The War Chronicles of a Little Demon
Set in the Diyu Demons verse
A Saga of Tanya the Evil fic.
By Sunshine Temple
Naturally, I do not own Youjo Senki. So here's the disclaimer:
Saga of Tanya the Evil its characters and settings belong Carlo Zen, Shinobu Shinotsuki, and NUT Co., Ltd.
Previous chapters and other works can be found at my fanfiction website.
C&C as always is wanted.
Chapter 32: Saintly Situations
"Come on! You
must see it!" VioletBlood exclaimed as she pulled me along.
The shops and boutiques along Vitrix's High Street were upscale and exotic, befitting a true Diyu metropolis. That it was a true slice of Diyu went without question – Mursam was the main world linking BlackSky's outworld colonies to the Diyu Homeplane, and much of what was imported Homeward and transfered from points out on the Spine passed through the ports here.
"You'll really like this! Lavish found this shop a couple days ago!" It was less a promise than a demand, underlined by the sheer energy in my betrothed's voice. VioletBlood was unusually chipper, as if she hoped cheer in sufficient quantity could prove contagious.
"What, did Centurion RoseTalon go shopping right after we got back?" I asked, allowing my fiancee to pull me along. It wouldn't do to cause a scene, and it was generally easier to go along with LoveBlood's whims when she got in this kind of mood than try and put my foot down.
I certainly could, if I wanted to, I told myself.
I simply… don't want to right now.
Though part of me had to admit we did make a dashing couple, the baroness with her Legion service pins in her hair and a silver-trimmed and emerald evening gown while I wore Legion dress blacks, complete with all my frippery and awards. I even had that thrice damned crown perched on my head and the sword my mother and sister had given me banging about on my hip. The ostentatious decorations might be a bit rich for my blood, but even I couldn't deny Diyu's eye for aesthetics.
Compared to our finery, Visha was smartly dressed in business-wear, with sensible heels, grey pinstripe skirt, leather bustier, and matching jacket. When it came to Legion-specific ornamentation, she merely had a Volantes specialization pin in her hair over her left ear. For all that I envied her more casual wear and the comfort she appeared to be reveling in, it would not do to have her look just as my valet; we'd have to have something more for her next time.
"You know how vain Lavish is," VioletBlood laughed. "Nobles just can't help themselves."
Visha, I noticed, was laughing behind her hand, just out of LoveBlood's line of sight.
"Yes, some girls can be clueless and spoiled," I admitted.
"But we accept you anyway, faults and all," VioletBlood teased.
I did not pout as we wove our way through the crowd and past a bakery and a bistro.
"I don't mean to tease; you just have the cutest reactions," VioletBlood assured with a far too innocent smile.
I did my level best to give her my angriest scowl.
She wasn't steely enough to plow through that as she bit her lip and swiftly changed the subject, "Oh we're here, just turn left! "
I held a light glare on her that VioletBlood tried to ignore, but in the end we followed her down a side-street in the direction of a thickening crowd. I noticed the number of exasperated mothers herding excitable broodlings increased as we went.
VioletBlood pulled us along, literally in my case, in the same direction as the other people were moving. My confusion waned as a particularly twee building came into sight. Dressed with red-stone, the structure was fronted by grey granite pillars hung with green garlands of woven pine boughs twinkling with marvelous lights of a quite magical nature.
Similarly enchanting and enchanted evergreens flanked open doors through which the scents of spice and cinnamon wafted out. A long queue snaking back from the threshold was full of broodlings, all of whom were flapping their wings with impatience. I saw one terror of little girls standing below the trees dressed in their tinsel and fox-fire, staring up with stilled tails. A sure sign that each demon had mischief on their young minds.
Furthering the incongruity of the late spring day was the store's window display. With an abundance of flocking and other white fluff, a winter village was rendered in saccharine miniature, complete with ceremonial altars, carolers in the town-square, a bonfire with a split boar carcass on a giblet, and a glossy green tiny train threading through the too-adorable miniature scene.
I found myself drawn closer to the window, VioletBlood and Visha by my side. Looking deeper into the store. I saw more holiday displays, treats, and toys. My hand hovered just above the glass as I watched the simple familial bliss inside.
"Isn't it a bit early to have all this stuff up? It's not even the Ides of November, is it? Why not wait at least until the latter half of the month?" I asked, pulling my hand back.
"Saber's Watch isn't much more than a month away. Besides, this shop specializes in all sorts of winter holidays from Yule to Christmastide," VioletBlood chided me.
"Yeah, I'm just surprised to see it out here, you know. I mean in Silvana there would be decorations running from the Feast of DarkStar right through to Saint BloodRuby's day," I admitted.
VioletBlood sniffed imperiously. "That's due to Censor CloudFire and Aedile Felisia," she pointed out airily, "who by their offices must support such celebrations.
Hardly an act of faith and piety."
Fair enough, I nodded to her. The Imperatrix's Daughters, especially those two, did have considerable influence on public ritual and ceremony, as was proper for the holders of such offices.
"Just because Bovitar in Eastern Province has less pomp and circumstance doesn't mean you should be surprised at one shop," VioletBlood said, the tones of disappointed despondency hanging like icicles from her words as she shook her head. "Islander girl, please, back me up on this!"
Visha nodded, dutifully rising to the occasion. "Opalescence Bay had a cute little place that was open all year and a couple more that pop up over the fall and winter."
"See!" VioletBlood practically jumped, wagging a chiding finger. "And this is the largest city in the largest colony world! Besides, more will be opening if not already; this is just the nicest one."
I gave a vague murmur of reluctant agreement, browbeaten as I was under the twin arguments of my Vs.
"And extravagance aside, Felisia and CloudFire are correct. Decorations are expected for nobles this time of year." VioletBlood looked at me with an unsettling twinkle in her green eyes. "
Especially for those of particular piety."
I have a bad feeling about this, I thought, shifting uncomfortably; my wings twitching. My eyes, at their own impulse, began to scan for any clear exits.
"The Feast is a more important holiday," I tried to counter. "And has the advantage of actually being a Saint's day-"
"Agreed. Duty permitting, we'll need more decorations and observances next year," VioletBlood stated, smugly bulldozing over me.
I looked at Visha pleadingly.
"It
is quite fun, no?" she replied, a warm smile full of honeyed betrayal.
"At the very least we'll need something perfunctory," VioletBlood went on, her tone abruptly all business. "Maybe a bit more. And of course your Mother Clementia would appreciate something showing your faith as well. Maybe we can get a camera and send out holiday cards with photographs?"
"She… would like that, yes," I reluctantly admitted. "And I suppose My Duchess would too…"
"So come inside!" VioletBlood smirked triumphantly as she pulled me towards the doorway.
"But we're cutting the line!" I cried.
"Oh that's just for the broodlings to sit on DarkStar's lap," VioletBlood laughed. "Or I guess that old human guy; Odin I think."
The woman dressed as DarkStar did have a full-length dress with long sleeves and matching gloves. Even with those precautions, she was clearly taking every care in the proper execution of her solemn duty, a positive sign as to her professionalism.
"Well, have you been a good girl?" Visha asked teasingly.
"That's not funny." My tail flicked as I was dragged along.
"Oh, it is," VioletBlood cheerily assured me. "Let's get you something special!"
"I'm getting a nice enough present," I half-grumbled, but allowed myself to be pulled along like a loose branch in a current.
VioletBlood rolled her eyes. "A replacement suit doesn't count."
Inside, the peppermint, spice, and pine smells were stronger and I could see a group of carolers preparing to unleash holiday wonder upon us. Despite the seasonal mismatch, the festive atmosphere was rather contagious. There were even a handful of humans, a drow family, and a family of Forest People to my silent surprise. The parents seemed a bit overwhelmed but their child was galumphing about on a pair of large feet that showed he still had plenty of growth to go.
"It will be a very nice Polyxo," I defended. "And really, an improvement to my survivability is one of the best gifts I could ever ask for."
My redheaded fiancee turned and pouted at me, squeezing my hand a bit tighter. "You
will have fun today," she ordered. brooking no disobedience.
I opened my mouth.
"
Without talking about work." Visha cut in, an implacably stern look on her face.
I felt myself wilt under the uncompromising gaze of my Vs.
"I am," I assured them, fending them off as we stepped to one side to keep from blocking the entryway. We were closer to the grotto-like alcove that was dressed to look something like a feasting hall, complete with an altar at one end. I tried not to twitch at the habits worn by some of the helpers. They were a close approximation to the robes of my Order, but the headdresses were all wrong. The other helpers were wearing tin armor and helmets that were more decorative than practical.
Green eyes studied me before VioletBlood turned to Visha. "Perhaps we should have gotten into the line."
"I don't need to talk to someone dressed up like DarkStar," I crossed my arms and tried to not sound petulant.
"It's not a bad costume..." Visha allowed.
"She's wearing a wig; changing her hair color would have been the least she could have done if they couldn't find someone with some
proper red on their head," VioletBlood stated, giving the smiling woman on one of the wooden thrones a critical look. Next to her sat a large, barrel-chested older human male with a graying beard, crimson hunting leathers, and a sable eye patch.
His remaining blue eye twinkled as he assessed the bravery of a broodling who tried to pick up a large hammer at his feet.
"At least the person they got to play Odin looks good," Visha murmured. "And that wig isn't bad, and besides, Baroness, not every redhead can have such an elegant coiffure as you."
VioletBlood gave a quiet huff, but didn't disagree. "Still," she muttered, "it could be better."
"I mean... The eyes are right, and that gown is correct to the First Epoch... or at least close to it," I said, weakly defending the demon's costume for some reason, trying to keep my voice down as I did so. There was already a vast clowder of broodlings giving us curious and wide-eyed looks, and the last thing I wanted was to draw more attention to myself.
VioletBlood laughed. "Do you believe these kids
really think that DarkStar came back just to ask what presents they want?" she asked, but, I noted, in a near whisper to match my own.
"A key part of our faith is the idea that one day she will return," I replied automatically and then winced at my waspish tone and at the ingrained piety being raised by nuns had instilled. At least I was in my Legion blacks; if I had arrived wearing my habit, I surely would be causing a scene by now.
VioletBlood bowed her horns to me. "What I mean is really Saint BloodRuby should be here instead of DarkStar. She's the one who stood vigil for her return, and this holiday is her saint's day."
That was fair. Though something about the admission still left an unpleasant taste in my mouth.
"I think the Saint is supposed to be here," Visha said leaning in to read the sign indicating the entrance to the grotto proper. Added onto the printed sign was a handwritten note apologizing for the lateness of Saint BloodRuby.
"Well, good thing we didn't wait in line," VioletBlood sniffed. "Come, let's get out of the way."
Feeling broodlings' eyes on my back, we followed her deeper into the store. "What's the plan?" I inquired, glancing curiously about. The rest of the building was divided into roughly three sections focusing on decorations, toys, various foods, and inevitably, a wide selection of treats.
"Something to spruce up our billet and the office." VioletBlood's smile radiated confidence. "
And, because I know you have a sweet tooth, I have brought you to an establishment full to bursting with all the variety you could possibly desire!"
"Plus there are various gifts that we'll have to buy for our families, friends, and comrades," Visha added more sedately.
"Good idea. With my nieces back on Diyu, I will have to buy my gifts early so they'll arrive in time. Plus your family and your cousin." I nodded to Visha and VioletBlood. A nice thing about being in the Legions, Auxilia, or Fleet was that offworld shipping cost far less subsidized by the service. However, that was contingent on the packages being relatively small – the Fleet was unamused by games such as "mail a landing craft home in ten easy shipments". Also, since said parcels were shipped whenever there was spare cargo space, delivery times were rather sedate.
"Toys then?" Visha suggested.
I stepped to one side and saw that the toy aisle did have a collection of bright little books, plenty of fancy dolls, rows of soft stuffed animals, and lots of other gewgaws. "Good idea."
"Do we need a basket?" Visha looked around to find where they were stored.
"I'll grab a clerk," VioletBlood decided, and before I could say a word was boldly striding off before I could protest. She swept her way around a couple broods. I frowned, noticing that the girls were still pointing at us and whispering amongst themselves.
"Let her have her fun," Visha laughed as we went to the toy aisle.
"It's pretty busy in here," I muttered, thumbing my way through the children's books, looking for something appropriate for my nieces. I also needed to shop for my mothers and my sisters, but that could be later. "I don't want her to bully some poor salesgirl."
Visha noticed my hand skipping right over a handful of books that glorified my adventures. "No good?"
"My reservations aside, the girls already have these. Maybe something from the Silvia Succubus series?" I asked, wincing a bit at the informal name for our species.
"That could be cute. I liked reading those growing up," Visha noted, and tilted her head in thoughtful consideration. Then, her eyes narrowed, just as I felt the hairs on my neck stand on end. Leaking out over the shelf at our backs, we both heard the sound of little voices whispering to each other, awed and not half as quiet as they probably thought.
"Maybe I should have changed," I pouted despite myself. People going out in uniform was hardly rare; Victrix supported a massive military instantiation, after all. DarkStar's Blood, I wasn't even the only uniformed Legionary in the store! I saw one harried mother with the markings of an Armis specialty at the front of the line. The Legionary tanker had visible relief when her girls swarmed the Odin figure.
I was, however ,the only person in the shop with a Preserver Order around her... neck. No wonder I was drawing attention.
Then, the carolers started to sing.
Their massed voices did provide a pleasant background noise as I mulled over books, enough to drown out the surprised mutters of recognition. Visha had wandered off to look at dolls. Those were fine enough gifts, but I was thinking of something a bit more educational for my nieces. Maybe I could find a nice age-appropriate history book?
Something a bit more grisly and bloody, for an older age, would probably appeal more.
I pulled out a young-adult history of the air campaign of the later Zioxan Front on the Third Great House War and frowned as I flipped through it. As such things went, it wasn't objectively
terrible. Indeed, my inner cynic even went so far as to note that the jingoism and propaganda were minimized in the writing about as far as I could reasonably expect.
Then, I turned to the chapter on the war-ending Operation Sandalwood. Amidst all the heroic descriptions of the broader strokes, there were vignettes here and there describing lost pilots, shot down over those desolated battlefields. Each was only a few words, but even the shortest was more than IronTalon Cardino would ever get, not that a few words in a cheap book would bring Lady Adriana Melisande any peace of mind. At least she was talking to a Legion Counselor about it. Hopefully, she was getting better use out of their service than I had.
"Tauria, look at this!" Visha said, a strange joy in her voice. I looked up from the book and saw that she was holding a plush doll with a giant head covered in fluffy blonde hair, and poofy white wings protruding from its back. The doll was dressed in a familiar black uniform.
I stared. The soulless sapphire eyes of the doll stared back. Despite my profound hopes, the doll did not change. "Where did you get that?" I asked, and regretted the question as soon as it passed my lips. Stepping to one side, I could see a whole row of me-dolls. There were even some in nun outfits and frilly gowns.
My gut dropped.
"You didn't know?" Visha asked as she gave the big doll a playful squeezing hug.
"The likeness contract I signed doesn't require me to approve every design," I sighed and stepped up to the rows of dolls, even as my stomach did knots in my chest. In addition to the soft ones, there was a selection of more realistically proportioned porcelain-faced dress-up dolls. These came with even more clothing options, including an especially baroque Ritual Plate suit or a full blown ball gown.
"Oh? Well at least you're getting good royalty payments from it," Visha's voice was strangely distant as she picked up one of the nun dolls.
"Less goes into my pocket than you'd think," I absently said. In truth, I received nothing. Those funds went directly to an account established to help my patronage of orphanages, scholarships, and other philanthropic works. Records of which were all kept in meticulous order to strengthen my advocate's negotiating position, as it brought the Church and the Legions to apply their own subtle pressure to the Censor's office.
An Imperial Heroine using her fame to quietly support war-widows and orphans was the sort of pious thing someone in my position was supposed to do. I just wish it hadn't come at the expense of glorifying my name and spreading around my chibi-fied image for all to see simply for doing my job.
IronTalon certainly wouldn't ever see anywhere near the same renown, and she'd sacrificed far more than I had. I shook the thought from my head.
Melisandre can carry her honor for her, and I know from personal experience that death need not be a true end.
I gave the dolls another look.
Besides… I suppose I can grudgingly admit that the marketing team did good work here.
Visha gave me a warm smile.
"Oh, there's some of Fabia," I said, and picked one up and nodded approvingly at the iridescence on its plush wings. My tail curled when I felt a bit irked that some shippy in a gleaming white uniform was the most popular of the ranks of Imperial Heroines. At least there was a variety to choose from, as in addition to the military dolls were enough to make but the bulk of the Imperial family: Princesses, Daughters, and even the Imperatrix herself.
It was almost sacrilegious to see BlackSky's imperious, but understanding, expression on a soft doll with a far too large of a head crowned in ebony tubular curls. The DarkStar dolls, however, were a bit more questionable on those grounds.
"Are you going to buy that?" VioletBlood asked as she strode up with a basket under one arm. Somehow, it was already half-full with candles, boxes of chocolate, a string of sausages, and various other fripperies and sparkling decorations.
A harried salesgirl with purple hair and little bows tied to her horns plodded in the baroness's footsteps, pushing a cart that spoke mute volumes about VioletBlood's anticipated purchases. For a moment, gold eyes fixed on me, wild and hopeless, before they slid away as she turned to glance back. I followed her gaze, and saw behind her where… an entire horde of broodlings stood in expectant silence. All of them stared up at me with wide eyes.
Their attention then went to the dolls Visha was holding.
Tails quivered as dozens of bright, excited gazes slid back, focusing on me.
"Uh, Ma'am," the salesgirl said, her voice carefully calm as she put the wooden cart between herself and the terror of very excitable broodlings. Flimsy, as far as shields went; she looked as if she'd be more comfortable in a Ritual Plate all her own: for both the protection and the ability to retreat at great speed. The tension grew, as did the sibilant whispering. Taller and further back, their mothers looked imploringly upon us as if we could somehow defuse the situation.
Well… you've been in hairier situations before, Tauria, I told myself.
It's like defusing a bomb… or talking down a mob. Well at least they aren't politicians, so I should be able to-
"Yes! Before you is the Jungle Fox! The Saintly Countess! The ace who flies with DarkStar's blessing!" VioletBlood abruptly cried out as she brazenly seized the opportunity, taking two blonde dolls from Visha's arms and tossing them straight into the mob of diminutive demons, like a fishing guide chumming for sharks. The broodlings were excited, and their fresh glee at seeing an Imperial Heroine did seem to displace a disappointment that had been clinging to many. Certainly, there was no sign of reluctance on any of those tiny fanged faces as they squabbled and fought for the dolls.
Tail freezing, I stared in a mix of horror and anger. My lips peeled back, but I barely managed to turn the flashing of fangs into a broad smile as I waved and nodded for Visha to get some more plush dolls, cursing an internal blue streak at the proudly grinning VioletBlood. She just
had to use those DarkStar-cursed nicknames! The only thing that kept me from snapping at my fiancee was that she had not mentioned anything from our recent mission.
At least she's learned some manner of discretion.
My Vs each tossed a couple more dolls, enough to at least whet the ravening appetites of the aggressive broodlings, but there were still more covetous children than soft idols in my likeness.
In the face of dwindling rations, I was left with only hard decisions and bad choices.
Squaring my shoulders, I damned the fates and met my enemy head-on.
"Hello, it's lovely to meet you all," I said, summoning every etiquette lesson and scrap of decorum I had been made a subject to, every last dull minute contributing to the horrible smile slashing across my face like deep laceration. I also called upon some of the recent training Invidia had been so "generous" with; broodlings were hardly the biggest risk to looking past my pious mask, but they were very,
very energetic.
"Have you all been good girls? I wouldn't want you to hear that you've been making things difficult for your mothers. What would Saint BloodRuby or DarkStar think?"
A few of the little monsters still felt the lashes of guilty consciences, at least, and guiltily lowered their heads and pulled in their wings, reducing the scrum's frenetic energy by a measurable degree. One particularly charitable or guilt-scourged broodling even handed a doll back to the girl whose arms she had stolen it from, an act of near saintly self-denial for one so young and savage.
Nimble of mind and immediately spotting the angle, the salesgirl rapidly overcame her shock and began distributing books and dolls and using the cart as a ready display stand. She gave the age of the audience a critical eye and added some more coloring books, crayons, and, with a bit of thought, went to the end of the aisle to get some chew sticks and other treats.
A deft mind on that clerk, I noted approvingly.
She will go far.
With a cheery smile that did not quite reach her eyes, Visha handed me a pair of dolls. Small mercy, these at least had me in my Legion blacks.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause a scene," I told the salesgirl.
She gave a small laugh and looked at me with golden eyes gleaming with the assurance of one who had more than met her daily quota in a quarter of an hour. "Oh, it's no trouble!"
I then noticed more uniformed salesgirls were coming out of the woodwork, and that the crowd of broodlings had doubled. Giving a glassy smile, I tossed out the two soft dolls.
"Still, this is distracting from DarkStar and Odin, and we do have to do our own shopping," I said to the salesgirl, watching with dull eyes and vacant smile as the books and toys were slowly depleted. Most of the broodlings were still lingering, waiting to see what I would do next.
"I can talk to the manager, maybe something can be arranged." Those golden eyes gleamed. Before I could protest, she waved to one of her fellow salesgirls, who scampered off to the back of the store.
"We should get decorations and gifts for the orphanage here," VioletBlood offered into the semi-silence that followed, her tone oh-so-innocent.
"Oh, how lovely!" the clerk clapped her hands, as her bows bobbed about. "You're too kind."
I shot the redhead a hard look, but my fiancee deliberately ignored other people's feelings in the way only a noble could. "You know... I noticed your Saint BloodRuby is tardy. Perhaps, a mere Countess can warm her seat until she arrives?"
"LoveBlood what are you-!" I snarled, but barely managed to start before Visha took my arm.
"She's trying to help," Visha whispered.
"But..."
"And do you really want to disappoint all these little ones?" Her quiet voice crawling into my ears and hooking my attention. It was dastardly, the way her thorns entered so painlessly, sweetened by her shining smile. Invidia herself could not have done a better job, not even with the assistance of a heated poker, a single claw, and a common desk drawer. "Is this not one of the many duties of a legendary Heroine? Is this not one of the responsibilities you swore an oath to?"
"I mean..." I frowned, a pall of disappointment hovering over the broodlings' heads. I suppose they were upset at not having the Saber Saint here to meet.
Visha's smile widened, knowing full well that her barbs had set too deeply for me to offer any resistance to the tug; I felt the relief that she still had me, despite all of my recent... actions.
I felt a bit better until I realized that VioletBlood had gone off to talk to a willowy-imperious woman with pinned up blue hair who had to be the manager. The woman, at least twenty years our senior, looked from me to the broodlings to the depleted store stocks and, with a broad grin, bowed her head in acceptance of VioletBlood's offer.
Shortly after that, I had to help everyone corral the broodlings to the front of the store, leaving the ravaged shelves behind as I took the empty seat between the woman dressed as DarkStar and the older human man.
The redhead in her gown made a point to fuss over me and say how proud she was of me. The crowd ate it up, and I could feel just how happy that recognition made them. Odin's lone eye twinkled as he gave a merry laugh while I used a commanding voice to marshal some order into the unruly mob. At least I did not have to change into some fripperies, though VioletBlood did loan me a pair of gloves.
From there, things turned into a blur of telling stories, giving out toys and treats, and listening to the concerns of a parade of broodlings. Of course, I failed to escape even being roped into taking photos with the broodlings, Odin, and DarkStar, depending on what was desired.
Visha felt the need to intervene to correct my smile to something "less overtly threatening." I had no idea what she could possibly mean.
Seeing a way to spin this dross into gold, I struck out to turn this surprise event into an opportunity for education. Each time a broodling came before me, I tried to dispense wisdom as much as I could while also practicing maintaining my nascent mental barriers. Even I would freely admit it was paranoia to think some telepath would be among these broodlings or their mothers, but it was good practice, and it helped distract me from the eager young faces.
While I did not crush any little girls' dreams of being a pilot, I took pains to point out that there were many ways to do great things beyond just soaring about in Plate. That there was more to life than excitement and derring do, and that many civilian options were perfectly fine and that the military life was not for everybody. I tried not to lecture the broodlings as a whole, but I did have a semi-captive audience, and if I could help them…
Perhaps there won't be so many Melisandres and IronTalons out there… My thoughts drifted again, this time to where it had all started in this life,
Perhaps Mother Clementia won't have so lonely little orphans who'd lost their parents to Adventure.
I brushed the melancholy mood aside. It wouldn't do to upset the little one with my own insecurities. There were appearances to keep up, and those appearances were as much a duty and a weight as any other.
Speaking of, the little terrors were unending in their crushing volume; VioletBlood and Visha swapped off which of them stood by my side. Over time, the Baroness had accrued quite the haul of what could only be described as holiday loot. It was during a small break when I was taking a drink of hot chocolate that I realized she had sent a runner to our apartments.
She must have, because soon I saw my maid Reinhild was there in my shadow, helping to organize VioletBlood's vast haul. I made a note to get her something special when she met my gaze and gestured for me to come over, giving me an excuse for a momentary reprieve. Her niece Brabant, a petite white-haired kitsune who helped with the cleaning, was there next to her, pushing a large pram.
Inside, a litter of fox kits were peering over the side and watching me, their ears perked up and their fluffy little tails swishing. After dealing with a parade of broodlings over the last two hours, I thought I had been rendered immune to such adorable displays.
I was wrong.
And now VioletBlood had, after giving them some peppermint sticks, slotted them neatly into the line. My doom by cuteness overload was inevitable.
+++++
In my all too literal lifetimes of experience, waiting rooms did not change. In what must have been some kind of dreadfully mundane universal constant, waiting rooms for medical services across all my lives possessed the same slightly-shabby, insidiously-dull presence.
The trappings may have changed, but the feeling of isolation in wich to ponder one's mortality remained a constant.
At least in this particular waiting room, Doctrix Olivia OakStone made sure that the plants were well-watered, the ticking of the clock was neither irregular nor frustratingly loud, the chairs had a modicum of comfort, and the magazines were not horrifically out of date.
Despite that, the most recent publication on the coffee table before me was last week's issue of Mursam Minutes, a more generalist daily publication for news on this world and this locality of the Spine.
The other broadsheet for perusal was Legionary Letters, a distinctly more...
earthy and direct publication that was the Legion's in-house newspaper. However, that was another week older.
The publications ranged from the banal, like Modern Whimsy, Frugal Cooking, and Fashionable Fatale, to ones that I had already read, such as the Journal on Air Combat and Fleet Chronicle.
Unlike many such waiting rooms, there was no receptionist. There was a small desk for someone to sit, but like every other seat, it was empty.
Seeing nothing else to do, I let out a little sigh and picked up the September issue of Fleet Chronicle and gave it a cursory perusal. While not officially published by the Household Fleet, the periodical had many contributors who were reasonably informed.
Happily, I found a surprisingly plain-spoken article about the tradeoffs of going from the Umbra to the smaller Spatha as a ship-to-ship cargo delivery platform. The thrust of the article postulated that for small formations using
Kolibri patrol and
Venture Scout airships, the hit in cargo capacity was made up for by the increased flexibility. Notably, it continued, smaller VTOL were far easier to land and takeoff on the tiny hangars of the Fleet's smallest airships.
I continued reading my article as the waiting room's inner door at last clicked open. From the corner of my eye, I saw a weary-seeming human in a green Auxilia tunic, with the flashes of a Magus Engineer, trudge across the waiting room, favoring his combat engineer's staff .
A couple minutes later, the inner door opened again.
"Prefect Centurion DiamondDust?" a woman inquired in the smooth Vanis accent of someone who had spent a fair bit of time in Vordurium.
Doctrix Olivia OakStone had golden hair pulled into a prim bun set with pins denoting her Legionary status. Her deep purple skin and pale green eyes complemented her ash-grey jacket, silver-embroidered bodice, and matching glossy leather skirt,
"Yes," I stood and put the magazine back onto the table.
"If it's not too much trouble, please come this way," she bowed her straight, pale horns at me in a formal greeting.
I followed her into her office, which was infused with a solid, thoroughly utilitarian air. There was a plain, sturdy desk with a tasteful drift of her notes across the leather writing pad, standing squarely before a set of filing cabinets and a single shelf heaving with well-thumbed reference texts. Despite the flowers in their pots by the window and paintings of cheery landscapes hanging from the walls, this was the workplace of a sober professional.
Instead of gesturing for me to lay on the couch on the far side of the room, Dr. OakStone motioned to one of the leather chairs in front of her desk. I appreciated that there was no pretense with her, there was no sitting around a coffee table with wine and pretending we were friends commiserating over the events.
She was a medical professional, and I was her patient. This was no different than having my bones X-rayed to make sure nothing was broken. Or in the case of our species, checking that nothing had set and healed incorrectly.
Taking my seat, I frowned at that analogy; badly healed bones were a known quantity, of course, but relatively rare to the point of quasi-obscurity, saved for situations of mass trauma and a lack of medical care. One advantage of our creation was that, given the chance, we could heal from most all injuries without any physical flaw or scarring. It was almost enough to make one think a Diyu Demon truly
did live by the phrase "anything that doesn't kill you makes you stronger".
The key word being, of course, "physical". There were a variety of mental maladies and disabilities that our species could be afflicted by and trauma was the main, but not only, cause of them.
The point where Dr OakStone came in was when it became necessary to inquire into the healing of that
other sort of wound.
"I suppose you'd want to ask about your subordinates?" the older woman said as she adjusted her wings to settle into her chair. This was part of our little ritual.
"Without violating any of your oaths," I assured, playing my part.
Picking up a set of steel-framed glasses off her desk, the woman slipped them on. They shimmered slightly as her gaze went far away for a brief moment. "Ten days ago was, for many, the first mission they participated in with casualties, unrecoverable casualties, sustained, they are doing quite well. That considered, they're handling the strain well."
I nodded. My senior pilots like GreyDawn and Charity had been Legionary Fliers long enough to have seen... many comrades die. Even Octavia, who was not that much older than Visha, had lost friends. Enough to build calluses on certain contact-points of the soul, I hoped. "I have two points of concern."
"Your greenhorns in Second Flight, and IronTalon's friends in Third," OakStone reasoned, her neutral tone betraying no similar concerns, but only an acknowledgment of the worries she knew troubled me.
"Yes," I admitted. "But, I'm wondering if by focusing on the obvious ones, maybe I've missed those suffering in silence."
"Your concern is admirable," OakStone smiled. "But I've read your evaluation reports, Tauria. You are a very thorough young woman."
Glancing at her pale green eyes, I could feel a slight buzz along my horns. The woman wasn't prying. The training the Lady Legate and Invidia had oh-so-generously sponsored me for left me well aware of that. On the one wing, it was good to have some counter-psionics training. On the other wing, that was a clear sign CSR intended for me to retain yet more secrets in the future. Furthering my paranoia spiral was the lingering thought wondering if the instructors were purposely learning my mental backdoors so that they, or some other tentacle of the CSR, could peer into my mind at their leisure.
It could be worse. The training wasn't extensive enough for specialist lessons that might truly open holes, there simply hadn't been time for it. Not with the encounter with the Fae knocking on our door. Unless, of course, that had all been planned from the start and- I shook my head. That way lay madness.
In all probability, things were nowhere near so convoluted. Someone in the bowels of the CSR, likely Invidia, had suspected I was being prepared for further advancement, and, as Tribunes were given all sorts of supplemental training, had penciled me in for anti-psionics training at some point in the future. Such arrangements were far from unheard of – I would be far from the first connected Legionary Flier CSR helped rise in ranks – and nor was it at all unheard of for an evolving situation to rapidly move some key piece of training up in the priority queue. Still, unless the Doctrix was far more skilled in the mental arts, she wasn't trying to rifle through my mind.
However, her ivory-colored horns were doing their best to read every scrap of emotional emissions I was broadcasting. I reminded myself that there was no need for anxiety, that I had no need to quail before her regard. This appointment was, at its heart, fundamentally no different from any other medical examination.
"I just don't want to let them down." I exhaled and kicked my legs, feet tapping the desk. "You know, any more. I couldn't bring everyone back."
"You did better than any other Squadron leader," OakStone noted, her clinical tone contrasting with a compassionate emotional pulse. "While I have not been told the details of your mission, I can count the number of patients we need to recertify for flight duty without difficulty, and can use an org chart with equal ease."
I squeezed my hands. And there it was. This prim, professional woman could, with a simple form, ground me or my Vs. Oh, I could lodge an appeal, if matters progressed that far. It wouldn't even be a particularly tricky thorn to pluck, particularly since many such orders could be lifted with a successful recertification, unsuccessful appeals be damned. After all, the Imperatrix was loath to permanently lose a pilot.
But that sort of gamble could backfire, should the appeal be dismissed with prejudice. While the Imperatrix might loathe the loss of an otherwise functional pilot, she would not extend the privilege of further service on her behalf to a Legionary who presented a real and persistent danger to herself or to her comrades. And the doctrix had more severe things she could recommend, beyond a disbarring of my certification. A
missio causaria would require more effort on her part and would entail the filing of far more paperwork, but she could start a process that would end with my service to the Imperatrix cut unceremoniously and permanently short. While no official stigmas were attached to a medical discharge, I knew it would always be a cloud over my head and a blemish on my record in the eyes of all who knew what to look for. A symbol of a weakness so profound that I had been cut from a queen of the skies to a cracked menace at its mere identification.
Studying me, OakStone picked up a clipboard, leaned back, and jotted down a few notes.
I tried to reign in my imagination; this was not a good place for my mind to wander, but... would it be so bad to find an early discharge, even one leaving the oily soot of madness smeared across my service jacket? Given my history, maybe I could become a country noble, could do normal teenage things, whatever those might be. I could work on furthering my education, tend to my county, and pass justice on my subjects, ending my absenteeism at last. Would it be so bad? I
had always wanted that quiet retirement.
But... I'd be leaving my Vs behind.
"I have a daughter your age, you know. She's a big fan," OakStone said, her voice soft. "Naturally, she doesn't know you're one of my patients."
Pondering her seeming non-sequitur, I thought back to VioletBlood's little surprise a few days past. "If you want, I could sign something. You could say you got it from Quirinus or..." I shook my head. Distraction. "Why did you bring this up?"
"It's not my place to criticize the Pilot Cadet Program, though I am happy that girls in your situation are... rare." She glanced at the small BlackSkyvian banner hanging on one wall. "You're feeling guilt for your actions out there. You blame yourself. But a lot of people look up to you."
"I was in command. Thus I am responsible. And I'm not feeling-" I cut myself off. Was I really trying to deny my feelings to someone reading them? I tried to follow it up with something better, but the words got caught in my throat.
"Of course you feel guilt, Tauria. You're not some monster lacking empathy. People you cared about were hurt. Some died. You yourself were even shot down." She gave me a sharp look over her glasses. "Frankly, I would be more worried about you if you
didn't show any apparent trauma after your latest mission. Absence of symptoms does not, after all, mean an absence of injury. And a complete lack of empathy would be a
grievous injury indeed. Potentially even career ending."
I took a breath and tried to relax my wings. I could feel my feathers ruffling up. It did not help that my Zephyr were picking up my agitation. "I'm handling it," I firmly said, and hoped that my declaration didn't sound overly stressed.
"You do seem better than you were last week, and even then you were composed," OakStone allowed as she flickered through the images her glasses were displaying. "Oh yes, you didn't call in, so no negative effects to the Benzodril?"
"Just a bit of dry mouth after taking it, just like you warned." I waved off before putting my hands on my knees. "It did settle my dreams."
My mind stuttered back to painful memories. The taste of my own blood and someone else's flesh in my mouth. The screaming of suit alarms. Golden beams across an azure sky. Looking out at a spinning night sky through a cracked faceplate. Feeling warm blood on my claws and my ears ringing from explosion after explosion.
Most of my dreams had a common theme. The worst part was that not all of them were nightmares. Oh sure, I woke up with a scream in my throat and rage or terror in my pounding chest some nights. But others? I rose to find a smile on my lips.
"The pills didn't do anything to settle Visha though. She still kicks and sleep-punches, and VioletBlood's snores are as loud as ever."
"Well, their dosage is different." The dark-skinned woman smiled as she made notes. "Good, I'm glad to hear that none of you are having any negative effects. We'll give it another week and see if we can give you something lighter."
I nodded.
"Anything you'd like to tell me about your Squadron? Not just your pilots but your Ritualista too."
"I'm not sure anything can rattle Gibbs," I said, laughing despite myself. "She runs a tight ship."
OakStone let the following silence grow for a moment. "But?"
I paused, wondering if it was really a good idea to bring it up. "It's not her, but some of the other Ritualista are spreading this idea… I'm certain that Melisande and Lucia are the ones responsible. I'm surprised it hasn't made it to you yet, in some session or another."
OakStone tilted her head slightly, and for a moment, I wondered who would win if she gambled against GreyDawn, Visha, or even Lucia.
"Some of, DarkStar's Blood, maybe all of, Flight Three's Ritualista want to retire Suit Number Eleven. That is, just skip over it and go straight to Thirteen on the maintenance logs and other Squadron reports."
"Ah. That's IronTalon's number. And you object?" OakStone asked, her voice dripping with the gentle kindness of a person about to tell a child that nothing more could be done for a beloved pet.
I stretched my legs but found them bumping against the desk, so I pulled them up so I could flex my ankles... "It's not that I don't respect her memory, or that I am willfully ignoring the potential morale implications. I know not to give an order that won't be followed. If I have to, I will turn a blind eye. I could have Visha give the bad news to the girls but..."
"But?"
"I don't want to make her do that. Yes, unit discipline is part of being an executive officer, but some things shouldn't be delegated. I can let being undermined slide, at least in this way, at least this once. I can even ignore that the other Prefect Centurions aren't retiring any of their Squadron's numbers."
OakStone gave a sad look, but I could tell that it wasn't prompted by me or by any of my actions. "So, with all of that said… Why do you object?" she repeated the question.
"As their commander I have to think about the long term implications," I stated flatly.
"Ah."
"It's not like that!" I snapped, bristling at that single, neutral word.
Calm down.
Taking a deep breath, I draped my arms over my knees as my tail curled behind me. I could feel the spirits swirling around me, looking for whatever threat had gotten me so defensive.
"I have to make these decisions," I began, speaking slowly, carefully, and without any hint of agitation. "I'm responsible. I have to look past the next mission and the mission after that. If we retire a suit number every time someone dies, then what happens after we lose another pilot? And after the next one? And the next?
"I have seventeen years left in the Legions. And if we are very generous and assume current rates hold, that means that my Squadron will be compelled to retire seven numbers by the time I'm out." I lowered my head to my knees. "An utter farce."
Putting her clipboard down, OakStone steepled her fingers. "That is not an unreasonable concern."
I looked up, surprised by the apparent vote of confidence. "Yes, but I can't just say that to my pilots. That'll damage morale worse than telling them they can't retire IronTalon's number."
"Oh, I'm sorry but we can't retire IronTalon's number because I don't want to make a habit of it when the rest of us keep dying," I thought bitterly, acting that particular line's delivery out in my head to a mutely dismayed illusory audience.
I'm sure that'll go over well.
"In that case, what is your plan, Tauria?"
"Other than redoubling their training?" I sighed as I lifted my head and rolled my shoulders. "I'll have to play it by ear and hope I come up with a solution by the... next time I take casualties."
Oakstone made a thoughtful noise, as if assuming I was discounting the possibility that I could die. "I do wish there was more I could do for you." The woman smiled as she murmured her platitude, setting my horns tingling.
"You've done more than enough," I assured her, the false joviality hopefully obscuring the point I'd failed to entirely draw from my tone.
The Doctrix had access to more than just pharmacological treatments, after all, and broad latitude to pursue actions she could reasonably argue advanced the Legion's mission. Some of those actions required more paperwork and authorization to approve, of course, more than just the prognosis of a single doctor, but in cases of particular concern, there were... mental means of correction. Including many options that a mother could resort to in the course of rearing an incorrigible or troubled broodling. Use of those corrective means on an adult, however, even an adult only named as such by legal technicality in my case, would also require at least nominal consent on the patient's part.
I doubted that Dr. OakStone would advocate using psionics, Diyu magic, or whatever other psychic scalpels rested at her disposal to alter the minds of my pilots to remove their trauma which was... some comfort.
Or, at the very least, she wouldn't be so eager to conduct such interventions that I'd have to fight to keep the figurative icepick out of her hand.
"You do have quite a bit piled up on your plate," she sympathized, either a complete non sequitur to my current line of thought, or perhaps the first words of the formula that would see my career shredded and my liberty abruptly restricted to the gilded cage of a mental ward if I responded unwisely to her fishing.
"Nothing that I cannot handle," I declared flatly; my tail curled around my legs. "Sure, we might have kicked off the Fourth Great House War, but I heard Alecto is trying to mediate things."
OakeStone only gave me a thin mirthless smile at that. "How were the memorial services?"
"They were..." Resisting the urge to put my head in my hands, I leaned back. Seven banner-draped caskets came to mind. "Very respectful I hope they brought closure."
"What did it do for you?"
"I was too focused on keeping track of the censer and reliquary box," I stated, my horns feeling cold. I had tried to decline taking any special role in the ceremony. DarkStar's Blood, it was all I could do to attend in uniform instead of dressed as a Sister!
Making a couple notes as she studied me, OakStone's seeming sympathy grew. Of course, if I was a psychotherapist who specialized in the treatment of highly dangerous and potentially fractured military personnel, I would make great efforts to divorce any emotional emissions, facial expressions, or eye movements away from my actual thoughts or feelings at earliest convenience. "Did it help?"
"I suppose," I conceded, just a bit reluctantly. "My pilots seemed to be less distant in the days afterward. At least until Lucia had to write her letter to IronTalon's family." My own correspondence had proven was... challenging. What could I say? The secrecy removed all pretense. I could not tell any story of glory or try to give meaning to loss. All I could say was that their daughter won't be coming home.
"And how did that go?"
"It went. Apparently, some Volantes Legate up on Lantia already informed her family; adopted, not that that makes a difference. The letters are just a part of it." Teleport Gateways meant that major facilities had rapid lines of communication, at least for critical correspondence.
OakStone made a note. "And how have the debriefs been going?"
"Well enough," I wearily demurred, and was happy when the Doc declined to make me recount everything that had happened in excruciating detail, beat by beat. Security issues aside, I was eternally loath to repeat myself.
Especially considering how the formal debriefs had at least the secondary purpose of cultivating institutional knowledge. Our personal recollections, along with suit telemetry where available, other transcripts, and scrying intake, were all collated to log what happened. And there was much to learn, not just for air and ground combat but, in my case, to help give more data for our Pilot Survival and Evasion courses. Although, I suspected my experiences might be more of a cautionary example.
Simply repeating myself yet again in the supposed privacy of this office offered no such opportunities for organizational development.
"This was the closest you came to death, at least in the last few years," OakStone observed. "And yet you seem quite composed, especially for someone your age."
"Thank you?" I frowned. That sounded good, but my tail straightened in worry.
"It helps that you're not afraid of death."
I blinked. Where did she get that from? Yes, given that I had died twice I had some... assumptions as to what would happen if I died for a third time. But there was no way she would know that. Right?
"If I die, I'd let people down," I countered absently.
OakStone smiled. "Of course you care. You are afraid of failing your special people, friends, and comrades. And a corresponding fear of being without them."
"I suppose so. It's hard not to," I carefully replied, shoulders squared.
"Your faith is quite unshakable," OakStone smiled.
"No more than anyone else's," I eyed her. The doctrix was not one to give idle compliments. I learned to trust that much from her, praise from her had to be earned. What was her angle? Did she think I wasn't afraid of death due to religion?
Making a note, the doctrix thoughtfully adjusted her glasses.
"I mean it's not anything special," I covered. "It's just how I was raised."
She held up a hand in acquiescence. "It's not a critique, Tauria. Faith works differently for all of us and if you get strength from yours that is a good thing."
It's not complicated, I huffed internally,
it's just... I may not know exactly where I'll go after dying, but I know for a fact I have nothing to fear. Not anymore.
The fluttering feeling ruffled over my hair and wings as OakStone studied me. Her expression softened. "I was a medic in the Third Great House War. You are right, people of your moral caliber aren't rare in the Legions. However- " she smiled. "The ones that truly excelled took the long term consequences of their actions into account. And your own mix of faith and prudence will serve you well, DarkStar allowing."
I wanted to pout; I wanted to smile. Looking over Doc OakStone, by my rough estimate, she could be in her sixties; she had the eyes for it. She certainly carried herself as a mature professional with a few decades in her practice. And she did not move with the effortlessly held power of a true Elder Demoness.
"I'm just doing my part," I deflected, trying to bury my growing anxiety.
What was wrong with me? I could play the role of the Imperial Heroine to a terror of broodlings or to a pair of blood-thirsty fae, but a doctor is able to see past my mask?
"You are. Some may say you've done your part, but... I understand survivor's guilt." OakStone glanced out the window to look at the parking lot full of cargo trucks, the fence beyond that, and finally, the rest of the city around the base.
"I mean..." My tail flicked with agitation. "I guess you're right in that it's not dying itself that worries me."
"It is good that you have people who care for you. Did you get your holiday shopping done?" OakStone asked, once again abruptly changing topics. No doubt it was some strategy to get me off balance to gauge my reaction.
"Mostly." I shifted, not entirely comfortable with how well it was working. I tried to focus on the fact that it was all for professional purposes. "Do I have to go over the whole... thing?"
"You don't have to. Did anything stand out?" OakStone asked.
"It was fine," I stated, my wings fluttering as my tail curled. "I'm used to cheering up eager broodlings. It made their day and they'll treasure that memory."
"But?"
"I…" I went still, a chill in my bones as I made sure to pick my next words very,
very carefully, "I'm sure in a few years some of them will do their part for House and Imperatrix."
The older woman chuckled. "Oh, so cautious. Do not fret. I know the value of propaganda. I may not agree, but at least with you it is not so repugnant."
I held my tongue. Elevating a child to an Imperial Heroine for what I did over Narvos was something many could call dubious. That my situation was considered merely "not so repugnant" was… not something I knew what to make of.
"This won't be your first holiday season away from home," OakStone noted, shifting to a safer topic.
"It's not," I nodded, relieved to be slipping into calmer waters. "I think I've spent more Saber's Watches and Feasts of DarkStar in some stinking FOB than at home."
"It's still hard for you."
So much for calmer waters… I grumbled to myself internally.
I can't really complain, it is quite literally her business to ask these kinds of questions, and it's hardly unreasonable for the Legion to be worried about their murderous little investments snapping at the worst moment.
That doesn't mean I have to enjoy
being pried open and picked apart.
Carefully stretching my legs to not hit the desk, I exhaled, there was no use in denying it. "I mean, yes. Things are different now, I'm not alone." I winced. Sloppy! I was being too unguarded. "That is, I always had my mothers but I wasn't adopted until after... well Narvos. And I'm now engaged."
"You've done a very good job at building connections," OakStone observed, her tone clinical as if she were recording my height or weight, which was preferable to being patronizing.
"It just happened," I deflected.
"You are a very reserved and humble young woman." OakStone sifted in her chair.
I sensed the other hoof was about to drop. "But?"
She put her clipboard down on her desk. "You have accumulated a lot of trauma."
Obviously. I've had two lives of war and a pair of traumatic deaths, I managed not to snort. "I'm not surprised. Will... will this be a problem?"
"Your self control is admirable, but there is the question if you are compartmentalizing or suppressing." OakStone glanced at her clipboard. "The latter is a greater problem."
"Are you worried I'm bottling things up? I'm not that secretive." I could immediately tell she saw through the statement even if it was mostly true.
The Doctrix chuckled. "Tauria, we know that's a lie. You're a Legionary Flier who just came back sponsored by some questionable... associates. Of course you're keeping secrets."
"Only the ones I must," My tone was cold. She knew as well as I did, that there were some questions she couldn't ask, not unless she got CSR's approval to get access.
"Of course." OakStone agreed, holding up a hand. "But what about your Vs? Are even they fully aware of what you're going through?"
"They've been alongside me, ever since the start. Of course they know!"
One of them has been with me since even before this start. She knows more than most could imagine, I thought.
Yet, traitorously, my mind couldn't help but remind me that I still hadn't told Visha
everything. And what did it say that I allowed one of my Vs to know half my secrets, while I let my own fiancee think herself content only scratching the surface?
Didn't VioletBlood deserve the truth too? She might be a bloody-handed stubborn noble, but she had managed to keep up every step of the way.
"You're there for them, and they're there for you," the Doctrix said.
"I don't want to be a burden for them, but..." I rubbed my arms as my wings drooped. "Yes."
After giving me a critical look, OakStone nodded. "That's very good."
"I think that's why VioletBlood has me doing 'Heroine Countess' stuff," I admitted.
I could just hear my fiancee's smug voice going, "I try my best; I know it's still hard for you."
"She does care for you a lot, which is good for her."
"Yeah, she's a war orphan too."
"You're fortunate to have her, and Victorious."
"I am..." I was struck by a profound melancholy. "For as long as I have them."
OakStone eased into her sympathetic posture. "It is a risk. And I can say without fear of violating confidentiality that both reciprocate such feelings."
"Well, VioletBlood does wear her heart on her sleeve," I chuckled. "But the fear of loss..."
"Quite," OakStone idly flipped through the notes on her display. "Neither of your Vs wants to lose you. Although one is... better at hiding the raw intensity of such emotions than the other."
"Well, she is a deft hand at cards," I admitted.
"So I've been told. Victorious is a devoted woman of many talents." Oakstone's tone indicated she had more thoughts about Visha, but her oaths kept her from fully expressing them.
"She is, and-" I exhaled. "You can see my concerns, given both she and LoveBlood are...:
"Serving in the same unit alongside you?" OakStone asked with the barest hint of distaste.
It seemed the good doctrix had reservations about the rather permissive rules regarding fraternization. Intellectually, I could agree with the concerns that having a... person you were very close to dying next to you would have. But given our species'... foibles, as my own experience showed, such relations seemed almost inevitable.
"And soon it might be a much larger risk," I murmured, pulling out the locket my mother gave me, my stomach turning cold as my tail curled.
"Ah yes, the rumors of a looming war with Elena."
"We just talked about the numbers," I said, my voice leaden. This was far from the steely, confident Imperial Heroine I pretended to be. Despite how I was clasping my fingers over my mother's locket, I wasn't even bothering with my pious mask.
"Losing half your Squadron before your term is up. Or your Vs's terms are up," OakStone added.
I lowered my head onto my fingers. "I will do everything in my power for them, for everyone," I swore, my will adamant as my wings fluttered and tingled. "By DarkStar's grace, if I can give VioletBlood a family and continue to pull Visha through hell, I shall."
I had spent too long being alone. And one day that might be my fate, to be the only pilot to return to the Ritual Plate maintenance bay, but I had beaten fate before. Being X had died by my hands. I had beaten the odds before; I had seen Visha through the other side of it. I would do it again.
I felt warmth between my hands as silver light began to escape between my fingers. I swallowed, realizing that it was not embarrassment that was heating my ears but a discharge of my capacitor earrings.
"Um... Countess?" OakStone asked, a ghost of awe in her voice.
"It's not faith! It's just my magic!" I assured as I held up the locket with its DarkStar symbol on it. And at that moment, my Zephyr decided to be helpful and push the locket up so that it floated on a slack chain before slipping out of my fingers and over to the doctrix. "And air spirits!"
"Yes, this is a very emotional moment," she allowed as she opened the offered locket and smiled at the tiny pictures inside.
"Exactly! And don't read too much into those earrings! Yes they're relics the church loaned me, but they're full of magical energy..."
"All very logical, but what about your wings?" OakStone asked.
+++++
Sometimes familiarity can be a comfort. In this case, as once again, a commanding officer had
invited me to dine with her, the guidepost of experience provided just enough structure to calm my nerves. I was further calmed by the realization that I would not be attending this dinner alone; the four other Squadron commanders had also been invited to the same Paymonish restaurant Tribune Quirinus had picked months ago when this Demi-Wing had first been formed.
Stepping into an awning over the restaurant's entrance, I discreetly used my Zephyr to dry off my feathers. Not all of my etiquette lessons had been pointless tedium – some actually had practical applications. Besides, shaking one's wings as soon as you got out of the rain was the kind of clumsy mess-making reserved for rambunctious broodlings, not an officer with any self respect.
I rolled my shoulders and strolled up to the front door, the twin slabs of carved oak parting ways before I could even begin to knock. As the hostess quietly took my overcoat, I found myself thankful for the relative informality that allowed me to wear my Legion Blacks. While I had a mess dress uniform that VioletBlood assured me I cut quite the imposing figure in, I personally preferred the less complicated Blacks.
For all that, it was nice to have a dress uniform that was reasonably practical. It was also more convenient to be able to purchase uniforms in my size instead of requiring bespoke martial formalwear. Legion Blacks were flexible and, despite protests from some of my pilots, comfortable uniforms that could suit a variety of social situations. Situations like a modestly upscale restaurant just outside of downtown Victrix.
As I was led across an atrium deeper into the restaurant, a woman out on a covered portico spotted me. Her own Zephyr were playing in the cloud of blue smoke rising around her, making intricate wisps and whorls.
To the doubtless disappointment of the air spirits, she pinched the end of her cigarillo, and came inside. I gave her a thankful nod as both our Zephyr dissipated the woody, slightly cinnamon-smelling smoke. Such sins were not exactly frowned on among our kind, but our sensitive noses did result in the more aromatic vices being handled with a bit more care.
"Evening," Fabia Firmitas HarrowFang greeted, bowing her horns to me.
I returned the gesture to the iridescently blue-winged commander of Fourth Squadron. "A pleasure. You hear any scuttlebutt about tonight?" I asked as we fell into pace behind the hostess.
Fabia shook her head. "Nothing from the drones in staffing, which might be a good thing. Your contacts in logistics hear anything?"
Sighing, I let my splayed, empty hands provide my answer.
Fabia gave me a half amused, half resigned, grunt. "And any news on your replacement suit?"
I shrugged helplessly. "It's in process."
"Not going with a suit from the reserve crypts at the depot here?" A playful smile lit up her features. "Something fresh and new from those clever boffins at MuArc for the courageous Countess?"
I made a face at that, waving my hand like I was sweeping away a bad smell, "Nothing so grandiose, I assure you."
"Well, we can't all be content with the robust and reliable products from IBF's Tactical Aviation Division." Fabia managed to point out with a mostly straight face.
"Careful," I said, with a grin of my own teasing it's way onto my face, "if word gets back to Imperial Blimp and Freight that you took one of their suits into ground combat they'll add that to their brochures."
Sighing, Fabia turned thoughtful. "Still... that you're not in a rush to grab a suit, any rated suit, and launch yourself back into the skies... Well, that
does have its own implications."
"I only just regained my flight cert," I pointed out.
"Congratulations," Fabia nodded to me. "So... if we're not getting any replacement Pilots or Ritualista, and we're not getting a larger stockpile of spare parts..." The woman frowned at her cigarillo before tucking it into her sash.
"Then we're either not deploying anytime soon, or we're being deployed as is," I replied, finishing for her. "Hopefully the latter option is not the case for this gathering."
Fabia's frown grew as she looked around the carved wooden accents, wall-hangings, and delicate painted screens of the restaurant. The artistic flourishes were far from garish, but their understated elegance was still a sign of opulence, even for a major colony. Despite their tasteful grandeur, her brow remained troubled as a waitress wended her way through the tables to collect us up and guide us towards the back of the hall.
Soon we were ushered into a very familiar yet very tastefully-decorated private room. Though a metallic wind chime now hung above a screen painted in a seaside landscape. Though Caenis and JadeTalon were already there, drinks in hand, our commander was nowhere to be found. Caenis seemed stoic, but JadeTalon seemed more morose.
Caenis's golden eyes met mine. "Quirinus just stepped out, but she'll be back"
I noted that there was a third glass at the table containing a deep amber liquid.
Fabia lightly smiled. "Understandable."
"Can I get you some refreshments?" the hostess asked.
"May I have some tea?" I asked.
"I'll have some plum wine," Fabia asked.
The hostess bowed and left the four of us. Fabia gave me a look, and we took our seats.
"Did the Tribune get a call?" I asked.
A small grin cracked JadeTalon's sober demeanor. "Of nature? Maybe," she gave a bitter laugh.
"She'll be back from powdering her nose," Caenis added.
"Or sharpening her horns. How is everyone?" Fabia asked as she sat down.
JadeTalon stared into the bottom of her glass as if it held any answers, idly swirling the chartreuse like it would provide divination. Looking at the grief on her youthful face, it seemed another reminder of the odd kind of curse laid upon our kind. For all her ageless vitality and physical beauty, no one could ever say that war had left her unscarred. The black-haired, jade-horned woman sighed. "I got the transfer list finalized. On the bright side... it's easier to slot in a replacement Flight than to do it piecemeal," she drawled out, her mild Luxon accent sharpening.
I tried not to wince. Second Squadron had taken some of the worst casualties over Harp's World. I couldn't say that the final butcher's bill was all that surprising, but that didn't make it any kinder.
The door opened, and Quirinus strode in with a waitress at her heel.
We stood and saluted. Junior Tribune Artemis Quirinus returned the gesture fingers to her neck. "That's enough of that," she waved off and stepped aside so the waitress could give Fabia and I our drinks and then pass out menus.
The green-haired officer with the star tattoos on her crimson cheeks sat down at the head of the table. "Let's order a few things first, my treat." She cut the air with the side of her hand to forestall any protest. "I insist."
There were some pro forma protests, but given how we all were already looking through the menus, those were merely part of the social dance we played.
As I went over the page of various and frankly decadent one-pot recipes, I made a note to see if this restaurant was still taking reservations for Saber's Watch. Visha had grown up not too far from Paymon, at least in this life, and I knew the right dish could tempt VioletBlood.
I decided to show some restraint and simply go with a shrimp soup with a savory broth and... maybe a fillet of mountain perch. I felt some reassurance in my choices as I saw the others, despite earlier protests, indulging a bit themselves.
Which I supposed was fitting, Quirinus was much a temptress as the rest of us. Besides, the protests had been more out of a general sense of cultural propriety than any kind of real restraint on our part. Never let it be said that a demon didn't have an appetite. Soon, we had ordered, and the room was just the five of us again as the hostess backed her way out, closing the door behind her.
"Don't worry, nothing tonight is all that sensitive. And tonight won't be like the last time we ate here," our Tribune assured as she took out a tuning fork. After starting the baffling field, she sipped from a tiny, fluted glass no wider than her thumb, and after finding its contents good, lifted it high. "To absent comrades."
We returned the toast. I noticed JadeTalon's motions were relatively stiff, and she was already on her second drink. Tail flicking, Caenis was also watching her, inscrutable behind her cool mask.
"I am pleased to announce that everyone has finished their medical evaluations, and that I have signed the last transfer papers for our Legionary Flies and Ritualista." The room fell silent after Quirinus's declaration.
I looked around the room wondering who would speak first. As the Tribune's executive officer, Caenis was too much of Quirinus's woman to take that line, and JadeTalon seemed to be in no mood to play. The silence was undercut by the metal tines of the wind chime gently ringing.
I glanced at Fabia and gave a tiny shrug as if to point out that I was as much the Tribune's protégée. The blue-winged woman sighed, resignation heavy on her shoulders. "What's the damage, Ma'am?"
"Among the Fliers, the medical and transfer requests add up to half a dozen, that's in addition to the killed in action." Quirinus dipped her head, "But then, we were all there for caskets' sendoff; you all know the blood-price tendered."
I couldn't help but wince, though my reaction wasn't near as great as some of the others. JadeTalon was the worst off, but even Fabia wasn't spared. I knew that Fourth Squadron, like mine, had lost only one pilot over Harp's World. I suppose Fabia had more of her Fliers transfer out.
The awkward silence between us drew out.
Fabia looked between us all and shrugged. "One of each: killed, medical, transfer."
"I had one transfer," Caenis admitted. We all knew she had three pilots killed so I suppose it was a blessing she retained almost all of her survivors.
"Three, in addition to the two KIA," JadeTalon sighed.
The other Squadron Commanders then gave me looks that bore the tracery of jealousy. They could count, between their three Squadrons was every loss the Demi-Wing had, IronTalon excepted. I sipped my tea, trying to not feel so guilty. It wasn't my fault my Squadron was full of bloodthirsty madwomen.
"It was a hard mission but we all did our bit," I said, the platitude slipping past my lips as rehearsed and false as if I were doing a propaganda reel.
The unimpressed looks of my fellow commanders told me exactly how well it had landed.
"Honestly, I haven't the foggiest idea," I half sighed, half groaned, and shrugged helplessly to further underline my incomprehension. "I'm surprised my noble brat rookies still have enough stars in their eyes to keep at it; I'm almost as surprised that no one ended up grounded, even temporarily."
"Could be their pride," Caenis ventured. "Too stubborn to back down when good sense says otherwise."
"Could be..." I allowed. "Noble brats can be headstrong fools like that."
A sudden cough escaped Quirinus's throat, and she took a drink of water before looking around the table. After getting nods from Fabia and JadeTalon she cleared her throat. "Nearly all of the transfers were Sarpedona pilots asking to be put into a conventional Infantry Legion."
"The supportive read is that they got a taste of protecting hoof-sluggers on Harp's World and want to focus on that skill," Fabia stated before nodding to JadeTalon. "Or want to go back to that more straightforward mission."
So the transfers were more driven by the more experienced pilots of Second Squadron as opposed to the greenhorn Fliers in Fourth, I studied JadeTalon's melancholy.
But despite her being a greenhorn to command, the higher losses were not her fault. Lady Fate and Dame Luck were capricious bitches, as ever.
"None of you should feel guilty for this," Caenis assured us. While most of her attention was on JadeTalon, the Midlands officer was also clearly trying to reassure me.
Was it due to our ages? JadeTalon was young to command an RP Squadron, but not abnormally so, unlike myself.
There was a polite knock, and Quirinus welcomed in a pair of waitresses. The smell of the food did lift our spirits. Figuratively and literally, as I could sense our Zephyr swirling around the room, investigating the new aromas wafting off the plates and bowls.
My tea was refreshed with a new little porcelain pot, as well as drinks and water for the others. There were a few minutes of companionable silence as we ate. Many of our dishes were garnished with tiny flags on toothpicks, though my plate had a full blown miniscule sparkly pinwheel surmounting my salad. Erasing any doubt that the staff were aware of our companions was that they placed a small dish of sweet incense over a burner on a sideboard.
The simple joy at unexpected entertainment was a comfort.
"I do have a few pieces of good news," Quirinus announced, putting down her fork beside the bowl of a steamed then fried rice dish that had a blend of vegetables and spiced cuts of lamb
Apprehension filled the room as all our tails stilled. We all knew that, often in the Legions, "good news" was as such only in the eye of the beholder, who could reliably be counted upon to number among the Brass Horns and other senior officers.
Chuckling, Quirinus restarted the tuning fork's baffling vibrations. "I mean actual good news. When it comes to Ritualista our staffing issues are less acute. Yes, we received some turnover among our maintainers, but not above the expected percent."
I nodded along with the others. My Squadron's Ritualista had sustained only a handful of transfers, which out of a staff of fifty was quite manageable. It was good that, at least in this respect, my unit was typical. It also helped that our Ritualista had not taken any casualties during the mission, an outcome far from guaranteed in any frontline support unit.
"It is one less thing for us to worry about," Quirinus agreed.
"What of our Fleet Pilot friends?" JadeTalon asked.
A sense of loss radiated from Tribune Artemis Quirinus before she could control it. I knew she had been close to Lady Primus Felicity IvoryQuiver, the pilot who used Svalinna warding suit to save the lives of many of my Squadron. I still remembered the moment she sacrificed herself to cover us from the onslaught of Elenese lance fire. A brilliant star in the early morning skies before several more fell to earth.
"Or the ground team, or the
Tarantula Hawk's crew?" Fabia added, sending a sympathetic pulse.
Gathering herself, Quirinus ate a bit more of her meal. "All in all, the shippies are doing well enough. They also have a larger pool of personnel to draw replacements from. Still, our ride will be spending a bit of time in drydock with some minor maintenance on their oh-so-special systems. As for the ground team..." The Tribune shrugged. "Missions like this are what they signed up for."
I spooned some of my soup. I suppose that was true enough. As a newly refitted assault carrier, the
Tarantula Hawk was a part of that special division of the Fleet that specialized in metaphorically skulking in an alley, poison dagger readied. But despite that, the crew were still people. And even if the ground teams had made a career of doing CSR's bloody work, and Lares's presence put some lie to that, they too were people with their own lives, limits, and desires.
It was one thing to look at a Table of Organization and go "yes, we have the units and equipment" but it was another to actually have the trained personnel. That wasn't even getting into the matter of making sure those personnel were always in good condition themselves, ready physically, mentally, and even
spiritually to do their duties. Just keeping them on board was an entirely different kettle of fish.
"But that's not the real reason I brought you all here," Quarinus brushed it aside, "There is more good news. And I don't just mean that Alecto has been hosting a summit with Elena on Dunwitch to try and 'ease tensions'."
Fabia did not snort but her expression radiated disbelief. Caenis did not even bother hiding it and made a disparaging sound. "How... helpful. Say what you will about Alecton assistance, it's usually preferable to their enmity."
Quirinus looked into her glass before meeting our eyes. "There is... chatter that Elena has some masks to return."
That heightened the tension in the room as we all stilled. Masks were key to Elenese culture. And there was a measure of... something almost like respect for the BlackSkyvian tradition of using death masks as our Ritual Plate faceplates.
I knew, all too personally, that great effort had been made to recover every casualty, especially the living. We'd done our best to leave not even the dead behind, but not every body had been found in time or had fallen in one piece.
"That is... a positive sign," JadeTalon quietly said, a dreadful tendril of hope curled in her voice.
"If it happens," Fabia cautioned. "That would mean they see our adventure on Harp's World as a legitimate action."
"Yes, that the families of our dead deserve to have their daughter's and mother's masks back." Caenis shook her head.
"It's not just the matter of the masks, though. That they picked Dunwitch for the handover is interesting in and of itself," I noted.
Alecto and Elena had joint claim to multiple worlds, but on those contested planets, Dunwich was the only sparsely populated minor colony. From helping cover our travel on Harp's World to providing information on the Onyx Institute and the Catalan Company's mercenary ships, Alecton fingerprints were all over this operation. They were... displeased with Elenese overtures to Trosic interests, but I suspected there was more to their ire than the largest Great House getting closer to Alecto's ancient enemy.
"The other options were Wayfarer, which is too close to Diyu, and... Harp's World," Caenis drawled, earning a round of dry chuckles. "I can see why they didn't pick the latter."
"True, and the Countess is right. Picking a quiet, out of the way world is a way to try to have a face-saving meeting, one where one of Praetor DawnStrike's diplomats can make her case... unofficially. Or at least that's the rumors I heard." Quirinus paused to have a few bites of lamb before continuing.
"But that's just a bonus, if a potentially dubious one. I really called you here to reward you all for you and your girls' sacrifices," Quirinus promised, her effortless charisma returning as she once again became the ambitious and skilled commander. "You will all host a feast for your pilots and I will reimburse you. And you will do this without complaint, because..."
The Tribune smirked, showing her fangs. "You will then announce that we have two months of leave."
Her amusement at our shock was palpable.
"That is...
most generous, Ma'am. And we all appreciate the time off. What will happen upon our return?" Fabia ventured, playing her role as the one of us most willing to gently challenge her.
"We'll set about rebuilding my Demi-Wing," the Tribune said simply as she picked up her glass and sipped. "The time is as much to help you all unwind as it is to give me time to cast a net for replacement pilots, hopefully pull some strings while I'm at it."
I smiled, pleased at the situation despite myself. Yes, in the new year I would be busy, but that was in the future, still distant at least for this very moment. As the most intact unit, my girls would be playing the aggressor squadron to help train the other Squadrons. Despite knowing better, I allowed myself to have a bit of hope that we would have time to allow our replacements to gel into their new Flights and Squadrons.
I had no idea what sort of questionable operation we would be thrown into after replenishing our strength, but the prospect of future combat was far from a new concern. "Having extended leave before deployment is better than no leave before deployment."
"Well said," Quirinus teased, to my mortification as I realized I had spoken aloud.
"Will offworld travel be allowed for our leave?" JadeTalon asked.
The Tribune smiled. "Yes, back home to Diyu at least. At a service discount price too."
"Just remind any green-horns to add a couple days on both ends of their trip," Caenis added. "Standby travel is relatively cheap, but the shippies won't be able to guarantee a specific ship will have spare space for you."
"What about going to Lantia?" I asked, thinking of Lucia's Third Flight. Doubtless, they would like to go back, especially if Cardino's family lived up on that moon.
"That's cleared as well with the standard limitations," Quirinus nodded. "Anywhere else on the Spine will require my authorization. Taking a vacation to kayak New Lentia's Ivory Islands is one thing but a trip out to the Empty Quarter would be quite another."
There was a mix of dark chuckles and half amused snorts at that. No one in their right mind wanted to go to the Empty Quarter. Haven was the only marginally habitable world in that Dexter and Down corner of the Dimensional Spine, and it mostly served as a base for the Empty Quarter Patrol, the only multinational organization the Great Houses bothered to respect or second military assets to. The only reason they did that was because an entire sector of the Dimensional Spine didn't earn a name like the
Empty Quarter because it was considered a luxurious vacation paradise.
The Quarter hadn't always been so Empty, but
everyone prayed it stayed that way.
Tucking back into my soup, my tail swished as I thought about how my pilots and Ritualista would be happy to have their vacation.
I definitely need to get a reservation at this place for... The spoon nearly slipped from my fingers in realization.
No, with this much leave, I could go back to County Larium, LoveBlood could go back to the Barony of Lilla, and Visha to visit her family on Amber Island.
It made me wonder. Would I go back to Larium? Was it even going worth back to visit a place I'd only been to a handful of times? Really, my seneschal, Alexi Frugi, was the one who ran things. Maybe I could visit my mothers? Clementia would be easier to meet up with, but I should make a point to visit SilverFlight, and she usually wintered at her ducal estate.
"Thinking of a nice winter getaway with your Vs?" JadeTalon teased.
"I guess they would want to spend their leave with me," I stated as the realization slowly dawned.
"Your baroness is not a subtle creature," Fabia chuckled. "Once you tell her, I'm sure she'll have all sorts of
ideas on how the highborne properly spend the holidays."
"She had me buying Saber's Watch decorations when she thought we were staying here in our apartment. And now..." Nervously, I picked up my cup and drank some tea.
"Now, she has a countess's country estate to play with. You must be ready for her sending out all kinds of invites and fillin' up your social calendar," Caenis said, her Midlands twang in full blossom.
"Don't forget to bring your tiara, sword, and any holy regalia with you when you go back. Not to mention all sorts of pretty gowns, uniforms, and sisterly outfits," JadeTalon laughed, before going back to her duck. While I was glad her emotional state seemed far better, I wish she wouldn't use the buoyed mood to tease me.
"I don't think LoveBlood will let me ever forget that cursed sword," I grumbled, prodding a floating shrimp with my spoon.
"Not without reason. Jesting aside. You should be thinking of your social obligations," Quirinus reminded me. "This is the time of year with plenty of military, noble, guild, and religious events. It's not the Feast time, but the Sabers Watch has become a major saint's day and you can celebrate with your fellow Sisters."
I managed not to sigh, if barely, as I refilled my teacup. Not that my restraint did me much good.
"Oh cheer up, we know you like spending time with your family and not just the networking part. Besides, going home will give you more chances to do all those quiet acts of charity we all pretend to not notice," the Tribune said.
"Honestly, all three of you could do with following the Countess's example," Quirinus knocked back her drink. "We're not as bad of an Old Girl's Club as the Fleet, but networking is vital in the Legions."
Fabia was too disciplined to roll her eyes, but the emotions she gave off were more than enough. For a moment, then she became thoughtful and glanced at me. Her expression was easy enough for me to read. That dinner on Forlorn Prospect had made it clear that Fabia's own status as an Imperial Heroine was not just something she could ignore and deny. Especially if she continued doing madcap acts of courage.
JadeTalon nodded thoughtfully while Caenis simply gazed at the Tribune with sober agreement.
"I suppose I could have stayed on base here doing instruction and training. Even without a suit, but if I didn't have a replacement by December..." I picked up my cup and sipped.
"Ah, offering to stay back and let the rest of us go on leave? That is a way to get experience with Demi-Wing command. Even as a caretaker of a skeleton unit." Quirinus gave me an approving look, seeming pleased by my honest ambition.
"Alas, I must return to County Larium and thus the least I can do is extend invitations to all of you." I smoothly said pulling on my etiquette lessons. "Obviously your own obligations and families come first but you are all welcome to visit."
"Spoken like a proper hostess." Quirinus bowed her horns to me.
I returned the gesture and plastered on my warmest smile. At least I was going to be busy overseeing and organizing travel for the next few days.
End Chapter 32
So Tauria and her Vs are getting some well-earned R&R; nothing to worry about.Ch 33stands at one scene and over 2k written, and there is still some more upcoming art.
Thanks to Ahuva, DCG , ellfangor8 , Green Sea, Larc , Readhead, metaldragon868 , WhoWhatWhere, and ScarletFox for checking and editing this chapter and helping with this whole arc. And Special thanks Readhead for helping with the tone of Doc OakStone's scene and to ScarletFox for helping with the chapter the title