By the time Tibitha’s distraction went into effect, Bette had also lost track of her father. She suspected both of her parents were using her as their distraction to slip out and found herself thoroughly miffed at the idea. She was the Heir now, officially. Whatever concern had cropped up surely involved their dukedom and thus she should also be involved in the discussions that must take place.
She tried to remain by the door she saw her mother leave through. Whenever anyone asked to dance with her, she begged off with the excuse that she was deeply engrossed in the conversation happening around her. This just encouraged the more conversational nobles to stick by her side, regaling her with the minutiae of administration in their holdings.
Some of it was interesting and, at another time, she would have enjoyed hearing about it. But her mind was on the strange energy of the evening, the taut line of her mother’s shoulders shoving through the door.
What had her mother left to deal with? The longer she lingered, the more terrifying her suppositions became. Was there a surge at the Horizon? Had someone important been hurt? Were they being called to war by the Empress? Was the Empress hurt?
None seemed especially fitting, but the unknown was more frightening than anything else. If it was something unexpected and unplanned for, they would be in trouble. They still had at least two months of winter conditions to go. There wasn’t much they could do on a large scale while they were locked in the frost.
Bette heard a deep rumble. She looked around. No one seemed to have picked up on it yet. The only indication that something was actually happening was the ripples in the glasses of juice and wine that were being carried through the ballroom on trays.
The rumble grew, from a low hum to a dull roar. The light wavered as fixtures swung on their chains. People began to take notice, and a fearful murmur rippled through the crowd. Earthquakes were not typical for their region, not like they were in Soud-St.-Tyr, but they did happen occasionally. They did not however, happen in the mountains where Zenith was built. Confused and nervous, the guests backed away from the center of the ballroom, seeking shelter from any overhead dangers. The best place was the long buffet table—but that was directly under a chandelier.
“Don’t!” She shouted at the people eyeing the tables anyway. Then she addressed the rest of the crowd: “Retreat to the east and west halls!”
“Are we under attack?” Someone cried.
“Don’t be daft!” She dismissed. “It’s a tremor! Now, move!”
Her command got people moving. Knights and members of the Carroll Clan began to herd the nobles like shepherds tending to their frightened flock. Bette snapped out orders, but her direction was barely necessary; the castle staff were well-trained.
Most of the guests had been pushed out of harm’s way when another shock hit the room. The central chandelier—a three-tiered sculpture of crystal and polished iron with hundreds of radiant mage-light globes—quaked and groaned under the strain. Ropes snapped. The screech of the chain yanking free from its fastenings sent the remaining knights, servants, and nobles scrambling to get clear of the crash landing.
In the midst of the chaos, someone seized Bette’s arm. She drew her hand back, fingers curving into claws, but stopped when she saw who was dragging her away. Tibitha was looking positively giddy as she nudged her mistress towards the exit her mother had taken.
“What are you-?” Then, upon realizing what had happened, she hissed: “How did you cause an earthquake?”
Tibitha’s grin merely grew sly. “What earthquake?”
A moment later, crystal cracked and glass shattered as the chandelier met the ballroom floor. Bette couldn’t help but look back at the destruction. The rings of metal blocked her view of the other side of the room, near-perfectly blocking the others’ view of her.
“How!”
“I’ll tell you later,” she insisted, veritably pushing the princess out the door.
It took Bette a moment to get her bearings. The hall beyond was very much like any other in the castle—it offered little indication of her mother’s passage or destination. If she was going somewhere in particular instead of wandering around attempting to cool her anger. She closed her eyes, focusing.
The world was made of waves and currents. The mana flowing through their reality followed its own map, ignoring and merely passing through physical obstructions. A few drops of mana absorbed into the worked stone or metal of the palace, called by its fellows already dwelling there, but the passive structure of the castle was not enough to disturb the flow.
What caused the real ripples in this weave was magic. Magic-users, in fact, tended to draw mana towards them whether they were working with their magic or not. People like Lysander or her father could draw new tides for a moment when they passed by. While her mother was not as powerful as her brother, the energy churning beneath her skin agitated the environmental mana enough that it left eddies in her wake. It was especially so when her magic was reacting to her emotional state.
Bette could taste her mother’s anger in the hall as something sharp and bitter at the back of her throat. Mana buzzed with transferred energy and hummed against her skin. She followed the whispers of magic up the hall and down the stairs. She fell into the motion like she was just another mote of mana drawn along by Lycrarose.
She had practiced sensing mana with her uncle. Finally getting to use the ability for something was exciting. Fulfilling. She wondered how far she could follow someone, if it would work over long distances, and if she could learn to recognize people by the way they affected the environment. It would be so useful if she could track monsters this way—or maybe even sense when one emerged from beyond the Horizon!
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Thoughts of her utility on the battlefield shattered with the sound of splintering wood. Bette realized she’d come to a stop outside a doorway. Peering through the open crack, she could see her mother and father both sat at a table. The room was a kitchen, one of the smaller ones that could be found on any floor for the ease of carrying water for cleaning or preparing food for events.
“It’s an insult!” Her mother growled.
She must have punched the table, because her fist was planted in a recess of wood, surrounded by huge splinters broken from the surface. Lycrarose looked like a cat who’d been dunked in water. Durand, on the other side of the table, didn’t look mad so much as concerned. He reached over and took his wife’s hand, and she let him pull it away from the gouge she’s made in the wood. He checked it over for splinters or injury.
Of course, she was fine. She wasn’t the Steel Rose of the North for nothing.
“It is,” he said, his voice a deep rumble in his chest. “And it follows a worrying trend.”
“Indeed, I hadn’t thought of that. Is it the gods’ dream to see our empire crumble after a millennium of triumph?”
Huh?
Both her parents turned to look at the door. Bette realized she must have made the noise aloud and blushed. She pushed the door open further, ducking her head in a bow. “Forgive me my insolence, Duchess and Duke.”
“How did you get away from the hubbub and hobnobbing?” Her mother asked, leaning back in her chair. She thankfully didn’t seem offended that Bette had been eavesdropping.
Bette considered her answer.
“Tibby.”
“Ah,” her mother snorted, shaking her head. “That girl…”
“What’s the damage?” Durand asked bleakly.
Bette didn’t want to think about how much that chandelier must have cost.
“Contained,” she replied. Which was… true. “Again, forgive me for the intrusion, but what Mother said–“
“Oh, Lycrarose is being overdramatic. It’s not as big as all that. It is concerning but hardly threatens the Empire.”
“Yet,” the Duchess interjected. “My child, the Duke of Eurythion has advised us—advised!—that he is going to levy a tariff on all incoming goods that are marked for travel through his territory where their destined sale point is Drakuhl.”
“What!” Lisbette cried. “That’s– he can’t do that. What about the Law of Shared Burden?”
Drakuhl was the only nation in the Empire of Light on the edge of the Horizon. Because it must use its already thin natural resources to push back invading monsters and inspect the Horizon for any wear damage, the Emperor at the time had decreed that the only fees that could be imposed on Drakuhl for shipping in supplies were the costs of the material and labor itself. Drakuhl was a bulwark against an onslaught of dangerous beasts and future calamity! To go back on that agreement eschewed centuries of tradition and neglected the imperial bonds of nations!
“He can’t be serious!” She said. “The Empress won’t allow it! This is an imperial decree!”
They looked at each other, and she got a bad feeling.
“Our aides and legal experts looked over the draft bill that accompanied the notice,” Durand said. “The reasoning is arcane and ridiculous but it twists itself in knots to avoid countermanding any part of the original law. The argument is that developments since then are not legal permutations of the imperial order. The tariff is supposedly designed to recoup lost profit over the past seven hundred and fifty or so years.”
Bette felt numb with shock. That was insane. There was no way that would hold up in an imperial court. But then, she thought, it wasn’t supposed to hold up in court. It just needed to weaken Drakuhl enough that it couldn’t retaliate. He’d chosen the dead of winter to execute this plan—a time when only skilled survivalists could make it out of the Northern peninsula alive. They couldn’t marshal a military response for months! And they were similarly unable to attend a court proceeding, which was necessary under imperial law in order to challenge another sovereign’s legal actions in their own territory.
She had to grab the table’s edge for support. “Is Eurythion trying to- to vassalize Drakuhl?”
Lycrarose’s hard expression did not assuage her worries.
“It’s possible. He could just be trying to squeeze a bit out of our pocket, but I doubt it. What he wants is our timber and our mines.”
Eurythion had almost no mining and very little wood good for timber. It was mostly everglade and plains, lakes and placid rivers. They got a lot of the snowmelt runoff from the mountains. Their fishing was excellent and they were brilliant sailors. They had built a merchant empire on that, but primary resources were scarce.
“Then they could be trying for any number of things: trying to make us give them territory, or loan our military, or even demanding we swear allegiance.”
It was stupid and illogical and yet, there it was. It wasn’t as though they could stop preventing monster attacks. That was for their own good as well as that of the nations to the south of them.
“What are we going to do?” She asked her parents, looking from one to the other. “We have to stop this.”
Lycrarose folded her arms in front of her and gave Durand an almost petulant look.
“We have decided that it’s best to send a small delegation to Eurythion and try to convince him to set this ludicrous plan aside. Failing that, we’ll have to seek imperial assistance in Centre-Lux.”
Lycrarose huffed. “I’d love to give him a piece of my mind.”
And by piece of her mind she meant a length of her sword. Bette nearly agreed.
“But–“ Durand interrupted and Lycrarose sighed.
“But I must stay and ensure the military is ready if we are without resolution come spring. I’m also not the best at negotiation. Yes, dear, you have made your point.”
“If Mother is not going then… Father, are you planning to go to Eurythion alone?” She was startled. Of course he would bring aides but to be the only noble of rank in an apparently hostile dukedom seemed too dangerous. What if something happened along the way? What if it happened while he was there?
“Father, please–“ she began, but it was her turn to be cut off.
“No, Lisbette. You will accompany me in your mother’s place. You have attained your age of reason and you are your mother’s only Heir. If anyone can carry her authority abroad it is you, my little light.”
Stunned, Bette gaped at him for a moment. Lycrarose cleared her throat. Bette hurriedly fixed her face into a more suitable royal visage. She looked to the Duchess for confirmation.
“Be sure to bring all my ire with you, Princess,” she told her. “If I can’t break Eurythion’s pretty face, you can at least make him remember that I can. I trounced him in the Academy and I can do it again.”
Despite the heavy situation, Bette couldn’t help but chuckle at her mother’s resigned expression.
“I don’t know if breaking his face would be beneficial to our cause, Your Majesty.”
“Ugh, you sound just like your father.”
After a moment, Lycrarose called her aide in and instructed that a copy be made of the missive and delivered to Lisbette’s chambers for study.
Preparations for the journey would take a couple days at least, even though she and her father would be traveling as light as possible. The trek through the mountains was dangerous in normal times and downright deadly for the unprepared. They would have court mages and physicians and trained, expert soldiers.
Bette hoped it would be enough.
She was angry and excited all at once. Her first official mission as the Heir! And it was to negotiate with another ducal family, no less. Lycrarose and Durand certainly didn’t believe in training wheels.
She could do this, she thought. She would have to. Her nation and her liege was counting on her.