Chương 72: Chapter Seventy Two

The Grand Ballroom of Summerfield Manse was a riot of colour and sound to William's senses. Intricate tapestries lined the walls. Gleaming chandeliers hung overhead. Marble pillars broke up the floor. And above the ongoing constant hum of conversation, the bombastic music of Wagner continued to play from a gramophone near the wall. He'd been more than a little amused to see that last item.

Though not so much that he'd been distracted from his main goal of the evening – that being casing the many gathered Southern nobles for supporters and obstacles to the twins' ascension to the Ducal title. Of course, it wasn't just the Countesses of Summerfield present, but also those of Southshore as well – all here to reaffirm their fealty to Yelena with the outbreak of the civil war.

To that end, Yelena was sitting at the head table, a perch that saw her elevated higher than everyone else, despite her seated position. Her daughter and heir, the Princess Palmer, sat to her right, while the Duchess of Southshore had managed to claim the spot to her left. Beyond that, Admiral Tyana and the temporary Summerfield regent had a spot at the 'big kids table'.

A small army of Palace Guards, Summerfield Guards, and Royal Marines made up the backdrop to the whole thing – while an equally large army of courtiers and sycophants schmoozed through the general area in front of the massive table, hoping to catch the eye of their sovereign so that they might plead their case in some dispute or another. Perhaps William might have been amongst them in different circumstances – if only to get an idea of the leanings of the interim regent for the Summerfield Duchy.

Fortunately, he'd been assured that the woman was very much a non-factor in the succession process. The unlanded mage-knight who had been a teammate of the late Duchess Summerfield during their Academy days had remained a steadfast part of her retinue thereafter. Her only role was literally just to fill the seat in the interim until a new successor could be chosen from amongst the claimants.

Perhaps she might have had more unofficial say in the process without the Crown being present, but Yelena's involvement rather nipped that in the bud. Which is why I should probably get back to focusing on what I'm supposed to be here to do, he thought as he turned his attention back to the Countess he'd been speaking with. Fortunately, it seemed the elven woman hadn't noticed his wandering focus as he finished his speech.

"…and finally, once more I do apologize for any insult I might have given while in the throes of teenage rebellion. I wasn't thankful for it at the time, but the last year at the Academy has put a lot of things in perspective for me – sufficiently so that I now find myself mortified by my past behaviour." The Countess he was speaking to tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Ah, I never thought I'd see the day; the hellion of House Ashfield apologizing for his razor tongue. Think nothing of it lad. I can well recall my own turbulent youth and how my time at the Academy helped to straighten it out. A little unusual for a lad to attend, but it's clearly worked out for the best for you."

Perhaps if he were a more optimistic soul, he'd think the woman across from him was referring to his inventions and accomplishments – or even the fact that he'd managed to become a Count in his own right during his time at the Academy. As it was, he knew she was referring to the fact that he'd finally been 'tamed' by the two women on his arms. Still, annoying as it was, he was quite happy for the twins to play up the part as they clung to him. Though he could sense just a little incredulity from Marline behind him.

And as happy as he was to reunite with her, he somewhat wished she'd also wander off to mingle like the rest of the team had. Bonnlyn certainly seemed to be having fun as she talked business with the small collection of nobles gathered about her. Olzenya was likewise preening as she fielded questions on the Jellyfish. The only person who wasn't present was Verity, who'd – perhaps smartly – begged off attending the party in favor of spending time with her family.

She chuckled, tone turning conspiratorial as she leaned in.

"Tell me, do they still make you do your own laundry? I remember scrubbing linens until my hands were raw until I figured out that we were supposed to use the soap powder."

"I'm afraid they do," Clarice interjected, her formal gown of deep white – the colour of her house - rustling with the movement. Her twin was wearing a matching ensemble, despite how the pair usually preferred to differentiate themselves from each other. In this case, it was supposed to be a show of solidarity between the two – even though Clarice was laying claim to the Duchy title despite the fact that Marcille technically had an equal claim to it. Families had fractured over lesser divisions, after all.

Likewise, William's own suit was predominantly white to represent their upcoming union, with only small tufts of red and blue to represent his own house's colours. The Countess nodded sympathetically.

"Well, I'm glad for the lessons I learned there, but I can say I'm equally glad to have seen the back of it." William resisted the urge to scoff at that, because whatever lessons she might have learned, she clearly hadn't retained the one about 'the art of war being of vital importance to the state,' given that her house's airship was still entirely made of wood. Of course, even as he had that thought, he knew it wasn't entirely fair to the woman opposite him.

Because he'd recently learned that a decent chunk of the blame for the South's relative weakness lay with the Crown itself - though not Yelena specifically. Instead, the issue could be traced back to Lindholm's founder, the once Governor-Admiral Lindholm who'd controlled the 'colony' during the fall of the Elven Imperium. And annoyingly, he couldn't even chastise them too harshly for the choices they'd made. They'd been expedient at the time after all.

Facing a balkanizing Empire, she'd chosen to instead try for independence rather than be sucked into the growing civil war between the Solites and Lunites. In order to succeed though, she'd needed to unify the Elven colonies and indigenous Humans in her new 'nation'. Which meant certain concessions had been made – which, while expedient at the time, had given rise to the viability of the current rebellion.

The first and most damning of such concessions was a subsidy system by which the farmland-poor Northern Marcher Houses could buy Capitol-made airship hulls, armaments and foodstuffs at a discount. Secondly, conflict against the – at the time still quite powerful Orcish clans – could serve as a form of corvée labour.

At the time, the Queen had likely thought such a concession a steal for getting the veteran houses on board with her rebellion – and more importantly, keeping them from acting as a beachhead for a mainland invasion force. And the system had worked, right up until trade re-opened with the now more or less stable Lunite and Solite nations. Suddenly, the once poor Northern houses found themselves fabulously wealthy as new markets opened, eager for the one thing they had an excess of – Orcish slave labour.

And despite the growing threat the two houses now represented to the Crown, attempting to change or repeal the subsidies would be as close to political suicide for the ruling family as a politician trying to change the Bill of Rights would have been back in the US on Earth. So instead, Yelena had opted for a flanking maneuver; curtailing the relatively new slave trade instead. … And we all know how that's going, he thought.

Because unfortunately, the relative lack of power in the South looped right back around to those subsidies. Any time a new steel hull rolled out of the capitol's ship yards in the last few hundred years, it had either been funneled straight into the Royal Navy or snapped up at bargain rates by Northern buyers. At which point, the Northerners would sell their old wooden hulls southward.

So not only do our opponents have better ships than us, they also know the specifications of our own ships in pretty exacting detail, he thought. Perhaps the whole situation could have been mitigated if one of the Southern Duchies had invested in their own steel production yards, bypassing the capitol's monopoly. But why bother? Until mere weeks ago, the arrangement had chugged along adequately. Resources flowed into the capitol and finished products rolled out.

And while he didn't doubt the North's subsidies had been an annoyance, that was all they'd been. Not an existential threat. And Yelena, for all that she'd seen all this coming, could only make politely phrased suggestions on what her Southern vassals invested in – hence Princess Palmer's near constant presence in the South.

"Though from what I hear," the Countess continued, once more drawing him back to their rather droll conversation. Alas, duty compelled him to listen.

"Your time at the Academy hasn't been entirely bereft of 'rebellion.' Challenging your fiancée to a duel? I dare say that story made the rounds down here quite vigorously. Even moreso than your heroic actions in that 'pirate attack'." She paused, her tone turning slightly wary.

"And then finally this… exploding airship business." She eyed him, as if expecting him to deny his part in the whole affair.

"Oh, there's no need to seem so scandalized," he laughed.

"Yes, I was the one behind the destruction of a refurbished 'undership'. An act that I'd like to remind you allowed our brave Royal Navy to successfully retreat from the capitol unmolested, while giving those traitors a black eye in the process."

"Yes, I suppose that's true. Still, to destroy an airship…" This time Clarice spoke up.

"You make it sound like it's never happened before, Countess Fringilla. It's a war. As tragic as it is, airships tend to get destroyed. What makes this one so different? Had it been a battle, one airship for crippling an entire fleet would be considered an excellent engagement."

"Because that ship would be destroyed by the actions of an enemy, dear," the woman said slowly.

"Not one's own hand. It's just… a little hard to conceive of a noble doing such a thing." Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

"Once upon a time the thought of shaving down a mithril core to create the first Shard cores was considered outlandish," Marcille said.

"I… that's… different."

"How so? If anything, I'd say my method is less destructive. As you know, once shaved down into shards, a core cannot be reconstituted. By contrast, I utterly destroyed the hull wood of the Trojan Horse such that it would be impossible to recover, but the mithril core of the ship was left whole. And I ensured it was extracted prior to the ship's destruction."

"You did?" He nodded.

"Oh yes, a heroic crew-woman evacuated with it." Now, admittedly that crew woman was currently stranded behind enemy lines with said core – assuming she did actually manage to get out in time – but he didn't need to mention those small unimportant details.

"Oh, in that case, let me congratulate you on your successful ruse," she said, smiling now. He nodded.

"My thanks."

"Though now I do find myself curious about the method you used to achieve the explosion? Does it have something to do with your new aetherless-shards? And that's another concept I'm still struggling to wrap my head around. I understand it has something to do with alchemy?" William didn't miss the way conversation around them ebbed as people became less subtle in eavesdropping on their conversation.

"It does, though I hope you'll forgive me if I keep the details to myself for now."

"Of course, of course," the noblewoman tittered.

"Though should you ever find yourself in search of buyers for your new craft, know that I might be interested. For the novelty, if nothing else." And to take it apart, no doubt. Oh, he already overheard plenty of disdainful comments about his new craft and how they'd be nothing compared to 'real Shards', but at the end of the day, any noble with even half a brain could see the advantage posed by no longer having a hard limit on their Shard numbers.

The attack on the capitol and the start of a civil war had somewhat overshadowed his new machines, but there was still plenty of interest. Hell, I'm sure people would be even more rabid if they didn't know the Crown currently has a huge surplus of mithril cores due to the Kraken Slayer, he thought.

"Still, going back to my earlier comments, I can't help but wonder if your rebellious ways haven't changed as much as found new targets, William Ashfield."

"Redwater," William corrected, softening it with a smile.

"And perhaps, though I doubt anyone will argue that any grief I directed toward my then-fiancée wasn't well deserved. And I'd like to point out that any vindictiveness I might have engaged in has been vindicated by her family revealing themselves as traitors."

"Of course. Of course," the countess agreed quickly.

"I suppose not all of your old behaviour could be ruled to be in error. On that front, I can only hope you have better luck with your new fiancées." William smiled as both Clarice and Marcille tightened their holds on his arms, a synchronized squeeze that spoke volumes.

"Given they're slated to become the new Ladies of Summerfield, I feel quite secure in that being the case." And now finally they were at the crux of why he was here: gauging allegiances of the Summerfield nobles in the upcoming succession scrum. Of course, the twins already had a mental map of who was supporting who, but his recent arrival aboard the Jellyfish - complete with tacit crown backing - might well have reshuffled the deck on that front. Hence this little probing mission.

"Ah, so you will be supporting their claim over your sister's?" The Countess arched an elegant brow, her question laced with intrigue.

"I had wondered – though I can't say I'm surprised." William's eye twitched involuntarily. Olivia's "parentage" had apparently leaked during the flight south, and he intended a rather blistering conversation with his mother about it. It doubly galled him that his endorsement of the twins was being chalked up to petty revenge on his part for her supplanting him as Ashfield heir. Admittedly, it was a pretty natural assumption, but it rankled all the same. He loved his little sister. …

Even if he was going to utterly crush her and his family if they tried to go forward with putting her on the Summerfield throne. He'd warned them that Yelena wasn't above having his sister assassinated if she thought doing so would keep the Summerfield Duchy from siding with the North. Yet they were pulling this bullshit anyway?

"I love my sibling," he said evenly, "but she's just a girl of fourteen. And with the 'strongest' claim to the Duchy seat being so muddied, well, I believe that at a time like this House Summerfield will require strong leadership. And given my fiancées have just been congratulated for downing an airship with a single Shard during the most recent attack, I think Clarice is our best option. We should be thinking of the good of the entire nation, not just personal loyalties."

Ignoring Olivia entirely, there were two other rivals who boasted blood claims of varying legitimacy to the Duchy seat. Plumgarden and Apple River. Fortunately, both had graduated the Academy years prior and had been ensconced in the South during the capitol's siege. Which meant they'd not managed to claim any accolades during the attack. Oh, one claimant had an heir who'd been present for the battle, but despite frantic efforts to inflate her contributions after the fact, she'd achieved little of note.

The Countess opened her mouth to respond, then reconsidered, her expression turning thoughtful. Finally, she turned to Clarice.

"I suppose there's an argument to be had there. My house has always been clear in our support of our long-time allies in Plumgarden, but I suppose these are unprecedented times." Her voice lowered.

"Perhaps with the correct incentives, we might be willing to reconsider our stance. Coincidentally, I understand you've recently come into possession of a number of airship cores. Obviously, our County already has an airship of our own so we couldn't possibly claim any whole – nor would we make such an outlandish request - but we've long desired to expand our Shard complement." That was blunt - bordering on crass for Elvish Etiquette. Still, one or more core shards for extra support wasn't a bad deal.

Highway robbery by most standards, but cheap enough for William himself. He squeezed the arm to his right.

"I'm sure with a sufficient show of support, something can be arranged," Clarice interjected smoothly, her voice carrying the weight of future authority.

"A small boon to loyal houses so that they might increase their military might in this trying time." It was no coincidence that the moment things got serious the countess' attention had shifted from him. Despite his exploits, he remained 'just a man' in the subconscious calculus of many noblewomen, his input dismissed as ancillary. He'd been front and centre because he was amusing, but his time as a mouthpiece came to an end the moment an important question came up. He didn't care.

The countess' grin widened, predatory yet genial.

"Well, in that case, I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening. I've some people I need to talk to. It was a delight talking to you all." As she glided away into the crowd, William snagged a fluted glass of sparkling aether-wine from a passing servant's tray, offering it first to the twins. Marcille accepted with a gracious nod. Clarice declined. So he chose to take a swig instead. He'd have asked Marline, but he knew she'd decline. And he needed something to wet his throat.

"I'm not built for this. Talking." Marcille chuckled around the rim of her own glass.

"Me neither. S'why I normally leave that type of thing to Clarice." The older twin rolled her eyes, but said nothing. Turning to ask who they were going after next, he instead noticed Marline staring at him, brows furrowed in what looked like bemusement.

"What?" Marline shook her head, a rare smile cracking her stoic facade.

"I'm just shocked you can be diplomatic when you put your mind to it." He huffed, feigning offense.

"I can be diplomatic. I organized all those extra training sessions for us back at the Academy, didn't I?" She snorted.

"Your version of diplomacy basically equated to waving your dick in the face of every Cadet in our year and above while promising a date in return for extra training time. It was hardly the height of statesmanship." Flushing a little, he turned to the twins, who'd gone decidedly still.

"First of all, those dates were downright platonic. We didn't do anything!" Relationship with his future wives saved, he turned back to the Dark Elf.

"Second of all, that's still diplomacy." Marline scoffed, crossing her arms.

"Sure, but even that dropped off after you won the match against Tala. Do you even remember the name of any of the people you made deals with?" He squinted in thought.

"Sara? I think there was a Sara?" Marline – and even the twins just laughed – and he sagged.

"Alright, I have to ask. Are you two sleeping together?" Marcille asked – and Clarice clapped her sister on the shoulder, scandalized.

"What? I know you're curious too." Marline's laughter came to an instant stop as she spluttered – and William could only give Marcille a deadpan stare.

"No." The two said in unison – with very different levels of vehemence. Honestly, he'd have been a little offended if he wasn't ninety percent sure Marline was a closeted lesbian. Oh sure, the Dark Elf had hidden it well at first, but you couldn't keep your guard up for months while living with other people. William had noticed the glances, ittle slips to be sure, but there all the same. Especially post-shower or after runs, he thought.

She always snapped her gaze away quickly, and seemed a little ashamed each time though – which was why he was so sure about the 'closeted' part of the lesbian bit. He was pretty sure that was what the showering alone thing was about. Some kind of attempt at chivalry. Misguided though it was. Honestly, he didn't even know why she felt the need to hide her attraction. It wasn't like lesbianism was in any way frowned upon in Lindholm or anywhere else in the world.

In a world with five women for every man, it'd be pretty insane for it not to be as common as it was. Bisexuality was closer to the standard than a woman straight up being straight. It was just how it was.

"Really? You two seem so close though," Marcille continued.

"Honestly, it's not a big deal if you are. We'll be marrying William, but there's at least three other slots available in the family."

"Two," Clarice said.

"Don't forget about the Orc."

"Oh yeah," Marcille nodded.

"Two."

"What Orc?" William shot back.

"Wait, you mean Verity?"

"Yeah? She clearly has a crush on you," Marcille continued.

"And you're so sweet to her."

"Honestly, I get a little jealous when I see you two together," Clarice added. Well, he supposed it was nice to know his new wives weren't bigoted towards Orcs if they were willing to include her, not that it made much difference.

"I'm nice to her because I'm not an asshole," he said.

"Because she's sweet. And yes, she might have a crush on me, but it's puppy love. I'm like, the first guy she's ever spent any time around. Give it a few months and she'll get over it and develop a crush on someone else." Hums of skepticism rippled from the group, but William knew he wasn't wrong. Sighing, he glanced toward where his sister Olivia was chatting animatedly with their mother and aunts in one of the corners of the room.

They'd spoken at the start of the party, but it had been little more than a greeting. The verbal equivalent of a postcard. No, our little private tête-à-tête can happen later, away from prying eyes, he thought. He had a lot to say, and he didn't doubt his mother did too - going by the way her eyes had been blazing. Unfortunately for her, she was going to find out that he could speak a lot louder than her now.

"Ah, our aunts and father are here," Clarice said suddenly, turning as the herald announced the arrival of the Whitemorrows - fashionably late, for reasons William could only speculate. He glanced at the approaching figures: a poised Elven woman with black hair who didn't have much in the way of resemblance to the twins. She was flanked by a man whose sharp eyes and easy smile marked him as their sire. The family resemblance was striking, down to the subtle tilt of their heads.

Walking just behind them was an armored stately-looking woman.

"Ah, it seems mother couldn't make it," Clarice sighed.

"Will that be a problem?" he asked. Marcille shook her head, serious again now.

"No. Aunt Uriel is usually in charge of the House's diplomacy anyway and our blood claim comes through father's line." William nodded, mentally reminding himself that this was a different world.

"And the woman behind them?"

"Aunt Yurine. She's our seneschal. She'll be here to protect father – and us too, I suppose." Right, he thought.

"Well, I suppose we should finally meet face-to-face," he said. And why did he feel nervous!? He was a grown-ass man! He'd fought in wars! He'd recently crippled an entire fleet! Meeting his new in-laws for the first time shouldn't make him nervous!