Tag Archives: Jenell Covrin

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“I dunno, maybe it’s all the chapel sessions they made us sit through in basic, but I can kinda see it,” Farah said somewhat dreamily. The rest of Squad Thirteen eyed her askance.

“Really, now,” Merry said. “First week of active duty and you’re already planning your retirement and how many kids you want. I think you skipped seven or eight hundred steps, there, private.”

“Oh, hush,” Farah retorted without rancor. “I’m just saying, it’s a point, you know? The spiritual power of motherhood, the bond between mothers and daughters. I’d never really considered it, but I can see myself wanting that. Can’t you?”

“Babies terrify me,” Casey muttered in between bites of porridge.

“You know, there’s no reason you’d necessarily have daughters,” Merry pointed out. “It’s kinda random.”

“Nonsense, you can pick!”

Merry snorted. “It’s possible to pick. You can’t, though. Not on a Legionnaire’s salary.”

“The expensive alchemical methods aren’t a hundred percent certain, anyway,” Prin commented. “You want certainty, you need a good shaman. And even then they mostly won’t do it. Blah blah, messing with nature, wakka wakka spontaneity, yakety yak respect the balance. Pfft.”

“See?” Merry said, grinning, and tucked back into her own breakfast.

“Oh, you’re a bunch of wet blankets,” Farah said crossly. “I’m just saying, I think having a daughter would be a beautiful thing. Come on, I bet even you’d settle down for that, Locke.”

“I have a daughter,” Principia said mildly. “About your age, in fact.”

Farah blinked. “Oh. Um…well, then you’ll know what I mean, about that connection!”

Prin shrugged, eyes on her porridge. “Well, not really. She won’t talk to me.” A half-grin flitted across her face. “Can’t really argue with the kid. I’m arguably the worst mother who’s ever lived.”

They fell silent, the sounds of the busy mess hall washing over them.

“You really know how to kill a conversation,” Merry said at last.

Principia grinned at her. “You’re in the army now, woman. Killin’ is our business.”

“Attention!”

There was a mass scraping of benches and clattering of dropped utensils as every woman in the cohort sprang upright, saluting. Two figures were approaching the center of the mess hall’s open front area, which was commonly used by officers to address the assembled troops. Squad Thirteen were disciplined enough not to react to either the speaker or the Legionnaire who paced along behind her carrying a stack of papers under one arm.

“There has been a disruption of our normal schedule, ladies,” Bishop Syrinx announced, coming to a stop in the center of the space and folding her hands behind her back. Private Covrin fell to attention behind and to her right. “You will be informed of further details at a later time if command deems it necessary, but for now, Captain Dijanerad is among several officers called away on an urgent matter. As I have an interest in this cohort’s progress, I am delivering your assignments for today.”

She paused, angling her head slightly to one side and giving them assembled cohort a look that was both contemplative and slightly supercilious. “One day’s duty is hardly indicative of your skills, ladies, but as I told you yesterday, you are being watched and evaluated closely. The High Commander and your captain appreciate your patience with the unconventional manner in which this unit is being run, for the moment, as do I. A few of you are already beginning to stand out…and I mean that in both positive and negative respects.” Her eyes flicked back and forth to a few specific spots, none of which included anyone in Squad Thirteen. “The plan at present is for squad leaders to be assigned by the end of the week, after which you will not need to be nursemaided by more seasoned units and will draw more conventional duties. Those of you who have distinguished yourselves already, do not get complacent. Those who have not managed to stand out in any way still have time to do so. Several of you are on very short notice to get your act together. The Silver Legions have no place or the incompetent or the weak.

“Thus far, by and large, I’m pleased with you. Keep up the good work, troops. In fact, improve upon it. Private Covrin will now distribute assignments. At ease.”

She turned and stepped over to the side to speak quietly with Lieutenant Vriss, who was the only officer attached to the cohort currently present in the hall.

“I have a very bad feeling about this,” Farah muttered as the assembled Legionnaires relaxed, some hurriedly finishing off their meals.

“Mm,” Principia mused, eyes on the Bishop.

By chance or design, they were approached in reverse order, meaning Squad Thirteen was the first to be handed its orders, a sheet of cheap parchment bearing the Third Legion’s seal and an illegible signature at the bottom. Ephanie accepted this wordlessly.

“Covrin,” Farah said in an icy tone.

Private Covrin paused just barely long enough to ensure that her faint sneer was visible before moving on to Squad Twelve’s table.

“It’s bad, isn’t it,” Casey said, eyes on Ephanie, whose expression bore out her prediction.

“We’re to meet up with Squad Nine from Cohort Six,” she said slowly, eyes darting across the page. “They’re…heavily patrolling the Steppes. Specifics are to be given once we’re in the field, but that squad is positioned to intercept a major operation by the Thieves’ Guild, targeting a shipment of gold arriving at a Vernisite bank.”

The silence hung for a beat.

“But…we can’t have an assignment that involves the Guild!” Farah protested. “Locke has a conflict of interest. It’s against regulation!”

“Welcome to the conversation,” Merry said acidly.

“Heel, Tazlith,” Prin said.

Merry snarled at her. “Don’t you dare—”

“Treat your squadmates with respect and you’ll get the same in kind,” Prin said relentlessly. “It’s not as if Szaravid is wrong. Hell, we should’ve all been expecting something like this, but it’s faster than I’d imagined she would move.”

“This is what yesterday was about,” Casey said softly, frowning into the distance. “She was priming you to expect something like this. She wants you to challenge the order. Why? That’s not punishable, is it? Avelea?” She turned to Ephanie, who suddenly straightened up, eyes widening.

“Wait,” she said. “Come with me!”

Ephanie set off at a sharp trot for the back of the mess hall, making a beeline for the bulletin board with the rest of her squad trailing along behind. Once there, she began rifling through a whole sheaf of papers pinned together to the much-battered cork board, finally pausing on a page half the stack in.

“This was posted a week before we arrived,” she said. “Due to a ‘pattern of incidents’ involving new enlistees, until further notice, privates failing to report for duty will be considered absent without leave and subject to court martial, with a potential penalty of dishonorable discharge.”

“Wait, what?” Casey exclaimed. “Okay, I’m still new to the military. Isn’t that a bit excessive?”

“Failing to report is a serious matter,” Ephanie said, letting the pages drop and turning to face them. “But yes, court martial and dishonorable discharge for one offense verges on the absurd. There are a lot of prescribed disciplinary steps before it should come to that point. It says this is at Command’s discretion…”

“Is Syrinx’s signature on that thing, by any chance?” Prin asked wryly.

“She wouldn’t be so overt,” said Casey, scowling. “There is no way this is a coincidence, though. Are you all seeing what I mean, now? She’s capable of anything.”

They glanced across the hall, past the knots of armored women dispersing to their assigned tasks, at Bishop Syrinx, who was still speaking quietly with the lieutenant.

“How did you even know that was there?” Merry asked Ephanie. “It was buried. It predates us being here!”

“I make a point to read all posted notices carefully,” Ephanie replied, “for exactly this reason. I really cannot afford any slip-ups.” She paused, glancing around at them. “Without meaning to tread on anybody’s privacy, I’ve been getting the impression that nobody in this squad can afford any slip-ups.”

“What the hell do we do now, then?” Casey demanded. “Dijanerad would shut this down, but she’s conveniently elsewhere on what I bet is some urgently made-up bullshit.”

“You need to challenge this as quickly as possible,” Ephanie said to Principia. “An oversight isn’t your fault. You actually reporting for this duty would put you in the wrong. Get on the record pointing it out to a superior…”

Prin was already moving. She wasn’t quite fast enough; as she approached the front of the hall, Lieutenant Vriss nodded to Syrinx and dashed out the side door. The Bishop herself turned to depart through the opposite exit.

“May I help you?” Private Covrin said coldly, interposing herself between Principia and Syrinx. “Hey!”

Prin slipped around her without slowing. “Bishop Syrinx!”

The Bishop paused, glancing over at her. “You have duties, Private Locke, as do I. Be about them.”

“There’s a problem with my squad’s orders, ma’am,” Principia said crisply. “Regulations prohibit—”

“As someone recently reminded me, private, I am not in your chain of command, and I am certainly not your mother. Find someone whose problem this is and pester her about it.”

“Your Grace—”

“You are dismissed, private.” Syrinx stalked off, Covrin following her after giving Principia a hard look.

The rest of Squad Thirteen gathered around Prin as Syrinx and Covrin departed the mess hall. Most of the other squads had already filed out.

“Shit,” Casey said feelingly. “Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. How soon are we supposed to report?”

“We’ve only just got time to get there,” said Ephanie. “We could try to go over the captain’s head, find someone higher up… But by the time we did and actually got their attention we’d be way past late to report.”

Farah straightened up, her face brightening. “Cohort Six will have officers—that’s the whole point of us being assigned to them! They can excuse Locke once we report in.”

“We’re to join Squad Nine in the field,” Ephanie said, re-reading their orders. “We’re given a rendezvous point. That means we’re supporting… If it’s a standard patrol pattern for a district that size, we’ll be meeting up with two soldiers, three at the most. There will be officers, but odds are we won’t see them until after the action.”

“The group we’re sent to meet won’t have any officers,” Principia said softly. “I told you that thuggish display yesterday was beneath her. This is the real play—she won’t have left such an easy out.”

“A court martial is a trial, right?” said Merry. “You’ll have a chance to explain your case there. You’re obviously not at fault here, Locke.”

Principia shook her head. “I’m telling you, this is too thoroughly planned. The notice was posted a week ago; she’s been laying traps long before we even knew we’d be here. There will be some extra surprise waiting at that court martial. Hell, if I were running this con, that’s where I’d have hidden the real trap. It looks like the safest route to take.”

“Well…you can’t go,” Farah said miserably. “You’ll get in trouble with the Legion either way, but if you report for this assignment you’ll be betraying the Thieves’ Guild, too. I sorta got the impression you already aren’t their favorite person in the world.”

“No,” Principia said, narrowing her eyes. “No… We’re not beaten yet, girls. Let’s move out, or we’re AWOL and court martialed. When they put me on trial, I swear it’ll be for something a lot less stupid.”

“The insanity just keeps piling up,” Ephanie muttered, scowling. “Squads sent out without officers, the cohort’s officers all diverted, sweeping changes in regulations hidden… This is not just about Locke. It’s not just about this squad. This kind of nonsense can seriously damage a military unit. In wartime, people would die. I can’t even fathom how she’s getting away with this…”

“A lot can change between here and the Steppes,” said Prin, heading for the exit. “I just need a little time to think of something.”

“Something good?” Merry asked skeptically.

“Trust me, Lang, this isn’t my first time playing this game.”

“The last time you played this game, you got me arrested!”

“Someday I really need to hear that story,” Farah commented.

Principia, at the head of the group, grinned. “That wasn’t the last time.”

The dorm’s relatively quiet morning routine was brought to a halt by an earsplitting shriek.

“What?!” Maureen yelped, leaping reflexively onto her bed and falling into a ready stance. Across the room, Szith had also shifted smoothly to the balls of her feet, one hand grasping the hilt of her sword.

“Look! Look at this!” Iris, still in a patched nightgown, held up a white dress apparently identical to the one she’d worn yesterday, tears brimming in her wide eyes. It was of smooth and heavy fabric, decorated with subtle embroidery around the hem and cuffs. This one, however, had the word SLUT scrawled in blocky capital letters across the bodice in some thick red substance.

“Hm,” Ravana said, narrowing her eyes.

The door burst open and their house mother dashed in, staring around at them in alarm.

“What is it?” Afritia demanded. “What happened?”

Tears spilling down her cheeks now, Iris turned to face her, holding up the ruined dress.

Afritia stared at it in apparent bemusement for a moment, then her expression turned to one of silent fury. Over the course of a few seconds, she mastered it, and when she next spoke, it was in apparent calm.

“Addiwyn,” she said loudly in the direction of the long room’s other door. “Come in here, please.”

There was a moment’s silence. Ravana stepped over to Iris’s bed, picking up a small object from her nightstand.

Finally, Addiwyn’s door swung open and the elf leaned out, scowling. “What are you people doing? Some of us have classes to prepare for.”

“Do you know anything about this, Addiwyn?” Afritia asked quietly.

Addiwyn turned to stare at Iris, raising her eyebrows at the sight of the dress, then smirked unpleasantly. “Well. If you have to advertise, Iris, I guess you can’t be very good.”

Iris let out an animal scream of fury, throwing the marred dress aside, and launched herself across the room, clawed fingers outstretched.

She made it almost two feet before Szith smoothly intercepted her. One whirl of motion later, the drow had Iris in a firm hold, both arms secured behind her back. The taller human girl didn’t stop trying to squirm free, snarling at Addiwyn.

“She is baiting you,” Szith said sharply. “Contain yourself. You become unequivocally at fault if you commit assault in front of the house mother.”

“Worth it!” Iris screeched.

“No one is committing assault!” Afritia snapped.

“This is mine,” Ravana commented, studying the object she had picked up. It was a small clam shell filled with a thick red substance. “Or…was, I supposed. What’s left is ruined. Given how dry it is, I would guess it’s been left out all night.”

“Are you sure you had nothing to do with this, Addiwyn?” Afritia said, staring at the elf.

Addiwn shrugged, scowling irritably. “Domingue’s clothes turn up with Madouri’s cosmetics scrawled on them? Why am I even part of this conversation?”

“’ere now, just ‘cos somebody owns a thing doesn’t mean they’re the one who used it,” Maureen objected. “Y’don’t think Iris mauled her own gown, surely.”

“If you think me capable of something so unbelievably puerile,” Ravana said archly, “at least believe I take better care of my possessions. Frankly, this rouge cost as least as much as that dress. I wish to discuss that matter with whoever is responsible.”

“We all know who’s responsible!” Iris howled, glaring hatred at Addiwyn. She stopped struggling, however, quivering with rage in Szith’s grasp.

“Addiwyn, go wait for me in my room, please,” Afritia said.

The elf heaved a melodramatic sigh. “We have class in twenty minutes. I am still—”

“Go,” the house mother said flatly.

Addiwyn rolled her eyes, but flounced out, slamming the door behind her for good measure.

“Iris,” Afritia said more gently, “what kind of fabric is that? And Ravana, may I see that rouge, please?”

“It’s…just cotton,” Iris said miserably, finally slumping in Szith’s hold now that Addiwyn was gone. The drow gently released her. “Thickened cotton… I had to have it made. White cotton tends to be transparent otherwise.”

“Any enchantments? Alchemical augmentation?” Afritia asked, accepting the clamshell of makeup from Ravana with a nod of thanks.

“Alchemical, yeah. That’s where the thickness comes from. It’s not actually any heavier for it.”

“All right. I will be right back; I believe I can fix it pretty quickly.”

She slipped out, shutting the door much more carefully than Addiwyn had.

“Fix it?” Iris said morosely, picking up the wadded dress from her bed and staring at the now-smudged epithet scrawled across it. “How? This is ruined. Just look at this gunk! Maybe a professional cleaner…”

“Surely she wouldn’t make a promise like that unless she could back it up?” Maureen said encouragingly.

“Indeed,” added Ravana. “She is herself an alchemist of some considerable renown.”

“Is she?” Szith asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Ah, that’s right,” Ravana said smoothly. “Considering your point of origin, Szith, you are unlikely to have heard of Morvana the Poisoner.”

Everyone stared at her.

“Who?” Iris demanded.

“The what?” Maureen added.

Ravana shrugged, picking up the brush she had dropped and casually resuming work on her pale hair. “Perhaps it’s a matter chiefly of interest to the nobility. She never operated in the Tiraan Empire, at least not that I’ve heard. Morvana the Poisoner was an assassin who spent ten years cutting a swath across the Malderaan continent, striking down dozens of high-profile targets. Over a hundred, possibly; matters become a little confused when people are killed by untraceable alchemical substances. Others may also have taken advantage of the carnage to commit their own murders and blame them on her. The Poisoner published claims in various newspapers that each of her victims were members of the Black Wreath and had been killed for that reason.”

“Wh—that—surely…” Maureen gulped heavily, wide-eyed. “You can’t think that’s the lady who’s in charge of our dorm.”

Ravana only shrugged again, smiling. “Well, it could be a different Afritia Morvana. I’ve certainly never heard either name elsewhere, but it’s a wide world. And really, if you were an alumnus of the Unseen University with a dozen governments and the Black Wreath actively seeking your head, the prospect of hiding behind Arachne Tellwyrn’s skirts would start to seem rather inviting, don’t you think?” She set the brush down on her nightstand, her smile widening to an outright grin. “In any case, I would not like to be the person responsible for disturbing the tranquility of her home.” She angled her head pointedly at the door, tracing her ear with finger and thumb and then extending the gesture outward, as if outlining a longer, pointed ear.

“Ah,” Maureen said, nodding. She and Iris still looked slightly spooked. Szith simply gazed thoughtfully at the door.

Both Iris and Maureen jumped when it opened suddenly and Afritia stepped in. She held Ravana’s small make-up pad in one hand and a black silk pouch in the other.

“I think you’re right, Ravana; the rest of this is not salvageable,” she said apologetically, handing back the clamshell. “I’m sorry.”

“Not at all,” Ravana said smoothly. “It clearly is no fault of yours.”

“Iris,” Afritia went on, stepping over to hand her the pouch. “Sprinkle this on the stain and wait five minutes. Just brush it off after that; the rouge should come right off with the powder. Just… On the floor is fine, if you avoid the rug. I’ll come in and sweep it up while you’re in class. Will that leave you enough time to get ready? I can send word to your professor if you’ll be late.”

“I…no, that’ll be enough,” Iris said, blinking back fresh tears. “I just… Thanks so much. I’m sorry to be a bother.”

“You are not a bother,” Afritia said firmly, smiling at her. “Call if you girls need anything else. I need to have a few words with your other roommate before she’s late for class, too.”

Nodding again to them all, she ducked back out.

They stared at the door in silence for a moment, then Iris shook herself as if waking from a daydream and began laying out the marred dress across the bedspread, preparatory to applying the alchemical powder.

“Um,” Maureen said hesitantly. “Were you serious about…”

Ravana smiled slyly and placed a finger against her lips.

Deep beneath the peaks of the Dwarnskolds—the Spine, as some races called the vast wall of mountains that blocked off the continent from the tropics—the great library of the Svenheim Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences occupied a chamber vast enough to accommodate a dragon. In fact, it once had, for all that none of its entrances were large enough to admit a creature of such size. A surprising number of would-be dragonslayers over the years had passed over their targets’ lairs by failing to account for their dual forms. In this era, though, rather than the piles of hoarded wealth it had once held, the cavern contained one of the world’s great treasure troves of knowledge.

Bookshelves climbed the walls all the way to the distant ceiling, accessed by balconies, narrow staircases and in some spots ladders, several on sliding tracks. Nearly the entire floor was lined by row upon row of bookcases, each heavily laden, several climbing upward in open-sided arrangements of rails and wooden floors to create towers and pyramids scattered about the middle of the open space. Everything was carefully filed, of course, though the necessities of the library’s odd architecture could make it difficult to find a given title if one were not intimately familiar with the layout of the room.

Most visitors ended up turning for help to the librarians.

Gwen caught herself humming very softly as she pushed the cart between the stacks and cut herself off with a grimace. It had hardly been loud enough to be heard a few feet beyond her, but still. It was a library. Someday, she really had to find a way to kick that habit. Her work kept her satisfied and happy, though, and happiness unfortunately resulted in music, no matter how inappropriate the environment.

She passed into a tunnel branching off from the main, well-lit chamber. The library was illuminated brightly by massive fairy lamps suspended from the ceiling in upside-down towers of metal scaffolding, which also contained the arcane charms that regulated the temperature and moisture in the air. The dwarves, by and large, preferred to use machinery above magic, but the technology to control environments so minutely was still in its relative infancy—and also, it was heavy. The vital task of protecting and preserving the Academy’s precious stores of knowledge was, for the time being, entrusted to the finest of Tiraan enchantments, no matter the current political tensions between the Kingdom and the Empire.

It was dimmer, of course, in the smaller side gallery into which she emerged, but that was mostly for atmosphere. Gwen hummed a few more bars before catching and stifling herself as she trundled along the well-worn carpet path with her cart of books, past a long row of doors, until she finally reached her destination.

Pausing outside, she rapped gently with her knuckles. “Professor Yornhaldt?”

No answer.

She waited, trying once more, before chuckling softly to herself and pushing the door open. A quick glance around the small study showed the Professor hunched over an entire desk full of open tomes, currently with a long scroll sprawled out across the top of the lot. Gwen backed in, pulling the cart after him.

“These are the last of the volumes you requested, Professor,” she said, a touch more loudly than before.

Professor Yornhaldt jumped in his chair, then half-turned to blink up at her. Lost as he was in some ancient lore, it took a few seconds of blinking before his gaze came back into focus.

“Oh! Miss Pjernssen, forgive me. Bless you, my dear, many thanks. I’m sorry, I was off in another world.”

“Not at all, Professor,” she said with an amused little smile. “It’s not as if you’re the first absent-minded academic I’ve tended to—and not the dustiest, by far. Anywho! These are the alignment records you requested from the Venalde Astrological Collection. You can only have them through the close of normal business hours, I’m afraid, and then they have to be tucked back into their own little beds.”

“Ah. Of course, of course…” He cast a regretful glance at his desk full of books before turning fully around on his swiveling chair and wheeling it over to the table as she laid out more volumes on it from the cart. “I suppose I’d best be about it, then. Hopefully I can gather everything I need from these today, and spare you having to cart them back and forth yet again.”

“Officially, I’m obliged to tell you it’s no bother at all,” she said solemnly, then winked. “But still, I appreciate it. Now, don’t let me catch you trying to put up your own books! The last fellow who requested anything from the Venalde Collection made the most abominable mess, attempting to helpfully clean up after himself. Let the professionals do their jobs, I beg you.”

“My dear,” Professor Yornhaldt said with a grin, “you have nothing to fear from me on that account. Believe me, if you had met the previous librarian at my own University, you would understand how careful I have learned to be with such rules.”

Gwen smiled and stepped back, pushing her cart toward the door. “I’m glad to hear it, Professor. Will there be anything else I can get you?”

“I believe that’s all, Miss Pjernssen, thank you kindly. Oh! Wait a moment!”

She paused in the act of departing, looking inquisitively back at him.

“I meant to bring this up sooner, forgive me. Never to early to start making arrangements, though. I’ll need to access the Vankstadt Archives at some point this week, Miss Pjernssen, if you could kindly start the process. I understand there’s rather a significant amount of paperwork involved.”

Gwen blinked, her polite smile frozen in place. “The… Vankstadt Archives, Professor? I’m afraid we don’t have any such wing in this library. To my knowledge, Professor Vankstadt never endowed a collection before he passed.”

Yornhaldt frowned up at her in puzzlement. “What? But I was assured… Oh! Blast me for an old fool, I really am forgetting things left and right. Of course, of course, here.” He withdrew a slightly rumpled letter from an inner pocket of his coat and handed it to her. “One must have the requisite permissions, naturally. I believe you’ll find that entirely in order.”

Gwen accepted the paper and unfolding it, noting its unusual weight. Indeed, within were the wax seals of the Chancellor of the Academy and the King’s Counselor Dornvelt, as well as their signatures. The brief note, on royal stationary, gave him the stated right to access the secret archives in question.

“Ah,” she said, handing the document back after studying it closely. “That is, of course, an entirely different matter. Sorry for the subterfuge, Professor, but they take great care to keep those documents out of reach of the general public.”

“Of course, I well understand that,” he said firmly. “And heartily approve.”

“Having seen that myself, I can begin the paperwork,” she said, “but you’ll need to show it to Master Reichter, and possibly to other officials. Just to let you know.”

“No trouble at all,” he assured her with a smile, tucking the letter away inside his coat again. “As I said, the procedures are all there for excellent reason. The last thing I want is to upset your system.”

“That, too, I appreciate,” she said wryly. “Then, will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you very much, Miss Pjernssen.”

“Very good. I’ll leave you to it, Professor Yornhaldt.”

He made no response, already half-lost in his new collection of books. Gwen heard a belated acknowledgment an instant before pulling the door gently shut behind herself.

She deposited the empty cart in its allotted place beside her desk, then paused, glancing around the open cavern. Her station was tucked into a small recess, giving her a decent view of the surrounding stacks, which were not too tall in the immediate vicinity. Several dwarven scholars moved about nearby, and two humans were hunched together over a book at the very end of the nearest row, but no one approached the reference desk itself. Gwen double-checked that the small summoning gong was clearly displayed, then stepped through the door into her office in the back.

Quickly and quietly, she removed the silken covering over the magic mirror hung on the wall opposite her filing cabinets. A melange of gray and greenish clouds swirled silently in its surface, marking it a very old specimen. Newer ones functioned simply as reflective surfaces until activated, a much more energy-efficient enchantment. Magic mirrors were still made, but they were priceless even so; the spells involved had to be laid by hand, as not even the wizards of Tiraas had yet figured out a way to automate those enchantments. They were not simple to make, and not many even now possessed the skill.

Double-checking that the door was shut, Gwen stepped up to the mirror and cleared her throat.

“Mr. Greyhand, please.”

The mirror only continued to swirl, apparently ignoring her. Gwen waited, patiently staring at it, until…

There. It was only the faintest flicker, gone so soon one would likely not have noticed it unless one had been watching specifically.

“Potential problem,” she said tersely. “Tellwyrn by proxy investigating cosmic alignments. Getting close; has support from the Academy and government. First intervention circumvented. Please advise.”

She fell silent, waiting for the acknowledgment that her message was received. It came, after a few more seconds, in the form of another almost-unnoticeable flicker, the ephemeral shape gone almost before it had come. Only from long experience with this system did she recognize it as the form of a spiky black wreath.

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“No, it’s not really in question,” Darling said. “Once the Boss got your letter, Style started looking into it, and the unanimous feeling from her enforcers is that the only surprise is it took this long for Thumper to try that crap with a Guild member.”

“The same old problem, then,” Prin said with a dry half-smile. “The Guild is the last to know.”

He sighed heavily. “Yeah. Honestly, Prin, what it comes down to is this: it is not okay for you to just take off when you’re wanted to explain a complicated matter. Not knowing what was going on was the reason the Boss made missteps, there. In a situation like that, withholding information can be actually damaging to the Guild itself. However, there are seriously mitigating factors, here. You automatically get some leeway because the Guild clearly mistreated you by setting Thumper on you, and the particular situation being what it was, it’s understandable why you’d be afraid of harsh, even unfair treatment.”

“Sooo… Do me a favor and spell it out, Sweet. After this last year I want things nice and explicit, please.”

Darling grinned at that. “Yes, fine. I’m not the Boss and don’t have final say here, but I have his blessing to talk with you. You’re not on the Guild’s bad list, Keys, and once I give Tricks my report on all this, including your actual report on all this, I expect it’ll go away, and you’ll be considered a member in good standing again. Just to cover my own ass, here, that is not a promise, since I don’t have the authority to make one, but in my personal and professional opinion, you’ll be one hundred percent in the clear. I’ll send you word of what the Boss says as soon as I hear it from him. I can promise you that Thumper is wanted back here on a much more severe basis. If you see or hear anything from him, let us know. The Guild is very interested in putting him out of your and our misery.”

“I’d appreciate that,” she said, nodding and not troubling to keep the small, triumphant smile off her face. She gestured to the door and the sanctuary beyond with one hand. “And…with regard to all this…?”

The huge sanctuary of the Temple of Avei was lined with small rooms, intended for quiet prayer or intimate conversations between priestesses and worshipers; they also made good spaces for private talks between others, which was apparently not disallowed as no one had told them to move along. That might, though, have had something to do with Principia’s bronze Legion armor. The small space had a golden eagle sigil engraved on its back wall, two low benches with thin, threadbare padding, and no door in its arched doorway. Darling and Principia had taken up positions right against the doorframe on either side, which enabled them to see anyone approaching their room from any angle, a standard Thieves’ Guild tactic.

“I have a feeling you didn’t do all this without making sure of the rules involved,” he said wryly. “Membership in multiple cults isn’t forbidden to Eserites. Conflicts of interest are, but as long as you’re not being sent on an anti-Guild operation, that shouldn’t be a factor.”

“I wouldn’t be, anyway,” she said. “Command probably wouldn’t try, and if they did I’d have to get myself exempted for exactly that reason.”

He nodded, then shrugged. “And you don’t owe dues as long as you’re not actually doing jobs, so… No, I don’t see this being a problem. I have to say, though, it’s a surprise. Even if I can see the reasoning, I would never have expected this.” He grinned. “Which was the point, right?”

Principia glanced to the side, out into the sanctuary. “Well, there was indeed a practical concern. I actually would really like to see Thumper try to get at me in here. But…I had other reasons, too.”

Darling watched her in silence for a moment as she gazed contemplatively at the temple space.

“She’s a good kid,” he said at last. “I had the opportunity to meet her a few months back. Actually…she asked about you.”

Prin’s eyes flicked back to his face, though her expression remained schooled and her voice cool. “Yeah? About what, specifically?”

“Just what I thought of you in general. I think she was trying to form an impression.”

“And what’d you tell her?”

“That I don’t like you,” he said frankly.

Principia blinked once, then burst into laughter. She quickly stifled it, easing backward so she was less visible from the sanctuary floor. “Ah, well, fair enough, I suppose. There’s a more pertinent question, anyhow: What did you think of her?”

He lifted his eyes to gaze abstractly over her head for a moment. “I think,” he said slowly, “she’s inherited her mother’s wits, but nobody’s taught her how to use them. She made quite a mess, to be frank; I saw a lot of really sharp tactics in pursuit of some really boneheaded strategy. No situational awareness or thought of consequences, but she thinks fast in the moment and stays focused on the job.”

Prin sighed softly, but nodded. “I guess that’s to be expected. Well. Arachne will straighten that out, if nothing else.”

“One almost feels sorry for the girl,” he intoned. Principia cracked a grin.

A short silence fell, in which he returned his gaze to hers.

“Well,” she said at last, “we have everything settled, then?”

“On the subject of conflicts of interest,” he began.

“Oh, no. I will not be helping the Guild to put one over on the Sisterhood, either. You may think of this as just another of my cons, Sweet, but I’ve made an actual commitment, here. Even if I were inclined to break it, which I am not, that would be rather dangerous.”

He held up a hand to forestall further rebuttal. “Peace, Keys. I was going to preface my remarks with exactly that. Understanding that you’re in an awkward position between two cults… The fact is—pending the Boss’s acceptance of your report, of course—you are still a Guild member. If you need help, you can still come to us.”

She smiled. “Duly noted, and appreciated.”

“All right, then, I guess I’d better get outta here before I burst into flames or something,” he said with an insouciant grin, straightening up and nodding to her. “Take care of yourself, Prin. Not that you need the encouragement, I bet.”

Principia watched him thoughtfully as he took four steps out into the sanctuary before calling after him. “Sweet.”

“Mm?” He turned, raising an eyebrow.

“What,” she asked slowly, “are you doing with the Crow?”

Darling raised his other eyebrow, evening them up. “Why, Prin, I should think you would know this better than most. You don’t do things with the Crow; she does things with you. Best you can do is hold on and try to benefit from the confusion, if you can. See you around.”

Prin stared silently after him as he strode out of the temple, then sighed softly and emerged herself, making for one of the rear exits. It was a roundabout path to her destination, but there really wasn’t a straight line between here and the Silver Legion grounds at the other end of the complex. Taking the rambling route through the temple was, to her mind, preferable to going out the front doors and walking around the entire thing.

“Private Locke,” a crisp voice addressed her as she neared the doors in the rear. Principia turned, beholding a fellow Legionnaire, also with a private’s insignia. Human, Tiraan, apparently quite young and quite unknown to her.

“Yes?” she said.

“I’ll need you to come with me,” the girl said, her tone rather cold.

“And you are?” she asked pointedly.

The other soldier frowned. “Private Covrin, personal aide to Bishop Syrinx. She wants to speak with you. Now.”

 

“Have a seat,” Basra Syrinx said in a mild tone as soon as the heavy door thudded shut behind Covrin.

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

Syrinx was standing with her back to Prin and the door, apparently studying the blank wall. “Sit down, private,” she said with a warning bite entering her voice.

The chamber, in one of the subterranean layers of the complex, was as small as the meeting rooms off the main sanctuary, and built to the same plan. It had a very solid wooden door, though, and no decorations. For furnishings, there were only a single fairy lamp with a conical shade hanging from the ceiling, and a battered wooden chair.

Principia obeyed, seating herself and keeping her posture fully erect, eyes forward.

“So you have a little chat with the Eserite, did you.”

She resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. A great deal of her time around this woman seemed to involve resisting various urges. “That is correct, your Grace.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing he did not already know, it seems. He only wanted to hear it from me and relay it to the Thieves’ Guild.”

“I did not ask your assessment, Private Locke, I asked for facts.”

Prin kept her breathing slow and even. She had been at this centuries, and so far, Syrinx wasn’t impressing her. “He wished to discuss the situation with Jeremiah Shook, who is currently wanted by the Thieves’ Guild for treason and mistreating a fellow Guild member, and by the Sisters of Avei for questioning with regard to threats of sexual assault.”

“In both cases, against you.”

“That is correct, your Grace.”

Syrinx finally turned around, glaring at her. “And you think it’s acceptable to discuss an ongoing investigation with a member of the Thieves’ Guild?”

“As I said, your Grace, nothing I told Bishop Darling was unknown to him in the first place. He only needed—”

“And did you know that going in?”

“I was reasonably sure of it.”

“You were reasonably sure.” Syrinx’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Do you even comprehend what a chain of command is, girl?”

“It has been explained to me, your Grace.”

“You watch that attitude,” the Bishop snapped. “Show me any further snark and you will be on your knees scrubbing every inch of this temple with a toothbrush, is that clear?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“On the chain of command, Locke, you rate somewhere between ‘stain on the drapes’ and ‘nonexistent.’ You are a menial private in a paltry fragment of a squad in a newly re-formed cohort. There is no living person in all the Sisterhood of Avei who possesses the slightest interest in your opinion. You do not make judgment calls. You don’t get to be ‘reasonably sure.’ You will ask for and wait for orders before taking any action, especially anything that involves another cult, and most especially the Thieves’ Guild. Do I make myself abundantly plain?”

“I understand my rank and duties, your Grace.”

Syrinx’s nostrils flared once. “That is perilously close to an evasion, private.”

“You are plain, your Grace.”

The Bishop stared at her, visibly pondering whether the implied double meaning had been deliberate. Principia gazed back, her expression perfectly neutral.

“Divided loyalties are not acceptable in the Silver Legions, Locke. Even the hint thereof is not to be tolerated. You enlisted with the understanding that, for the duration of your enlistment, you would belong to the Legions, and almost immediately we find you canoodling with your old cronies. This behavior requires urgently to be dealt with.”

“Could your Grace elucidate which regulation I have broken, specifically?”

“Be silent,” Syrinx said curtly. “You are henceforth to have no contact with the Guild or any of its members. Any violation of this order will result in your court martial. Is that understood?”

“I understand, your Grace.”

“And you will comply with this order?”

“No, your Grace.”

Basra’s eyes narrowed, but her lips curled up in a slight smile. “That is the wrong answer, Locke.”

“With respect, Bishop Syrinx, neither regulations nor the Legion’s code of conduct prohibits socializing with members of the Thieves’ Guild, and you do not have the authority to give that order.”

“What did you just say to me?” Syrinx asked very quietly.

Principia’s expression did not alter by a hair. “I understand the chain of command, your Grace. You are an ex-Legionnaire, honorably discharged with the rank of captain to pursue a vocation in the clergy. Currently you are attached to the Third Silver Legion in an advisory capacity. You are not in the chain of command.”

Basra’s expression had gone as blank as her own. “Do you think yourself clever, Locke?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“And yet, you run around with Eserites when you think no one is looking. Do you imagine you are the only one who can operate outside regulations?”

“I have not operated outside regulations, your Grace.”

Syrinx leaned forward, smiling grimly down at her. “I think, private, you may find yourself astonished to learn what you have done when the list of charges is read at your court martial. You’ve been busy for a very long time casting dark aspersions on your own character; something very damaging will stick to you, and without difficulty. If you wish to avoid this outcome, I had better start seeing some compliance.”

“I am willing to accept that outcome, your Grace,” Principia said calmly.

“Really,” Basra replied. “I think you fail to comprehend what you are playing with, Locke. The forces moving in this city would crush the likes of you without even noticing the smudge you would make on the cobblestones. Perhaps you’ll change your mind after you’ve experienced a taste of the suffering you are calling down on your head with these…interfaith dalliances of yours. I can be patient. Can you?”

Principia met her eyes coolly. “I can be patient longer than you can be alive. Your Grace.”

The silent staring contest which followed that was interrupted by the abrupt opening of the door.

“Don’t you knock?” Syrinx snapped, straightening up and glaring at the intruder.

Captain Dijanerad gave her an even look while Principia hopped to her feet and saluted.

“It’s a courtesy, sure, but I’m not obligated to knock when walking in on my subordinates.”

“I am not your subordinate, Captain,” Syrinx said icily.

“That’s correct,” Dijanerad shot back. “Nor are you my superior, Basra. I realize the…unconventional nature of your relationship to my cohort muddles things somewhat, but if I ever again find you taking it upon yourself to question or discipline one of my soldiers without involving me, you and I will be having a long discussion with High Commander Rouvad about the chain of command.”

“Are you threatening me, Shahdi?” Basra asked, very slowly raising an eyebrow.

“No, Basra, I am stating facts.” Dijanerad stared flatly into her eyes. “A threat sounds very different. For instance: I am aware of the runs of ill luck which have befallen those who’ve impeded your ambitions in the past. If I start seeing any such materializing among my troops, you will find you are not the only one who can make accidents happen.”

“No part of that was a wise thing to say, Captain.”

“No part of this was a wise thing to do, your Grace.. Locke, out.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Principia said smartly, and ducked through the door before Basra could say anything.

She expected the Captain to remain and continue her verbal sparring with the Bishop, but Dijanerad stepped out after her, slamming the door, and set off down the hall. Principia followed.

“I am aware of your history, Locke,” Dijanerad said as they strode briskly toward the stairwell. It was a bit of a hike; the Bishop had chosen a very out-of-the-way spot to conduct her interrogation, which raised interesting questions about how the Captain had found them so fast. “At least, as much of it as the Sisters know. It’s enough to tell me what you’re thinking now. Don’t do it.”

“Ma’am?” Principia said carefully.

“I have no doubt,” the Captain said, keeping her eyes ahead, “you could engage Basra Syrinx in a battle of wits and manipulations, and quite frankly I think you could wipe the floor with her. I forbid you to do so. The Legion and the Sisterhood cannot afford to have its members at each other’s throats. This is why we have a chain of command, and you will respect it. Is that clear, Locke?”

“Yes, ma’am. Permission to speak freely?”

“Denied,” she snapped. “I’ll say it again, Locke: you let me handle this. If you have any further trouble with Syrinx or anyone else, of any kind, you will report it to me and I will deal with it according to the Legion’s code. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“With that established, you’ve acted properly so far, private. Keep it up.”

“Yes, Captain.”

She was far too versed in control to let slip her feelings, but Principia experienced the first real worry she’d felt so far this evening. Basra she could deal with, and probably Squad Thirteen; protecting Captain Dijanerad as well was going to prove challenging.

 

“Covrin,” Farah snarled, smacking her spoon down on the table. “That smug, smirking little lizard!”

“I’ve never seen a lizard smirk,” Principia noted mildly, taking a bite of stew.

“Well, she manages. That rotten, devious, nasty little bi—”

Ephanie cleared her throat loudly. “Gendered insults are against the code of conduct, Farah.”

“Jenell Covrin was in our training battalion,” Casey said much more quietly. “Daughter of some colonel in the Army. Her hobbies are sucking up to authorities and picking on anybody she can get away with.”

“Really?” Principia mused, eyes on her bowl of stew. “That’s odd. We had a couple of those in my battalion, but not after the first two weeks. The DS either beat that out of them or beat them out of the camp.”

“Yeah, well, matters are different when you have Bishop bloody Syrinx looking over your shoulder,” Farah growled. “Meddling in the training, blatantly favoring the little twa—” Ephanie coughed sharply, again, and Farah whirled on her. “Oh, come off it! The stick up your—”

“Hey!” Prin snapped. “Don’t take it out on her; she’s trying to help you not bring trouble down on your own head.”

Farah flushed, lowering her eyes. “Right. You’re right. Sorry, Avelea.”

“No harm,” Ephanie said noncommittally, picking up her own spoon.

“So,” Merry said dryly, “I take it you and this Covrin were the best of chums in basic.”

Farah growled wordlessly and crammed a spoonful of stew into her face, chomping as if envisioning Jenell Covrin between her teeth.

The soldiers in the mess hall were seated by squad, which left Squad Thirteen painfully isolated at their overlarge table. They had naturally gravitated together at one end; there was no real privacy, but they were at least left alone. In fact, it was harder to get the attention of their fellow soldiers than to avoid it. Whether it was a rumor going around or just natural assumptions based on their situation, Squad Thirteen were generally treated as if they had something contagious. Disfavor with command could be, in truth.

“I think,” Principia mused, “it might be smart if we make an effort not to be found alone like I was today. Even when off duty. Syrinx can separate us easily, sure, but that’ll leave the other member of a pair to fetch the Captain.”

“You keep going on about this,” Merry said, pointing her spoon at Prin. “Syrinx is after all of us. That’s one theory, sure, but let me just note that so far all we’ve seen her do is go after you, and get us caught up in your drama.”

Principia shook her head. “I’ve got nothing she would need. It doesn’t make sense for me to be the target of this kind of interest.”

“Connections in the Thieves’ Guild?” Casey suggested. “If this is going to be the politics cohort, that could be very valuable.”

“I am unequivocally not betraying either cult to the other,” Prin said firmly. “In fact, the regulations are on my side, there. If the cohort is up to anything that involves acting against the Guild, I’d be automatically recused from duty.”

“That’s correct, you would,” Ephanie agreed. “In fact, there are all sorts in the Silver Legions. Regulations and admittance standards don’t even require us to be Avenists, though most are, of course. We just have to conform to a basic standard of behavior that won’t offend the Sisterhood.”

Farah muttered something about gendered insults and had another unnecessarily savage bite of stew.

“So,” Principia continued, “I am not what Syrinx wants. I’m a means, not the end.”

“You sound awfully certain for somebody who admittedly knows no more than we do,” Merry said.

“I know a lot more than you do,” Prin replied with a grin. “Not about Basra Syrinx in particular, but about politics and schemes. I have been interrogated by some of the best, and let me tell you, Basra’s effort was ham-fisted, sloppy and unfocused. Hell, she outright said some things that would get her slapped down by the High Commander if I reported them. Of course, it’d be her word against mine and I wouldn’t win that, but still. It’s not a smart move for someone up to shenanigans.”

“Good,” Farah snorted. “Let her bumble around. Less trouble for us.”

“You’re not listening,” Principia said patiently. “This is the Sisterhood’s go-to politician, the one who handles their dealings with the Universal Church and the other cults, and who was tapped for this program to teach Legionnaires to move in those same currents. It makes no sense that she’d be this clumsy. No…this is not her game. It’s just the opening moves. In fact, it is probably some kind of misdirection; that’s the most likely explanation for her acting out of character and below her actual level of competence. I can’t see what she’s up to, yet, but I know we’ve only glimpsed the barest fraction of it.”

“Wonderful,” Ephanie said with a sigh.

Casey was staring at her bowl, not eating.

“Elwick?” Prin said gently. “Anything to add?”

“No,” Casey mumbled. “Just…be careful, Locke. Please. Basra is… She’s dangerous.”

“We’re all dangerous,” Prin replied, smiling grimly. “Some more than others.”

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“Well. It seems they’ll invite just anyone to these events. Poor General Panissar; he must be completely out of friends if he has to stuff the guest list with wharf rats.”

Ruda took her time savoring a sip of champagne before turning slowly to regard the speaker. A young woman in a daringly low-cut gown that glittered with iridescent charms stood a few steps from her, smirking over a lavishly embroidered court fan. Two more stood behind her on both sides, wearing similarly smug expressions.

“Um, I think you’re confused,” Fross noted. “This is Princess Zaruda. Not someone you should be rude to.”

“Princess, oh, but of course,” the girl tittered, fluttering her fan. “I guess in a small enough pond, the wartiest frog is the queen. So, is this what they’re wearing in Puna Dara this season?” She made a languid up-and-down gesture with her fan, indicating Ruda’s outfit. “My, that’s quite a step up from the traditional used sail canvas and fish scales. How many merchants did you have to rob to afford that coat, dear?”

Fross fluttered down to hover next to Ruda’s ear. “I think this girl may be touched in the head,” she whispered, sort of. She had mastered the breathy intonation of a whisper, but apparently not learned how to speak more quietly.

“Nah, this is a social game,” Ruda said. “Making backhanded insinuations and snippy remarks cloaked behind pretty words, trying to pull down my character. It’s how people try to assert dominance when they don’t actually have any.”

“Ooh, what a wicked little tongue you have,” the young lady said, her smirk widening. “The other scullery maids must be absolutely terrified of you.”

“Must say, I’m intrigued to see this in practice,” Ruda said mildly. “We Punaji prefer a more direct approach. For example.” Grasping her sheathed rapier in her left hand, she jerked it upward, causing it to slide out of the scabbard, then pinched the leather sheath so that the sword was trapped half out. Its glittering hilt stayed just below her eye level, held up like a scepter. “Bitch, my jewels cost ten times what yours did, and I can kill you with them. Now fuck off, you underdressed, overweening speck.”

“Bark louder,” the girl sneered. “Maybe the other dogs—”

“Why, Miss Covrin, how lovely to see you out and about!” Bishop Darling said pleasantly, oozing out from behind Ruda. “And congratulations on the outcome of your recent pregnancy scare. I’m sure all of Tiraas shares your relief that you haven’t managed to accidentally reproduce.”

The girl went dead white, her fan falling still. Her two companions both gasped softly, turning shocked gazes upon her from behind.

“Oh,” said Darling, wincing, “I’m sorry, was that meant to be a secret? I always forget these little details.”

Miss Covrin whirled and flounced rapidly away, trailing her little entourage. Darling grinned savagely after her; Ruda grunted, let her sword slide fully back into its sheath and delicately sipped at her drink.

“Okay, I am so lost,” Fross complained. “What was that about? Did you know that girl? She seemed really mad at you.”

“Never saw her before,” Ruda said idly, taking another dainty sip.

“Then why was she being so mean? It makes no sense! You’re way more important than her and there was no reason for her to act like that! And why are you drinking that so slowly? I’ve seen you go through bottles faster than the amount of time you’ve had that glass.”

“Effervescent wines, Fross my dear, are an experience. They are to be savored, one sip at a time.”

“Why?”

Ruda sipped her champagne. “Because if you drink ’em too fast, you get the burps.”

“And as for your other question,” Darling remarked, turning his disarming smile on the pixie, “some folks mistakenly believe that socializing is a zero-sum game. They think they have to tear somebody down in order to build themselves up.”

“And…that’s not true?”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “In certain, specific situations, it can be. As a general rule, though, you get better results being nice to people.”

“See, that’s what I think,” the pixie agreed bobbing enthusiastically. “Oh, hey, Trissiny’s back!”

The paladin strode toward them, exhibiting barely-held restraint; her stride was just short of stomping, her face scarcely less than a glare.

“I’d ask how your conversation went,” Ruda said dryly, “but, well…look at you.”

“He’s not going to do anything,” Trissiny said tightly, coming to a stop next to them. Unconsciously, she rested her left hand on her sword, thumb caressing its pommel. “Oh, he didn’t come out and say so, but all he did give me was a speech about restraint and subtlety. I know by now when I’m getting the runaround from a bureaucrat.”

Bishop Darling burst out laughing.

Trissiny stared at him in silence for a moment, her expression deteriorating further. “I’m glad I amuse, your Grace.”

“Sorry!” he wheezed. “I’m sorry, but… You just called Toman Panissar a bureaucrat. If you knew the man at all, General, you’d realize just what a grand joke that is.”

“Oh?”

“General Panissar isn’t likely to tell you his plans under any circumstances; the world typically finds out what he intends to do after he’s done it. If he gave you a speech about restraint, well… That sounds to me less like a man declaring his intentions and more like a seasoned commander taking the opportunity to offer some advice to a less experienced one. What’s all this about, if I may ask?”

Trissiny pursed her lips for a moment before replying. “Trouble in Lor’naris. Some of his soldiers have been hassling the residents.”

“Ah, yes. That.” Darling nodded. “I begin to see why the talk of restraint. It’s good of you to take an interest, Ms. Avelea, but the Lorisians can usually handle their own affairs.”

“You know about this?” she demanded, her eyebrows rising.

“It’s been going on for a while. A number of people aren’t happy about having a district full of drow right here in Tiraas; some of them happen to wear uniforms. Like I said, the matter has never gotten out of hand.”

“Well, it’s beginning to,” she said sharply. “I personally saw soldiers of the city guard attempt to arrest several citizens on entirely trumped-up charges. If I hadn’t been there to put a stop to it, who knows how this might have escalated?”

Darling’s expression sobered in an instant. “Now that…is troubling. Not least because I hadn’t heard word of it.” He glanced around at the party-goers. Most of them were trying to be subtle about it at this point, but a lot of the nearby eyes were on their group, nakedly speculating. “I wonder if I could borrow you for a little bit, General?”

Trissiny hesitated, glancing at Ruda.

“Hell yes, go have a chat with him,” the pirate said. “This guy’s sharp. And if you didn’t get anywhere with Panissar, maybe you could use the extra help.”

“All right,” Trissiny said, nodding to Darling.

“Splendid! The General has the dullest, most unimaginative gardens in the entire city. Shall we go have a look?”

Ruda sipped at her champagne, watching them leave.

“Is…that gonna help at all?” Fross asked uncertainly. “That’s a priest, right? He can’t do much about misbehaving soldiers…”

“Could do. That’s a priest of Eserion, specifically; they’re crafty. To be frank, that’s exactly what Triss needs if she insists on getting involved in this. More confrontation will only make it worse; a little craftiness might be just the thing.”

That was as far as she got before another knot of young women manifested seemingly from thin air around her, these far more friendly than the last group had been.

“Princess Zaruda, it’s an honor to meet you,” one said, curtsying deeply. “I am Lady Laila Falsravi. Welcome to our city!”

“Glad to know you,” Ruda replied, nodding in return. “So far I like what I see.”

“I hope we’re not intruding,” another young woman said, her expression both eager and uncertain, “but, well… We just had to ask you.”

“You can ask me anything, girls,” Ruda said with a beatific smile. “I reserve the right not to answer, but I don’t stab people for curiosity.”

“Well…” Lady Laila bit her lip nervously before bursting out. “Is that really the Hand of Avei?”

As if her question had burst a dam, the others began talking over each other in their enthusiasm.

“Are you actually her roommate?”

“What’s she like?!”

“Have you seen her fight?”

“Is she single?”

After that last, they dissolved into giggles, then expectant stares, waiting avidly for her to reply.

Ruda closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, then tilted her head back, draining her glass in one go.

 

“The best part,” Shaeine mused, “is how worried she was about the reception of polite society.”

“Well, that’s a fair concern, but not at this party of all places,” Mrs. Khalinar said with a smile. “Oh, I’m sure there are some crusty traditionalists in the audience who are just seething, but remember, this is General Panissar’s party. At least half those present are officers in the Army and their families. None of us will give either of you so much as a cross look, and the rest have better sense than to start trouble in a large room full of Avenists.”

“And quite a few of us are relatively accustomed to drow,” added Lady Ashravi. “None of our husbands attained the rank they have without having been posted at Fort Vaspian for at least a while.”

“Look how well she’s fitting in,” Mrs. Khalinar added wryly.

A few feet away, a knot of men of varying ages, wearing a mix of Army uniforms and formal evening wear, stood around Teal. A couple of them had female escorts at hand, who were pretending with varying degrees of enthusiasm to be interested in the conversation.

“I get what you mean,” a young man with a sergeant’s stripes was saying, “but it’s old-fashioned thinking! The advances in golem logic controllers have changed the whole game. All-wheel drive tied to a central spell network is going to revolutionize the carriage industry.”

“’Revolutionize’ is a pretty strong term,” Teal replied animatedly. “Yes, the new spell lattices have a lot of potential, but just because an enchantment is new doesn’t mean it’s better, or that it’s useful in all situations. There’s a very good reason no modern carriage maker uses centralized control for wheel enchantments.”

“Yeah, of course, it was less efficient than having four separate wheel enchantments, but that was before there were logic controllers sophisticated enough to make use of the system! I’m talking about active traction control, terrain adaptation…”

“All very nice,” she retorted, “but none of that has proven to be at all useful in actual, on-the-road trials. The separate wheel enchantments are designed for stable, mutual interaction anyway, and the existing systems have not been improved on. We’ve tested our newest lines against those clunkers put out by DawnCo, and in every single case, Falconer carriages outperformed them in adverse road conditions. With independent wheel controllers.”

“Yes, we’ve all heard about the famous trials,” an older man said with a grin. “DawnCo argues pretty vehemently with the results.”

“Yes, we smoke their carriages in tests before an independent panel, and they want to quibble about the results,” Teal said, grinning. “Shocking.”

“Welcome to the ranks of the carriage widows, dear,” Mrs. Khalinar said resignedly. Lady Ashravi laughed.

“I almost hate to spoil their fun,” Shaeine said. “How do you pull them away?”

“My experience has been that it’s easiest to let them work it out on their own,” Lady Ashravi said, watching her husband with an indulgent smile.

“Mm. We do things a little differently in Tar’naris. Please excuse me, ladies.” Shaeine bowed to them, then glided over to the other group.

Teal was just winding up another enthusiastic anecdote about carriage stability when Shaeine placed a hand on her arm. She broke off, looking at her date in surprise.

“Teal,” Shaeine said, “they have just begun playing a waltz.”

“Oh! Um, I…”

“Dance with me,” the drow ordered, gently pulling her away. Teal allowed herself to be tugged onto the dance floor, looking dazed and a little uncertain, but very quickly turned her full focus onto her partner as Shaeine expertly guided them into the steps.

“Well,” Mrs. Khalinar marveled. “Do you think that’d work?”

“I see only one way to find out,” Lady Ashravi replied with a grin.

“You’re troubled,” Shaeine murmured.

“I…cannot remember the last time I was less troubled,” Teal replied just as quietly, smiling down at her.

“That may be,” the drow said, smiling back, “but it’s still a less than perfect moment. You are tense.”

“I’m… I’ve never done anything this brazen.” She glanced around furtively at the other dancing couples. They had maneuvered near the middle of the floor; nobody nearby was even looking in their direction. “I feel like every eye in the room is on me. Knowing that’s completely irrational doesn’t change it.”

“You are concerned about word getting back to your parents?”

“Hardly,” she said rolling her eyes. “They take pride in refusing to follow gossip. I’m sure somebody will try to carry tales of this back to them, and they’ll brush it off, if they even hear it at all.”

“It is a general concern, then.”

Teal sighed softly. “I’m sorry, love. I don’t mean to spoil anything… And you! You dance beautifully. When did you learn to waltz?”

“I was trained for most of the likely social situations a diplomat to Tiraas could expect to encounter,” Shaeine replied with one of her mysterious smiles. “The hard part was acclimating myself to the expectation that the man would lead.”

Teal grinned. “Then…you’re not concerned about your mother hearing about this?”

“I have no doubt that she will. And I have no reason to think she does not trust my judgment. The nature of House Awarrion being what it is, fraternizing with humans is not discouraged. That is why there are relatively few from my House living in Lor’naris; they were never made unwelcome at home. Those who have come here did so presumably to be close to the families of their human partners.”

Teal nodded, bit her lip, and glanced around again.

“Teal,” Shaeine said gently. She lifted her hand from the taller girl’s waist and reached up to touch her cheek. “The fear is not real. The other people are not real. Nothing is real but you, me and the music.” She murmured on, her garnet eyes staring up with arresting intensity. “The world will wait. Right now, at this moment, you are only mine.”

Teal held her gaze in silence, in something very like awe, for several seconds, before the tension began to seep out of her frame. Her steps grew more fluid, and she smiled softly, replying in elvish.

“Ala’thai saue.”

“And I you.”

 

“Please don’t think me impertinent,” said Darling, “but I wonder if I could prevail upon you to recount the details of your brush with the soldiers? The exact sequence of events, as you’d put it in an official report.”

Trissiny frowned, but responded, keeping her eyes on the path ahead. The garden was dim, its fairy lamps fewer than those illuminating the front of the manor, but not truly dark. “I saw soldiers squaring off against civilians at the mouth of the district and went to investigate. The men were verbally accosting four members of the Lor’naris neighborhood watch, who were refusing to rise to the bait. I asked the sergeant’s name and that of his commander, he ordered his men to arrest everyone present, I revealed my identity, repeated my request and then directed the soldiers to leave. They did without further protest.”

“Hm,” said the Bishop thoughtfully. “Then you weren’t in armor at the time?”

“No. I was trying to avoid needless attention.”

“I see.” He nodded slowly. “So to review… It was more of the same that the Lorisians are accustomed to dealing with, and they were gently talking down their harassers as usual. Then you arrived, as far as anyone could tell, just some random girl. You started giving orders, the soldiers responded to that pretty much as any soldiers would… And that is when things began to go south. Yes?”

“Are you saying this is my fault?” she demanded, her voice rising an octave.

“Whoah!” Darling held up his hands. “Fault isn’t even a relevant concept here. I know what those men have been doing around that district and how the watch have been handling them. I know you aren’t likely to have done anything illegal or inappropriately aggressive, so yeah, that leaves the guard’s attempt to arrest everyone a pretty blatant abuse of authority. To answer your question, though… Maybe it would be wise for you to consider how your own actions have added to this.”

Trissiny pressed her lips into an angry line, glaring at the path ahead.

“Let me put it in military terms,” Darling said more gently. “You wouldn’t want to commit your forces to a charge without doing some reconnaissance first, right?”

“Fair enough,” she said grudgingly. “But I don’t know what else you think I should have done.”

“You’re not on trial here,” he replied. “Once again, it’s fairly obvious who’s been acting inappropriately. The question, now, is what to do about it. I think the General was right to remind you of caution. This is a tense thing; you’re dealing with groups of people who are in fairly intractable positions. The folk of Lor’naris are defending what’s theirs, what they have built up with their own hands and have the perfect right to take pride in. The guards, on the other hand, haven’t a moral prerogative here, but their specific motivations are exactly the kind of thing that makes people stubborn and unbending. The rock and the hard place; unstoppable force and immovable object.”

“Yes, I know,” she said in exasperation. “What’s important is that a direct confrontation between these parties be avoided. So everyone keeps telling me, as if I hadn’t the wit to see that for myself at a glance. The question is how?!”

“Exactly,” he nodded. “This is the time for some careful maneuvering behind the scenes.”

“Hn,” she grunted. “That’s exactly how I’d expect an Eserite to address a problem.”

“Oh, are we playing that game?” he replied wryly. “Very well. You Avenists love to talk about the art of war being applicable in any situation, which sounds impressive and all, but in practice it tends to mean that you approach every problem like a fight. Fighting, in this case, is exactly what no one should be doing. Look, the people in that district can take care of themselves and have spent years proving it. They’re pretty much the most competent, self-reliant group of folk in this city. Lorisians are a lot like frontier pioneers, but with a lot of hard-earned expertise at navigating the social and legal currents of the city. They can handle this.”

“So you just want to abandon them to it?” she demanded. “Let a corrupt unit of the city guard operate without repercussions?”

“No, no,” he said firmly. “I mean that any solution should not take the form of an avenging hero descending from on high to rescue them from their tribulations. In the best case scenario, that’ll leave the folk in that district deeply suspicious of guards and civil authorities, and the soldiers in the city—all of them, not just the offending barracks—deeply resentful of Lor’naris. It’s a recipe for inevitable trouble down the line. No…this calls for careful action.”

“Of what kind?”

“You’re not gonna like hearing this…” he said with a wince.

“To be perfectly frank, Bishop Darling, I didn’t come to this ridiculous party expecting to like anything I encountered.”

Darling’s lips twitched with repressed mirth. “Very well, then. For now, I advise you step back and let people who are in a position to gather information do so. I’m guessing Panissar said he would be following up on this? Quietly, in his own way?”

“That’s…pretty much exactly what he said,” she admitted.

He nodded. “I’ll do the same. And I can involve others; a number of the cults have interests in Lor’naris, including mine. Those that won’t talk to me directly I can reach via the Church. There’s also Ambassador Shariss, who can make inquiries and draw official attention if necessary. I, for my part, will be sending some people I trust to gather information for me in the district.”

“At the expense of igniting another interfaith tiff,” she said stiffly, “I don’t see how sending thieves to poke around will create less tension.”

“Not official Guild agents,” he said with a grin. “You’re right, that’d only ratchet up the stakes. That’s why I won’t be sticking my own personal nose into it, even though I’m fairly well liked around there. No, there are plenty of folk in Lor’naris itself who’ll be glad to bring me intelligence if I ask for it. I may just have my apprentices pop by the local inns for a drink now and again; they can be trusted to take more direct action, if needed, without officially involving the Guild. Apprentices are always rushing off and getting into trouble, you know how it is.”

“I certainly do not,” she said, twisting her lips disdainfully. “Cadets in the Legion do as they’re told, or they don’t last long.”

Darling chuckled. “Well, my point is, no one is going to ignore this. But for now, let’s have the action be of a fairly hands-off variety, yes? At least until we know more.”

“And then?”

“And then,” he said, “when it’s apparent what the situation is, we act gently to encourage the guards to lighten up. It may be as simple as reassigning the commander of that barracks; some firmer pressure might be needed in a few places. Or, hell, the whole thing might just up and go away on its own, if nobody stirs the pot. We’ll have to see. But in the meantime, with all due respect, I really don’t think that the Hand of Avei swaggering around barking orders will calm things down any.”

“I neither swagger nor bark,” she said stiffly. “But…I take your point. We may not be in the city for long, anyway.”

“Far be it from me to inquire into the great and mysterious Professor Tellwyrn’s plans…”

“I’ve learned there’s not much point,” she groused.

Darling grinned. “But as long as you are still in the city, I’ll see to it you’re included in anything that’s decided, provided you’re careful and don’t escalate this any further. Fair?”

“Fair enough,” she said grudgingly, nodding.

“Smashing! Then perhaps we’d best rejoin the party, before rumors about us begin to circulate!”

Trissiny sighed heavily. “Great.”

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