The orchestra plays in a corner of the hall. A table extends from wall to wall, flanking the window overlooking the gardens. Fragrant smells such as vanilla and lavender are widespread in the corners of the room, crystal flowers adorn the columns and shelves of the Gothic windows.
The twenty highest-ranking witches, their courts and families are invited, along with some witches of local importance, Delphine's vassals. Of the guests, the Second, Seventh, Seventeenth, and Nineteenth Witches did not show up or respond to the invitation.
On the other hand, young Priscilla walks around at ease, knows etiquette and knows how to mix with groups of guests. Groups that form and dissolve, without a precise order or meaning.
Another unexpected guest is Archdevil Executor. As per etiquette, the Lord First among Peers carries his sword sheathed at his side, covered by the feathered cloak and the hair and beard cut adjusted for the occasion.
Delphine observes them carefully, they are all potentially dangerous guests.
The Wall Witch is eating some cream-colored sweets, flirting with some young servants called for the occasion. A particularly reckless young man gets spoon-fed, unaware that it's only a matter of time before—Massimiliano crosses Delphine's field of vision.
The butler is working hard, constantly moving from one side of the room to the other. He checks that the table is always full, that the bottles of fine wine are always fresh and replaced. The glares he throws at the Witch are not lost on Delphine.
He checks who will be replaced tonight. How silly.
Delphine smiles, she's been alone for a while and, thinking about it, maybe it's time to fix it.
Suddenly the room falls silent and the orchestra quiets down.
The center of attention, the sudden catalyst, is the splendid Princess Viola-Maria. She enters the room in a red dress with white bandages, with a long lace train supported by Camelia. The maid was invited to act as her valet.
The Praetor-Duke does not agree with her choice, but Delphine has consented to her daughter's wishes.
What better circumstance than to defeat her in front of the only friend she has?
Those sinister thoughts make her smile, while her daughter bows from halfway across the room. Delphine returns her gesture with a nod, before covering her face with her fan.
Now only the President and the Presidential Prince must arrive.
“Important evening, don't you think?”
Delphine sees Carola, the Sixteenth Witch, at her side. She is a woman with ash-colored hair. She wears round eyeglasses and long nails like claws. Her eyes, as red as the moles on either side of them, are raised towards the Third Witch.
It's the first time they've seen each other, and Sixteenth is as different from her as she imagined. She has the tanned features of the north, rich clothing but more like a gold embroidered jumpsuit. The aegis of the rat-bat king shimmers iridescent in the light.
“Important without a doubt.”
Delphine still keeps her mouth masked, but she is unable to interpret her interlocutor's smile.
“How much did it cost you to put on all of this?”
Closing her fan, Delphine sighs, pretending to be naive.
“I don't know, I leave the accounts to my husband.”
“Hm, convenient. I like to do the math, but I could take a husband to do other chores.”
Carola's absorbed look bores Delphine. It is true that it is necessary to wait for the President's arrival, but talking about husbands is the last thing she wants.
“I suppose so.”
“Look,” Carola adjusts her glasses on her nose, causing a glass of white wine to appear in her hand.
Either she just spent 15,000 Lire on a glass of wine, or she's making me understand that the Wall Witch's defenses don't matter to her.
“I already know this isn't an engagement party.”
“Hm, are you a mind reader or do you expect me to cheat on me?”
“I am the Witch who holds the Ministry of Tracking, I always know what magic is used and how much it cost.”
“Are you talking about the barrier that dispels spells under 15,000 Lire?”
The Witch nods and sips the wine.
“Useless move if it were an engagement. Doubly useless, considering only two witches in existence pose a threat to you. So, I asked myself when the barrier was erected: for what purpose?”
Delphine shrugs her shoulders submissively.
“You are definitely right. I asked to erect the barrier because, perhaps, someone won't be so happy with the developments this evening.”
“Huh, really? But I thought that Archdevil over there was here for that!”
Carola points with her glass to a column at the back of the room. Archdevil Shield is propped up, in his usual attire and gun dangling from his belt. When he meets Delphine's gaze he grimaces, moving behind the column.
“Wah, he's so shy.”
“I admit that Archdevil Shield is a mystery to me. But yes, you are right in underlining the issue. He is the main defense of the house. Although, to be honest, his presence leaves me more perplexed than anything else.”
“Holy Mother, Holy Mother, how do you find me?”
Viola-Maria joins her mother and Carola, showing off a small bow on her breasts covered in white lace. Useless display, thinks Delphine, as she still has no aegis.
“Noble Daughter, let me introduce you to the Holy Carola, Sixteenth Witch of the Empire.”
“My pleasure, Noble Princess Delphine.”
The two women shake hands as a sign of respect.
Carola is about to add something, but a roar shakes the windows and attracts attention in the center of the room. Delphine sees Archdevil Shield pull out his gun but shakes her head. The guardian obediently puts it away and simply points to the center of the room with his claw.
“Prince! My prince. Please excuse me, Holy Mother, Holy Carola.”
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The Princess heads towards the room, awkwardly followed by Camelia. The former maid hasn't even had time to bow courtesy before she finds herself in the center of the room.
Two figures are the target of glances.
A statuesque boy, with wavy, auburn hair. The dry and sharp jaw, the full lips pursed under the bored gaze increase the majesty he exudes. Glowing eyes, ivory skin.
Delphine observes him in the white uniform of the gendarmerie, adorned with a black and gold cloak held up by the brooch of the crow-hydra-shark, symbol of the Coralla.
There is no doubt, his bearing and appearance reveal his nature. Presidential Prince Coralla. And it's beautiful. Although perfectly shaved, he shows an older age and the butterflies that swirl for a moment in the Third Witch's stomach are very less than honorable.
How silly, to envy my daughter for such a foolish thing.
“Noble Presidential Prince,” the Princess bows and holds out her hand. Camelia bows to her.
The Prince looks around with a bored expression. He takes the Princess's hand and bends down, bringing it to her forehead.
“Noble Princess.”
“Uh-oh, son, excited?”
The second figure tugs at the son, interspersing herself between the future boyfriends. Prominent breasts with an open corset on a row of ring studs that join them to the leather skirt, long and wavy coral red hair interspersed with black locks are the first thing that catches the eye. Before the aegis of the three creatures, before the eyes of embers, the anklets and bracelets in gold and glass, and the collar in lace and obsidian. The enchanting and playful face of the President seemingly made of porcelain.
Smoking a thin piece of coal at the tip of a mouthpiece, the President emits smoke like a small chimney.
With flair she sprints, embracing her son and the Princess.
“Oh, dear boys! How beautiful was the era of first loves, of marriages, of convenience! Oh! Hello to you too, Viola, and to you, Carola. Ho, but there's also Clizia and Atlanta, hello beautiful ones!”
The President disappears in a cloud of ash, only to reappear behind the two witches to hug them too. There is a moment of cold generalized hilarity.
They all laugh, but it's a nervous laugh. Even the few who hide behind the fans—like Delphine—tremble with nervousness.
The President just arrived and has already used two spells. She wants to show everyone how money isn't worth it to her?
After all, how much did she spend to shatter the barriers of the Second Witch?
“SMACK!”
The President kisses Delphine on the cheek. The Third Witch retreats in embarrassment.
“Viola, what are you doing!? It's so nice to celebrate together.”
Three spells. Three.
The situation is defused by the Presidential Prince's applause.
“Holy Mother, you are as imaginative as always. But it's not for you that we're here today, is it?”
Coralla moves away from Delphine, returning to the center of the room.
“Right, right. To all the people here, thank you for coming. It is with immense pleasure that I can announce the official engagement.”
“Wait.” Delphine takes a step forward. “Let me honor the engaged couple present, the real reason for this party.”
The gendarmes enter the room, blocking the exits. The witches look around perplexed, amused, and curious.
“What does this mean, Holy Mother?”
Viola-Maria has lowered her eyes. Her expression is indifferent. But her fists grip her skirt, betraying her nervousness.
Delphine smiles and waves her fan. A parchment appears in her hand, written by the Marquis Nereo and written without knowledge of her daughter.
“Daughter, do you surely remember your recent attempt to poison me?”
The room falls silent. Her eyes are fixed on Delphine. Even Coralla limits herself to smoking, interested.
“Well, I found a way to cure myself. Does this cheer you up at least a little?”
“Of course it makes me happy, Holy Mother. I—”
“You will now expose your crimes before this audience. And, while we're at it, your boyfriend will be kind enough to add her confession.”
After some uncertain murmurs, applause breaks out with whistles and evil laughter. The Presidential Prince loses his composure, distorting his face into a grimace of anger. His mother is watching him, without saying anything. But Delphine knows that that look is enough, she doesn't need anything else.
“You don't want to confess, then?”
“Holy Mother, I have nothing to confess. If not that I was naive, I was deceived.”
“Huh!?” Prince Coralla rolls his eyes but refrains from moving.
“Eh-oh, and who would deceive you?”
“You, Holy Mother.” The crowd goes quiet. “You who promised me an engagement party and instead—”
“That's enough.” Delphine silences her daughter with her magic. “Unfortunately, Nereo is a man. His sentences do not have the value of certainty but, in front of such illustrious witnesses, I ask the President, and the Holy Witches present to allow me to examine this legitimate certainty myself. Reported in the parchment, drawn up at the end of the investigations of the Ampra court.”
“Oh, clever” Carola takes out a golden lira. “I testify.”
Other witches follow and only the President does not act, keeping her gaze fixed on her son.
“Coralla,” the Witch claps a hand on her shoulder. “You're the only one missing.”
“Hm, fine.”
Visibly reluctantly, the First Witch of the Empire extracts a golden Lira and has it sublimated.
Viola-Maria and the Presidential Prince gesture, move their mouths magically deprived of voice.
Delphine unrolls the parchment.
“In the name of the authority given to me by him whose kiss descended from the black. Following an investigation conducted on behalf of the Third Witch, I, the Third Witch of the Empire, read: intrigue and conspiracy with the aim of destabilizing the government, as well as the five most important families, by the secessionists of Dalorbami. This is the general accusation. It hangs on the Presidential Prince Coralla. The accused is to be attributed to Viola-Maria Delphine. It is poisoning by the Third Witch, her mother. Having inherited the nature of Witch, the new Third Witch would have supported the secession, joining the countesses of the Principalities of Dalorbami. Whereas—”
“Enough. It has validity anyway, there's no need to bore us until the end.”
The President emits a puff of black smoke.
“Coralla, really—”
The President signals to wait.
“Give them their voices back, please.”
Delphine obeys.
“We didn't do anything!” “Her! it was her! and then you have no proof!”, “Hey, I…”, “Look—AH!”
The ground beneath the Prince melts. He collapses, screams, and his legs melt from the heat. In that pool of lava in the center of the room, the boiling of the magma mixes with the general jubilation. Only Viola-Maria screams.
Delphine looks away. She meets a horrified Judas, Archdevil Shield looking on impassively, while Archdevil Executioner rubs his bushy beard.
The ground becomes cold and solid again. A melted forearm, charred around the bone, is stretched towards the ceiling. Macabre ornamentation of the exact center of the room.
Viola-Maria throws herself on her knees in front of that still smoking relic, stammers incoherent words and keeps her head down. The pavement all around is smooth, similar to an uneven patch of solidified metal.
The laughter fades. Some witches are doubled over, crying as if they have witnessed a funny show.
“I hadn't read the sentence.” Delphine is shaken, her screams still seem to be spreading throughout the room. But it is not so.
Is this the end that awaits us all?
“I know. I also know that the sentence is a matter for Executors, right First of Lords?”
“As you say, Your Holiness.” The Archdevil Executor sketches a bow.
“Then why did you kill him like that?”
“I felt like it. And then it is the Presidency's right to protect itself.” The President stands with folded arms. The pedantic but relaxed expression. As if it were a bar dispute.
Killed her son like that... and doesn't seem the least bit upset.
“Er, at least a broad interpretation of protecting oneself.”
“In any case, Viola, what do we do with your daughter?”
The Princess turns her head. Her eyes are wide open and she is trembling, she is about to speak but a retch interrupts her, dirtying her dress and the floor.
There is a giggle passing among witches, but the atmosphere has become more serious. Tense.
“My Holiness,” the Praetor-Duke raises his voice. “Our deal was decided that night, right? Disinherit her.”
“True.” Delphine nods at her husband. She tries not to show it, but she's relieved. The idea of giving a horrible death to an impending fourteen-year-old didn't appeal to her at all.
“Boo!” “No!”, “Go away, man!”, “You're just a piece of furniture, get lost!”
The witches start yelling at Judas. Priscilla shouts with a raised fist, winking confidently at Delphine.
“I-I…”
Judas steps back.
“I-I.”
“I would have a better idea, able to reconcile the parts.”
Archdevil Executor advances with the accordion walk, due to asymmetric knees, one normal and one reverse. He bows to Coralla and then to Delphine.
“Your Holinesses permitting, of course.”