveal the poison well in the hilt, currently empty. Then you bring it to your lips, and give it a quick kiss on the flat of the blade. You put both treasures into a sturdy wooden box and lock it with a key.

    "You're going to have to stay," you tell Verdigris. She shrinks in on herself, clearly distressed — you don't like it much either. You haven't been farther apart from her than one room over since your magic brought her into the world, and leaving her behind gives you a pang. It can't be avoided, though — bringing small but deadly elementals into the Empress's private residence without express permission would be at least as bad as bringing in a Gemlord's Eye, if not quite as bad as outright carrying a concealed dagger beneath your clothes. You try a different tactic. "I need you to guard this box," you say, resting a hand on it. "You can't let anyone but me touch it. Can you do that?"

    In answer, Verdigris dutifully slithers over to the box, and curls up on top of it — still miserable, but at least determined now. You give her head a small stroke, before turning back to Peony. She's watched the whole exchange with a resigned sort of air. "I'm ready," you tell her.

    Maybe she believes it more than you do.

    The Imperial Palace is a small city into itself, a vast, self-contained compound with thousands of residents; officials, servants, courtiers, and slaves, in addition to the Empress's household, of which you are just one member.

    Walking through the grounds, you pass ministers, generals, concubines and countless others. Each has their own business to attend to, no doubt, but all are committed to not broadcasting anything too much like haste. You walk past lush gardens and beautiful architecture, return greetings and nods as warranted, and generally present a serene and unflappable mein to all who see you.

    Peony walks a little behind you and to the side, holding the handle of a large, silk umbrella to shade you from the sun. Not a service you ordinarily expect of her, but if there is anywhere in the world where appearances and formalities matter, it's here.

    The Empress's private residence is itself an entire wing of the palace. You have not been inside them more than a handful of times in your life, but they're not hard to find. Seeing the great set of doors ahead of you, you pause to address Peony:

    "I shouldn't be much more than an hour. You'll be at liberty until then."

    "Of course, my lady," Peony says. Then she adds in a hurried whisper, as if already thinking better of it: "Good luck."

    You let in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. "Thank you, Peony," you say, and you mean it. Then you continue onward, leaving her behind, unquestioning in the knowledge that she'll always be there when you come back.

    The impressive front doors are red-lacquered wood, barred in elaborately-etched white jadesteel in seeming imitation of the palace's outer gates. Standing to either side of them, as unmoving as statues in their ceremonial armour, stand two Silent Legionnaires.

    When the Dragons had first Chosen you, you'd imagined, briefly, that your mother's personal guard would stop seeming quite so terrifying to you. Surely, a newly minted Prince of the Earth, raised high by Pasiap himself, would be above such childish emotions as blind, hindbrain terror. Despite how incorrect this had proved, you'd allowed yourself to fall into the same mental trap. You're older now, beginning to blossom into your full Exalted might, a fully-fledged sorcerer who has treated with powerful demons and elementals.

    And yet, looking up at the nearest of the towering, helmeted figures, there's still that faint urge somewhere in the back of your head to bolt in the other direction. At least seven feet tall and universally mute, you've never met a Silent Legionnaire who didn't fix you with that same flat stare, uncaring of your rank or privilege, thoughts utterly opaque to you even now.

    "I have been summoned to speak with the Empress," you tell them. It's impossible to guess at gender under all that gleaming steel.

    Rather than simply stepping aside, one of them glances to the other and brings their hand up in a quick, deliberate gesture you can't quite track. Their companion signs back just as briefly.

    You feel a mix of impatience and irritation. "I am Ambraea, her daughter," you say. "I—"

    There's a click, and you look to see that a more ordinary-scale door has opened in the leftmost of the larger ones they're guarding. A man is standing there, shaven-headed and dressed in servant's clothes. The guards pay him no mind as he steps forward to offer you a low bow, and you notice that he very pointedly does not look in their direction.

    "My lady Ambraea," he says, "your punctuality is admirable."

    "I arrive when I have been instructed to," you say.

    "Of course, my lady," He bows again, and steps to the side enough to gesture for you to step into the residence. "The Imperial Presence is aware of your arrival. If you will please come with me?"

    In answer, you step past the two legionnaires, who of course do not trouble you anymore than they had the servant. He closes the door behind you, locking it in place with a flick of his hand. Crossing the threshold, you resist the urge to shiver, your arcane senses letting you feel the weight of the magic you've just placed yourself within. It's like the rest of the palace, but moreso. Wards on top of wards, scrying spells on top of scrying spells. You understand down to your bones that you have entered a place of power belonging to the greatest Exalted sorcerer of the Second Age.

    You are now standing in the most opulent entrance chamber you've ever seen. A massive sorcerous lighting fixture hangs overhead, dripping red crystalline jade down on invisible strands, illuminating the gilded tile underfoot. Directly in front of you, flanked by two vast staircases, stands a mural depicting your mother as saviour of Creation. Larger than life, a figure of red and white jade clad in Shogunal armour, a blade in her hands that burns with the power to destroy armies. To either side kneel the grateful people of Creation, mortal and Exalted both. At her feet, the twisted, monstrous forms of slain fairfolk invaders, and of Anathema formed of moonsilver, dead at her hand or by her word. Above her, Heaven looks down on this all and bathes her in approving radiance.

    It is not, you would say, subtle. You've been here twice before in your life, and it nonetheless leaves you staring in awe for several seconds. The servant seems to anticipate this, and allows you to take in the sights undisturbed. When you look up and glance back in his direction, he begins to lead you off to the side, through one of the many red-lacquered doors along the walls. You try not to allow yourself to be dazzled again, despite the sheer quantity of wonders on display. These chambers demonstrate enough wealth to make any lesser queen weep, drawing on riches taken from across the world, the Imperial City in miniature.

    The hall you're in when the servant turns to face you is red and black, the floor displaying mesmerising geometric patterns. A series of plush benches placed between ornamental vases as tall as you, each a masterwork by a different long dead artisan. "My lady, if you would be so good as to wait here, while I inquire as to whether our revered mistress is ready to see you?"

    "Of course," you say. From anyone else, it would be impossible not to taste an insult in being made to come here first thing in the morning, then instructed to wait once you got here. But your mother is incredibly busy, and her time is very valuable.

    You're fine with this.

    Still, though, you don't take one of the invitingly soft seats once he's scurried off again, instead pacing back and forth in a tight circuit between one bench and another, trying to focus on the tiles underfoot, or to admire the pattern in the glaze on the porcelain. Anything is better than dwelling on your nerves, or any other negative feelings you might hypothetically have at the moment.

    Minutes or hours later, you look up at the sound of a door opening; it's not your guide, however. A young mortal woman hurries down the hall, her finery conspicuously a little less than what most Dynasts could afford, her dark hair unbound, and slightly askew. She doesn't see you at first until she's only a few paces away. At this point, she looks up, makes accidental eye contact, and gives such an exaggerated gasp that some kind of acknowledgement is, regrettably, in order. There's still a moment of awkward, fumbling staring. Then she gives you a formal bow, as befits a mortal patrician greeting her spiritual and social better. "A fine morning, my lady," she says.

    You nod stiffly in return. Then, even though you think you know perfectly well who this is, you say: "I don't believe we've been introduced."

    "Rein Ilina, my lady," she says, confirming your suspicions.

    Your father may not bear any ill will toward whoever is currently sharing your mother's bed at any given time, but it's always a reliable subject of court gossip, which he is an endless and reliable font of. Somewhere around the bottom of the bottle of wine you'd shared with him, in the spirit of morbid curiosity, you'd asked him about the subject.

    Especially for a mortal, Rein Ilina is a spectacularly gifted singer. In the few short years since she's left secondary school, she's already become the talk of the Imperial City, giving performances stirring enough to bring hardened military women to tears and inspire half a dozen marriage offers — all of which to date her family has turned down, presumably holding out for something better. It was not particularly surprising, then, when she had been summoned to the palace over a month ago in order to perform for the Empress herself.

    Neither was it particularly surprising, for anyone familiar with your mother's habits, that Ilina had been called to give a follow-up performance that night, in private, in your mother's personal chambers. Where she had seemingly slept every night for weeks now. When the Empress sees something she wants, she rarely hesitates to take it. Some lovers, like your father, she keeps. Much more often, when she tires of someone, she sends them off with a fond farewell and a parting gift — a position, or a treasure, or simply the weight of her good opinion. You can be all but certain that House Rein is positively thrilled at this development, and what it implies for Ilina's future.

    She's a little taller than Maia, pretty in a guileless, round-faced sort of way. You try not to think about the short span of years that separate you from her. It's not as though your mother can exactly go for anyone her own age, at this point.

    "I am Ambraea," you tell her, voice cold with veiled anxiety.

    "Ah! Yes, her Excellency mentioned that she was expecting you soon," she says.

    "I'm sure it was an enlightening conversation," you say, tone a little dry as you look at her hair. Unsurprisingly, your mother is less willing to braid mussed hair than Sesus Vahelo.

    "I... Yes," Ilina says, face reddening dramatically.

    You abruptly feel guilty — you hadn't meant to take your nerves out on her, even if her presence reveals entirely too much about your mother's morning and why she's been keeping you waiting. "You seemed like you were on your way somewhere," you say, deliberately softening your tone. "Please, don't let me keep you."

    She bows gratefully. "Thank you, my lady." Then she leaves as quickly as dignity will allow.

    You try hard to find your centre again once she's gone, angry at yourself — the only safe target out of the people you could blame at the moment. You've never wanted to be the kind of Dragon-Blood who takes her frustrations out on mortals in petty and venal ways. That you earned your right to this current life's power and prestige through virtuous action over many lifetimes means that a mortal owes you her deference. However, it also means that you owe it in turn to be better in your thoughts and actions, not merely in your spiritual enlightenment. Acting harshly toward a social inferior over something that isn't her fault should be beneath you in every way.

    Fortunately, you're not alone with your thoughts for long. A short time later, the servant reappears, as blandly polite as possible. You're mostly happy to be moving again — he leads you down the hall, to one door among many, and holds it open to you. "The Imperial Presence will be with you momentarily. Thank you very much for your patience, my lady."

    You step inside, and he closes yet another door behind you, this time not entering the room with you.

    The room is cozy, by the standards of chambers as opulent as these. Sunlight streams in from a high window, illuminating the handsome ebony flooring. To one side of the room, a fragrant plant flowers in a priceless vase, filling the air with a pleasantly invigorating scent. On another, a Varangian clock of gold and brass ticks steadily away on top of a cabinet — its face is numbered in High Realm and Flametongue, quotations from the Immaculate Texts praising Hesiesh's patience spiraling over its surface. From the wall directly across from you hangs a vast painting: five Dragons protectively encircle Creation.

    Left alone here, you slowly sit down at the low, cinnabar-lacquered table, barely admiring the intricate carvings along its surface. Try as you might to relax, every fibre of your body feels immovably rigid as the minutes slowly tick by. When the other door opens, you first shoot straight to your feet, then instantly drop down to your knees, facing the floorboards.

    There's a rustle of red silk as she moves into the room, her regard beating down on the back of your neck. When she speaks, her voice is amused, and exactly how you remember it. "I am pleased to see you so dutiful in responding to my invitation. But I must say, a dragon is quite the entrance."

    "I wished to arrive as quickly as possible, my Empress," you say, tones stiff and formal.

    "So I see." She lets you kneel for a second or two longer, before she says: "Stand up so I can look at you."

    With as much dignity as you can manage, you straighten, and look at your mother for the first time in three years. For the most part, nothing has changed. She's still as young and vibrant as ever: a tall, pale, red-haired woman whose features you can sometimes find in the mirror, when you look for them. It takes you a moment or two of her silently studying you to put your finger on what strikes you as strange. For one thing, she's not wearing the heavy cloth-of-jade and orichalcum mantle you've never seen her in public without. She looks smaller without it, fractionally more ordinary. The other is that you're exactly as tall as she is, now.

    You feel speared in place by her gaze, as if she might assess you in your entirety in these few seconds and find you wanting. Instead she smiles at you, an almost wistful expression, and says: "You all become women so quickly."

    Three servants silently file into the room behind her. One sets a tea tray down on the cinnabar table, bowing as she leaves. The second carries an ornate vessel of blue jade, carefully setting it down on the table next to the tea tray. The third carries a portable writing desk with him, setting it up and meticulously arranging an armful of papers on its surface. All of them leave as soon as their tasks are complete.

    The Empress takes a seat at the far side of the table from you, as regally as she ever has her throne. You understand immediately what is expected of you.

    You bend down to carefully pick up the teapot, a Shogunate era bone-porcelain piece that's likely even older than your mother is. You pour first her cup, and then your own; the pot contains a fragrant black tea the colour of mahogany. You move to the winterbreath jar, pry open the lid, and carefully remove a platter of chilled fruit confections, setting it down on the table. Only then do you take your own seat across from the Empress.

    Your mother picks up her teacup. The cup is surely uncomfortably hot to the touch still, but she is as little bothered by it as she'd have been by the touch of an open flame. "I hope you understand that any unbound spirit, even one who you've struck a sorcerous pact with, is only to be relied upon so far."

    "I do," you say.

    "Don't ask too much too often — it is important that you try to maintain a balance of power, at the very least. Do not give it the upper hand, and try to find leverage of your own, if possible."

    "I already had to explain to a very nervous monk that they're not a dangerous, rogue spirit," you say. "I think they can perceive the value in our arrangement."

    The Empress seems to find this faintly amusing. "See that you continue to remind them. What were your plans for making the journey in time, barring the dragon?"

    You only take a second or two to recover from the sudden shift in topic. "I had thought to summon a storm serpent," you say. It had been the easiest fallback, and the one that required no one's assistance in particular. It would also have been far and away less pleasant than Perfection's help had been.

    "Serviceable, but it would have made for a miserable trip," says the Empress. She takes an experimental sip of tea, cupping the hot porcelain in one hand like a wineglass, not spilling a drop. "Young storm serpents in particular are far too volatile and excitable. Be thankful for your servant's sake that you didn't choose that."

    It isn't surprising that your mother would have ways of knowing that you'd arrived with your handmaiden, but it's still deeply unexpected for Peony to be mentioned at all. "I will consider my options more carefully in the future."

    "I'm sure. Earth elementals may hold some particular reverence for you due to your pact with the dragon," your mother says. "You would do well to bear that in mind. Are you familiar with the silt-winder?"

    "Not intimately," you admit.

    "I will send you some texts to review," she says, dismissing the matter with a wave of her hand.

    As much as getting additional homework while on your break might be frustrating, you're not stupid enough not to regard this as the significant gift it's likely to be. "Thank you for your instruction," you say, as graciously as you can.

    She gives you a strange sort of look at that, speculative if anything. "I wonder if you'll feel the same way by the end of this conversation."

    A chill goes down your spine. You choose your words very carefully. "I apologise, my Empress, but I don't understand."

    "Very often, the knowledge that we require to survive brings us little happiness," she says, briefly, for the span of that sentence, she sounds every one of her eight centuries. She indicates the writing desk set up beside the table. "Look at the scroll on the right."

    Confused and concerned, you reach for the less ornate of the two large scrolls on the desk. When you recognise the mon on the scroll case, it does little to explain anything to you. "This is... Genealogical documents from House Erona?" You have no idea why you'd need such a thing. It's not as though you and Maia are getting married. You have no idea why your mother of all people is interested in the ancestry of the patrician girl you're involved with.

    "Read it," your mother instructs.

    Unfurling the scroll from its case, what you're looking at is a chart documenting Maia's family going back to its creation as a patrician house, with a note directing back to surviving older records for the Shogunate gens that House Erona descend from. Dragon-Blooded scions in particular are marked with brightly coloured ink and delicate brush strokes — Maia's stands out near the bottom of the diagram, the characters of her name in a deep, navy blue. The family had started out relatively large and prosperous. Over the years though, the house had diminished. Exaltations came less often, branches went extinct for lack of female heirs. It looks as if House Erona was poised to die out entirely several mortal generations ago, until Maia's grandmother had arrived.

    Her grandfather had become matriarch seemingly by default, a mortal man with no living siblings, obviously in need of a suitable wife who could marry in to the family. He'd found one in the form of Vermillion Shore, an outcaste with no known prior Exalted heritage, presumably fresh from her half century in the Legions. Following this marriage, the house was revitalised by his and Vermillion Shore's many descendants. The reintroduction of Exalted blood of even such dubious pedigree had even served to renew their exhausted bloodline, based on the number of Dragon-Blooded that follow.

    You frown down at the family tree, still uncertain what it is you're meant to be seeing here. That Maia's family has a stronger bloodline than you might have expected is interesting. It is still difficult to imagine how it could be relevant, though, especially when it's your mother drawing your attention to it.

    Your mother takes a stately sip of tea, regarding you levelly. "The other scroll now."

    It is both much larger and much more ornate, the case in polished silver with black jade accents. Something about that combination stirs a memory at the back of your mind. Before you can entirely recall, though, you find that you don't have to: You turn it over and recognise the mon emblazoned on it, freezing in place momentarily. You very much don't want to open this anymore.

    But you feel her eyes on you, so you make your hands work even against the pit of dread in your stomach, moving like an automaton to pull free the richly illuminated paper. You're looking at another family tree, this time styled magnificently as a waterfall cascading down through the generations. Your mother is at the top, the characters of her title painted in ink infused with red jade that seems to burn under the light. Beneath her is a single adoptive daughter, with the rest of the family flowing out from there, the vast network of adoptions and marriages that form a Great House.

    Your mother reaches out to tap a nail on a name near the bottom. It's a particular Exalted scion, her name in shimmering black jade ink, as with most of the Dragon-Blooded on the family tree you're looking at.

    "Iselsi Velera," the Empress says. "An officer in the Imperial Legions, lost during a campaign on the Threshold. You will note the timing, I'm sure." The disappearance was only a few short years before Maia's grandmother had married into House Erona.

    "What are you trying to tell me?" you ask, voice wooden.

    The Empress's gaze hardens fractionally. "You're an intelligent woman, Ambraea. Do me the courtesy of not pretending otherwise while in my presence."

    You nod, carefully rolling up the scroll, and setting the heavy case back down on the writing desk. The praise tastes like ash in your mouth, combined with so alarming a topic. If you force yourself to process this information immediately, you do understand what she's trying to tell you. Your mother has, in a far more indirect and theatrical manner than was strictly necessary, informed you that your lover is a direct descendant of House Iselsi through the female line, and that her family has taken great and highly illegal pains to obscure this information.

    Certainly, they'd have reason to. Iselsi was not merely struck from the Imperial ledgers — the name is worse than dirt, still tainted from an attempted assassination of the Empress over a century ago and dragged through the mud by every other Great House in the intervening years. The association is utterly toxic, and wider knowledge of it would absolutely destroy Maia's family... and reflect exceptionally poorly on anyone with too close an association to them.

    "You are suggesting that I cut ties?" you ask. You've managed to find a place of paper-thin calm, somehow. Beneath it, you feel faintly ill.

    The Empress raises her eyebrows. "Well, that would be up to you," she says. She reaches out and samples one of the chilled delights, taking an unbearable moment to savour it before she continues: "By all means, have your fun with the girl; I'm sure she's quite lovely. But my advice to you is to be prepared to distance yourself by the time you both leave the Heptagram. For your own protection. If you enjoy keeping a lover of lower birth, remember that there is no shortage of equally attractive, less politically dangerous patrician girls who would be happy to fill your bed. Your status aside, you've become a beautiful young woman." Something horribly like a fond smile crosses her lips. "My suggestion is merely for you to remain mindful of your own position while forming lasting ties."

    There is a note there of genuine motherly concern. You do not fool yourself by thinking that you can reliably tell when the Scarlet Empress herself is lying to you — but something about that look, about how profoundly wrongly it lands with you, makes you utterly sure that in this fleeting moment, she is being perfectly sincere. For your entire life, you have dreamed of such a moment of intimate candor from her. Right now, you hate it.

    You're glad that you haven't picked up your tea yet — you're not certain that your calm facade could have prevented you from shattering the cup if you'd had it in your hand. "I am not sure I can do that," you say, the truth unwilling to be bent any further than that.

    Your mother sighs, her eyes mercifully leaving your face to study the contents of her own cup, "I was young once, believe it or not — I understand what it's like at your age, to be overcome with passion for a pretty face."

    Your mind goes involuntarily back to your encounter with Rein Illina, and to dozens of others like her you can recall in the moment — generals and poets and magistrates, men and women both. Maybe it's the relative informality of this meeting, or the residual frustration at how the morning has gone, or your quiet indignation at the characteristically high-handed way she's gone about this upsetting subject. Regardless, the words come out of your mouth before you can stop them: "I hadn't realised you'd ever stopped."

    There's a pause just long enough that a profuse apology is on the tip of your tongue, before she throws back her head and laughs in genuine delight -- a full, intoxicating sound. "You have your father's wit," she says, open affection in her voice for you or your father or both. "It always sneaks up on me. Try one of these before they get warm — I can see you're taking this all poorly."

    Robotically, you reach for one of the confections. It's delicious, perfect for a warm summer day like today and it pairs well with the faintly smoky notes of the tea, cool enough for you to drink. It somehow steadies your nerves enough for you to glance at the scrolls on the writing table again, and ask: "Do you... intend to act on this information?" She knows that House Erona is outright flouting her laws by falsifying their official genealogical records. Her word would be more damning than all the physical evidence in the world.

    Your mother laughs again. "My dear, if I ruined every house and bloodline I had the means to simply because I had the means to do so, the Realm would be a very empty place." As amusing as she seems to find it, it is perhaps not the most reassuring thing in the world. "I assume, for the girl's sake, that you're capable of discretion on this subject, but in the end, the information is a gift, and you will do with it what you will."

    You force down a violently indignant reaction to that. However many confusing feelings you're having at the moment, you're not exactly planning to spread around an accusation like this about Maia's family. If she's been keeping this a secret from you the whole time, well, she certainly has good reason. You're not upset with her over this.

    Or so you tell yourself.

    "I am," you say.

    Your mother glances over to the clock, checking the position of its ruby-encrusted hands, then looks back to you. "I think we can move on to more uplifting topics," she says, just firmly enough to make it impossible to do otherwise. "I'll do you the credit of assuming you've put serious thought into your future. What are your plans for the next four years, and for after graduation?"


    You somehow acquit yourself adequately through the rest of the interview — academic areas of focus and future, occupational prospects, potential marriage options and other mundanities. You nonetheless leave with your stomach full of excellent tea and terrible feelings.

    "You're doing well," the Empress had told you, "We'll speak again before you finish school." You were numb to any feeling that those words should have normally elicited, but you'd expressed your gratitude adequately, made your formal goodbyes, and been mercifully dismissed from the Imperial Presence.

    Peony can tell there's something wrong the moment she sees you, although she doesn't seem particularly surprised by this. She gives you a sympathetic look as you step back under the shade of the umbrella, but leaves you to your silent brooding on the way back to your chambers. You try to take comfort in her quiet presence — it's difficult, but that isn't Peony's fault.

    Verdigris is a small coil of tension when you arrive back, and immediately winds herself tightly around your arm. You let her, relieved at least to feel the cool sensation of her metallic scales again. You sink heavily down into a chair, letting your poise slip just a little, alone in your bedchamber.

    You spend a long moment scrutinising the light filtering in through a high window, before you finally produce the key for the box Verdigris was guarding. Rising and stepping back to the table it sits on, you click the lock open. You pull out Maia's dagger first, drawing it from its leather sheath. It feels heavier in your hand than you remember, and somehow more ominous.

    Maia's training and evasiveness on the topic of her family had always been conspicuous. It had never been exactly unheard of, however. There had been almost an infinite number of possibilities more likely than her being a descendant of a defunct and disgraced Great House once infamous for its trained killers. But here you are nonetheless.

    You sheath the dagger and slip the chain containing both it and Perfection's scale back around your neck. You can immediately sense the dragon's presence vying for your attention; you're not in any state to speak to someone with so much insight into your mental state, however. You block them out for the time being, for when you're more composed.

    All at once, your room feels too small and too confining, so you get up, inform Peony that you won't require her assistance until the evening, and leave.

    The rest of the day is a bit of a blur. You wander the palace, ostensibly enjoying the sights, conversing with many passing acquaintances along the way. You settle an argument about the distinction between gods and elementals, have a lengthy exchange with a very polite young man which you cannot recall afterward for the life of you, and almost unthinkingly accept an invitation from one of L'nessa's adoptive nieces for a social engagement in the coming weeks.

    Your father finds you at some point during the afternoon, sitting in a gazebo that has always been one of your favourite places on the palace grounds, staring out at a shallow pond in which a number of brilliantly-coloured scarlet cranes strut. He doesn't immediately sit down next to you. He just stands there for a long, quiet moment, stroking his beard and staring into the same pond as you. He doesn't ask you how the interview went, or why you seem so despondent. Instead, he says: "By the time I was a little older than you are, my mother was already the tanist of Prasad."

    You know this, more or less — the Prasadi custom is for an official heir to be chosen from whichever of the two ruling Dragon Clans is not currently in power, elected by the Dragon Caste as a whole, rather than chosen directly by the rani-satrap. So your grandmother, Burano Maharan Rohavin, would have had to have been the tanist at some point. From your understanding, it's a position with much more responsibility in practice than it has on paper.

    Undeterred by your silence, Nazat continues: "I think, and have always thought, that your grandmother is a great ruler. But the things that make a woman a good ruler are not necessarily those that make her an easy parent. The demands are different."

    As if following some unseen signal, the cranes flap up into the sky at once, calling loudly to one another as they sail over the rooftops of the palace. The surface of the pond is temporarily awash with ripples, slowly returning to its previous, mirror-smooth state. You look up at your father, whose eyes are still fixed on the water. You know that this is the closest he will ever come to criticising your mother's conduct toward you, and that you should be grateful that he's willing to outright say so much.

    However, the person whose comfort you really want at the moment is Maia's. And you're not sure whether things will feel the same with her when you see her next. You feel Verdigris's head pushing into your palm from where she's emerged out of your sleeve, and you gently stroke it with your thumb. "I understand that," you say.


    Interlude 3 was originally meant to be two updates, as per normal, but if I'd continued on with that goal in mind, this update would have likely ended up over ten-thousand words, which would have been a bit of a nightmare for pacing. So there will be a third A Mother's Fond Regard chapter, which will include the two character-focused scenes voted for in the previous update, as well as several others before we get to the start-of-Year-4 vote.

    Article:
    Ambraea has just received shocking news from an unexpected source, and does not know how to feel about it yet. Fortunately, she has most of the summer to stew on this. It nonetheless affects her behaviour. How does Ambraea spend much of her free time in the Imperial City? In all events, she will maintain study and training enough to not appear negligent in either area. You may vote for as many options as you wish, but only the one with the most votes will be selected.

    [ ] Meet new people, engage in a series of shallow flirtations and entanglements

    Ambraea distracts herself from her troubles with a series of temporary friendships and superficial dalliances. While socialising is never effortless for a Dynastic sorcerer, companionship is not hard to find if she goes looking. This will nonetheless provide useful contacts among those willing to overlook Ambraea's occult practices. The court will take note of this.

    [ ] Focus on the texts that the Empress provided, conduct small experiments and rituals in your suite

    Ambraea distracts herself from her troubles by squirreling herself away from the larger society of the palace, spending the coming weeks as something of a recluse. This will provide her with a greater understanding of these texts going into the coming year. The court will take note of this.

    [ ] Throw yourself into your swordswomanship, seek out new opponents for practice duels

    Ambraea distracts herself from her troubles with physical exertion in her sport of choice. The Imperial City is a melting pot in many ways, including combat styles. There is no shortage of opponents to seek out and learn from. This will sharpen her combat skills beyond what she learns from her usual training. The court will take note of this.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Our options are, basically, "deal with this like how L'nessa deals with stress (but gay)", "deal with this like how Amiti deals with stress", or "deal with this like how Sola does". Being a book nerd is... fine, but it's just doubling down on being a sorcerer. It doesn't add anything. Sword fighting has its value, as it would give more focus on a different thing, and it's a lot of fun.

    The other option, though, leans into the explicit permission that Maia gave us:

    Gazetteer said:
    "I mean what I said before, though," she says. "I won't be jealous, or anything, if there's someone else while you're in the capital. Just as long as I'm still... special, when you see me again. I don't want to be too clingy."
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    Maia gave us permission to have some dalliances. This gives us more social contacts, too, which is going to be very important going forward, and it actually sort of suggests a certain level of how Dynastic society at large will look to handle Ambraea. You can imagine influential figures in the Dynasty nudging daughters and nieces, saying "Hey, you like girls, and that Ambraea is about your age. Why don't you go over and introduce yourself? Oh, and if you hit it off, don't forget to ask about our mining concerns."

    I think this sounds like a fun way to take the character.

    [x] Meet new people, engage in a series of shallow flirtations and entanglements
     
    [X] Meet new people, engage in a series of shallow flirtations and entanglements

    I think we could have some interesting character development showing how Ambrea contrasts these shallow dalliances with her deeper relationship with Maia.

    The practical advantages of being seen as a budding socialite are also significant given how Ambrea will need to deal with the social stigma of being a full-time sorcerer once she graduates the Heptagram. Social prowess and a reputation as someone willing to deal with others are an asset that can prove to be very beneficial for almost anything she does after graduating.
     
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    [X] Focus on the texts that the Empress provided, conduct small experiments and rituals in your suite

    Sorcery, sorcery, sorcery!

    Ambraea already has a reputation for being aloof and interested in the occult, and I would like to lean into that.
     
    [X] Focus on the texts that the Empress provided, conduct small experiments and rituals in your suite
     
    Gazetteer said:
    Many people travel much further for far less, and you're grateful for so much consideration.
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    Mmhm.

    Gazetteer said:
    You're fine with this.
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    Mmmmhm.

    Gazetteer said:
    You're not upset with her over this.

    Or so you tell yourself.
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    Mmmmmmmmhmmmmmm.

    Gazetteer said:
    have a lengthy exchange with a very polite young man which you cannot recall afterward for the life of you,
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    Godsdamn Sidereals, they are everywhere, like taxes.
     
    [X] Throw yourself into your swordswomanship, seek out new opponents for practice duels
    [X] Focus on the texts that the Empress provided, conduct small experiments and rituals in your suite
     
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    Gazetteer said:
    Ambraea is a calm, stoic Dynastic woman who does not experience inconvenient emotions 🙃
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    Ah yes, being stoic and not experiencing inconvenient emotions, that's a thing that you can do.

    Luckily, I'm a weak, emotional man who doesn't need to bottle up his feelings and indeed can cry at the drop of a hat.

    [X] Throw yourself into your swordswomanship, seek out new opponents for practice duels

    Gazetteer said:
    The court will take note of this.
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    Gazetteer said:
    The court will take note of this.
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    Gazetteer said:
    The court will take note of this.
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    This court character sure is a busybody.
     
    [X] Throw yourself into your swordswomanship, seek out new opponents for practice duels

    Our last vote focused on sorcery(Spirits count)and social concerns. We are already set to meet and chat and potentially befriend the exalted Heir to the Matriarch of house Sesus, and we have a meeting to ply Ambraea's elder sister for her political insights as well.

    We also passed on a sword duel. Coming off as a recluse isn't the best for connections and politics purposes, but a middle ground of being available and focused on self improvement is an excellent move, and it balances out our two importants meetings with some physical activity.

    It also gives Ambraea an outlet for her current stress with less risk of someone puzzling out her unease through conversation.
    VagueZ said:
    Maia gave us permission to have some dalliances
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    I get that she gave us permission, and I'm happy to have Ambraea take what comes along, but actively seeking it as a means of dealing with her unease over Maia seems like a bad habit to get into, and runs the risk of Ambraea letting something, nothing significant but still hints, out that could cause problems down the line.

    I feel Ambraea will still find a partner or two without making it a priority, and that if she's dueling them, there will be a sort of mutual respect that is more likely to keep their confidence or prevent prying than if she is just socializing, and she is less likely to run afoul of the more self serving social climber.
     
    [X] Meet new people, engage in a series of shallow flirtations and entanglements
    [X] Throw yourself into your swordswomanship, seek out new opponents for practice duels
     
    [X] Focus on the texts that the Empress provided, conduct small experiments and rituals in your suite
    [X] Throw yourself into your swordswomanship, seek out new opponents for practice duels
     
    [X] Throw yourself into your swordswomanship, seek out new opponents for practice duels
     
    [X] Throw yourself into your swordswomanship, seek out new opponents for practice duels

    Listen, sword practice is very important and also very cool. We can study those notes back home.

    Unrelated note-

    Gazetteer said:
    You understand down to your bones that you have entered a place of power belonging to the greatest Exalted sorcerer of the Second Age.
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    Raksi: Am I a joke to you?
     
    [X] Meet new people, engage in a series of shallow flirtations and entanglements
    [X] Throw yourself into your swordswomanship, seek out new opponents for practice duels
     
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