[40th Year of Foresai, Lower Wind Month, Day 9]

Renner had yet to recover from the day before, mind embroiled in a mix of loathing and ennui. Despite her higher-self, she picked at her breakfast with little resolve. It was a rich puff pastry, filled with cheeses and jams. She knew she ought to eat, so she forced it down.

“So you went out with Lady Aindra of the Blue Roses yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“To one of those- ahh, what are they called?”

“Restaurants.”

“Yes, that's it.”

Her father rarely had the opportunity to indulge in such things. Even among the open minded highbloods, King Ramposa eating at a place that could be considered Imperial would in itself be a scandal.

“Was it good? What did you get?”

“A dish from the east, a soup made from lentils. It was vibrant. I’m sure if you wanted to try it you could have the chef come cook in the palace for a day.”

“I can’t allow one more victory for Barahuth. I’ll never cede control of the borderlands, much less my chef!”

Ramposa laughed at his own joke, suppressing a few subsequent coughs.

No matter how much they bite at your ankles, you still find ways to laugh.

“What did you discuss?”

The survival of Re-Estize.

“Just the recent accomplishments of the Blue Roses.”

“Don’t let her tales of heroics persuade you. I can’t have my daughter going into a life of adventure.”

Lakyus had all but abandoned her title when she went into a life of adventure, a controversial, but undoubtedly profitable move. This made her a rogue factor in most noble’s dealings with adventures; but she had the necessary social liquidity to successfully move in high circles. Ramposa was happy her daughter had built a relationship with Lakyus. The Blue Roses were an asset to the kingdom, and to have at least one Adamantite adventurer team within close grasp of the royal family was valuable beyond traditional reckoning. Still, Renner was starting to wake from her malaise.

He’s nervous. He doesn’t typically jest like that.

The air in the room slipped back into silence, with nothing but a few scrapes against the plate, slight shuffling noises against the table, and the chewing of food to be heard. Renner managed to clear her plate, and counted it as a small victory. Ramposa’s face became solemn.

“Renner.”

“Yes father?”

“I heard you and Barbro had a bit of a disagreement.”

The sunlight was robbed of its color.

What could this be?

“...Yes that’s true.”

“He brought a representative of a noble with him?”

“Yes, he did. Margrave Harlink’s man. It was a marriage proposal.”

“It seems to be the talk of the Kingdom. Did you tell anyone about it?”

“Maid Lucilia was in the room.”

Ramposa winced. His regality had long kept him in touch with the nature of gossip, and despite certain privileges as the king, he still knew the very basics of controlling the flow of information. He had dismissed maid Nunia for that very reason. Maids in the Kingdom were not commoners, but typically the third or fourth daughters of minor houses. The tradition ensured a tightly knit web of relation and obligation; not only security for women who had no marriage prospects, but a political weapon and network of information. Barbro’s ignorance of this was comical.

“He gives me so much trouble. He didn’t shout at you, did he.”

“...He did.”

Ramposa sat back in his chair and sighed. This was beyond embarrassing. He bore a heavy burden. A Crown Prince who was unfit to serve, a second son of no particular vocation, a deep rooted factionalism eating away at the kingdom, rampant corruption at all levels of government, and a substantial military threat on the eastern border.

“Was it a good proposal?”

“He wrote a poem to go along with it. It was certainly flattering, but, well, was overbearing.”

“Hmm. Harlink is a false magrave. I gave him those accolades because he was valiant in the fight against the empire, but to think he thought he could shoot to marry you.”

“I think it may have been Barbro’s idea. He seems to be courting the Eastern nobles.”

“He wants my throne, and he’ll have it one day, but it’s so hard to give it to him. The Kingdom is in a poor state.”

They sat in silence for a time, Ramposa finishing his plate.

“Still, have you given thought to marriage?”

This is bad. I need to be gentle here. He can’t have that much patience left with me.

“To a degree.”

“Renner…”

He’s chiding me. I hope-

“You’re going to be sixteen in a month’s time.”

“Father-”

“I can’t let my daughter make it to seventeen and not be married. It would be a scandal, and you’d be damaging your future. The nobility is fickle, and although it pains me to say, age may become a barrier for you. I don’t want that to happen. You’ve been given your time to play, and to spend time with Climb; but you’re a woman now Renner. You’ve been one for almost two years now. Do you understand?”

No I don’t understand! Why do I have to be shackled to this?! Why do I have to concern myself with matters like marriage or the health of the Kingdom. This is agony! Why can’t I just have my Climb?

“...I do.”

“I understand no one may seem appealing, but you have the ability to choose. They call you the Golden Princess; men chase you for your beauty. It makes me proud as a father.”

“But surely-”

“Enough. I see now with Barbro that I have been too lenient on all of you. In a month’s time you will be sixteen, mature and ready for adulthood in full. Come the fall season, I want you to have selected a man to marry. Perhaps the equinox, for a specific date. I don’t expect you to have been bound in matrimony by then, but engaged, yes. Renner, you’re a brilliant girl, no, woman. I know you can find a person who will treat you right, and allow for a stronger future with this Kingdom. It sounds silly to say, but I need your help in this. The Kingdom is fragile, and I need you to help keep it together, even in a little part like marriage.”

“Yes father.”

Ramposa sighed heavier, the discomfort in his daughter’s words evident.

“Renner, I’m sorry. But things can’t continue like they are.”

“Yes father.”

“Stop, don’t carry an evading tone with me. Renner, I know you fancy Climb; and I’ve given you all the time I can with him. But you need to give him up, he’s a boy, and he has no past. You will not be able to stay in the palace and spend time with him forever.”

If only I could!

“...Yes father.”

“This is for the best.”

—

Damn him! Damn him! Damn him! Damn my regality! Damn my obligations! Damn it all.

Renner felt as if she had been sundered apart. The daytime sun meant her covers provided little comfort, and she wasn’t seeking rest in them anyway. Her mind broke from whatever moorings had been left, and ran afield in potentials and hypotheticals. It felt every time she came up with some path out of her situation it slipped through her fingers. She felt utterly hopeless, and more than a little overheated. Giving up, she started to ground herself in tangible sureties.

I’m going to be married or engaged by this time next year. It is an unavoidable reality. I must have the man who I want to marry selected by the equinox. This is also unavoidable. I possess no true political power outside of my bloodline. This is undeniable. I am not a political free agent. This is undeniable.

Stoicism in the face of reality was better than panicked denial, and Renner felt her heart rate slow, her mind leveling itself into a steady glide. Her situation was grim, but she possessed a levy of control she could grip with all her might.

What do I possess? I have the trust and ear of the Blue Roses. I may soon have the confidence of the Warrior-Captain too. I have the networks of maids who feed me information, and who I can distribute information through. I have a strategic and tactical understanding of the Kingdom, and its state of being. I have my value as a princess, as royalty. I have Climb.

Compared to her opposition, to her father, to the man she would have to marry, it wasn’t much. Still, it was enough to allow her to consider an escape from her situation. She began to build a framework on the subject of marriage.

Considering my father's words, he desires I marry into a powerful marriage. A marquis, a margrave, or a count of substantial power. I can dismiss everyone not from a Great House. That leaves the sons of Marquis Blumrush, Marquis Pespea, Marquis Raeven, Margrave Urovana, Marquis Boullope, and Count Lytton. Lyton and Boullope are both members of the Nobility faction; a cross faction marriage would be possible with Lyton, but Boullope is off the table completely. Lyton is himself desperate for status, and the hand of the Golden Princess would in itself be a sufficient offer on its own.

Pespea is Vena’s husband, and such multigenerational marriage with his son is not necessarily unprecedented, it would be in poor taste. Urovana’s second son Novol is unmarried, and he could make a good option. Still, I don’t particularly hold any leverage over them.

Blumrush’s children would be interesting to say the least; no one seems to have realized that he’s feeding information directly to the Empire. It may be possible for me to make ties to Baharuth that way, although I don’t want to imagine the consequences of that information going public. I doubt I could blackmail him to allow me to have Climb. Reaven is an option. He is publicly independent, but deeply loyal to the king. He’s keeping the entire faction together. would probably make the most bearable father in law. His son is so young though, only five?

Love marriage was a thing foriegn to the highblooded of Re-Estize, only truly existing in parts of Barahuth’s weakened nobility. Thus, for Renner to consider marriage with those twenty to thirty years her senior, or ten years junior was not unrealistic. She would not be expected to bear children until Reaven’s son was much older, nor would Reaven allow it otherwise. Further, although Lyton was unmarried, he likely would simply father children with other women and only publicly pretend that Renner was the mother. Neither situation was particularly uncommon in the Kingdom. Her thoughts drifted to her brother, and how she could use his assets vicariously.

Zanac is still my best option for bargaining power. If he can know of my activities against Eight Fingers, about my contribution to the state of the Kingdom, he will see my value clearly. He’s the brightest of my siblings, and he’ll know to let me guide him to the throne. I could be his secret advisor. Surely that would be enough to buy me Climb. I would need to set up a tripartite pact between him, I, and the man I would marry.

I would offer the elimination of Eight Fingers, the status of marriage into the royal bloodline, and the use of my mind. Zanac would offer political legitimacy, and provide me with the necessary capital to continue living close to what I have now. My betrothed would need to present me with a shallow marriage - without duty - and allow me to keep Climb by my side.

Renner felt thoroughly planted in the ground, no longer reminding herself of a branch caught in the wind. She slipped out of bed, and started to uncrease her clothing. Her ennui was deep enough after breakfast that she hadn’t changed out of her pale green dress when she got in bed. It was a minor mistake, but one she now had to undo. She strode over to the mirror, and began to remake her appearance.

Reaven or Lyton are the most viable options. Really, the only options. Lyton would be indebted to me by simply marrying him, but could I stand to take the hand in matrimony of a man who let himself become indebted to Boullope? I’ll go with Reaven. Holding together an entire faction means he possesses a modicum of intelligence.

As far as specifics, I’ll continue to play the part of the princess I have been. When I’m ready to strike at Eight Fingers in full, I’ll meet with Zanac and Reaven together, reveal my hand, and secure a marriage. The question then becomes one of time. How much can I accomplish in four months?

She snapped open her pocket mirror, examining herself. She worked on her face, both her makeup and expression. Normally this was bearable, but it was currently taxing what little ability she had. She began to run through what she had learned of Eight Fingers.

There is without a doubt a distribution hub outside of Re-Estize. I’ll send Lakyus there next. That ought to give us enough information. It’s possible we could find a lieutenant-captain, and that would be a great boon in its own right. There are so many variables. So many paths that would get us, me, nowhere. It’s overwhelming. I should narrow down its specific location.

Renner clasped it shut, stood, and went to work.

—

Thirteen, that makes thirteen in three weeks.

“Shit.”

The woman cursed to herself, looking down at a series of reports from her captains. Her study was lit by dim candlelight; piles of reports, inkwells, and spare stationary arranged haphazardly. She was locked away from the world, nestled in a tight space that was hers alone. Frustrated at the quandary before her, she rubbed her forehead.

Thirteen separate strikes now, across six separate divisions. We clearly have a mole. Maybe someone in Slavery finally flipped. It would make sense, some capo or lieutenant desperate for liquidity. Whoever they are, they clearly have information on the broader organization. Cross division strikes! Whoever is doing this is suicidal.

She sighed, and pulled a slow puff from an ebony Churchwarden pipe. She had long blond hair, currently unkempt. She was wearing a lacy gown, lingerie-like in its appearance. It was evening-wear, and revealed a long and curling tattoo of a snake with its head above her right breast, tail ending at her forearm. She turned to a letter on her desk, still sealed. Embossed in the red wax was a symmetric hand with eight fingers, with a triangle in its palm. She slit the envelope with a gilded cutter, and withdrew the paper inside. She had been putting this off.

One of the interrogation reports conducted by Security.

This was the piece of information that would put the puzzle together, but she always hesitated to read them. She was not above using torture to extract information, but the brutality of the Security division was another thing entirely. Reading it, she hopped her eyes over the details of the extraction to skip to the summary.

“Subject: Everett Jal … was released on bail from holding jail in Capital … subject was flayed until … Subject and his companions camped on the banks of the Fell Rapids, and were assaulted pre-dawn … subject’s captors were revealed to be five females, likely the Blue Roses.”

“Shit!”

The woman hit the table in a fit of anger, and threw the letter across the room. Nursing her bruise, she began to plan.

The Blue Roses? That means someone is paying top bidding for protection. Our guild contacts would have told us if they had been hired through official channels. Clearly this is under the table. Must have been a noble who got scared, and figured an Adamantite team could get them out of their involvement with us. Fucking idiots. That’s just gonna get you killed.

She was not worried about the Blue Roses; Six Arms could deal with such problems if they arose. Rather, she was angry at the sudden spike in her workload. She was going to have to spend the next month purging her organization. She would have to put pressure on the Laira-addled nobility in her pocket. Being the head of the drug division had its perks - the power to satisfy a physically addicting vice gave her frightening leverage, something she exploited time after time.

I’ll just threaten to cut them off if they refuse to tell me who flipped.

Her hand, the pain from her self- inflicted strike abated, drifted over and grabbed another letter on her desk. It contained a single date and time, the next meeting for the entirety of the Eight Fingers organization. She set her hands on her desk and pushed off. Hilma Cygnaeus had a long night ahead of her.