Chương 323: Splinters

This is not the sort of party where people sit. This is a standing event, sipping drinks and snacks served off of passing trays, maybe setting things down on the occasional cocktail table, walking over when you see an acquaintance, and so on. Honestly most of the events I attend are like that, sitting is more of a salon thing and I never get invited to those, my schedule does not permit. But I'm tired and I'm really pissed off.

I've currently got conjuring affinity for a few different fabrics, as well as corundum and oak, so I cast out a plush padded throne for myself and I sit down. Rubies sparkle from a dozen surfaces, and the seat is upholstered in white silk brocade patterned for my house crest. Long oak legs end in ball-and-claw feet, the back arches up over my head in a carved oaken eagle with glittering ruby eyes.

The legs were long enough to hold me high, my head even with most folk's eye level, maybe just a bit taller than I normally stand.

"You made your own throne," Petunia pointed out.

"Classy." She gestured for me to start the silence field, and I did so.

"I'm really, really tired," I pouted.

"I want to sit down."

"And you just happened to sit down in just such a way that you proclaim this space your domain?" she asked, eyebrow arched.

"Laying a claim and a challenge to your enemies?"

"Is that what this looks like?" I asked.

"It is," she said.

"You must be tired, then. Normally you would do something like this on purpose and gloat about it."

"I would, too, wouldn't I?" Well, if sitting down when I'm tired is a powerful flex against the monarchs, then I'll flex on them in comfort and style. Besides, right now I want to have something solid at my back. Yesterday I was stabbed and the entry wound was between my spine and kidney, and it has left me feeling very vulnerable.

"So, you had something to say to the Duskare leadership," she prompted me. I decided not to make her pry out answers the hard way.

"Yes I did. And I'm pretty sure that they did not have the largest role in this, but they definitely had some part, and I wanted to make that clear. The fact that we're in rebellion against the Dominionist faction and that same faction also includes the house of assassins? That's not a subject we could be coy about."

"Well, right now a lot of people are glaring at anyone in the Duskare collective. They were strutting before you walked in, but now they all look like they'd rather be someplace else."

"Certainly hope they decide to play nice for a while. The escalation from declared rebellion to open fighting is supposed to be a slow climb over the next three months, and blowing up Fashion Week just to get to me was a huge jump in the timeline," I mused.

"Petunia, could you be a dear and send a message over to Quoissi that I would like to join resources and exchange information about the attack?" She arched an eyebrow skeptically.

"Quoissi Eyellon? The most loyal supporter of the Freckentop royals? His house has historically been right in their pocket, but he personally is even more in love with the leash. He won't turn on them."

"Maybe not, but I can put some conflict in his thoughts. He told me once that he is a big fan of Fashion Week, at a personal level. He likes the pretty clothes and the pretty girls, and he likes that the two biggest parties of the year both take place in his Hall of Arts. He is protective of it, this is his baby. He was supportive about Wendy's death because her death was disruptive to his party. Petunia, I missed the aftermath. How much more disruptive was yesterday's attack than the poisoning from last year?"

"No comparison," she said, nodding.

"It was nightmarish. If this was my baby I'd be livid. I'll send the message. Maybe we'll get lucky and find out who sent the order. Or maybe we'll be unlucky and Quoissi will start getting suspicious of his allies. Either one's a win." She moved off to take care of that. I like when we get win-win situations, it doesn't come up often enough. As much as possible, I just sat back and tried to look imperious and unperturbed. Just being here was pushing a ton of support into my camp.

Right now, there's people with divided loyalties who are reconsidering. Most nobility have relations or allegiances from more than one house, after all. Much like I'm half-Freckentop of my mother's side, there's plenty of other folks right now who might be looking at their own best interests. I'm not going to make the Marquis of Wanfarrun decide to leave the Dominionists.

But, right now there's probably a count standing in the Brunbling formation whose lands are actually based out of Anquarry, and who has more Skyback relatives than not, and really is only still identifying as a Brunbling to get the banking benefits, and perhaps is now thinking that walking out of one camp and using their mother's maiden name for a bit seems like a good plan. Or pledging some marriages to pull a few key family members from one faction to another.

While none of those are enough to break the faction, the cumulative effect is high. Each minor house that quietly slips away, or each barony that switches sides, is a cost in resources, money, soldiers, weapons, mages. If several vassals move allegiances, it encourages their liege to switch houses as well, or a liege changing their name could bring several vassals with them. And when that happens, it also has a cost in reputation and prestige, and a trickle of turncoats can turn into a general exodus.

Everything is connections. When the fighting breaks out, I want for guard captains to decide they'd rather disobey orders from the monarch than to raise arms against their own relatives. I want kingdom quartermasters selling their warehouses to my army because their respect for me outweighs their patriotism. I want so many minor houses swayed over that Lesser Houses start breaking their ties and tithes to take refuge under my banner. The more overwhelming my advantage, the shorter the war, the fewer the casualties.

Nothing is as bloody as a close match. I hung around and did my part, as long as my part was reminding people that I'm alive and they should join me. Petunia did her part and kept people from bothering me while I was too tired to deal with it. Quoissi did his part and sent a message that he would be in touch but would not commit to anything tonight. That checks out: I remember that his policy is that serious business only get conducted before breakfast.

So tomorrow he would give this a good think, and decide whether or not to invite me for a pre-dawn chat again.

"Petunia, a favor?"

"All right, but only because you almost died."

"Thanks," I said, with the feeblest smile.

"Tomorrow, make sure that Lady Hanje knows absolutely everything. Have her put any people she can spare onto this. Find whoever is responsible. To be clear, I'm asking this because I'm terrified, but we should make it look like angry retribution."

"I've got good news then," she said.

"Lady Hanje already knows, and she's already very angry, and she is looking for retribution. The covert apparatus of the Harigold House is already in motion." Eventually the ushers came around and directed us to seats, while the heavy foyer doors were ponderously drawn shut with a deep, floor-thudding boom. The royals headed to their reserved front-row-center seating, trying to look as stoic and dignified as usual.

They all stayed inside of their magister's security bubble, surrounded by two layers of mana-warrior bodyguards, while out-of-place-looking servers with strangely-shaped packages stood in key overwatch positions to make sure nothing happened to them. They seemed very convinced that someone would try to launch a retributive strike, for some reason. Maybe a guilty conscience. I just glared at them.

The head of their security detail glared back, making sure that I stayed well out of the way, so I could not attack his clients, or, worse, humiliate them. I stayed far outside of their anti-sorcery bubble, I have no wish to lose my abilities in this crowd. Besides, I did not need to go anywhere near them. After all, I had used magic to saw through the legs of that chair while I was crossing over to confront the Duskare leaders.

King Vobel Iristo Loed Freckentop fell flat on his ass when the chair broke underneath him. The guards all leaped into action, weapons drawn, force-fields crackling, but there was nobody to fight and no weapon to stop. And there was no way to stop everyone in the room from seeing the royal shoes kicking uselessly in the air while His Majesty fought to get his balance and dignity back, flailing on the ground trapped by his own elaborate robe.

The lights went down over the audience while his bodyguards rescued him from the floor and the mortifying ordeal of being seen. The show went on as usual, except for the highlight feature: Nathan's show was a flop. Without him there to narrate, he had hired an understudy to recite his lines, but since all the dresses had changed the cue cards were very fresh and the understudy read them like a script.

Nathan had hired five models to wear his five dresses, but those five all came down with some mysterious ailment a couple hours before the show, sudden pounding headaches and body aches. They all canceled, and new models were found on short notice by the on-site skeleton crew, but there was nobody present to modify the dresses for the new models. They did their best. I watched his show fail to impress, but only from afar.

I was in bed by then, watching through my ring like a kid reading comic books under the covers. Seconds after the lights were lowered, I floated upwards, braced myself in the rafters, surrounded myself in a giant hollow orb of oak wood. I slipped through a portal, and dispelled the wood after the portal closed, making a clean exit without giant white spotlights that everyone could see.

Now they've got a new mystery to figure out: Natalie Harigold actually can make an impossible inconspicuous exit out of a locked room if she likes, and nobody knows how. They're all used to my flashy transportation, but now they get to figure out how I pulled this off. The more I can convince them that they don't know what I can and cannot do, the more reluctant they'll be to act against me.

Also, I really, really did not want to sit in the dark, with a boring presentation I've already seen and didn't like the first time, trying not to fall asleep in a room full of assassins. So I bugged out, went home, changed into my nightgown, set my ring on my nightstand, and peeled my essence loose from my mind and body. I let them get all the sleep they could, while a little cloud of li'l ol' me hovered next to the ring. And if a bare soul could giggle, I would have giggled.

The next morning I was still groggy, but I was getting by. I'm an eight-hours-a-night kinda gal, despite the fact that my untethered body and mind are both sleeping very deeply. And after missing the previous night altogether, I could have used some extra. Instead, showing up at the fashion show shorted me an extra hour. This threw off my entire morning.

Instead of showering at night and tossing my laundry in for an overnight, I had to take turns with Elica in the morning, and got dressed rather more hastily, and we had to share the laundry closet between us, and I took a larger-than-usual serving of breakfast and a large mug of coffee. And so now instead of being logy and lazy during my homeroom, I am just a bit jittery.

"Hi Quarl! Didja see me on Sevenday?"

"I did, yes," he said, sliding in next to me.

"Saw your big entrance at lunch yesterday too. And a little bird tells me that you made quite a scene last night as well."

"Your little bird does good work, this campus is supposed to be on lockdown."

"My little bird doesn't lock down easily," Quarl said, too casually.

"Anyway, I've heard that you let everyone know you're still alive."

"Public relations, damage control," I said, bouncing my knee.

"It's about building the legend, right? The image is crucial to my long-term plans, and I need an image that keeps people from trying to cause trouble. A strong reputation is your first line of defense. Letting people know that I can't be taken down by anything."

"Except maybe another cup of coffee," he said, gesturing for me to slow down a bit. Rude.

"It might have been advantageous for your reputation, but tactically it was definitely not the best of your options," he pointed out.

"Even a couple of days delay could have been enough for the killers to step up and take credit for the kill, and then you'd be able to get your big triumphant return and revenge against those that did it."

"Nah," I said, tapping my pencil on the desk, and then twirling it over my thumb.

"I was thinking about that. I'm pretty sure if I stayed incognito for just a couple more days, I'd've had six or seven different groups claiming credit for the deed. Then instead of launching a real investigation, I'd have had to go on a snipe hunt to clear a whole bunch of people who want everyone to think they're guilty. That's a much harder job, and even when it's done I'd still have to start from scratch to find out who did try to kill me."

"That is... an amazingly credible scenario," Quarl winced.

"Damn. I don't suppose you've got any visions that can just solve the mystery?"

"I know, right? Not this time though. Anyway, that's still going about it all backwards, the investigation starts from their side not mine.

The royals almost certainly called the hit, and they would have run it through their channels instead of asking the Duskare directly, because this is a bad time for them to owe their own allies any big favors, they would not risk shifting the balance of power and letting the Duskare take over the Dominionist faction, that's one of the easiest ways for them to lose control of the monarchy.

So whoever they did contract was the one that contacted your folks for the favor, taking the debt to themselves and not the Freckentops. So I need to find that connection, that's all."

"You sound very sure about this. Just speculation?"

"It's really good speculation."

"Well, that's good to hear."

"I just need one small piece of information for confirmation."

"That rhymes."

"I'm not used to caffeine. It seems to be making me weird."

"-er. Weird er."

"Don't start," I glared at him, twirling my pencil.

"So this information?"

"Yeah, I just need to chat with my brother," I said, glancing around the room. Weird. Attendance has been called but there's no sign of him. Quarl's eyebrows shot upwards.

"Wait, you don't know?!" Well, no, I didn't know, because sometimes nobody tells me things that they assume I already know. I missed study hall last night because of the fashion show, so I haven't seen Nathan in person since, you know, before. I knocked on his door, and let myself in. He doesn't leave his room locked, after all. Not even when he's hard at work reassembling bloody splinters on the ground, trying to reconstruct a murder weapon for clues.

He looked up at me, ready to start shouting at whoever interrupted him, but he froze, instead, his mouth open, his eyes wide.

"Morning," I said.

"Rumors of my demise have been greatly -urk!" Harigolds are huggers. And he's doing his best work here, my spine pops in four places before I rush bamboo essence through myself." You died!"

"I didn't die," I told him, and wrapped my arms around him. It felt... weird.

"I was badly, badly hurt, and I went to Fwatta. It took a long time to heal me. I've been back for a day now, nobody told me where to find you." This room is a sight. If you just imagine what happens when an extremely skilled young man spends thirty-six hours attempting to reconstruct a wooden walking stick that has been exploded into splinters, ignoring sleep and food, well, you've got the image.

A bundle of rags next to a bottle of rubbing alcohol tells a separate, sadder story: he had to soak some of the shards to remove my blood before he could get a good fit. He's almost halfway through this morbid puzzle, and right now he does not care at all. I hug him back. Sometimes, it's hard having a brother. I rub circles between his shoulder-blades, and they start shaking. There's no sound, and I can tell that there are no tears falling, but his body is wracking like all that tension only knows one way to leave.

He has a minute or two of a phantom sob, burying his face in my shoulder. He's been awake and pushing himself for a full day and a half, he's not got his usual self-control.

"Nathan?"

"Yes?"

"I ruined your fashion show. It wasn't personal." I kept patting his back, holding him close.

"I figured you would," he said. His voice is ragged and rough, but not weak. And now I'm left wondering if sabotaging his presentation was part of his plan. God dammit. Somehow, this just makes things feel normal again.

"You did a good job with the splinters."

"There was a glow, runes," he said.

"I questioned everyone... if I could figure out the sigils then-""The sigils were a false lead," I told him.

"This was sorcery, not scrivening. The sigils added some boom, but they weren't the trigger."

"What?" He pulled back, staring at me in stark disbelief. It's funny to see him caught so far off-guard. There are not many times that I can catch him flat-footed and uninformed. But then, magic is something that he's never bothered studying. I could not quite repress my amusement.

"Yeah, those runes burned into the wood? That's fire affinity. Sigils don't actually release waste heat when they activate, even though it really seems like it would be impressive if they did. I've got a related question, information of yours that can help settle us up here."

"What do you need to know?" he said, back to business already.

"When was the last time you have confirmation that Kralcit was in Byeview?"