At that moment, Uncle Ulrich was in the middle of an argument about cutlery.

“This is why I told Lady Belle that it wouldn’t do to have two butlers in the same house,” snapped Melba.

“Which is why I suggested to you that you might use my temporary presence as an opportunity to take a well-deserved vacation,” countered Ulrich.

Melba clicked her tongue derisively. “Thank the goddess I refused. It would have been wildly irresponsible of me to loaf off somewhere while you made a mess of the estate.”

Ms. Melba Barnete was a giant of the capital’s domestic labor industry, in more than one sense of the word. For one thing, there wasn’t a maid, butler, or manservant in the city who didn’t know and respect her name. But she was also, to put it simply, very tall. She was nearly a head taller than Ulrich, and she carried herself with a strength of baring that made her appear as immovable as a mountain standing next to the old silverware cabinet in Belle’s kitchen.

As a fellow professional, Ulrich felt nothing but respect and admiration for Melba.

As a person, Ulrich felt confident in setting his deference aside for a moment to privately and internally acknowledge that Melba was also a backwards old fool past her prime who ought to retire already and make way from a new generation.

When Ulrich spoke again, he spoke through his teeth. “With all due respect,” he said, his voice strained. “It’s far more efficient to stack the cutlery in the drawers horizontally. You see, this way there is extra room to store fresh dish towels so the kitchen staff won’t need to interrupt their workflow several times a day to send a runner to the linen closet.”

"It’s not about efficiency, it’s about respect,” Melba contended. “Respect for the precious objects that support life in this household. You simply do not just cram silverware willy-nilly into an overstuffed drawer. It needs to be stored with proper care.”

Ulrich rolled his eyes. It was already clear from the way she dressed that Melba didn’t care about efficiency. Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun without a single wisp out of place, her dark suit was crisp and freshly ironed, and her sliver-framed monocle was polished to a shine. Ulrich very much doubted that the busy kitchen staff were given that much free time to worry over personal grooming. Why not show them some respect and stop wasting their time unnecessarily?

Ulrich opened his mouth to say something to that effect, maybe even peppering in some colorful language that he would regret later, when two carefully folded pieces of paper appeared in front of his face. Luckily, he had a quick response time and was able to catch them before they fell to the floor.

One of them was addressed to him.

“I say!” said Melba, placing a surprised hand to her chest. “What is this nonsense?”

Ulrich finished reading the note addressed to him before tossing it into the kitchen fire. Then he gave a quick shallow bow towards Melba.

“My apologies for our disagreement, madame,” he said. “Ultimately this is your household to run as you please. Regardless of my personal values, it wasn’t my place to challenge the way you do things. Now, if you’ll excuse me, a rather pressing matter has come up.”

On his way out of the house, Ulrich passed by a small drawing room where Lady Belle and Countess Collette were sharing a pot of tea.

“But they need money for their operations, don’t they?” asked Collette.

“Yes, of course,” said Belle. “And Bernard thinks they should accept your patronage, but Nell insists they shouldn’t take money from a rich aristocrat who only became wealthy by exploiting the poor.”

“So what, she’d rather get money by exploiting the poor directly?” asked Collette.

“I don’t know!” said Belle. “But if I have to spend another day listening to those two bicker I’m going to lose my mind.”

Once out in the streets, Ulrich set forth on a route that took him through a complicated series of narrow alleys—perhaps more complicated than necessary, but it was Ulrich’s habit to make things as difficult as possible for anyone who theoretically might be tailing him.

Finally, he stopped in front of a wooden door with green paint peeling off it and knocked three times, waited for a moment, and then knocked four times.

The door squeaked open.

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“Place this in an envelope and seal it with an exact replica of the crest of the Royal House of Clearshot, then send one of your best runners to deliver it to the palace—Randolf has escaped from the palace dungeons before, correct?”

“Yes,” said a deep voice from somewhere in the shadows of the doorway.

“Best send him, then, if he’s available. And make sure you knock the envelope around a bit before you deliver it, yeah? Make it look like it’s traveled some distance. Maybe add a tea stain somewhere.”

“Usual rate?” asked the voice.

“Usual rate,” Ulrich agreed.

The letter was passed over and the door once again slammed shut.

Ulrich had briefly glanced at the contents of the letter and it was clear that Corvina had taken time to disguise her handwriting and style of speech, but it was odd that she had overlooked the matter of a sealed, properly-aged envelope. That wasn’t like her. She must have a lot on her mind, or she never would have sent the letter in that state.

Ulrich hated the thought that his niece might be facing difficulties when he couldn’t be with her in person to help support her, but he also trusted her to face her own problems.

The best thing Ulrich could do for her was to allow her to be independent and continue to help her when she asked for help.

Ulrich was taking a more leisurely route back to the Tulin town house, whistling as he walked, when a woman’s voice called out to him from an alley.

“Ulrich! You can’t keep avoiding me forever!” The woman was wearing an embroidered purple cloak with the hood pulled down to hide her face.

Ulrich swore under his breath. He shouldn’t have let his guard down.

“Come along now!” said the woman, grabbing Ulrich’s arm and pulling him into the alley. When they were sufficiently far away from prying eyes, she removed her hood.

The woman was a bit shorter than Ulrich, with nearly colorless fair skin that was just barely starting to show signs of age around her eyes and mouth. Her long, smooth hair was a dark shade of purple, almost black, and her sharp eyes were a bright pink. She wore heavy makeup and a dress of black silk with a plunging neckline, and she smelled strongly of a lavender perfume that instantly brough Ulrich back to a number of unpleasant memories.

“Goddess’ tits, Ravenia,” said Ulrich.

“That’s a fine way to greet your only sister,” said Ulrich’s sister, daughter of the (now mostly defunct) Vend crime family, and mother of the royal bastard Lady Corvina Wyernmal—Madame Ravenia Nesta Lilith Vend.

Their mother had thought that the more middle names someone had, the fancier they seemed. And their mother had so wanted Ravenia to be a fancy lady.

“I told you when I got your note,” growled Ulrich. “You should get back out of the city now unless you want to be killed.”

“Oh, please,” said Ravenia, waving a hand dismissively. “Little lord Richard stopped looking for me years ago. Besides, when I heard my poor daughter recently broke off her engagement with the Grand Duke, I just had to rush to her side. I feel simply terrible that I haven’t been able to be there for her all these years, but when could a young woman possibly need her mother’s love and support more than when dealing with such painful matters of the heart? I just want a chance to try to make up for lost time.”

Ravenia flashed a remorseful pout, clearly doing her best impression of a repentant parent whose mistakes were all the result of unfortunate circumstances and nothing more.

Ulrich scoffed.

“Yeah, right,” he said. “More likely you saw the broken engagement as a crack in the Emperor’s control over Corvina, meaning there was an opportunity for you to step in and take control yourself—to use her to your advantage. You ought to be ashamed.”

Ravenia shrugged. “Shame is such a useless emotion. You ought to be well aware of that, after the way we were raised. ”

“Oh, piss off, would you?” shouted Ulrich. “Why don’t you do your daughter a favor and leave us the hell alone. It shouldn’t be that hard for you. You’ve had a lot of practice in abandonment, after all. Over two decades of it, in fact.”

“Speaking of abandonment,” said Ravenia, casually. “Mom and dad asked after you.”

Ulrich stared at her.

Ravenia was examining her perfectly manicured nails as she spoke. “How long has it been since you went to visit them? One decade? Two? They were oh so happy to see me, at least. And very eager to meet their only granddaughter as soon as possible. What was it Father said? Oh yes, it’s about time the family regained its former glory.”

Ulrich took a deep breath and spent a moment gathering his thoughts. When spoke again, his voice was steady and clear. “Corvina has always deserved better than you or her father. Or me, frankly. Goddess knows I’ve made my own mistakes. But after all these years, she’s finally begun the process of learning how to live for herself and to find her own happiness, instead of always limiting herself to the role of a pawn in other people’s schemes. I will not allow anyone to undo her progress. Not you and not our parents. You and the family can all rot in hell where you belong.”

Ravenia whistled. “Strong words, brother,” she said, with a dangerous smile. “But you know you don’t want to make me your enemy.”

“Actually, that’s exactly what I want to do,” said Ulrich, walking away. As he left, he called back behind him. “Next time you approach me, make sure it’s with a weapon in hand—I wouldn’t want it to be an unfair fight.”

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Across the empire in Longren, Corvina’s thoughts couldn’t be further from her estranged mother or the evolving political situation in the capital. Instead, she was listening with rapt attention as Anne shared an abundance of information which so strongly challenged her very notion of reality itself that she didn’t have any mental space left to consider anything else.

“—and so now Eva has figured out I’m not the real Anne, and she’s gone off somewhere to do who knows what, and the real Saintess is pissed off at me because I’ve screwed everything up, and I just… I knew I couldn’t keep all this a secret from you anymore.”

The library had grown dark around them as they spoke, sitting in separate chairs by the fire. Corvina stared at the dying embers, which mere hours ago had been a strong flame she’d used to send a message to further a plan that hardly seemed to matter now. And as she stared, she quietly processed things.

When she was done processing, Corvina sighed and sat back in her chair. “Well, fuck,” she said.