[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 21]

One-thirty-five. One-thirty-six. One-thirty-seven. One-thirty-eight. One-thirty-nine. One-forty.

Climb pushed himself off the ground, back rigid and flat. His palms were slick, pressed against the cold stone floor below as he raised his chest. His entire body drenched in sweat, or in those few bare places, salt-laden residue.

One-forty-one. One-forty-two… forty- uh, forty… shit.

Climb snagged, and sighed. He could often count clear to sixty, everything after that becoming harder to track in his mind as his throat burned and his body set aflame. That he had actually made it to one-hundred-forty without fail was significant, and he had wished to complete his set without his typical overextension. Now, that sure goal was lost, he simply estimating the remainder of his workout.

Well I was at one-forty something, so I’ll just say one-forty and call it for the morning.

Climb burst out another ten, pumping his body with whatever strength he had left. As a final measure of defiance, he did not collapse to the ground when done, rather, forcing himself out of his form upward into a standing position. He stood stock for a time, ripping whatever breath he could from the air, head turned to face the ceiling in his room. A slack smile grew on his face - having his own room was very convenient. Not needing to make a full commitment to time in the training tower every morning, he could simply roll out of bed and begin his regimen. He blinked twice, realizing that his shirt was soaked through.

I should wash. I did a lot today. A little under… what, double what I usually do? Still, I should go for a run later. Can I? I would need to leave the palace, unless Jelka- er… no, he’s not in command anymore. Not since the Black Night.

Climb shuddered slightly, his arms hanging limp by his sides. He stripped off his shirt, its white color having turned diaphanous from the moisture. It struck the floor with a squelch. He snatched a towel Renner had gifted him off the ground, rubbing his face before turning and exiting his room. Serendipity meant that the man who roomed across from him, Royal Guard Macnamera, happened to enter the hall at the same time.

“Sir.”

“Adjutant.”

Adjutant? Since when… my position is assistant, though I suppose it doesn’t sound as weighty.. Y-yeah, I suppose it's close.

An embarrassed smile twitched across his face, odd inversions beginning to play at Climb’s life. He knew not how - though Keveleos was a sure guess - but word of his rescue of the princess had slipped into the broader swath of Re-Estize’s gossip; even more inconvenient, it was quite a dramatized telling. He had done his best to keep his tellings of the event dry, interrogation after interrogation the morning of the seventeenth stripping any color that event might have tainted his words, but many people had seen him as a vanguard, blade in hand - armor stained in his own blood - with the Golden Princess in his other. For all their politicking, this was the sort of chivalrous tale that the knighthood lived for - and often died trying to write. Thus, with the exception of those most beholden to the whims of Noble Factioners and their lackeys, Climb’s image had jumped sharply in the eyes of the Valencian Knights, and even those further afield. Macnamara’s simple greeting was a mark of this metamorphosis, a fundamental change in his perception.

Yeah, water and cleaning, I ought to do that now.

Climb pirouetted in place, turning to the right and starting to walk. The wash room was close - only twenty paces distant - yet Climb spent over a minute in getting there, sore and exhausted. Slipping into the room where they were kept, Climb looked round to see who was present. Uncharacteristically, no-one was, and finding the nearest empty stall, unceremoniously doffed the rest of his clothes and yanked the handle in front of him. This opened a flap above his head, water flowing out of a perforated wooden grid no more than half a span in either direction. This was connected to a trough of water above Climb’s head that ran the length of the wall, with a number of other stations like the one he stood at. This had the effect of “showering” Climb with water, which he used to clean himself.

The princess said that they had heated versions of these in the Empire, but I don’t think I would want that. Need to cool off, too much magical heating will just make it worse. Actually, maybe in the winter, that would make sense. Its funny, after that bed she got me, I can totally see her shivering under something like-

Climb seized, his mind filling with compromised images of his mistress. He cut himself off, immediately burrowing his head in his hands. With the heat of his training emulsified with that of his shame, his cheeks became uncomfortably warm. He turned his face into the stream of water, doing his best to purge himself of such thoughts. This did not work.

Gods I- I can’t think of her like that. She loves me, but to imagine her without… without- why did I have to think about this now?!

Climb lamented the fact that he was naked, and after banishing a few more painful thoughts, started to clean himself. He scored his body with a rag, before snatching a bar of pig tallow soap. This was - in typical fashion - another gift from Renner, something he couldn’t help but snag on. He lathered his body, bubbles clinging to his skin before the cold drops burst them and carried them to his nethers. To his horror, they were not at rest. All this combined to ruin his wash, any relaxation he had hoped to yield flowing off of him and slipping into the drain below. He released the lever, before toweling himself off and wrapping himself in it. Clothing in hand, he broke from the stall.

Don’t think about it. Just dress and eat.

Ro-Lante had been shaken by the events of the sixteenth, eight holes left in its ranks; three of the Palace Professional Guard, two of the Palace Knights, three of the Royal Guard. Worse, many were of separate positions, running the gamut from the lowest patrolmen to knight-officers ranking in higher roles - including specialists like Brendel. The consequences were immediate: gaps in patrols, men running themselves ragged on extended shifts, the entire defensive net spread thin. Climb himself had volunteered for additional duty, the remaining morass of Royal Guard happy to patchwork their charges with him. Of course, guarding the princess was never a task Climb would shirk.

I know the circumstances are bad, but honestly, I don’t mind. I’m guarding her ‘till after sundown, yes? That’s almost a full sixteen hours.

Climb grew a slight smile, not able to hide his excitement for the day to come. In quiet moments, he could let his senses slip and turn inward to hear her profession of love yet again. For all the evil of that night, those three cherished words she spoke had rung inside his head ever since. Any time with her was all the more desired for it. It was a strange thing to say, for he had so wholly devoted himself to her in the decade prior, but Climb felt closer to her than ever before.

I love her. I’ll serve her however she needs. She’s such a wonderful human being; the way she cares for the people… the way she cares for me. It’s so sweet of her. She has such a beautiful soul, the only truly good member of her family. Is that a thing that royals deal with? A lack of empathy? I guess it would make sense, at least with how Zanac and… him treat people. If so, then that makes her all the more impressive. She’s pure. I love her so much.

He began to walk to his room, entering the corridor outside the washroom. Slipping onto the path back to his room, a subtle tinge slipped into his senses. He realized he was being watched. He slowed, then turned back. Jonnah was spying him from a distance, leaning against a wall five paces distant. His face was confused, a blend of what Climb assumed were sorrow and rage. Jonnah did little, not acknowledging that Climb had noticed him. His chest rose and fell, his gaze cold and unfocused.

He’s having a rough time of it. I can’t blame him. We all are.

Though the lower ranks had seen devastation, the command structure had been outright shattered. Jelka’s resignation was damaging - leaving both the fortress without its commander and the Royal Guard without its captain - but Ekhan’s death was a decapitation. He had served as the de facto leader of Valencia’s professional guard, his passing having ripped the heart out of the band. He had played advocate time and time again to the highblood portions of the palace’s standing forces, extolling a view of his men not simply as City Guard stationed in a different spot, but men-at-arms of the same stripe and caliber as a knight - even if divorced from such status. He had kept order among the men, keeping track of their training in special detail, akin to Jelka’s oversight of the entire force. He had protected Climb from the worst abuses of his fellows. Now, he was gone, and with it seemed to go his force.

I miss him.

Ekhan’s position was not appointed, nor was it a rank; it was not an office that another could fill as was Jelka’s. It was an informal and social post, one gained through the adoration and respect of the palace guard. None could step forward to fill that role, and though they bore ranks and positions, the utility of such structures in solving such a dilemma seemed slim to none. The Palace Professional Guard was scattered and demoralized. At the very least, a restructuring was imminent; whoever was to replace Jelka would himself appoint a new captain - likely highblooded. The blackest rumors spoke of dissolution altogether. Climb turned away from Jonnah and returned to his room.

It feels selfish, but what’ll happen to me through all this? I’m not really worried, but something has to change, right?

Closing the door behind him, he began to dress. He slipped into his underwear, linen underlayers, and socks, stepped into and fastened his boots, then threw a chain shirt overtop his tunic. It was dull steel, part of his old armor set that he had resorted to using with his mithril set under repair. His original equipment was never truly his to begin with, and the rest had been returned to the endlessly toiling hands of the quartermaster, Luka refitting it to an adolescent knight of similar age to Climb. Thus, Climb was left in a liminal space, having to substitute his full gear with a spare chain shirt and a tabard thrown overtop; it was embroidered with the symbol of House Vaiself, another hasty replacement to save his mistress face. Fully donned in his armor, Climb looked to his right, spotting his practice sword leaning against the wall.

I don’t want to be caught without a weapon, not after that night. Had I not had my sword…

Climb snatched it off the wall and strapped it to his belt. He spent a moment feeling its weight by his side, struck by the sudden knowledge that what hung off of him could cause death. It was a strange realization to have, for Climb had already done exactly that - although with a different weapon. Vague flavors of the sword as symbol of status and actual instrument blended in his mind, but he failed to coalesce them into any coherent thoughts. After another moment in contemplation, he cleared his mind and left his room.

Breakfast, I could really go for breakfast.

Climb walked to the refectory, finding it half-full. It was pre-dawn, but the heightened state of defenses meant that many men than usual were either rousing for early duty or ending their shifts through the night. The guardhouse mess had thus stayed open through the full cycle of the heavens. That, combined with the diverse variety of food purchased for the planned second and third nights of the general council left without proper use following the chaos, meant that the kitchen simply gave up trying to make anything coherent. Instead, they resorted to the old tavern trick of a perpetual stew. Climb snatched a clean wooden bowl off of a stack and approached the vat where it was brewing, a large cast iron cauldron set over a stout wooden flame. It was manned by one of the cooks, a man named Ray, who turned his head up to greet Climb.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

“This breakfast or supper for you?”

“Breakfast.”

Ray gesticulated vaguely in Climb’s direction, Climb handing over his bowl. Ray plunged his ladle into the pot, Climb losing track of it in the murky depths of the broth. He fished up a scoop and poured it into the bowl, then a second; an indistinct mass of vegetables and meat sinking to the bottom. Ray paused, inspecting the bowl for a moment.

“How long is your shift?”

“Till dusk.”

Ray huffed and cocked his head sympathetically, dipping into the vat a third time to retrieve a much larger chunk of meat, setting it in the bowl.

“Bread?”

“Yeah.”

Ray turned round, breaking off a large piece of bread set on a rack, a little mote of steam escaping as it cracked. Plopping in his bowl, he handed it back to climb, along with a spoon.

“Thanks.”

Ray said nothing, gesturing to a man behind Climb. Climb walked off, and immediately was struck with the dilemma of where to sit. He spun round in place, searching for a seat.

I don’t think I can sit with the guards. Getting a room was bad enough, but without Ekhan here, I don’t think they'll want me at-

“Adjutant Climb, you want to join?”

Climb tripped on those words, taking him a moment to internalize what had been said. He turned ‘round to see that they came from Knight Jellen, a member of the Royal Guard. He and two others were sitting at a four seat table. Another moment spent on introspection, before Climb cocked his head, and found his words.

“I think I will, sir.”

Climb approached and slipped into a free chair, setting his bowl on the table in front of him. He eyed his bread, and finding it soaked in broth, used it to scoop a small chunk of meat into his mouth.

“So, I’ve heard about it second-hand, but I want to hear it from you. Tell me about your duel. I heard something mentioned about a scrabble on the ground?”

If things stay like this, I don’t think I’ll mind.

—

[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 21]

“Your Highness.”

“Greetings. Identify.”

“Seven Blades. Counter identify.”

“The Friend in The Tower. Seven Blades? What happened to Fiendish Leader?”

“Not you too.”

“I love it! Evil Boss too. It has such an… an energy to it.”

“It's Seven Blades, Your Highness.”

“That won’t stick, you know. Besides, Fiendish Leader and Evil Boss are far more secure terms anyway. No one would jump to a cleric of He Who Fonts as being a-”

“I’m never going to be free of this am I?”

“Not a chance, boss.”

“Don’t- not- agh.”

Renner suppressed herself, her laughter staying unvoiced yet floating across the message link. A slight sigh returned, Renner ignoring Lakyus’s annoyance and absentmindedly taking a bite of her food - today, an egg lathered in a combination of yoke, butter, and the juices of a yuzu. This was a breakfast with her father, though far from being a typical one. Ramposa, on a flit, had requested the presence of his four children present in Re-Estize. It was thus that a chiding Ramposa, hushed Barbro, inquisitive Vena, cropsick Zanac, and aloof Renner all crammed into a space meant for ten.

Wait, how is it possible for her to contact me? Hadn’t her red-robed friend complained about the expense in scrolls to punch through palace drogues?

“Do tell, why aren’t I being contacted by Evileye?”

“She and Gagaran are out. The twins and I are just lugging everything down to the warehouse, we’re gonna be making runs all week.”

So Lakyus is doing this unassisted? Can she speak such a spell? An arcane gadget? It's the only thing that sounds plausible; must be close enough to have the mana to boot. Ah, what were the prefixes again? Eh? Any device they possess wouldn’t have the capacity to break that wall at distance. Excluding all other prefixes, it should just be ‘penetrate.’ That would place them-

“You didn’t depart pre-dawn did you? If not, you’re making good time. I’m assuming there’s no specters haunting your footsteps, then.”

“We started a little before sunup, and no, there’s no one tracking us. Wait, how did you know that we’re moving fast?”

“Aren’t you in Telior village?”

“We’re just outside of it. Hold on.”

The voice inside her head went silent, Renner slicing open an egg and absently watching it spill its insides. The table was also oddly quiet, with none of the Ryles willing to initiate, and Ramposa similarly unwilling to spurn conversation. The moment hung, Renner deciding to prod her companion for a response.

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“Lakyus?”

“Yes. Apologies, Your Highness. I just needed to relay that to the twins.”

What about that was remarkable? Haven’t you seen a map of the crown lands before? Inane!

“Ah, truly? In any case, Lakyus, I’ve been thinking-”

“Your Highness, can we move on to a practical subject? These spells are limited. We can speak idly when we see eachother next.”

She’s gaining confidence in our relationship. How wonderful. This can wait for later; all the more fitting, then.

“Eh? Circumventing me with my own words? I must cede then. You’re speaking of the vampire in the east.”

“You stole the words from me.”

“What did you want to discuss about it?”

“Do you know much?”

“What Ainzach relayed. Are you going to travel to E-Rantel?”

“How could we, Your Highness?”

She drew that out? Did she mean to call the idea frivolous, or perhaps… Ah, my usage of this method is so fragile. No intonation, no pitch of the voice, no movement to watch for, nor can I rely on such things to lace my words with meaning; I am so utterly deprived of information. It’s speaking with text alone. Language is not fit for such a task as this!

“What do you mean?”

“We aren’t really ready for action.”

Renner visibly sagged. This was a mistake, she correcting herself within an instant. This was too late, a maid behind her having already snapped into action.

“Your Highness, do you have a need?”

“Ah, some additional seasoning would be nice.”

“Preference?”

“That import from the theocracy… oh what was it called? The ground seaweed mix.”

“Of course, your Highness.”

The maid bowed, before retrieving a small glass shaker and sprinkling it over Renner’s plate. She nodded appreciatively before returning to her meal and conversation.

“Ah. Lakyus, you must forgive me, for I am fearful on this matter.”

“You are? No, I understand. The reports seem intense.”

“We could be speaking of such a being as Landfall, that baleful monster of yore.”

“Ah… yes, we could.”

That response was staccato. Did I say something wrong again? With a letter I can at least curate my words after I’ve written them. The possible meanings that delay could carry. This is worse than that conversation with Gazef. At least he was in front of me then.

Frustration began to creep into the moment, an inward sense of failure building for Renner. She maintained her visage, though it was not without struggle.

“Did I say something offbeat?”

“No, no, it's not that.”

“I don’t know how many vampire kin you’ve slain; is it a process?”

“It isn’t- er, it is, but this is a job others can handle.”

“Eh? Your uncle’s band?”

“He can, but honestly-”

“Am I completely misreading the threat here?”

“It's not that. Not the threat, but perhaps the immediacy.”

“Ah, all correct then.”

“No matter what it's doing, it's an ancient being. Only our Lords can speak to why it emerged, but I think it’s unlikely to take an aggressive stance, Your Highness.”

Your Lords? So no one. Ah, resentment is stirring in my heart.

“I’ll trust you on this. Ah, yes, Lakyus?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“I’ve been thinking-”

“You don’t say?”

“Quiet. But, actually, it's exactly what you said. ‘Your Highness.’ You needn’t address me as such.”

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Princess?”

“Princess Renner, or perhaps Renner if you’re feeling brave.”

“Really? Renner?”

“And lo!”

“No- I-”

“Or Chardelon.”

“I am not calling you- Whatever… Ah, we should hurry, the spell is going to expire soon.”

Expiration this quick? It must be a rather weak device she’s using. Perhaps a scroll, though I thought one needed to be trained in the magical arts to read them. A matter, but not one I’m capable of resolving. At least I’ve managed to salvage some advancement from this conversation. Hm, something tactical to end on.

“Shame. Pray tell, do you have vellum and ink on you?”

“Vellum and… yeah I think we do. You want us to pen something?”

“Yes. When you passed through E-Telior, did you notice the road that went west out of town? There should be a standard-seeming farmhouse no more than a mile out, and it should have a tile-roofed shack in the back. It’s an Eight Fingers waystation, like the one you yourself raided two months ago.”

“You want us to hit it?”

“Hm? No, nothing so garish. Anyway, there should be a mailbox of sorts there. I simply need you to write about… oh lets say a dozen letters and drop it in.”

“A dozen?”

“Thereabouts, the contents truly don’t matter. Write something to the effect of a salt shortage in that area, make up a gang name. It’s the codes that matter.”

“The codes?”

“The numbers on the front. Fabricate a plausibly random code, and then iterate one digit after another. They should be no more than about eight digits long.”

“Wait, what do you mean by 'iterate'?”

“Ah; an example, for a code five-four-three-one-five-eight-two, you would do a letter with only the label five-four-three, then a second letter with five-four-three-one, then a third five-four-three-one-five, and so on. Start at three digits minimum, and then increase from there.”

“What- what is that going to do?”

“Trace their network. It's as if we’re releasing a buoy into a stream and finding where it floats to.”

When, too. I thought earlier of placing one of their men in the palace, but if I can simply use Lakyus to splice into their courier service, such a posting would be utterly redundant.

“And what do we do with them?”

“Hm? Simply drop them into the box and leave. Preferably, I’d do a dozen, but such a thing wouldn't escape notice.”

The odds of that are high anyway, but it's not as if it will matter. They already know of our stalking. This will only fuel more paranoia. I ought to track how long that post-box still exists.

“Wouldn’t that lead to a bunch of incorrect addresses?”

“They’re routing numbers.”

“I- Oh that makes so much more sense. Alright… Alright, I’ll set them on it.”

“Thank you, Lakyus.”

“Of course, Your… Renner.”

Renner felt the link draw thin and snap, a little of the arcane noise caught in its length making it to her before the spell dissolved all together. The return to quiet was strange, for there was never any noise in the first place, and those she was immersed with were all still present.

I must find some excuse to avoid this method of communication in the future, but any such possible feel laughably flimsy in the face of its convenience. Silent, unobservable - baring my inadequacy - instant, long-range; how could I possibly say no? Not even mentioning the plausible.

She hung on her own words for a moment, taking a bite of her food and picking out the flavors in its profile. She sat opposite the wall of windows, caught in the baleful glare of a rising sun beaming betwixt the vertical slats of the window frame. It was higher than she liked, the forced affair of a “family” breakfast driving the meal further into the dawn. Worse, she wasn’t even in her preferred seat, having been driven by patrilineal hierarchy from the side of her father deeper into the room. Swallowing, she followed her bite of egg down with a swill of tea, before deciding to chide herself.

No, I need to accustom myself to this. I will need to build an inner face, to act in thought. Yet, it’s a dear wish of mine to resist. How base. Eh? Chardelon, are you a Vaiself thick and through? Ah, how befitting of a royal from Re-Estize to resist magical innovation. Jircniv was right, I am letting myself fail. How fair is his vision if he can spy clear through me from his throne in Arwintar?

She flicked her eyes from sibling to sibling, first to a smiling Vena to her front, a poison-breathed Zanac her right, before finally setting on a languid Barbro on an inbetween bearing.

I feel feyish. Why not a little mischief?

“Brother?”

His right eye twitched. No response. Renner beamed.

Despite your best efforts, you could not vanquish me. You will suffer for your choice in bondsman.

“Brother?”

“Barbro-dearest, Renner is trying to get your attention.”

“What?! Would you mind not pestering me?”

“Er, apologies, brother.”

“Chardelon, you needn’t apologize. He’s curt without cause to you.”

Vena is energetic today. It's almost nostalgic. Ah, to force Barbro’s hand. I’ll make him beg for every scrap. Scramble for me, brother-dearest.

“If you say. In any case, I thought you would be interested in something. I’m thinking of fronting a payment to our friend in E-Rantel.”

“Your friend?”

“Rettenmaier; he’s a friend of our house, no? That for him to pass off to Ainzach.”

“Alright, continue.”

“Hm?”

“What else? How daft- nevermind.”

“Um, I just wanted to invite you to join us.”

“For what?”

“To pay him- er, a subsidy to hunt down the vampire.”

“How much.”

“I’m thinking a standard together.”

“A standard?”

Vena brightened for a moment.

“Oh, what a wonderful idea. I wish I could contribute to such a fund.”

“I thought so. A matter with your husband?”

“Indeed; it can be difficult to act as a princess, not as a wife.”

“Quite true, sister, though I’m worried it's scant.”

Barbro seemed to shift his eyes nervously.

“Scant?”

“Indeed. Are you in then?”

“For a standard of gold?”

A standard of- Gods above, is he so strapped? I knew he threw money at the Black Night, but this? Ah, Zanac and I are going to shred him in front of father. Wake from your stupor and aid me brother.

“Hm?”

“How much are you in for?”

“I’m in for a half weight platinum.”

“What?!”

“It's not enough, I know.”

“Not enough? You would say that?”

“Er, apologies. I know it's obvious.”

“No- I-”

“I can put up more, I suppose.”

“W-whatever. You can play at your charity.”

Zanac still has yet to join, I may as well shove him in. Why is he so skittish? He’s always willing to embarrass Barbro in front of our father.

“Alright, Zanac, you wish to put up more?”

“Not particularly, though I can.”

“Zanac? What does he- brother, are you in on this?”

“Eh? Whom do you think I was putting up the rest of the coin with?”

“Indeed, I am. Quite a surprise that she came upon such a scheme.”

“Well I wouldn’t frame it that way, Igana. Our dear Renner clearly has a sense about her.”

“It was a wonderful idea, darling.”

“Thank you, father.”

Zanac muttered something inaudible, the general outline of his words subsumed beneath Vena’s rebuke of the crown prince.

“Are you seriously not contributing, Barbro?”

“I-I will, I will, it’s just a lot of money at all.”

“Half a standard? I suppose; though, haven't you kept savings?”

“I have, but it feels foolish to part with that much solely for it to be spent on hunting a vampire.”

A trap, Brother. Who springs it?

After a moment, Zanac seemed to rouse confidence in his heart, his face tightening. He rose in his chair and interjected.

“That’s a foolish question. The coin will simply roll-over into the defense fund.”

Participation proper. Wonderful. To capitalize.

“Ainzach can use whatever he can get on the border. So, you agree to join us?”

“Well- I… I suppose so.”

Press. Make him squirm.

“Wonderful, I’ll run down right after this and draft the transfer with the vault.”

“As will I.”

Renner watched with delight as Barbro opened and snagged, no words emerging. He writhed in her gaze, using the most mirthful eyes she knew how to make. With time, his mouth closed, and the table returned to its meal. Renner idly observed those around. Vena and Barbro alike were visibly lost in thought; based on their visages, hers of a decidedly more pleasant tone. From the corner of her vision, Renner watched waves of tension pass through her fairer brother, the movements of his hands becoming jerkier as he sliced a sausage and brought it into his mouth. This, while uncommon, was not usual, her youngest brother becoming unreadable at the most curious times. Ramposa was outwardly satisfied by his children, choosing to break the silence.

“So, girls, how was your day yesterday?”

“Much fun!”

“Indeed, Chardelon and I made quite the romp ‘round the city.”

“Did you now?”

“Yes! By the gods, you have no idea how much I thirst for the culture here. I’m starting to think she was right about this whole remaining unmarried business.”

“Oh really? I have no idea? Why don’t you elaborate in detail? I’ll listen until the sky furls up and the world is returned to the chaos from which it was formed!”

What’s this, Zanac? He’s reversed course since yesterday, though perhaps is hiding his true feelings. Openly belligerent to her, yet attentive behind her back. He possesses a sense of familial responsibility, yet does not let it show. A light rebuke.

“Igana, that’s a cruel thing to say.”

“You wish to play at that? Fine, I thirst no more than the house lush does for drink.”

Renner lightly giggled, Vena joining with a chuckle a few moments later. This banter was of a type Renner had often watched her two eldest sisters participate in, some unionity of purpose gripping and driving them to annoy their male siblings. She suddenly was stuck with a hole in her chest.

I should not have created such an opportunity for Vena. All it does is remind me of Lulara, and nothing good can be found in that. I must rip myself away from such thoughts.

Renner languished in painful memories, receding into herself. Vena took point.

“Speaking of such; Barbro, where is your cup?”

“Not here.”

“Need I bid a maid to fetch it for you?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Eh? No preference for sour wines?”

“I’m not drinking.”

“Ah, in general?”

“I wonder why I didn’t notice that the night of… that night.”

Conversation drifting to the night of the sixteenth is undesirable. I have no wish to field questions about my puppy. I ought to lock us to the periphery.

“The wisest decision. It's embarrassing to say, but I barely remember the latter half of the evening.”

“An understatement, you were witless, headlong on a couch.”

“Eh? Was I?”

“To be frank, Chardelon, I wasn’t much better. I had to apologize to my darling Inara.”

“And you call me the house lush!”

“It was a night of celebration-”

“No it wasn’t, it was the opening day of a general council. You two have the excuse of being princesses, but what of you Igana?”

Zanac leaned back in his chair, and stoutly circled his flask.

“...True, I was inebriated, but I am experienced at such. Can you say the same thing?

“Quite a thing to brag about.”

“Well, no, I can’t.”

“Chardelon, your dog had to drag you back to your room, or was that story just another fabrication of the maids too?”

“Did he?”

Did he? Ah, he must have. How else could I have returned to my room in-time for my awakening… and for a confession of love. Need I walk that back? No, I think I’d rather die than retract those words. Climb will know.

“And she has the gall to forget!”

“I must apologize-”

“You’re an embarrassment of a Vaiself.”

“I don’t disagree-”

“Zanac! Barbro! You are both Ryles and I will not have you speaking to your sister that way.”

“That dregg is my half-sister, a fact that I will never forget to cherish and revile.”

Bid out a response from father.

“Sorry, brother. I um-”

“Don’t apologize dear, it is your brothers who owe you an apology. Now, Igana, hold your tongue!”

“Agreed. Need you be so cruel to her? You too Barbro.”

“Vena, I needn’t hear that from you.”

“What does that even mean? You struck her after she came running into your arms crying, grateful to see you alive.”

“Always crying! She’s always whining or lamenting or speaking of the plight of the peasants.”

“Such is the reason, brother-dearest, why she’s the only one of us to earn her title.”

“One she earned through her own selfish actions!”

“For once, I agree with my older brother.”

You do? Odd. “Selfish” is correct, but how did you divine that?

“You’re going to call the banning of slavery a selfish play on her part? Zanac, Barbro, pray tell, have you pair fallen to smoking decohering pipeweed?”

“I didn’t mean it to be self-serving!”

“Don’t call me a damn Laira addict! Vena, know your place.”

“I know my place. I am the eldest woman in this house, one who - by order of birth - must protect her sisters from the abuses of lesser men.”

“Vena, Barbro, stop squabbling! You two are my eldest and I will not have you bickering like children.”

The pair ignored Ramposa, Vena pressing deeper.

“By what possible means could you call her self-serving? It's a daft thing to speak.”

“Do not call your brother daft!”

“Exactly, it’s our sister who is--”

“Barbro Andrean Ield Ryle Vaiself, you are a Crown Prince-”

“And your eldest son. You don’t wish me using such language. I know, I’ve heard it before, but the face of the matter is undeniable. The least of us is the only one to earth a title. That such a daft-”

“Do not call your sister daft! I’m speaking in circles.”

“Do none of you get it?!”

Zanac slammed the table, causing the plates and utensils to clatter. Renner, startled, dropped her fork, jerking in place as a light yelp escaped her lips. Zanac twisted in his seat as she loosed an instinctive apology.

“I’m sorry-”

“You fucking monster!”

The table went dead for a time, before Vena and Ramposa erupted alike.

“Brother!”

“Zanac!”

This is dangerous. Interject, cut him off.

“She’s fucking acting! Barbro is right, she fought for the banning of slavery for entirely selfish reasons. Not for some base vanity, but as a cold machination!”

“Brother-”

“This entire conversation, what has she done? Carefully steered us from subjects she’s deemed uncomfortable. Steered us from the heart of the sixteenth, instead focusing on her own embarrassments as bait.”

This is very dangerous. He’s seen clean through me. I must-

“Everything she does is calculated… is planned! She’s barely human!”

Renner’s mind lurched.

Barely human? What could he mean?

“Nothing about that night makes sense! An assassin closed the gap, nearly fatally wounded your… your pet, and then didn’t bother to end him? He just ran away? How does that make sense?!”

How could he- Clear your head and shelve that question. Jink.

“I wasn’t awake for it!”

“Which makes everything that followed all the more confusing! How could Keveleos have found you and not a patrol of Royal Guard? How could you have known that he and Rochefort were safe? How could your toy have lost his fear-”

He has questions, but not answers. Make him out to be mad. Jink again.

“Please don’t speak such things about my Climb!”

“Your Climb?! That makes it all the more twisted, no? That you have that pauper boy tied up in all this. An innocent in all this!”

You stumbled into the truth; Climb is an innocent. These political maneuvers are so beyond him. He needn’t care nor worry about such things, only honing his craft and his form. For him to discharge his strength in my service is not twisted, it’s as it should be.

“He saved my life!”

“Right he did. Zanac! I will hear no more of this!”

“Gods dammit father, she’s an abomination in the flesh of a girl! The day she stops pretending to be human-”

“Enough!”

“Don’t you see?! The ways she lags behind others, or creates chaos in the wake of events? It’s all an act!”

Exasperated tones began to enter Zanac’s voice, swinging his flask wider with every word. Ramposa’s lips quivered with rage, Vena and Barbro locked in stunned silence. Renner’s eyes were wet, sheepishly looking at the table.

“She’s an actress, the best I’ve seen! Do you think she was scared that night, brother?”

“Igana, what could that possibly lead you to that conclusion?!”

“Why was Alec afraid of you that night?”

Don’t panic. He can’t know.

“Lord Keveleos?”

“Don’t pretend to be aloof! Those words, the fear in his eyes. What in damnation did you mean?”

Fear in his eyes? Is- No, he’s speaking of the time after, in the strategic forum. Jink a third time.

“Oh, what was it we were discussing? The… horse riding exercise?”

“What in the good name of the Gods did you mean by ‘all else except escape?’”

He- he found that? He can’t know. It's not possible. Aim wide and false.

“What?”

“Yes! Why in the- why would you-”

“I don’t understand-”

“Yes you do! I have never seen a man so afraid of a girl. Why? What in those You- you pit-spawn.”

The sight was novel for me too, brother. Hunger is a normal thing, no?

“It was just some plans I had made pertaining to-”

“Horse riding?! You fucking liar! You deceiver! How could you even suggest such a thing with a straight face.”

“Zanac Valleon Igana Ryle Vaiself!”

“Hold your tongue, brother!”

Those two perceive this as an insane outburst. Play straight, play forgiving.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Igana.”

“I never want to hear that name slip from your lips again! You are not my fucking sister! I hate you!”

The room went silent and still. The only sound was the low overlap of labored breathing from all present - including the attendant maids - the choked mewls of a sobbing Renner, and the steady beat of a furious Ramposa quaking in place. Renner sat shaking for a time, beads rolling down her face as the moment drew.

Pit-Spawn. Abomination. Barely human. Monster. Monster? That implies a warning, but what could my existence warn against? Do I bear hazards of… what? What moral can be drawn from me? For all my plotting, I am simply a princess. I am simply Renner. It’s absurd. Agh, this isn’t something that will bid a quick resolution.

“Leave us.”

The maids bolted out of the room, throwing open the door and skitting into the hall at Ramposa’s words. This was undoubtedly to become a new point of gossip for the Kingdom, but Renner was unable to redirect her mind to its consequences.

Once again, hate. All I know is hate. What vile things font from your mouth, Zanac. All I desire is my Climb and a safe life for us both. For that I am a monster? For my hunger? It is my existence, and yet you would cast me out for it. Why? Damn you, brother-dearest. I want so deeply to grab and shake the answer from you - alas this is not the place, nor will it ever be. You wish I was not your sister? You will eat those words. I will force an alliance into your hands and you will accept it.

The last of the maids left the room, pulling the door back as she exited. Oddly, it did not close; rather, being caught from the outside. An unawares footman pulled it open and entered, completely oblivious to the events a minute prior. He spotted Ramposa and bowed.

“Speak.”

“Sire, a runner has just arrived from E-Rantel. There’s been a crisis.”

“Of what kind?”

“Thousands of the dead have risen.”