Chương 83: Book 2, Chapter 22: A Memorable Voyage

The next few days in Istantinople were a blur of accompanying Iris on shopping trips around the city's bazaars. Not exactly what Clara would've called enjoyable, but not an entirely bad way to rest after the trial, either. Plus, there was one highly amusing instance where Iris had slapped an ice cream vendor who tried to do a little performance before handing her the cone, calling it 'unfathomably rude.'

When Clara and the others finally boarded the Esperança for the return voyage to Fontaineux, it was as if the ship's engines thrummed more gently. There was one extra passenger this time, as Pedro was returning with them, but he spent most of his time cloistered in his cabin, which smelled strongly of coffee whenever she passed outside. He emerged only occasionally, mostly to pester Bel, though he'd once relieved Conrad of a purse of coins after beating him at cards. Clara settled into a rhythm while aboard.

The afternoons belonged to Iris, who had taken to referring to Clara's future practice as 'our firm', despite protests. They mostly spent that time sipping tea and reading. The mornings were spent buried under papers with Warren, working on the proposal for the experimental court. Clara sketched out procedures and rights, and Warren painstakingly translated each one into language more 'proper' for Members of Parliament.

Iris occasionally joined them, and at points even made meaningful contributions to the way things were rephrased. Clara wrote ' the defendant shall have the right to at least fourteen days between being informed of the charges and being taken to trial', and Warren and Iris turned it into'the prosecution shall inform the defendant of the charges against them, after which the prosecution shall enjoy a period of at least a fortnight to prepare and ensure the truthfulness and comprehensiveness of the case'."

That's not the same thing," Clara complained.

"The framing matters, since it has implications about waivers and the nature of fundamental rights." Warren rolled his eyes. But by the morning of the sixth day aboard, the draft began to resemble a proper bill.

"This… actually looks convincing," said Clara. Warren leaned back from the table.

"It looks like something that is only slightly outrageous instead of entirely mad. Though for a proposal of this nature, that may well be a high compliment." Clara grinned.

"I will take that as praise for my well-thought-out proposal."

"Ideas are easily conceived. The crux of the matter lies in presenting them in a manner suited to the audience, and in possessing the rank and standing to give them weight. Hmm." Iris scoffed.

"It is a wonder the Kingdom managed to function at all before Lord Warren arrived to tell us all how to think. However did our forebears cope?" Warren didn't reply, furrowing his brows in that way he did when he was thinking about something completely different. Not long after, a muffled noise came through the deck above them. Boots thudding across planking, raised voices. Clara looked up.

"What's going on over there? Isn't it a bit early for the sailors to be playing games?"

"It certainly is," Warren agreed.

"And is that… cheering? I suppose I'll go see what the fuss is all about." He stepped out, leaving Iris and Clara alone in the small sitting room.

"Shall we go as well?" Iris asked, rising.

"If someone is making a fool of themselves, we must be there to witness it." Clara tugged on her sleeve.

"My lady, wait. Before that, there's something I wanted to talk to you about." Iris paused, then lowered herself back onto her seat.

"Very well. You have my undivided attention, but I do hope you make it more worthwhile than whatever commotion is happening upstairs."

"It'll only take a second." Clara waited until Warren's footsteps had faded while carefully choosing her next words.

"My lady, I've noticed you've been rather sharp with Righton lately. Just now, and back at the rug shop—the whole trip, really."

"I merely comment on the facts as I observe them. I'm not the one to blame if he has dreadful taste and far too much arrogance."

"Right." Clara nodded slowly.

"And I just wanted to tell you there's nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to what you're feeling. It's completely normal at your age. He's older, he's confident, he dresses well enough, I suppose, if you're into cravats." She placed a kind hand on Iris's shoulder.

"But you don't have to be cruel to him just because you have a crush on him." For a moment, Iris was paralyzed, and Clara almost thought something had activated the memory-wiping magic again. Then the girl's face went through an impressive sequence of colors: from pink to white to a violent crimson that came up from her collar all the way to the very tips of her ears.

"A crush. On the Albion lordling. Me," Iris enunciated slowly, and her tone was filled with dread, the way a doctor might tell a patient about a terminal case of brain cancer.

"Clara, have you taken leave of your senses?"

"It's okay, my lady, really, there's nothing wrong with—""There is everything wrong with it, not the least of which is the fact that it is false!" Iris pressed fingers to her forehead, her cheeks flushed.

"Clara, he is an Albion. Before even getting into all his numerous personal failings, his father is the Church's most devoted ducal lapdog. And I can barely tolerate him as a person—he is insufferably smug, far too antiquated in his thinking, and he says 'naturally' with a particularly irritating tone." Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"You refer to him an awful lot for someone who doesn't have feelings for him."

"Oh, Clara. I suppose even your remarkable brilliance cannot cure blindness. Goddess preserve me." Iris rubbed her temples, then let out a heavy sigh.

"I have not been hostile to him or interested in him because I am enamored with him. I have been hostile to him because he is far too interested in you, you baffling woman, and I do not trust his intentions for one single minute!" Clara's mouth went dry.

"He's not—that's not—""He hovered at your shoulder the entire voyage. Every time you so much as glanced at a railing, there he was. Every time you suggested something that might involve the slightest bit of peril, he was clamoring for your safety. And the looks. Do not think for a second that I have not noticed the looks, for I notice everything. And I will not stand idly by while your heart is trifled with by a rake. For you to think that I had feelings for—""Withdrawn!"

Clara pressed her hands to her cheeks, the warmth betraying her.

"I withdraw my accusation. You don't have feelings for him. I'm sorry, Lady Iris."

"Hmph." Iris stood up and smoothed her skirt.

"You'd better be." The commotion overhead swelled again, with men and women shouting in approval. Whatever was happening up there had clearly escalated.

"We should probably go see what that is," said Clara, grateful for the excuse.

"Shall we forget this conversation took place, my lady?"

"Quite right." Iris frowned.

"If you ever mention it again, I shall personally deliver you to the Veiled Keys for heresy." They left the room and climbed the ladder onto the breezy deck, where a wide ring of sailors had gathered near the front turret, hollering and elbowing for a better view of whatever was going on in the center. Warren stood with Pedro and Luisa at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed. The sailors, at least, kept a respectable distance from them, probably in deference to Luisa. Or Pedro.

Sometimes it was hard to tell who was truly running things, given how much reverence the men had in their voices whenever they talked about their former duke. Clara had her own suspicions about him, though nothing concrete. She and Iris approached the trio, and Clara could finally see into the center of the ring. On one side stood Conrad, with a saber in hand, his crimson eyes burning with fierce determination. And opposite to him, Bel stretched her shoulders with a delighted grin.

Her hand rested lazily on the hilt of her short sword.

"Ah," said Iris, with weary recognition.

"He's going to try again. I do hope he knows what he's doing." Trying again? Ah, this must be what Bel mentioned back in Westwick. Conrad has to defeat her if he wants to marry Luisa. But wait a second…

"Lady Iris, isn't that Conrad's combat saber?" asked Clara.

"Are they fighting with live steel?"

"Of course," said Iris.

"They always do."

"Naturally," added Warren, the irony obvious in his tone.

"A duchess and a ducal heir, trading edged blows on a moving deck over a betrothal. If either of them were to slip…" His face was trapped between resignation and discomfort.

"Then it shall be a memorable voyage," said Pedro pleasantly. Warren opened his mouth, but he said nothing further. Probably because he was thoroughly outranked, as both a duchess and a former duke apparently thought this was completely normal.

"You don't seem worried, Commodore," Clara ventured to Luisa.

"I am not. Lord Conrad has been training hard, and Mamãe will not cut him. Probably." A pause.

"He has pleasant features. It would be a shame." So romantic.

"Now!" Bel announced.

"I'll lay down the rules for the benefit of the audience, since I know some of you are wagering despite our very strict rules against it." A cheer came from somewhere behind her.

"First to disarm, or first to yield. No maiming your future family, it makes for awkward holidays. And Connie, no using the ship's rigging, considering you nearly hanged yourself when you tried."

"That was three years ago," said Conrad, ears reddening.

"And a treasured memory. Papai, if you will?" Pedro murmured something, waved his hand, and a single chime rang out. Both fighters chanted at once." Celeritate venti." The emerald in Conrad's saber flared, and the shift in him was immediate, like he'd been released from a heavy weight." Stabili," said Bel leisurely, and the citrine set in her short sword's pommel flickered. It was a far dimmer glow than Conrad's, and Clara doubted the enchantment was doing all that much.

She wanted to use the magical vision spell to examine it, but considering nobody else had done anything like that either here or in the duel at Claves, she thought that might be considered rude, and refrained. Conrad moved first. He crossed the circle in swift strides and opened with a clean descending cut. Bel flicked it aside and stepped away, but Conrad was already flowing into the next strike, a low thrust that became a rising slash as she retreated. The crowd cheered each time steel hit steel.

"His form is lovely," said Luisa.

"Isn't it? He does obsess far too much over fighting, but even I have to admit he has a grace to him," said Iris. Clara nodded in agreement. Where Bel's movements were reactive and improvised, Conrad's had the drilled efficiency that only came from constant practice. Bel gave ground steadily, so much so that at first Clara assumed it was simply a ploy to toy with Conrad.

But Bel's grin had strained, and when Conrad feinted high and slashed at her legs, she had to sweep herself out of the way faster than she clearly wanted to. His saber cut off the hem of her yellow coat.

"Ha!" Conrad pressed his advantage, driving her even further back.

"You see, Admiral-Duchess? I did say I had improved."

"So it seems!" Bel laughed, but it came out ragged.

"You've grown, little Connie. Who have you been practicing with?"

"Major Ricardo, before—" Conrad hesitated for a heartbeat, and that was when Bel kicked him straight in the crotch, sending him to the floor with a pained yelp. But he didn't drop his sword. A flicker of emotion on Bel's face. She gave him space to recover instead of following up. Was that sympathy I saw?

"Don't let your opponent get into your head, Connie. Learn to stay silent." He grunted as he pushed himself back up, his determination showing no signs of wavering. Then he charged at Bel again, swiping and feinting and thrusting with the same efficiency as before, except this time he ignored her attempts at taunting him.

"Better," she breathed.

"Much better." Conrad said nothing, his eyes fixed on her blade rather than her face. He drove her back to the Esperança's turret, and the ring of sailors scrambled to widen the circle. Then he locked her sword in a bind and shoved, throwing her off balance. She recovered quickly, but the crowd roared at the sight of it.

"CONNIE! CONNIE! CONNIE!"

"They're rooting for him?" Clara asked.

"Over their own admiral?"

"Of course they are," said Luisa wistfully.

"They have watched him fail for years. The men love a good underdog story."

"The men also love a good return on their wagers," said Pedro.

"Treacherous, the lot of them." Conrad pushed, sweeping his saber in a tight arc and driving Bel further back. And that was when Bel glanced to her side and grinned. Clara followed her gaze. Right next to Bel was one of the ship's ventilation cowls. The duchess's free hand closed around something at her sash, and she muttered under her breath. Clara couldn't really follow what happened next. A light shone from Bel, a blaze far stronger than the modest flicker from before.

It reflected off the ship's metal, magnifying itself tenfold. At the same time, a sharp crack rang out, followed by a surge of pale smoke. Sailors stumbled back, wheezing from the haze that had spread across the deck. And from somewhere inside it came the clank of steel on planking, and then a heavy thud. Clara squinted. The smoke was thick and hard to see through, but she made out two shadows: one standing, one collapsed on the deck.