“Another letter for you, Zebulun,” Lady Evershed announces, interrupting my internal strategy session and scattering my thoughts.
I pause in the middle of our CnC game, caught off guard by the underhanded new tactic from my wily opponent. With a grunt of irritation, I place my cards down on the table, face-down, and accept the offered envelope from the glass making guild. I can’t deny the giddy rush of anticipation as I turn over the envelope in my hand and stare at the seal. I’m certain I’m moving on to the next round. There’s simply no way Lady Evershed would act so nonchalant if I’d failed to pass the exhibition stage.
Before I open it, I tap the envelope on the table and stare at her. “I must be improving at CnC rapidly, since you timed this news to maximize the disruption to my concentration.”
“Peh! The lion cub is no threat to the lioness,” she replies lightly, folding her hands and placing them in her lap. Her eyes glint with mirth.
My glass hand pins the envelope down while my right hand opens up the note. We’re not due to meet with the [Enchanter] until later today, so the homemade prosthetic is still inert and somewhat clunky, but that doesn’t stop me from finding excuses to put it through its paces. I’m excited to see what I can do with the real thing. Once I open the letter, I scan the contents of the new message, then toss it over for my master to review.
“First in class would have been better,” Lady Evershed says after she reads through the notification letter, teasing me about merely achieving an honorable mention in the exhibition round. “Still, it’s an acceptable result given your rather extraordinary circumstances.”
I wave her off, rolling my eyes dramatically at her lofty expectations.
She frowns thoughtfully a moment later, her playful tone fading. “I’m proud of you. I am. But don’t let it go to your head. Adaptability is admirable. Reinventing designs mid-competition is hardly sustainable, though. You need to stick to your plan for the third round. The competition begins in earnest now; the chaff has been winnowed. You’re facing excellent artisans.”
I nod distractedly at her advice, but my attention is split due to my badly losing position on the CnC battlemap. “Thanks. I appreciate the guidance. I know I went off script again, but it’s worked out each time so far. I have no regrets.”
Lady Evershed folds her arms and harrumphs at me. I glance up at her, and the solemn look on her face catches my full attention. I sit up straight and watch with a pit in my stomach as she slowly shakes her head. When she speaks, I listen carefully. “That’s the problem, Zebulun. Success is addicting.”
“Isn’t success the point? Why compete if I’m not trying to win?” I protest, my voice rising as a strange defensiveness burns within my chest.
“Poor methods can lead to positive outcomes, but relying on them isn’t a wise strategy in the long term. Remember: results and processes are two different things. My fear is that you’re conflating them—to your detriment,” Lady Evershed says.
Instinctively, I want to bristle at the reprimand, but a warm, calming wind seems to dance around me, bringing the briney scent of the faraway sea, the soothing sound of waves on a beach, and a gentle sense of wellbeing. I find myself smiling and nodding. Somehow her words sound reasonable rather than patronizing.
I realize belatedly that a Skill is at work to smooth over my ruffled feathers. I shake it off with a flex of willpower, breaking the spell and making her eyes crinkle as she smiles at me. I’m certain she enjoys the dance of power; to her, this is one more game, just like CnC. She still hasn’t told me the exact name and function of her other Class, but it’s clear she wields more soft power than I've given her credit for.
I blink a few times. “You think I won’t want to change my ways and it will come back to bite me.”
“Precisely,” Lady Evershed says, smiling again in her now-familiar, pleased, cryptic way that makes me nervous she knows something that I don’t.
“Ah, right,” I say, nodding as though she’s passed along profound wisdom. “I am too adaptable, and that makes me too rigid. Understandable. I change too much, thereby making me incapable of changing my ways. I'm too—”
“That’s quite enough,” Lady Evershed says, cutting me off. She’s still smiling, though, so she probably doesn’t mean any offense by the interruption. “I’m only cautioning you to prepare yourself adequately, Zebulun. The stakes are increasing from here. You'll need every advantage you can find or manufacture.”
“Good thing we have an [Enchanter] coming to help me create a hand,” I say, tapping on the slim glass prototype with my right hand. “I even have a finalized plan. I think you’ll agree that it’s an improvement on this model. My first attempts didn’t take into consideration how the hand design might affect the mana flow. I’m going to prepare a lattice structure and try to replicate the conduits of an internal energy system.”
Lady Evershed’s eyes light up. “Like the nascent mana-imbuing method you worked on previously? I’ve been mulling it over since you told me about it, Zebulun. I believe I’ve located an expert in the field, although he doesn’t work with glass. The mediums should share principles as far as I can tell. Should you recover Skill functionality, I’ll cover the costs of your lessons, as a good master ought.”
“While sitting in and learning additional techniques for yourself?” I say, amused at her particular brand of largess.
“Naturally. I thought it would appeal to you, given your love of mutual benefit.” She slides her [Assassins] cards across the CnC battlemap, circumventing my [Spies] who were supposed to prevent exactly this scenario, and announces that my Commandant is under mortal threat.
“Oh, mutual benefit does appeal,” I say, glancing through my hand of cards for a way out of the threat, and grimacing when I find none. “Forfeit, by the way. I’m not going to be able to come back.”
“Well fought,” Lady Evershed says with a satisfied smirk.
I sigh, collect the cards, stack up the tokens, and help my master pack up the game. “I’m surprised you haven’t mastered mana-imbuing already, given your control. I’ve seen you use similar techniques, although I can’t follow them with [Manasight] anymore.”
“I have a measure of ability,” she allows with more humility than customary. “But that’s not the same as mastery. One must always strive to improve.”
Before I can reply, a bell chimes from the shop front, announcing the arrival of a guest. I bolt out of my seat, rushing for the front door. Lady Evershed calls for me to wait for her, and by sheer dint of will, I oblige her. My heart is fluttering with anticipation, but I’ll let her answer the door to her own shop even though I’m sure it’s the [Enchanter] arriving early.
My suspicions are proved correct when she opens the door to reveal our visitor.
“Yarrington! What a pleasant surprise,” Lady Evershed says, ushering the [Enchanter] inside the shop. “I didn't expect you for another hour. Do make yourself comfortable; we were just finishing up a rousing game of Captains and Capitals and will need a few moments to prepare ourselves. I don’t suppose I could interest you in a match after today's activities?”
“Not after you cleaned me out last time,” the jolly, well-dressed man says, chuckling sheepishly. “My financial advisor would have a heart attack if he found out I lost another estate to the Evershed empire.”
“I’d happily wager it on our next match, if it’s causing you that much consternation,” Lady Evershed says, patting Yarrington on the shoulder like she’s soothing an upset child. I halfway expect her to hand over some sweets, like she does with Baryl.
“I suppose I’ll have to make do without it,” Yarrington says, winking at me. He extends a square, fleshy hand with surprisingly rough knuckles and envelops my right hand in a crushing handshake. “Don’t feel bad about your loss, lad. We’ve all had to learn the hard way that Lady Evershed takes winning far more seriously than the rest of us. Ha! You’ll need a few decades to catch up to her.”
I find myself laughing along with Yarrington. “I’m not even offended that you assumed I lost the game. You’re absolutely right.”
“Of course I am! She’s a shark, and don’t you forget it.”
“I'm not likely to catch up in this lifetime,” I admit as we make ourselves comfortable in the back room. “My best chance of winning will likely only come after she's interred in a grand mausoleum and can no longer haunt my games.”
“You won’t stand a chance in the next life, either,” Lady Evershed cackles.
Yarrington shifts in his seat. He stretches and stifles a yawn. “May I bother you for some tea, Lady Evershed? I’m worn out after a night of hard work.”
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Lady Evershed’s lips draw into a narrow line. She tuts. “Out partying again?”
“You know me. I like to make the most of each moment,” Yarrington says with a dazzling smile. “Including this one. Let’s get down to business.”
He doesn’t deny her accusations, which makes me nervous that things will go wrong. I keep my fears to myself as Lady Evershed bustles about and prepares his tea. I observe him quietly as we wait. He's younger than I expected for such a well credentialed [Enchanter], but his energetic, easy-going manner puts me at ease. He’s oddly similar to Elias. I suppose Lady Evershed likes to surround herself with bright and intelligent people. Perhaps their virve helps her feel younger than her age.
“You received the designs I sent over?” I ask, although the [Runner] provided me with a receipt of delivery. Nervousness has a way of making me run my mouth without thinking. “Are they suitable for the work?”
“What? Oh, yes, yes, they’re fine. Anything will do, given Lady Evershed’s fascinating Skill contributions,” Yarrington replies absently as he pours a nauseating amount of sugar into his tea.
“Oh?” I quirk an eyebrow, intrigued by the turn in the conversation. “Which Skill is that?”
“I have a proposal for you,” Lady Evershed says, placing a hand on my arm and smiling at me warmly. “At first, I thought that after you made a suitable glass hand, Yarrington could apply a simple force inscription that allows the digits to slightly tighten their grip. That way, you could hold onto a metal rod while you work with glass.”
“That sounds sensible,” I say slowly, still uncertain where she’s going with this line of conversation. “What changed?”
“I decided to make a more personal investment in your future,” Lady Evershed says. She gazes at me with grandmotherly fondness. “A force enchantment means you still couldn’t move or manipulate the individual digits. There’s no articulation or nuance. You deserve better.”
My head spins as I try to figure out what she means. “I’m flattered, Lady Evershed, but it sounds like it’s beyond my skill to craft a glass hand with that level of articulation and detail. My plans are already set for the session today—and you did just admonish me about following my plans.”
“I’m glad you were listening to me for once,” she says wryly. “The one you already made will work for our purposes, however. You don’t need to replicate a hand. I will work through our esteemed [Enchanter] to condense my Skill and inscribe it on your hand. You’ll control the world around you via direct mana manipulation, using my greatest Skill: [The Weight of the World: The Domineering Manifestation of Pride].”
“That sounds incredibly complicated and difficult to implement,” I say slowly, frowning as a dozen new questions and concerns spring to mind. “And extremely impressive!” I hasten to add, not wanting to appear ungrateful to my benefactor. “But how will I activate the borrowed Skill without mana? I can barely channel more than trickle, and that sounds like one of the most advanced Skills I’ve ever encountered.”
“Luckily for you, a trickle of mana is all that’s required to initialize the Skill enchantment,” Yarrington assures me. “I’ll take care of the hard part.”
“So, I will receive her Skill. For free?” I scratch the back of my neck. “But how?”
Yarrington hesitates, glancing at Lady Evershed, who nods at him. “Admittedly, it will borrow from her power. That means you’ll share a recharge time with her, and it won’t work if you’re too far away. But as long as you’re within the city limits, and Lady Evershed hasn’t used the Skill, you should be able to control the world around you with extreme precision.”
“No wonder reputation is important to you,” I say as more pieces of the puzzles click into place. “Prestige is power for you. Quite literally.”
“Clever boy,” Lady Evershed replies fondly, tousling my hair. “Now, let’s get to work, shall we? Yarrington has a long day ahead of him, and the longer we take, the less time we’ll have for CnC tonight.”
I groan, casting him a pleading look. He rumbles with laughter, sets down his teacup, and bows at me with an exaggerated flourish. “Never fear, Zebulun. I promise that I will require your services for the entire day. You’ll get to keep a little dignity tonight and avoid another loss.”
“Fine. Enjoy your reprieve. There’s always tomorrow to crush your hopes and dreams in CnC,” Lady Evershed says with an ominous grin.
=+=
The next day, Lady Evershed announces that I’ve earned a break from glassmaking. At first, I argue that I want to try out my new enchantment, but she yawns and tells me that she’s too tired for us to carry out a proper test. She all but shoos me outside, shaking her cane at me and making me promise to get some fresh air, so I find myself wandering around Grand Ile with a bit of pocket change and a healthy appetite.
Maybe I’ll track down Baryl and treat him to more street food.
As I saunter through town, basking in the sunlight and reveling in my day off, my mind drifts back to the enchanting session. Now that Yarrington completed the complex enchantment, I’ll be able to work faster than I have since arriving in the city. My next glass submission in the competition will be my most ambitious yet. I’ve already settled on a lamp, although this one is far more geometrical and complex than the lampstands I made when I first met Lady Evershed.
A smile plays across my face despite the lingering, phantom pain in my wrist and ribs. I can’t stop grinning as I peruse the market, enjoying the warm breeze and the riotous colors of Grand Ile. Freedom to simply relax is underrated, I muse to myself. I whistle cheerfully. I’m in the best mood of the last few weeks. My life is finally looking up again.
Around the next corner in the marketplace, I catch sight of a life-size portrait on a poster plastered to a brick wall, and the playful smile freezes on my lips. My own face is staring back at me from the poster. Emblazoned above my forehead in big, red, inescapably angry lettering is a WANTED declaration. Beneath the printed form of my likeness, a list of words lay out all my sins in excruciating detail:
Known associate of [Spy] from Naftali
Known affiliate of traitor Tem Cytekin
Conspired with Wraiths and the Abyssal Monarchs to incite an Incursion
Coordinated with enemies of Densmore to launch a devastating attack on the brave [Soldiers] of the royal army in Silaraon, resulting in thirty-seven deaths
Stole items of great value from [General] Tychicus
Attempted to subvert the good artisans of Densmore to his nefarious schemes
The poster goes on with further descriptions of me and my supposed faults, but I growl and turn away. I can’t read any more, enraged at the way they’ve twisted things—although the accusations are uncomfortably adjacent to the truth. My eyes unfocus, and my vision wavers as the ramifications of the words hit me. My mouth goes bone-dry. I start to shake. If they catch me, I’m a dead man.
I turn my head, trying not to let my jittery nerves goad me into running, and walk back the way I came at a sedate pace. Every instinct is screaming at me to flee, but I’m not quite that stupid. There are few surer ways to draw attention than running through a crowd in a panic and trying to hide my face.
Forcing nonchalance, I stroll over to a fruit stand, haggle with the owner for a moment, and purchase a small bag of pears. They’re juicy, sweet, and slightly tart, but I barely taste them as my mind churns over the new information. I can’t go out in public like I am now. I’m too easy to recognize, particularly if someone can analyze my actual Class, like Casella warned me that [Inquisitors] can.
I bite into the crisp pear. Juices flow down into my beard, but I don’t wipe them away. I’m glad that I don’t look the same as I did. I’m deeply tanned, with crease lines on my face from marching through the sun for the last month, my hair is long and tied up in a tight topknot, and my beard is fuller and thicker than in Silaraon.
I’m also missing a hand. Great dedication to the disguise, I think wryly.
Yet there’s only so much I can do to hide who I am. I’m the right age, the right height, the right Class if anyone can see that. Do they know I’m coming here for the competition? Sudden fear twists my gut as a sour thought intrudes. Did they torture Ezio or Rakesh? Will my friends pay the price for my escape?
There’s a good chance someone is on surveillance duty in case I show up at the glass competition for the next round. Maybe I should withdraw now. I can apologize to Lady Evershed and leave town. I’ll backtrack and take shelter with Vicario and Iriye. Or maybe start a new life with Smoke, I add in a moment of giddy daydreaming.
There’s nothing for it, though. I step into a side alley, lean against the warm brick, and let out a heavy sigh. I came here for a reason. I won’t turn back now simply because the risk is higher than I first anticipated. Still, I can’t shake the question in my mind: is it worth it? I hope so. Regardless of the outcome, I intend to find the answer soon.
=+=
When I return to Lady Evershed’s island studio, my glassworking master is sitting behind her desk in the display room, fiddling with the ivory handle of her ever-present cane. She waves me over, rising to greet me with a solemn expression.
“Zebulun? You have a guest waiting for you,” Lady Evershed says, her tone subdued so only I can hear her. She draws me into a corner of the display room and gives me a strange look that I have trouble parsing. She seems almost sorrowful. Resigned. “He showed up a few hours ago, claiming that he needed to see you as a matter of some urgency. I served him tea and told him that you were enjoying some well-deserved relaxation away from the shop, but he insisted that he would wait. Do you want me to send him away?”
“What . . . what does he look like?” I ask in a faint voice, my fingers pulling on my collar. I find that breathing is growing difficult. I feel like I’m suffocating, choked by my own tunic. Not for the first time, I wish I could still rely on my senses to recognize mana signatures.
Lady Evershed pinches her nose and breathes in slowly, her eyes closed. “So. Is this the mysterious trouble that I feared might catch up to you?”
“I’m afraid it may be,” I say in a hoarse whisper. “But there’s only one way to find out.”
“If it comes to it, I’m not as frail as I look,” Lady Evershed murmurs, clutching her cane in her hands. She brandishes it like a general wielding a sword, pointing the way toward the back room. “Onward, favored student. Your master stands at your side.”
Somehow, I’m not sure if I feel better or worse after her declaration.
We march across the studio and down the short hallway to our customary game room. A tall figure rises from his seat, places his teacup on the table, and turns to greet us, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.
A thousand thoughts vie for attention, racing through possibilities as I catch sight of him. I freeze in the doorway to the room, hissing in a sharp breath, then hold out a hand to prevent Lady Evershed from braining him with her cane. Today just got complicated in ways I’m not sure I’m ready for.
I sag against the door frame for support as I recover from my shock. I wet my suddenly dry lips, trying to force out words as my mind struggles to catch up with reality. “Padouk? What are you doing here?”