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“Ravana! We need more power crystals!”
Fortunately, Fross’s sudden entrance occurred after the discussion had mostly wrapped and the group in the solarium had begun to break up. Ephanie and McGraw had already arrived, summoned by Yancey at Trissiny’s request, and Szith had come with them, the two soldiers having apparently been sparring. Now the several separate conversations into which the sunroom had fallen came to a halt as everyone turned to stare at the pixie.
“Really?” Ravana asked pointedly. “I am the last person to object to more firepower in principle, Fross, but as of the last report I had, the problem was not capacity, but stability.”
“Yes! That! Exactly!” Fross punctuated her excited words by bobbing up and down in the air and emitting melodic chimes. “The whole system is designed to facilitate maximum output but we’re having a heck of a time getting the current steadied enough that it doesn’t blow out all the conduits. See, we’re using those huge power crystals designed for Imperial mag cannons—”
“How did you get those?!” Trissiny demanded, and was ignored.
“—and they’re meant to produce short but intense discharges, not the steadier current we need, and also they’re not built to be linked together. Really, something like this needs its own customized power source, but designing properly calibrated crystals would be an R&D project of months and we don’t have that, so it’s a matter of overcoming the complications caused by working with repurposed components! Anyway, Maureen had the idea to swap out several of the cannon power crystals with the kind used for zeppelin thrusters—also high-power, but meant for longer-term, steadier usage. Billie thinks the resulting loss of firepower should be negligible, assuming we can integrate the two power sources properly, and if it works it should do a lot to stabilize the power network!”
“I see,” Ravana replied gravely. “Very well, then. Zeppelin thrusters? FI manufactures those, I believe. Yancey, please join Fross and the others at the project site to ascertain their exact needs, and then reach out to Geoffrey and Marguerite. Spare no expense.”
“My lady,” he said, bowing, then turned and glided after the excitedly chiming pixie, who had already shot back out through the door.
“Trissiny,” Natchua said quietly just as the paladin herself was turning toward Ephanie. “A word? In private.”
Trissiny hesitated, furrowing her brow. “What’s up, Natchua? We were just about to move out.”
“Sorry, it shouldn’t take but a minute.” She glanced sidelong at Embras Mogul, who was lurking near the door; he grinned at her. “This was the other half of the reason I brought…him. In light of Ravana’s big idea, it suddenly seems more important.”
Trissiny shot a displeased look at Mogul, tightening her jaw, but nodded. “Very well, I suppose it can’t hurt to hear you out. If he’s involved, though, I can’t promise to like it.”
“I didn’t,” Natchua agreed, grimacing. “But…there’s sense in it.”
“Sorry,” Trissiny said to Ephanie and McGraw. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”
“We promise not to start withoutcha, boss lady,” he said, tipping his hat.
“Szith,” Ephanie said quietly a moment later when Trissiny had followed Natchua and Embras out into the hall, “please tell me if this is awkward, or…too personal. I don’t mean to put you on the spot.”
“By asking first, you’re doing better than most Imperials,” Szith said with a ghost of a smile. “We Narisians do have different ideas concerning privacy, but I promise I shall take no offense at the question itself.”
“I know you’re a classmate of General Avelea’s.” Ephanie tilted her head toward the door momentarily. “I feel silly asking this, but…what is she like?”
“In…what sense?” Szith asked carefully.
“I’m not even sure I know,” Ephanie muttered. “It’s…complicated. On one level, there’s a very refreshing lack of ambiguity. She’s a senior officer, top of the chain. I know what to do with one of those.”
Szith nodded in immediate understanding.
“But she’s… Well, there’s her relationship with Locke, which is…complicated. Everything around Locke is complicated and this is additionally complicated once removed. Plus, the…paladin thing.”
“I fear I am ill-equipped to understand that,” Szith admitted. “We do not have paladins in Tar’naris. At Last Rock I am aware of all of them, as… Perhaps equals would be overstating it, but all three seem very down to earth.”
“I guess that’s my answer,” Ephanie murmured, frowning. “I was at Puna Dara when… I mean, I got to know the other two, the boys. Yeah, they’re good lads. But then she showed up, just… Exactly like a figure out of a story. Charging out of the storm with those wings up and…”
“Well,” Szith said with a faint smile, “Trissiny and I are not close, but with all due respect to your chain of command, I think you would find her rather personable, if not for the distance of rank. I do understand, though. Your relative positions are…both complex, and intimidating. And there is something about a woman with a commanding aura and a sword.”
Ephanie glanced at her. “If you do say so yourself.”
“There are several to whom the description may apply,” the drow said innocently.
Ephanie’s pale complexion made even her very faint blush stand out vividly.
McGraw had already casually wandered a couple of yards distant and turned his back, busying himself by fishing a cigarillo out of the slim case he always carried, though he did not light it up in Ravana’s solarium.
“General,” Ephanie said quickly as Trissiny strode back in, wearing a scowl. “Trouble?”
“I…no,” the paladin replied, shaking her head slowly. “No, just…complication. Ever heard something that made perfect sense and sounded reasonable but still made you instinctively recoil?”
“Vividly and often, ma’am. I work for Principia Locke.”
Trissiny gave her a fleeting smile, but her expression quickly sobered. “Natchua’s just returned home to Veilgrad. Mogul…will be enjoying Ravana’s hospitality for a while longer, as discussed. Lieutenant…”
“I’ll keep an eye out, ma’am,” Ephanie said in a low voice. “My ability to intervene may be limited, but…”
“I don’t want you tangling with that man,” Trissiny warned. “It is in no way belittling your capability to say that he is above your pay grade. There are likely to be some generally weird goings-on around here, and Ravana…may very well be the source of them rather than the victim. But I’m coming to realize that she needs the support of friends more than castigation.”
“Specifically,” Szith clarified, “friends who will not hesitate to argue with her. Yes, we figured that out fairly early in our first semester.”
“Good,” Trissiny said, smiling. “I’m glad you two are hitting it off. If anything…untoward goes down and your team aren’t accessible, get Szith or Iris. They can support or interfere with Ravana as the situation requires.”
“But not Scorn,” Szith added. “She’s an enabler.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ephanie said warily.
“All right, Elias, sorry to keep you waiting,” Trissiny said in a more brisk tone, turning to face the old mage. “Let’s move out.”
“Not to worry, ma’am,” he replied, grinning and tucking away his cigarillo. “Keepin’ people waiting is one o’ the perks of bein’ in charge. Off we go, then!”
With a short glimmer of blue light and a sharp snap of displaced air, they were both gone.
When she shadow-jumped right into their midst, Hesthri jerked in startlement, then a tiny frown tightened her eyes in annoyance at herself for still not being used to that, which Natchua couldn’t help but find adorable. Jonathan turned smoothly to face her, surprised by nothing and smiling at the sight of her, which never failed to make her feel warm inside. As one, both stepped forward with arms open, and she moved immediately into the double hug.
“That bad, huh?” Jonathan asked as she slumped against them with a muffled groan.
“Not…really. I’m just indulging in a little melodrama, you know how I like that. Least I managed to ditch Mogul; he’s Ravana’s problem for the rest of the day. How’s everything here?”
“It’s been calm,” he said, stroking her hair once. “We’re keeping an eye on things, obviously, but so far the city doesn’t seem about to explode. Tensions are high, but people around here are able to manage themselves.”
“It helps that Justinian has a lack of loyalists in Veilgrad,” Hesthri added, “and even those who’re irate at the revelations about the Empire’s involvement with the Tiraas incident are minding their manners. Going out of their way at their demonstrations not to seem like they’re siding with the Church.”
Natchua pulled back just enough to look at their faces. “You’ve kept well-informed.”
“Credit to Mel for that,” he said, grinning. “It’s only fair, and also let’s not have her slinking around feeling slighted.”
“You people keep tiptoeing around like I’m going to start murdering everybody in their beds if I get bored,” Melaxyna huffed. “That’s the other one. Some of us have coping skills.”
“Oh, please,” Kheshiri scoffed. “I’m twice the—”
“Hush,” Natchua barked, stepping fully away from the embrace. “Knowing what succubi are like and accommodating your needs are about more than just keeping you two out of trouble. Or would you prefer it if we let you get bored?”
“I really can’t see that happening around you, mistress,” Kheshiri simpered.
“You button it. Go on, Mel, anything else from the city?”
“Hes covered the situation in the city pretty well. I’ve also checked in with Lars and Malivette, who appreciates you seeking input before doing anything. She didn’t add ‘for once,’ but the absence of it was very loud.”
“I’d accuse you of adding that gratuitously, but it’s way too easy to hear Malivette doing it,” Natchua grunted.
Melaxyna grinned. “Yes, well, her Grace the Duchess Dufresne courteously requests that you keep yourself out of any public demonstrations until things in the city calm down, and if approached by reporters, confine your statements to platitudes about staying the course and such.”
“When approached by reporters,” Jonathan corrected. “There’ve been three at the manor gates just in the couple of hours you were gone. I don’t think they actually believed you were out, but whether they did or not, you know they’ll just keep coming back.”
“Ugh, was it that fool with the hat?”
“No, but the young lady from Stavulheim was one of them,” Hesthri said. “You like her, right?”
“All right, thanks for keeping on that, Mel. I’ll handle them as gently as possible. Now then! Kheshiri, what the hell are you doing here? I gave you a job!”
“And I’ve done it!” Kheshiri chirped, beaming.
Natchua paused, then narrowed her eyes. “Bullshit. That fast? There’s no way…”
“Why, mistress, if you don’t want things accomplished perfectly with preternatural speed, what’s the point of employing the best in the world?”
“How did you manage to rumble spies that quickly?”
“Okay, presentation aside, I should add a few qualifiers,” Kheshiri admitted, her expression growing more serious. “I rumbled a spy. For a group that size, one seems about right, but I can’t yet rule out the presence of others. At this point it’s a matter of clearing the rest individually, which will take more time. And also, while I am amazingly good—seriously, just the best imaginable—in this case who I’m dealing with was a factor. These Narisians are more sneaky than surface elves, but their background works against them here. They have highly acute senses and a cultural imperative toward discretion, and being surrounded by humans with neither, they seem to think that’s enough. Which tells me we’re not dealing with professional spies, here.”
“It’s an open question whether the Confederacy even has any of those,” Jonathan commented. “It would only be the Narisians, if so.”
“How, specifically, did you identify the agent?” Natchua asked impatiently. “And who is it?”
“Nimin din Afreth yed Dalmiss. Which I believe makes him a cousin of yours?”
“Never heard of him, and Houses don’t work that way. Get on with it.”
“So,” Kherhiri said with mischievous relish, “these elves, like most elves, tend to think themselves invulnerable to stealth, blissfully unaware of the invisible onlooker who knew how to defeat those ears before any of them were born. It wasn’t even that hard, mistress, I simply had to evade them while they cycled in and out of the temporary housing they’re set up in while they go to and from the government offices—Imperial immigration paperwork is so helpfully time-consuming. It’s almost disappointingly prosaic, but I just rifled their belongings. Hardly took any time at all, they have barely anything to their names. And our boy Nimin, in particular, has a two-way communication device. That by itself is beyond the level of Tiraan enchanting—I’ve seen Imperial spies with handheld magic mirrors, but this was even smaller and seems to be strictly audio. It also had no discernible power source. So it’s way more sophisticated than the Imperial state of the art. That means Qestrali.”
“Did you turn it on?” Jonathan demanded, suddenly tense.
“Yes, that’s right, Jonathan,” Kheshiri said, her voice dripping poisonous sweetness. “I activated the communicator and called Nimin’s handlers to blow the whole operation, because I am a brain-damaged howler monkey who was born this morning.”
“If you didn’t, then how do you know what it was?”
“Very helpful labeling,” she said. “It has two buttons, marked ‘transmit’ and ‘receive’ in elvish.”
“Then…he’s a Confederate agent,” Hesthri said grimly, “not just someone from Natchua’s old House sent to keep an eye on her.”
“Maybe,” Natchua mused. “But I think it’s too soon to assume that. Everything I’ve seen of the Qestrali in person, plus what I’ve heard from Ravana and the refugees, paints them as proud but kind of inept and naive. They’ve been isolated for thousands of years and just don’t know how to deal with other people. It honestly would shock me if Narisians haven’t already bought, stolen, or wheedled a bunch of high elf enchantments they’re not supposed to have. Further, we can’t assume Nimin is an actual spy; if his handlers are House Dalmiss, it’s at least as likely they have some kind of leverage over him. Well done, Kheshiri.”
“You needn’t sound so surprised about that, my mistress. You know I only do the very best work.”
“Yes, forgive me. I’m afraid I have an unfortunate tendency to unfairly devalue your contributions just because you aren’t wanted here and everyone hates you. I’ll work on that.”
Kheshiri laughed lightly; meanwhile, monitoring the direct display of her emotions through their unique magical bond, Natchua saw the pulse of genuine hurt, followed by a swelling of satisfaction at the emotional pain and an intense surge of affection toward herself.
Of all the…problematic details about her new life, it was her handling of Kheshiri that she hated most. Because it turned out that Natchua knew precisely how to maintain a succubus’s attention and interest: by treating her with aloof indifference most of the time, randomly interspersed with sudden outpourings of affection or vicious cruelty.
Exactly the way Natchua’s mother had treated her for her entire life. It was manipulative and controlling; a cruel, disgusting way to relate to anyone, and she loathed it on every level. But it was working, because Vanislaads had very particular needs, and Kheshiri was less skilled at self-management than Melaxyna—and so incredibly skilled in so many other areas that allowing her to become bored or disinterested would be a disaster. Succubi craved experience and sensation; pain and pleasure were more or less the same to them, and both as essential as air. So Natchua strung her along and emotionally abused her, and it kept Kheshiri…happy.
It had not come up in words and she was extrapolating from being able to observe the demon’s emotions directly, but Natchua strongly suspected Kheshiri knew exactly what she was doing, and appreciated her for it.
“Thank you for reporting this,” she continued. “You know what to do next, I assume. Continue your investigation, find any other agents if they exist, and focus your attention on this Nimin. Figuring out his real situation will tell us how to handle him.”
“Worry not, mistress,” Kheshiri said gleefully, “I have never disappointed you and I never shall. This one won’t even be a challenge.”
“In the short term,” Jonathan said, “remember how Mel was talking about hiring some more staff for the house?”
“I think I see where he’s going with this,” Melaxyna chimed in, “but that aside, Natch, this needs to be on the agenda anyway. Three hobgoblins can’t keep up with a place this size, even after the renovations are finished and they have nothing else to do. A manor this size needs a staff. Caretakers are what prevent a place like this from turning into… Well, what it was when we found it.”
Natchua considered her, then turned back to Jonathan. “You want to hire Nimin.”
“Several of the drow,” he clarified. “We can’t let him notice he’s being singled out. But we need the staff anyway, and those refugees are prime candidates: they want work, they want to be close to you, and most of them specifically lack the kind of entanglements that may come with Imperial citizens. Dalmiss aside, the other Tiraan Houses will try to plant agents in here; Houses putting spies among each other’s servants is a tradition as old as aristocracy itself. And for Nimin and any others who give us cause for suspicion…”
“Keep your enemies closer,” she murmured.
He nodded. “Putting enemy agents right under the eyes of two succubi is downright unfair. Look how easily Kheshiri caught this guy, in just an hour. Here in the manor, the girls can practically control the opposition outright.”
“Practically, he says,” Melaxyna snorted.
Natchua exhaled heavily. “All right…fine, yeah. I see the sense in it. Sorry, I’m just… A part of me rebels at the idea of having servants.”
“You’re a lady now, lovely,” Hesthri said, pulling her back into a one-armed hug and lifting her face for a quick kiss. “It comes with the territory. Don’t lose that groundedness, it’s part of why I love you. But yes, there are compromises to be made with your situation.”
Natchua pulled her close and rested her chin against her forehead plate for a moment. “All right. Good plan…and good work, everybody. Now… Nobody yell at me, but after today’s meeting, I… Well, I have a particularly insane idea.”
Nobody yelled at her. Jonathan and Hesthri just nodded, giving her expectant and encouraging looks. Melaxyna made a wry face but kept her peace; Kheshiri gasped in theatrical delight.
If nothing else, Natchua reflected, at least she had better friends than Ravana.
This was not even close to the scariest story Carter Long had ever taken on. No, after spending a night in terrifying proximity to warlocks and a truly amazing number of demons, he didn’t think anything else would ever take that title from his Black Wreath story.
But intimidating, that was a different quality. The demons had been frightening, but they’d been under control. Mostly. Probably as much as demons could be. Nobility, though? Nobody controlled the nobility. There was absolutely no telling what a powerful noble might decide to do; the only certainty was that they’d get away with it. And this noble in particular seemed to have made a recent point of proving she was more unpredictable than most.
The sudden summons to Madouri Manor which had arrived at his office at the Herald was intimidating by definition, polite as it had been. The chauffeured carriage sent to pick him up even more so, for all that it was a gracious gesture, especially given that it came with an armed guard. Being deposited in front of the ancient demesne of one of the Empire’s oldest and most powerful houses, most of all; the place was bigger than any cathedral he’d ever seen, practically a city in miniature right in the heart of Madouris.
After all these progressive layers of intimidation, Long’s first impression of the Duchess was…incongruous.
“The cane doesn’t help you if you just hold it!”
“Oh? I assumed you gave it to me as some sort of fashion accessory, since you know very well there is nothing wrong with my legs.”
“The doctor said to rest. If you’re going to turn up your nose at that nice chair Yancey brought out—”
“I refused to be wheeled around my own home like some sort of invalid!”
“I don’t know why you insisted on doing this out here instead of a room with a fireplace, of which you have hundreds. The great hall is freezing in this weather.”
“I assure you, I’m fine.”
“It’s not a sign of weakness to tuck your shawl in, you know. Would you like a cup of—”
“Iris, if you pour any more of that wretched tea down my gullet, my kidneys will explode.”
“Excuse you, that tea is delicious.”
“After five cups in twenty minutes, the novelty rather wears off.”
“It’s good for energy and recuperation, and you’re wildly exaggerating.”
He actually heard them before he saw them clearly. The grand entry hall of Madouri Manor was absolutely colossal—so much so that from its entry, two relatively small figures standing at its opposite end were hard to make out, but the acoustics were incredible. Their voices were not raised, but Carter had a lot of professional experience in picking out hushed words. Fortunately he had at least as much experience in controlling his expression. He just silently and discreetly followed the Butler down the path in the center of the long, towering, museum-like chamber. Omnu’s breath, his entire apartment building could fit inside here…
They fell silent by the time he had come halfway, which was the point at which he could see the pair relatively clearly—and also about the mark where an average listener could have clearly made out words spoken at a conversational tone. In addition to his hostess, whom he’d not seen in person but whose description he of course knew well, there was another young woman: a Westerner in a striking white dress, whom he took for some manner of lady-in-waiting, given the familiar tone she used with the Duchess.
The Butler stepped diffidently to the side as they entered conversational range, and Carter bowed deeply as the man introduced him.
“Mr. Carter Long, star reporter of the Imperial Herald.”
“Mr. Long, how very good of you to come, and on such short notice. House Madouri welcomes you, and appreciates your agreeability. I earnestly hope this visit proves to be worth your time; rest assured I would not have presumed to summon you so abruptly were I not confident that it would be so.”
“It is entirely my honor, your Grace,” he said, rising at her gesture. So far, so good; she was certainly more gracious than a lot of nobility he’d encountered. Ravana Madouri was as diminutive as they said, currently swaddled in a thick winter dress with a fur collar and a heavy shawl draped over that. He carefully ignored the carved walking stick she held loosely at her side. “Please forgive me if this is impertinent, Duchess Ravana, but it’s a great relief to see you looking so well. Reports of the injury you suffered have been rather horrifying.”
“I am quite well, as I keep having to remind various members of my household,” she said, her smile taking on a slightly sardonic cast. “A dryad’s kiss is an absolute counter to poison of any kind. There were simply some side effects—”
“You suffered a massive seizure!” exclaimed the girl beside her. “Your blood was temporarily transmuted into infernally-tainted tar!”
The Duchess closed her blue eyes. “Iris.”
“You should be sitting down, at the very least!”
“I am blessed to have friends who care more for my well-being than public decorum,” Ravana said, opening her eyes again and putting her smile back on. “According to my doctor, I shall be right as rain with only a bit of rest. In any case, Mr. Long, you have my assurance I did not bring you all the way out here to observe this byplay, amusing as I am sure your readers would find it. I believe I promised you an exclusive.”
“My Lady, by invoking that magic word you would render me happily accommodating in the face of far less polite treatment than you have offered. Please, consider me entirely at your disposal.” He kept his own ingratiating smile in place even as he produced his notebook and pencil. “If it would reassure your friend, I’m more than willing to proceed to more comfortable surroundings, though for my own part I’d be just as pleased to stand out in the snow.”
“I’d like to think my House can provide an honored guest with better hospitality than that, but your willingness to accommodate is appreciated nonetheless.” Fortunately, to judge by her expression, she found him amusing rather than presumptuous. It was a gamble, with aristocrats; they could abruptly swing the other way. The young Duchess had a reputation as a woman of the people, however. “But I fear the necessary discretion of my message has given you an incorrect impression. Pray forgive me this little subterfuge. An exclusive you shall have, Mr. Long, but not from me; it was at the behest of another guest that I called upon you.”
“Oh?”
“Carter, my boy! It has been a veritable hound’s age! Delighted to see you’re still pounding the old beat, eh?”
He didn’t jump, barely; he did spin about at the unexpected sound of a familiar voice he had never thought to hear again.
And there he was, having appeared seemingly from nowhere—a thing he was, of course, quite capable of literally doing. The man was exactly as Carter remembered him, from his white suit and wide-brimmed straw hat to his stork-like gait and eerily wide grin.
“Embras Mogul,” he said in disbelief. “This is…a surprise.”
“It’s been a surprising day for us all,” Mogul agreed. “Believe me, ol’ top, when I got up this morning this household was the last place on our blessed earth I expected to find myself. What fascinatingly complex lives we all lead, eh?”
“It’s certainly a revelation to me that you are…acquainted,” Carter said with all the caution he could muster, glancing between the leader of the Black Wreath and the head of House Madouri.
“On that I have no comment,” she said pleasantly. “I am sure Mr. Mogul will explain the broad strokes as he is sharing his perspective on the Archpope’s recent allegations. My own public comments will be held tomorrow, Mr. Long, and while you will of course be welcome to attend my press conference, on that front I regret that I cannot offer you an exclusive of my own. If you will settle for a quote, however, I have one.”
She tucked her hands under the dangling ends of her shawl, holding the cane horizontally in front of herself, and smiled a ruthless little smile.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
The Gods are Bastards 