Chương 188: Arc 3 - Chapter 60

The whole Court turned to face Fritz, whose declaration shouldn't have been a surprise, yet somehow was.

"A duel?" The King repeated, raising one hand to his chin and stroking his more subtle scales.

"And why should I deign to grant you such?"

"It's a bit of old, well-established law," the familiar Minister mused. She smiled, her red lips parted just enough to reveal the points of needle-sharp fangs.

"We have not seen one of the peerage elect to defend his claims with his blade in some time." The statement caught Fritz off guard, he'd thought it would be more common. That wasn't the only thing that troubled him though. There was that nauseating feeling that he knew the Minister from somewhere and yet still couldn't place her. The more he strained to remember, the more a sense of vertigo assaulted him. Duke Whiteship's voice broke through his distraction.

"Yes, what was it, three years ago with Lord Whitewater and Lady-uh-""Lady Krill," the other minister provided, her smile taking on a more vicious bent.

"It was the whole matter about their respective infidelities and the parentage of one bastard boy."

"Enough!" the King boomed.

"Duchess Blackbrine, this is my Court, not a sordid parlour in which to gossip. Refrain from speaking on those shameful frivolities." A flicker of irritation flew over the minister's lovely face, but she swiftly tilted her head in a respectful bow and said, "My apologies, Your Majesty." He waved away her words and focused again the two merfolk nobles accusing Fritz of all manner of impropriety.

"Which of you brings these accusations upon Lord Hightide?" he inquired.

"Both of us, Your Majesty," the Duke's son stated.

"Do you maintain your assertions and accept Lord Hightide's challenge? Or do you retract your statements and testimonies?" the King asked. They glanced to each other, then both smirked.

"I accept his challenge, Your Majesty," Lord Whiteship said, his voice suffused with self-assurance.

"In fact, I would be pleased to put this ruffian in his rightful place."

"I, too, accept, My King," Lord Gresper followed arrogantly.

"This villain will haunt these vaunted halls no longer."

"Name your seconds," the King said.

"My sister, Lady Whiteship, will be my second," the Duke's son said.

"I nominate my cousin, Lord Scarford," Lord Gresper provided. The King nodded and brought his gaze upon Fritz.

"It will be two duels. One after the other," the King said.

"And as you are the one who invoked the right, they each have the choice of whether the duel will be to the first blood, three cuts, surrender or death. Do you still wish to claim this right?" Fritz nodded in understanding.

"I do, Your Majesty. I can not allow these aspersions, these insults, to remain unanswered."

"And your second?" the King asked.

"My Climbing companion, Bert," Fritz said reflexively. The two young noblemen opposing his appeal sneered and chuckled. The King gave a condescending smile.

"And what House does he hail from?"

"None, Your Majesty," Fritz replied, wondering at the question. The Court tittered, some close by laughed openly and disdainfully. Fritz fought down a surge of embarrassment. He knew not what he had said to have them all mocking him.

"This is a noble matter, you must have a noble second. One preferably sharing a blood tie," Duke Whiteship explained.

"It is the law."

"To bring that brigand, you might as well bring a hound to the royal ball," Lord Gresper said, which caused another round of easily earned chuckles. Fritz seethed, though he kept his fury under control. With the prospect of a duel on the horizon, it was less difficult to endure. He could store all that rage and hold it for when he could mete out his vengeance. Until then, those insults would only grow his grudge. Swiftly, he thought on who to name his second, recalling any and all nobles he'd met.

None leapt to his mind save his 'training partner' Mathew Tallmast. Or Perhaps Sir Needle. Would either agree? Was Adam, as a landless Knight, truly a member of the peerage? There was nothing for it; that mountain of a man was the best choice, and Fritz didn't mind another round of mocking if he misstepped here too. Not if the reward was having the greatest swordsman in the city as his second.

"I would choose my tutor, Sir Needle," Fritz said. The King scowled and a murmur went through the Court. The two Lord smirking Lords had those arrogant expressions wiped right off their faces in an instant. Then they paled and their eyes went wide with what could only be terror.

"Your tutor?" The King asked pointedly.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Fritz said, modestly, hiding a smirk of his own at the reaction his statement had brought.

"Sir Needle is forbidden to duel officially in Rain City, as per my decree," the King stated bluntly.

"He is ineligible." Fritz's hopes, which had risen for only a few moments, plummeted again. He searched his memories for anyone whom he could name. There was no one. In his desperation, he scanned the people around him. His eyes fell upon his brother, who was still standing by his side. He met Elliot's eyes. At first, he seemed surprised, but his still boyish face hardened and he nodded once.

"Then I name my brother, Elliot, as my second," Fritz announced. Lord Gresper scoffed, "He doesn't even have his Sanctum, how can he hope to duel?"

"Is that a requirement?" Fritz asked.

"Your Majesty?" he added, turning the question to the King.

"No, it is not. However, I can't say I approve. You would be throwing your leveless brother into a duel to the death," the King chastised. Fritz hesitated, then glanced to his brother. He didn't want him hurt, if it could be avoided, and he didn't want him dead at all. Better for Fritz to live again as a thief and beggar.

"I accept the role as second, no matter the peril. I will not let these Lords besmirch the name of Hightide," Elliot said loudly, surely. His voice only cracked for a moment.

"He's but a child. Please stop this, Your Majesty," Lord Whiteship entreated.

"I have no desire to harm the harmless. Or torment the weak."

"Or perhaps you are a coward? Too afraid to cross blades with a child, lest you be shown to be his absolute inferior?" Fritz taunted.

"If your swordsmanship is as shoddy as I suppose, I would see why you would be fearful. Even with all the advantages your Abilities and Attributes confer, I bet you would have to resort to subterfuge to win one bout against my brother, you snivelling squid." Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. A few gasps and some whispers followed those words.

"What? How dare you?" The Lord spluttered.

"Enough!" The King boomed again.

"Keep your silence while I deliberate." The Lords scowled and Fritz affected nonchalance, lazily laying a hand on his sword's pommel. Elliot stared at him like he was mad.

"Very well, you will duel," the King said, eventually. Fritz slid his hand down and gripped Quicksilver's hilt, eager to do battle and settle his score against the two.

"We will gather at the duelling arena one week hence to witness the contest. My previous judgement is to be suspended until a victor is proclaimed," the King continued in his rumbling tones.

"A failure to appear will render your defence or accusation forfeit. And will be punished further by a public whipping. Nine lashes." Fritz frowned. There was to be a delay? Why was everything always delayed? He released his grip, letting his hand fall to his side. Before he could ask any questions, the King announced.

"This hearing has reached its end. The Court is adjourned." With that, the King stood, then, with proud strides, he made his way out of a side door, followed by one of his servants and Duke Whiteship. Those who sat upon the stone benches broke out into eager conversation, discussing what they had seen and predicting what the outcome of the duel would be. Some were already placing wagers as to the victor. They didn't favour Fritz's chances, which was to be expected, but it still pricked his pride.

Elliot and Thea shrank back from the throne and sat heavily on the benches behind them. The two merfolk noblemen approached Fritz, likely to taunt him if their arrogant expressions and swaggering gait were anything to go by.

"I hope you're ready to die, Hightide, because I intend to set death as the price of our duel," Lord Whiteship said scathingly.

"Piss off," Fritz said simply. He had wanted to be more eloquent, but after the King had left and the true peril had passed, a wave of fatigue had washed over him. He just didn't have it in him to posture with full pretence.

"How vulgar. Both base and common, I suppose you learned such language while swimming in the gutters. Bobbing along with the rubbish and begging for scraps," Lord Gresper rejoined. Fritz looked at the two pampered lords, their well-fed frames and their unscarred skin. They were all bluster; they hadn't killed a man. Even their scales seemed soft. His gaze, so accustomed to judging the strength of murderers and monsters, found nothing to be afraid of. They noticed something of this in his stare.

Their faces took on a wary bent, seemingly unnerved by his silence.

"Gone mute now have we? Or did you lose your vocabulary down in the districts along with your honour?" Lord Gresper mocked, trying to hide his disquiet.

"Piss off," Fritz repeated, this time wielding his voice like a dagger and coating its edge in Dusksong's bleakest chords. If his hard stare had unnerved them, the resonant, weirding words cut into their composure and caused them both to retreat one step. There was some dignified, disdainful laughter. Not all the nobles were so absorbed in their talk that they missed the confrontation. There were more than a few that were watching intently.

Though Fritz doubted they heard what was said clearly over the rumble of many voices. The two Lords glanced around in alarm, red crept onto their faces as they realised they were now the subject of the mockery. They glared hatefully at Fritz.

"This isn't the end of this. In nine days, you will die," Lord Whiteship declared. Fritz placed his hand on the grip of his sword, then smiled blandly. It looked like they wanted to hurl more insults, not content with the last word, but a polite, ladylike cough interrupted them. They turned to see the Duchess Blackbrine, that familiar minister. She had left her seat and had strode right up to them without notice.

"Your Grace, how can we be of service?" Lord Gresper asked.

"I was actually hoping to speak to Lord Hightide," she stated, sweetly but sharply. They looked at her with some surprise.

"In private," she added more coldly. When they didn't hasten to move, the Duchess commanded, "Depart at once." The two Lords didn't need telling a fourth time, and they bowed, said polite farewells to the Duchess and left, walking away quickly.

"Follow, Lord Hightide," she ordered, turning on her heel smoothly and striding towards a side door. Fritz had no choice but to obey, though he took a moment to tell his siblings that he'd be back once he had attended the Duchess. He put on a swift pace to catch up to the woman, only admiring her from behind for a second or two. She wore an almost skin-tight, or rather a scale-tight dress of black and silver, that accentuated her fine figure. Again, there was that instinct that he knew her.

Absently, he rubbed at a dull, icy ache on his chest while he gracefully eased his way to her side and offered her his arm, like any gentleman should. Her lips twisted in amusement, a cold joy playing behind her scarlet eyes. She took his arm; she was warm, strong, and her black scales were as hard as steel. A shudder slid down his back, and that nausea and vertigo were back again. He nearly stumbled, but was able to keep his steps smooth by supporting himself with strings of Grace.

Soon, they were in an office of sorts, one with ledgers and tomes covering its shelved walls and a large paper-laden desk set at one end. She didn't make to sit behind the desk, though; rather, she led him into another room beyond, with couches, armchairs and a fireplace set with a glowing stone, radiating welcome warmth. She let go of his arm and sat herself on a couch, she unpinned her restrained hair bun and shook out her long, dark waves. The Duchess motioned for him to sit across from her in an armchair.

Fritz bowed and nearly toppled. He caught himself just in time and stagger-strided to the seat and sat.

"Lord Hightide, whatever is the matter? Are you unwell? Should I call a Healer?" she asked intently, watching his every move.

"No, don't trouble yourself, Your Grace," Fritz replied. He closed his eyes, and the sickness eased.

"I suspect it was all the strain of the hearing striking me after the fact."

"Yes, it could not have been easy bearing all that," the Duchess replied.

"You did well, all considered. Especially with the King. He can be petty."

"His Majesty is just and fair-minded," Fritz said, unsure what the woman was playing at and if this was a ploy to have him speak ill of the King or trick him into treason.

"As you say. Though when one makes the law, it is easy to be just," she mused.

"As you say," Fritz repeated. There was some silence and Fritz took all the time he could to recover his overly taxed mind and spirit. Eventually, after a full minute or more, he opened his eyes to see the Duchess watching him. She had a sharp nail. Talon. To her lower lip in thought. She tilted her head as if puzzling him out or simply appreciating his features.

"Your Grace?" Fritz asked.

"Do you know who I am, Lord Hightide?" she asked. Fritz went to shake his head, then pondered. He had heard the name of Duchess Blackbrine before, and not just from gossip and rumour.

"I think so," he hedged, wondering if she would be offended if he said he didn't know her, but felt like he did. Her brow creased in concentration.

"Answer me well. Truthfully. I'm not asking out of pride or in worry for my renown," she said. Again, his head swam and he closed his eyes.

"I remember now," he said slowly. He opened his eyes to see a deadly light in her eyes.

"You're my landlord. I rent one of those Climbing townhouses from you." The evil gleam evaporated in an instant, like it had never been, and her lightly pursed lips parted with a pretty smile.

"That's right, Lord Hightide. And I hear you've been an admirable tenant," she praised.

"Though that's not what I meant. Do you recognise me, Fritz?" There was a stab of freezing pain by his heart, but he didn't dare raise a hand to rub at it. His Awareness was hissing at him not to reveal any discomfort, not to show any weakness. All his senses shouted that he knew her. That he should know who she was, but every time he reached for recognition, for a realisation, it was like trying to grasp a greased squid in an ocean of oil, like there was a slippery barrier suspended between his mind and his eyes.

Fritz leaned on the truth; he didn't want to speak of his uncanny impressions. Not with the peril he perceived.

"I'm terribly sorry, I don't," he said, shaking his head in exaggerated dismay.

"Are you sure? You have never seen me anywhere?" she probed.

"Never. I can be sure of that. You are a true beauty, and any man would remember your face. It would dwell close to their heart," Fritz flattered.

"Oh, Lord Hightide, what sweet words," she said.

"Indeed, it would have to be a great magic to make someone forget such lovely eyes," Fritz said. These words didn't please her at all, though her smile stayed in place, her pupils narrowed.

"Indeed. A great magic," she repeated. Fritz chuckled and broke their gaze, staring around the room. He needed to do anything but continue to look at the Duchess. By one wall, there was a table set with bottles of whiskies, spirits and wines, including the distinctive black of barb-berry liqueur. He didn't let his eyes linger long, letting his attention roam. On the other side of the room was a floor-length window looking out into the lake. Or what he mistook for a window, at least.

The plane of glass wavered like a slowly flowing stream.

"Oh! What is that?" Fritz asked, hoping to distract the Duchess. She kept her stare on him a moment longer before turning languidly to what he had noticed.

"That?" she said.

"It's a permeable water barrier, or as some call it, a water door."

"Permeable, that means you can walk through it?"

"Walk through it, swim through it. A wonder when my scales feel dry and I just need to get them wet," she said, giving him a sly smile.

"Aren't you afraid of intruders coming through it?" he blurted. She laughed at that.

"No, of course not, it's warded. Why? Were you thinking of sneaking in? Lapsing back to your thief ways? Or perhaps something more... nefarious?"

"There's no proof I was a thief," Fritz said, pointedly ignoring the woman's suggestions.

"Ah, as you say," she drawled.

"What are you the minister of?" Fritz asked.

"I am the Minister of Aquatic Oversight," she said.

"Oh," Fritz said, completely ignorant of the position.

"I can see you're not versed in the respective ministries. Well, my ministry has many duties. I regulate the fisheries and farms. And eradicate vermin. There are also a lot of small, trivial tasks that I attend to that are nonetheless very important." Fritz didn't think she was being entirely truthful, that there was something else she wasn't saying about her 'duties', but he wasn't about to contradict her. Not after he had finally stopped her staring.

"It sounds a burdensome role," Fritz said.

"Though it is an essential one. I, for one, thank you for your diligence." She nodded once, and they were left in quiet contemplation until Fritz had the nerve to ask, "What exactly did you call me here for?"

"Oh, I just wanted to take your measure," she said, then she sighed.

"I had to make sure you're safe to keep around. That you're not... vermin."

"I hope I have proven my virtue thoroughly," Fritz said.

"Not as thoroughly as would truly satisfy me," she teased.

"Though it will do for now. Unless you would like to stay for a glass of merlot, you can consider yourself dismissed." A glass of merlot would have gone down well; he needed something to take the edge off this day, but he knew that suggestive look she had on her face and where she would want to lead him. He didn't want to tempt himself, nor fall into some ploy and become a noble's plaything. Fritz had Sylvia, and that was more than enough. He stood, bowed low and excused himself.

The Duchess pouted minutely, but let him leave without a further word. Fritz made his way back to his siblings and his advocate, then they left the throne room together, meeting up with Bert in the hallway. Quickjoy was waiting for them and escorted them out of the palace and into another royal carriage, all in silence. While they walked, Fritz used his thief signs to explain some of what had happened to Bert. It was only once they were in the carriage that anyone spoke.

"What do we do now?" Elliot asked. Fritz sighed, then smiled viciously.

"We prepare for the duel."