Getting a bath was far, far harder, both when it was rainy and when there were people around who cared about propriety. So, I ended up with a small tub of warm water, a very tiny sliver of bland soap, and a towel to clean myself in my room.

  It was quite spacious as rooms went, though its size chafed. I had managed to graze in a greener pasture, but the dead grass just didn’t please me like it would have.

  Despite what I might have worried about, the mattress did not call for me.

  I cycled my auras, pushing a tiny amount of mana into each. The problem with that, of course, was that I was restraining them. I battled between feeding mana to try and get a stronger effect and pulling mana out of it, effectively limiting the casting for its range.

  It was… Incredibly off-putting. I was contracting and extending the muscle at the same time. Worse yet, it wasn’t even a physical sensation, adding a layer of abstraction I couldn’t place close to the true feeling, even with a metaphor.

  The issue, as far as I could guess at it, was that the skill wasn’t flexible, not yet, anyway.

  Skills could flex, but until then, they were rather rigid.

  A passive skill passively drew mana in and, by my working theory, shaped the mana into a continuous spell. Pulling back on it restricted the mana going through it, but that meant that every single facet of the spell was also lessened, not just the range.

  Presumably, one individual knot or fold governed one thing, and so I could, in theory, limit the range while leaving the rest of the aspects of it at full or even empowered levels. But I was holding a hammer, and everything was a nail. For now, it was like trying to move a muscle while holding a singular strand in the opposite direction, a feat of skill I could not obtain.

  It didn’t mean I didn’t try it, though.

  I tried it really hard.

  But a hammer did not substitute a chisel, no matter how well you swung it, and I ended up simply failing.

  I would need to increase the radius of my death magic auras in order to increase its effect.

  Which led me to now.

  I was bathing, my muscles aching, and death mana forming in my body as the muscles died. Warm water ran down my skin, leaving a cold chill from the cold, wet air outside.

  But the funny thing about death and life mana was that they fed into one another.

  The mana in my muscles had depleted slightly, and I had an idea of how to stop it from aching, at least, without finding a birch tree to skin. After all, my living tissue died, and my body slowly renewed it; some seemed to leave me as sweat or through other means of disposal, but much of it was kept, somehow renewed in my body from muscle to muscle.

  If I could, say, speed up the process, shouldn’t I?

  Made sense to me.

  The issue was, as with all hair-brained schemes and plans, and with mine especially, as the greatest of hairy brains, the details. The auras, in this case, because they were both finicky due to my… flexibility issue and because, as it turned out, they were far better at working on grass than on the dense living flesh on my body.

  There was simply less material to work with, less dense, and less mana-rich.

  Like a cart rolling down a hill, a body had great momentum, just less a physical thing and more of a magical thing.

  It had an ebbing quality, like ripples on a lake; it was a back and forth; there was only so much I could do with just the beneficial [Aura of Renewal]. Nothing that my [Wellspring of Renewal] could conjure. [Renewing Presence] did bupkiss.

  I needed to use my hostile auras, or none of my renewing skills, not even [Renewing Conduit] could aid me.

  I was a locus of renewal, a conduit, a focal point that made everything around me renew, but there was a maximum amount it could renew when there was nothing to feed it.

  Death fed life, life fed death, and around and around it went like the wheel on a cart, always more.

  I couldn’t just brute force it.

  So I cleaned myself, the water growing cold as I got the greatest of the grime and oil and sweat off of me, wet soap, whipping it away until the bucket was full of grime. My arms were sore as I did my best to try and flex my auras, pulling in my renewal, letting my limited death and decay speed the collapse of my broken muscles, their ache my own, and then letting my auras turn into new life.

  It was a slow, dreadfully slow process. Perhaps I could do it quickly in the future, but for now, it would get me ready to go again a few hours faster.

  As I finished, doing my best to dry my gangly body and slip back into a cooled set of fresh-ish clothes, I had to put up with the ache. There was no rest, not right now.

  Even in the dark of night, I needed to do work.

  I also needed to speak to Clause. Someone had to drain the landscape to stop it from turning into a mire and causing land slides. The trees would help; they would help a lot, but they could only do so much before they drowned, as crazy as that sounded.

  And I had a few things to do about it. First, I wanted to ask around for Gunther to see if she was still here.

  I did so, slipping my way over to the Mynes family bodyguards and asking, but they didn’t know.

  Without knowing where Gunther was and with a curfew in effect, I needed the ability to roam, so I needed to get Clause to agree to what I needed to do, get Gunther, and propose what needed to be done.

  So, I knocked on Clause’s study, a thin light creeping beneath the door of the otherwise silent room.

  “Enter,” he called out, haggard and clearly short on care.

  I did so. On the corner of his desk, a small series of plates and a bowl that once held food were visible. Crumbs and the silt that so often fell out of the broth were the only signs of a meal, and it was probably more plate than meal.

  “You look terrible. I’m here to report that the graves have been dug. Though I’m also here to talk on a few things,” I told him.

  He seemed to sigh, a great exhalation, though it did not lean toward relief or exasperation. It was relatively obvious this was going to go sideways, so I decided to invite myself in. I quickly laid my shovel next to the door, its immense length fitting in the room with its high ceilings before I sat myself down at his desk for a face-to-face conversation.

  “That is good news. Such a rare commodity today. Good news,” he said.

  “Don’t think so fast. The rain is a growing issue,” I told him.

  He looked at me pensively. Surely, he knew some of it, but I figured it should be said anyway, in case my specific eclectic knowledge was actually useful. His silence said, go on.

  “The soil has reached capacity, turned to mud, and is starting to be more water than soil. It can’t drain fast enough. Areas that form natural basins need ditches by roadsides and draining. If they don’t get them, there will be landslides, and even with the forest holding it together, it will become unstable.” I told him.

  He hung his head slightly in contemplation. Thinking it over.

  He did not tell me if he understood what I was saying or much of anything; instead, he thought there momentarily.

  “The storm is slowing slowly…” He posited.

  “Not fast enough; it's damn close to a swamp on the field. The rivers will start to swell if they haven’t already, and that will slow their drainage even more. The city is probably fine, but the rest of it is bad.” I told him.

  “Fantastic. We have such a supply of capable hands,” he said, a twitch of his eye telling me he was still quite flummoxed.

  “It's not that bad. But it would stop the construction of a wall,” I told him. “Think of it as an investment in keeping the wall you want stable.”

  “We don’t even know how to construct a proper wall. No one has done it properly in generations,” he told me. A proper wall isn’t just a mound of earth.”

  I looked at him before realizing that he probably didn’t know what my deal was.

  “I’m well aware. Moarn’s walls once swelled high and mighty. Even the walls around your castle are ancient,” I told him. “Though, I have some hint of where there might be information on building and maintaining walls. It should contain plenty of knowledge to cover the things you need to know.”

  He looked at me like I was a boastful moron. I didn’t expect that he would believe me. I was some weird commoner girl, a [Saint], sure, but I was just some random woman.

  How could I, in all of my infinite wisdom, know of Moarn and its walls, that historic monument?

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “Oh? And you would just happen to have this? Perhaps in your belt pouch? I’ve heard better excuses to curry favour if that’s what you're going for.” He told me.

  “I forgot to mention something earlier. You asked if I had an inheritance, but I do. I just don’t think of it as mine, even if it is. I know the location of a [Lore Masters] library entrusted to my keeping after the death of one [Lore Master] Skipseo. If there's anywhere in this valley that would have detailed instructions on anything you need, it would be there,” I told him.

  “And you just casually forgot this?” He asked.

  He clearly wasn’t buying it, and I didn’t blame him. Behold behind this door your salvation; let me dangle it in front of you. It sounded like the setup for a scam.

  “I did. If you want someone to confirm it, we were planning to go collect the library tomorrow. Gunther was supposed to try to get your approval for it, but I figured I should mention it. It could be a useful trip if you’ve decided to ok it,” I told him.

  “And?” He asked.

  “And what?” I asked him, confused.

  “And what do you want in exchange for it?” he asked, obviously not believing it was going to come out of the good of my heart.

  “Well, for one, you would need to approve it,” I told him, “Obviously. I don’t know. I can work it out later. If people need the information, I can get it. We can work that out later; I’m sure Gunther wouldn’t mind mediating that for me.” I told him.

  “So you expect me to trust that you are doing this out of the goodness of your heart?” he asked me skeptically.

  “Not necessarily, but think about it like this. That library is mine. I currently can’t get my stuff because of your travel ban. If you think about it, the allowance is the cost. Is that more reasonable?” I asked him.

  It was clear I wasn’t coming across the way I was aiming to. He figured I was more canny a negotiator than I actually was. He figured I was more canny at a whole lot of things by the sound of it.

  I was not more canny, not in the way he was thinking, at least.

  I mean, if you want me to figure out something using only prior experience, I could do that, but I wasn’t a [Lord]. I wasn’t a political animal, I didn’t bide time, I didn’t seek power over others, I only wanted to gain the power to talk to the girl I liked, and I wasn’t getting that here. Charisma was my dump stat; I could intuit the shit out of something, but only if I had experienced something like it.

  Clever like a fox.

  “I didn’t agree to Gunthers proposal, not yet. I said I would get back to him in the morning,” he told me, brow furrowing in thought.

  He was trying to read me, piece together my plans and thoughts, and find my empty head, only to think I was more competent than I was. It was a bit disheartening compared to this morning.

  “It must have been a particularly bad day to go from having a drink with me to thinking I’m some kind of political creature ready to nip at his heels,” I thought to myself. “After talking with one another.”

  It was kind of annoying if I was being honest. But at the same time, there wasn’t much I could do. I could try to play hardball, but all that would do is bury me by putting distance between us.

  You couldn’t get someone to trust you by giving them a bruise, and that was what hardball was… Not that I could figure out the best way to do it.

  “I suppose you could give me the answer. Or I could go send her here. She is the one that needs to know. There’s more I have to do out there tonight anyway. You could go get a meal going and have a conversation if you want,” I told him.

  “Not during the night. There's a curfew,” He told me, clearly thinking.

  “Unfortunately, I need to attend to the dead. I need to sanctify some urns so the dead don’t end up returning. The dead need to be seen too before they’re buried tomorrow, and if that means I get in trouble, I’ll still do it. It’s more important than me,” I told him.

  And it was. Especially if I was going tomorrow, and I decided that I was, even if I was going solo, I would go and make sure everything was in order, especially with all the water. It has lasted this long, but I should make sure it's fine.

  “Openly disregarding that you just told me to my face that you won’t listen to my ruling, what on earth could possibly make you think it's worth that? The dead are handled. You don’t need to involve yourself, [Saint] or not.” He told me.

  “Their souls are in jeopardy. Many are missing already, stolen for more undead. As one of Deaths [Saints], I can send them over, safe and sound.” I told him.

  He looked at me before reaching his hands up to rub his face.

  “You know what. I don’t want to know. Just do it. I’m giving you free rein to walk around at night. If you think something is important, you're free to do it for now. Just keep me informed if it's important.” He told me with a sigh before. Then he looked at me, his weary eyes visible through his hands, “How did your conversation with the sprites go?”

  That was nice. Keeping him in the loop would be annoying, but mostly because I would get sidetracked and end up spending twice the time I intended to update him.

  Thankfully, I had handed off one of the tasks already. Perhaps Selly would be willing to help.

  …

  Oh, who was I kidding? That would just make her mad.

  “It went well enough. The Queen wanted some time to think it over, so make sure your guards are ready for a tiny figure to fly on over. I think she wants to talk about the details.” I told him.

  “That was… Somewhat expected, I suppose.” he nodded. I’ll inform them not to swat down any messengers. Did the dig go well? Is anything out of place? Did you dig up an ancient artifact, or perhaps something else that will destroy my sanity?” he asked.

  “The holes are dug and ready to be filled. Nothing but wet earth came out. The path should be well cut. I’m not sure how well I cut through the forest on my way best,” I told him, “Is that something that happened today?”

  He seemed to relax slightly at that.

  “No, but with how the day was going, I would not doubt it. Ok. So the sites are dug; I need to drain the field… Somehow. The Sprites will be in touch, and you want me to ok an expedition to go north to bring back a trove of immensely important information. Is that all?”

  He asked it, listing off the subjects one by one, and it occurred to me that it was quite a list.

  “I wouldn’t call it an expedition.” I told him, “It should only take a day. It’s not like we're going north for a week, just a few hours, maybe four by cart. It took me three hours to get back last time, and I was carrying a hearthstone on my back; that one was heavier than Annabeth.”

  I managed to catch myself before I said Anna, but I had already admitted to carrying her. A split second of worry wormed its way into my heart.

  Luckily, he was oblivious.

  “Not so bad. At least we’ll know if something goes wrong faster,” he said with a sigh that I mirrored.

  “So, should I go get Gunther so you can talk about whatever you need to talk about? I’m not good with details,” I asked him, hoping to get on my way before I said something else.

  Oblivious or not, if the wrong thing came out of my big fat mouth, it could bite Anna on the ass, apparently. I never knew when my head would draw a connection between two things, and I would say something stupid.

  ‘Oh yes, this fabric is so fine, as smooth as Anna. Oh dear, did I say that out loud?’ was very much a possibility if I didn’t watch myself.

  “I wish I had time to speak with him, but hammering out a deal with Gunther would eat into my time,” he told me, his weariness clear. “Gods above, but I wish I had a Gunther to help me with this. I need to find a capable wife somehow or an aid.”

  I looked at him and thought about something.

  “You know, Gunther is all about money. If you need a Gunther, why not offer them a tempting trade? Gunther has helpers, but they are busy… But I bet the two of you could probably help each other out quite a bit.” I told him secretively, a conspiracy in my voice.

  He looked at me and told me quite patronizingly, “I can’t marry Gunther.” The idea clearly did not fly. Anna apparently fell far from the family tree.

  “I’m not suggesting that. I’m suggesting you woo Gunther, sure, but not marry them.” I told him. I had a scheme. A plan. It was a probably ok plan.

  I was terrible at talking. I could yap but not gab. I couldn’t give him good pointers on how to talk to Gunther or how to convince her with words, but I could give him a plan.

  “I’m not going to muck around with someone’s love life, you dolt. You’re more alike than I think you know, just in different stations, with different high points. You’ve had a snack and called it dinner, and I bet Gunther did, too. I can go get Gunther and send them here to finish negotiations. Finish up that, but do it over dinner. Break out some drinks, talk business, find a pain point, and just play it cool. Make Gunther your aid by reducing the work sh-they need to do. You can lighten Gunther's load faster than they can, and that frees them up for you,” I told him.

  He looked at me and scoffed.

  “As if I hadn’t thought about that. I can’t,” He told me.

  I looked at him, face unchanged. He clearly hadn’t thought about it.

  “Why not?” I asked him.

  “Well… Because I can’t?” he said, though his phrasing made it more of a question.

  “You’re being a bit slow on the uptake here. I get it. You’re used to things working the way they always do. Blind spots like that are a classic human issue, but run them through your head a few more times. Because as far as I can see, you absolutely can. Clause, you’re a nobleman. I get you don’t get it, but most rules don’t apply to you. You can do basically anything. So, why can’t you?” I told him my question, not a question at all.

  “Well… He’s not an [Aid]… And he doesn’t work for me. Besides, I can’t give Gunther everything he asks for.” He said, a growing tone to his voice that came to sound like a lame mule, hobbling on despite the obvious answer that it should be put out to pasture.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I told him, lifting my fingers as I answered, “Also, it doesn’t matter for this, and it doesn’t matter!” I said it to him with a little less finesse than I desired. Worried at possibly annoying more than helping, I began to gesticulate at the forest of paper and pasture of parchment, the ink sea of ink and mountain of slate, and the mountain of effort that mired the room. “You don’t need to be a [Aid] to aid; you’re not giving Gunther family secrets, you just do, well, this mess, and Gunther’s a [Merchant], it’s a trade, you don’t just agree to the starting price, that’s how you get gouged.”

  He watched my moronic flailing, taken aback by my brilliant oration and persuasive majesty. But despite my flailing, despite my shit charisma, and tone-deaf delivery, it worked.

  It worked.

  I could see it in his eyes as my blunt words hammered home the idea, bypassing the need for a silver tongue because I spoke a simple truth. I knew they had already worked together a bit, so why not get a little closer?

  I could practically see it as my pounding broke the wall in his head. The moment it smashed a breach, the idea invaded, pressing in.

  Much like his mother and sister, he got a look as he thought. It had a glacial movement, where Anna had a brilliance behind her eyes and her mother a terrible alignment of intent and will; he was the gaze like a colossus; it moved slowly, but not dimly, its intent a sign of its great and terrible power.

  For all that, his simple “Huh” Was a vastly simpler answer. It was, however, followed by a “I don’t actually know what food Gunther likes.”

  That would be an issue, possibly. But I had eaten with her a few times.

  “Stew or soup, probably with some extra finger foods,” I told him.

  “Finger food?” he asked.

  “Anything you don’t use silverware for. Skewers, prepared bread, that sort of thing,” I told him, “You know… The kind you can buy on the street?”

  “I don’t ‘know,’ actually. Sounds like peasant charcuterie,” he told me.

  “Char-what-who-he?” I asked.

  “Charcuterie. A platter of prepared meat, bread, cheese and whatnot. It’s a plain thing. They have fields, pastures and forests, and that’s about it, so there a lot of meat, cheese and bread,” he told me thoughtfully before murmuring, “Commoner culture can be a funny thing.”

  He had the right idea, even if he was swinging at thin air with that one.

  “Sure. I told him, so, are you on board? Should I send them over?” I asked him.

  “You know what… I think you should,” he told me, a look of confidence coming over him.

  “Fantastic. Go clean yourself up and whatnot. I’ll go get Gunther. How long should I wait?” I asked, wanting to get the hell out of here.

  “Around a glass, so to be ready, for sure,” he told me.

  “Okay, than,” I told him, standing up to leave. I’ll get my stuff ready and then go tell Gunther you wanted to see them. They’ll be here in around a glass.”

  He did not thank me, but it was thankless work. I collected my shovel by the door and got going.

  I got to Gunther in less than a quarter glass, matching my ass straight through the door, past her receptionist with a, “Excuse me, I’m about to save you so much effort,” and gave Gunther’s door a brisk shave and a haircut before throwing it wide.

  The gloom I was met with was suffocating, lamp light illuminating the darkened room. Wrapped up in it all, surprised and sudden, sat Gunther.

  She looked up at me, her face locking my legs in place and setting the hair on the back of my head on end as she hissed at me.

  She looked like a harried animal, backed into a corner and ready to fight for her life.

  I did not have a plan for this. This was not how I expected to find her.

  And so I, in my infinite wisdom, asked, “How would you like a date with Clause?”

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