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Carina Goldstone, Logician of the 3rd Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, in for a night of propositions
Vitt Secondson-Salvado, Hunter of the 9th Renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, discovering physical chemistry
Watts Stonework, a bouncer of no renown, Kingdom of Infinzel, just the messenger
Samus Bind, Inquisitor of the 9th Renown, Candlefast, a curious man
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7 Frett, 61 AW
The pyramidal city of Infinzel, North Continent
173 days until the next Granting
Analytically, Carina understood that she was drinking too much.
Of course, she knew exactly how much spirits she could consume without letting her faculties slip. In the Magelab, she’d had plenty of lonely nights to work this out. She’s wasn’t a habitual drinker—not like Henry Blacksalve anyway, who she’d seen already out on his feet when she arrived at the banquet. But there were times when it was a social necessity. Carina maintained a certain tolerance, treating drinking like any of other skill. She knew her own limits and was already dangerously close to crossing them.
Mostly, this was Issa Firstdot-Tuarez’s fault. She drank with the reckless abandon of a soldier after every shift in the Garrison, but with the wealth of a noble allowing her to buy nothing but the finest. Carina had seen a lot of Issa over these last weeks, ever since their descent into the Underneath. Issa had decided they were going to be friends and Carina hadn’t fought the idea. It had been awhile since Carina let herself make a friend—probably not since her time in Penchenne. Partly following Issa’s lead, and partly based on word of how she’d handled herself, the rest of the Garrison had also warmed up to Carina. She was no longer the up-jumped nobody the gods had plucked from obscurity, but instead a weird little underdog that might actually know a thing or two. Issa had invented an ongoing drinking game that required everyone to take a shot whenever Carina corrected someone.
Of course, there was also the burnt woman. Arris Stonetender—her flesh melted away, a creature of fire. The choking smell of her. The sight of Cortland’s hammer crushing down through her head like a tinder sculpture.
A good reason to seek oblivion.
Carina was not detached from to her own emotions. She understood that she’d thrown herself into a friendship with Issa based partly on a need to cope with what she’d seen in the Underneath, with the part she played in the unraveling of the elementalist. Carina knew her own weaknesses. And she knew these feelings would fade, given enough time.
So, leaning her hip against the bar, sweat dimpling her back, Carina took another healthy sip of champagne. She needed it, especially now, after the proposal she’d just been presented with.
“I think it would cut the tension between us, don’t you?” Vitt Secondson-Salvado asked, his smile a slow and lazy thing.
Issa had no doubt thought it was funny to scamper away with her brother right when Vitt sauntered over to them. She departed with an animated wink for Carina, leaving her alone with the hunter.
Clearly, Vitt hadn’t been exercising moderation either. Not a bad looking man, Carina had to admit. Like a moodier version of King Cizco—his dark hair had at last regrown enough that he could again dye a patch crimson.
Carina smiled up at him innocently. “Vitt, I didn’t realize there was tension between us.”
He chuckled. “The first day you showed up here, you declared that my father was going to die and that you were going to take over.”
“Not exactly my words,” Carina replied.
A memory flashed through Carina’s mind. As a child, before her parents had died and she’d found herself living in the outer districts, she had snuck down from their apartment to peek at the Open Gate. Garrison guards had shooed her away—but she’d thought the whole thing had looked so romantic. To dress up in a fancy gown and have a Salvado try to sweep her off her feet? A little girl’s dream.
A stupid, childish thing.
“I’m only here because I believe in the pyramidal city and want to see it continue,” Carina said. “I have no interest in taking your inheritance.”
At the sound of a honking cough, Carina and Vitt both turned to look at Herman Firstson-Salvado. Vitt’s older half-brother—elected heir to the throne—had taken a seat at a table, his wife rubbing his back as attendants raced to thrust glasses of water at him.
“Not my inheritance,” Vitt said quietly. “Unlikely to be any of ours. One day, I’ll be like sad, sick Herman, an heir that looks older than his own damn father.” He ran a hand through his hair, as if checking its thickness. “Unless what you predict is true.”
Carina shrugged. “The gods only choose a champion in anticipation of great upheaval.”
“Maybe the gods send the upheaval with the champion,” Vitt countered. “You ever think of that?”
In answer, Carina finished her glass of champagne and signaled for another. Of course she had thought of that.
“All the more reason,” Vitt said, edging closer. “It will help us work together as champions. Discover our physical chemistry. And, perhaps, if you’re to one day take over as, uh, manager of this place, while I ascend to the throne, this could be the beginning of a productive political arrangement.”
Carina laughed, genuinely impressed by the hunter’s shamelessness. She put a hand on his chest to keep him from coming closer, but didn’t immediately drop it away. “You and Cortland fought quite well together in the Underneath,” she said. “Did you and he have a similar process of discovery?”
Vitt smirked. “And what if I told you we did?”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
She raised an eyebrow. “Then I’d have to ask the hammer master for verification.”
“I’m tempted to let you do that.”
Before anything more could be said, a murmur went through the crowd as a paladin from the Ministry of Sulk made her dramatic entrance. Carina could practically feel Vitt’s interest recoiling from her as he caught sight of the Crucifalian woman. She’d seen enough of the supernatural beauties during her time on the southern continent—seen the groveling they did before their husbands—that she felt more disgust than awe at the sight of Sara Free. More troubling, though, was that she felt a twinge of disappointment at Vitt’s attention being withdrawn.
Too much to drink, indeed.
Carina watched with the rest of the guests as Sara Free preached on behalf of Ambergran. It rankled her a bit, not to be at the center of things. Throughout the night, she’d resisted the urge to put herself within range of King Cizco, so that she could better keep tabs on the goings-on. But that wouldn’t be wise.
Not with the archmage and candle hanging around.
Carina knew both the archmage champion Sevda Tau and the candle champion Samus Bind from her time at the Magelab. Tau was soft-spoken and played the part of an empath, but underneath had the black heart of a fascist. As Carina understood it, her magic focused on emotional control. In Tau’s opinion, there was a suitable range of human feeling and anything outside that spectrum was the equivalent of disease.
All the more reason to get drunk. Behaving offensively would ensure the archmage kept her distance and stayed out of Carina’s mind. Although, Carina had been a bit of a dirty little secret during her time at the Magelab, so Carina doubted Sevda Tau was eager to renew their acquaintance. She wondered, though, what safeguards King Cizco had put into place before inviting the mage inside the pyramidal city—Tau would certainly use this opportunity to take the measure of Infinzel’s arcane engineering.
And then there was Samus Bind. When she had first arrived at the Magelab to bargain her shipment of chanic for entry, it had been Bind and not one of the archmages that interviewed her. Unsurprising, given he was classed by the gods as an inquisitor, a title even more rare than logician. What had surprised Carina was Bind’s sheepish and sloppy nature—far from the hot coals and pokers his class suggested. However, she quickly understood that was just a ploy; a mask Bind wore to gain an advantage.
Carina admired him. She also never wanted to talk with him again.
“Here, here!” Vitt spilled on her arm as he hoisted his glass. “Death to Orvesians! Another year of dewy youthfulness for King Cizco Salvado!”
Carina didn’t join the others in cheering, but she did drink.
Distracted as she’d been, it took longer than it should have for Carina to notice the broad back of the man standing next to Cortland. Watts Stonework looked like he’d needed to be levered into the suit he wore, and Carina almost smiled at the thought of his little son Otis with his deft Gadgeteer fingers helping Watts to tie that cravat. That thought curdled as Carina quickly understood what Watts’ presence here meant.
As Cortland moved on to deal with Sara Free and the king, Carina left her spot at the bar and made haste toward Watts. She dodged through the dance floor, ignoring multiple offers from well-heeled Salvado sons and their wealthy merchant competitors.
At least Bel Guydemion, the de facto governor of Soldier’s Rest and hero of the outer districts, hadn’t sent Traveon Twiceblack to be his messenger. The fool bartender was still carrying on like he expected Carina to marry him—all because she’d said maybe, a decade ago, to a marriage proposal Traveon had made when they were both still teenagers. Insufferable. Except, in a way, she wished it had been pretty Traveon instead of scarred Watts. Easier to distract Traveon than the stoic bouncer. Even so, she had to try.
Carina grabbed Watts by the arm and attempted to turn him, but the man was built like a mountain and so she ended up swinging awkwardly around in front of him. Watts raised his eyebrows and smiled that relaxed smile of his.
“Ah, hello, little princess of the pyramid,” he said. “I hoped I might bump into you.”
Carina swallowed hard. He'd always called her the princess of the pyramid—they all had at Guydemion's. She'd been a stupid little girl, then, with all her big ideas. Watts had always listened to her with bemusement, and then given her and Traveon pony rides around the bar.
“What are you doing here, Watts?”
His smile faded at her tone. “Same as everyone else, I suspect. A request for the king.”
“No,” Carina said firmly. “Absolutely not.”
Watts slowly tilted his head. “Do you answer on his behalf now, champion? If so, I'd ask for you to at least hear me out.”
Carina could guess what the request would be. She'd sat in Guydemion's bar for years, listening to the old commander's complaints and the high-minded visions of his followers. She had even made a number of suggestions herself. During these weekly meetings, they had laughed at Carina when she told them she could change things once she became a champion. All of them chuckling except for Bel Guydemion himself. The old man always believed her.
“I know what your request will be,” Carina snapped, ticking off her fingers. “Rights to develop the land beyond the walls. Demolition of the walls themselves. An expansion of Infinzel's engineering to the structures of the outer districts. Reduced dues for those who live outside. Rights to form your own enforcement body. Redistribution of noble housing within the pyramidal city.” She took a breath. “Did I hit on it, Watts? Or should I keep going through the entire manifesto?”
Watts’ face barely moved. “We will ask the king's support in our coming strike, and hope he'll assist us in renegotiating dues for the outer district.”
“What strike?”
“No more work on the inside from those forced to live on the outside,” Watts intoned. “It starts tonight.”
Carina shot a sidelong look toward the king. At that moment, Cizco seemed engaged in a heated exchange with the paladin. Between that, the usual visitors brought in by the Open Gate, and their findings in the Underneath…
“Please, Watts, it's not the time,” Carina said. “Things are more complicated in here than you can understand. I'm not set up to help you yet. Not in the way that I could be. I need another year to figure things out. Let me get through my first Granting and then…”
“Ah, little princess, as ever you're the center of your own story, but not the center of every story.” Watts said this without any particular malice, which made it sting all the more. “The old man would see change in his lifetime. He warred all across this continent for Infinzel and has never received his honors. There are only so many years left for him to collect. He does so on behalf of all of us. Including you.”
“I know all this! You can only tell me things that I already know!” Carina found herself stomping her foot like she used to do on those rare occasions Guydemion enforced a bedtime. “Listen to me, Watts. There is an order to events. A sequence that must be maintained to make sure we're successful in our aims. I cannot—should not—explain this to you. You just have to trust me and get the old man to trust me. I know what I'm do…”
Carina trailed off. Even slightly drunk and greatly frustrated, she recognized the flick of Watts’ gaze to the space over her shoulder. A warning in those droopy eyes to button herself up.
“To know the order of events, that must be a real burden,” Samus Bind said.
Carina turned to face the slouching candle. His face was dusted with stubble and he wore a dirt-stained brown traveler’s coat, giving off the impression that he’d only stopped into this banquet as a brief break from more important business. Carina managed a smile she hoped would read as diplomatic.
“Master Bind,” she said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“I’m no master, Madam Goldstone. Samus will do.” His eyes flitted about. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”
“You are not, sir,” Watts said. He bowed to Carina—she heard a seam in his shoulder pop—and then retreated into the crowd.
“I get a feeling like I just opened a window and let an animal you’d trapped escape,” Samus said, watching Watts go. “I didn’t mean to cause you trouble, Madam Goldstone.”
Carina wasn’t sure that was true. “Can I help you with something, Samus? I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer…”
“Ahmed Roh,” the inquisitor said. “You traveled the road with him, yeah?”
Carina nodded. “We left the Magelab at the same time.”
“Huh.” Samus ground the heel of his hand into the space behind his ear. “You mind if we get some air, Madam Goldstone? Something in here really sets me off.”
Samus did not wait for her to respond. He huddled toward the exit with his hands shoved in his coat pockets. Carina wondered what he might do if she just stayed put, but her curiosity got the better of her. She caught up with Samus just before they reached the grand staircase leading outside.
“Why did you ask me about Ahmed Roh?”
“Oh.” Samus glanced at her. “He’s dead.”
“What?” Carina blinked. “How?”
“Don’t know. We can’t find his body.”
A gust of chill air blew across Carina’s skin as an attendant opened the door for them.
“As far as I know,” Samus continued, “you’re the last person who saw him alive.”
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