Chapter 2

* * *

Taer lay on her back, her heavy breathing settling in a white mist on the glass of her visor. The automatics of the helmet whirred quietly, trying to clear the fogged glass, but they failed. It was hard to breathe - the weight of the armor plates pressed against her chest, pressing it to the floor. The world outside the fogged glass seemed distant and unreal, leaving only the deafening thud of my own pulse in her ears and the sensation of sweat slowly dripping down her face.

This must be how they die. Taer thought aloof, staring up at the ceiling and trying to pull herself together.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" Her friend's voice came from far away, and soon, instead of the ceiling, Taer could see Rima's face bent over her:

"Would you stop?" She offered sympathetically, and her dark brown eyes were full of worry and concern.

Not wanting to shout through her visor, Taer shook her head in response, making it clear that she wouldn't give up so easily.

"Fanatic." With a sigh of regret, Rima summed up, stood up, stepped aside, and disappeared from sight.

At the same moment, the helmet was filled with the piercing beep of a timer, and Taer tore the soft ball of escape cord with her teeth. There was the familiar clang of the opening pyro locks and the entire mass of chest armor, no longer restrained by the support of the exoskeleton, piled on top of her, letting out an involuntary wheeze.

"Depressurization. Warning. Depressurize. Attention..." A droning sound echoed in her helmet headphones as Taer hissed with frustration as she tried to lift the armor plate that was pressing down on her with her shoulder and pull her arm out of the armor sleeve.

The plate lifted, but not enough. Then Taer lunged with all her might, and then some, as if she were trying not to lift the plate but to dislodge it. With the third blow, she managed to free one arm, and with a triumphant howl, she tossed aside the chest plate and broke free of the energy-depleted armor.

"Satisfactory minus." The training droid reported, and Taer's shriek of victory turned into a groan of disappointment.

"You're just tired." Rima hurried to reassure her; she was admiring the view out the window and didn't turn around right away, and when she did, her face was filled with horror:

"Great Shadows, look at you!" She exclaimed angrily. Her face showed an urge to add a few less favorable words, but Rima restrained herself. "I'll get the first aid kit." She threw it out as she ran out of the room.

Taer looked at her friend with a surprised look and examined herself. She ripped the soft "thermo-skin" out of her training armor, and she scraped her arm. Slightly. She didn't even feel it, but the scratches were bleeding badly. Thin, bright scarlet streaks of blood merged on her right arm in a bizarre pattern, as if trying to replicate the patterns of the Scarlet Branch of Cassards on her uniform. And in that scarlet weave, there was so much enchanting beauty and surprising tranquility...

Right.

Rima's hurried footsteps could be heard from the corridor, and it brought Taer out of her stupor, and she shook herself up, looking around again:

How long have I been standing like this, looking at the bloodstains? thought Taer with fright, reflexively hiding her hand and hastily assuming the most relaxed posture possible. A minute? Half? There were quite a few drops of her blood left on the snow-white fluffy carpet. She mentally retraced Rima's route; it came out to about a minute. Great Shadows, I stood for a minute staring at my own blood.

"So give me your hand," Rima declared, busily settling on the round sofa in the center of the room and opening a small medicine kit.

Taer approached, trying to act natural, and at the same time looking at her friend. Did she notice? Not noticed?

If she noticed, she didn't show it:

"If you get blood on my dress, I'll be your mortal enemy," Rima murmured in a mellifluous voice. "Bloody, even..." she giggled as she began to spray it on Taer's arm.

The dress on Rima was like a cloud - white and airy, with just the right amount of shoulders and neck peeking out from the top and chiseled, swarthy legs underneath. A thin coal-black belt emphasized her thin waist and, in comparison, made it clear that the mistress was not so dark. The darkness of skin was one of Rima's few complexes. And Taer certainly did not check but was ready to bet on a year's wages - that this dress was the latest capital fashion, approved by the most influential magazines and society ladies, the most appropriate for a noblewoman of her age and position. At the same time, the dress looked very innocent and pretty, as did Rima in general.

Her friend could literally radiate waves of amusement that stung old and young alike. One look of laughing dark eyes with long lashes and a dazzling smile with charming dimples on her cheeks and anything could be forgiven. What Rima actively used during their joint service - literally twisted the ropes from most of the senior command staff and was an object of adoration - junior and line staff. As the team's favorite mascot, everyone just loved to spoil her.

It wasn't that Taer was jealous... It was just that sometimes she wished she could have just a little bit of that charm and cuteness.

It's hard to be a pretty little cutie when you're two heads taller and more senior in ranks, Taer sighed in her head. Rima was rather short. Taer was taller than most men. Rima was dark, and she was blonde. Dark eyes, light eyes. Cutie and... Taer. Not that Taer complained about her looks, but let's face it:

There's no way to call me cute. And now I've got a title, too. When people saw Taer's regalia, most of them either looked away or began to flatter. The first was understandable the second was terribly annoying. That's probably why she only actively maintained relationships with people she'd met before her career ascent.

"Why, tell me, the Great House Fyron First Blade of Cassard, wear herself out with this pointless training, even to the point of injury?" Rima's voice interrupted Taer's self-questioning, and the touch of the cold spray on her scratches made her involuntarily wince. That stuff stung pretty badly. And Rima, with sadistic pleasure, was in no hurry to finish the procedure; instead, she continued the "interrogation," and with each question, her voice oozed more and more sarcastic sarcasm:

"Who are you trying to impress, Sword? Why do you torment yourself? Why this senseless suffering?"

"Actually, the ability to wear armor is for every nobleman." Taer snapped. "And one squire, too, would do well to practice so as not to dishonor his knight's choice."

Rima broke away from the procedure and, with defiantly pressed lips and raised eyebrow, threw at her friend a look full of genuine doubt about her intellectual capabilities:

"As if you took me for the ability to wear armor as a squire. By the way, my knight, you still haven't answered my question. Why torture yourself so? Especially in such a strange way."

"I want to improve my skills." Taer sighed softly, staring thoughtfully into the distance.

"What do you mean?" Rima was sincerely surprised. "You were born in that armor, and you were slipping out of it like water before you exhausted yourself. Excellent plus, plus. I didn't even know there was such a grade."

"It wasn't me," Taer answered even more quietly, avoiding meeting her friend's gaze. "I got the maximum: Satisfactory minus."

"That's silly," Rima murmured melodiously, surveying her own work with satisfaction. If you didn't look closely, it was hard to even notice the existence of the scratch. "That's exactly why you were put on the guider, to close the gaps in your own training. It's impossible to know everything."

"Yes, impossible." Taer sighed sadly. But it was hard for her to shake off the idea that the donor of her guider, whoever it was, was quite good at it. She'd never yet encountered a situation in which a 'guider' was incompetent... Though I guess it just wouldn't activate in that case, would it?

"I don't want to rely on it all the time," Taer muttered aloud. "I have to wear armor a lot lately."

"By the way, don't you find that strange?" Rima asked an obviously rhetorical question after she put the medicine cabinet aside and leaned back on the couch. Her friend's inarticulate mutterings were completely ignored with true aristocratic candor:

"Two young noblewomen, without much commitment, in the capital for the first time... Finding themselves here." She glanced defiantly around the room where Taer was practicing.

Mirrored dark blue floors with islands of snow-white carpets, slender columns of dark bronze like twisted legs of glasses, intricate patterns on the pale blue ceiling, and antique furniture of lacquered aryat, not counting some old-fashioned decorations in the luxury room could compete with the imperial palace, if not surpass it. Plus, the magnificent view from the huge stained-glass window of the imperial palace itself.

"Well, you know what I mean." Rima frowned grudgingly, sensing that her run was getting off to a weak start.

At that moment, as if wanting to support her argument, the room was flooded with the unmistakable sound of an ultrasonic cutter that was working nearby. A wild, indescribable screeching sound seemed to penetrate directly into the brain and gave off an unpleasant vibration in the teeth.

"There." Rima declared, wrinkling painfully, at the temporary end of this sonic attack. "This is some kind of construction site. This is no place for two noble ladies!"

"The tower must be rebuilt in time for Lord Cassard's arrival." Taer exhaled wearily. She already knew where this conversation was going. Rima had begun it several times before. "Time is short, and this is a critical element of his security in the capital. I have to control everything."

"Well, check it out when it's done!" Rima splashed her hands. "You're not just a "personal security specialist" anymore. You're the "First Blade of the Domain," and you can't even control the construction site."

"Controlling upon completion is pointless." Taer habitually objected. "Critical vulnerability can be created at the moment of construction. They'll embed something in the wall, for example."

"It's a huge construction site. You can't keep track of them all. Besides, you spend hours on that armor." Rima kicked the training armor that lay on the floor in front of them.

"I brought with me two dozen spy droids. I personally programmed them. I personally review all their records: I can keep track of them all."

"The ability to delegate is..." Rima was obviously going to continue her objection but froze at the beginning of the sentence, her face became serious, she was obviously mentally calculating something and frowning:

"Two dozen droids?" She asked again, with a tone that didn't bode well, "Plus the training... When was the last time you slept?"

"Four days ago," Taer muttered, averting her eyes involuntarily. It made no sense to lie, even though it was a different specialty, but Rima had served with her and had a good idea of how long it took to control even a dozen droids.

"Is it because of the nightmares?" Suddenly my friend asked in a whisper as if someone could hear them.

"No." Taer laughed with relief. "Nightmares aren't a problem." And it was true that, compared to the "other" dreams, nightmares weren't a problem at all.

"I don't believe it." Rima spelled it out, glaring at her friend. "I know you like the back of my hand. Who are you lying to? Have you seen your face? You could put it in Tallan sauce - it's so sour. What are you dreaming about again?"

"Well... I don't know how to explain," Taer admitted with a sigh. In the "other dreams," she didn't dream about death, she couldn't remember what she dreamed at all, but they were filled with a feeling of ringing pure freedom and a feeling that she could do absolutely anything, so similar to what she had experienced when she overdosed on Fenote, only stronger, much stronger. It was a lot worse than the nightmares - when she woke up and realized that it had only been a dream, it was so upsetting that the tears came out on their own. Reality seemed faded and meaningless, and she wanted to howl in anguish.

"Have you ever had the experience of waking up and regretting it was just a dream?"

"Regretting..." Rima thought about it and brightened. "It was!" She exclaimed excitedly, grabbing Taer's hands. "I once fell so-o-o-o in love in a dream. An affair, just mind-blowing..." She sighed with a dreamy face. "I was so angry afterward when I woke up."

"Well, something like that." Taer nodded, suppressing a flicker of envy. She would have loved to swap with Rima.

"You mean it's nothing like that?" She questioned her friend doubtfully. "No nightmares? Then why the four days without sleep?"

"It's just there was a lot of fiddling with getting settled. Nightmares are unpleasant, but they're just dreams. You can control them. You know, conscious dreaming, self-training." She nodded toward the table on the far wall, on which there was a compact silver infoblock, like a case for a hairbrush. "It's just like in the manuals. I write down dreams and try to consciously control the dream. Sometimes it really works..."

Taer didn't finish because Rima rushed to the infoblock like a wild wolf, like a lightning bolt. But Taer was quicker. The modified body has its advantages.

"Give it to me," Rima demanded grudgingly, glaring at the infoblock.

"No." Taer hid it behind her back and took a step back.

"I thought we were friends." Rima immediately scowled. "I have no secrets from you."

"There are no secrets there." Taer sighed. "No secrets, no secret desires or anything like that. Just unpleasant bloody scenes. I don't want you to hear this. It's enough for me alone."

"Oh, please," Rima muttered grudgingly, turning away. She grudgingly sulked defiantly for about a minute:

"Why didn't you say anything to me?" She asked, at last, in a much more conciliatory tone, "I am, after all, your squire. I could have taken your place."

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

"You were so happy to come to the capital. I didn't want to disturb you... Besides, it wasn't so bad. Grii helped me..."

The last phrase was clearly a mistake:

"So it's not about the workload..." Rima flashed her eyes triumphantly, and stepping closer to Taer, she asked in a conspiratorial tone. "Did something work out with the Griis after all? Tell me."

"I don't understand you. What could have happened to me with him in the first place?"

"Well, it's the second decade he's been trying to hit on you." As if it were self-evident, her friend told her.

"Grii?" Taer was genuinely surprised. "To me?! He's just friendly, in his own way because I was wounded and couldn't do anything with my right hand, and I'm his superior, and Lord Cassard was kidnapped, then this attack, and he tried to distract me somehow, even invited me, and..." Taer interrupted her flow of words, sinking into thought:

"If you think about it, it really does feel like courting." After a minute, she admitted with a sigh.

"The great shadows and the entire light throne!" Rima shrieked, demonstratively clasping her hands together and rolling her eyes. "Don't tell me you just haven't noticed anything all this time! You really are like a child at times."

"You'd think." snorted Taer. "I had other things to think about besides the intentions of the double lieutenants in my charge."

"Double Captains." Rima corrected her. "Still. What do you think of him?"

"Well, captains. Grii? I don't know... Suave, but... If you're right, I bet it's some ridiculous wager or something. A case of Bentar Dew to whoever gets first in the bed, First Blade of the domain. It's quite in the Guardian spirit. I don't want to be the subject of a bet."

"And in my opinion, Grii is not the kind of guy who will bet on a girl he likes."

"Don't confuse yourself with me. I don't fall into the 'liking' category until the second week of the long voyage, and..." She decided to parry Rima's objections in advance. "I'm not in the mood for a relationship right now, anyway."

"Is that so?" Rima squinted, and suddenly with a shout. "Then give it back!" She threw herself at Taer, trying to throw her down on the couch.

"What should I give you?"

"Legs! You're not using them anyway!"

"I walk with them!"

"You don't need legs like that to walk! They're made to drive men crazy! And you? "I have no time for nonsense." And always in uniform and uniform pants! I can't even remember the last time I saw you in a dress. Speaking of dresses, you can't crumple mine, so stop resisting!"

There is no telling how long this might have gone on, but their wrangling was interrupted by the demanding beep of the communicator:

"Please excuse my inappropriateness Daim Taer," rattled her secretary droid with all the courtesy possible, "but you asked me to remind you--you have an appointment with the Count in an hour..."

"Yes, I remember." Taer interrupted; she was about to pass out, but the droid didn't stop:

"Also, Mr. Mellpurr."

"What's wrong with him?" Taer sighed tiredly, "We already sent him a letter."

"He insists on seeing you and refuses to leave. He waits for you in the hallway."

"How long has he been waiting there for me?" Taer asked. She carefully took Rima off herself and rose from the couch.

"The current waiting time is one hour and forty-two minutes. You asked not to be disturbed except in the most extraordinary cases." The secretary reminded her. "I took the liberty of classifying Mr. Mellpurr's visit as a non-emergency. Was that a mistake on my part?"

"No, your assessment is perfectly correct."

Mr. Devand Mellpurr was the head of the local division of Lord Cassard's office and an unbelievable nuisance.

"Glad I could be of service to my mistress, I am honored..."

She didn't want to hear the rest of it; this model did the job well, but great shadows, it was able to be complimentary for hours.

"What's going on?" Asked Rima. She put her hand to her head and looked out the window at the imperial palace with a philosophical sadness in her eyes.

"Yeah, I have a meeting in an hour, and then there's Devand..."

"What meeting?" Rima asked indifferently, but she couldn't hide the gleam in her eyes.

"I bet you know better than I do what this meeting is all about!" Taer snorted, looking at her friend with displeasure. "That's why you showed up all dressed up."

Rima didn't pretend she didn't know what she was talking about:

"He's a count. He's single, young, and handsome!" She squeezed her eyes shut and clapped her hands.

"How did you manage to find out that he was handsome?" She was always amazed at her friend's ingenuity when it came to matters of the heart.

"Elementary." She brushed it off as if it were really something very simple. "I called our representation. He tried to arrange a meeting with Lord Cassard through them first. So I talked to the girls there. They told me everything."

"With such diligence and in the service..."

"So, will you take me?" Rima fluttered her eyelashes, disregarding the hint of pretension.

"Oh, of course, I'll take you." Taer rolled her eyes. "You'd literally wear me out otherwise."

She was about to head for the shower when suddenly a brilliant idea occurred to her:

"I will, but not for free." She added with a knowing smile, "There's a squire here who was just saying something about transferring authority and willingness to help."

"I'll do whatever you say!" Rima vowed, pressing her right hand to her chest, and after a short pause, she added in a low voice. "Anything a frail girl who can't wrinkle her dress or ruin her makeup can do."

"You'll be more than capable of it," Taer assured her, heading for the shower room. "You'll take on this Mellpurr."

When they, led by a Taer refreshed and casual uniform without insignia (you can't go around in rags), came out into the corridor, Mr. Mellpurr was indeed waiting for them there.

Looking fully in his almost eighties, Devand Mellpourr, head of the local branch of the Office, was gray, lean, tall, and, as was his custom, in immaculate white livery, with a scarlet Branch of Cassandra on his chest.

"Daim Diltar!" He exclaimed, jumping up from the sofa with an unexpected speed for his age, "I formally protest the barbarism that is taking place..."

At that moment, another tooth-crushing trill of the ultrasonic cutter sounded, and his obviously prearranged speech was put on forced pause, but not for long:

"This tower is four hundred years old!" Mr. Mellpurr said indignantly, clearly winding himself up on purpose. "It is the same age as the Senate Palace, that is, the Imperial Palace. It is a historical monument. And what you are doing to it is unacceptable, and as its custodian, I cannot ..."

Another wave of unspeakable grinding literally ripped apart the flow of his claims sparing only the ending:

I will be forced to complain. I will write to Mr. Giom." The last phrase served as his trump card, quite sincerely.

Devand Mellpurr was unbreakably stubborn, and the local Office, remote from Cassard by three days' delay in communications, lived in a world of its own. And despite numerous attempts to hint at the real state of affairs, he perceived the chain of command in a more than peculiar way.

"Unfortunately, I cannot spare you the time, Mr. Mellpurr." Trying to keep up appearances, Taer complained. "I have an appointment, but here is my squire," she stepped aside slightly, bringing Rima forward, "please tell her everything you have planned to tell me, and she will try to help you in some way."

"Squire?" Mr. Mellpurr was clearly discouraged by Taer's reaction and didn't understand what was going on. "I beg your pardon. The squire has nothing to do with..."

"It's like a deputy, only for nobles." Rima came to his aid, dragging him aside and opening the way for his knight to retreat. "I would love to hear from you, Mr. Mellpurr. Just tell me first: do you like your job?"

Taer's plan succeeded. Devand Mellpurr was neutralized by Rima. Taer took advantage of the seized initiative and the temporary disorientation of the enemy and hurried to hide in the elevator.

"The shadows see, if he doesn't calm down, I'll have to ask the lord to just fire him," Taer muttered to herself, summoning the floor where her quarters were located. The meeting was only an hour away, and she still had time to change.

The newly opened elevator doors presented her with an unexpected picture. In the solid gray cloudy layer of protective cloths that covered the furniture gaped in a completely inappropriate sky-blue gap - a young man in an azure uniform of the Imperial Guard with a small briefcase in his hands. The uniform sat flawlessly on him, and his shoulder-length brown hair was straight and perfectly styled. All this irreproachability was only more disharmonious with the utterly lost expression on his face. Next to him was a black Disdroid Observer from among the Taer brought in, which meant that this guardsman was a visitor.

Taer involuntarily froze, not knowing where to put herself. He shouldn't even be here yet, it's over an hour before the appointed time. The situation came out very awkward, but there was nothing to do and she got out of the elevator.

"Help me, beautiful stranger." Meanwhile, the guardsman pleaded, clearly delighted by her appearance. "You are my only hope."

"What happened, and what are you doing here?" Asked Taer, trying to sound as professional as possible, while trying to remember what the visitor's name was: Some Count. The name was absolutely impossible for her, but in her defense, she could say that in these few days, more than a hundred different people had tried to meet her.

"I tried to find Daim Diltar and got completely lost," he said with a sorrowful expression and pointed to the droid circling nearby with doubt, "and this little guy, I think he's broken. I tried to ask him directions, but he wouldn't respond to any attempt to communicate with him."

"This is an observation droid. It is not capable and not designed to hold conversations. And regarding the subject of your search, as far as I know, the time reserved for visitors doesn't start for another hour."

"I decided to try my luck at the wrong time." He admitted frankly, with an embarrassed smile. "My previous four attempts to meet with Daim Taer were a total fiasco, so I decided to change tactics. The people in the Office assured me that Daim Diltar was in the tower right now, and they even gave me the droid to accompany me."

Taer felt a little uncomfortable. She really couldn't meet many of them, but there were so many of them, and she had so much to do.

"So, will you show me to her?" The count did not relent and, with a pleading fold of his eyebrows, added: "Please."

"All right, then." Taer sighed, waving toward the elevator. She felt guilty, which was why she had asked to be put first by those who had already tried to meet her. And the guest was surprisingly nice and friendly for a count who was trying to meet a mere knight for the fifth time. "Come."

"You're a lifesaver." He smiled happily as he hurried after her to the elevator.

The cabin arrived with a faint hiss, and with a soft hiss, the doors opened, and Taer stepped aside as the hostess, letting the guest go forward. He was about to enter the cabin as suddenly stopped abruptly in the doorway so that the walking behind Taer almost collided with him, being face to face, so close that for a moment, the world shrunk only to his light brown, almost yellow eyes:

"Let's, after your boss gets rid of me, continue our acquaintance." He whispered as if he were proposing a conspiracy. "You're off duty now, judging by your uniform, and this must be your first time in the capital."

And he's even a little taller than me. Taer though aloof. She fell into a kind of prostration, not knowing how to react.

"And let me introduce myself: Count Alario Zeper." He went on without even trying to pull away a little. "Please don't take me for an empty womanizer. It's just that I've decided that I won't forgive myself if this meeting turns out to be only a passing acquaintance."

"I... We have to go." She finally found something to say. And instead of answering, she squeezed past, sending the elevator to the floor below, where her reception area was located.

The elevator doors closed with a slight chime, announcing the beginning of an awkward pause. The awkwardness, however, seemed destined only for Taer. Count Zeper wasn't the least bit embarrassed, and he looked at her straight and confident. Feeling that she was beginning to blush, Taer involuntarily turned away: it was all nonsense, of course, but it was nice to hear something like that in her address.

A few seconds passed in embarrassed silence. She just didn't know what to say on such occasions, and what's worse, she suddenly got a kind of migraine. Not in the sense of a headache, but an unpleasant, twitching feeling, as if she had suddenly forgotten a word she had always known, and now it was rolling around on her tongue but wouldn't come. Something began to persistently "swirl" in her head but could not manifest itself in any way.

The elevator doors opened again, and the first to obey her gesture was Count Zeper, followed by the droid barely audibly purring with the engine.

A droid? thought Taer as she walked out last. She'd somehow forgotten about him. Maybe that was it. He'd recorded the whole scene. I'll have to clean that up later.

But the twitching feeling didn't go away, and maybe it wasn't the droid. Perhaps a few days without sleep on stimulants alone was taking its toll. But she had been on stimulants for five or six days more than once or twice during her time in the Navy and never felt anything like it. It was so distracting that she even forgot all her embarrassment, walking automatically to her office.

"Daim Diltar," the secretary's droid voice snapped her out of her self-criticism as she entered her waiting room, "should I mark your meeting with Count Zeper as having already begun."

"Yes," she said, "don't let them bother us." And she turned to the Count.

The Count looked surprised and even upset: "So, Daim Diltar is you." He said, looking away. "Believe me. I didn't know. And please accept my apologies for the scene; it was inappropriate and presumptuous of me."

"Is that so?" Taer was ostentatiously surprised as she sat down in her chair and summoned a droid with drinks for the Count. "Do you have anything to apologize for? And please, come and sit down. Would you like something to drink?"

"The difference in our position is enormous." Count Zeper muttered, still avoiding meeting Taer's gaze. He carefully sat down in a high chair, more like a throne. "And no... Or water..."

"Really, I'm only a knight, and you're a count." With a sigh Taer agreed, watching the steward droid, who moved with a characteristic clumsiness and seemed about to topple the tray. Maybe I should think about a human servant, Taer thought to herself, after all, I have to welcome noblemen.

"It's just a title" The Count laughed involuntarily at her remark. "I'm just a guardsman, and you are the second person on the whole planet."

"You've got some warped notions." Lord Cassard is certainly the first man in his domain, but I am by no means the second.

"The one who decides who the first person sees can in no way be less than the second." Absolutely seriously parried the count.

Taer had never thought of her situation in that way, she even felt a little uncomfortable:

"You had some business with me, didn't you?" She hastened to change the subject.

"Yes." Nodded Count Zeper, clearly switching to a businesslike approach. He unzipped his briefcase, revealing its contents: a huge number of colorful envelopes, apparently perfumed because a cacophony of different perfumes covered the Taer even across the table. A distinctly feminine perfume.

"And what is that?" She asked with sincere bewilderment.

"Letters for Lord Cassard, mostly invitations." The count explained. "I suppose you'd be uncomfortable if I just dumped them on the table? Perhaps we should send for a droid with a tray?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Confused, Taer nodded, summoning the secretary droid. "But wait, who are all these invitations from, and what does this have to do with you?"

"Normally, they would simply be sent through the representation of House Fyron, but even before the arrival of Prince Cassard, we were informed that all correspondence and all meetings of the Prince take place only through you."

"Well, yes." Taer nodded absent-mindedly. "A security requirement. There have been a series of attempts on the lord's life."

"'So there.'" The Count shook his hands. "I had to stick to that way. And I ... consider me just an envoy from the noble assembly of the capital, and I confess it is a matter of life and death for me to get these letters really to Prince Cassard." And seeing Taer's eyebrows raised in surprise, he hastily added. "Certainly, in the social sense, a matter of life and death."

"All right, it may take some time, but after I check, I'll give everything to the lord." Taer nodded, looking at the fragrant, colorful pile of envelopes. Lord Cassard had always received many letters, but from various businessmen and officials, from companies he owned, but not from nobles. "But who is it all from?"

"From the ladies, of course," shrugged Count Zeper, "or their families, which is basically the same thing."

Seeing the speechless question in Taer's eyes, he explained:

"In the capital has arrived, perhaps the most enviable groom in the empire. He is incredibly rich and noble at the same time. And many noble families of the capital's domain are as poor as a kosmick without a ship. Of course, many are willing to do anything to arrange a party."

"But he is engaged to Valerie Bellar."

"Engagement is not marriage." The Count brushed it aside and added in a more trusting tone. "And many would gladly settle for less. They say the Prince is generous with his mistresses, and he has several of them. So there might be room for one more."

"But there are so many..." She whispered disbelievingly, "There were at least a hundred envelopes, maybe more."

"Of course, there will be losers." With a philosophical look, the count nodded. "Broken ambitions are replaced by anger, backbiting, and envy. These are the inevitable companions of wealth and position. I can imagine what will happen during the ball to celebrate the arrival of the onstum." He added with gloating anticipation.

"What's going to happen there?" Taer, who was starting to get a bad feeling about this, decided to ask.

"It's a real bloodbath!" Count Zeper proclaimed with theatrical bloodthirstiness. "Hundreds and hundreds of girls and their mothers ready for anything." He circled his hand around the imaginary battlefield. "And one Prince Cassard. One for all. The carnage, the tears. A majestic and yet terrifying spectacle Daim Diltar."

"Is there any way to avoid this?" She asked cautiously. The lord was certainly a lover of women's attention, but this all even sounded grotesque, and who knows what desperate mothers might even do. ..I'll have to check the letters again. There are certainly no poisons in them - otherwise, the Count would not have come into the tower with this briefcase. But for all sorts of arousing substances, who knows what's in that perfume?

"Avoid completely? Unlikely." The count shrugged and added with a meaningful look that implied bargaining. "But reduce it? Who knows, Daim Diltar? Who knows? If someone knowledgeable in what's going on, take care of this..."

"And what would make this 'somebody' do such a feat?" Daim Diltar asked a leading question.

"Well..." The Count raised his eyes to the ceiling playfully. "You could lend me your kiss. I swear on my honor I will repay you that debt."

"It seemed to me, or did you just apologize for your words."

"And now I apologize." The Count affirmed in all seriousness. "But that does not mean that I retract my words. Of course, it's much harder to impress the imagination of the First Blade of the Domain than that of a simple guardsman from the Arm of Prince Cassard, but I'll still try if you give me at least the tiniest chance."

Actually, it was all nonsense. Social mayhem was none of her business anyway, and the lord hadn't been listening to her much lately. It would be good for him to chew on everything himself. Besides, she did not know at all what kind of man this Count Zeper was, so she even mentally formulated a polite but unambiguous refusal appropriate to the occasion, but:

"I don't know much about the odds," she said in an unexpected way. "But it might make sense to meet again if we have something to discuss."

"Maybe it could even be held somewhere else? For the sake of secrecy."

"Maybe."

* * *