Chương 77: Chapter Seventy Seven

William stood alone in the Jellyfish's forward hangar, arms crossed as he stared at the Prototype. Olivia had apparently struck overnight. The little gremlin. While the rest of the ship slept, she had slipped in and turned the experimental shard's nose into a riot of purple tentacles wrapping around the cockpit in some lovecraftian embrace. The paint was still wet in places.

Still, he found himself smiling as he placed a hand on the machine – and surreptitiously ran a scan of the shard to ensure there was no sabotage, intentional or otherwise. There wasn't. Just a coating of fresh paint against the bare metal.

"I suppose I should take this as a show of support," he muttered - even as he made a mental note to get Xela to leverage some punishment against the marines who'd been guarding the door for letting his sibling sneak past.

"I should probably find something to distract her before she gets it into her head to start working on the Jellyfish's prow though," he continued. He'd seen her eying it – and while Karla was currently back aboard the Indomitable, his sister remained with him as his 'hostage'. Maybe he could distract her with a toy. Something radio-controlled perhaps? He had often gifted his nephews and nieces back on Earth with little RC planes and cars. … It would also conveniently segue into his next big military project.

Two birds with one stone. Sighing, he glanced out the nearest porthole at the grounds outside. Three other ships were anchored at the sky-port nearby – ready to launch the moment the starting flares were launched. The rules for the coming duel were simple on paper. Each ship would depart to a designated meeting point and height ten miles from the current location. Then, at a signal provided via orb, each house could launch their chosen shard.

This would give each shard some time to climb to its optimal height – and leave the theoretical meeting point directly over the Summerfield mansion. A crowd had already gathered in the gardens below to watch, with bleachers, catering and two massive projector screens set up. The latter items were in service to the fact that the competitors wouldn't be the only craft in the sky. Beyond the four dueling shards, two specialized shards equipped with communication orbs mounted in their noses would be circling the fight.

The waste of which had somewhat horrified him, until it was explained that the vehicles hadn't been built with the intention of filming airshows. The South wasn't that decadent. They were actually long range scout planes - that just so happened to double as aerial camera crews. Which… isn't a bad idea at all, he thought. Honestly, he was ashamed he hadn't thought of it himself and was already mentally sketching variants in his head. The Corsair could fly higher and faster than most shards after all.

And that's without even getting into the Shrieker, he thought as he ran a hand over one stubby wing. And that was the name the prototype had gotten stuck with. Honestly, if he'd named it himself he would have gone with its original 'Earth' designation - but had instead decided to let the twins name it prior to its debut. They had been suitably happy about doing so. He'd definitely earned some points with the pair with that move. With their dad too. Besides, Shrieker wasn't a terrible name.

It certainly wasn't hard to guess why they'd chosen it. About to call in the flight crews for a final redundant spot check, he was a little surprised when, before he could speak, the door to the hangar opened behind him. He'd asked the crew to clear out and give him a moment to himself before the match.

"Griffith?" he asked, surprised to see the woman – and less surprised to see Xela behind her.

"Sorry milord," the wood elf said.

"She asked to speak with you, and I thought it wise to get your thoughts before turning her away." He shook his head.

"It's fine. You can leave us." Nodding, the mage-knight shut the bulkhead door behind her as soon as the dark elf was admitted.

"Griffith, it's nice to see you. Do you have something for me from Yelena?" The Queen was down in the stands with the crowds below, playing the part of impartial observer. Ostensibly. Which was why he was surprised when Griffith shook her head.

"No, I'm not here for her. On this occasion, I'm here for my own reasons.

"Oh?" She stepped closer, feet shifting uncomfortably.

"I'm sure you're aware that it's been a while since we last talked." He exhaled.

"I suppose it has. A lot's been going on. And we've both been busy." Of course, he knew that wasn't all of it. The truth was, they hadn't spoken to each other properly since he'd revealed to Yelena – and Griffith by proxy – that he was harrowed. Griffith chuckled humorlessly.

"You're not wrong. By that standard, I suppose I shouldn't be here. I should be letting you focus on the coming fight." He shrugged.

"Eh, honestly, your timing isn't terrible. I'm happy for the distraction as I've not much to do right now but wait." Sure, he'd asked to be alone for a minute, but that had been so he could discretely handle any sabotage his beloved but easily swayed little sister might have engaged in. He'd considered it unlikely and he wanted to believe his family truly had given up the duchy and was on his side. And he was glad to be vindicated in hoping so- but there'd been a chance.

And it wouldn't do to have that kind of dirty laundry aired in front of witnesses. And he genuinely was happy to see Griffith. He liked her. Liked her a lot. Most of his relationships in this world had been born of some kind of pragmatic need. Sure, he had come to enjoy them all, but that was the truth. As he had the thought, he glanced out the nearby porthole at the many ships hovering overhead or docked to other skydocks. One amongst them was easy to pick out though. The Greygrass family's half-finished carrier.

The partially wooden craft was still just scaffolding in places. Naturally, they had first dibs on the next batch of Corsairs he made. He turned away. Yes, he had close relationships with many of the people in his life, but most of them were subordinates he'd cultivated for a purpose. Griffith wasn't that. She was just… someone he was attracted to. Honestly and without any ulterior motive.

"You know, you gave Yelena a heart attack when you agreed to the duel," Griffith said, suddenly shifting subject. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Still, he was content to let her dance around whatever had really brought her here before she moved to the main subject. For such a stern taskmaster, she could be… surprisingly shy in some ways. He laughed.

"I'll not apologize. I saw an opportunity to avoid us wasting combat power we might need in the coming days and took it. And hey, at least this way I don't need to rush into a marriage with the twins." Their current duel allowed for 'champions' to partake – chosen by the families involved. As such, he could pilot for House Whitemorrow without being part of it. But had the succession gone the old way, he would have needed to marry into the family first for his ship to count amongst their assets.

"Oh, so you chose to risk the fate of the nation because you had cold feet before the marriage?" she teased. He shook his head.

"Not at all. I'm only growing to like the twins more with time. I'd do my duty if it was needed. If it isn't? Well, it just… feels wrong to rush into a marriage." And he knew that talking about marrying two other women was a strange thing to discuss with the other woman you're courting, but that was just how this world worked. Sure, she was now giving him an odd look, but he knew it was for an entirely different reason. Jokes about 'cold feet' aside, they were nobility.

Marriages here were for alliances and to cement deals. Love and other emotions had little to do with it. Hell, given the whole polygamy thing, the whole charade was made even easier. A man could tolerate an otherwise loveless marriage with one or more of his 'wives'. And likewise, it let a woman who just wanted an heir foist her husband off on his harem. Sure, he didn't doubt there were other downsides to the whole thing, but that was how it generally worked out.

"I never took you for a romantic," Griffith chuckled. He shrugged.

"I'm really not. I am still marrying them for the duchy after all, despite my foibles. It's not like… it is with you." He enjoyed the way she flushed a bit at his words. Women in this world really were weak to compliments. He allowed the silence that followed to stretch for just a moment before he spoke.

"I thought you'd been avoiding me," he said. Sure, he'd not been lying when he'd said they'd both been busy - but not that busy that they'd not had time for a five minute conversation.

"There's some truth to that," she admitted - and he could admit that it stung.

"Yelena convinced me to get off my ass though." She took a breath and he prepared for the worst. This was it. He was getting dumped.

"I started avoiding you because I felt I was taking advantage of you," she said seriously.

"Me!?" he said. She flushed deeper, embarrassed.

"Yes! I mean, you are younger than me. And a former student. Sort of. Or current student." She made a so-so hand – another move he'd normally never have expected of her.

"Honestly, your attendance at the academy was a bit… non-existent toward the end." He nodded dumbly, still reeling.

"I thought we dealt with that? You know, once I became a count? We were on the same level."

"We were! And then I found out you were harrowed?" She laughed humorlessly.

"And suddenly, well, how did I know I wasn't taking advantage of some… fae-born obsession you might have? With dark elves? Or teachers? Or… older women?" That was… that was… well, he didn't want to admit there was some truth to that.

"What changed?" he asked instead.

"Yelena," she said with a chuckle.

"After you swore your geass with her and she got a look into your head, well, she gave me some more insight into the exact manifestation of your harrowing." Her smile turned teasing.

"Now I'm wondering if you're not the one taking advantage of me, old man." He didn't stagger but it was a near thing. Oof, my heart, he thought. And why am I both ashamed and find that hot for some reason!? Fortunately, he didn't have long to dwell on any psychosexual issues his dark elven lover might have accidentally stumbled across.

"Do the twins know?" she asked, turning serious.

"About the harrowing." He turned serious too.

"No. Not yet."

"Really? Not even with the rumors circulating about you?" He shrugged.

"They refuse to believe them. Apparently I'm 'too sane'."

"Ha, Yelena would laugh herself silly if she heard anyone call you that. Or cry. It depends on the day really." She turned serious again.

"You should tell them. Regardless of anything else, they deserve to know. And not just for their sake. Yours too. Your entire life shouldn't be a lie." To be honest, he'd expected that first part, because she wasn't wrong – he was just afraid to rip that bandaid off. The second part though? His smile was wry.

"I thought you were more pragmatic than that. Having me married to them once they take the Summerfield duchy will smooth out a hell of a lot of our future weapons development. Weapons we'll need."

"And I'm saying it anyway." She scoffed.

"I can be pragmatic and still keep my soul. And so can the twins. I used to teach them and they're clever girls. Or women." She shook her head.

"My point is, it doesn't have to be one or the other. I understand why you've been keeping secrets for so long, but you don't need to now. At least with the people close to you. You told your team about your situation and I think you know it was for the better." She… she wasn't wrong. Eventually, he sighed and closed his eyes.

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask." And then suddenly, he could smell her perfume – and something was pressed against his lips. The kiss was long. And passionate. Eventually, the sensation pulled away – and while he yearned to follow, he was stopped by a hand on his chest. Opening his eyes, he found himself staring into two pools of silver.

"Will you show me?" she asked quietly.

"Your world? Eventually?"

"…Sure," he found himself saying without thought.

"I'll be looking forward to it," she said as she turned to saunter away, hips rolling with every step.

"So try to stay alive today. If you do, I've got a reward for you." Then, with a creak of the bulkhead door, she was gone. William could only stare. He hadn't planned on dying today, but now there wasn't a single chance of it happening.

Yelena reclined in the royal viewing box overlooking the Summerfield mansion gardens, one leg crossed over the other as she watched the massive projection sheets set up nearby. The orbs mounted in the specialized scout shards provided crystal-clear views of two of the ships in the competition – and the pilots had chosen to focus on Plumgarden and Whitemorrow. Which made sense, both were the 'favorites' to win.

It was an open secret that Ashfield had submitted to Whitemorrow – and Apple River for all the airs they put on, had never been the most militarily capable house. To that end, neither was Plumgarden, but it was well known that they'd recruited a piloting prodigy years back and never hesitated to show the baseborn dwarven woman off in inter-house duels. Admittedly, said prodigy was now getting up in the years, but by all accounts she was still a terrifyingly effective pilot.

Yelena watched on-sheet as the two competing ships reached their designated starting points – and received auditory confirmation from the castle's orb array that the other two had as well. Any second now, the launch command would ripple out – and Yelena couldn't wait. She wanted this whole charade to be over so they could focus on the real issue, the two northern duchies currently squatting in her capital. Fortunately, for the moment they seemed content to do exactly that rather than pushing south.

From the reports she'd received, they seemed ready to move out, before… something happened. None of her people had managed to find out what, but there were reports of some kind of unrest amongst the highest levels of the occupying fleets. Maybe my brat of a daughter is stirring up trouble? she thought with… mixed emotions. Some part of her still hurt over that betrayal. She'd long known her daughter to be, well, frankly a little monster. But she'd never thought of her as a traitor.

Then again, she'd also never expected the North to rebel either. It seemed that a lot of things had gotten past her notice. … Maybe she was getting old. She decided not to dwell on it, as she watched William's shard be moved up to the 'flight' deck of his strange looking ship via some kind of ingenious elevator system. Though why he felt the need to launch from it when the Jellyfish had side-launchers, she didn't know.

Unlike his 'corsairs' there should be no reason for his craft to require a horizontal running launch if it had aether ballasts. She also ignored the scattered scoffs and muttered laughter from the surrounding nobility at the sight of the machine. Many had laughed at the Jellyfish too when they first saw its peculiar gangly half-finished looking design. Indeed, by that standard, William's latest creation was very on brand. It was a strange, squat-looking thing.

Similar to the 'Earth' variant in William's dreamspace, but this version somehow managed to look even more ungainly. A blunt nose, stubby wings, and an oversized cockpit that made it look like a fat beetle. The graceful lines of a normal shard were absent entirely. It also had no propeller at all. Front or rear. Which naturally more than a few of the crowd had noticed and were scratching their heads over.

Several nobles nearby chuckled openly, and she didn't doubt that last-minute bets were now being hastily adjusted against House Whitemorrow.

"Launch will begin in five." The commentator's voice boomed across the grounds.

"Four. Three. Two. One-" On the screens, the Plumgarden shard leapt from its carrier like a bolt from a bow - the sleek, elegant machine emerging into the sunlike with grace as it banked upwards, trailing a small vibrant stream of blue-green aether in its wake. The crowd, naturally, cheered appreciatively. William's shard, however, remained stubbornly on the deck. And for a brief moment, Yelena felt a flicker of worry. Had something gone wrong with the temperamental prototype? Sabotage?

Some kind of- A piercing shriek split the air, so loud it carried clearly even through the orbs – and perhaps the intervening miles between them as well. A massive, violent plume of aether exploded from the base of the strange craft, and the Shrieker shot upward. Literally. Almost immediately it went straight vertical. And not via the gentle upward floating of normal aether ballasts - this was raw, brutal acceleration. The entire crowd fell dumbstruck – even as many covered their ears against the noise.

The camera-orb struggled desperately to keep up, pivoting on its pneumatic mount and tilting wildly as the shard rocketed up into the sky at astonishing speed, trailing a thick column of aether behind it like… well, a comet. She was sure the laughter had gone silent now – though she couldn't be sure because it would have been impossible to be heard over the noise anyway. Yelena's lips curved into a small, private smile. Drama prince, she thought with fond exasperation.

He had clearly waited to make his launch as theatrical as possible. It had worked. The nobles around her were now frantically yammering amongst themselves as the operators of the viewing orbs worked to lower the volume. Meanwhile, on-screen, the shard carrying the orb belatedly realized it needed to move and attempted to follow the ascending shard - but it was a hopeless endeavor. Yelena leaned back, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Nothing on the planet could keep up with William Redwater right now.

He was the fastest thing alive. And with luck, the deadliest too, she thought.