Chapter 320 - The Northern Brigade IV
Claire scanned the street-side shops as she slowly walked through the beachside market. It was still so early in the morning that the sun had yet to rise, and yet, the makeshift shopping district was bustling with life. Housewives, restaurateurs, noble servants, and hungry gourmets scoured the shops in search of rare items and deals. The early morning was when the fishermen returned from their overnight trips; their freshest and most valuable catches would be gone by the time the sun awakened. It was a scene that had been impossible to imagine just a few months prior, but the cartels once in charge of the industry had all been dealt with and dissolved.
With their criminal overlords deposed, the local fish suppliers were free to set their own prices and sell their goods to whomever they pleased, hence the morning market's creation. Of course, as with all things, the cartel's non-presence was not a strict benefit. Even the dimwitted leeches that were their common thugs had served some purpose or other.
Without anyone to rein the fishermen in, the market had effectively devolved into a ball of chaos. People set up their shops wherever they wanted and a non-insignificant number of ne'er-do-wells went as far as placing themselves in the middle of the road. They were not the only ones that deterred prospective customers from simply walking down the aisle. The most reputable fishermen didn't bother setting up in the bazaar at all. They parked their boats on the shore instead and waited for customers to approach.
The idea was naturally poached as soon as it caught on; less-skilled fishermen with lower-quality products soon emulated the behaviour and eliminated all semblance of its worth, which in turn drove the more reputable fishers to change their presentations and the copycats to follow suit yet again. So on and so forth the war was waged, until there were people and boats randomly scattered all over the beach with no way of easily distinguishing between the skilled and inexperienced. Claire didn't particularly care, however. She bought up all the salmon on the market, regardless of its source, and headed straight for the Vel'khanese castle.
She invaded the kitchen upon her arrival, assumed her humanoid form, and filled the room with her recent acquisitions. After laying her purchases on the floor and loosely sorting by quality, the lyrkress grabbed the rest of her ingredients out of the cold room and got to work. She started by washing several Borises and turning them into a set of kitchen utensils. With him as both the knife and the cutting board, she chopped up all the salmon and dunked each in a bowl of marinade. Pulling out the bones was typically the most time-consuming part of the process, but her vector magic allowed her to handle it with ease.
Likewise, it only took her a second to chop up all the vegetables and garnishes, so she was left with nothing to do but stand around as she waited for her pre-oiled pan to warm to the appropriate temperature. The only problem was that she didn't exactly know what that temperature was. The chef had mentioned something or other about the need for sweltering heat, but Claire felt no such thing. She had no choice but to simply try it and see.
Her first ten attempts resulted in horrible abominations. Half the results were burnt black, even though she took extra care to prevent them from catching fire. It was a mystery how the other half was practically raw, even though she had them in the pan for the same amount of time.
Still, with over a hundred fish at her disposal, she was eventually able to whip up a functional dish and arrange it atop a silver platter. It wasn’t perfect. There were still charred bits stuck to some of the pieces, but the taste was far better than any of her usual creations.
With the dish finally prepared, she carefully covered it with a lid and made her way back home. She quickly plopped it down on the kitchen table as she arrived before climbing up the stairs and shaking her pet awake.
“Mnnnnn... Is it morning already?” The fox mumbled the line in a groggy stupor as she rolled over and captured Claire’s hand between her paws. She continued rubbing her cheek against it, refusing to let go even as she was lifted off the bed and spirited away.
“It's almost noon,” said Claire.
“Noon?” Sylvia’s eyes slowly fluttered open. “Wait, really? Already!? Why the heck didn't you wake me up earlier!?”
“I didn’t feel like it,” said the moose. She tickled the spot beneath the fox's chin and scratched her belly as she slowly wandered her way back down the stairs.
“But the sho—” A twitch of the nose froze the fox mid-sentence. “Uhm, is it just me, or do you smell like fish?”
“I don't know what you’re talking about.”
Knowing that she couldn’t possibly hide it for long, Claire squeezed the dog closer to her chest, turned the corner, and stepped into the kitchen. The table was already set; there was exactly one icy fork ready for use, the size of which had been tuned such that it was strictly fox-compatible. Normally, Boris would have been around, waiting for scraps to consume, but he had already eaten his fill back at the castle. All six incarnations active that morning had doubled their weight without the associated skill. Starrgort had done the same. He was still in the kitchen, in fact, belly up in the wake of the lyrkress’ hundred-fish adventure.
“Wait a second…” Sylvia turned a pair of suspicious eyes on the cloche-covered plate abducted from the castle. “Is that what I think it is?”
“I made breakfast.”
Sylvia opened her mouth to complain, but Claire pinched her lips shut and revealed her creation before she could.
It wasn’t exactly the most artistic rendering, but she had more or less arranged the fish to form the shape of a rose. The individual pieces were slotted sideways and curled inwards to better form the flower’s delicate petals. The whole thing had been lightly cooked in a dark braising sauce with the edges seared for extra flavour and the cores heated just enough that they were flakey to the touch.
“Wait a second. You made this?” asked Sylvia, with exactly three blinks.
“What are you trying to say?”
“Uhmmmm, just that it looks really good.”
“Everything I make is good.”
“Didn’t a literal goddess beg for mercy earlier this month after you sent her a bunch of your cooking?”
“She was simply so pleased with my dedication that she happened to change her mind.” Claire tenderly ran her fingers through the fox’s hair and scritched the base of her ears.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Mmmmnnn, I dunno about that one,” said Sylvia, as she leaned back into the scaly talons. They looked sharp and intimidating, but they were surprisingly pleasant to the touch. They were especially comfortable in the summer months; a few hints of the true ice that made up their cores could be felt through the tips of their extremities.
“Shush,” said Claire.
She pinched the fox’s nose, set her down on the table, and pushed her towards the fishy dish. Sylvia was a little reluctant at first, but she eventually took a bite, and then another, and then a third. By the fourth, the dish was gone, taken into her infinite stomach and stashed away.
“How was it?”
“Some of it tasted a little burnt, but it was pretty good. Did you make it all by yourself?”
“I spent all morning putting it together.”
“Really?” The fox opened her eyes wide. “What’s the special occasion?” The question only earned her an exasperated, silent stare, to which she replied with a tilt of the head.
“Stupid fox,” muttered Claire. She pulled the forest critter back into her arms and made for the front door.
“Oh, come on! Tell me already! I’m never gonna get it if you don’t explain.”
“I don’t feel like it, so no.”
Claire turned into a qiligon, threw Sylvia on her head, and took to the sky. The fox was still somewhat confused, but she didn’t say much more. She turned her eyes to the sky instead and watched the glimmering horizon as they slowly rose above the city. It was the usual scene in the usual place, only a few hours later than the usual time.
And yet, everything was different.
The streets that were empty in the mornings were teeming with workers, tourists, and entrepreneurs, and the bioluminescent creatures that could sometimes be seen in the dark were muted by the light of the sun. It wasn't as busy as it was during the morning rush, but people could be seen walking to and fro all over in search of their midday meal. For some, it was the only meal they would have that day, or perhaps even that month. Races that traditionally specialised in ambush hunting, like Arachne, often fasted for two weeks at a time.
On a normal day, Claire would have looped around the city and perhaps even visited a nearby destination, but she bothered with exactly none of that. She set her sights on the castle instead and headed straight for its glimmering gates. She could have easily flown right over them and landed in the courtyard, but Claire went through the official process of waiting for the guards to process her admission. It was not exactly the usual behaviour, but visiting Ciel was common enough that Sylvia thought nothing of it. Together with her mutual pet, she walked down the path, entered the castle, and followed the maid that served as their guide.
Normally, they would have gone up and around so they could await the queen in her private wing, but the servant led them to a larger hall on the first floor instead. Opening the door revealed a thirty-seat table covered in food and a number of familiar faces gathered around it. Many of the guests were friends she saw each day—Boris sat on the table with a candle balanced atop his head, Ciel stood right by the door with her arms crossed, and Chloe stood right behind her with a tray of sweet treats in hand—but they were hardly the only people invited. Her mother was sitting on a plate, already half drunk in her fairy form and her father was sitting around with his lips in a bitter pout. Even Alfred's wand had managed to make the occasion; the magical stick was working overtime to project its owner upon the world beyond his reach.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, from a certain lyrkress' perspective, a projection was all that there was. Alfred could see and hear everything in his wand’s vicinity, but Flitzegarde's rules ensured that his voice was never carried. Still, his presence alone was enough to bring Sylvia a smile. With so many other foxes gathered in the space, it was almost like she was back home in the village. Most of them were around her mother's age or older; she had never made many friends amongst the other kits her age, but the elders had always praised the rapid growth of her strength. Even though it had only stemmed from her endless boredom.
Her gloom only lasted for a moment. There was no point dwelling on the past when the present was so much more entertaining. So she sat up in her seat, turned to the guests, and greeted them with a wave.
“Uhmmmm... hey everyone. What’s all this about?”
Claire lifted the fox off her head and gave her an unamused stare.
“It’s your birthday. Idiot.”
“Huh?” Sylvia blinked. Thrice. “Uhmmm... my birthday is next week.”
There was a brief moment of silence. The Vel’khanese were taken by a storm of confusion, while their queen joined the foxes in giggling up a storm.
Claire was less amused. Slowly turning her head, she walked right up to the blood witch and slammed a claw into the ground beside her. “Ciel. Explain yourself.”
It was the Vel’khanese monarch that had set the party’s date, which was to say that it was the Vel’khanese monarch that was the source of her embarrassment. It was clear from her giggling that she was in on the joke, but that particular aspect only grabbed Claire’s attention at first. There was something strange about her laughter. The cadence was wrong, off by just the tiniest bit.
“You’re not Ciel.”
“You could tell?”
“Easily.”
The supposed queen's face twisted into a grin as the statement was made, with her face and body changing soon after. She shrank a few centimeters, though she was still taller than Claire’s humanoid form, and grew a little thinner, especially around the chest. Her features were still similar to Arciel's, but the slant of her eyes made the impression of a more forward disposition. At the same time, the real Arciel stepped out from behind one of her guards with her giggling fit hidden behind the usual red fan.
“She is one of my aunts,” said the squid, “and one of the few to have made a full recovery, in spite of the harlot’s machinations.”
“I am Arceline Vel’khan. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person,” she said, with a curtsy.
Sylvia tilted her head for a moment. “Oh wait! She’s the one Al fixed last week!”
“She shall be placed in charge of the kingdom during my time abroad, and it is she that will inherit the throne should the worst come to pass. This appeared to be as good a chance as any for the two of you to meet.”
“That doesn’t explain why you told me the wrong day,” said Claire.
“The reason for that is rather simple,” said Arciel. “I determined that we would simply not have the time. Our candidates have finally all gathered, and we shall soon initiate the training regimen as planned.”
“You could have told me that ahead of time,” muttered the qiligon.
“I certainly could have, but I found it far more entertaining to keep quiet,” she said, with a smile. “Was the fault not yours, for failing to confirm the date with the person in question?”
Claire returned the smile with a bright grin of her own. “I guess this means we’re not doing anything for your birthday this year.”
“Now you wait just one moment,” said Arciel. “Is that not undue retaliation? I demand you reconsider.”
“Too bad.” The qiligon stuck out her giant, forked tongue and left Arciel gawking in her wake.
“Don’t worry,” said Sylvia, with a giggle. “She’s probably just kidding.” She jumped off her favourite chair and landed in the queen’s arms.
“Your lack of confidence is not what I would precisely describe as inspiring,” muttered the queen.
“Uhh… sorry,” she said, as she was snuggled. “It’s kinda hard to tell sometimes, you know, with Claire being Claire and all that.”
“Certainly. I sometimes find that she has difficulty communicating her emotions.”
“You do realise that I can hear you.”
“Uhmmmm, we don’t know what you’re talking about!” said Sylvia, with a giggle.
Ignoring the mildly annoyed stare that followed, she slipped out of Arciel’s grasp and dove into a pile of fish. There may have been a few days left until her birthday, but surrounded by all the people she so dearly adored, she was the happiest that a fox could be.