The Sporaton vessel tied up alongside the Crossed Glory without so much as a shout or signal fg raised. Sara waited on the deck as the perfect image of saintly patience, a vague and impossible to read smile pstered across her face. Internally, she was thrashing in rage, barely able to stop herself from leaping across the gap with sword swinging. The Sporaton ship's crew could tell it, too, no matter how perfect her presentation was. They followed orders to bring the ship to dock with the energy of dogs beaten bck and blue, stooped low, avoiding her eye like the pgue. Only one figure on the deck was standing tall, staring back at Sara.

  The gangpnk dropped. Sara moved into position with Nora and Vanilflower, the Carrion diplomat taking a post a few feet to the side of the bridge, so that he wouldn't be seen as part of the receiving party on a vessel he didn't control. The lone Sporaton with a straight spine stepped up onto the gangpnk, staring down at Sara.

  Sara stared back. It was a woman, dressed in gray flowing robes that pooled around her feet. The garment was low-cut, showing an amount of cleavage Sara knew to be utterly scandalous in Sporatos, and though its design would otherwise have smacked of religion, it had been modified too extensively to belong to a member of the clergy. Royal purple stripes ran up and down the front of the robes, whatever dye they used containing flecks of powdered gemstones that left the color glittering in the sunlight. Her hood, presently lowered, was wide enough to slump over her shoulders even if it had been raised. Her makeup was impeccably done, barely noticeable that she wore any at all, which was quite the achievement with the primitive powders avaible to this world. Even beneath the makeup her features were cssically attractive, sharp in the eyes and soft around the cheeks, complimented by jeweled earrings.

  The woman stepped up onto the gangpnk and walked to its very edge, smiling sweetly first at Sara, then at Nora.

  "Permission to come aboard, Captain O'Gallison?"

  "Your name?"

  "Diplomat Feder Otilia of House Otilia, Captain O'Gallison. I was traveling to a meeting with Carrion officials, and just so happened across this little gathering. I thought the opportunity to include our new southern neighbors in the meeting would be one appreciated, and elected to make a detour." She cocked her head, as if considering something. "Of course, if I am unwelcome, I will take my leave."

  Clever. Pretend you're doing me a favor by including Tulian in a meeting between two rger powers. Sara's teeth ground. It wasn't like she'd intended to turn the Sporaton diplomat away, not when this gave her the opportunity to sabotage any Carrion-Sporaton negotiations, but the same was true in reverse. Otilia and Sara would be both be working to undercut the other's objectives.

  Nora looked to Sara, deferring to her diplomatic expertise. Sara nodded, and Nora waved Otilia forward.

  "Permission granted, Diplomat Feder Otilia. Welcome aboard."

  It was the least-welcoming welcome Sara had ever heard uttered.

  Otilia daintily lifted her robes and stepped down onto the Crossed Glory's deck, prompting several guards from her vessel to hop onto the gangpnk to follow behind. To Sara's great delight, the Sporaton guards clomped straight across the gangpnk and hopped down, nding directly before Vanilflower. The Carrion Captain's eyes widened in shock, lips parting a little bit as he watched the brazen dispy. By using her full name, Nora had specifically granted Otilia permission to come aboard, and Otilia alone. Vanilflower shook his head, pursed his lips, and took several steps away from the soldiers, turning his back to both them and Otilia.

  You fucked up, bitch, Sara thought. Her pster smile grew more brittle as she forced it to widen, sweeping a hand towards the Crossed Glory's officer cabins.

  "Shall we proceed to our meeting?"

  -----------------------------

  --------------------------

  -----------------------

  Sara spun her goblet of wine, watching the ruby liquid swirl. A good vintage, by all accounts, one of countless pilfered from wealthy captains by Nora on this very ship. Wine that didn't just taste good, it was worth appreciating. She set it aside, untouched, with a sigh. The Sporaton arrival and its implications had put a sour taste in her mouth about drinks prepared out of sight. Privately, she rolled her eyes at herself. Evie would be delighted when she learned some of her rampant paranoia had infected Sara.

  Sara kicked her feet up on an overly rge ottoman– was it really called that, here? – and took in the rest of the room, scanning its exits and entrances as Evie constantly implored her to do. The simple windows at the rear of the ship had been repced by yet another stolen relic, this time a fine stained gss rendition of Daygon, God of the Deeps. A door to the head– essentially a toilet seat above a hole to the ocean– was in the back right of the room, and exiting through there was certainly a st resort option. That left only the rear windows and the doors she had entered through, which would be the easiest for an enemy to cover in the event of an ambush. Idly, she decided she'd preemptively widen them with a bit of Lightning before making her exit, should it come to violence.

  She doubted it would, though. Otilia was settled primly in a soft velvet loveseat, legs crossed at the ankles beneath her robes as she, too, took in the room. When aboard a ship Nora had little use for a bedroom, or beds in general, and so had converted the old captain's cabin into a stateroom. The centerpiece was a long and rich table, a single sb of dark wood that swirled with patterns of strange growth rings. It could fit twelve comfortably in its associated chairs, or twice that if one wasn't afraid of bumping elbows. A chandelier of glowing crystals rested above it, made of artfully worked brass, like many of the room's other pieces of finery. Nora's stateroom was rge enough that the three comfortable chairs currently hosting Sara and the others in the corner were spaced a few feet apart, facing one another. The entire room bobbed with the waves passing the ship deep below. An excellent pce to hold a discussion regarding naval matters, if it weren't for the bastard of a woman darkening Sara's vision.

  Otilia caught Sara staring, smiling brightly back at her. The royal diplomat reached up and dismissed the man whispering into her ear with a flick of her fingers. He exited quickly. It was only the three of them in the stateroom, now. Otilia leaned forward.

  "As you are the host, I implore you, please do not hold back on your discussions on my account. It was too much already to ask that I join you in this room, and I wouldn't impose further."

  "Oh, nonsense," Sara replied fondly. "Clearly your matters were very urgent, if they drove you into a foreign port to speak your mind." I ain't saying shit in front of you that I don't have to. Sara turned to Vanilflower, who was observing the exchange with the mild concern of a man watching two alleycats mauling one another beneath his window. "It is ultimately up to you, Captain, but I will freely cede the opening stages of this meeting to Diplomat Otilia. After all, we were expecting to host you for a week or more, and there will be plenty of time for us to discuss ter."

  Sara took savage satisfaction in watching Otilia's eyes fsh. She hadn't known Vanilflower was to be in port for so long, clearly, and didn't like what it implied of Carrion interest in Sara's cause. Vanilflower, professionally stoic, seemed only concerned with mulling his decision over.

  "Others may have been more recalcitrant in your position, Governess, and so I thank you for affording me such discretion," he said. He turned to Otilia. "Please, Diplomat, the Governess is correct. What was so pressing to drive you here?"

  Forced to reveal her hand first, Otilia at least had the good graces to not show her frustration. She gestured out towards the city's walls, beyond which the the wide ocean waited.

  "A manner of some irony, considering our current whereabouts. As the Carrion Navy is no doubt aware, these st few months have seen a meteoric rise in piracy along the former Tulian coastline. My Lord the King wished first and foremost to discuss strategies with Carrion officials, so that we may coordinate our efforts in protecting trade around the continental horn."

  "And the irony you speak of, it comes from...?"

  Otilia's smile fell a shade, as if disappointed to be forced to make such accusations in Sara's presence. "Well, it is no secret that the very ship we occupy is responsible for a great deal of this piracy, Captain. I shudder to imagine what else it carries beyond these velvet chairs that are painted so deeply red, but fear it must include a great deal of steel."

  "Accusing us of piracy, Otilia?" Sara adjusted her legs on the ottoman, resting her left foot atop her right. "Admiral Nora has expined her terms to each and every vessel she approached in our territorial waters, and had them solidly refused. It is well within the Tulian Republic's rights to enforce our ws within fifteen leagues of the coast. Surely you're familiar with the Salian Accords, penned by the Carrion Navy itself? Sporatos itself is a signatory, if you'll recall."

  Perhaps visible only to Sara, Otilia's smile cracked slightly. "The Salian Accords, if they were faithfully followed, afford the crews of captured vessels an offer of parole, should they agree not to return to the territories of where an offense was committed. As the only thing that your pirate crews have seen fit to return to us is common dregs and wrapped bodies, it cannot be argued your so-called nation is adhering to the Accord's terms."

  "Captain Vaniflower, a question," Sara abruptly said, turning to the man. "While I am well aware of the terms of parole that the Salian Accords require, what do they dictate to be done when a crime is committed by a captured opponent still in Tulian waters?"

  "An individual under the control of a nation following a naval engagement that sees fit to commit a crime is to be charged and tried under whatever local custom is applicable, so long as they are afforded the same rights as if they were a citizen of the capturing nation," Vanilflower replied, easily rattling off the exact verbiage.

  Genuine warmth entered Sara's smile for the first time as she turned back to Otilia. "And therein lies the crux of the confusion, Diplomat Otilia. You see, the Tulian Republic has rather strict legalities regarding svery and forced bor. As far as I'm aware, not a single Sporaton vessel is free of such sin." Sara reached down to her hip, where she kept her Bag of Holding, and pulled out a stack of papers so thick it barely fit in her hand. She set it on the ottoman, waving Otilia forward. "If you'd like, here are the transcripts recorded by Admiral Nora's staff, detailing each and every refusal of Sporaton vessels to immediately free their sves and appropriately pay their crew. Such refusal, of course, constitutes a crime for which Tulian w has only one punishment."

  Sara leaned back rather smugly, but was stopped from completely rexing when Otilia did, in fact, reach forward to take the papers. To Sara's utter surprise, she began quietly thumbing through the stack, skimming the headlines until she found a selection that caught her eye. She neatly slid it out of the stack, set the papers down askew so she could recall their pce in the stack, and began reading. Having made the offer so bluntly, Sara was forced to sit and wait, wondering what the woman was pying at. Did she really think Sara had prepared an entirely false set of records?

  After a few long minutes of silent perusing, Otilia looked up from the transcripts with her eyebrows pinched together.

  "It would seem to me, Lady Sara, that not one of these transcripts include the crew of Sporaton vessels being given an expnation of the ws they were operating under. Consistently, through each and every encounter detailed here, your Admiral has only demanded the freeing of sves and the immediate payment of indentured servants. When the Sporaton officers refused– having already been told they are operating under the Salian Accords and believing they will soon be repatriated to Sporatos– they are summarily executed. Many, in fact, expin that they do not carry the coin aboard necessary to pay their crews at the demanded rates, and ask for time to acquire it while in Tulian waters. A request that is universally refused."

  Vanilflower's lips turned down, his fingers steepling. He leaned forward in his chair, holding out a hand for the papers, which Otilia happily handed him. He scanned them for considerably less time than Otilia had, already knowing what to look for. He set the papers aside shortly, frowning at Sara.

  "It is as she says, Governess. None of those whom your forces demanded to release their sves were offered an expnation of the consequences for refusal. While this abides by the letter of the Salian Accords, it does not befit the spirit. Yours is a young Republic, too young for knowledge of its customs and ws to have spread."

  But if we told them that, some of them may actually agree, and then we wouldn't get to execute them. Just have to let the rotten bastards walk free.

  Sara, of course, said nothing of the sort aloud, but she did pause for a moment to formute a less spiteful response.

  "Every legal code that I am aware of, both in my old world and this new one, do not accept ignorance of the w as an excuse to avoid punishment. However, I can agree that these particur circumstances are fairly unique. I will make it a point to alter our procedures in the future, to avoid further miscommunication."

  It was Otilia's turn now to rex into her chair, radiating satisfaction as she filed the papers back into their proper spots. From the woman's initial blunders in boarding the ship to Vanilflower's general distaste for her interruption of the meeting, Sara felt certain she was ahead in the Carrion Captain's favor, but the concession Sara had just been forced to make was a considerable victory for the Sporaton diplomat. Quite frankly, it was the first time since Sara fallen under Amarat's banner that she'd had one of her bluffs called, and that irritated her to no end.

  Vanilflower took an appreciate sip of his own wine, nodding to Otilia.

  "You said that the matters of piracy were the first among your King's concerns, but not the only. Tell me, what else did you wish to discuss with our people?"

  Sara politely pulled back from the conversation as Otilia delved into a list of less important matters, most of which involved nattering over the specifics of tariffs and trade deals. Important things for a diplomat, and something that would someday matter greatly to Sara, but were presently utterly secondary to her interests. She took mental notes of the specific rates and whatnot mentioned, so that she had a good baseline as to what was "normal" for any simir negotiations she might enter in the future, but otherwise happily withdrew, plotting her next moves.

  After quite a while of preliminary back-and-forth, Vanilflower held up a hand.

  "While I find the terms we have discussed agreeable, favorable even, I haven't the authority to sign any binding agreements. My charter for this mission was in retion to the Tulian Republic, not Sporatos, and I will have to return your terms to the appropriate officials before they can be ratified." Vanilflower turned to peer out the stained gss window, where the sun was beginning to near the harbor's massive walls. "A productive first day of discussions, I believe, but the day grows te, and I am but one of many amongst the Carrion entourage. You have both given me a great deal to consider, and I would be remiss to exclude my fellow Captains from my deliberations."

  "Of course, Captain Vanilflower," Sara said, standing. "I wouldn't wish to keep you, especially when so much has changed from our initial pns for this exchange. If you would permit me to escort you back to your ship?"

  Vanilflower stood. "My thanks, Governess." He inclined his head to Otilia. "Lady Otilia."

  The diplomat began to stand, preparing to leave, but Sara made a motion for her to stop. "If you wouldn't mind, Diplomat Otilia, I believe there may yet be more for us to discuss. If you will allow me a brief absence to return Captain Vanilflower to his ship, I will return shortly."

  Hands still on her chair's arms, Otilia paused. After a moment, she rexed back down. "As you say, Lady Sara. I haven't any more pressing engagements at this moment."

  Sara nodded her thanks, then turned to walk Vanilflower to his magecraft. When she thought they were solidly out of even supernaturally aided hearing's range, she gnced at him from the corner of her eye.

  "Not how I wanted this first day to go," she admitted, using a far more casual tone than she had in the stateroom.

  "Nor I," Vanilflower replied, slowing his walk. "I will be frank with you, Governess. The Carrion Navy has no interest in picking sides in this conflict. Champions are too wild a factor to be predictable, and the most aggressive Carrion captains are in agreement with the most conservative: it is best to leave your peoples to their squabbling."

  "I anticipated as much," Sara said truthfully. "But I will tell you this, before you come to a preemptive conclusion: I have no desire to lead the nation following this initial war. The element of so-called Champion unpredictability will end with Sporatos' defeat. Following that, which ally do you imagine will be easier for the vaunted Carrion Navy to influence? A massive, nd-based absolute monarchy, one with little dependency on their naval trade, or an expiremental coastal Republic barely out of the cradle?"

  Vanilflower chuckled. "An appeal to my sensibilities by demonstrating your own weakness. An interesting tack you take, Governess Sara."

  "Even before I became Amarat's Champion, I rarely found a lie that was more effective than the truth. When honesty serves my purposes, why bother with anything else?"

  "You speak wisely once more, Governess, yet I feel compelled to point out that such a cim is exactly what a liar would offer to present themselves as honest."

  "I understand. Trust must be earned, not demanded. I only ask that you watch my actions and draw your own conclusions."

  "So I will, Governess. So I will."

  They reached the gangpnk of the Bulker, and Sara bid Vanilflower adieu. The man was swarmed by a horde as soon as he was back on his own ship, many dressed in simir finery to him, and Sara could only imagine the plethora of questions he would soon have to fend off. If nothing else, the Sporaton arrival had brought a level of attention to the negotiations they would have otherwise cked.

  That job done, Sara returned quickly to the stateroom, giving Nora a right-handed wave as she went. The signal meant that all was well, and no intervention was necessary. Sara entered the shadow of the helm, gripped the handle to the stateroom door, took a deep breath, then flung it open.

  Sara stormed into the room as the door cracked against the far wall, rebounding with enough force to shut itself before she'd taken two steps further. Otilia sat calmly in her chair with palms atop her knees, smiling up at Sara.

  "What was it you wished to discuss, Lady–"

  "Shut the fuck up."

  Otilia drew herself up. "I beg your pardon–?"

  "Beg." Sara spread her hands wide, towering over the diplomat. "Beg. That's a good word. It's what I want you to do. Beg. "

  "Are you threatening my life, Lady Sara?"

  "I'm threatening your entire nation, you contemptible bitch. I'm threatening the foundation of power that you draw your authority from. I'm going to take your ancient traditions in both hands and pull until they snap. I'm going to grab that fat-ass you call King around the neck and squeeze until I can see blood bursting in his eyes, and I'm not going to drop him until I feel the shit falling from his royal trousers to let me know he's really dead."

  Otilia rocketed to her feet. "You heathen! You make a mockery of your god's name!"

  "You make a mockery of humanity's name, whore." Sara gnced down at her exposed cleavage. "That is what you are, isn't it? A gussied-up whore? Did you really think the Patron Saint of Diplomats was going to earn a valuable alliance with eye candy? That you had to counter it with your own? Was it your idea to wear the push-up bra, or did one of your minders pick it out for you?"

  Otilia took a furious step forward, raising her hand in preparation to sp Sara. Doing so, however, took her directly past the ottoman.

  The lid of the footstool flung up hard enough to bounce off the ceiling, a coiled form emerging in a fsh of summoning light. The ft of Evie's bde dropped into pce an inch before Otilia's sternum, stopping her cold. The feline was dressed in her full battle regalia, bck leather over a ruby dress, but with the uncharacteristic addition of even heavier protection. Chainmail hung around her neck, drooping to protect her arms and armpits, and thin steel chausses protected her legs. The close interior of the stateroom left no room for her usual maneuverable style, and they hadn't been certain Vanilflower and Otilia would leave their guards behind, so the armor had seemed prudent. Facing only one woman, it was overkill, but Sara enjoyed the effect all the same. She bore her teeth in a wicked smile at Otilia.

  "I can't believe you came to this pce thinking I'd give a single flying fuck about propriety. Didn't my month in your capital give you enough of an idea that I don't give a shit about you people? About your customs? I'd call you barbaric, but that'd be an insult to the people who were first called that. At least they had the decency to take pride in their so-called barbarism, made it a tenant of their culture. You fucks just hide behind tradition and wordpy, twisting the meaning of things until you can convince yourself that all your depravity is 'honor'." Sara aimed a wad of spit towards Otilia's feet, which nded on her robes. "Fucking disgusting."

  Otilia quivered in pce, incensed beyond belief. Her jaw worked as she tried to restrain herself, some distant part of her mind capable of recognizing she stood no chance against two Irregurs. Finally, through grinding teeth, she spoke.

  "Is this what you are? What you truly are? A slobbering beast, capable of parroting human speech only when there are no consequences for revealing your animalistic instincts? You are what Amarat sent unto us?"

  "You bet it, cunt. The only reason you're still breathing is because killing diplomats is bad for business. As much as I'd love to lop your head off, prohibitions about killing your type exist for a reason. Hard to get deals done when no one wants to show up to talk."

  "Not a beast, then. Just a child, throwing a tantrum when they don't get their way." Otilia turned to Evie, who was still holding her in pce with her rapier. Otilia gestured down to her soiled robes. "Look upon what you've been chained to, Lady Eliah. It's well known you had no knowledge of your mother's treachery, and yet you were brought this low in punishment. A shame, for so bright a fme to doused by this... this gutter water. What think you of where you've been brought, hm?" Otilia didn't wait for an answer, barking out her ughter. "Of course, you can't answer! You're naught but a sve now, the very thing your master so despises."

  Evie's stance didn't move an inch as she spoke. "If you think Master had any desire to own a sve, you've been woefully unprepared for the task you were given."

  "If she really despised being a sveowner so much, why does she still wear that band upon her wrist, hm? She enjoys the dominion she has over you, woman, or else she would have been rid of you long ago."

  Sara snorted. "Is that what you think a solution to my problem is? Not freeing my sve, but simply getting them off my hands? Making it someone else's problem, out of sight, out of mind? I'd hate to see how you clean your room."

  "A commoner's perspective. How predictable. Her essence has been altered, Lady Sara, by divine writ itself. She is a sve now, and will never again be anything more. Do you really think that there is some solution to be found for the god's gifts, Lady Sara? That you may simply absolve the realms of your woes by force of personality alone?"

  "I was going to do it by force of violence, actually, but my award-winning personality will probably help."

  Otilia threw her hands in the air. "A child! Truly, that's all you are. A child given a sword, thinking themselves untouchable. Unlike you, I will not stoop to bsphemy, but tonight I will certainly be praying to Amarat for a revetion regarding her purpose in bringing you here."

  "She's the goddess of emotion, you know. Maybe I exist just to piss you off as much as humanly possible."

  "Bafflement is a better word for the emotion you engender," Otilia snapped. "Why the Carrion Navy even entertains the thought of accompanying a creature like you is beyond me."

  Sara jabbed a thumb upward, towards where the helm was positioned. "Pretty sure they got spooked by my fuckbuddy up top. She's a damn mean captain, I've been told."

  "So the rumors go," Otilia agreed, unknowingly confirming for Sara that Nora's reputation had reached Sporatos. "But no matter how 'mean' a captain she may be, what will she do when a Navy a dozen times her superior bears down on this pathetic hovel you call a city?"

  Sara tapped her chin in thought. "Only a dozen times? Well, it'll be a while before she has the trained crew for so many ships, so she'll probably start by taking stock of which vessels are worth capturing and which can be destroyed. No point paying maintenance bills on ships she couldn't use after the battle, after all."

  "Your arrogance is breathtaking."

  Sara shrugged. "Hey, that one wasn't even exaggeration. Amarat herself guided me to Nora, so she's got a literal god's endorsement. Not to mention the fact that I think she may be some fucked up variety of pseudo-Champion, and unlike me, she's a combat css. That's a little tidbit of information I'll give you for free, by the way."

  Otilia tsked. "An asinine cim, Lady Sara. Two Champions have never coincided by less than a century. Even you must know that much. Supposing such were true, why would you tell your enemy of it? It would be far better to reveal such prowess in the midst of battle, so that our forces would be taken by surprise. Even you are not so naive."

  "Why tell you?" Sara picked at her fingernails. "That's easy. It's because I'd rather kill innocent conscripts in the open fields of Tulian, where they can surrender or run away. Out on the ocean they'll have no choice but to drown, and that pricks my conscious."

  Otilia's ughter was harsh. "A Champion, a being with the unique potential of reaching the very heights of mortal prowess, sacrificing their own advantages in lieu of caring for the peasantry? What a novelty. Do you truly think me such a fool?"

  Sara grinned. She couldn't resist such an opportunity. "Oh, yeah. Absolutely. You're stupid as hell."

  Whether Otilia's sudden drawing up of her shoulders was in response to the insult, or in self-recrimination at so easily providing an opportunity for it to be levied, Sara couldn't tell. What she could tell, however, was how deeply the comment dug beneath the woman's skin.

  Take pride in your intelligence, do you? Let's twist the knife a bit further.

  "I mean, how could I not think you're stupid? Shit that every mouthbreather back on Earth learns as a toddler are totally revolutionary, here. All your training, all your education, it doesn't hold a candle to the lessons I got at six years old. If not washing your ass didn't make it itch, you'd never even consider wiping after you shit."

  Otilia recoiled as if physically struck. Sara watched with considerable interest as the woman's expressions twisted; she'd never had a front row seat to someone entering a dissociative episode before. Clearly, whatever mental image the diplomat had of Amarat's Champion was being too severely vioted for it to fit with her concept of reality.

  "Evie, you can drop your sword now." The feline did so, though Otilia hardly seemed to notice. Sara snapped her fingers a few times, loudly. Otilia's eyes locked onto the gesture, sharpening just a bit. "You wanna go back to your boat, now? I think this conversation's over."

  Otilia took a deep, shuddering breath. "Go fuck yourself, Champion."

  Sara smiled. "That's the spirit!"

  --------------------------------

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  --------------------------

  Otilia entered her cabin in a flurry of frustration, cwing at her shoulder bdes to loosen her corset. Deep within her robes, buried in a hidden pocket, she felt a warm buzzing, but she ignored it. After some fumbling her long fingernails managed to find the corset's first knot, which she ripped open with a grunt. The release of pressure from her ribcage was blissful, but the physical comfort did little for her mental state.

  The buzzing intensified, the hidden crystal growing warm against her skin. She took several deep breaths, whispering to herself to ensure her voice was mastered, then pulled the device out.

  "As expected, Lady Otilia," a muffled voice said. Even when magically transmitted through the rose quartz gem, its pitch was shifted to hide the speaker's identity. "The Champion of Amarat behaves exactly as anticipated."

  Otilia physically bit her tongue, restraining her incredulous response. "She did, Ser?"

  "Indeed. It seems you expected her to act otherwise, but our briefing warned you of her erratic nature."

  "That was not erratic, Ser," Otilia snapped, tone sharpening despite herself. "She spoke with no purpose whatsoever. She insulted and raged endlessly, but none of it meant a thing. Nothing was achieved. No, that was not erratic, that was a woman sick in the mind."

  "Even if she truly were ill, Diplomat, you would do well to recall her divinity's blessings. Bolstered by Amarat, even a babbling child would be able to present itself however it so chose. Recall the meeting once more, but divorce your attention from the content of her words. Focus only upon the overtones, the emotions they evoked in you. Therein lies the message she wished to deliver."

  Otilia set the crystal on her writing table and flung her robe over her head, trying to navigate her fury to follow the voice's advice. Her handler for this mission was a strange individual, one of uncertain gender and rank, yet assigned to her by King Sporatos himself. The masked figure had a habit of turning their conversations into lessons, guiding her to the conclusion they desired she draw, rather than openly stating their interpretations. Otilia would have found it insulting to her station, if not for the clear advantage in expertise they held over her.

  And so, despite the twinge of instinctive irritation at being lectured, she considered the Champion's actions as the voice had instructed.

  "The emotions she evoked in me? Anger. Reproach. Irritation. Disgust. Shock more than anything, I suppose. I have spent my life as a diplomat, and here I was expecting to meet a master of my craft. You warned me I would likely be bested, but instead I was humiliated in private, where none could bear witness for her to gain benefit from. Confusion, then, is the greatest emotion. I can't fathom her intention."

  "That is because you think of your discussion with her through the lens of the Carrion delegation, Lady Otilia. But the moment Captain Vanilflower left, her objective shifted. She knows you report to the King, and so chose a persona that she wished him to be appraised of. Now ask yourself, why would this persona be what she desires to be presented to King Sporatos?"

  Once more, Otilia swallowed her indignation at being drip-fed what the voice could have simply stated. She finished shucking off her robes, moving to remove her corset as she worked through her thoughts.

  "...Erratic behavior. Childish insults. Naive idealism." She pursed her lips, recalling the hours of research she spent in preparation for this journey. "All attributes common to historical Champions, but which have been noticeably absent in Sara Brown. Champions are traditionally fifteen, sixteen, or seventeen years of age, but she has repeatedly stated her age to be twenty-two, likely twenty-three by now."

  "And?" The voice prompted.

  "And she is going to war soon. She knows Champions are famed for their ignorance of practical matters, as well as their overzealous adherence to moral codes, and that King Sporatos would eagerly exploit such naiveté on the field of battle. She wishes to convince the King that he may deal with her with minimal effort, and that she is likely to repeat the mistakes of Champions throughout history."

  "Very good," the voice purred.

  Despite the praise, Otilia quietly fumed. After a brief bout of mutual silence, she spoke up, emphasizing the deference in her tone so that her questioning could not be perceived as insolent.

  "But Ser, I see only a single problem with this. Her words, crass though they were, were spoken with utter conviction. For all she is a Champion of Amarat, she is young to our world, and cannot possibly yet equal the Skills I have accrued over my lifetime. She may very well be capable of fooling my eyes and ears, but every Ability I possess was in agreement that her words were genuine. She truly believes her cims, from her Admiral's prowess to her primary concern lying with the survival of our army's peasants. Defeat is a possibility in her mind, but a remote one, barely worth considering."

  "Fall not for her guile, Lady Otilia. Your Skills are great, true, but she is a Champion. It is likely she can fool even your Abilities, impossible though it may seem."

  Otilia bit her cheek, gd she did not have to maintain her physical composure. To fool a diplomat of the Seventeenth Advancement, after not even a year in possession of her Css? It was technically possible, she supposed. The woman was divinely imbued. But Otilia thought it unlikely. Vanishingly unlikely, no matter what the mysterious voice cimed.

  But it was not her pce to question.

  "I understand, Ser, and I thank you for your guidance."

  "You are most welcome, Lady Otilia. You are hereby ordered to withdraw from the city, as any further interaction with the Champion will only degrade Sporatos' standing in the eyes of the Carrion Navy."

  Otilia bristled briefly, but her proverbial hackles fell quickly. Even she could not convince herself she might best Amarat's Champion in the coming days.

  "I will set sail at first light."

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  On the final day of his stay in the (now officially recognized as such) Tulian Republic, Captain Vanilflower was being led through a tour of the freshly expanded Tulian drydocks. What had once been a series of slips fit for small trading sloops had been greatly extended in all directions, such that it could now fit two entire quinqueremes end-to-end. Such a massive drydock created in such a short timespan would have been impressive enough alone, a promise of major investment in naval matters to come, but what presently occupied the drydock dwarfed that paltry observation.

  The keel of a massive behemoth y on the stone, construction spiderwebbing its way up the sides at a frightening pace. Governess Sara had seen fit to list off the dimensions of the vessel during their approach to the dock, but the sheer scope of it had an impact only personal witness could convey.

  It was rger than any mundane ship. It was rger than any normal magecraft. It was rger, even, than Vanilflower's own magecraft, built expressly for the purpose of being the most massive conceivable transport. At two hundred and forty-five feet in length, with a beam that stretched fifty-five feet wide to support a mainmast towering two hundred feet above the deck, as well as a fore and mizzen mast only marginally less grand in scope, the creation was awe-inspiring in a great many ways. Through the course of their discussions, Governess Sara had made it repeatedly clear she had no desire to 'revolutionize' technological affairs across the waves, and if this vessel was what she considered unremarkable, Vanilflower was grateful for it. He shuddered to imagine what creations y within her mind, suppressed for want of not upsetting the status quo.

  The junior artificers trailing like so many schoolchildren behind him were equally awed, he suspected. Vanilflower had rightly predicted that one of the greatest desires of the Tulian Republic came in the form of artificers, whose technical skills were too complex to reinvent independently. Before setting sail he had collected a number of young volunteers, skilled enough to be of use to Tulian, but not yet entrusted with the Carrion Navy's true trade secrets. Teenagers, mostly, but trained from a young age for their craft, they were exactly skilled enough to provide a boon to Tulian artificing without exposing Carrion knowledge. They had proved as valuable a bargaining chip as he'd hoped, and their presence on this tour served as an introduction of sorts to their future jobs.

  The young no-longer-apprentices gaped and gawked and whispered back and forth throughout the tour, muttering too many arcane technical terms for him to parse. A week with Governess Sara had given him achingly little insight into her mind's workings, but he had learned enough to recognize the way she preened under the reaction, utterly satisfied by their reaction in the same way a Deepwater beast might be after glutting itself upon a fatty carcass.

  "Of course," Governess Sara loudly said, interrupting her own expnation of the vessel's particurs when she noticed the artificers' interest in the vessel was overwhelming their attention to her speech, "This is not a project which necessitates any artificing work. You will be aiding the Metalworking Guild and their crafters to produce equipment for the military's Irregurs."

  A great cmor of confusion and disappointment wailed out, a racket which Vanilflower silenced with one hard flick of his wrist. The artificers, though young, were raised in Carrion colonies. To irritate a Magecraft Captain, much less earn his direct reproach, was unthinkable. Vanilflower smiled to Sara where the youngsters couldn't see it.

  "Surely you mean that only a minority of those present will work on the vessel, Governess?" The words were a mercy to the artificers, who were likely screaming that question in their own minds. "The fgship under construction here cannot be brought into drydock cheaply or frequently, and the scope of its hull would allow for a frighteningly rapid accumution of barnacles and other marine growth. The vessel would be useless in a matter of months."

  "Oh, is that how y'all do it?" The governess asked, eyebrows raising with interest. The week's progression had seen the peculiar effect of re gressing the Governess' manner of speech, a rudeness he suffered without compint, knowing it was the sign of her increasing trust in him. "After I heard from Nora that most military ships are kept out of the water until they're needed, I began to wonder. A Magecraft like yours couldn't be hauled out like the triremes are, I'm guessing."

  "Just so," Vanilflower agreed. It felt odd to so lecture a diplomatic partner in any way, but the Governess had repeatedly made it clear she would rather be embarrassed and informed than ignorant and happy. "The spellwork responsible for repelling marine growth is among the most vaunted of naval assets, and it is with no small pride that I confidently state the Carrion Navy's Skimmers are the finest in all the world in this regard. I see that the construction of this fgship goes well with even what little artificing talent you have accrued, but Admiral Nora likely informed you of the project's limitations long ago. It is simply not possible to create nor maintain a vessel of this size without the assistance of spellcraft."

  "Nope," the Governess replied. The simple remark, spoken oh-so-casually, boomed like a gong in his and the artificer's ears. "Totally possible to do it without mages. Thanks for telling me that, though. It's good to know I've got a secret everyone else doesn't. Does mean we'll have to cancel our visit to the third location on this tour, sadly. Evie?" The Governess' ever-present shadow emerged, ears pricked up. "I want you to grab two of Ignite's most trusted squads and have them lock down the Metalworking Guild's portion of the dockyard. No one in, no one out, and search every st one of them for carrier pigeons, magical communication devices, or anything simir. Have them expin that I apologize, and that the wayid workers will receive a nice bonus in a few day's time as compensation, but it turns out I accidentally assigned them to work on a top-secret national defense project."

  The feline attendant nodded, pcing two fingers to her lips to whistle a sharp pattern of notes. Immediately a half-dozen workers around the yard dropped their tools and closed in upon Sara, revealing hidden weapons. Vanilflower had suspected the Governess' guard was too light, and this proved him right. Several untched hidden seams in the pnks they'd been carrying to reveal longswords and polearms, a remarkably clever manner of disguising their weaponry. Vanilflower hardly paid attention to the weapons, however, even as his own guards nervously closed ranks.

  He was too busy reeling. To have missed such an opportunity! The Governess of Tulian had some manner of preventing marine growth without need of artificers? The concept was deceptively simple, but its implications were vast, vast! The economic and military value of a fleet capable of spending months or years at sea without degradation could not be overstated, particurly for the far-flung colonies of the Carrion Navy. Why, the cost savings alone from no longer hiring Azarketi to clean the hulls... Vanilflower shook his head. A tragedy, to have so ignorantly missed the opportunity.

  Now fnked by a half-dozen guards still wearing the garb of dockhands, the Governess smiled apologetically at Captain Vanilflower.

  "Sorry about that, but when I saw half your artificers about to cream their jeans, I knew I couldn't let that secret out for free."

  Cream their jeans? Vanilflower wondered, the metaphor lost on him.

  The Governess continued on, oblivious to his confusion. "But as there's no point in denying it, yes, I have a method of preventing marine growth without magical aid. Can't imagine it'll stay hidden for long, not once this bad boy finally sets sail, but there's several problems you'd have to surmount that I've already solved. A topic for your second visit to Tulian, hm?"

  Vanilflower nodded mutely. Metalworking. The feline had been ordered to head to the Metalworking Guild's dockyard establishment. Something about the mysterious growth-proofing involved metal, and he would find out more. There had also been one 'Ignite' mentioned, someone in a position of trust to the Governess. Perhaps involved with the process? The name had the smack of a transted Carrion name to it, but who of such consequence would be working for a foreign nation? Perhaps the informants and their endless transcripts knew. He would have to consult the records. He pressed these facts deeply into his mind, then set them aside, refocusing on the tour.

  "A topic for ter indeed, Governess Sara." He folded his hands behind his back, slowly strolling down the length of the vessel. "You truly intend to complete the construction without any artificing aid whatsoever?"

  "I do. Don't tell Nora I said it, but the Navy's pying second fiddle to the Army right now. We need enchanted armor far more than we need magecraft. King Sporatos won't come by sea." Sara shrugged. "And even if he did, she's got more than enough to deal with the bulk of the Sporaton Navy already. Her fgship will deal with the magecraft."

  There it was again. That alien, unfounded confidence. As he had now gone through the process of preliminarily committing the Carrion Navy to a trade alliance with Tulian, pending Admiralty approval, his duty was now to warn her against such rash arrogance.

  "I will remind you that our estimates of Sporaton magecraft pce their number at fourteen, Governess. Inconsequential to the Carrion Navy, but devastating when pitted against a conventional force, no matter how superbly commanded."

  Sara waved the words away as if bored. "Admiral Nora will deal with it, as I said."

  Duty, as well as his personally favorable opinion of the Governess, compelled him to push the point. "Governess, I must insist otherwise. Captain Nora is a fine Admiral, but–" Sara's brows furrowed, true irritation shining through. He had overstepped. He stumbled over his words, changing tack. "–but I will take your word for it. It is your people's fate at stake, and you will steer them as you see fit."

  Sara's eyebrows unfurled. "Thank you, Captain Vanilflower. Now, I believe you'd expressed interest in surveying the lumber we harvested for the fgship? It was quite an adventure, navigating the predators that roam near the jungle wall, but the species of tree that grow there are truly titanic. If you look closely, the full keel of the ship is composed of a single unbroken piece of lumber, as the greatest of the jungle trees reach heights in excess of two hundred and fifty feet..."

  Governess Sara moved on, finding new topics to discuss. Vanilflower endeavored to bring his full attention to bear on the rest of the tour, but it was difficult. So often the Governess would hint at solutions to wondrous mysteries, but in a half-interested manner, as if their answers were foregone conclusions. She was too adept a conversationalist to let anything truly valuable slip, and truthfully, Vanilflower wasn't certain if her offhanded comments were unintentional, or merely chum thrown in the water to drive him into a frenzy. Whatever the intention, the effect was the same, and he became increasingly convinced that Tulian, for all its favorable geography, was a distant second in priorities to the Champion herself. Sara Brown, not the Tulian Republic, were to be the object of Carrion attention in the coming years.

  Even as the sun slipped low and his entourage began to dwindle, Vanilflower found his thoughts drawn back to the Admiralty. Governess Sara thought him an important figure in the Carrion hierarchy, and a year ago, she would have been correct. Now only his Captaincy of a magecraft lent him credence, and it wasn't impossible for him to lose even that. He was a sacrificial pawn, fallen out of favor when the more conservative regime with which he was aligned had lost the Admiralty election.

  The new Admirals wanted rid of him. Being sent to negotiate with Amarat's Champion wasn't a death sentence, but it was a very near thing. He would return to the Admiralty with favorable reports in hand, advising them to pursue an alliance with Tulian, and they would not listen. It was Amarat's Champion he'd been exposed to, after all. Of course he would agree with her. Of course he would come back singing her praises. The moment he had been given the task, they'd cssified him as compromised, useless to his people.

  Like the Carrion Captains of yesteryear, they had cut him loose and set him adrift, trusting the current to carry him towards the isle of a demonic Siren. Such practices had once been necessary, before the treacherous beasts had been culled, to avoid the entire ship falling under their foul spell and dashing itself against the rocks. In the Admiralty's eyes, his was a simir role, a disliked crewmember selected by his fellows to be ensnared by devilish influence.

  But Vanilflower himself did not feel the telltale sign of mind-warping influence infecting his judgement. Perhaps the Admiralty had forgotten, the records buried too deep, but he had not come to his station by nepotism. No, he had distinguished himself in the very Siren Culls which his present position was so simir to. With wax in his ears and a saber in his hand, his first command had been one of a Marine Sergeant wading through the shores of wretched isnds, roaring at his men to resist the ethereal call assaulting their senses. He had cut down more than his share of brethren when they fell under the Siren's influence, and it was early in the days of the Cull that he swore to himself he would turn a bde upon his own neck the moment he felt himself falling under their sway.

  Now, so many decades ter, he found himself on the other end of the saber. He looked back through time, peering through his younger self's eyes as he appraised a Marine. The boy insisted, loudly, desperately, that he hadn't fallen under the Siren's spell. His stumbling was from ndlegs, his eagerness to charge from the fury he felt towards the monstrous creatures, and his wide eyes and slurred speech came from the pipe and drink he'd imbibed in secret to stiffen his spine before battle.

  On that day, Vanilflower had cut the boy down. His decision had been vindicated by the boy's snarl of anger as he raised his saber and attempted to cw his way to the Sirens, but such was not always the case. Sometimes, after the sword fell, or when the battle was done, he had thought himself wrong. He felt certain that on several occasions he had killed an innocent soldier, one of sound mind and body, who simply failed to convince him such was true. He looked deeply upon those memories now, pcing himself in the shoes of the Marines pleading for their lives. What should they have said, he wondered, to convince him? Where did they go wrong?

  "...Captain Vanilflower?" Sara asked, peering at him curiously. "Are you alright?"

  Vanilflower shook himself, returning to the moment. "Quite alright, Governess. Just reminded of my younger, more tumultuous days, and how certain lessons I learned then are proving more useful than I could have anticipated."

  Sara looked dubiously about at the loom shop they were touring, which was producing the fgship's sails. Hardly an environment begetting such an ostentatious cim.

  "Well that's a bit deeper than I expected, but I'll bite. What rabbit hole did you fall down?"

  Vanilflower chuckled. "An odd aphorism, but appropriate. Are you familiar with Sirens, Governess?"