The Rigel dukedom, a predominantly mountainous tract of land, was deeply involved in mining precious metals and jewels for the Kingdom of Yost. Rigel blades were a commodity of the duchy as they chose to make a scant two swords per year with their team of master craftsmen. In addition to the fine steel and nigh perfect execution, they were set with an aurora stone in the pommel providing the individual blades special abilities. A blade named Persuasion was the most famous of recent history. Nothing more than a ruby-fused butcher’s cleaver. The ruby had a momentum impression that prevented it from slowing down on initial impact. In combination with the razor sharpness of the edge, it never met a foe it couldn’t rend in twain. When it broke, house Rigel recovered the aurora stone and pledged not to use it in another aurora blade. It was never intended to be that powerful. Persuasion felled an entire countryside during the Runic War before sheer accident brought it to destruction. Immune to resistance when in motion, but highly susceptible to pressure when at rest, the wicked cleaver had been stepped on. This shattered the metal into a magic dirty bomb that killed its owner, King Teltodra Eldewotter of Tellcentra. House Rigel refused to make another sword for the royalty of Tellcentra until they paid reparations to the people of Destadia whose country they pillaged. It had been two centuries of stalemate.

Among others, the Rigel butler paid special attention to The Master—a long, incredibly thin sword similar to a fencing foil at first glance but with five glinting edges shaped like a star fruit. In a lineup of dangerous weapons too powerful to leave the estate, this one surprised her.

“While it is infrequent, it is not uncommon for The Master to be handled by the youngest Rigels.” The Butler, Dendwin, said aloud accompanied by his immaculate utilitarian sign language. Timbrelle had given the ‘thank you for your consideration, I can hear’ answer according to etiquette. Dendwin respectfully introduced her to Ellia, a heavyset freckled maid with a striking angular face exaggerated by her severe bun. She spoke and signed the explanation that she was a victim of the terrorist attacks in Yost earlier that year. It was a line in the play that was Yostier etiquette. First, you begin speaking and signing at the same time, if they can hear you, they’ll give the response Timbrelle had offered, if they couldn’t hear, they offered an established set of signs to affirm their deafness. It was still considered polite to speak while signing which allowed both Ellia and Timbrelle to take the tour.

“The four emeralds that sit in its hilt bestow the station of ‘swordmaster’ on whoever should wield it. Unlike the others, this sword does not leave the estate. It is used sparingly in training the Rigel children on technique. I hope you will have the opportunity to experience it one day.”

“Me?” Timbrelle pointed to her chest. “Why would I use it?”

“The Duke has adopted you as his grandchild. As such it would only be proper.” He said. “Granted, you are much older than the children learning swordsmanship. But Rigels develop quickly, Mistress. I have no doubt you’ll progress wonderfully.”

She shook her head, laughing. “I think you might misunderstand. I know Tun—I mean, Duchess Rigel treats me very well, but don’t read into it. Apparently, because of this, the Duke thinks of me like a granddaughter. I’m not actually being adopted.”

Dendwin paused translating her words for Ellia. “You are Timbrelle, correct? I may be an old man but I’ve managed to collect the correct Rigel. You were added to the family ledger just last night.”

“I… what?” She croaked.

“I seem to have overstepped. I encourage you to speak with his and her grace at dinner tonight. I fear this news may have been intended as a surprise.” He bowed in apology. “I can take you to prepare now if you like. We will finish the estate tour when you are more settled.”

Timbrelle nodded, feeling a headache growing.

She followed Ellia to a bedroom Dendwin showed her earlier.

“Mistress, I will dress you and do your hair for dinner.” Ellia said happily.

“But I’m already dressed.” Timbrelle said looking down at the cream dress covered in smudges from her time of the luggage rack and sprawled in the street.

“For me to be able to serve you well, I will need you to speak clearly when I am watching.” She reminded politely.

“Oh, uh, my apologies.” Timbrelle floundered to produce the correct line from etiquette. “Please excuse my ignorance at this slight.”

Ellia beamed at her, answering with her line. “It is well, think nothing of it. This is the first time I have ever received an apology from a Rigel.”

“A load of dirtbags, eh?” Timbrelle was surprised at the information. Tuna seemed like a decent person, but that could just be by her Earth standards. She hadn’t seen her interact with more than the butler and Pollis.

“Gods no!” Ellia gasped. “Mistress, please don’t imply such a terrible thing. Rigel is a wonderful house to work for, but Dukes don’t take well to that kind of spurious chatter.”

“Woah, sorry. I didn’t realize he was so sensitive.”

Ellia continued to do Timbrelle’s hair in silence with wide, uncomfortable eyes. They softened after a minute. “I guess he is a bit testy.”

“Is there anything I should know about him and the Rigels?” She asked.

The woman wrapped a small elastic in her hair as she thought. “He’s very old. He’s trying to achieve ascension and, from what I hear, he might not be too far off. Our current Duchess has been in power for four years, but before that he had seven duchesses, and twenty-three children. Of them, four original children are still alive and there are sixty-one grand children, great grandchildren and so on. They tend to marry well across the continents, so only the youngest grandchildren live at the ducal estate. You’ll be the oldest, I suppose.”

“I’m a grown-ass woman, why am I being adopted?”

“Adult adoption is not uncommon…” she looked confused.

“Ellia, I’m not from Kitos. I’m unmade, from Earth.” She explained. Getting the story out there early was the best option. Wouldnt it be a shorthand apology? Like saying ‘Sorry, I’m not from around here. I don’t understand the customs yet’.

The young woman dropped her hair brush and rushed to grab it. “M-my apologies, mistress. I won’t make that mistake again. Ple-please be understanding of my inferiority.”

Timbrelle watched the woman with growing dread. The girl shook as she tried to drag the brush across Timbrelle’s scalp.

“Ellia. Ellia.” She touched the woman’s wrist. “I can’t speak to you if you are too scared to look at me.”

Ellia met her eyes with obvious effort. “I-I have met your people before. I must humbly admit that I’m not a fan.”

“Someone told me that they’re known for being psychotic. But I’m so new that I don’t even know why they’re crazy. Could you explain it to me?” She stumbled.

Ellia shook her head. “I have only met the one. So I can’t speak for all of them. That one is pretty famous, though. He calls himself a ‘player’ who hunts people he dubs ‘NPCs’. From what I understand, when my tribe ran into him he worked alone. That was before the cult started up in Florenta.”

Timbrelle allowed her to finish the elaborate knots and braids that finally stowed her hair away to a manageable style.

“Ellia?” She asked.

The woman seemed like she would pretend she hadn’t seen the question. She eventually sighed and said, “Yes mistress?”

“Ellia, I can’t do anything to change what happened. But I can assure you that you are safe from me. If you want, I can ask Dendwin to assign someone else to babysit me.” Timbrelle was all too aware that this woman didn’t want excuses or apologies from her. Nothing would be solved by claiming she was a different person, that all Unmade aren’t monsters or even asking her to reconsider the stigma. Her trauma at the hands of Timbrelle’s people would not simply disappear. “I’ll defer to whatever you want to do.”

Ellia glared at her. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Good. Then let’s get along, ok?” She stuck her hand out to shake.

The maid took her hand in accordance with Yostier servant etiquette and kissed the back.

“Wait, no. I didn’t want your loyalty. On my planet it’s a way to greet someone as equals. Here—“ she placed Ellias hand in her own. “Then you shake it up and down. It’s nice to meet you Ellia.”

She looked surprised at the Unmade hand. “Equals?”

Timbrelle admitted sheepishly “Yeah… we don’t really have servants on Earth. All of this hierarchy shit is exhausting. While I love my hair and may come back again for another style when this gets loose, I promise I am capable of bathing and dressing myself.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Equals with a Rigel?” She mused aloud to herself, a habit she hadn’t kicked from when she could hear. “Be you Unmade or not, I don’t believe the master would approve of me standing at height with a Rigel.”

“I’m not a Rigel, they didn’t even ask me. Plus ‘Timbrelle Rigel’ sounds so bad. Like ‘Stephanie Befany’ or ‘Jillian William’. …I really hope your last name isn’t Smellia, or this would be awkward.” She gave the maid a look.

“Uh… no. My name is Ellia Tetrowellis. But we don’t use surnames at the estate. While employed here I am Ellia Va Rigel like the average servant.” She placed the final pin in Timbrelle’s hair with slow, thoughtful hands. “I can feel your power. Now that I’ve learned of your unmaking, that is. It is delicate but unyielding, an ability most subtle. I am compelled to trust you even when I wish not to. It makes me… uncomfortable.”

Timbrelle was shocked. The Unmade, Brandon, mentioned her ‘social buff’ but didn’t go into detail. This was the first time someone had noticed it without the interface.

“I think it’s my title!” She hurried to explain. “I don’t know how to turn it off—or what it does, actually.”

“Your presence drowns my fear of the Unmade. I believe everything you’ve said wholeheartedly… and for that I distrust you. It’s an odd feeling.” She spun Timbrelle around in the chair, checking her hair from the front.

“That sounds… disgusting.” Timbrelle whispered. So this was why Brandon advised her to adjust her social buff. She was compelling people to… to… she didn’t know. This woman who had been terrorized by some Earther psychopath could not hate or fear her correctly because Timbrelle was smothering those emotions. Forcibly taking from the woman yet again.

Ellia, able to read the words on her lips, responded unexpectedly. “I think it’s a good thing. Unless that feeling is your ability too… I expected my next run-in with an Unmade to be ugly. But here I am speaking complete sentences on my own two feet—while performing my duties perfectly, no less.” She curtsied respectfully to Timbrelle. “It has preserved my dignity and for that I am grateful. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Timbrelle watched her collect the brushes and leave without looking back. She was left in her bedroom at the Rigel estate until Dendwin returned for her. He explained that due to a prior engagement Ellia wouldn’t be available to tend to her. The news stung more than she anticipated. Much more. Yet she repeatedly played down Dendwin’s apologies. It was not her place to be offended by another’s trauma.

He lead her to the dining room. He paused at the occasional painting to explain their historical significance. She listened attentively but was coming to understand that she simply could not retain the bevy of historical facts Yostier people seemed to know from birth.

“Mistress, your place at this dinner will be opposite her grace the Duchess, to the left of the Duke. The seat of greatest respect. The other four in attendance will be the Duke’s surviving children. Safe topics would be: grandchildren, Rigel swords, and, quote, ‘the damned Daliega’. Avoid talk of Rigel succession… and Brassus… and Nerrus for that matter.” They stopped at the door to the dining room.

“They hate Brassus here? That makes sense He’s the god that stole Nerrus’s other eye, right?”

“Indeed. The opinions vary from person to person but there are no small opinions in Rigel on the topic. Best to avoid the subject entirely. You may even be successful, provided Lord Bray holds his tongue.” He pushed the doors open to the heated argument among those at the table. A man, likely the Duke’s son Bray, held a fork in his hand poised to fling it at the head of the table. He paused in place.

“Introducing Lady Timbrelle Rigel.” Dendwin announced without batting an eyelash at the fiasco.

Six faces turned to look at her and she immediately bowed her head for a curtsy. The agitated man gave a barely audible scoff at her appearance but sat down, momentarily setting aside his quarrel. She could feel the gaze of everyone in the room burning a hole into the top of her head.

Tuna’s voice pulled her from the curtesy. “Enough of that. Come, sit! Doesn’t she look lovely dear?”

“Did you pick out the dress, Tunari?” Another familiar voice asked the Duchess.

Timbrelle halted in shock. “-the hell… Fede? Fede is the Duke? You’re married to Fede? Fede?”

A woman spewed her drink across the table in surprise. Though a trail of wine trickled from her chin, her visage was godly. With Fede’s same deep shade of chocolate skin and platinum blonde hair, her scarlet lipstick sat like the finest of aurora gems on display.

“I didn’t realize you two were already so familiar…” she observed of Timbrelle and “Fede”.

Tuna loosed a gorgeous, tinkling laugh. “It was just as good as I hoped. Dear, thank you for letting me allowing me to sit in on the surprise.”

Fede patted the table beside him. “We can’t eat until you sit, Timbrelle.”

She sat, giving the stink-eye to Fede. Yet, even though the Duke was a secretive old fart, her frustration couldn’t override her hunger. “I hear you adopted me today. Shall I call you ‘papa’?”

“You are herewith forbidden from addressing me as papa in public, but ‘grandfather’ would be most appropriate.” He entertained her sarcastic tone with a genuine smile.

“Granddaddy?” She tested.

“You are straying further from the mark, child. ‘Grandfather’.”

“Pappy.”

“What is so difficult about ‘grandfather’?” He huffed.

“I’ll do it. That’s just such a formal name for a grandparent where I’m from. Feels weird to say.” She explained.

“The Rigel children refer to him as ‘Grumps’.” The old man seated on her other side confided. “I believe it was Mattix who first invoked the name eighty years ago.”

Mattix, the gorgeous drink spitter, sneered at him from where she blotted a second old man dry. He’d been the recipient of her incredulous accident, dripping in silence. The two elderly men were practically identical aside from the lustrous beard now dripping in red wine. The Duke himself could have passed as their son.

The fourth and final of Fede’s children watched the rest with open derision, clearly not having abandoned the idea of throwing cutlery.

“You’ve got loose lips in your old age, Jedda.” Mattix scolded her much older brother. “Mitaeus uses all that elderly wisdom to keep his mouth shut.”

“‘Grumps’ will do nicely.” Timbrelle thanked the man. She turned back to Duke Rigel and asked, “Why did I get adopted today? From the sound of it, you have an abundance of progeny.”

The fourth, a young-looking man with platinum eyebrows and cornrows, rolled his eyes.

Fede answered. “You need a surname to survive in this world. Surviving as a Rigel is objectively easier than wielding a name pulled from the ether. If you object, the decision may still be undone.”

Despite his calm demeanor she could sense the hesitance. The transformation from pious jackass to Pop-pop was a staggering one. It was difficult to believe they were the same person.

Timbrelle didn’t want to consider his offer. Ostensibly, she had her own family somewhere. The memories were just too jumbled to remember her Poppo’s name or all the fishing they must have done together. She wanted to use her own name.

But then again… what did that matter? She couldn’t remember what it was. So much of her was missing that perhaps it would be good to plug some of the holes in her memory with new memories.

“I’d be honored. I was just a touch surprised.” She answered honestly. “I’m not crazy about my name rhyming, but other than that, this seems like an opportunity I should grab hold of.”

“Now there’s the most honest thing anyone here has said all night. Hold on to those coattails as hard as you can, little beggar girl.” The fourth child spat. “You want this swinging from our family tree, Father? You truly will slap our name onto anything and try to sell it.”

“Hold your tongue, Bray.” Fede warned. “Your opinion lacks an interested audience.”

“Oh damn.” Jedda whispered beside Timbrelle. He patted a withered hand on her leg. “Father favors you. How did you manage that?”

“I had a panic attack once when he was being really mean to me.” She whispered back loud enough for the rest to overhear.

“Oh, I see. You must remind him of Stella, Mattix’s great granddaughter. A soft spot, to be sure.”

Bray yelled at Fede in the background but the elderly Jedda worked to hold her attention.

“I will be returning to Tellcentra in four days. I encourage you to accompany me with—what did you call him? Fede? Is that what they call him at the temple?” He chatted pleasantly. “I’ve only heard him referred to as Federick or ‘Rick’ by the king.”

“I should try to call him ‘my liege’ or something, right?” She asked, a touch embarrassed at her earlier discourtesy.

“Nonsense! You’re a Rigel now. You could call him ‘That Old Bastard’ and no one could say otherwise.” He chortled.

“Ugh, Jedda!” Bray yelled, furious that the man was talking over his argument with their father. “This whole family is a lost cause! I can’t be around you all without losing my mind!”

Jedda continued on as if the outburst hadn’t taken place. “Duchess Tunari is a gem but my mother, the third duchess, was quite sharp in her own right. She always said that if you can’t sit through a meal with family, you’re too boorish to be allowed in public.” He patted her elbow then stopped and looked puzzled, “Or was it ‘people who can’t entertain a single guest for a single day are a base and tactless animal’? Pardon, I seem to have forgotten in my old age.”

Bray roared and frisbeed a plate at Jedda. The heavy plate went wide, smashing against the wall behind them and depositing a handful of miniature potatoes in Jedda’s lap. He popped one in his mouth.

“Bray. You are excused.” Fede stated flatly. “Should you return to Florenta before I see you again, travel safely.”

The room was still and silent until Bray tucked in his chair and said. “I apologize, Jedda. You did not deserve that.”

Timbrelle panicked at his eye contact, raising a hand and toodling her fingers in goodbye. His reaction was not difficult to gauge. He pulled back his lips in disgust.

“Good luck with your new pet, Father. Break her in quickly before she embarrasses Rigel any further.” He turned to leave.

“I believe we have different opinions of what is shameful, Bray. Close the door when you leave.”

“Oh damn.” Jedda said to her again. “Anywho, Tellcentra. My granddaughter is about to have her coronation. You should visit!”

Bray slammed the door behind him.

Mattix was the first to speak after nearly a full course had passed in strained silence. “You know, I came through Yost Proper on my way here. The city is positively buzzing with the latest gossip about your nasty little Dorark.”

Timbrelle ears perked.

Tuna hummed curiously. “Mmm… I must have missed it at the palace today. Regale us.”

“There were the two survivors recently and just this evening, a fire! I believe it’s burning now. I arrived only an hour ago, so I can’t imagine it’s already been put out.” She said.

“Ghastly place.” Mitaeus mumbled. “Should like to see it burn.”

Timbrelle’s spoon hovered over her plate. She couldn’t understand her reaction. Why wasn’t she happy? She’d dreamed of burning her way out of that hell hole every night. How could it make her squeamish now?

“House Antilè is convinced they can tame the forest by working with the survivors.” Fede said. “The Antilè Head is practically rabid for a meeting with them.”

“He is?” Timbrelle asked. This was the first she had heard of it.

“I apologize for not informing you. I instructed him to send you a formal invitation.” He explained. “If he has finally relented to etiquette, you should see the invitation any day.”

Mattix lit up. “You are the survivor? I’m embarrassed to have spoken so freely, but absolutely delighted to make your acquaintance. Ah… and I’m sorry about Bray. The rest of us gave up on succeeding our father when he passed one hundred and fifty. Bray is the youngest now that Pordosus has died. I assure you that he will outgrow this tantrum.”

“What does that have to do with me, though? I’m a grandkid.” She looked around the table, noting the confused faces. “Aren’t I?”

“-Yes.“ said Tuna.

“-No.” said Mitaeus.

“-Yes and no.” Fede, Mattix and Jedda answered at the same time.

Jedda was the one to elaborate. “Our father may think of you as his granddaughter but you can’t adopt people like that. You are legally my sister and his youngest child. You’re Bray’s direct competition for a seat that will never be vacant.” He ate another potato from his lap. “Good luck. How are you with poison?”