Chương 74: Chapter Seventy Four

It had been harder than one might think to find a quiet room to speak in, despite the fact the party was taking place in a giant mansion. Yes, the majority of the guests were sticking to the main hall, but with almost the entirety of the South's nobility present for the coming War Council, that meant there were still plenty of bodies leftover to scheme - both maliciously and benignly - in the other rooms. And I'd bet Yelena has one of her invisible listeners present in every one, he thought. Including this one.

Which was why he'd been ready to slap down any of his own family's schemes with the force of an angry god. Which was why he could scarcely believe what he'd just heard as he stared across at his family. And it was the whole family – sans Aunt Perlia, who had likely stayed back home to oversee the Ashfield holdings and keep the county running. Janet Ashfield sat on a nearby sofa, her posture straight and her expression unreadable.

Aunt Karla stood against the back wall, a half-empty glass of wine in her hands that she was swishing about nervously. The last two - Lira and Sophina - flanked Olivia on each side of another couch. Sophina in particular looked like she was trying to burn a hole through him with her eyes, but he scarcely spared her a second glance – which likely pissed her off all the more. No, his focus was on what had just been said.

"What?" he repeated – for a third time. His mother tilted her head, studying him the way she might study a new trade manifest.

"You're many things, my son, but I'd never thought slow to be one of them. You've won. I surrender. We'll be supporting the Whitemorrow girl's claim." He blinked. He had walked in braced for begging or demands, and a lot of shouting either way - but instead his mother was offering her surrender with the calm finality of someone closing a ledger at the end of a bad fiscal year.

"Really? Just like that?" he asked. Aunt Karla scoffed, the sound rich with disbelief.

"Just like that. He invents a dozen never-before-heard-of new technologies, near singlehandedly defeats the most damaging attack on our capital in our nation's history, positions himself to marry one of the most likely claimants to claim the Summerfield title. And then acts like we're the ones being confusing." William opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again.

"Not to downplay my own efforts, but some would believe I'm merely taking credit for Yelena's accomplishments. Technologically at least." A narrative he'd done a lot to reinforce. It served to further confuse any claims that he might be harrowed as well as cause people to underestimate him.

"So you'll forgive me if I'm a little surprised that you believe me to be the driving force behind these inventions."

"Some people haven't just been debriefed by your sister and aunt," his mother said.

"And they both believe you to be the sole architect of these Aether-less shards. And I'm inclined to believe them. You always were clever, even if you only ever sought to apply it in the most infuriatingly rebellious ways."

"Or the kitchen!" Olivia popped in, before shrinking in on herself, cheeks flaring red.

"…I mean, he also used to make a lot of nice new foods." Janet's expression warmed slightly at that.

"That he did." William also sent his sibling a grateful little smile – even as he mentally started to re-orentate himself.

"Okay then. I understand. I'm still a little surprised you're not asking me to use all that to support Olivia instead. I mean, at this point the succession is more or less a foregone conclusion."

"I wouldn't say that. Renal Plumgardern is no fool. I don't know what she's planning, but she'll certainly try something." Janet placed a soft hand on Olivia's shoulder.

"Regardless, perhaps we might have gone that route if you hadn't unveiled our original plan to take the title and side with the Blackstones to Yelena. As it stands now, she'd never let Olivia take the title." William could believe that. Oh, the queen had no legal means to interfere in the succession - Lindholm's ancient charters were clear on ducal rights - but she had plenty of illicit ones available to her. And not all required Olivia to die.

A foolishly sworn geass oath followed by its breaking was one method available to her. And William didn't put it past the woman to do exactly that – because short of the woman murdering or physically maiming his sibling, he wasn't in any position to break off their alliance. Not this late in the game, William thought. Once upon a time I might have had other options, but our interests are too tightly entwined now.

"So you're siding with the twins instead," he confirmed.

"In the hopes of getting in the good graces of her and your future liege lady."

"We're siding with you, kid," Aunt Karla said.

"And Whitemorrow. So feel free to convey to our Queen that Olivia is no longer a threat."

"It's that simple huh?" he murmured.

"Simple," Aunt Sophina scoffed, echoing Karla's earlier tone.

"There's nothing simple about any of this. What was simple was you marrying Tala, using their support to let Olivia take the Summerfield title, and us all overthrowing Yelena in a bloodless coup." Janet shot the woman a warning look, shutting her up, before turning back to him.

"Instead, you've managed to upset a plan nearly a decade in the making by somehow escaping an ironclad marriage clause, creating that absurdly ugly ship and those shards of yours, and somehow positioning yourself as queenmaker for the same Summerfield title that was originally going to go to your sister." His mother laughed, a short, rueful sound that carried more weariness than humor.

"So no, it's not simple, and you'll have to forgive me if I didn't predict any of it happening and planning accordingly. I made our original plan based on what I knew and what was within my means to accomplish while bettering our family. I'm doing the same now. Having two of my children with ducal titles and no war would have been ideal, but I'll settle for one child with a ducal title and the other one hopefully still breathing when this long bloody war is over." William paused.

He could accept that logic - even if on some level it felt surreal not to be arguing with his mother. That was, as sad as it was to say, the sum total of their relationship. Arguing. Now she was sat there offering a pragmatic surrender, and the absence of conflict was still leaving him oddly off-balance.

"I'll be sure to convey your words to Yelena," he said hesitantly.

"When the succession formalities start, she'll obviously expect a public declaration of Olivia's renouncing of her title and your formal support of Whitemorrow." He winced a little at the look on Olivia's face at those words – maybe she'd still held out some hope he'd offer to help her - but she didn't argue. The girl simply nodded, jaw tight."It will be done, brother." He nodded, before pausing.

"Out of curiosity, no one's going to ask me if I'm harrowed?" That'd been another thing he'd been waiting to be asked since he'd entered. And yet, for the first time since entering, he found Janet Ashfield looking angry at his words. Not the cold, calculated anger he was used to, but something raw and protective.

"I'm your mother, boy. I can't say I knew you as well as I liked given all you've done to surprise me these past few months, but I think I'd know if my own child was harrowed. Don't ever even joke about that." Perhaps it should have amused him how sure she was, but it only made him sad. The truth sat behind his teeth like a live grenade – and he clenched them tight. He had told Yelena. He had told the team. But he wouldn't tell his mother. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Because it hurt his soul to see how she looked at him now; with a mother's certainty that he was simply exceptional, not broken. Not some strange creature puppeting her child around like a meat-suit.

"Right, a poor jest on my part." He turned to leave, before pausing.

"And Olivia, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. Not about my actions, but for keeping you from… your birthright I guess." She laughed humorlessly.

"I can hardly complain, brother. I did it to you first after all." He did laugh at that, low and quiet.

"Though I'll not deny that it hurts. More than I expected," she continued.

"I like Verity. And I guess I didn't really understand what it meant when mother said we'd be backing House Blackstone's coup. Orcs were… well, I'd never met one - and Tala didn't have much nice to say about them." William could believe that. Honestly, in retrospect he should have handled that whole situation with the letters better. Replied to a few, rather than that first one and ignoring the rest. Olivia continued, voice small but steady.

"I wouldn't want Verity to be a slave. She told me a few stories about it when we were painting the shard. And.., I wouldn't want that for her. Or anyone." She paused.

"But I really wanted to be a duchess. And to avoid a war." She's only fourteen, he reminded himself.

"There'd always have been a war," he said slowly. The Free orcs in the South wouldn't just go back to being slaves. And while airships made conventional resistance impossible, the presence of the 'true' free orcs in the North meant it wasn't impossible. The South might not have had the mountains they used to hide in, but it had plenty of very dense forests while conducting their resistance. Never mind the cities themselves.

"Right," Olivia realized, nodding. Even as mother and aunts looked confused.

"So, yeah, I forgive you I guess. Even if I'm disappointed." And that right there was part of why he loved his sister. She was a bit of a brat, but she had a heart under it all.

"Right, I'll go tell the Queen. I'll also make sure she doesn't do anything to hurt our family," he said. And that was his peace offering of sorts. He stepped out to see Marline waiting in the corridor, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

"I expected shouting." the dark elf said.

"So did I…" William said.

Yelena frowned as she listened to the Duchess of Southshore - though her last name was actually Ironhull. A distinctly dwarvish name for an elven house, but one that had a rather long and storied history behind it. Just as the fact that said woman was now the duchess of Southshorerather than the now-defunct actual House Southshore. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Yelena didn't care to think about those long and storied histories now.

Her focus was on what the woman was telling her.

"And your woman is sure the survivors are telling the truth?" she confirmed.

"And that they are who they say they are." Norel Ironhull nodded, keeping her voice low lest anyone else hear. A not too difficult feat given the ambient noise level from ongoing conversations in the hall as well as the wall of guards between them and any eavesdroppers. Her daughters and their host had already made for the main floor to 'mingle' while Yelena received petitioners.

"We are. We've also checked our own records and the numbers line up from water-ships we've lost. If these people are imposters, they're very well researched ones." Yelena didn't slam her fist down, but it was a close run thing. Free orcs had been part of the Lunite flotilla that struck the capital. Instead, she sighed.

"Right. Well, I thank you for your discretion in this manner." Norel nodded slowly. Whatever her own personal feelings on the matter of Lindholm orcs being part of the attack, the fact of the matter was that the South didn't need a schism at this time. Not with a war on. And the information the duchess had just shared… well, while it might not be enough to cause a schism in and of itself, it would certainly be a blow for morale.

Free orcs, she thought - a cold fury burning in her veins, fingers tighten around the stem of her untouched wine glass. Sentimentality had never been the reason why she'd moved to end the practice of orcish slavery - only a desire to be able to recruit more orcish mages and see less of her own lost fighting them - and this most recent news wouldn't change that. As much as it burned her. She'd get her pound of flesh one day, but it would have to wait. Likely decades.

The one bright spot in the whole affair was that those orcs had turned on the Lunites that had… hired them? Those details were more spotty, but the fact remained that the orcs now had three airships that were apparently heading back up North. Which would hopefully become a problem for the Northerners soon enough. Let them eat each other, she thought vindictively.

The only strange part of the whole story, and the one that made her a little sceptical of its authenticity, was the fact that those same orcs chose to release the enslaved humans aboard the ships they'd taken rather than killing them all and dumping them overboard. And it says a lot about this situation that them doing so would have been far more convenient for me, she thought. Instead she had a crew of former slaves she needed to keep quiet lest they shoot her moral arguments against orcish slavery in the foot.

"Keep them isolated for now," she said.

"Comfortable, but isolated. We'll figure out what to do about all this… later."

"Already done, Your Grace." The duchess said.

"I will convey instructions to make their current accommodations more long term." Yelena nodded gratefully, before dismissing the woman with a gesture—sending her back into the throng of courtiers. Honestly, after that news, she wanted a moment for herself, but it couldn't be allowed. Not with so many nobles wanting to see her. And she'd see them because she'd need their support for the days to come. So she simply gestured, allowing the next petitioners forward through the throng of her guards.

And regretted it almost immediately when she saw who it was.

"Lady Plumgarden," she greeted with feigned happiness. She'd already spoken to greeted Lady Apple River earlier and was sure Plumgarden would ask the same things the high elf had. The countess curtsied with perfect precision, dark green eyes glittering with intelligence that might well have been a boon to the Queen if applied to different ends.

"Your Grace. A pleasure, as always. I know your time is valuable, so I shall not tarry long. My question is simple, will you be supporting House Whitemorrow in the upcoming succession conflict?" Yelena allowed herself a small, careful smile.

"Only by way of moral support. As you well know, as Queen I have no real say in a ducal succession. With that said, I'm still allowed to have personal favourites. Given the man who aided in the defense of my capital, and a contributor to the defence of the realm as a whole is to be betrothed to one of the claimants, I see no harm in making my own preferences known. They'd be self-evident enough otherwise.

"I suppose." Wenya Plumgarden frowned, the expression pulling at the faint lines around her eyes, but she didn't argue.

"Still, you do confirm that you won't interfere in the actual selection even if your favorite doesn't win?"

"Of course not," Yelena said, even as she bitterly hoped that didn't happen. They needed William to create more aether-less shards and to do that he'd need control of the duchy. The whole thing would only slow down if she was forced to negotiate with Plumgarden or Apple River for every new workshop they'd need to set up on their land. The other woman looked satisfied though, the faintest curl of triumph touching the corners of her mouth.

"Excellent," she said, before offering another perfectly executed curtsy.

"My thanks for your time, your grace." Her bit said, she turned on her heel, the dark green silk of her gown whispering across the marble as she melted back into the crowd without another word. Yelena was just getting ready to call another petitioner forward, only to pause as she caught a face she also didn't want to see right now. And yet had to. Gesturing to her guards, she ignored the low grumble that rippled through the nobles waiting their turn as William was allowed to step up to her.

Worst yet, the man didn't even have the decency to look smug about it. It was just expected.

"Please." She rubbed the bridge of her nose with two fingers, the weight of the evening pressing down on her like an empty ballast tank.

"If this is more of your usual insanity, can it wait? I've enough problems already." Wrangling the South onto a war footing was always going to be a hassle, and this evening was only serving to prove it.

"My mother will support the Whitemorrow bid and withdraw Olivia's," William said without preamble. Ah, that was good! Yelena smiled despite herself, a small, genuine thing that eased the tension in her shoulders by a fraction.

"Good."

"You don't seem surprised," he noted.

"Should I be?" She said, "I have her between a rock and a hard place with my fleet overhead. I'd never have let her daughter be a duchess after plotting treason like she did. Had Olivia managed to win the succession conflict through some miracle, I'd have been forced to do something… underhanded eventually even if she seemed outwardly loyal."

"Even at the cost of alienating me?" He asked, a small bit of heat entering his tone. She scoffed.

"No, because it's a pointless hypothetical. Olivia wasn't going to win the succession without your aid and you weren't going to give it for the exact reasons I just mentioned." He frowned, before sighing.

"I suppose." Yelena rolled her eyes at that response. Boy's just trying to argue for the sake of it then, she thought. I suppose he's still a man at the end of the day. An exceptional man, but still a man. Honestly, that little exchange reminded her of conversations she'd had with her husband before his passing. The memory brought a brief unwelcome pang, one she pushed aside.

William seemed about to speak again as another thought occurred to him, before he hesitated, mouth half-open as though weighing whether the next words were worth the risk. She waited, one eyebrow arched in silent invitation.

"What else do you need to bring up?" she asked when the pause stretched.

"We still need to swear the geas," his voice extra low. Ah, yes, that. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been putting it off. A geas wasn't sworn lightly – even for a woman who already had heirs and spares.

"We can do it tonight," she said at last, the word dragged out.

"I'll have one of my guards escort you to my quarters. Quietly." And isn't it ironic that bringing a boy a fifth my age into my bed chamber is the least scandalous comment I've made tonight, she thought wryly. Though she'd hardly be the first queen to take a pretty young suitor to bed. Void, the fact that he was human rather than his age would be what raised eyebrows – if any were raised at all. And she definitely ignored any tingles such an idea brought. Griffith had been… descriptive.

He nodded, about to speak again - probably to clarify or add some new layer of madness - when the clear chime of metal on glass rang out across the ballroom.

"May I speak to everyone," a voice called. The soft chime managed to cut through the polite chatter like a knife through butter – likely via the aid of some kind of spell. And the room quieted in response, heads turning toward the center of the ballroom where Lady Plumgarden stood.

"I apologize for the interruption, my lords and ladies," she began, voice carrying clearly across the marble floor, "but I felt what I have to say is best heard by all." She lowered her implements.

"For it is no secret that the threat before us is grave. The North, while barbaric in many of its customs, has ever been our sword arm against mainland threats. Now that blade had turned against us in act of treachery most vile. So, with such a threat bearing down upon our very nation, it is of utmost importance that the matter of this succession be resolved with all haste so that we might turn to face the real challenge." A few hear-hears echoed through the room, but most remained quiet.

"Yet while our oldest traditions would have us fight it out with airships from each house - the claimant decided through force of arms - I instead propose an alternative," Plumgarden continued.

"Every ship, every sailor, and every shard will no doubt be needed in the days to come. So with that in mind, I suggest we hold a more… limited duel. One that will not see us lose valuable airships. No, instead, I propose we settle this with one squadron of shards from each claimant." Voices raised at that, some in agreement, some in argument, but they were quieted as Lady Apple River spoke up.

"Given our current circumstances, I would not argue with such a proposal. If only to conserve our strength." An actress, the countess was not, and it was clearly evident to Yelena that line was rehearsed ahead of time. This whole charade was. So this is your ploy, she thought. Take the Jellyfish out of the game even the odds.

It was far from guaranteed to give either house a win – but it gave them significantly better chances than they would have with their old warships against the Jellyfish and its massive Shard complement. With equal numbers, the advantage would actually lie with the older houses and their heavily enchanted Shard craft. Still, she could see the idea taking hold in the crowd. Because as much as they tried to show it, they were nervous.

Oh, a few fools existed, but most knew that the balance of military power favoured the North in the conflict to come. At least by conventional standards. William was set to change that, but to most of the nobles here he was just a name and a few stories. And a man besides, she thought. One who has a poor reputation here in Summerfield. Knowing she was about to take a hit to her popularity, she nonetheless opened her mouth to speak, ready to dismantle the suggestion with a few well-chosen words.

Only for a voice to beat her to it. One very familiar and very close by.

"I think that's a wonderful idea," William said, standing over the crowd by virtue of his position near her and her raised seating. Plumgarden seemed stricken by surprise, her perfectly composed mask cracking for the briefest instant.

"You… agree, Count Redwater?"

"I do," he agreed enthusiastically, spreading his hands as though the notion delighted him.

"As you said, we will need every ship, every sailor, and every shard."

"…I see." His smile widened.

"But I think we should go further. Not a squadron each - but one shard from each house." None of the claimants – be they Whitemorrow, Ashfield, Apple River or Plumgarden – looked like they could believe their ears. Because what William was suggesting only further winnowed his advantages! He'd told her that while the Corsair was an excellent craft, it was no duelist. It was designed to work as part of a team to best maximize its speed and power. Not the kind of turn fight a one-on-one duel would be reduced to.

Before she could speak, she was interrupted – again!

"I'm heartened," Plumgarden said.

"If I agree to that suggestion, may I make one more alteration to the rules?" Though she was speaking to William, her eyes tracked towards the Whitemorrow twins. Who in turn looked to William.

"Of course," he said.

"Though I reserve the right to disagree. I wouldn't want you to demand any pilots born on a Solday to pilot with one arm." A few chuckles rang out at that, but Plum Garden just shook her head.

"Nothing so base. I would just like to confirm that you agree that this is a duel for nobles? Correct." Yelena could see the trap coming from a mile away, yet could do nothing but stare as William simply nodded.

"Of course."

"Then to that end, you would agree that these new 'aetherless-shards' of yours would not be fit to compete? They are after all, for 'peasant-pilots'," she smiled apologetically.

"Useful of course, and I, as well as many others, would no doubt be delighted to speak to you on them more at a later date - but I think all can agree they're not fit for this particular stage." A few grumbles and agreements once more sparked at that. Yelena herself wanted to argue that it was an absurd argument. Airship conflicts already had plebian sailors involved. What difference did the presence of mithril in a craft make?

"Well reasoned," William agreed, making her heart sink further – and she had no doubt the twins felt the same given how their features twisted. They didn't argue with him though as he continued. She wished she had that kind of faith. Alas, she didn't - but she couldn't speak up because this had just become an 'internal' matter and beyond her purview.

The claimants involved were the only real authorities now - and the Summerfield reagent, but the old woman didn't seem inclined to intervene, merely watching with mild curiosity.

"I can agree with that, provided all claimants involved do House Whitemorrow the favor of giving us a week to source new craft. As incredible as my fiancee's Basilisk is, it's not exactly designed as an anti-shard craft," Willaim said.

"I can agree to that!" Apple River shouted with almost unseemly haste – happy to see the trap they thought they were laying sprung. Plum Garden looked a little more suspicious, but nodded slowly.

"As can I. It seems only reasonable."

"I-I agree," Olivia Ashfield's small voice filled the void – though she seemed as confused as Yelena herself felt. The last were the twins. Clarice Whitemorrow glanced from the smug expressions of her two main rivals, to the waiting expressions of the other nobles, before back to William. It was clear they wanted to decline. William though, gave her one small solemn nod.

"I agree on my fiance's behalf. The dual shall be in one week. With one shard for each claimant." …Yelena wanted to cry. The succession had been a foregone conclusion! Sure, they might have lost one or two airships, but it'd have been worth it to place Summerfield under their control! And then the stupid infuriating human had the audacity to glance down at her – and wink! It was all she could do not to slap him. Instead, she stood up and said the absolute last words she wanted to say.

"Then it's agreed," she said, trying to sound pleased. …She wasn't entirely sure she succeeded.