The clean-up took several more days. Lia had accounted for it, knowing better than to expect everything to go smoothly, but she was still behind on her schedule. No matter how much fun she had directing counterintelligence operations, she was still in charge of the alchemical supply lines for the liberated territories.

Still, I enjoyed myself. I thought these days were long behind me, but life always finds a way to surprise me. It was also a necessary step to bring our forces to bear against the enemies outside. It will be worth that much more if the meeting this afternoon goes well.

Walking through the castle's corridors with her usual gait—not even a few batches coming late would make her hurry— Lia was greeted much more respectfully than she was used to.

Not that anyone had treated her without due deference before. The revolution championed equal rights for all, and even if that had not been the case, the soldiers all worshipped Leonard far too much to question his decision to give her so much influence.

And yet, Lia was conscious of the image she projected. A frail old hobgoblin she was, and that she had remained, no matter the added veil of her position until she actively showed everyone what she was capable of.

Yes, I doubt they expected me to melt through wards with a single vial and force those rats out with poison gas.

"It is always lovely to see you smile, Dear Lia." A suave voice interrupted her.

"You are lucky you are valuable, or I'd have you whipped for toying with a lady's heart." She replied dismissively, continuing her walk to the labs.

There was a beat of silence.

"Now, now, there is no need to go that far. You know that everything I do is for the greater good of the revolution." He continued, undaunted.

Lia glanced sidelong at the man walking beside her, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. The vicar was always too smooth for his own good—something she often found both amusing and annoying.

"Greater good or not," she replied with the sharpness of someone who'd seen far too much in her time, "I've noticed how you mostly use your charms to manipulate younger ladies. And while I understand your dedication to the cause, I can't say I approve of your methods."

Lia wasn't one to quibble about morals. Light knew she had done her fair share of horrible things. But there were limits to everything, and if a stern talking-to was enough to prevent a negative drift from becoming a way of being, she'd step up and take the kid to task.

Damien raised an eyebrow in a practiced expression of mock innocence. "My dear Lia, I am married to the job," he protested with a light chuckle, "too devoted to the Holy Light and the Revolution to entertain any such notions. The young ladies you speak of are simply inspired by my passion—nothing more."

Lia gave a snort of laughter, though her eyes glinted with steel. "It's exactly that cold devotion that makes it despicable, Damien. If you were playing around out of genuine carnal interest, I'd at least understand. But you’re toying with their hearts for the sake of your plans, consciously making them believe they might have a chance without ever thinking of them as more than tools." She shrugged, her smirk fading into something more serious. "It's one thing to manipulate the minds of enemies, but using young maidens like that is unnecessary and foolish in the long run. There is a saying about women being scorned for a reason."

Damien threw his head back, laughing as if she had just paid him a compliment. "Coming from you, that's rich, Lia. Are we forgetting how you manipulated little Jean? Guiding her to deal with those noble mages exactly as you wanted—right into your carefully laid trap. Didn't that little scheme force the girl to kill men she once called comrades?"

Lia's expression didn't change, but her eyes grew colder. "She needed that lesson," she replied flatly. "Her heart was too soft, her mind too clouded with sentimentality. I didn't manipulate her—I gave her the push she needed to survive. It was a hard lesson, but it was necessary. I won't apologize for that."

"Of course, you won't," Damien mused, casting a knowing glance her way. "You never do."

Lia gave him a sideways glance as they continued walking. "And neither do you, which is precisely why we always end up having these conversations."

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Damien chuckled again, his hands casually tucked behind his back. "Well, you can't deny that we're effective in our own ways. I use words. You use unconventional means."

"I'm not arguing effectiveness," Lia said, lowering her voice as they neared the heavy iron door of the laboratory. "What I'm arguing is principle. Your methods, Damien, are dangerous. Not just for those girls but for the revolution itself. False hope has a way of backfiring."

He sighed, pausing as they reached the door. "You sound like Gerard now. Always lecturing me about principles, the heart of the cause, and the morality of it all. But sometimes, sacrifices need to be made."

Lia turned sharply to face him, her eyes now blazing with intensity. "I'm not Gerard, Damien, and I will never condone what you do, even if I understand it. You twist devotion into manipulation and turn loyalty into something shallow and empty, no matter how dedicated you might personally be to Leonard. And that—" she jabbed a finger toward his chest, "—is something I will never forgive."

Silence hung between them for a moment, tension crackling like static in the air. Damien met her gaze with a smile that was far too calm and collected. He nodded as if accepting her words, though the glint in his eyes suggested he didn't take them to heart.

"Understood," he said finally, his voice low and smooth. "Though I think we can both agree that there are worse evils to be concerned about."

Lia didn't respond. She pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the laboratory.

There were more important matters to attend to.

----------------------------------------

“And then I told her she needed to start working much harder. You'd have thought I slapped her if you hadn't been there. Honestly, Lamberta is such an idiot for being so smart. I understand that her talent meant she never really had to apply herself, but I can only bear so much whining until—"

"Enough. I already told you to check the newest moonflowers' reactive score, but you have yet to do so. Now we'll fall even further behind schedule." Lia interrupted, voice harsher than she initially intended.

Margaret shrank back, eyes wide. It had been a while since she had reprimanded her so openly, but the girl was becoming more air-headed as she grew. "I don't care about your teenage drama as long as it doesn't interfere with our work, but the moment you fall behind on quality control, everyone else also has to stop working, and you know we need to have the Restorative Draughts ready for the next push. If you can't do it, I'll assign someone else to it."

Margaret flinched as if the reprimand had physically struck her. Her face flushed with embarrassment, and she quickly lowered her gaze. “I'm sorry, Mistress," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. "I'll focus more; it won't happen again."

Lia sighed, her frustration ebbing as she watched the girl's reaction. Margaret wasn't lazy—far from it—but she was young and sometimes too easily distracted by the petty dramas of life. Still, she had potential, and it wouldn't do to crush her spirit completely.

Lia's voice softened, surprising even herself. "I’m sorry too, Margaret. I’ve had a long night. Stressful." She rubbed her temples, feeling the tension gather there. "But you know how tight the schedule is. We can't afford delays right now, not when every hour of production means a dozen fewer deaths."

Margaret hesitated for a moment before stepping forward and gently touching Lia's hand. It was a gesture of solidarity that caught Lia off guard. The girl's smile was warm and sincere. "I know. I'll do better. I promise."

Lia huffed, but a faint smile touched her lips. She patted Margaret's head with a light, almost playful touch. "Good. Now stop sulking and make yourself useful. Go fetch our guest from the reception room." Her tone was brusque, but there was no real bite to it.

Margaret's eyes lit up, and she nodded quickly before scurrying out of the room. Lia watched her go, a small smirk still lingering on her face.

A few minutes later, the door opened again, and Margaret returned, leading an older woman into the lab. She appeared to be in her fifties, but she was still strikingly beautiful, with an air of elegance that radiated from her in waves. Her chestnut hair was carefully styled, and her skin was smooth—too smooth, a telltale sign of certain alchemical enhancements. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over the room like a hawk surveying its prey.

Lia folded her arms, her posture relaxing only slightly—it wouldn't do to appear tense. "Iulia," she greeted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Still clinging to those youth potions, I see. One would think a Master Alchemist could whip up something a little less obvious."

Iulia's lips curved into a smirk as she glided across the room like a dancer. "And I see you've done absolutely nothing to improve your appearance," she retorted smoothly, her eyes flicking over Lia's hunched frame and wrinkled face. "Really, Lia, with your skills, you could at least try not to look like you've just crawled out of a crypt. Or is that part of your charm now? Are you trying to attract a necromancer?"

Standing just behind Iulia, Margaret gasped audibly at the exchange, her eyes widening in shock. "Y-you're a Master Alchemist?" she blurted, clearly taken aback by the venomous banter between the two women.

Lia chuckled dryly. "Yes, Margaret. Iulia here was once my co-apprentice. We've known each other for far too long." Her tone was laced with irony, but beneath it was a familiarity that came with years of working alongside someone—however much you might want to throttle them.

Iulia sat with the same feline grace, her eyes gleaming as they settled on Margaret. She smiled, but it was the kind of smile a tiger might wear before pouncing on its prey. "Don't worry, dear; your mistress and I go way back. We'll get to know each other better since I’ll be helping out with some of the brewing duties. We can't have her running herself into the ground any more than she already has." Her gaze flickered back to Lia, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Lia's brows lifted in surprise. "You're actually here to help? Does that mean the Association accepted my request?"

Iulia's smile widened. "Indeed. It seems the Royal Court has overstepped. They've taken several of our Masters hostage and show no signs of releasing them anytime soon." She leaned back in her chair, her tone casual. "The Association is finally willing to throw its weight behind the revolution. I'll oversee the initial operations as we bring your production lines up to speed."

Lia's eyes narrowed, studying her old colleague carefully. This was much more than she had requested—indeed, she had leveraged her connection in the hopes of getting some backroom deal for a few more apprentices and lines into the northern markets. "Has Nevielle gone insane, then? He has to know that attacking one alchemist is the same as attacking all of us. Especially a Master."

Iulia shrugged elegantly. "I'm not privy to what led to the mess, but no matter the specifics, the Association is now supporting the Glorious Revolution, at least for now. The Court has gone too far and left us little choice." Her eyes sparkled with something like satisfaction, which told Lia that she knew something more and that it would cost a lot to learn.

Lia leaned back slightly, momentarily satisfied. “I suppose that’s enough for now."

Now, if only I knew what the prime minister is plotting. That man is far too cunning to make a mistake this big.