“He fostered with your father, didn’t he?” Pudgy Sara asked Miryam as she served herself another helping of cake. “What’s Prince Jaeson like? Is he handsome?” Lanna nodded demurely.

“Quite handsome,” Miryam said. “He’s a fan of the histories, and an avid player of eminent domain. Father says he’s a master of over five forms of the game.”

Ida said something similar, Mydea thought. Her gaze shifted to Vivyan.

“Is that so?” Vivyan asked with a pleased smile. “Perhaps I’ll challenge him to a game when he arrives. I’m sure he’ll pay me mind when I win.”

“Premature of you to declare victory,” Miryam said. “He is not so easily bested.”

“By the likes of you and your father maybe. I’ve been bested less than a dozen times,” Vivyan said with a dismissive flourish of her hand.

“That just means you haven’t played all that much,” Sara quipped.

“How about a wager then?” Vivyan shot back.

Miryam rolled her eyes. “Trust the Deeplander to speak of wagers first.”

“What’s the matter, Bludbolt? Are you scared of a little risk?” Vivyan asked.

“Name your terms, Black,” Miryam said with a little heat in her voice.

“Should I win against Prince Jaeson in a game, you will not speak with him for a quarter turn of the moon of my choosing,” Vivyan said. “The same applies to myself if I should fail.”

“You’ll do it in one game?” Miryam asked.

She was wise to specify her terms, otherwise, Vivyan could very well take as many games as she liked to defeat Prince Jaeson and that was just a matter of time. Less wise was Miryam’s choice to risk seven days over something she had no control over and with limited knowledge. Whoever lost here would severely damage their chances for the prince’s hand.

“I will,” Vivyan said.

“Let it be so,” Miryam said.

“Let it be so,” Vivyan replied.

There was no backing out from it now. While not as compelling as an oath sworn before the gods, they’d dealt with each other before dozens of aristocrats. Honor was everything to the stoneborn, and if either broke their word now, it would haunt them for years.

“What an excitable turn of events,” Abygail said, fanning herself. “Who do you suppose will prevail, Lady Mydea?”

Vivyan had been a natural talent at the game, crushing nearly everyone who played against her during their years at the Thalassian Athenaeum though one wouldn’t know just by how little she practiced. “I wouldn’t dare speculate without having seen Prince Jaeson play,” Mydea said.

Even if she had a good read on how skilled the prince was, her answer would be the same. It served her little to openly support either side of this developing feud. To declare for Vivyan would hardly pave over their disagreements overnight, but there were Deeplanders who might not think kindly of her for siding with a Marcherkin over one of their own.

“How cautious of you!” Abygail said.

“I do not gamble when I do not have to,” Mydea answered.

“Yet, isn’t your presence here a gamble itself?” Abygail asked. “There is no certainty anyone here will marry the prince, unless you are here towards some other purpose?”

Vivyan scoffed as she served herself one of the chocolate covered treats she loved so much. “She’s here for the prince’s hand, same as everyone else.”

Miryam sent Mydea a scathing look. “Is that so?”

Saying yes would earn her the girl’s enmity with how the conversation was going, but neither could Mydea say she wasn’t interested. It would be a grievous insult to the Empress to suggest her son was beneath a mere lady. “I am honored to be considered of course,” Mydea said, “but I hardly think I’ll be chosen in the end with so many worthy women to pick from.”

“Women, yes. But worthy? I disagree,” Miryam said, looking straight at Vivyan. “He is a prince after all.”

“Are you suggesting something?” Vivyan asked sharply.

Unwisely in Mydea’s opinion. The verbal jab was clearly meant for Vivyan, but vague enough she might have walked away from it with nothing but a bruised ego. Dragging it into the open like this was a great risk and for little gain.

“Just that there are women who ought to know their place,” Miryam said. “It would be horrifying to debase the imperial lineage by marrying them to what is barely a house principal. Nevermind a golddigger!”

Mydea stiffened. “That,” she began, “is a dangerous slur to utter.”

“Yet, it cannot be denied that you Deeplanders dirty your hands digging for every glittering scrap you can find,” Lilith interjected, her smile broadening. If she had a snake’s fangs, it would show plain as day. “Is it not your way to employ necromancers and their desecrated dead to dig through your deep mines?”

“Do House Pleonexia and their oathsworn not use their magic to steal straight from the deepest veins?” Miryam said. “Is nothing sacred in your pursuit of riches?”

“Enough,” Princess Mirah said, voicing her displeasure, but not quite yelling. “I’ll not have such unpleasantness spouted at my table.”

Lilith bowed her head first. Miryam acquiesced a few heartbeats later, though reluctantly.

“Lady Bludbolt ought to be expelled for her words! The sheer gall of her to slander a house eminent!” Vivyan said.

A mistake, Mydea thought, eyeing Miryam’s crossing arms and that stubborn pride of the Marcherkin rearing its ugly head. Though distance kept the Dunelands and Deeplands from real rivalry, they were not natural allies either that Princess Mirah should risk anything for House Pleonexia’s good name. She would let things settle themselves and that meant bared steel.

“I will not apologize for the truth,” Miryam said.

If she did nothing, Vivyan would lose and the shame would drive her from the table. Much as Mydea might like to see that, the slur was directed at her feudal overlord as well. Who among the Deeplands’ aristocracy would not be furious over such insults? If she lifted not a finger, the failing would not be Vivyan’s alone in the eyes of their peers.

If she stepped in, even a loss might be commended. Was she not acting in defense of her liege’s honor, from a fight she had not started? Between the Marcherwomen and her peers, there was no question whose approval Kolchis needed more.

Mydea suppressed a sigh. If Vivyan Black could leave things well alone, would she still be Vivyan Black? “Take back your words. I will not ask a second time,” Mydea said in a voice low and quiet.

Miryam answered with a snaking line of lightning dancing between her fingertips, but then sputtered out as if an aqueduct severed from its source.

“None of that now,” Mirah said, casually displaying the signature magic of her paternal house. “I’d be a poor host if I allowed spellight to break out at the table.”

The secrets of House Langoure were perhaps the most powerful even among the houses eminent, if not for its limited range.

“Let them settle this with bare fists, or I suppose swords, as your people prefer to do it,” Cleo suggested, looking far too pleased with himself.

Mirah sighed. “If it must come to that, then let it be with the sword. A duel, if both parties consent?”

“A duel,” Mydea said. Not even the Empress could stop the lowest of the lords from settling with the sword, though how often one might find two people willing to defy the Empress to her face was another matter entirely.

“A duel,” Miryam agreed, hand dropping to her bronze blade.

Vivyan tugged at Mydea’s sleeve. “Are you sure you can win?” she whispered.

“No,” Mydea said, and that was the honest truth, “but I’ve better odds than you. I am sworn to Lord Pleonexia too.”

“Don’t lose.” Vivyan let go of her.

Mydea stood and they stepped away from the tables and guests. Mirah led them to a covered walkway, still within view of the others, but far enough that any competent sorcerer could block a badly aimed spell. “I’ll be most upset if either of you destroy my flowers,” Mirah said, gesturing to some of her nearby marigolds. As the host and of the highest rank, she was entitled to judge on the match twice over. “Stone can cope, but my plants aren’t so resilient.”

Miryam and Mydea nodded as they faced each other down, ten paces apart.

I’ve the better sword, Mydea thought, gripping the familiar feeling of her mother’s hilt, but in skill and raw power I may be outmatched. Both of them belonged to houses external, charged by their lieges to fight ancient foes. For Kolchis, those were the Tuskar, but the Bludbolts had been at the forefront against greedy Everbloom knights for centuries, and even Empress Alcymede’s long reign had not wholly stopped the border feuds.

More worryingly, Miryam had sought to strike her with magic directly instead of through a medium. Such a luxury was reserved for mages with more magic than good sense. At least the formal constraints of a duel prevented the most dangerous spells from being used. She had little chance of winning if Miryam could smite her with lightning.

She put such thoughts away, and ran through the classical repertoire. Fire sharpens, earth hardens, wind lengthens, Mydea recited mentally, letting warmth flow out of her palms and coating her runesteel rapier, shaping its properties.

Miryam seemed to go through the same exercises.

She’ll know the same tricks I do. Mydea adjusted her grip. The unseen length projected from their blades would cut just as surely and deeply. It was always important to factor that in when fighting a mage.

“Will neither of you yield?” Mirah asked for formality’s sake.

“No, Your Excellency,” the two replied.

“Then let it be settled to first blood,” Mirah said, and so it began.

Miryam’s blade came down in a headman’s arc from over her head, though the distance was too far for her sword.

Mydea sidestepped, then pirouetted, avoiding the howling winds slicing through where she’d stood. Her own sword lashed out like a viper’s tongue, hurtling a stream of compressed air, but Miryam was already moving. It did nothing but mar the walkway they danced upon, and even that hole was already covering itself up.

I am outmatched, Mydea thought, stepping into a blow to parry. Skill would only widen the gap the longer this went on, and attempting to outlast her was a fool’s errand if she gauged the reserves of power Miryam had rightly.

She thrusted once more, a half-second after Miryam sent another projected strike, yet it was but a rustle when it reached her. Not strong enough to draw blood. Her own kept going, managing to nick Lady Miryam’s cheek through sheer luck.

They stood there for a moment, equally dumbfounded by the outcome.

I should have lost in that exchange, Mydea thought, brows furrowing. Had Miryam’s focus wavered? Even small imperfections in casting or a spell severed from its source at the wrong moment could greatly weaken the outcome.

“The winner: Lady Mydea,” Mirah announced to polite applause.

Lady Miryam kept her silence and her eyes shut for several heartbeats, letting a gentle blue glow suffuse her cheek. With each pulse, a part of the cut was erased, as if reversing the hourglass. Then, her eyes opened. “My words were discourteous,” Miryam said, knuckles bone-white as she sheathed her sword. “My sincerest apologies.”

“You fought well,” Mydea said without malice. “The vaunted skill of the Marcherwomen is no mere talk.”

“I trust that this matter is settled then,” Mirah said.

“Yes, Your Excellency,” they replied in chorus.

“I beg your leave to depart early,” Miryam added through gritted teeth, as was expected of the vanquished. “This exertion has taken its toll on me.”

“I wish you a swift recovery then,” Mirah said.

Miryam nodded, walking off of the garden with a face of shame, and suspicion, and a shackled sort of rage.

She would not be missing much in truth. The highest tray of food was already being served before their duel even began. There couldn’t be more than a quarter of an hour left before the tea party reached its natural end.

“You’ve finally put your skill in the sword to good use,” Vivyan said as they returned to the table. “Lord Pleonexia will be pleased to hear of this.”

I should hope so, Mydea thought, glancing at the Marcherwomen. Else I’d have alienated a whole people with little to show for it.

“Indeed,” Prince Cleo said. “It isn’t quite a gathering without a fight. We really ought to thank you for providing today’s entertainment.”

“It is beneath our station to make light of such things, Your Honor,” Mydea said.

Cleo snorted derisively, before returning to his conversation with Princess Mirah.

Tea ended not long after that, and Mydea found herself returning to her room, a sense of heaviness draped across her. Her first day here, and already she was accruing a long list of enemies.

What a fortuitous start.