Baroness Mina Titemore scowled.

“Tighter,” she said, letting her rage filter into her voice. The servant girl, Sylvana, cringed back in fear, but obeyed nonetheless. “Give me the financial report.”

From the mirror Mina saw Frenna frown and her eyes scrunch together as she read the parchment in her hands. “Peren would be better at this,” she said. “Or your new knight.”

“I’m quite certain you’re correct, Frenna. But as it happens, I am in the midst of getting dressed, and so I must make do. Or do you think me some harlot?”

Mina saw in her eyes that that was exactly as she thought, but the female knight said nothing and only sighed.

“The iron shipment is late. Our lumber demand has increased due to the new housing district, but we don’t have enough loggers. Same goes for the Loggers Guild. And the Miners Guild. Carpenters, stone masons–every occupation but for farmers. Peren thinks our coffers will run dry within the year.”

The beauty of war. Tens of thousands dead, almost all of them serfs who practiced some needed trade or another. Loggers, farmers, miners, carpenters, the very men who made up the backbone of industry, all gone in a matter of less than a year.

“What of the Adventurers Guild?” Mina asked. “Perhaps we could leverage monster materials in some way.”

Frenna shrugged. “Most of them are gone.”

“Gone? Where to, exactly?”

“Anywhere. North, south, east, west. Anywhere but here. Titemore isn’t exactly known for its monster presence, my lady. Toughest thing we’re seen around here was the myrmecoleon last year, and those are only good for mid-tier adventurers. All the high-rankers have moved on to greener pastures.”

Greener pastures. What region had greener pastures, she wondered, than Titemore? In terms of farming, at least, Titemore Barony was among the most prolific in the Empire.

That just means we won’t starve. Food wasn’t enough to hold a city together, no matter how plentiful. Especially when what few skilled freemen remained were slowly migrating to wealthier cities.

“Tighter,” she said again to the servant girl. Sylvana. Named after the former baroness in some vain attempt to ingratiate the family to her, or else as a show of ‘honor’ and ‘respect’. The girl pulled the laces again, and the corset tightened. But not to Mina’s liking.

“I said tighter.” From the mirror she could see the girl’s frightened face, on the verge of tears. She pulled the laces again.

Mina felt her corset tighten, almost to perfection. Then the girl’s grip slipped, and it loosened.

Sylvana shied away, her head down as if awaiting reproach. Or, more likely, a swatting. The old baroness was renowned for her violence to her servants. Mina liked to think herself a less cruel ruler.

Ah, but look at you.You are a fool of a girl, not even fit to attend to the other servants. I’d not even let you feed our hounds if not for your name. There must have been more than twenty Sylvana’s in Addens alone, and hundreds outside its walls when considering the greater barony. Despite that, the selection for servant girls was poor; most were skilled workers, necessary for the already failing economy, while the rest were far too old, named when Sylvana was still a baron’s daughter and not a ruler in her own right.

That Baroness Sylvana had open contempt for the practice, going so far as to ban those with her name from her presence, limited her options further. The youngest Sylvana now was fifteen, while the average age was somewhere above thirty.

Mina could see the reasoning behind it, of course. Serfs, like the Sylvana who served her, were often uneducated at best and plain of face. Baroness Sylvana would have seen such a thing as mockery. And to see a grouping of them together would have stung even more.

But now there are three Sylvana’s attending to my every whim.

“Leave me,” she said. “And send in the other Sylvana. The fat one.”

The girl bowed and retreated with haste, replaced soon after with a girl who bore no resemblance beyond a name. Two years younger, this Sylvana was a farmer’s daughter, tall and thickset from the abundance of food that came with such an occupation. More importantly, this Sylvana was the strongest of the three, used to the heavy demands of working a farm.

“Tighten my corset, would you?”

Mina could feel the fumbling sausages that were the girls fingers at her back. The skinny one didn’t even have the laces right, she thought with contempt. When the fumbling was finished, Sylvana pulled once, the corset squeezing Mina like a snake.

“A little less,” she said. Sylvana eased the strings, and relief flooded her chest.

At least this one knows how to dress me properly.

“Leave us,” Mina said when it was done. As the girl left Mina stared into the mirror, pretending to observe her own appearance but, in truth, only giving it a passing glance. “Why so angry, Frenna?”

Frenna’s cheeks reddened. “Apologies, my lady.”

“Did I ask for apologies, Dame Frenna? I believe I asked why you were angry, did I not?”

“Yes, my lady. I apologize, my lady. I am… displeased with the placement of your attendants. I believe there are other servants that would be more suitable.”

You don’t like my mockery of Sylvana, you mean. There was little love between Baroness Sylvana and her servants when she was alive, but loyalty still pervaded in her subjects. And loyalty meant discontent.

How long would she have to put up with it, she wondered?

“I believe them to be sufficient,” Mina said.

“As you say, my lady. Would you like to move to the study now?”

“I would.”

As she entered the study alone, Frenna having gone to bring Peren and the Knight Captain, Mina was met with sudden relaxation. The air smelled of parchment and herbs, and her skin was warmed from the light of the sun beaming in from the towering windows on the far side. A spacious room that sat on the third floor of the manor, it had transformed completely in the month that she had been baroness, deprived of the decorations and paintings that once dominated its walls. In their place were bookcases nearly as tall as the room itself, as well as a collection of her favorite staves, all brought from her former study which now served as the Knight Captain’s office.

The center room was dominated by a sapphire blue rug, embroidered with the Titemore sigil: a flaming shield. The iconography of knighthood, used in many forms by many noble families. It did not suit her, but inheritance, especially illegal ones, did not always come with every wish fulfilled.

Atop the rug, however, was one particular wish fulfilled completely. What was once a simple table at which Baroness Sylvana drank her tea had been replaced by what could only be called a mage’s dream. Upon the tall table lay a variety of magical wonders: an assortment of liquids, powders, and dried plants, each with powerful uses in potions; pieces of metal from iron to steel-of-heaven; crystals of every shape, size, and color, many worth more than a knights yearly salary; bones of animals and monsters harvested by some of the finest hunters to have graced Addens in recent memory; and fragments of wood bearing magical properties, taken from the trees themselves and ripe for experimenting. At the heart of it all was her proudest achievement: a mana stone, carved by her own hands and instilled with her own mana such that its surface glowed with white cracks.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Her first foray into the art of witchcraft.

There was a knock at the door. “We have arrived, my lady,” Frenna said from the other side.

“Come in,” she replied.

The three knights entered together and her eyes were drawn to the Knight Captain at once. The tallest of the three, and the only one in armor, he was a handsome man with a clean shaven face and long, dark hair, and his presence was the very meaning of dark and imposing.

“It is good to see you, my lady,” the Knight Captain Aelfred said.

“You as well,” Mina replied with a false smile. The man was her most trusted confidant, as well as her most contemptible knight.

Peren approached holding a letter. “My lady, a message from the Arvolt Company,” he said, handing her the letter.

She broke the seal and read it, drinking words from parchment as one might drink water on a hot summer day. Her teeth ground together.

“Is it ill news?” Peren asked.

“They are requesting that our most esteemed appraiser go south. To Lyonpool.” She let her words sink in. Peren was the only one who seemed concerned. “Our old friend Alden has slain another beast, it seems. A very large, very rare beast.”

“What beast?” Frenna asked.

“A flesheater. One of truly monstrous size. As large as a small barn, confirmed by Count Stowgardyn’s own appraiser.”

“Why doesn’t the Count’s own appraiser do the appraisal?” Frenna asked.

“Success is often punished, and our little appraiser is quite successful,” Aelfred said. It was true enough. Titemore’s appraiser was among the best in the southern reaches of the Empire. A rarity, for a serf.

“It is not only our own,” Mina said. “An appraiser from Licester has also been requested. A freeman, if I remember correctly. The reward for this task is…not inadequate.”

“Is that a problem?” Frenna asked, sensing her hesitation.

“Can be,” Peren replied. “If that monster’s really worth Arvolt getting involved like this, then Lyonpool’s going to be on the receiving end of a significant economic migration. Workers, adventures, merchants. They’ll flock to the south.”

“And leave us in an economic drought,” Mina added.

She knit her teeth together, clenching hard. Alden had proven himself a useful ally, once. It was almost a shame to have to turn against him now.

“I will not send our appraiser,” she said.

Peren frowned. “Arvolt will mislike that.”

“Arvolt mislikes a great many things. Their tendency to request so much of us without due recompense is wearing thin. How much lumber did we send them last week?”

“Seventy-seven cords of argerwood, fifty of oak, and sixty of ash,” Peren said.

“All for less than market rate, and the promise that the dues of our local branches won’t rise this year.”

Mina clutched the smooth rounded handles of her chair. Argerwood, in particular, was selling at far above the normal rate. Enough to put a serious dent in the amount needed to expand Addens, had she been able to sell it. But as Arvolt demands, Arvolt gets. They had demanded Titemore’s dues in the form of lumber, which would have been well enough had their accountants not deigned that the lumber be assessed at the prior years evaluation. Standard practice, the Company told her.

But the letter she held in her hand was not a demand. They asked, and she had her answer for them.

“Write a letter of my refusal,” she said.

Peren bowed. “As you command. Will there be anything else?”

Mina thought a moment, her eyes falling over the books on the shelf to her left. Books on magic, most on the proven variety, along with a smattering of theoretical and a wisp of the hypothetical.

“Lunch,” she said at last, gently touching her belly with a hand. “I’m feeling rather famished. If you could alert the chef. And, if it is not too much a bother, oversee the setting of the table.”

“The silverware?” Peren asked. By his look he already knew the answer.

“The silverware,” Mina replied.

“It will be done.”

“May I take my leave as well?” Frenna asked as Peren opened the door.

“Certainly.” I’d have ordered you away, regardless.

When Mina and Aelfred were alone she nestled back in her chair, feeling the soft silk cushion against her back.

“Kill the other one. The Licester appraiser.” Aelfred raised an eyebrow.

“You certain?” he asked in that tone of his. The tone that meant he thought her stupid. The man seemed to love to challenge her decisions, despite her rank. If anything, her superior status seemed to inflame him.

“You heard Peren. We can’t afford our freemen migrating out of the barony. And I’d rather not allow Alden to build a power base of his own, considering our past. I’d send you after him if I thought you capable enough.”

“I’m plenty capable,” Aelfred retorted with the bravado only a Knight Captain could have. Aelfred liked to forget that Lukas was his better, and Lukas was beaten. “Besides, I don’t think the boy’s worth the effort at the moment. Hasn’t said anything yet.”

“That we know of,” she replied, grabbing a quill. The news had been a warm welcome, at first. Baron Kent Grovesfield, rightful heir to the Titemore Barony by way of blood relation to Baroness Sylvana, found dead in his own tent in the middle of his own army. The perfect victory, excepting that Alden was to be officially blamed, captured, and killed after pointing the finger at Mina. All for Lukas’s little game. Well, I have a game of my own.

“If he’d said anything you’d’ve been caught by now. Way I see it, he doesn’t have any more allegiance to this Empire than you or I.”

“Or,” Mina said, spinning the quill between her fingers, “the Vigilants are keeping an eye on us from afar, waiting for one of us to slip up.”

Aelfred waved a hand dismissively. “The Vigilants don’t care about our meddling.”

“How can you be so certain?” How can you always be so certain? Certainty in all things was one of his more irritating traits. Mina, herself, was rarely certain of anything. A requirement of scholars and mages, according to Hila Freymont.

The Knight Captain rounded the desk, planting himself firmly atop it. He took a book from the top of a stack at the desk’s edge and leafed through it, skimming its pages one by one. Mina was certain the man wasn’t even reading its words.

“The Curtain is yet to be raised. The Vigilants don’t work without the Emperor’s say, and last I recall he’s dead. That gives us time.”

“Not if his daughter commands them. She’ll raise the Curtain, if she hasn’t already.”

“She won’t,” Aelfred said.

“How can you know?”

“I have my ways.” Aelfred tossed the book back onto its stack, leaving it crooked. “She’s not Empress yet, nor will she be for quite some time. That gives us breathing room. More importantly, it gives us an opportunity. I suggest we take it.”

“I’d rather you kill him, if you’re so certain,” she said. “Remove our last loose end.”

“Your loose end, you mean. As I recall, it was your job to take the fall for Lukas’s dirty work. Instead you decided to play politics.”

“I was given free reign after Kent’s death,” she replied. She set the quill back down and stared hard into Aelfred’s dark eyes, willing him to budge. He did not. “What is your suggestion, then?”

“We have two options, as I see it. First one is we send our appraiser down to Lyonpool, as requested. Except we falsify the appraisal, say it isn’t worth what it actually is. Offer to buy it from him, too, while we’re at it.”

It was Mina’s turn to be dismissive. “Arvolt would smell the stink on that plan from a mile off. We’d lose our license, along with all the trading rights that come with it.” And I can’t afford to let our appraiser leave. Not now.

“Which is why I suggest the second option. Let the appraisal happen, let the boy grow his barony and pull away all the workers and whatever else it might be he wants to do. Doesn’t matter. Offer an alliance.”

Mina scoffed. The man had no interest in current affairs, it seemed.

“An alliance with the new hero of the Empire?”

“He has no attachment to the Empire. No loyalty. He’s been sequestered to the far end of the Empire, and rules over a band of Strait barbarians. He’s even got a Hilvan concubine. A knight, from what I hear. The Witchester girl.”

That final part interested her to no end. The Witchesters were a known name in Hilva, if primarily for their tragic circumstances. But Aelfred might have been right, she thought, rueing the idea. If the Witchester knight still harbored any desire for her old home then there was a possibility.

Ah, but dearest Aelfred, I have other ideas in mind.

“I know that look,” Aelfred said.

“Then you know what I’m about to ask.”

“I’ll kill the damned appraiser. Happy?”

I’d be happier with a more servile servant.

“Quite happy,” she said.

Aelfred turned to the door and, as his hand fell on the brass handle, he stopped.

“I’ll kill him if you give me something in return,” he said. As brash and arrogant as he was, even she had to admit the man was capable. There was little that she could grant him that he could not obtain himself.

Still, curiosity got the better of her, as it always did, so she decided to humor him. “And what would that be?”

“Your body.” There was no shameless grin as he said the words, no bawdy chuckle. Only a look, a look of such powerful desire that Mina recoiled.

“No,” she said, and he left.