Though Fabia’s face was unfamiliar and pale, Ari knew that joke all too well. Unlike a Red like herself in the fire-and-done camp, Agent Natty Thomas was a White who excelled at reading people and laying low. In another world, she had embodied a cleaner close to retirement, and had also become a forgettable first-year law student for a mission, fooling those around her for close to two years. However, despite her natural sense of humour and likeable air, she only knew two formulas when you asked her for a joke: why did the chicken cross the road, and a man walked into a bar – the end.
‘Sir Beren walked into a lance,’ Fabia tried again. ‘Pluuurgh.’
Sir Beren hesitated, then clapped.
‘I’m afraid our fool hasn’t quite been herself since she lost her fart,’ said Duke Aquilon. ‘My wife had hoped that a change of scenery would cheer her up, but… alas.’
‘Poor Fabia,’ said Ari, slipping into her seat again in her modified dress, as if she’d never left. ‘Please, father, may she come and sit with me? Perhaps eating this piece of chicken would add a spring into her step as well as her rear.’
Duke Aquilon spun the spare chair round at once, setting Fabia at the table, and spooned a bowl of frumenty for her himself. ‘I do hope you regain your good cheer,’ he said. ‘You have seen my wife and my daughter through many hard times. They need you now more than ever.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ said the fake Fabia.
Ari took her hand and found no words to say. Glad that you’re alive? Sorry I haven’t called you in so long? She longed to take her friend into her arms, but instead, tightened the grip on her hand.
Keeping the threat of wetness on her lashes at bay, she made do with a half-muttered line under her breath, ‘Isn’t it perfect weather for bubble tea?’
The fake Fabia snorted her frumenty, setting the bells on her hat jangling. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine. Just practising a new trick,’ she coughed up an excuse for the others. She clutched on tighter to Ari’s hand and whispered back, ‘It’s always perfect weather for bubble tea.’
‘We shall have tea in my room after this,’ said Ari. Had afternoon tea parties become part of life in Ventinon yet? Looking at the bread that served as her plate, it was doubtful; you couldn’t make a teapot out of bread. In any case, just a quieter place for a private conversation would do.
‘It is good to see you test out new ways to move forward with your life,’ said Duke Aquilon, cutting into their whispered words.
Ari scrambled back to find a place in the thread of their conversation.
‘I have seen other fools test the waters with ways beyond breaking wind and witticisms,’ he continued. ‘Nichola has become a court jester through her juggling, and Joren’s accurate impressions of others has made him a talking point. You have explored tumbling before, I believe? That sounds more than enough.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ said Natty. ‘I’m sorry for causing you worry when I should be bringing you joy.’
‘Life is like making a pilgrimage across the landscape of our beloved Ventinon. You must brave Mount Deimos or pass through the tangled Forest of Lyssa to see the beauty of Lake Una. There is no need to apologise for stumbling along a capricious path, and there is no shame in grabbing onto a steadier hand to regain your footing,’ said Duke Aquilon.
‘Truly,’ cried Sir Beren, ‘it is impossible to forget that House Aquilon has always stood steadfast for its vassals.’
‘After all, we are also calling here for the help of House Aquilon,’ said Sir Dagon. ‘If you please, my lady, Your Grace, help us gain favour at the tournament.’
‘Though my good looks shouldn’t need much help,’ added Sir Beren, ‘it is Lady Oriana’s favour I’m courting, so please, ladies, help me release the full power of my irresistible charm.’
Sir Dagon beckoned his squire first, and the boy brought out a helmet at once, followed by two separate hats with giant feathers on top. He helped Sir Dagon secure the helmet: a round one with a long thin slit for his eyes, a grid of holes for breathing, and a simple row of embossed roses near the hinge.
The first hat-like thing fastened onto the back of his helmet, and made him look like a type of crested cockatoo. Five spikey canary-yellow feathers stood like a mohawk, and made the knight an unmissable sight.
‘That is the first option,’ he said. ‘Would my lady care to share your thoughts?’
…which was that it looked ridiculous.
‘It is very fashionable, but I don’t believe it brings out your charm. What do you think, Fabia?’
‘It… uhhh… it is very bright,’ said Natty.
Ari nodded. ‘While your heraldry is a saltire of sable on a field in or, your charm lies in the sable. I would pay little attention to fashion, sir. Your attire should remain simple, and if anything, many ladies would dream of taking you to commission a brooch that would suit you more than you yourself are aware.’
~Ladies are people like myself.~
~Oh. You don’t know your heraldry? That is a shame. I hope your father did not keep you from lessons because you are not his son, but his daughter. Saltire is a diagonal cross, and or is gold, while sable is black.~
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
The knight of black and gold, who was not cross in the slightest at the feedback, spoke up. ‘You may dislike the second option even more.’
The squire unfolded a thick crown of fabric made from twisted yellow and black, where the jagged coloured fabric trailed below the neckline, ending on eyelets dangling smaller yellow feathers.
‘Yes. No. Please don’t place that monstrosity on your head,’ said Ari. The helmet covered all his features, so there was nothing to rescue the knight from this atrocity. ‘Torses suit His Majesty, but are not for you, sir. Please consider reducing the plume of your first option to one single yellow feather and adding a single black feather alongside it. I also believe that a plume of horsetail would be more in keeping with your charm. Black horsehair rising from the centre of the armet, with only a few strands in yellow to show the or in your heraldry would suit you the best. ’
The chambermaids nodded in agreement, and Sir Dagon bowed. ‘My lady, I shall take your advice to heart and commission the horsetail plume at once.’
Sir Beren squirmed to the front with his squire in tow. ‘I… I’m afraid if you find Sir Dagon’s too fancy, then I should rethink both my options before taking up your time.’
‘Your charm is different, sir, and a more outlandish design can suit you well.’
‘So… when you say “outlandish”…’ With a flourish, his squire tore off the white cloth that was covering his helmet. It was polished to a whitish silver, and was already decorated with a blue and white torse where a cluster of white feathers rose from the centre. The area within the torse had been painted with a blue bonsai-tree pattern.
Claribel fell silent, but Natty spoke up. ‘It’s… perhaps a little plain for you, sir.’
‘Plain…?’
‘Mistress Fabia’s words match my thoughts. You have chosen a great helm, and the torse and crest require something more. What is your other choice, sir?’
‘It’s this, but without the torse.’
‘Ah… The thing is, you, sir, suit the role of the trendsetter. Many ladies dream of you buying them jewelled cauls that would make them the envy of all. We need to find something… more.’
Every time, Claribel’s words in her mouth tasted like choking on burnt toast, and a buzzing ache pressed against her temples, like a dentist’s drill from the inside. Ari fought an urge to bang her head against the wall: a more controllable pain.
‘How about having a little animal statue on his head?’ suggested Natty.
‘A… what?’ Ari whispered back.
‘An animal statue. I’ve seen it in another, errr, place.’
~Wait, that might work…~
‘Sir, with a heraldry of ermine, and a winged stoat as your charge, a small statue of a winged stoat may give the ladies a knight to remember at the tournament.’
Duke Aquilon coughed uncomfortably, but Claribel’s words fuelled Natty’s enthusiasm.
‘Not just that!’ said her friend. ‘You can make the wings a lot bigger, but have them made from fabric and reinforced with wires. Then you could build a pull cord that runs under the helm that goes all the way down to where you’d hold your reigns. As you ride onto the field, pull the cord, and the wings will open up.’
That… was the Natty she knew. In the real world, Natty had spent many hours between missions bent over her sewing machine, squinting at characters from games. Once, she’d even sewn a dress made from belts. That thing had weighed nearly as much as the dress that she was wearing today.
‘Mistress Fabia… I… don’t know what to say. With a crest like that, I must make it into the final round and prove my worth.’
‘I shall write you an introduction to Master Northill,’ said Duke Aquilon. ‘He is young, but he knows all about turning sticks with crowns, and can surely help you make a contraption that Mistress Fabia has described. Both the clock that sits in my study in Aquilon and the planetarium that Clary has here are his work. His shop sits along Longwalk.’
‘It is now on the High Street, at the corner that meets Holyfire Lane.’
‘Ah, he has done well for himself!’
‘Your Grace has a good eye for talent,’ said Sir Dagon.
Speaking of talent…
‘Perhaps…’ said Ari, a thought coming to her at the same time as another thought telling her that Natty would never need her help. She pushed the latter aside, just as Natty had always told her to. Here, fools juggled, so perhaps other types of entertainment would do too. ‘Perhaps Fabia can explore outlandish costumes. Inspiration seems to come to her when it comes to these, and she’s sure to find a way to bring joy through this gift.’
‘In that case, as the Fated One wills it,’ said the duke, ‘Hubert!’
‘Your Grace,’ said the man in, once again, a blue tunic, but one decorated with a golden raven pin.
‘Ah. Clary, I was about to ask Hubert to write to Walton and assign two seamstresses to our dear fool, but…’
~But we are currently in Eirene, in Wingshill House. The manor that we are in now is property of the Aquilon family, but is also where I have been residing for the past three years as a Master Mage. My father has been giving me the authority to act in Eirene, and he doesn’t wish to override it now. You need to talk to my own Wardrobe and ask him to assign two seamstresses here in Eirene.~
~… You don’t have… wardrobes?~
~I’m… talking about a person. You know, as in the Steward, the Cook and the Wardrobe. Mine is Little Walton, who’s the other Walton’s nephew, and Tarry is my lead seamstress.~
Ari said to the other spirit in her head, but out to the rest of the world, she said, ‘I will speak with Little Walton later and have Tarry assign her girls to Fabia so that she may have costumes to wear for the tournament.’
‘You may need Little Walton to hire two new seamstresses aside from that too, my lady,’ said Hubert. ‘There is much to prepare for the tournament.’
Ari nodded and smiled, and tried to imagine preparation that didn’t involve pull-ups, and was exploring the possibility of doing planks in the dress she was wearing – would the volume of the skirt part simply prop her up? – when two sleek black hounds bounded towards her, with a man as sleek and muscular, but not quite as fast, trailing behind.
When the hounds got close enough to sniff her, they stopped short, their tails stilled, and one gave a low growl.
‘Luna! Sora! It’s all right. It’s me.’ Claribel’s words vomited into her mouth.
‘My lady!’ the man called, gasping for air. ‘Your Grace!’
‘What happened?’
‘My… my deepest apologies, my lady,’ said the man, doubling over to catch his breath. ‘They thought they were going hunting today, so they got over-excited.’
Claribel’s hands rubbed Luna and Sora under their chins.
‘You were planning to go hunting today?’ said Duke Aquilon.
‘It… was a plan from a while ago, before the decision from the Cardinal. Quarrin, please take Luna and Sora to Whitton Forest this afternoon. Bring Talin and Perry as well. They will want to stretch their wings.’
‘Were they… plans with Lady Oriana?’ he asked.
‘I have been befriending House Auster at mother’s bidding, just as you have, father. We are building unity, not division, for the good of Ventinon.’
‘For the good of Ventinon,’ the knights echoed.
And there, the spirit of Claribel withdrew, as if there had never been a trace of anything but a harmless, demure lady who could never be a threat.