#a steely glint in its eyes that speaks to the soul of a warrior | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nadiaportia · 3 years

Text

Tarántula

Summary: The new Devil receives a visit from someone from a life that feels like it ended an eternity ago.

Word count: ~4,5k

Because I am a sucker for the reversed routes, of course Lucio’s reversed ending gave me fuel to write down something that could happen at the end of my (still-ongoing) route rewrite. As if this part of a reversed route, it will featured a Devil!MC so if that’s not up your alley, keep on scrolling.

To all others, enjoy 💓

The Devil, or rather the part of the Devil deep down that was still Ximena Rubalcaba y Saavedra, felt the presence of a familiar spirit before being alerted by one of the Wayward Souls of a foreign - a human - soul in its mistress’ realm.

She turned her attention from her pondering on how to proceed with the Prakran resistance led by former Countess, now again Princess, Nadia Satrinava and her sisters when she remembered a face, slender, unblemished light brown skin, a charming smile with impeccable white teeth, shimmering dark eyes, framed by wavy dark reddish-brown hair.

An impulse was sent to her from the guardian of her Gate.

Step aside, sentinel. Let our guest enter.

As you desire, Mistress.

It didn’t take much for the sound of footsteps to echo through the corridors of the otherwise silent Devil’s Castle, where no mortal soul but one dared to walk through.

The clicking of heels on the floor came closer and when the door to the throne room opened, a slender figure entered, dressed in a red so dark a human would have probably mistaken it for black. Silver adorned their neck and shoulders and they took a good look at their surroundings before slowly walking closer to the throne.

“I don’t know what I expected… but it wasn’t this.”

It has been a very long time, or at least felt like one, since she last heard someone speak Calpacian, even as it was the lingua franca of the West, few of its native speakers travelled far these days and those that did were of too little importance to be worth watching.

“What are you doing here?”

Heloisa de Rubalcaba stopped as if it was the first time she had heard the voice; in a certain way, it had to be a novelty to her. Lucio had told the Devil that her voice sounded different than before - back when she had only been a weak and feeble mortal. Now it was steely, sharp and commanding. It wasn’t the voice of someone who could simply be disobeyed.

The glint in her visitor’s brown eyes was something that recalled vague emotions, of evenings spent in houses made of glass, of drinking wine in silver halls and sharp jokes at the expense of the unfortunate souls that hadn’t earned any respect yet.

“Is visiting my little sister a crime these days? Are these the rules of the Vesuvian Empire or of the Devil’s Realm?”

“Answer my question.”

The Devil observed Heloisa with a cool gaze.

She hadn’t changed much in the last three years since the Devil had last seen her, age barely left a mark on her as the years - or what was more likely, she was just exceptionally good at hiding it. Upon looking closely the crow’s feet around her eyes had spread a little further, and the lines on her face were concealed well… but not well enough for the Devil’s eyes.

The Devil didn’t age; she still looked exactly the same as she did on the day the mortal that was before had been so very close to dying, had it not been for the Cold Heart that was now beating in her chest.

There had been some modifications on her, yes, such as the grey patches of her hair that had turned a stark white and the light grey streaks were among her black curls. Then there were the cloven hooves, the horns that were now spouting from her head and what was surprisingly enough the most unsettling: the golden eyes with a black sclera.

After some time of getting used to it the part of her that still clung onto her humanity as fiercely as a frightened child to its mother had accepted the changes as something natural that couldn’t be reversed anymore.

“It is very much the truth. How could I possibly have ulterior motives than simply stopping by for a simple ‘Hello’.”

“I mustn’t remind you how our last encounter ended.”

Heloisa pursed her lips.

“And here I thought your ascension to godhood would make you any less prone to bearing grudges! Some things never change. If you want an apology from me, you can have it, but I’m genuinely surprised to see you still care about that little stunt. After all, shouldn’t you be long above that? Above all mortal affairs from back then?”

The Devil gave her a bored look and put her arms on the rests to each side of her throne.

“You’re correct - I don’t have it within me to care about the past. Who showed you the way to my realm?”

Heloisa stepped closer, pretending to casually watch her long nails as she did so.

“A little bird came to me and chirped in front of my window, of ways to enter the magical realms. Now, that little bird had less than good intentions and probably believes I won’t return from my journey, but I intend on disappointing them. If they wouldn’t be a cold-hearted bastard who cares for none other than themselves, one might say they resent you for turning their relatively laissez-faire boss into minced goat meat.”

“Valdemar. A surprise that one such as you who prides herself on her cunning, would make a deal with a Demon.” There was a hint of amusement in the Devil’s voice. Heloisa scoffed.

“Oh please, of course I didn’t. They gave me what I wanted for free; it wouldn’t surprise me if they’re lurking somewhere here and hoping for some chaos to be unleashed.”

“Surely not. I would’ve noticed a presence like that once it enters my borders.”

Heloisa grinned. “Running a tight ship I see. I have a lot of respect for that. You really turned that shithole Vesuvia into a respectable city-state, even Nadia couldn’t accomplish this.” She paused. “Talking about Vesuvia… where’s whatshisname? Y’know, your guy… your personal warmonger? Plaything? Roué?”

“My husband is—” The Devil began but Heloisa broke into roaring laughter that pearled off the walls and rang through her ears.

She had never liked that laugh a lot but now she felt as if it had desecrated something in her Castle.

“Your husband?” She said in between laughs. “Oh, you have got to be joking! Really, him? And you guys had a ceremony here? Who were your witnesses, the sentinel that led me to the castle?” She wiped a non-existent tear from the corner of her eye but was still grinning broadly. “Oh, how I wish you were lying but I can tell by your face it’s the sad truth. Well, not a surprise but still unwelcome.”

The Devil drummed onto the armrest of her throne with her long dark clawed fingers. Her voice was so sharp it could’ve cut through marble and she had an unamused quirk in her brow.

“...As I was saying, my husband is currently in Firent negotiating with the Papess about her terms of surrender. After that he will return to Prakra to finish this senseless siege. And his name is Lucio — treat him with the respect deserving of a powerful monarch.”

Heloisa scoffed. “What do you want to do, force me to like him?”

“Remember, you are only a guest because I’m allowing it.”

For a few heartbeats there was silence in the throne room. Then Heloisa clapped her hands.

“Anyway, my most earnest congratulations. I hope he makes you happy in whichever way, assuming you still are capable of such mortal emotions,” She shook her head, still smiling. “For fuck’s sake, first Bela, now you, I really am the eternal bachelorette among us. I don’t understand the sentiment of wanting to tie yourself to a person, especially if that person is — just stating a fact here — not on your level. Y’know, Ippolita tried to convince me a couple of times, especially during my house arrest, that we could run off together, take a ship at the port, sailing away into the sunset and never look ba—”

“Don’t waste my time with your personal affairs.” She remembered Ippolita — a skilled warrior, loyal servant to Grand General Esmerelda Rubalcaba and the only one among Heloisa’s many lovers who had remained by her side after years, but their relationship never something out in the open; a high-born noble and a simple foreign commoner who survived in the pits by becoming an assassin was simply not the ideal relationship to be in for someone of Heloisa’s status. “You’re not here just to chat, so get to the point.”

Heloisa regarded the Devil of whom she still thought wholly as her sister and cleared her throat.

“Fine. Since you mentioned Prakra and I happen to have,”, the corners of her mouth twitched, “heard of the difficulties your, ah, ‘husband’ has with securing a victory over the Satrinavas and their remaining hosts… I have a proposal to make.”

The Devil leaned forward on steepled fingers. She had a suspicion as to where this could be going.

“Go on. I am listening.”

“Alright, so we know that dearest Nadia and her sisters are still holding the territory around and of the Star Lakes. The capital of Prakra not only is quite beautiful but also one of the strongest fortresses due to its location, which at the same time could become its undoing. But this isn’t about breaking through their defenses, with the Prakran Royal Fleet scourging the waters an attack from your troops is virtually impossible unless you happen to bring ships or heavy artillery with you… or are currently building them.”

The Devil scoffed in annoyance. Of course she knew why exactly the situation at the Star Lakes was so bothersome, easy on the surface, nasty underneath it.

Whenever Lucio returned from Prakra to her, he was particularly agitated and prone to irritation, at times ranting to her extensively about everything that was going wrong in this particular campaign.

Her own frustration came mostly from having actual trouble with getting past the magical and alchemical defenses, and she knew exactly why. The amount of times the Devil had cursed the name of Sayelle bint Zahir were too many to be counted at this point, and what stung even deeper that this came from someone who had been more than a simple ally to her in a previous life — a friend, maybe one of her best.

“It’s about breaking their spirits, their composure, y’know, engaging in a little bit of my preferred form of warfare: the psychological type,” Heloisa gave her a confident grin. “Your beau cannot get to the capital, but you need someone behind enemy lines who is able to get you insider knowledge or even,” her grin grew wider, “gain the Satrinavas’ trust.”

The Devil stared at Heloisa, then she chuckled. “Nadia will kill you on sight.”

It was a futile plan, soaked in Heloisa’s hubris and plagued by underestimating how smart the Satrinavas were, how powerful a magician Sayelle was, how united the Prakrans as a whole were in their opposition to the Vesuvians.

“No, she won’t. We have a history.”

“Yes, the history of you wanting to merge the mortal and magical realms so the Devil could help you with getting rid of Esmerelda. That is exactly why she would not hear you out.” The Devil’s lips curved into a deep frown. It was near certain suicide.

“I mean, yes, that obviously happened as well but it’s basically common knowledge that they’re sitting ducks and as such desperately in need of help. I have aided Nadia once already, back when the Plague was running amok through Vesuvia. Even when I was helping the previous Devil I told her I would put in a good word for her. She is aware of that and my immense dislike for Lucio,” she paused and sneered, “... who by all means is my brother-in-law and family now. By the way, do you want me to tell that to the others, or would you rather be the bearer of good news at some point?”

The Devil ignored the last statement and sighed deeply. “They would take any help that is offered to them, that’s what you think. Even if this helping hand is attached to your body.”

“Of course. I am known for my generosity after all, and of course for my lack of interest in war — you can thank me for building that reputation for the last fourteen years after you made everything go tits up.” Her tone was joking but the edge to it spoke differently. There was a fire smoldering deep within Heloisa, and the Devil made sure to not forget about its existence.

“Besides… I wasn't the Information Minister for nothing — I know what people respond most easily, and given their situation this will be more than easy pickings. Give me a handful of people who hand out flyers, have someone convince the Prakrans that if they surrender the bloodshed will stop, and you have basically won. ‘Thank you so much for your wisdom, Heloisa, most beloved of my sisters!’ ‘You’re more than welcome, Ximena.’”

The Devil didn’t reply like this. Instead she said, “I will stop the bloodshed as soon as Queen Nasrin surrenders. I wish to have Nafizah and especially Nadia as allies, not enemies. It is a shame indeed things came to be this way but there is a future for the Vesuvian-Prakran relations.”

Heloisa’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Even after you led an unprovoked war against them? I don’t mean to rain on that parade you have surely already planned all the way through, but if Nadia intends to fight until the very end… I don’t think a surrender is an option. Better to install a new Prakran ruler, one who is sympathetic to Vesuvia.”

The Devil considered her words and found herself agreeing with them begrudgingly. It was probably true; Nadia’s hatred for her, the perceived betrayal and the losses on her side weighed heavily but it was rather that she didn’t wish to take extreme measures against her. She was smart, politically adept, brave and a genuinely caring ruler - useful qualities to have in a human ally.

“No. Nadia will see reason, she has to.”

Heloisa rubbed her temples. “Do you want to her to adopt your way of seeing the world with a sword at her throat? Word of advice: that rarely works ever.”

The Devil scoffed.

“But if you have a better strategy of how to beat the Satrinavas, I am all ears. If you’re worried about my safety,”, she put a hand over her heart, “which I would consider quite heartwarming, I wouldn’t even need to go by myself but for the sake of authenticity, it’d be for the worst — but don’t worry,” Heloisa winked, “I know how to take care of myself.”

There was something about blood relations that had always dimmed her perceptiveness as a mortal; it worked well enough on people in general given they had a rudimentary knowledge in magic, could be difficult if the subject had enough magical affinity and was near impossible on trained magicians and of course on residents of the magical realms.

Now that she was more powerful, looking into the hearts and minds of the residents of the mortal realms came as easy to her as breathing came to them. That powerful magicians such as Sayelle or even Asra were able to hide themselves without great troubles was bothersome but barely a surprise.

But Heloisa, who was about as magically adept as a houseplant, was a complete blank slate to her — she could sense her life force, her aura fitting for someone with a strong personality and much subdued her feelings, but what really mattered to her, the notion of her true intentions… It was like standing in front of a polished mirror.

It was forcing her to act according to knowledge of their time as sisters… something she would’ve preferred to avoid completely.

The only person she allowed her humanity to resurface with was Lucio… and he was who he was.

“Hm. I will give the matter thought.” She leaned forwards. “Something tells me that this still isn’t all you’re here for.”

Heloisa let out a defeated dramatic sigh. “You caught me red-handed. That was only the first matter why I am here. Consider it an olive branch, a token of forgiveness and potential allyship between us, Ximenita.”

The nickname out of her mouth made the Devil frown. Not only was she the first human besides Lucio to laugh here but also the one to address her as… something so much lesser. He was allowed to do that, and no one else.

For a moment, the Devil considered reminding Heloisa who exactly she was talking to, but she halted before she acted rashly.

She had always been vindictive and resentful, never forgetting injury to her person of any sort. It would… be an easy way to let grievances fester, and at this very moment that was more than counterproductive.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Speak.”

“What are your plans for Calpacia, specifically? I wonder why the Army of the Vesuvian Empire isn’t already at our borders, demanding our surrender. Hjalle and Nevivon were the first to fall, then Zadith and Venterre and yet there are none of your men - because they are your men, I know that - are to be seen near Calpacia, or Karnassos for that matter because you know that if you attack Karnassos you will feel Calpacia’s wrath.”

Heloisa tilted her head and regarded her with an inquisitive look. The quirk in her eyebrow betrayed her though, it was meant to be a dig.

“Are you afraid of facing your past or simply too nostalgic to see us being destroyed?”

The Devil’s eyes widened but she bit down her fury. I have no reason to be scared of you.

“I do know that our magical defenses are strong, you know better than I how exactly the Guild worked but ever since it was overtaken by these zealots, the Court is counting themselves very lucky it is strong enough a pillar to not be swept to the side by them, in no small part due to our strengthening influence. If we weren’t there, you might have a very unpredictable enemy at your hands. But that doesn’t explain your lack of interest in us.”

Heloisa laughed, and the light sound pierced through the Devil’s ears.

“Unless all of this hard work is meant for us. Is that the case?”

The Devil raised herself from her throne and looked at Heloisa down her nose. She let her take a look at the new ruler of this realm and how much she has changed.

“You give yourself too much credit. My vision is greater than seeing Cartagenth together with its repulsive ruling body and the Zaan burn to the ground.”

“Do tell me though what exactly your vision consists of; uniting the entire world under your Vesuvian Empire so no one steps out of line ever? This reminds me of the plan someone once wanted to hatch, I can’t for the life of me remember who had that idea but I remember a certain young woman being so utterly displeased with that she preferred exile to being around her vicious family.”

Heloisa’s smile was more a baring of teeth now than anything else.

“Where is she now? Does she still have the moral high ground? Does she still feel like a good person who is so much better than her sisters?”

The Devil ground her teeth. She felt her face and ears heat up and could only hope that the red lighting of the throne room worked in her benefit.

“If I had known that one day you’d be exactly what you tried to oppose back then, I would’ve laughed right in your face and told you to get fucked,” she sneered and gave her a look of pure contempt. “You got some nerve to throw us, your family, to the wolves without a second thought, and not twelve years later you are doing the exact same shit you hated us for ever since. How does it feel, knowing that at the end of the day, you’re just like us?”

The Devil closed her eyes. She wouldn’t let herself be provoked by Heloisa, after all she was so very wrong with everything she was saying.

“All of this business with the previous Devil happened because the construction of the realms was fundamentally flawed. I intend on setting things right for once and all under one ruler so that it will not happen again. How I go about that is not of importance to you.”

“It sure as hell is, after all I have a place in this world as well!,” Heloisa exclaimed. In her agitation she stood only ten feet away from her, too close of the Devil’s liking.

“You replaced the Devil after allegedly saving the world from certain destruction and now that you settled, you decide to do just continue his work — except that you think of yourself in the right, as some sort of god-empress or whatever the fuck. But I will tell what you are: you’re just as rotten, self-serving and power-hungry as us,” She laughed, humourless and cold. “No, you’re even worse because you’re also a self-righteous hypocritical piece of shit. You might be even worse than Esmé.”

“Don’t you ever compare me to Esmé!”

The Devil’s voice cracked like a whip and rumbled louder than ever before. Her face was a furious grimace so terrifying Heloisa had to advert her eyes, eyes glowing, long hair billowing and floating around her, and feeling its mistress’ fury, the realm let lightning flash and thunder roar.

And yet, Heloisa did little more than keep her eyes shut, her face away from the demonstration of absolute arcane power and stand planted on the spot, her delicate hands balled into tight fists and her body trembling, either out of fury or fear.

The Devil took a deep breath through her nose, taking in the sulphur-stained air of her realm. As she continued breathing, her fury left her body and she felt the Cold Heart within her slow down its enraged pace.

“It’d be for the best if you leave right now. Don’t test my patience and don’t think of coming back. You’re not welcome in this Realm for as long as I have the say in here.”

Heloisa turned to look at the Devil, tears dwelling in her eyes and a very faint but visible enough drop of blood trailing out of her nose. She dabbed at it, grimaced at its sight and wiped it off with the back of her hand.

“Before I forcibly make you leave.”

“Give me two more minutes of your time; you haven’t listened to my actual proposal. Then I’m gone, unless you want me to come back afterwards.” She cleared her throat and tried to regain her composure.

There was nothing more the Devil wanted to do than throw her back into the mortal realms and hopefully into the deepest and darkest pit that could be found there. But she gave Heloisa de Rubalcaba a small nod. Two minutes, nothing more.

“I sympathize with your course of actions, I really do. If I were you, I personally would have rained fire, brimstone and bloody vengeance on Calpacia, everyone who had wronged me and especially Tía Esmé, both out of spite and to rid the world of her, and in the aftermath leave nothing behind but scorched and salted earth. But this is my nature, not yours. That’s why I’m giving you an alternative course of action.”

She hesitated but then approached the throne over the steps.

“I have many allies at the Court, I’m in the Zaan Saturnino’s favour, Cibela has been just a few steps away from open rebellion against Tía Esmé and to be frank, everyone is tired of the current situation. On paper you are disowned and exiled but in reality and despite everything, you are still Ximena de Rubalcaba, third in the line of succession of the title, and the Court knows that. There are people who would give you actual loyalty for who you are, not because they were forced to kiss the ring on a foreign conqueror’s hand.” With each step Heloisa seemed to gain confidence, until she stood just three feet in front of the throne.

Ximena had almost forgotten how small she was able to look.

“Let me be your agent in Cartagenth and I will give you our home as a gift of reconciliation and a token of my loyalty for you.”

She sighed. The Devil didn’t react, and was careful not to. This is a trick.

“What about the part of me being a ‘self-righteous hypocritical piece of shit’? Are these the words of a loyal vassal?”

Heloisa scoffed and a nervous smile played around her lips. “Of course not; they’re sisterly advice. If you can’t stomach honesty, then that’s your business. If you want to pay me back, come up with an insult on your own though.”

“Why reconciliation?”

Heloisa blinked at the question. “Because,” she began slowly. “I was hoping…” She fidgeted with her fingers, something she never did because a Rubalcaba never showed uncertainty to anyone.

“I thought it would be nice if there was a chance that we could be… sisters once again.”

Something within the Devil stirred and she frowned.

“That is a bridge burned a long time ago,” she stated quietly. It had been for the best, for her own best.

“It doesn’t need to. I can only imagine how lonely you are - because I have been too. Don’t you think I missed having you around? Someone in this pit of vipers that is Cartagenth I can trust in, not solely bound by blood but by genuine familial love and despite our differences.”

The Devil tried to find any hint of a lie in Heloisa’s eyes, eyes that looked so much like hers back when she was a mortal, and there was… nothing. No deception, no falsehoods, but a definite truth.

“I wish to help you, dearest Xime. I understand why you might seek havoc and destruction, the gods know that lashing out at this world and all its obstacles is something I have always done in my own way, but I want to make things easier for you. I know you wish to convince your enemies to become allies before anything and that waging a war of conquest is not your ideal vision… so I’m sparing you any guilt you might have over more shed blood that didn’t need to be spilled.”

She sighed. “I will be leaving for Prakra within the next few days, whether you want me to or not, with a small entourage. I will find a way to contact the Vesuvians or you once I am in the Satrinava castle.”

“I have not yet accepted your proposal.”

“Oh, I don’t need you to. Consider it a show of good faith.” She reached out, with her brows furrowed and gently touched her shoulder. The Devil remained where she was, showing no reaction to the first skin contact with another human who wasn’t her lover in years.

“Until then, sweet sister.” Heloisa leaned forwards, her perfume smelt of almond, bergamot, coffee and lemon. She pressed a gentle kiss on her cheek and the moment her soft lips made contact, it was as if a small shock of magic burned her skin.

She was the Devil and this burning fire within her that was the yearning for a humanity that had once been bothered her. It could make her vulnerable, allow others to deceive her.

It was not something she could allow to persist within her.

#the arcana #the arcana fanfiction #the arcana fan apprentice #the arcana writing #the arcana original character #ximena rubalcaba #heloisa de rubalcaba #i dont even know what to comment in the tags on all of this bc its SO MUCH but the most important thing is that heloisa is truly That Bitch #there is an epilogue floating around in my mind where lucio pops up after that final chapter and he and xime strategize #and come to the conclusion that theyll do this even tho all the little alarm bells in their heads are going off #but oh well it didnt fit in very well bc this is a sisterly professional girlboss VS vengeful ex mortal now deity moment

9 notes · View notes

strangewriterforhire · 7 years

Text

Long Winter Chapter Sample: 3 (Out Of Sequence)

The crashing of distant waves were a long time aide and confidant to the woes and troubles of philosophers and kings.

For most who heard them over the course of their lives, the sound took on a background quality, becoming a part of life as necessary to sanity as air or precious sustenance. It became a sound that was taken for granted along with the setting and raising of the sun in its daily trek across the sky.

But for one soul amid the thousands that called the fortress city of Spearpoint home, it was a companion she chose to confide in. The sea could no more challenge her than a rock, or in more recent days a member of the New Way party that acted in a similar capacity in parliament. But where the bull headed disregard for common sense was dressed in very fine words, the ocean’s constant chorus was a steadying beat she could think around.

Thus the mind of Kerri Wallace McDonald, by title Mistress Black Tower, by position Minister Of War, and by marriage kin to a future laird of the Keep of Feel Rock, she found peace in the crashing waves. Her steward, by contrast, found little comfort in her choice of meditation technique as he handed her another towel to replace the sodden one tossed at his feet.

“Robert,” she said guardedly, running her long dark hair coarsely through the towels rough embrace. “I can feel your disapproval burning a hole between my shoulder blades.”

“I apologise, my Mistress,” came the taciturn reply of a man twice her age and lacking in a visible sense of humour. “I did not mean to intrude upon your numerous attempts at practical corporeal easement.”

“Easement?” she quirked up an eyebrow, turning her head back over her shoulder to look at the dower faced and white haired former Tempro Major of the King’s Lancers. He had lost a lot of the muscle and bulk that the old copper tone pictures showed had been his youthful visage, and the flowing beard was now a carefully trimmed and maintained frost upon his chin. But his eyes still held that steely glint that spoke of a determination that turned armies about in fear, and drove men to follow him to Hell and back again. She smiled at him and returned to drying her hair.

“I’m sure you make half of those words up.”

“Seeing as I am able to speak them, does not saying them grant them placement in the lexicon of our language?” He replied, his accent softened by to many years south of the Spines and their snow capped peaks. He only rarely fell back into his Northern brogue when in his cups, which was rarely. Or when retelling one of his many tales of services, which was often.

“That as well maybe.” She said thoughtfully, her eyes drawn back to the crashing iron clad waves and their rabid crests. She settled down on her haunches, and a large towel was dropped over her shoulders to both restore her bodily heat and preserve the barest hint of modesty that Roberts was willing to endure in his presence. As stewards went he was of a old fashion persuasion, part of his charm and something that Kerri was intent of ironing out of him by some method. Perhaps alchemy or some sort of Long Summer trickery would work faster, but this way was much more fun. She pulled the towel tight about her shoulders. “Will you enlighten me as to what you mean by your new fangled words?”

“Whenever you are at loggerheads within Parliament, or you find yourself faced with someone whose opinions clash against your own, you seek solace and companionship out here beyond the wall.” Roberts said plainly, expertly bringing the large parasol, down as though he still stood in a shield wall, and blunted the icy spray of ocean water rising towards them. This served only to keep Kerri at her current state of dampness, whilst he took on another few pints of salt water.

Even his splutter was dignified.

“And has that not worked for me in the past?” she asked with yet another imperious raise of a eyebrow, turning to bring it to bare on her steward. She imagined if ever the Inlander’s decided to wander east around half the world, she could burn their airships from the sky with such a gesture: Roberts merely stood the barrage with stoic indifference.

“In the past you were a serving officer within the King’s navy, Mistress. One of many defenders of the realm who swore the oath of service. One who fulfilled more than her five years required, and bore some small honours of merit.” His chest automatically swelling with recalled pride at his own stint under the yolk of service, and in remembrance of standing amid the crowd who watched her being awarded the Kings Medal. Only five of those medals were crafted, each one given to the life of a serving officer who fought with a courage befitting of legend. The medal was only returned upon the death of the recipient, so that at any given time there were only five souls who knew the personal thanks of the King of Rishland. It was a honour for only the most exceptional, of which Robert knew his mistress to be.

“Now you are the Minister of War, second only to the king in his wise judgement.” He added after a suitable moment to bask in remembered pride, his voice becoming ever so slightly paternal in tone. “Throwing yourself from the top of the barrier wall to do battle with the elemental demons of Atlanter mythology does smack of a certain…cavalier attitude not befitting of your station. Or of a former Ship Mistress of his Majesty's navy.”

“Demons, Robert? Really? Its water for all its spit and vinegar.” Kerri sniffed defiantly and jutted her chin towards the waves once more. “Hardly less dangerous than taking a bath.”

In apparent response to this down playing of their grandeur, the roaring swells off the coast of Rishland’s southern isle roared their disapproval. The rising and falling waves were a physical reminder to all who looked at them of Rishland’s embattled and under siege status. At war with its enemies most distant, and the gods themselves who strove to freeze them with ice, and drown them with their rising tide. In the past the waters had swallowed their fair share of souls, and the ice and cold had stolen the breath from many a breast.

But it had been a Rishlander’s heart and mind that had seen the barrier wall at the mouth of Spearpoint Bay erected as barrier and boon. As the sea did push against those high stone and metal walls, the wall to did push back by some manner most clever: great coiled springs of Long Summer metal sang with power and strained with joyous purpose to ensure the waves served a noble purpose.

Those waves had become the source of power that had seen first heat, then light, and then the burning wrath of a people scorned by nature rise to fight its elements head on. Now most took for granted that miracle of ancient providence that had allowed Spearpoint to turn from a collection of cave hugging dwellings to the massive fortress city that was both foundry of industry and springboard of military might. But Kerri Wallace McDonald, Mistress Black Tower by title and Minster of War by position, did not forget the past.

The waves were tools to be bent to the will of a Rishlander’s heart, but instead of being used to power a city most grand, she used their might to clear away the debris of thought that cluttered her mind. She swam amongst their ripping currents and terrible swells, fighting them on their own terms as she allowed the purifying force of nature to unmake the machined foulness of politics.

“I am more at peace beyond the wall and, more importantly, beyond any of my fine titles, than I am sat by the empty throne of the king in Parliament house. You know that Robert,” she chided with a cluck of his tongue. “Here the stubbornness of nature makes sense to me. Its is a thing that acts on the reasoning that this is the way it has always been: its acts because this is what it is. The waves and those that dwell below, are jealous of our breath and seek to steal it from our lungs and drive us down into the depths. It is a thing I can grasp.”

She reached out with a hand, holding it out over the edge of the small promenade built into one of the lower foundations of the barrier wall from which workers and soldiers might patrol. As she did so stinging salt spray rushed up to slap at her hand, either appearing to warn her away from her dangerous game or teasing her to return.

Ever since she had been a child, born to be the third child of a wealthy clan entrenched in the power circles of Spearpoint elite, she had been destined to fufil a role. A first child was expected to train and study to be heir, or to produce a fitting heir if their aptitudes proved less than useful. A second child was useful for a business cartel, or to be sent to study the arcane arts of the artificers guilds. A third child was not uncommon, but most often it was desired to provide a third to serve the King in martial duties. If a third was not provided the second would do, for as the old song went ‘The King must have soldiers, To His war’s they must go’.

But as the third, living in the shadows of her brother and sister, Kerri had known she would soar in the sky. And yet…she felt more at home and more at peace before the foaming maw of the ocean than she ever had in the clouds aboard a airship of the line. It was not unusual to find people drawn to the oceans that battered the Isles of Rish, in fact there were respectable cults and orders that provided a spiritual avenue for such people to explore those compulsions.

Of course such religious orders and cults were hardly the proper place for a Lady in good standing, even one that might end up serving as a midship maiden on a warship or a warrior dame in the royal marines. And considering that some of those cults did not have a good survival record during their worshipping of the Atlanter’s stormy vastness, most families quickly removed such sodden branches from their family tree’s. So she had practised in secret her own form of worship, not to the sea as the demon king the Rishlander’ s of old had chained to do their bidding: but to her own will and fortitude.

When she had first dived from the wall and into the sweeping waves below, a small part of her mind had accepted her life was no longer in her hands. It would hardly be the first time a swimmer lost in rapture had swallowed more than prayer incense. But she had known from that first moment, when the bitter cold had struck her skin and chilled her instantly to the bone, that if she did not fight for her life and defeat the watery demons about her…well then as a sailor or a warrior she would be found wanting.

So she had fought the best of this water realms demons and come out stronger on the other side, if sodden. That first time had taught her that diving in clothed was a bad idea, and that having a stash of spare garments to hand was an even better idea. Of course that first lesson had resulted in her meeting a certain bearded man, a recruit soldier fresh from the far north with a certain roguish charm that was very nearly insufferable. She smiled and was warmed by that merry, and the minor adventure of that meeting and the confusion that followed.

Alas, a tall tale for another time.

“But when I am in Parliament House, defending the idea of keeping the Saints damned navy in one piece instead of fracturing it, the words I find available to me would make even my brother in law blush for their use!” She snarled, slapping away a particular eager little swell that sent a dagger of icy water up along the promenades angled underside “These people of the New Way trouble me greatly. They speak with sense and reason, and do so from the comfort of the protection provided to them by decades of military preparedness. To listen to some of them, you’d think they’d want to strip the navy of all her guns and gut her magazines for cargo holds! From soldier’s that court fortune’s grace, to merchants eager to fill coffers with the same. If the Inlander’s, or the Jaeger Danes, ever learned of that particular idea we could invade them tomorrow and claim their thrones for all their laughter at us.”

But Kerri had to give the New Way their due. They had dressed up their proposal with much finer language, a rousing bit of street theatre for the old men and women of Parliament. But in the end of it it boiled down to shattering the navy and switching all new Navy builds over to a cargo carrying philosophy. Oh the fleet as it stood would remain, but the navy must act not only in defence of the realm but also in prompting its betterment through mercantile means instead of martial ones.

Coin Kisser’s counting shells, she thought.

Mazer Sutton, Master of White Cliff, was both one of the New Ways brightest stars, and also her civilian counterpart across the Parliament floor in the form of Minister of Home Affairs. The mornings parliament session had ended in a classic loggerhead that boiled down to a single phrase she had snarled: “Over my restless dead body!”

That one would make the Cryer’s script book for sure, come the morrow. She just hoped the Cryer’s chose to sing of her achievements instead of how her fiery temper had allowed Mazer Sutton to look all the more reasonable and peaceable. Remas had been right: her job was now no less dangerous than his, but it did lacking the simplicity of the blade. Though she did believe that Sutton’s heart would make a tricky target to find.

She let out a sigh, and the towel dropped from her shoulders.

She had the classic’s swimmers build, if she measured herself by the other cultists she sometimes saw descending from the high walls. Toned muscles and a petite frame draped over narrow shoulders and long legs. Her dark hair, when treated with care and tormented into some semblance of order by a torturer with hot irons, usually sat atop her head in a fiendish bun held together with a holdout dagger which had been a gift from someone bearded and distant. Now that hair gripped her back like the lichen on a rock, clumped and knotted in such a way she’d be welcomed as a mendicant sadist for combing it out later on. The strands of matted hair hid the six deep scars that lashed across her back from left hip to right shoulder: reminders from a time when a young midship maiden had thought herself fully in possession of shipboard knowledge. She had walked from the lashing without a tear or a cry, only succumbing to her pain when away from crew folk who did not need to see a future officer in weakness.

That pain had not been from the whips harsh licks, but for the reason given for its use: her pride.

That pride was getting the best of her now, but as a Lady in good standing and a Minister of War with the king’s highest award in her safe keeping, a public whipping was out of the question. So instead she returned to the one thing in the world she knew cared not for titles or standing: the ocean.

“Hand me another towel Robert,” she said, “It’s time to return to work.”

“After we return to the town house one hopes Mistress?” Robert asked, already holding out a drier towel.

“Oh I don’t know Roberts,” she turned, stepping into the towel, taking its edges from his hands and cinching them behind her. “I think I’d get the attention of both sides of the floor if I walked in like this. Would be nice to be listened to for once.”

“It would lend credence to the old rumours about Atala and Adena appearing in a time of need for Rishland, thou” Roberts choked off, speaking the names of two of Rishland’s most legendary of warrior myths. Kerri smiled warmly at that, stepping past him to the stout steel door back through the wall. But the story of the most recent recorded visitation of Atala and Adena, the warrior Saints of Rishland, was a story of a chance meeting and for another time.

Besides, if the story was to be told right Remas McDonald would need to be in attendance.

0 notes