Tulian Republic

  Renovated Harborside

  Thirty-Two Days Until Spring

  Sara scanned the bustling docks with a gss of wine in her hand, swirling it between appreciative sips. It was an old vintage, tapped from dusty barrels pried out of some forgotten celr, and it was exquisite. It was put to cask a decade before the fall of Old Tulian, and had come from a vineyard that specialized in the employment of healing mages tenderly nurturing each vine through the growing season. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the ruby vintage was the finest wine Sara had ever tasted, including on Earth. Even after centuries of breeding, genetic modification, and scientific rigor, nothing from her home held a candle to the crimson wine in her goblet.

  It was the st survivor of Old Tulian's great accomplishments, and before the night was over, it would be gone. She took another slow, savoring sip, committing the fvor to memory. A repcement would be decades in coming, if ever. Fine wine was so far down the Republic's priorities that she wondered if they would ever equal this product, or if they would begin importing foreign stock. The famous vineyards had monopolized the time of dozens of healing mages to make this wine, after all, and those mages could have otherwise saved untold lives.

  Once again, Sara was struck by the simirities between this world and her own. The wine was a work of art, possessing an intrinsic beauty that the world would be lesser without, but was it worth the cost? With the wine already made and in her hand, Sara was tempted to say yes, but if she asked the ghosts of those who died without a healer to save them, she doubted they would agree.

  At the end of the day, Sara was forced to admit, Tulian under her guidance would never be a nation to create things like this wine. Not for a long, long, time, until the people were so fat and happy that the effort could be spared without concern.

  Achieving that distant dream was what this night was for. The ga Sara had opened the cask of priceless wine for was perhaps the single most important evening event had experienced in this world, save for those when her very life had been on the line. The crowd that ebbed and flowed from table to table across the cobblestone harborside was dressed in a garish mixture of eclectic styles, their finest clothes puffed up and put on dispy. No one in Tulian had garments like this anymore, not since the storms, and the gem-encrusted wealth on dispy marked them as foreign nobility one and all.

  Sara passed a noble man from the Duchy of the Pass, beholden to a middling kingdom off Sporatos's western border. His kingdom had several intervening nations to shield them from Sporatos, and so they had sent only him to this event, rather than a prince or diplomat, as some of the more threatened nations had done. She would engage him in conversation ter, but for now, he wasn't a priority. There were over a hundred foreign nobles present, representing the contentious Western Kingdoms across the mountainous border of Sporatos, and Sara's job was now to wind her way through a maddening political maze to earn as much of their favor as was possible.

  Peculiarly, Sara's god-given instincts told her not to engage with any of her guests. Not yet. She would reveal too much by dispying who she considered a priority to speak to, and in turn, the others would show a glimpse of their hand should they take the initiative to engage her in conversation. While Evie and Vesta's knowledge of the western kingdoms and their political standings was helpful, their sources were long out of date, and the early hours of this ga would be best spent gathering information.

  And it was a ga. Despite the outdoor environs, Sara's feverish preparations had turned a once-grimy stretch of oceanside cobblestone into a veritable fairground. Without the wealth or desire to replicate ornate noble balls, Sara had substituted extravagancy for novelty. The sun had set an hour or so ago, yet the party remained lit by glowing crystals, dropped into gsses of wine on each table. The color of wine and crystal intermixed, split through the etched designs on the gssware, so that each table was soaked in a gentle, entrancing kaleidoscope. Strung about the edge of the function were silk-tied crystals, hung in drooping strings that criss-crossed above the party-goers. They were tied to artfully carved wooden posts, designed as a mixture of contemporary religious imagery and Earthly influences. To Sara's eye, the wooden pilrs were miniature totem poles, but instead of Native American mythology, they were shaped into various renditions of this world's gods. Amarat's buxom figure, naturally, was invariably set at eye level, but to avoid showing too much preference for Sara's patron, the pcement of the other gods were random, sometimes above her, sometimes below, to preempt the notion that they were being ranked in any fashion.

  She did itch slightly at two aspects of the totem poles. She'd been confident in the decisions when she'd commissioned the art, but now that the moment was here, her certainty had faltered. The first hesitation came from the fact that she had depicted all nine major deities, many of whom were banned from worship in the homes of visiting dignitaries. A political faux-pas waiting to happen. The second nerve-wracking decision came from the bottom of each totem pole, where a half-carved face, features bnk, always y. A hint at the tenth, hidden god. She didn't know how many would notice the feature, low as it was, and how many of those would care in the slightest, but it still felt like a risk. It was intended to be a taunt, an opportunity for some hidden agent of the Hidden God to reveal themselves with their reaction, but the risk was considerable.

  After all, King Sporatos's primary justification for this invasion was Sara's bsphemy. He and his ministers had been ciming ad nauseam that the Champion had been subverted by dark forces, twisted to fight against what she was meant to protect, and only by her capture and purification could there be peace once more. Publicizing her belief in a tenth god would certainly strengthen that stance. The disparate western kingdoms clearly didn't fully buy his lies, not after hearing so many about themselves, but doing anything to carry his cims was far from ideal.

  Steaming food began to be brought out on polished steel ptters, set gracefully on tabletops occupied by those not still mingling. Though the servers were dressed in servant's gear, they were actually members of Ignite's Guard, the unlucky few who had been selected to spend the st week practicing their best steward impression. Evie had insisted on the security measure, considering the impossibility of vetting so many foreign guests, and Sara had reluctantly acquiesced. Not because she thought it dishonorable to lie to her guests or anything, she didn't give a rat's ass about them, but because it probably wasn't great for the morale of accomplished and trusted soldiers to spend an evening bussing tables. Sara nodded a silent thanks to a man as he passed her, knowing he'd recognize the motion for what it was. He returned the nod, setting his ptter on the table next to her.

  The food itself was, as with the rest of the ga, selected for the way its peculiar nature could hide its inexpensiveness. In this case, Sara had personally instructed the chefs in the skill of deep-frying, a technique that she'd realized several months ago to be utterly alien to the continental people. A multitude of breaded fish native to Tulian's shores were being revealed across the ga. Ketch's mother, who had recently returned early from her six month hunting excursion, had said that she'd seen simir dishes in distant nds, but doubted any nd-dwellers on this continent were familiar.

  Rounds of intrigued oohs and ahs confirmed that theory, much to Sara's satisfaction. She'd instructed the chefs to take the fried fish to the table as soon as possible, so that lifting the lids would produce a dramatic fre of rising steam, and the effect was excellent.

  While all seemed appreciative of the strange dish, few were immediately moving to take a pte for themselves, so Sara led by example. She slid a pte up beside the ptter, found a choice piece, and used a knife and fork to cut it off for herself. She took her time visibly picking through a few grilled vegetables to grab her favorites, added a saucer of something not unlike remoude sauce to her pte, and sat down to her meal.

  Many soon followed her example, reassured it would not be impolite to select only what interested them, and soon the scattered nobility were coalescing into the seating arrangement she and Evie had spent the st week agonizing over. She primly picked at her fish, dipping small chunks of it into sauce as her own table was slowly poputed.

  She nodded her greeting to the Marquis of Eastern Vetse, an elderly woman with a stern expression and voluminous dress, who sat first. An attendant emerged from her shadow as she bunched up her dress to sit, the formally-dressed man pcing what he believed she would enjoy in an artful arrangement atop her pte.

  "Governess Sara," the woman said.

  "An honor, Marquis Voronin," Sara replied, when she finished chewing. "Both the reputation of your people and yourself precede you."

  "I thank you for the fttery," the Marquis replied, stern as ever, "but I doubt my own personage has been brought to your attention before. I am, after all, the one my liege thought he could spare for the weeks required to travel to this occasion."

  Sara raised an eyebrow. "Truly? And here I was delighted that Lord Jinden was intrigued enough by our burgeoning nation to send one of your stature. I am not as versed in the intricacies of Vetse politics as I would prefer, but your patronage of Castle Prokup has produced artifices of a quality I've found enviable, if the reports that reached my ears are to be believed." Sara put her fork aside. "Is it true that your artificers have begun to experiment with the melding of disparate gemstones, so that energetic reserves may be distributed to those devices that most require them?"

  The elderly Marquis was far too experienced to show visible interest in Sara's words, but the immediacy of her reply belied her positive reception to the topic.

  "In a fashion, yes, though I cannot speak to the validity of the rumors which have reached you here, as I know not what you have heard. The artificers seek to mollify the effects of drain upon enchantments when tools are ensconced in lifeless castles through many methods, entanglement being among them."

  "There are other methods you are pursuing, then?" Sara hummed thoughtfully. "Our own artificers are regrettably amateurish compared to your carefully cultivated experts. We are a long way from seeking innovation, rather than mere replication. I still harbor hope that my otherworldly experiences will afford a perspective that shall open new avenues in artificery, but as is always the problem, I am far too occupied to dedicate the requisite time to research."

  "You have a passion for artificery, Governess?" Marquis Voronin asked, the fascinated tilt to her question unbefitting her apathetic expression. "I would not have expected that to be a discipline attractive to Amarat's Champion."

  She'd not yet swallowed the bait that Sara had dangled regarding her alternative approaches to artificing, but she was nibbling it curiously.

  "Perhaps not, but you see," Sara dropped her voice as if whispering a secret, "my father was a sort of natural philosopher, in my old world. He focused on the shaping and alteration of ndscapes, both by natural and artificial means, and some of his knowledge and passion for discovery was passed on to me." To let the insinuation hang, Sara took a bite of her fish, then dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin. "He would have truly loved the opportunity to study all that this wonderful nd has to offer. More than any of the friends and family I left behind when Amarat called me to my destiny, I miss my father's company the most. I suppose my interest in artificery is an attempt to honor his memory, even if it does not fully align to my natural inclinations. It simply feels like the right thing to do."

  The stern expression of the Marquis cracked by just the slightest degree, corners of her eyes crinkling with an expression both appreciative and calcutive.

  If the woman had been anyone other than a noble parasite, Sara might have felt bad for speaking as she did. This was manipution, pin and simple. Sara knew from Evie's reports that Lady Voronin was a recent widow to an accomplished noble mage, a man was survived by very many children. Evie's sources spoke disdainfully of the Marquis's protective and doting treatment of her now-grown children, as well as repeated criticism leveled at the rate at which she was draining her House's resources to bolster a "Castle Prokup." It seemed to Sara that the woman, overcome by grief, had tried to honor her husband's legacy by funding the fortifications which he had helped improve throughout his life.

  The Marquis was the noble Sara considered most easily swayed to her cause. Castle Prokup was located in a mountain pass between Sporatos and the western kingdoms, and served as the first line of defense against invasion for the nearby city of Vetse, of which she was an occupant. If heartless manipution of the woman's vulnerabilities was necessary, she would do it without a second thought. No matter how pitiable of a widow she was, her political power was hereditary, and she had no love for commoners. As with near everyone at this ga, Sara intended to take her for all she was worth.

  The rest of Sara's precisely curated table guests began filtering in, and Sara gamely greeted them each by name. In normal circumstances, she would have hated every one of them, but tonight her smile was warm and seemingly genuine.

  The western kingdoms had a reputation in Sporatos as being poputed by a disorganized, rabble-rousing people, and the stereotype wasn't without basis. The region's borders were in constant unmanageable flux, only the core cities and immediate poputions truly loyal to their kings. The nobility poputing the borders between the innumerable dwarf kingdoms were opportunistic as a rule, and their allegiances were ughably easy to sway from king to king. Skirmishes between lords fighting for nd were thus constant, and the peasants, as always, bore the brunt of the suffering. By all accounts, even living in the oppressive nds of Sporatos was preferable to such chaos.

  Evie and Vesta had done their best to appraise Sara of the political quagmire that her guests were tangled in, but there was only so much they could do. The rest had been up to Sara, who would have to trust in her diplomatic prowess to avoid stepping on any toes. Thoughts of the ga had filled her st week with lip-biting anxiety, spending hours memorizing expansive reports compiled by Vesta's staff and Evie's recollection of her diplomatic training.

  Then, when the ga had finally arrived, Sara had been filled with a profound sense of relief. As the first guests had begun to filter in, time had frozen in a way it had not for months, a brief paragraph of text hanging in the air before her.

  Ability Revealed: Senses of Amarat

  A creature at home amonst elegant socialites and mangled rioters alike, the Champion of Amarat thrives in the midst of a crowd. Nothing may evade her notice. Every murmured whisper, shifting robe, and scratching quill is worthy of her attention.

  While Sara greeted the next round of guests, her mind was being bombarded by hundreds of separate conversations. From the moment the Ability had activated, an endless torrent of information had begun roaring through her mind, showing no signs of slowing. She heard the Duke of the Pass bantering potentially traitorous remarks with the Count of Salojin, the frustrated grunts of soldiers disguised as serving staff, the snickering of a Barug Viscount trading insults with a Milen Countess regarding their mutual enemy of Aranra, and on and on and on. Voices overpped into a titanic cmor in her mind, as if hundreds of people were speaking directly into her ear, so many that it should have been overwhelming, and yet–

  She could understand it all.

  Every word, every breath, every licked lip and subtle sigh, they were noted, catalogued, and committed to her memory. Some alien certainty told her that every comment was being permanently engraved into her mind. Decades from now, she knew she would be able to perfectly quote the entirety of the evening's conversation without the slightest bit of effort.

  And so it was that Sara was able to entertain the guests at her table with a smile and flourish, losing nothing at all from staying in one pce. As soon as she'd told Evie of the ability, the feline had retreated to a corner, reading the notes Sara had studied in a quiet whisper, so that the Ability would commit them permanently to her mind. Once Evie finished that, Sara knew every face and every name, every nuance they held, and was kept actively appraised of their attempts to form alliances and trade information throughout the ga.

  And there was a great deal to be learned. The event was a rare one for the western kingdoms, who were too antagonistic to have gathered in such fashion among their homends. The Tulian Republic, by virtue of opposing their single mutual enemy of Sporatos, was uniquely neutral territory. Nobles and officials of all ranks were seizing the opportunity to pary with opponents and distant rivals, barbs and bribes exchanged in equal measure.

  And Sara, it bore repeating, heard it all. In a handful of minutes, she went from a nervous party host to the foremost expert on western continental politics, and she'd not lifted a finger to do so. She even learned gossip from the noble's attendants, including but not limited to sacious affairs, children secretly borne of peasant fathers, and several secessionist plots.

  Actually, the secessionist plots were a great deal more than 'several.' A plethora, perhaps, or maybe a teeming multitude. The western kingdoms were earning their reputation for dishonesty. Running through her rapidly expanding index of political facts, Sara couldn't find a single kingdom that didn't have at least one noble pnning to break away to some other liege. In several cases, several lower-ranking nobles of Kingdom A were even intending to break away to be swept under the Duke of Kingdom B, who was himself intending to defect to Kingdom A. Barely anyone seemed to find it unusual; it was just the way of things.

  And so Sara spent the opening stages of the meal absorbing thousands of pieces of political intrigue, no matter how quietly they were whispered, or, she eventually realized, what nguage they were spoken in. Even several coded sign nguages, tossed subtly between secret allies, were added to her repertoire of pin-english knowledge.

  Er, perhaps english. Evie said she was actually speaking Continental, which sounded no different to Sara than english. Was that thanks to divinely-complex transtion magic, Continental being a direct analogue to english, or something stranger? She'd never cared enough to investigate, and now that aspects of her Abilities were even transting other nguages for her, she doubted she ever would.

  When the first course was finished, Sara concluded her conversation with those that had been selected to be seated with her, apologetically excusing herself from the ga for a few short minutes. Her noble guests, by then thoroughly wrapped around her finger, had no objection other than the loss of pleasant company.

  Sara weaved her way through the open pza, collecting Evie with a nod as she went. The feline made a quick excuse to the higher-ranking servants she'd been charming and fell into step with Sara.

  "Do you think they're ready?" Sara asked quietly.

  "They had better be. They've had far too long to prepare this project," Evie whispered back.

  "Ah, you should cut 'em some sck. It's high-stakes stuff that they're working with."

  "All the more reason they should have been prepared well before the final hour."

  Sara and Evie slipped through the guarded cordon surrounding the pza, slinking off into the dark streets beyond, moving as if heading to the Peasant's Theatre. Once they were out of sight of the pza, and once Evie had confirmed they were not being followed, they diverted for a brief while. Sara found the back door of the Artificer's Quarterhouse in short order, rapping a brief coded knock on the door. A slot was opened, the guard within confirming her identity, and then the door was flung open, Sara and Evie hurriedly ushered in.

  Sara was promptly guided down a set of stairs to a crowded celr, where nearly two dozen former Carrion artificers were pressed up against the walls. Dominating the center of the floor was an inordinately complex circur glyph, decorated with gemstones and marked out by multicolored chalks. Much like the party, Sara could hear every piece of conversation in the room, but unlike the political intrigue, she comprehended next to nothing. Despite what she'd cimed in front of the Marquis, Sara didn't understand the damndest thing about artificing, and the technical terms being batted back and forth were alien to her.

  Pretending she knew more than she did, she stared closer at the fifteen-foot wide glyph on the floor. The gemstones set in interwoven rows were gleaming diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, and the chalk that connected them was filled with powdered gemstones of equal value. Evie had told her that the coin and effort expended to acquire the ritual's supplies could have constructed three whole copies of Nora's fgship, the previous single greatest expense in the Tulian Republic. Despite that, she was convinced it was worth it.

  "Are we ready?" Sara loudly asked, startling several of the artificers who hadn't noticed her arrival. The cmor rose, arguments breaking out over the answer. Sara allowed them a brief moment of debate, until eventually one young woman stepped forward, wringing her hands.

  "I believe we are, Governess, but the concerns are great. Such is the expense of the ritual, we find ourselves wishing for ever more time to prepare."

  "You said the same thing ten days ago," Sara reminded the woman. "Has anything changed between then and now? Any problems that your examinations found?"

  "Well, no, but the consequences of failure–"

  "I'm well aware of the consequences," Sara interrupted. "You've been ready for over a week, and all of your checking and re-checking has found no fws. We've consulted with experts, who agreed that all seemed in order. Your caution is both warranted and appreciated, but I've begun to see the signs of anxious procrastination. I'll ask only one more time, and I want you to be truly honest with yourself, because tonight is the final night I wished to dey: are you ready?"

  The woman wrung her hands harder, until the skin turned white. Timidly, she nodded. "I suppose we are, Governess. There's... not anything, I think, that extra time would bring us."

  "Then I want you to begin the ritual. He's ready and waiting, but don't rush your procedures. We've only got one chance, and I want you to do it right."

  "Yes, ma'am," the artificer said, retreating with a small bow. Sara still hadn't succeeded in squeezing that habitual servitude out of the Carrion immigrants.

  Sara stepped out of the way as the artificers began to set their arcane process into motion. The flurry of activity filling the celr reminded Sara of documentaries on the moon nding, where every person in Mission Control was utterly focused on their single task. Gemstones were being empowered, numbers called out, and nails bitten all across the room.

  Evie's tail came to rest against the small of Sara's back. "And what will we do if the ritual fails, Master?"

  "Hell if I know," Sara admitted in a careful whisper. "Probably swear a whole, whole lot, then go back to the ga. Not like there's anything we could do about it."

  "I suppose not, no."

  The artificers grew quieter by degrees as their focus intensified, each active participant absorbed into their tasks, those who had finished or had no role silently stepping to the side. Sara took her own instinctive step back as the woman she'd spoken to pced the rgest gemstone of all down in the center of the circle, the contact of which summoned up a brilliant multicolored arc of light.

  An ozone scent filled the air as the whiplike tendril of energy snapped to the next closest gem, radiating upward like the free-burning arc of faulty electrical equipment. The artificers who had still been standing within the confines of the glyph leapt away just in time, the crackling beam of energy intensifying by the millisecond. A second fork branched off from the main gemstone, connecting to a smaller piece, then another, then another, the energy doubling with each iteration until the entire celr was awash with rainbow light.

  In moments it was so bright that Sara had to watch through squinted eyes, the entire fifteen-foot glyph hidden by a writhing surface of electric arcs. She tasted iron in her mouth, and her hair stood on end. It was so loud that Sara could only tell that the artificers were speaking to one another thanks to her new Ability, and she added her hands to Evie's own to cover her sensitive ears.

  Abruptly, as if a switch had been flicked, the rainbow vibrancy turned sheer, blinding white. The crackling rocketed up into a higher pitch, osciltions spiraling until there was nothing but a whining hum filling the air. It was like standing directly behind a jet engine at full throttle. Evie began involuntarily backing up the stairway, face twisted in a painful grimace, and Sara grabbed her head and tucked it into her body, using her chest to muffle the sound as best she could.

  Then, without any warning, the light and noise vanished. The abruptness of it was so disorienting that Sara stumbled forward, expecting some explosion or thundercp. Instead there was pure, absolute silence, the room dark once more.

  And then Sara heard the sound of a book being shut, a man shifting in a chair. She gingerly lifted her hands from Evie's ears, turning around.

  "Far from a perfect transference, but rather admirable for your young group's first attempt. You have my commendations, artificers. I would appreciate the names of those involved in the outer Ti-Lae's forming in particur, as I imagine I will formally promote them from Apprentice shortly."

  Garen, former mage of House Vesta, was looking down at the partially obliterated glyphs that surrounded his feet. He wore a comfortable set of undyed silken robes, sitting cross-legged atop a sturdy padded chair. To his left and right were locked chests, and behind him was a bookcase stuffed with tomes and scrolls. He finished gncing at the glyphs, looking up at Sara with a smile. His attractive salt-and-pepper beard was unchanged from their st meeting, so many months prior.

  "Ah, hello, Sara. A pleasure to see you again. I trust this little dalliance hasn't taken you away from your duties for too long?"

  -----------------------------------

  Garen

  -----------------------------------

  The Champion had been eager to take Garen back to the party, but he had insisted on a minor detour to the "Artificing Guild" rooftop, wanting to survey the works that had been undertaken.

  The restorative efforts that Tulian had undergone, both the city and the nation, were impressive. The harbor had seen the most transformative efforts, of course, particurly among the glowing site of the social function he could see reflecting off the corner of dockside rooftops, but the rest of the city was in remarkable shape. Very few buildings had any gaping holes remaining, most patched over by wood, with even an effort made to match original coloration. The rubble was wholly cleared, the streets kept free and easy to navigate. Perhaps most impressively, the holes in the city walls were absent, as if they'd never existed. He would have to ask the Champion about her methodology, ter.

  Once this initial survey was done, he allowed Sara to escort him below. The streets were lit by a cadre of well-equipped guards carrying torches, their metallic footsteps heralding the group's approach for a great ways ahead of their marching. He wondered if all the city defenders were so outfitted, or if this was an experienced detail meant to impress. Sara did not strike him as the type to overstate her capabilities to a prospective ally, but how could he know that? She was the Champion of Amarat. She would strike him however she so pleased.

  "So," he intoned, breaking the less-than-comfortable silence, "the building's foundations are sound? Near to the sea as it was, I expect you encountered many structural faults."

  "The building?" Sara asked, squinting for a moment before her eyes brightened. "Oh! The university. Sorry, got a lot of stuff on my mind right now."

  "I can imagine," Garen said drolly. And he could. He had been watching her closely. The Champion still cked an aura indicative of life, but now surrounding her was a most peculiar synergy. What he had initially taken for eclectic godmagic was in fact a densely woven net of interdisciplinary magework, rather simir in shape to the questing tendrils of deepwater predators. It was simir reacting to every twitch in the immediate vicinity, but rather than unaware prey, it drew ptonic aural information towards her with that same intimidating acrity. He would have to surreptitiously investigate it, ter.

  "The university wasn't too bad off, compared to some of the shitholes we had to fix up," Sara eborated, "though I'll admit my standards are probably warped. The second and third floor are still airing out, and won't be avaible for a few more days. Many of the lower floors had rotted support timbers, which we repced with concrete."

  "Concrete?"

  "A manufacturable form of stone that I've introduced to Tulian. I'll show you the details, of course, but for now you can just know that I've bolstered as much I could without ripping open half the interior to inspect every nook and cranny. I was tempted to order it done, but with the asinine way people construct things here, we might as well have torn down the whole thing and started over."

  "You think the architecture of the city is asinine, Sara?" Garen asked, amused.

  "Oh, gods, yes. It can be pretty, but it's got so many problems. Don't get me started on it right now, because I'll never stop."

  He chuckled. "If you insist."

  With that avenue of discussion nipped in the bud, the topic meandered back to the university. After months of exchanging letters with the Champion, Garen had finally allowed himself to be lured into her political embrace, courtesy of the promise of becoming a headmaster. Falling under her banner had felt inevitable from the start, considering the potential she represented, but he felt a modicum of pride at how long he had resisted her serenading. Control of a university, no matter how small, was the final straw that had snapped his resolve. The Champion's promise of nigh-unlimited research authority, as towering a budget as she could reasonably tolerate, and a cadre of students-ssh-assistants was too sweet a deal to resist.

  That the war was short in coming did not overly concern him. Sara had prepared her people as finely as any seasoned general, and if victory were possible, he believed she would find it. Even if she should fail, Garen had been assured that her romantic partners would not allow her to fight to the death. In the event Tulian fell, she intended to flee the country, rather than die a martyr's death, and Garen would be welcome to escape with her. Garen did not know what she intended to do after such an eventuality, but reasoned it would be an incredibly violent path, which he would subsequently extricate himself from.

  Their conversation came to a grinding halt as the street opened up before them, the bck sea stretching away to the murky walls encircling the harbor. Sara ordered their guards to march in column to their right, so that their left was exposed, and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially to Garen.

  "Ready to earn your keep, big boy?"

  He sighed. "I suppose now is as good a time as any. My absence from Sporatos would have been noticed in short order, regardless."

  "Attaboy."

  With a coded whistle, Sara set the guards into motion once more.

  ----------------------------------

  Sara

  ----------------------------------

  Sara kept up a pleasant rapport with Garen as they walked past the docks, slowly approaching the lights of the ga. This was why she had pressured the artificers to complete the teleportation ritual tonight, and she wasn't going to let it go to waste. While Sara may have known the archmage had sworn off violence, many of the western kingdom did not, and to a select number of them, his face was known.

  Sara absorbed their reactions as she and her Guard marched past the party. She, Garen, and Evie were walking shoulder-to-shoulder, discussing nothing of importance. While most took notice of the ostentatious escort, few recognized Garen. Those that did, however, stuck out like a sore thumb. Sara watched their posture straighten, their drinks forgotten, freezing with food halfway to their mouth. Many began whispering to one another, or to their servants, their reactions varying wildly.

  "The Tiger of Sacia resides in Tulian? But it was said he swore an oath..."

  "She spoke of artificers acquired from the Carrions, but an archmage?"

  "The requests she spoke of in her invitation make no sense, milord, if she has him..."

  "Could it perhaps be an illusion? Pribena, see if you can approach to confirm his corporeality, but do not allow yourself to be caught..."

  Sara didn't let her running commentary dwindle, a fwless poker face giving nothing away as she absorbed each and every comment. She mentally marked those that knew Garen for what he was, so she could point them out to Evie and Vesta. The former Sporaton noblewoman was in attendance as well, representing the economical angle of Tulian's glimmering lures. Sara could hear her describing the wonders of Azarketi-kelp tights at that very moment.

  Though they walked slowly past the ga, it was only a few short minutes before Garen was out of sight. He let out a relieved sigh, slumping from the authoritative posture he'd maintained.

  "I do hope my presence achieved the desired effect, Sara. I do not much enjoy being trotted out like an exotic pet, and wouldn't want to do so again."

  "Oh, trust me, it worked great," Sara said. "I appreciate the help. Now, do you want me to take you all the way to your quarters at the university, or are you fine with the Guard escorting you?"

  "The Guard will suffice. Truthfully, I only need a guide. There is little for me to fear in this city."

  Sara's expression twisted. "I wouldn't bet on that, big guy. I've gotten some pretty ominous warnings from people that know what they're talking about, yourself included. Champions tend to draw out some of the heavy caliber nasties, and if any are lurking in the city already, I'd rather you not end up as their appetizer."

  Garen raised an eyebrow. "Finally taking my advice, are you?"

  "That, and the warning of a batshit crazy pseudo-prophet. Also, keeping my girlfriend happy."

  "The most important of all, naturally," Evie deadpanned, speaking up for nearly the first time. She'd been too focused on guarding two of Tulian's most important individuals to contribute much.

  Garen ughed. "Of course, of course. Well, then. I will leave you to your duties, Sara. Or should I say Governess?"

  "Governess, I guess, when we're in public. But feel free to keep it casual in private."

  Garen bowed his head. "Then I will bid you adieu, Governess. I believe we will have much to discuss, come morning."

  "Looking forward to it," Sara said, inclining her own head. She waved the Guard forward, watching with satisfaction as they professionally encased Garen within a protective bubble. She and Evie watched him go for a moment, silent.

  "He will be a powerful asset, Master," Evie said after a moment's contemption.

  "No doubt. Even if he doesn't fight, his lessons will build Tulian a core of experienced mages in a decade, instead of a century."

  "And you are comfortable with affording one individual such power, Master? It seems rather antithetical to your ideology."

  Sara blew air through her nose, chewing her cheek. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I'm fine with it. Not like we've got much choice, anyway. With how Csses and shit work, it was only a matter of time until we ended up with ticking time bombs living in our midst. Mages are too powerful to trust, too useful to avoid. At least I know Garen, unlike whatever rando would have risen in his pce some day."

  "I am grateful you are properly considering the implications, Master. In the egalitarian society we are striving for, controlling the influence of individuals such as Garen will be perhaps your greatest challenge. I recommend you use his time at the university as a testing ground for the appropriate legal measures to restrict the soft political authority lent him by his prowess."

  "Ugh. You're right. Hopefully he'll be as interested in legalese as he is in magic." Sara ran a hand through her hair, correcting its small imperfections. "You ready to go back to the party?"

  "Only if I am finally to accompany you properly, Master."

  In answer, Sara stuck out her elbow. Evie looped her arm through, and together they turned back to the ga, hips pressed together. With the feline back at Sara's side, she finally felt as confident as she looked. Between the manifestation of her new Ability and Garen's successful teleportation, the evening could only have been improved by Hurlish's presence off her other hip.

  The orc, of course, would vehemently disagree. There was nothing more detestable to her than a political soiree, and in that regard, Sara couldn't bme her. Before becoming Amarat's Champion, she would have even agreed. She'd just have to make it up to the smith when they got home.

  When Sara slipped through the cordon and rejoined the party, she was quickly swarmed by nobles trying to hide their boiling curiosity. She greeted them each with a smile, introducing Evie to them as her partner, and got to work.

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  Well past midnight, Sara flopped down into a chair, exhausted. Evie fell down on top of her a millisecond ter, limp limbs dangling off the sides of the chair. Neither woman cared that there were a multitude of staff working to clear the ga's decorations around them. Hours upon hours of high-society propriety had drained every drop of formality from their tired bones.

  But, as evidenced by the goods being transferred in secluded chambers across the city, it had been an incredibly successful evening. Each of Sara's letters had included, buried amongst the nauseating pomp necessary to assuage noble egos, subtle hints. Little whispers of what she really wanted from this meeting, with according suggestions of what she would have to offer in exchange. She'd publicly cimed the ga was a meeting of Sporatos's enemies, an opportunity to being forging a more united front to face down the gargantuan kingdom, but that'd been a sham. Even though she did manage to ease some tensions in the western kingdoms, that was the most abstract of victories. No minuscule kingdoms hundreds and hundreds of miles separated would be coming to Tulian's aid, no matter how well she sweet-talked them. No, the objective of this ga had been far more concrete.

  The noble carriages that had entered the city had carried with them much of what she'd desired, including ptes of refined bcksteel, ensorcelled garments, copies of secret alliance treaties, and a plethora of other, more esoteric items.

  For a chest full of Azarketi garments, the Duke of the Pass had exchanged for several magecraft glyphs copied from his kingdom's rivals, The Nocht Isles. While not enough to construct a magecraft on their own, the designs were a start that she never could have acquired otherwise. Nora would be positively salivating when she found out.

  The Marquis of Vetse had proven one of the rgest suckers, providing Sara not just one set of long-distance speaking crystals, but five, and for a fraction of the valuable tropic spices Sara had originally been willing to trade for them . When she'd seen the Marquis had arrived with only one spare luggage carrier, Sara had ordered several transport wagons to be prepared for the spices she knew the Marquis was so dearly loved. Now she didn't even need to give her those!

  Communication crystals, in particur, had been among Sara's greater priorities. They were the current apex of artificing skill, and could transmit voices with perfect crity across arbitrary distances. Unlike the Marquis, nobles whose husbands hadn't been mages often acquired very few pairs, such was their expense, and issued them to far-off diplomats or generals in the field. That wasn't how Sara herself intended to use them, of course, but it was a testament to their rarity.

  All in all, the various representatives of the western kingdoms had likely walked away mildly dissatisfied. While the trade deals Sara had brokered would tide them over, she knew many of them had hoped she would be pleading on hands and knees for their aid, promising them whatever she thought would earn their favor against Sporatos in the coming conflict. That she hadn't irked them something fierce, and more than one had made this subtly known. Sara had made a less than stelr impression overall, and even likely earned herself a few enemies.

  Like I give a shit.

  Sara giggled. It had been bafflingly easy to convince the western kingdoms that yes, she did hate nobles, svery, and feudalism as a whole, but no ser, certainly not your brand of oppression. Unlike all the other rabble-rousers, those corrupt lords and dies, you are a truly chivalric example of nobility, and we would be oh-so- honored to work with you.

  Sara giggled again. Morons.

  She hadn't quite robbed them blind, but she'd done her damndest to get close. Her diplomatic prowess, absurd from the start, had shone like never before with Senses of Amarat. She might as well have been lying to toddlers, convincing them that the cookie jar was poisonous to anyone but adults, so ignorant of her intentions were they.

  Between the tenuous trade deals, influx of foreign coin, and enchanted goods, Vesta estimated before leaving the party that Tulian's entire net worth had just jumped up by ten percent. The former noblewoman was actually cautioning Sara about distributing her spoils all at once, worried that it might spark a brief period of inftion. Sara wasn't sure if she'd hold off, but the fact she had to consider the possibility was absolutely delicious.

  "You look ready for bed," Sara noted, patting Evie's back.

  "I am," Evie groaned, words muffled between Sara's breasts. "But you haven't seen to me at all today. The colr hungers."

  "The colr, huh?" Sara chuckled.

  "Of course." Evie craned her neck up, looking at Sara with an expression of pure innocence. "Do you really think I would suffer such humiliation without its compulsions?" Evie pressed quick peck to Sara's lips. "Don't be absurd, Master. I'm not nearly so beholden to my body's desires."

  "Tell the truth."

  Evie's colr fshed, and she grinned wickedly.

  "If it were even remotely feasible, I would wrap my legs around your hips and never let go, spending the rest of my life impaled on your cock."

  Sara rolled her eyes. "I don't think the command required you to be that descriptive."

  "But it did compel me to speak truthfully, Master."

  "Which is... huh." Sara blinked. "Really? The rest of your life?"

  Evie returned to her face-down press between Sara's tits and hummed. "I certainly feel so at the moment, Master. Perhaps it would grow old, eventually. We would have to try to find out."

  "I guess you're probably not the most reliable judge of your long-term desires, at the moment." Evie was doing her best to discretely rub her pussy along Sara's thigh, so that she could get friction without the staff noticing. "You'll have to wait a little bit longer, though. Hurlish would kill us if we left her out."

  "I can go twice, Master. I'm sure there's an abandoned building nearby."

  "You may be able to go twice, but we both know you're not going to stop once we get started." Sara stretched her arms out, then stood, scooping the feline up in her arms. "C'mon, let's go. Hurlish is probably as impatient as you are, by now."

  "Mm," Evie hummed into Sara's shoulder, equal parts disappointment and agreement. "The things we do for love."

  "Yeah, yeah, you're such a romantic. Now come on and get walking, or it'll take longer for us to get home."

  Evie dropped from Sara, but not before rolling her hips into her crotch one st time. This time, Sara felt certain, at least a few of the staff noticed. Oh, well. It was on-brand for the Champion of Amarat.