“I call this meeting to order.”
Archbishop Iskander Forna intoned from the head of a great oval table, mahogany topped with ivory and filigreed with gold. Through the flung-open windows, the waning light of the fourth sun washed over Anthusa.
This was the view from his private offices in the Cathedral Severe, and the company around the table was no less lofty.
First, the young Duke Otto Orczy, still focusing on the serious wounds in his side. He was practically swimming in the ducal regalia which looked far too ornate for someone Iskander had known since they were both children. His agitation was palpable.
Next, Ursula Tor, eldest surviving child of Ippolito Tor, now the Holy Son Fulminous I. Though piled high with gleaming jewelry, her most precious ornament sat at her side, resting a hand on hers: the former cardinal Rosso Sen, now living in hiding after narrowly surviving the destruction of the Holy City. Though she wore no crown, a sense of royal majesty hung over her like a cloak, quite unlike the duke.
Over her shoulder a sinister man stood stock-still, waiting to serve wine to the assembled guests. Michelotto was his name, a viper who once served Ursula’s elder brother Valentino. Though losing him in the Holy City was a terrible blow, Iskander Forna couldn’t feeling relieved that he was gone: if only that venomous manservant of his had done the same.
Finally, sitting just to the archbishop’s right, sat one person he had not expected to see again.
“So formal, Iskander. I thought this was just a friendly meetup!”
Unlike many other families one could name, the Manzi made little distinction between their sons and daughters. Their vocation was not the church or the battlefield, but commerce, and especially banking, and they spared no time in teaching the firstborn of the new generation, Lorenza Manzi, all the secrets of the trade.
They demanded nothing less than excellence, and so she excelled. In time, the family expected her to inherit the business and marry up: there were no shortage of old families with more prestige than wealth, and though it was no simple matter, they had every confidence that clever, keen-eyed Lorenza would fulfill the family’s longtime ambition and secure an aristocratic foundation.
One could not overstate the furor when she ran away from home and entered a nunnery. It was true, she had always excelled in her theological subjects, and everyone praised the sincerity of her faith, but nobody expected she would cast aside her position and disappear.
They made every effort to retrieve her, of course, but she chose her retreat well. The monastery which she entered sat near Velatri, under the authority of Cardinal de Resol, whom they now knew as Magnanimous VIII. One of the most powerful forces on Vintal, de Resol spared no energy in blocking their efforts. If the daughter of an upstart banking family wanted to devote herself to God, who was he to stop her?
Lorenza’s removal from the Velatri monastery was one favor the Manzi hoped to ask from the new Holy Son after the conclave was done. Her younger brother Leo, to whom the inheritance fell in her absence, was locked up in the Tower as a matter of course; whether he genuinely respected his sister’s decision or simply wanted the position for himself was irrelevant.
When the Holy City went up in flames, Iskander Forna fully expected to never hear from Lorenza again. As far as his informants told him, she spent her days mixing medicine and copying books, with no questions about the outside world.
Yet there she sat in a simple habit, walking in through his office door and joining them as though nothing had happened in the intervening decade.
“We have to deal with Kyno!”
Duke Orczy pounded the table, drawing attention to himself.
“Count Kyno’s fate is not on today’s agenda, Otto,” the archbishop responded, “we have-”
“Rosso, stand with me on this. We can’t allow this bastard to keep running around with impunity!”
The former cardinal shrank into his simple robes, looking more like the schoolteacher he’d always wanted to be.
Ursula stroked the back of Rosso’s hand with a finger, drawing him closer away from Otto.
“Your Grace, have some decorum. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but let’s not spoil our reunion with talk of such a vulgar man.”
“Agreed!” Lorenza smiled, bright as a moonbeam. “The forgiveness of such a wretched sinner is a beautiful thing.”
There was not a single person in the room who agreed with that sentiment.
“Sister, didn’t Kyno threaten you with a sword when you refused to pay off his gambling debts?” Otto asked.
“What of it? Talk of money is such a sinful thing.”
“Enough! Tenorio Kyno is not on today’s agenda!”
“He should be! I don’t know how that bastard survived the Holy City, but he infiltrated my household and has my guard captain wrapped around his finger. He’s clearly up to something!”
Wine splashed out of the duke’s goblet and stained the table. Michelotto stepped forward, silently wiping it down.
Rosso tightened his grip on Ursula’s hand.
“Otto,” Ursula began pointedly, “we all share your grievances-”
“I don’t,” piped Lorenza.
“- and I know that everyone in this room would like to have him dealt with. But we have more important matters at hand, and one more rat scurrying around our feet can wait.”
Otto set his jaw. “If you want to forgive what he did to you, that’s your business Ursula. But can you call yourself a friend to Julia if you do that?”
The archbishop placed a heavy hand on the duke’s shoulder.
“Enough, Otto.”
The duke turned and cast his friend’s hand away.
“He was right in front of you! You could have killed him then and there, and you didn’t!”
“I already told you-”
“Are you taking his side now, Iskander?”
Rosso shifted in his seat, keeping an eye on the exit. Michelotto stood impassively, keeping an eye on the wine glasses.
Lorenza looked on with the same gentle smile.
“Ursula!”
Otto turned away from the archbishop and leaned over the table towards her.
“I can’t do anything right now, and he won’t,” he pointed at Iskander, “but you can. Hell, just lend me Michelotto, and Kyno will be dead before sunrise, I-”
The room filled with a deadly, freezing chill. Ursula, who already has the most regal bearing out of them all, seemed almost to glow, to grow, as if this was her domain and everyone else was here for an audience with her.
“Be very, very careful, Otto Orczy.”
Those words spilled out from her lips, but they did not belong to her.
“You not only plot to kill a member of your own household, you do so in front of me, and you ask for my complicity? One of my brethren has already branded you for your insolence. Do not provoke me further.”
The chill receded, and Otto’s heart started to beat again. The archbishop trembled, steadying himself on the table and slowly falling back into his seat.
Despite the temperature, Ursula’s forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat, and her fast, hitched breathing belied her composure.
Every angel was intelligent, willful, and unique. Each had their own creed, tied inexorably to their role within Creation, and had certain lines they would not allow their hosts to cross.
To manifest like that, possessing Ursula directly… it took no small toll on her.
Michelotto poured the duke a new glass.
“As enjoyable an outing as that might be, your Grace, I’m afraid I am not at liberty to join you. Please accept my humble apologies.”
He offered a napkin to Otto, who cursed under his breath and pressed it to his bleeding side.
“Can we please…” Ursula gasped, “get back on the agenda?”
All eyes turned toward the long-suffering archbishop, who shuffled his papers into a new order.
“Ahem. First on the agenda.”
“The diocese of Helvetra has requested signatories to their open letter to the Holy Son requesting that they be granted an exception from the church regulations requiring that communion wine be made from grapes. The archbishop of Anthusa, duke of Anthusa, and the Manzi bank are invited to add their signatures. Lady Tor is requested to write to His Holiness in favor of the propriety of elderberry wine.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Silence reigned over the table.
“This is more important than dealing with Kyno?” Otto burst out.
“Yes or no, Otto, I wanted to get the easy decisions out of the way first,” the archbishop shot back.
“Fine, yes from me.”
“No,” said Lorenza.
“Wait, why?”
“Lorenza, you’re not-”
“It’s heresy.”
“You’re not in line for the bank anymore, Lorenza.”
“Insuring the wine imports makes too much money, Leo would decline too.”
“I suppose…”
“Shouldn’t we ask Mr. Manzi anyway?” Rosso asked.
“Not really.” Iskander’s pen hovered over the page, about to tick off the item. “Ursula, what about you?”
“What did they offer?”
“Ah…” he shuffled through his papers. “The everlasting gratitude of the Helvetran Association.”
She thought it over for a moment. “Very well. Rosso, dearest, would you draft me a letter? Find some precedent for the expansion of regulations like these. Start with the writings of the church fathers. Make it poetic.”
Rosso beamed, excited to practice his craft once more. “Of course! I… well, who should I write to?”
“Both of them.”
“On that note,” said the archbishop, moving speedily along. “We have letters from both Fulminous I and Magnanimous VIII demanding that we publicly recognize them as the rightful Holy Son and the other as a demonic pretender. The archbishop of Anthusa, Duke of Anthusa, and the Manzi bank are all instructed to show their support.”
He pushed two letters over the long table to Ursula. She skimmed them over and threw them back with disdain.
“Rosso, draft a letter to our friend de Resol. Inform him that my loyalty is not so easily bought.”
“At once.”
“And write to my father as well.” Her brows furrowed. “Tell him that de Resol offered me a hundred-thousand anthems and the lands of the Gran Marlo nunnery, and that he’d best bid higher before de Resol does.”
“Wait, we’re still staying neutral?” the duke ventured.
“The longer we stay neutral, the more powerful we are, Otto.”
“Yes, but…”
‘It’s your father’ was the unspoken protest. It did not move her.
“They’ll come back with threats next time, both of them. We stick out the threats, and they’ll come back to the table with the real offers. Don’t settle for anything less.”
Iskander ticked off that item.
As powerful as each of them was, both individually and institutionally, none of them could stand up to such powers. If the armies of Fleur came crashing down on Vintal, a mere Duke of Anthusa would blow over like a matchstick in a storm. If the Holy Son saw fit to formally censure him, never mind excommunicate him, a young archbishop without a strong base of family power in the city would be swiftly overthrown. Likewise, money can’t buy much if your customers and bodyguards fear for their immortal souls.
But between them, controlling the ecclesiastical, political, and financial resources of the city, one so full of art and culture that even the most debased armies would hesitate to raze it, they held real power. Put to proper use, Anthusa was a lever that could move the entire planet. With truly exceptional scheming, it could move the universe.
But that was only as long as the people at the table, and their siblings locked in the tower above, moved in lockstep. Any gap was an invitation to their enemies.
When Ursula proposed this decades ago, when they were all children attending classes together, it was a heady fantasy. Now it was their reality. Maybe only she had understood, back then, what kind of strength it would take to hold it all together. But so long as she was keeping to that plan, so long as she refused to compromise, none of them dared to step out of line.
“Next. The Kolonn family has offered fifty thousand anthems in ransom for Konrad. Otto?”
The duke stewed.
“Fifty thousand and a public apology.”
Ursula scoffed.
“What?”
“Grow up.”
The duke flinched like he’d been struck. Iskander didn’t dare give this so much as a second to develop.
“Counteroffer noted. Now, Michelotto…”
This next part was not on the agenda.
“Your Excellency.”
“Did you find the vault?”
That captured Otto’s interest. It was, after all, the reason Konrad had tried to kidnap Teresa.
“Yes, your Excellency. It was in the floor of the northern wing of the Sanctum Summum, just where you expected.”
“And its defenses?”
“Intact. Nothing I did could so much as crack the outer door. Of course, since the late Holy Son now has two living descendants, we’re spoiled for choice.”
“There’s one choice. Teresa isn’t going.” Otto spat.
Michelotto grinned an oily grin. “Your Grace, I merely meant-”
“I agree. I won’t let anyone risk Teresa in that ruin.” The archbishop brooked no disagreement on this matter. “Was there anyone else in the Holy City?”
“Just one. A wanderer. Nobody of significance.”
Iskander pretended not to notice Michelotto favoring his right leg.
“Very well. Final item.”
The archbishop wanted everything else out of the way first, because this was going to be difficult.
“I’ve received word from House Gulphay. The Sultan has set Maximilian Gulphay’s ransom at one billion anthems, and all the House’s allies are called upon to donate.”
A billion anthems.
The entire city of Anthusa and all its contents didn’t amount to so much.
“That can’t be right. Iskander, that’s obscene.”
“It’s there in black and white, Otto.”
“You misread the number. Or it’s in another currency, or-”
“It’s real, Otto. There’s no mistake.”
In this meeting of some of the wealthiest and most powerful individuals on the planet, not one of them avoided a deep, visceral sense of how much money that was.
So Rosso said what they were all thinking.
“House Gulphay… they can’t possibly plan to pay it? Right?”
“It sounds,” Lorenza barged in, “like they plan for you to pay it.”
“After everything… after the Holy City… they want us to throw more treasure into the Sultan’s lap!? Ursula, we can’t go along with this!”
All eyes turned to her.
“How much do they want us to pay?”
A protest died in the duke’s throat.
“Ten million. That’s the share they’ve assigned us, in the name of continued friendship.”
That was a more… comprehensible sum. Something that they might just be able to scrape together between them all, assuming they called in every debt, used every favor, alienated all their allies, and scraped the filigree off their family mansions.
That was worse, somehow.
Not that they could decline easily. This alliance of theirs existed to provide some leverage against the great powers of the universe. House Gulphay was one such power. The entire planet of Konigsphare was their ancient birthright. The vast wealth of the Manzi bank lay in stocks and contracts and accounts, but the wealth of Gulphay was held tight in their grasp. Their army, along with that of Fleur, were the only two that could seriously contend with the Sultan’s hordes.
And all of them were House Gulphay’s allies. House Gulphay was the umbrella that allowed this band of schemers to focus their energies locally, on one planet at a time.
To lose their friendship, inevitably publicly and shamefully, would set their plans back irreparably.
Ursula jolted out of her seat.
“What are you-”
“I need to think.”
“Ursula!”
“My dear!”
“I have a solution!”
Ursula was halfway out the door when she registered Lorenza Manzi’s chipper declaration.
“Lorenza…you have ten million anthems stashed away in your nunnery?”
“Not quite.”
“Then what-”
“Relax! I have something better.”
She pulled a small box from her bag and placed it on the table. It opened hermetically, and a miraculous aroma filled the room, fresh and slightly sour.
Inside the box was a fuzzy, green, lumpy apple. Too unripe by several months, yet the spiritual energy contained within it was immense. If it had been allowed to grow and mature, it would have been worth many thousands of anthems. At present…
Otto sank back into his chair, defeated. “Lorenza, whoever sold you that scammed you. It’s not worth ten million. As unripe as it is, a spirit fruit like this is worth a few hundred at most.”
But neither Ursula nor Iskander could take their eyes off it.
“It’s fresh.”
“... yeah.”
“Lorenza, where did you find this?”
She beamed. “A little while ago, a man stumbled into our monastery, covered in wounds. The abbess thought he’d been caught in a bandit attack, so she sent him to me in the infirmary. He died not long after. I figure he was in the third realm, but whoever injured him was no worse. And all the while he was mumbling about a great treasure. ”
She picked up the budding fruit in her fingers.
“He had this in his hand. I only managed to pull his fingers apart after he died. If he’d eaten it, he would have lived for sure. Almost like the thought never crossed his mind. But if he had, I’d have never known. One of God’s little miracles!”
She popped it into her mouth, wincing at the chewy, sour sensations, and swallowed in front of her stunned audience.
“A fountain of youth,” the archbishop whispered, reverent.
Spirit fruits like these, filled to the brim with energy, were an immensely valuable resource. They could bring even a powerful cultivator back from the brink of death, were invaluable ingredients in elixirs, and could massively aid anyone’s cultivation.
But the incredibly dense natural energy necessary to grow them was virtually impossible to gather, and artificial orchards of that sort could only thrive by pulling energy from surrounding lands, rendering them virtually uninhabitable. There were only a handful of those on the entire planet, and their annual production was meager.
But sometimes, just sometimes, God was generous. A fountain of youth was a divine phenomenon, appearing at random, in which a spring of blessed water poured forth from the earth and blessed all the lands around. Not only did spiritual fruits like this one grow like weeds in its vicinity, but the water itself, if bottled at the mouth of the spring before it was diluted, was an unmatched resource, a live-giving elixir all on its own which could produce potions of immense potency.
Konigsphare had one. Fleur did as well. The vast territories of the Abyssinians were said to possess at least one of these wonders. In every case, control of that resource allowed a ruler to gain dominance over their home world.
But there was no such place on the entire planet of Vintal, and so despite being the home of the Holy Son, a center of ancient learning and art, it played second fiddle to other worlds in politics and on the battlefield.
That changed today.
Now there was a fountain of youth near the city of Velatri, just a week’s ride away from Anthusa. Practically on their doorstep. Closer than any other regional power.
Ursula threw herself into Lorenza’s arms and squeezed her tight.
“OW! Ursula, I need… to… breathe.”
Ursula couldn’t hear her over her own crazed laughter.
“Who else knows? Who else?”
“I- ow! Nobody else at the monastery. Maybe whoever hurt that guy, but they’re bound to keep it secret too.”
There was too much to do, too many plans to prepare , allies to gather, promises to make. But first, Ursula ran out the door, pulling Rosso by the sleeve. They had a long and sleepless night ahead of them.