Chương 96: Chapter 93 - part 2 - A King, An Adventurer, and a Knight

King Juice King Juice received them in the smaller strategy chamber overlooking the inner courtyard. The room was quiet, the table cleared of everything except a pot of tea, three cups, and the growing stack of reports tied directly or indirectly to Chelsea Wixx. Merchant Guildmaster Mara Vell sat with her hands folded over a leather ledger. She was composed by habit, though the last three days had placed a visible strain around her eyes.

Guildmaster Willow of the Adventurer's Guild looked less strained and more resigned. Chelsea's absence had somehow created more work than her presence. King Juice rested one hand on the topmost report.

"Three days," he said.

"She has been gone from Junstruce for three days." Willow gave a tired nod.

"And adventurers are already complaining that the job line feels wrong without her." Mara Vell gave Willow a sidelong look.

"That is because she was doing administrative work no one had properly valued."

"She was just reading postings," Willow groaned as if this was a long dead argument. King Juice looked between them, pleased by the fact that the argument itself proved Chelsea's value.

"And yet she left systems behind."

"She did," Mara admitted.

"Most young merchants leave instructions. Chelsea Wixx left mechanisms. Her accounts have designated spending limits, approval conditions, escrow releases, emergency purchase permissions, and proxy authorities written so clearly my clerks have begun copying the format." Willow rubbed the side of her face.

"She did the same to us. There are standing bounties with conditions. Mimic larvae, unusual cooking supplies, safe transport requests, reading materials, and several private notices tied to orphanages. None of them require her to be present, but all of them continue spending her money exactly where she wanted it spent." The king leaned back slowly.

"So her work continues without her."

"That appears to be the intention," Mara said.

"Maggie Orlan has authority to purchase fabric within a set range. The bank has instructions for Ivy Leaf's wages. Several merchant runners are authorized for small acquisitions. Larger matters require sealed confirmation, but she has already arranged message routes."

"From Valhalla," Willow added, sounding as though she still disliked saying it aloud. The king's attention sharpened.

"You have confirmation?" Willow placed a folded note on the table.

"A courier arrived this morning. Valkyr seal. Chelsea is alive, safe, and already asking whether Junstruce has legal restrictions on importing goods from divine territories." Mara closed her eyes for a moment.

"Of course she is." King Juice did not laugh, though he wanted to.

"What sort of goods?"

"No list yet," Willow said.

"Only questions. Metals, monster materials, preserved foods, enchanted textiles, medicinal herbs, and whether contracts signed in Valhalla are enforceable if the Wixx family remains the Junstruce-side beneficiary." Mara opened her ledger.

"That last part is far more important than it sounds. She is not transferring wealth away from Junstruce. She is trying to pull new wealth into it under the Wixx family name." Three days gone, and Chelsea Wixx was already reaching back across whatever distance lay between Junstruce and Valhalla with trade questions and proxy structures.

King Juice looked out toward the courtyard, where palace servants moved through their morning duties, unaware that the shape of the kingdom's future might be forming in simple handwritten letters from an eighteen-year-old girl a thousand miles away.

"At the banquet," he said at last, "I wondered what she would build if we left her alone." Willow looked at the reports and sighed.

"Apparently, Your Majesty, she builds even when she leaves." Mara gave a grim little smile.

"And invoices everyone properly." King Juice finally allowed himself to laugh.

"Then we continue watching," he said.

"And whatever Chelsea Wixx sends from Valhalla, I want it treated as a serious trade inquiry until proven otherwise." Willow picked up her tea at last.

"Even if it involves more mimic larvae?" The king's good humor faded just enough to become caution.

"Especially then." Adriane Three days after Chelsea left, the manor had settled into something close to normal. The house was quieter without her. That was the first thing Adriane noticed every morning. There was no excited voice carrying through the halls. No one appeared at breakfast with blood on her chin and a business proposal ready before tea. Adriane had cried the first night. So had Ivy. Neither of them had been particularly dignified about it, though Ivy had taken it the hardest.

She had sat in Chelsea's room with one of her shirts clutched in both hands while Adriane stood by the doorway pretending she had only come to check on her. That lie lasted about fifteen seconds before Ivy said Chelsea would have hugged them both and called them idiots. After that, Adriane joined her on the floor. The second day had been better. By the third day, Adriane returned to business. That was what the family needed.

Chelsea had left behind accounts, proxies, guild connections, charitable obligations, contracts, delivery schedules, and notes written in a hand far neater than Adriane expected from someone who spent half her time covered in gore. Adriane did not understand half of it, but she understood enough to keep the work moving. When in doubt, she asked Ivy. When Ivy did not know, they stared at the paper together until someone decided Chelsea probably had a reason. It was not ideal, but it worked.

The morning began with three letters, two bank approvals, and one uncomfortable meeting with a merchant who clearly expected Chelsea to appear from under the table and fix everything personally. Adriane handled him with patience for the first few minutes, then reminded him that the Wixx family had not stopped existing because Chelsea had left the city. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings. That settled the matter quickly.

By noon, Adriane had changed into her training clothes. She told herself she was only doing so because Gerard had offered to continue working with her. The man knew techniques she had never seen, and after he had put her face-first into the dirt in front of everyone, she had been forced to accept that he might have something valuable to teach her. It had nothing to do with the way he smiled when she got something right nor the way he gave corrections without sounding like an arrogant ass.

It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that he had complimented her blue dress. Adriane tied her hair back twice before leaving her room. The first ribbon looked too casual. The second looked too deliberate. She stared at herself in the mirror, removed the second ribbon, and used the first again.

"This is training," she told her reflection. Gerard was already waiting in the field behind the manor when she arrived. He had his sword at his hip and a wooden practice blade in hand, though he was currently inspecting the stitching on one of his gloves. He looked up when she approached and smiled.

"Good afternoon, Miss Wixx." Adriane's foot caught slightly on the grass. She recovered before falling, but not before Gerard noticed.

"Ground uneven?" he asked.

"Yes," Adriane said too quickly. Gerard blinked, then laughed. Adriane wanted to walk into the pond while holding a few boulders.

"I'll keep an eye on it." He said it kindly, which made it worse. They trained for the better part of two hours. Gerard could not overpower her. He rarely even struck. His lessons were annoying because they were precise. He pointed out where she carried too much tension in her shoulders, where her left foot betrayed her intention, and how often she relied on being stronger than her opponent.

"You don't need to win the first exchange," he told her after one particularly irritating correction.

"You keep trying to end things immediately."

"I usually can."

"I know. That is part of the problem." He also noticed strange things. Useful things, but strange. He asked who had altered her training shirt because the sleeve allowed good arm movement without pulling across her back. He suggested a different way to tie her hair because the ribbon shifted when she turned too fast. When she raised an eyebrow at that, he seemed to realize what he had said and immediately returned to discussing sword angles. Adriane noticed. She did not understand it, but she noticed.

By the end, she was irritated, but more impressed than she wanted than she'd ever been with her father. Gerard, meanwhile, looked barely winded. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist, then frowned at the dirt on his sleeve with more concern than he had shown for any strike she landed.

"You learn quickly," he said. Adriane looked away.

"Thank you."

"You also get angry quickly."

"I am aware. It's something I've always struggled with."

"It is not always bad. You just need to decide whether anger is helping before you use it." Adriane merely nodded and tried not to stare at his mouth while he explained another adjustment to her grip. When they finished, the silence between them lasted longer than it needed to. Gerard sheathed his sword.

"Same time tomorrow?" Adriane opened her mouth. The correct answer was yes. Unfortunately, all of those answers had to push through the fact that she had spent the last three days thinking about asking him something else.

"I was wondering," she started, then stopped. Gerard waited patiently. Adriane cleared her throat.

"If you are not busy tonight, perhaps you would like to... eat. With me. Not training. Just food. Somewhere that is not the manor." Gerard's face went still. For the first time since she had met him, he looked completely unprepared.

"A date," she clarified, "I am asking if you would like to go on a date with me." Gerard stared at her. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. In panic.

"Oh," he said. Adriane's face warmed. Gerard looked at the field, then the manor, then back at her. He seemed to be searching for the correct response and coming up short.

"Oh," he said again, much softer. Gerard swallowed.

"I... did not realize that was on the table."

"It doesn't have to be."

"No," he said quickly.

"No, I mean, it can be. I am just... startled." Gerard took a breath and managed a nervous smile.

"Dinner sounds nice." Kira Kira hated shield drills. She understood why they mattered. She understood how she was supposed to stand, how she was supposed to hold the shield, and why the instructor kept striking the same spot on her guard until her shoulder burned. Understanding did not make the work less monotonous.

"Again," Sir Halbrecht said. Kira reset her feet. Her practice shield was too large for her arm, or at least that was what she had decided after the first hour. The leather straps pinched her forearm, and the weight pulled at muscles weren't strong enough. Across from her, Tomas adjusted his grip on his wooden sword and gave her the same smug look he had been wearing all morning. Kira wanted to hit him in the mouth. Sir Halbrecht paced behind them with his hands clasped at his back.

He did not shout often, which somehow made every correction worse. A shouted correction could be hated. A calm one had to be listened to.

"Your anger is not strength," he said.

"It is noise. Strength is what remains when the noise is gone." Kira lifted her shield. Tomas struck. She caught the blow correctly that time. Her boots slid in the dirt, but her guard held. Sir Halbrecht gave one small nod, which was the closest thing to praise he had offered all morning. Near the edge of the yard, two older squires were carrying practice spears back to the rack. They spoke quietly, but not quietly enough.

"Another one this afternoon," one said.

"Who?"

"Baker from Saint Orren's district. Said he continued to bake through the hour of holy famine." Kira kept her eyes forward. Tomas struck again, harder this time. She blocked him, stepped into the pressure, and shoved him back with the shield. The other squire lowered his voice.

"Cardinal Massen signed it himself. Trial by holy steel."

"For bread?"

"For disrespecting the gods."

"That is not usually death. The hour of holy famine is an old rule no one even knows about anymore."

"It is when the Cardinal says the people need an example." Sir Halbrecht's gaze flicked toward the squires, and both young men went silent. He did not reprimand them. He only turned back to Kira and Tomas.

"Continue." Kira wondered which knight would be chosen. The condemned never won those matches. Everyone said it was because the Holy Empire's knights had the blessing of the church and the training to prove their righteousness. Kira had watched one trial from behind a row of guards. The man had barely known which end of the sword to hold. The knight had looked sad throughout the exchange. It was an execution. There was no trial by steel. Tomas lunged. Kira blocked late.

The wooden blade cracked against her shoulder, and pain flashed down her arm. She clenched her teeth and forced herself to stay in position.

"Too slow," Tomas said.

"Again," Sir Halbrecht ordered. Kira breathed through her nose. She was not in the containment cell. She was not screaming until her throat hurt while the guards waited for her rage to burn itself out. She was training and learning. She was going to become something no one could force into a brothel. Even if she was sold off she would not go quietly and unprepared. Tomas stepped in for the next exchange. His sword came high. Kira lifted her shield. At the last second, he hooked his foot behind her ankle and yanked.

It was not part of the drill. Kira hit the dirt hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. Tomas stood over her with that smug little smile. Rage rushed through her chest and up her throat. Kira's fingers tightened around the shield strap until the leather creaked. She had been good. She hadn't gone into a fit of rage in weeks. That streak was over.