Chapter Text

Summer Begins

The days between the end of the visit and the Summer Baptisms were filled with lethargy and relaxation. The Archdukes Conference and visit had exhausted everyone so Melchior gave his retinue three days off keeping only two guards and one attendant at a time. Haldis was happy to vanish for all three days while Isolde appeared dressed for work each morning. Melchior couldn't turn her away but he didn't let her industrious appearance interrupt his lounging.

He spent a calm morning doing his chambers accounts, another lying in the grass in the garden dozing and drawing the pattern of branches viewed from under the trees, and one listening to Flautzeal practice and play harspiel in the corner of the greenhouse while summer maintenance began. It was early this year so the greenhouse could host guests during the Starbinding season. Flautzeal still insisted on daily lessons and he was assigned books relating to his current studies but it was restful all the same.

During an afternoon session of tea and tutoring in Melchior's room, his older male retainers shared a collective groan. “Why did you even mention Autumn Debuts? Its going to be a nightmare,” Sigsnyr whined.

“I was just curious about them. Fridegern said I would begin receiving invitations soon,” Pepin replied.

“Flee! for as long as you can. When you develop mana sensing, say nothing, deny it until the day you settle your engagement. Run to the corners of the wall!” Benedikt warned.

Melchior looked up from his book from where he reclined on his less than plush bench covered in fabric. “What are autumn debuts?” he asked. He was also confused why they seemed to happen in summer despite their name.

“It has to do with the autumn of life. When a girl develops mana sensing, it is supposedly a sign she is ready to accept suitors so her father will invite eligible men to a party to meet her and test their capability,” Isolde explained.

“That sounds like fun,” Melchior replied. Every head in the room shook except for Pepin who seemed to agree with his lord.

“It is the most awkward thing in the world,” Sigsnyr replied. “Imagine for a moment, you just realized you can detect other people's mana and probe them for suitability as a mate, then dozens of girls are summoned to the castle just to see if they can sense your mana and, if they can, to try to swap a little mana as a test. You don't get to choose the guests for this intimate exchange and it's likely to be people older than you who you barely know considering whether you would be a good mother to their children.”

“I cannot be a mother,” Melchior said quizzically.

“Then perhaps you will never understand. You also won't need to attend any autumn debuts since the engagements of Archduke Candidates are decided differently,” Isolde replied.

“If you don't like it then don't go,” Pepin suggested.

The older boys chuckled darkly. “Yes, and give permanent offense to the women of your duchy.” Benedikt countered.

“Not to mention some of them are your friends to whom must provide moral support,” Sigsnyr sighed.

Benedikt began counting on his fingers. He made it to five then gave up with a groan. “I need more mana!”

“Doesn't everyone?” Melchior asked.

Benedikt fixed him with a glare. “You will never know our pain. Having more mana means being out of range of more people, means fewer debuts to attend. I would not be surprised if you develop mana sensing tomorrow and could only find your own family in a crowded room.”

Melchior was unsure how to respond to the hostility. He decided the best thing was to return to his reclining and reading. The boys eventually recovered from Pepin's comment and continued studying. After a bit Isolde looked up suddenly. “Why are you all here on your day off? Couldn't you go to the new library?”

“Let’s ignore the irony of you asking that,” Sigsnyr began. “The new library is full of people every moment of the day. Not only is it not quiet, all the materials are in use and every chair is occupied. It's like people don't have homes!”

“There is tea here,” Kolteruze added. Pepin smiled. Kolteruze could be particular about his brew but was implying that Pepin's tea was a perk. “It is more comfortable here than in a public place.”

“It's not better than the atrium is it?” Isolde teased.

Kolteruze smiled shyly. “They are good in different ways,” he replied. Kolteruze spent large portions of his days off in the atrium. He didn't have that much work to do but with a gray priest finally trained to make tea how he liked it, it was a better place to be alone than his chambers. Melchior struggled to contain his jealousy. He wanted to bask in the sweet smell of the peonies and the lush quiet. For some reason he just never went. He would have to start spending more time there, he thought.

Once his rest days ended, he returned to his rigorous study schedule. They weren't as far along as he planned to be but Florencia wasn't upset and he was retaining his lessons well. He no longer needed to dread his trips to the Knights Order either. The introductory class was finished so Dedryck took over training him and Gerianne. They invited whoever wanted to join from their class and any other novices. It was free to participate and Dedryck was assisted by Melchior's other knights allowing most kids to receive at least a little personal attention. There were clearly some girls there just to ogle his knights but he allowed the boys who wanted to get closer to Helenwig and Zipporah so he had to allow the girls. As long as they did the exercises and didn't distract anyone, it was probably fine.

The most pressing concern was Dirk. He was so depressed he’d stopped studying and compressing his mana as though making no progress might reverse time. “There are other preparations we must make as well,” Isolde noted. She paced behind her charge while detailing the problems and necessities. “You cannot be so emotional that it detracts from your work. If you do not graduate you will be relegated to a normal blue priest. They are not allowed to leave the temple without the Archduke's permission and cannot cross duchy lines as they are the property of the Archduke. You will never see Konrad again unless you become a proper noble with the freedom to travel,” she explained.

This did nothing to lift Dirk's mood. Graduation was so far away. He felt like he would never make it while dragging the sorrow in his heart. And what would be the point without Konrad to help him? It felt like an impossible journey the end of which might take him to a foreign temple where his best friend had forgotten him. Melchior did a drawing of Konrad for him to keep and held his hand for a little while. “Let us talk about other things for now. Father says we must give you a name,” he said.

This was enough to distract Dirk momentarily. “My name is Dirk.”

“Yes but that sounds like a commoner name. You need something longer and more elegant and a house name since you are the first of your line,” Isolde explained.

“What about Myneard?” he asked. Melchior giggled then coughed to cover it up. A name was nothing to laugh at.

Isolde shook her head. “Lord Meinard is too well known. He will also be at the Royal Academy while you are attending. You get to choose your name so there is no reason to pick something so easily confused.”

“It also sounds nothing like your name,” Nikolaus noted. They regarded him with confusion. “It will be hard to make a total switch. We will forget and call you Dirk sometimes. You should pick a name for which Dirk is a reasonable nickname,” he clarified.

“That's actually a good idea,” Isolde said. She began muttering Dirk's name followed by various common endings.

“Could I use Deliroze?” Dirk asked after some thought.

“Oh, that's pretty,” Melchior chirped. “Deliroze.”

“It almost sounds foreign,” Isolde noted. “And it doesn't diminish to Dirk but Deli.”

“I don't think that's a problem,” Dedryck interjected. “Nicknames don't always make sense. No one will question it nor will they guess his life story because of such a quirk.”

“If you're sure,” Isolde said. Dirk nodded enthusiastically and began muttering the name to himself. “Now a surname. Are there any things you care deeply about?”

Dirk fell into thought. He’d picked a name honoring his sister and savior. He wanted to incorporate Melchior’s name somehow since he was giving him a chance to establish a good reputation. Then again, Isolde was working hard to prepare him for society and Konrad… Konrad was his first true friend. “I don't know,” he said while holding back tears.

Isolde pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn't even know what set him off. “You can always ask the Aub to give you a name if you can't think of anything. Just remember who our Aub is,” she warned.

Dirk took some deep breaths and tried to put it out of his mind again. He considered asking Sylvester but there was no way to predict whether he would be in a serious or mischievous mood at the time. He couldn't doom his unlikely future descendants to an overly whimsical name. “Would you choose something, Lord Melchior?” Dirk would at least get to give input that way.

Melchior was surprised. He’d never been given such a serious task. Unfortunately his mind drew an immediate blank. “What about Blauvrume?”

“Noble blue?” Isolde asked. For such a creative person, it was kind of uninspired.

Dirk, however, looked delighted. “That sounds great! It is what I am. My children will never forget our origins that way.” If he had any. And he could honor the noble blues who cared for and loved him. “Deliroze Blauvrume. It sounds so noble,” Dirk giggled.

“You are a noble. Of course your name would sound noble,” Isolde sighed. “If you like it, it's good enough. You have until winter to decide. Once you enter the Royal Academy, you will need the Zent’s permission to change your name.”

“That doesn't seem important enough for the Zent to weigh in on,” Dirk said.

“It isn't. Not for most nobles and certainly not for a random mednoble. Just be sure about this,” Isolde charged. She wrote it out on a wooden board and had Dirk write it himself.

“I’m sure. Thank you everyone. Since you are friends, you may continue to call me Dirk,” he declared.

“Lord Deliroze, if we do not use your proper name, no one will remember to do it. You have spent three years in the Playroom already, indeed you should have chosen a name before your baptism. We must work hard to replace your old name,” Isolde countered.

“We can let everyone choose,” Melchior assured him. “It does not mean we aren't friends. Even Zipporah only allows Sigsnyr to call her Zip in private.”

Dirk nodded. It would be hard to remember to respond to his new name but he was one step closer to being a proper noble.

New Child of Ehrenfest

There was another noble ready to take her first steps into society. Haldis invited Melchior and Kazmiar over as promised. It was the day before her baptism and Melchior’s first official temple day in what felt like a very long time. It was surprising how similar Haldis's estate was to the library. It made sense considering what Wilfried said about them all having similar layouts. There were considerably fewer bookshelves. The family had doubled their book collection over the past few years, from four to eight, but that wasn't enough to warrant an entire room.

Melchior and Kazmiar arrived in the afternoon after a successful commoner baptism. Melchior had been allowed to watch the parade approach down the main road from the top of the gate house. He tried to imagine what it had been like to watch Rozemyne and Ferdinand enter the city. The children's parade was a much simpler affair but just as many people appeared to wave to them. The tiny people skipped along, some even waved to him up on the gate house. He’d had to hurry back inside to make it for his cue but he managed not to look breathless so it was all worthwhile.

Since he was visiting as the High Bishop, he brought Kirk and Lothar instead of his noble attendants. Nikolaus and Gerianne followed in their blue robes and armor. They tried to convince Fonsel to dress up, but he wouldn't budge without the direct order Melchior wouldn't give. Olishild still looked as amused by the blue knights as any other child. She entered with Edeltrude and gave her formal greeting without errors.

“I see you've practiced a great deal,” Melchior praised.

She blushed but resisted the urge to smile. “Of course. I could not embarrass Father and Mother before all of noble society. Thank you for coming, Lord Melchior and Lord Kazmiar. I appreciate the chance to meet you before the ceremony tomorrow,” she recited.

Kazmiar sipped his tea and tried to understand why this was all happening. He exchanged a confused look with Edeltrude who shrugged minutely. “Lord Kazmiar will be officiating tomorrow but Lord Melchior wished to visit to make sure you were feeling confident,” Edeltrude explained.

Olishild looked over the smiling strangers. One was her father's boss while the other was his coworker. She couldn't afford to make a mistake. “Father has trained me carefully. I know what to expect.” She clutched her skirts under the table and worked hard not to fidget.

Melchior smiled brightly. She was being so mature. None of the anxieties he’d felt seemed to plague her. “I know you will do well. In honor of your impending blessings, we have brought gifts,” he declared. Kirk stepped forward and presented three sheets of parchment with music written on the back and front. “These are songs about the names of the gods. They will help you memorize them all.”

Olishild paled. Her mother had mentioned the need to know them at some distant occasion. She hadn't expected it to come so soon. When the music was finally placed before her she nearly swooned. The harspiel notation was too complicated to read, let alone play.

Edeltrude looked them over to give her time to recover. “We thank you ever so much. I am confident that Olishild will be able to play this and recite the names of the gods long before its needed in six years time.”

Olishild sighed in relief. Six years was a very long time. If she worked hard, she would make it. “In truth, not even I can play the harspiel version. This was composed by Flautzeal for his own amusement,” Melchior said. “In the temple we just sing them. That is much easier.”

Kazmiar watched the little girl suffer through her whirlwind of emotions. She finally settled on being annoyed. Her father's boss had the audacity to disturb their preparations to hand her a challenge not even he could meet. “Do you have scores for the singing?” she asked.

Melchior paused. He hadn't thought things all the way through when he asked Flautzeal to write things out. Of course his scholar was of the opinion that anyone should be able to play the scores and wouldn't consider the skill of a normal seven year old. “We teach them by singing to one another,” Melchior hurried to recover. “Shall we sing them for you?”

All hostility seemed to recede at the prospect of hearing new music. Olishild nodded after looking to her mother for confirmation. “That would be most wonderful, High Bishop. We are honored,” Edeltrude replied.

“Then we shall begin,” Melchior declared. He gestured for Kirk to join him. Gerianne stepped forward as well. It was a song only the children knew so Kazmiar and Lothar waited with mirrored looks of interest to their hosts. The trio sang the song for Flutrane first, including a round-robin game where they each sang one line for one goddess while making specific hand gestures. Melchior slid one hand over the other to give the appearance of a sprouting plant while Gerianne opened and closed her hands to mimic the flashing of lightning.

Olishild clutched her hands before her chest, eyes glistening with delight, while she listened. Edeltrude prompted her to clap and raised a glowing schtappe with Kazmiar. “What an amazing gift,” she whispered. She tried to hum the song to herself but came up short. “Oh dear. I will not be able to sing for Sister,” she lamented.

“You have another sister?” Melchior asked. “I mean another daughter,” he corrected.

“Yes. She is only four, Lord Melchior. Her manner is not yet refined enough for company,” Edeltrude replied.

“I do not mind singing for her as well,” Melchior began brightly. “I have a… much experience with small children. There is no way for her to give offense,” he insisted.

Edeltrude held his gaze for a long moment. She could pretend not to know about his sister but should she note that he was all but demanding to meet their unbaptized child? If Haldis was correct, and he had no reason to exaggerate, Melchior was not trying to use his status to force her hand. He was genuinely hoping to brighten two little girls' day.

She smiled at Olishild who tried not to squeak. She'd made a mistake somewhere but couldn't figure out where. Olishild sat up straighter. “Since you wish to extend even greater generosity, Lord Melchior, we could not refuse,” Edeltrude replied.

Melchior sipped his tea while they waited for the toddler to trundle her way through the estate. “What profession are you considering, Olishild?” he asked.

Everyone watched her curiously, including Edeltrude since she’d claimed to still be considering it. Olishild tried not to look at her mother as she answered. “I think I should like to be an attendant.”

“Haldis must be so excited,” Melchior chirped. “Attendants are wonderful. I wish you the best of luck.” He thought about Adaire’s struggles to find an instructor. “It must be much easier when your parent is already an attendant,” he mused. She tipped her head in confusion. “To find an instructor,” he added.

She looked down sadly. “Father will not have time to train me. I hoped to learn from Grandmother but she is away so much now,” she sighed.

Kazmiar swapped a pained look with Edeltrude. Olishild might as well have told Melchior it was him and his family's fault she would struggle to find a place. He wanted to assure her Melchior wasn't offended but there was no time. The sparkle of youthful meddling crackled in the air. “My lord…”

A bell interrupted him. Little Ermalinde arrived holding her attendant’s hand in a flouncy white frock. “Olis!” she cried and tore away from her minder to latch onto her older sister. Melchior struggled to contain his awed sigh. It was just the adorable thing Henriette might have done.

“Our apologies, Lord Melchior. She is not so advanced as one raised under the shadow of the lion might be,” Edeltrude sighed.

Melchior just smiled. Naturally, not even Haldis's daughters could compare to Henriette either in intelligence or adorableness. “I have no such expectation.”

Olishild frowned. “Ermalinde is very well mannered. I doubt you shall find a smarter child in all the world,” she insisted.

“The world is quite large. Indeed the duchy is quite large,” Melchior replied over the rim of his tea cup.

She huffed. “Come Erma, we must say hello. You remember how to give greetings,” she coaxed. Ermalinde noticed the strangers for the first time. She hid behind her sister. “Do not be shy. Offer greetings,” Olishild pressed.

“I… offer greetings,” Ermalinde whispered.

Melchior couldn't contain a smug smile. Henriette could do everything but make sparkles. “I accept your greetings,” he replied. Olishild fumed at his judgemental aspect but managed to hold back. “I am Melchior, the High Bishop of Ehrenfest and this is Kazmiar, my scholar and the High Priest of Ehrenfest.”

Ermalinde looked back and forth between them. “Melchior?” she muttered. “You are the one who takes Father away.”

All his feelings of superiority vanished. Of course she could not be as well educated as Henriette when her parents were so often called away to work by his parents. Olishild must have been working hard to be a good big sister but she was four years younger than him and could know only so much herself. “I suppose I am,” he admitted. “You are very smart, indeed.”

The tension hung between Edeltrude and Kazmiar while Ermalinde beamed with pride. “We were sharing some new songs with Olishild. Would you like to hear them?” Kazmiar asked. She nodded. The tension ebbed. A chair and cushions were brought for her along with a cup of fruit juice.

Olishild flipped her score over to the next song. In addition to Flautzeal's notation, Melchior had drawn a little portrait of Leidenschaft. The sisters murmured about it while the singers prepared themselves. They sang all six songs, including Flutrane's again, with gestures and games. Ermalinde took a liking to how Gerianne sang “Mammutbaum” and repeated it for everyone. This did nothing to help Olishild learn the songs.

“I am certain Flautzeal would be willing to offer his tutelage but you might not wish to invoke his attention,” Melchior warned.

“We couldn't trouble your scholar and instructor,” Edeltrude replied. “The sheet music will be enough to grasp the tune.”

Melchior didn't think so. Not only was the score frighteningly difficult, only people from the temple and Flautzeal's family knew the songs so far. There was one good way to solve many problems at once. “He frequently visits my chambers for work, if you come with Haldis on occasion, there will be time to learn the songs,” he offered. He couldn't take on a total novice after refusing Adaire but there was nothing stopping him from allowing the occasional visit.

Kazmiar felt the blood drain from his face. He’d let the singing distract him from running interference. “Lord Melchior, you must seek permission for all visitors.” He couldn't just promise to allow someone into the Northern Building.

It was a fact so easily forgotten. But there were other rooms he could work in. “That is so. If Mother is not amenable, we can find another time,” he promised. He didn't need permission for visitors to the temple but Edeltrude might be upset if he suggested it.

She didn't look surprised at least. Haldis frequently spoke about his lord’s habit of forcing his assistance onto people. It would be good for Olishild to mingle with Archductal retainers since she was all but certain to be requested to serve. She was the right age to serve as Henriette’s lead apprentice or to replace one of Charlotte's retiring attendants before they could return after having children. Not to mention that she wanted to spend more time with her father if she could.

“You want to take Olis too?” Ermalinde huffed.

“No, no. I would not take your dear sister away from you,” Melchior replied. “She will have to train with someone though so she won't be able to spend as much time with you going forward.”

Ermalinde pouted. She didn't want to hear this again from the boy who kept her father away from home. Melchior's heart ached. He knew how depressing it was to be left alone in the nursery. He couldn't promise to visit her like he could with Henriette. He couldn't think of anything to salve her pain. There was no toy or book that could replace a beloved sibling.

“I would like to see where Father works,” Olishild said. She patted Ermalinde’s hand as the younger girl sulked. Melchior smiled and nodded.

“I will request permission,” Melchior promised.

Olishild hadn't gotten permission before replying. Her mother sighed and gave her another strained smile. They would have to talk after this. It was good fortune that Melchior was so easy going. The tea and singing had taken quite a bit of time. She should send them away before proper offense could be given.

“This has been very exciting for us. Hasn't it Ermalinde?” Edeltrude cooed. Ermalinde nodded happily. “Can you thank Lord Melchior for singing to you?”

“Thank you ever so much for singing,” she said. It lacked the smooth sweetness of an older girl but there was genuine feeling.

“You are most welcome,” Melchior replied. He noted that his tea wasn't being refilled. It was probably time for parting words. “It seems that Dregarnuhr the Goddess of Time has woven today's threads with exceptional grace and speed. Do you have any other questions about the ceremony, Olishild?”

She paused soothing her little sister to look back at him. His smile was less noble than most she’d seen and his eyes were focused directly on her face. It was slightly embarrassing to have his full attention. “I do not. From the bottom of my heart I thank you again for your concern.”

“Just remember that if you feel nervous, you need only look straight ahead and walk to me,” Kazmair encouraged. She nodded and they took their leave.

Melchior had Zargerecht send his request for Olishild to visit him in the castle instead of Haldis so it didn't seem like he was influencing things. He would have to wait until he returned to the castle to receive his answer. In the meantime, he had training and a meeting with Master Fred. His second, impossible design had sparked the dyer’s imagination. They couldn't recreate his drawing but they had some attainable alternatives. He was also bringing an associate who was willing to take Melchior as a client.

Before that, he had Olishild’s baptism. He’d been invited as himself so Kolteruze brought his outfit from the castle during one of his visits. It was from the previous summer and had to be altered for this event. He hadn't grown much over the previous autumn and winter but the forced decompression combined with how much he’d spent over the spring caused him to gain a couple of inches all at once. His eating plan also caused him to gain inches sideways in the waist and shoulders. It would be the last time this tunic could be worn but his new clothes weren't quite finished yet.

Thankfully a cape, sash, and confident attitude could hide many sins. Isolde even loaned him her gossamer cloak since the cost of the fabric from Alexandria was too much to stomach. He would save up for the following year. It was strange that she wouldn't be wearing it herself but she’d gracefully declined the invitation. Even without her, Melchior's retinue was making a healthy showing. Only Gottschalk had an excuse since one of his cousins in Haseny was being baptized on the same day. Fonsel was even bringing his wife since they couldn't afford to offend Lord Leberchet’s son and granddaughter.

Kirk was excited to dress Melchior in fancy noble clothes. He received a few pointers from Sigsnyr and Kolteruze but was otherwise allowed to do the whole job himself. “This fabric is incredible. How do they make it so thin?” he wondered aloud.

“I don't know, but it's super cool,” Melchior replied. “Sister said it's hard to embroider but she’s not very good at embroidery anyway so I’m not sure whether her opinion can be trusted on this matter.”

“Embroidery is hard to master. I understand her pain,” Kirk sighed.

“You are learning embroidery, Kirk?” Kolteruze asked. Kirk nodded. He should have responded verbally but Kolteruze knew he couldn't correct him. “Why are you learning embroidery?”

“Master Fred promised to buy my handkerchiefs if I get good enough.”

“Why is he hiring a boy to do that work?” Sigsnyr asked. There were armies of women ready to do embroidery.

Kirk stepped back to survey his progress and shrugged. “Only men and boys work at his tailoring shop. Perhaps he didn't consider it.” Melchior did a little spin and Kirk smiled.

Kolteruze gave a nod of approval then contemplated Kirk's answers. “Does it have to be you who does the stitching?”

“Are you looking to learn embroidery too?” Melchior asked, eyes full of wonder.

“No,” he said and shook his head. “I just know a few women who might like to find an alternative revenue source. It would be improper to sell their handiwork directly to a commoner merchant, but with Kirk as an intermediary…”

“Would the pay even be worth it?” Sigsnyr asked.

“One’s own silver is better than a father’s gold,” Kolteruze replied.

Melchior listened with interest but he had a different question. If only women embroidered as part of their bridal training what did men do for grooms training and was he behind already.

Sigsnyr cackled. “No… no. You're doing just fine. The closest equivalent is brewing protection charms. You’ll be plenty capable when the time comes.”

“Are you good at brewing charms?” Melchior asked.

“I can achieve the necessary quality,” Kolteruze said.

“Yes,” Sigsnyr replied. Everyone looked at him with wide eyes. He drew his sleeve back to reveal four charms clinging to his forearm. “They’re for me, stop getting strange ideas.” Melchior wasn't sure what ideas anyone else had but he asked to touch them and compared them to the ones from Ferdinand on his own wrist.

“How could we not make assumptions?” Kolteruze teased. “You don't have sisters to brew for. But there is a certain girl who might accept your charms.”

Sigsnyr shot him a glare. “Aren't you the same?”

“That's true. Who do you brew for, Kolteruze?” Melchior asked. “Does it have to be for your sister? Couldn't you make them for your mother?” They shook their heads. “Or just friends?” They shook their heads more vigorously.

“They are a sign of intimate affection and the desire to protect. Unless you are an overwhelmingly superior scholar, and even then only with your own family, you might be called upon to make protection charms for others.” Sigsnyr explained.

Melchior played with the charm on his arm. “They are brewed by fathers or brothers for their unmarried sisters and daughters then by husbands for their wives. Occasionally wives brew for their husbands if they happen to be quite skilled,” Kolteruze added.

Melchior put aside his plans to brew everyone he knew protective charms. “Will you teach me, Sigsnyr?”

“Of course, my lord, though you might ask your scholars,” he replied. Melchior nodded. Sigsnyr professed to be good at the craft but he was a knight and attendant. A scholar might know more or be better at teaching.

By now he had long been dressed and ready. Gerianne and Isolde marched back in looking annoyed since he took so long. He asked Isolde about brewing charms and she made a note to add it to the curriculum alongside the other magic circles he would learn that year. Isolde was staying behind so she just wore her normal scholar’s uniform. Gerianne was dressed in her knight clothes with a frillier undershirt than normal.

“Our special uniforms are not yet complete,” she explained. Sigsnyr shook his head. Zipporah was largely finished growing so splurging on decorative knight uniforms was almost reasonable. He couldn't even imagine how expensive it would be for Gerianne over the coming years. “Because they use more fabric, they can be altered into regular uniforms,” she assured him. Her family would need to buy three or four between now and when she fully matured, this way she would get more use out of each set. The netting and other details could even be moved around. “It will actually be more cost effective.” Sigsnyr sighed again. There was no way that was true.

They had to hurry a bit to Haldis's estate after spending so long chatting and preening. Melchior and company were invited to come by highbeast rather than carriage. Everyone had additional little gifts like paper or fabric or faestones, so Melchior offered to use his utility-beast. They decided to use the Highbeest instead since so many people might witness their arrival. “It's just cuter,” Gerianne bragged. Melchior was sorely tempted to add a bee to his collection. He could even give it a lion's mane.

There were many people arriving at the same time as Melchior including Sebastian in the clothes he wore for graduation. They allowed Melchior to land first and he hustled inside to make way. The halls were full of people chatting and smiling as though meeting old friends. This was clearly a joyous occasion and like the feast for Rozemyne and Ferdinand, only friends and family were invited.

However, the extended friend network of an archnoble was impressive. Nearly two hundred people were coming including, to Melchior’s surprise, his immediate family. Melchior walked up and greeted his parents and siblings. “I didn't know you all were coming,” he chirped as he took the seat prepared for him next to the altar. The makeshift stairs were adorned with the Divine Instruments and offerings. Rather than a fancy lectern, a small table was placed before it with a sealed box and the mana measuring tool.

“Naturally, dear. My scholar’s granddaughter is being baptized,” Florencia replied. She paused to greet some of the guests then turned to him again. “You intended to come all on your own?”

“I… I brought all of my retainers,” he said.

Charlotte giggled behind her hand. “They are also Lord Haldis’s coworkers. They would come either way.” He was still for a moment in amazement. Once again, he’d failed to consider all the angles. At least Olishild would receive more gifts this way. “I dare say, you look quite handsome, dear brother.”

Melchior smiled despite suspecting she was just saying so to encourage him. “I thank you ever so much. You continue to astounded, dear sister.”

Charlotte shook her curls while Wilfried rolled his eyes. He was also wearing his graduation outfit. Melchior was impressed by how much wear people seemed to get out of them. They were so expensive that you had to make it count, he thought. Charlotte was wearing a new summer blue dress with a floral chain issuing from a matching brooch. On closer inspection, it was a golden cord rather than metal. It was both more cost effective and based on Melchior's design. His eyes grew wide and he smiled. She played with the hanging tassel a bit.

Sylvester coughed quietly. As the decoration adorned the chest, a casual observer might draw the wrong conclusions. The children looked at him expectantly and were confused when he seemed to have nothing to say. As luck would have it, Leberchet entered the next moment. He greeted the Archduke and First Wife, thanked the guests for coming and asked everyone to be seated. He thanked the Archduke again as part of his speech, announced that today his granddaughter would be officially recognized, and asked everyone to welcome her into their community.

Then he called for the High Priest. Kazmiar entered from a side door and strode over in his ceremonial robes. There were murmurs but no one had much to say about a normal priest. “We are gathered on this day ordained by the vibrant summer rays of Leidenschaft the God of Fire to accept the burden of Wiegmilch, Goddess of Nurturing. Henceforth it shall be our duty to guide, instruct, and protect Olishild as she gains the blessings of Mestinora and Dauerleben. Come forth, new child of Ehrenfest!”

Chapter Text

All eyes turned to the grand double doors. Two servants pulled them open to reveal Haldis and Edeltrude dressed in fine clothes and matching floral accessories. Haldis escorted his wife with a bright smile. They glanced back once before beginning to walk forward. From his angle, Melchior struggled to see Olishild but he could hear the awes and giggles from the crowd. Her parents eventually walked to their seats allowing him to take in the little girl in her little white dress with blue curly cue accents. She wore tiny cloth shoes with large red cockades attached to the heels and a matching cockade in her hair with triangular dangles. On her lapel was a complicated spray of fabric that nearly resolved into a circle, also in blue and red and so well embroidered that no one could claim her parents had skimped by not using cloth flowers.

Melchior wondered whether it was a deliberate show of support for his trend or just that Olishild didn't like flowers and now had an excuse not to wear them. He would ask later. For the moment he sat up straight and gave an encouraging smile when she glanced his way. Rather than ascend the altar immediately, she took a seat next to Edeltrude. Only then did Melchior notice that they weren't facing the assembly like the seats for the Archductal family but Kazmiar.

With how few married people he knew, Melchior wasn't usually invited to attend baptisms. He was still fairly sure that the noble’s ceremony didn't include a recitation of the meeting of the Supreme Gods and an explanation for why the seasons turned. The crowd looked equally confused and only some people looked interested. It was a shorter version than the one told to commoner children and wasn't followed by a lesson on how to pray. Instead, Olishild was called forward. She climbed the stairs carefully and took the stamping tool. Kazmiar unlocked the box and retrieved an ivory medal.

“Olishild, today you are seven years old,” Kazmiar said. The tool began to shine, drawing light applause. She pressed the stamp to her medal. “You have been granted the protections of Light, Fire, Water, and Wind. Pray diligently that you might obtain greater blessings through your dedication.” Now the crowd simmered with whispers. That wasn't what Melchior usually said in winter and it obviously wasn't what was usually said in other seasons. Kazmiar took the medal and locked it away.

Haldis ascended the stage with a ring. “I grant this ring to you, Olishild, now that you have been recognized as my daughter before the gods and the people.” He took her left hand and slipped the ring on its middle finger.

“I thank you every so much, father,” she replied. He smiled more brightly and moved to pat her head then remembered where he was. The crowd giggled. Kazmiar stepped from behind the table and gave his blessing. “May Leidenschaft the God of Fire bless Olishild.”

She returned it confidently and the crowd clapped. This would generally be the end but Edeltrude joined them on the stage. Kazmiar lined up next to Haldis, facing the shrine. “Now we shall pray to the gods. Praise be to the gods!” He called and raised his arms alongside Haldis and Eldetrude. It was clear that they'd been practicing as a family. Olishild was a step behind and less steady on her foot but she didn't fall during the difficult transition to kneeling.

“Glory be to the gods!” she said and the adults repeated. Then they all stood and turned back to the crowd. It was silent until Sylvester and Florencia began clapping lightly, just like they usually would. The whole room followed suit then erupted into chatter.

While the nobles discussed and recovered, servants wheeled out carts of food and began serving lunch. Olishild was brought a chair and the small table was cleared then set with a cup of juice. Kazmiar descended the stage and took a seat next to Fonsel and his wife. Many eyes watched him. Most priests were not graduated nobles and even those that were weren't invited to stay for lunch. However, Kazmiar was an Archductal scholar and Haldis's coworker so he was welcomed and given an archnoble place.

Melchior's observation was cut short by Kolteruze tapping his chair. He needed to greet Olishild with his family. They walked over together. Olishild rose then knelt with her parents. “We thank you ever so much for coming to our humble home to welcome our daughter into society,” Edeltrude said.

“Please rise, you are friends. We could not miss this chance to meet Olishild,” Sylvester said.

The family rose then everyone looked at Melchior. He was the highest status person who already knew Olishild so it seemed that introductions fell to him. “It is wonderful to see you again, Olishild. Your confidence was well placed. You did well.” She beamed and he turned to begin introductions. “This is my father the Archduke and my mother the First Wife, Lord Sylvester and Lady Florencia.”

“I am honored to meet you, Aub Ehrenfest and Lady Florencia.” she replied.

“This is Charlotte, my second elder sister and Wilfried our older brother.” Those next in line whispered but Olishild ignored them and gave her greetings.

“You have another sister?” she asked as she looked around.

“Yes. Lady Rozemyne of Alexandria is our eldest sister,” Melchior replied.

Florencia placed a hand on his shoulder. “She was adopted into our family and is the same age as Wilfried.

“She stole a greater duchy just to marry our uncle,” Wilfried joked.

Charlotte and Melchior giggled while Florencia sighed. Olishild wasn't sure whether she should laugh. Every part of the sentence felt unreal. Was it funny because you couldn't steal a large landmass or because their uncle wasn't worth the effort?

“Congratulations, Olishild. We’ll let everyone else greet you now,” Florencia said and herded her giggling family away.

Melchior had a relaxing time. He enjoyed the food which included recipes obtained from Sheila including the fluffy honey and nut bread dessert. Sylvester was cross when Melchior admitted his chef was the possible originator. “Send these things to me first,” he grumbled. After lunch, Melchior could appear to circulate just by talking to his own retainers. When he needed a break, it was easy to find a familiar face. He pulled Ortolf out of his corner where he half sulked and half hid from the glittering company, to talk to the knights they knew and some of the girls who would normally avoid him.

“I’m amazed you can speak with them so easily, Lord Melchior,”Ortolf muttered after the third interaction with girls they knew.

“What do you mean?” Melchior asked.

“It’s just… I never know what to say to women. Its like they speak a different language,” he replied.

Melchior was quiet for a moment. This had never been his experience. There were a few girls with whom he shared almost no overlapping interests but even then they were perfectly intelligible. “Perhaps you have little in common with most girls. It helps to talk about things you both enjoy,” Melchior explained.

Ortolf scratched his head. “They’re all just interested in romance and girly stuff. We don’t have anything in common. At least you like art.”

Did art count as “girly stuff”, Melchior wondered. He also knew for a fact that all women weren’t only interested in those things. “Every girl we know has more interests than that,” he countered. “Isolde studies language and cultural differences. And Zipporah likes gathering and faebeast subjugation techniques.”

“But they aren’t like… real girls. They spend all their time around boys,” Ortolf replied.

Kolteruze broke his silent attending vigil to interrupt. “Are you claiming some blanket truth about over half the population then discounting examples to the contrary just because they don’t fit your arbitrary definition?”

“Its not just my definition,” Ortolf countered. “There are traits understood to belong to a proper noblewoman, it isn’t my fault that not all girls meet the criteria.”

“What are these criteria?” Melchior asked.

Kolteruze cut off Ortolf before he could answer. “Ask a real noblewoman like Lady Florencia or Charlotte. He doesn't know what he’s talking about.” Kolteruze caught Kazmiar’s eye and gestured for him to come over.

Melchior frowned. He wondered why everyone was always telling him to ask his parents the most interesting questions. He would have to start writing them down. He needed a note taking system that was fancy enough to match his formal clothes. “Well, I think Zipporah and Isolde are proper noble women,” he muttered. He contemplated pressing but Kazmiar appeared a moment later. He had other, more pressing questions for the High Priest. “You altered the ceremony.”

“Yes, we did. We hoped to give the gods a more prominent place to support your rehabilitation of the Temple’s image,” he replied.

“But to alter a ritual?” Melchior asked.

Kazmiar smiled calmly. “The noble baptism as it usually is is more legal formality than ritual. The Aub approved the changes so there is nothing to worry about.”

Melchior replaced his frown with an annoyed smile. “I see. So long as the Aub was consulted about things of a ritual nature.”

Kazmiar was momentarily confused. It was a bright smile but Melchior’s words relayed deep dissatisfaction. “Ahh, I apologize for not informing you. As this event was overseen and performed by others, it didn’t occur to me.”

“In future, please send me a board such that I am not surprised alongside the rest of society,” Melchior huffed.

Kazmiar contained his desire to giggle at the boy’s confusing display of indignation and cheerfulness. “It shall be done, my lord. Would you tell me now what you thought of the proceedings?”

Melchior felt some of his annoyance wane. It was true that things only had anything to do with him because he was the High Bishop. It was a nice ceremony. Its similarity to the lower city baptism made it feel more pious too. Olishild also proved that a seven year old wouldn’t embarrass themselves doing the praying pose with a little practice. He had only one complaint. “Shouldn’t the High Bishop officiate over an archnoble baptism?”

Kazmiar paled. The Aub charged him to do whatever it took to keep Melchior from having to visit every estate in Ehrenfest. He was a boy but setting the precedent that the Archduke’s child could be summoned on a whim was to be avoided. Lady Rozemyne had her health as an excuse but subsequent children wouldn’t. “It is far too expensive for most archnobles not to mention that they lack the status to call upon your services,” he said. It was the agreed upon excuse but Melchior didn’t look convinced.

“Do we not decide on the prices? And Haldis is my retainer. There would be no problem with me blessing his daughter.”

“The Aub does not wish to create a precedent. It is one thing to summon you but it would be improper for a noble lady to enter so many strangers' houses,” he whispered.

Recognition dawned and Melchior nodded. Not everyone liked the Archductal family. Giebe Haldenzal wasn’t one for violence but someone with all of his anger and none of his restraint might take the opportunity to do harm. Not to mention, most families didn’t have as positive a view of the temple as Haldis and Edeltrude. They would be snubbing the Aub by not inviting the High Bishop to properly partake in the festivities. He looked at Kazmiar in his fine ceremonial robes. He hadn’t been able to attend most of the Feast Celebrating Winter because of them and Melchior had been denied the role as officiant because he couldn’t accept his cape while wearing his vestments. He continued to think about this on and off for the rest of the afternoon. After a final farewell and congratulations to Olishild, he returned to the temple feeling conflicted.

New Discoveries and New Clothes

Melchior spent his morning helping Kazmiar and practicing music. The spring expenses were well within expectations. There were more baptisms than the year before so the temple got a bit more revenue. He didn’t feel much faster in spite of his additional practice. There was also less to do overall. Isolde, Flautzeal, and Dirk were helping to process more work more quickly and could help with greater frequency than Melchior and his other retainers. Flautzeal could even visit the various clergy in Kazmiar’s stead to ask questions and press for explanations.

Flower offerings were no longer the primary income for most priests. Now that they could work as scribes and do other more savory work, they were largely turning to that. Those with the least pride were even assisting wealthy merchants with decoding noble language and penning replies. Gebhard was making less money now that he spent so much time helping with the plants but he was also spending less money since he didn’t need to maintain offering worthy shrine maidens. With the small stipend given for his assistance, it was enough to meet his needs and save for winter.

The orphanage had transitioned from just supporting the needs of its denizens to making a small profit. They had a brief discussion about raising everyone's wages but decided to start an emergency account instead. Melchior wanted to be able to purchase medicine or summon a doctor in the event of a serious illness. As the gray clergy were worth more than ever before and being sold less often, Kazmiar was inclined to agree on the condition that some of the excess be added to the temples general budget.

Melchior also offered his temple attendants extra time off which Lothar and Kirk declined. Lothar noted that they hadn't worked much more than usual and already had more free time than ever before. Sheila, meanwhile, was happy to have three days to do whatever she liked. She wanted to peruse the markets and play Karuta with her friends in the orphanage.

Lothar pointed out that this would delay the implementations of his new recipes but Melchior could be patient. He was very excited for new dishes since Rozemyne finally remembered to give him the recipes he’d purchased with his ingredients as well as one for child safe clay. It was made from food ingredients so it was also given to Sheila. However, he made the promise before this was explained and would have felt guilty for keeping Sheila from her deserved rest for his own gluttonous desires.

There were other things to distract him for the week anyway. His summer fitting was fast approaching so he had to finalize his sketches and meet with the tailors. Master Fred was going to introduce him to a new tailor too.

On his third day, at third and a half bell, Melchior, Isolde, and his knights traveled to the merchant’s meeting room. Master Fred knelt next to another adult. He also brought an adult leherl rather than the usual apprentice.

The new man offered greetings and Melchior blessed him. “I am Kurtis, a tailor and headman of a small but growing tailoring company.”

“Welcome, Master Kurtis,” Melchior began. The man instantly paled. Melchior couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong so quickly so he just continued. “Master Fred speaks highly of your skills and ambition. I was told you are not afraid to accept high status customers?”

Kurtis relaxed a bit. If it wasn’t just himself who this noble showed unnecessary politeness then perhaps everything was alright. “That is correct, my lord. We have worked very hard to develop our skills to meet the highest expectations.”

Melchior smiled and nodded. Maybe he’d finally found his own tailor. That would go a long way to convincing his mother he could manage his own clothes. They would still need to try him a bit. “Let us see the samples you’ve brought.”

Both Fred and Kurtis had cloth to show. They used different dye shops so the approaches were different. Kurtis had also managed to see the fabric from Hauchletze in the Gilbertta company’s possession. His cloth was all black with various patterns woven and dyed in a slightly different black. “It is my understanding, my lord, that you will soon need much black wool. While it is not yet within our capabilities to dye in many colors, we have many techniques for varying the patterns on a fabric. By using only one color, the arrangement maintains its elegance.”

Melchior looked over the bolt. The black was broken up by slightly shiny patches in stripes and polka dots as well as resist dyed areas in a dark gray. It was certainly interesting and would be subtle. It wasn’t as fun in just one color but the spirit was there. It was better than plain wool at the least. “I do not dislike it. Bring it with you to the fitting,” he ordered. Florencia would have the last say.

“If you would excuse my ignorance, my lord. There is to be a fitting?” Kurtis asked. Melchior glanced toward Kirk who looked at Fred who paled.

“Forgive me, my lord, I failed to communicate. However, there will be no impediment to Kurtis’s appearance,” he said. Even if he had to empty his own stores of fabric samples to make it happen, it would. He cleared his throat and suppressed a nervous grunt. “Kurtis, Lord Melchior has a fitting next Fruitday. It is there that you will meet his venerable mother and be given a task to prove your skill.”

Kurtis nodded timidly. His few interactions with nobles told him that this wasn’t a request but an order at this point. “Is that too little notice?” Melchior asked.

Was this intimidation or a genuine offer of escape, Kurtis wondered. “Not at all, my lord. We shall be prepared. What else would you like me to bring?”

Isolde presented a list of things. They were hoping to see black wools, blue and ochre soutache, purples wools, silver embroidery and accent samples, linen and spinel hand and neck kerchiefs in pale blue and ochre, and something else he would recommend given what they’d ordered already and Melchior’s looks. He was provided with color swatches for Melchior’s colors. “As my summer wardrobe is already finished, I do not require very much blue fabric at this time,” Melchior added for good measure.

Kurtis swallowed. This was the bluest boy in existence not to mention his soft features and pale skin needing a bold color to offset them. He would barely be discernible from a girl his age in red and purple. But he’d made an effort to speak up about it. He must wear too much blue already. “I can assemble everything from this list in the time provided and will include something to wow and delight,” he promised.

Melchior smiled gently and turned his attention to Master Fred. His fabric was wrapped in another white fabric to protect it and allow for a dramatic reveal. The cover was tossed to the side rather roughly then the bolt was partially unrolled over the table. It was in six colors arranged in large blocks down the length of the fabric. Each block featured a different pattern in a darker color; light blue with purple, pink with burnt orange, and pale yellow with deep green. Melchior withheld a squeal of joy while Isolde shivered. “We could not create an interlocking pattern, my lord, but the dyers were able to dye isolated panels in different colors and apply resist patterns.”

Isolde and Dedryck checked the fabric for poisons before allowing Melchior to touch it. It wasn’t the softest but it had been an experiment so that could be forgiven. Kurtis also examined it. The color permeated through on both sides unlike the fabric which served as inspiration. He wondered if that was the key somehow. At least it was clear that the foreign fabric was made with a different process. Melchior was still delighted. There was nothing he could use it for since he already had a new house coat but he felt obligated to buy it. It was naturally more expensive to dye such a strange piece and there was enough to make a woman’s dress. At least Flautzeal was also a fan of the style so they could consider uses together. Isolde tried to blink away visions of an over saturated future. She would coordinate with her fellow people of fair colors to stop this catastrophe before it happened.

Neither Gerianne nor Sigsnyr would be of much use. They were just as amused by the fabric shown before training. Isolde stayed to see their reactions then retired feeling faint. If she had to be the sole crusader, so be it.

Sister Streita had an exciting surprise of her own: it was time for the third set of forms. Gerianne and Melchior rejoiced. Their excitement redoubled when Strieta announced that everyone would practice together in a big circle. The reason became apparent quickly. They were learning dodges and having just a bit too little space to maneuver would force them to be more conscious of their bodies and move in time to the prompts. Failure to do so might mean getting smacked by one's neighbor.

“One we dip, Two swing left, Three swing right, we lunge then fall,” Streita chanted from the inside of the ring. Melchior thought just shuffling and leaning would be easy, and it was, but rolling was hard to do quickly and hurt whenever he hit the ground. After a couple of rounds in the circle, which the older students seemed to enjoy just as much, they broke off to practice falling under Nikolaus’s guidance. He looked terribly anxious but Zipporah and Dedryck only had a couple of years to train him into a proper head knight. Teaching the less experienced was a huge part of the job.

“Remember to fall onto the soft parts of your bodies,” he reminded timidly.

“We can’t control what part we fall on in a normal situation,” Gerianne argued.

“You might not do it consciously but your body will shift to catch you in the best possible spot. You have to teach it to favor the backside, thigh, and shoulder over smaller and harder points of impact,” he explained.

By the end, Melchior’s knees and elbows hurt and his pelvis felt misaligned somehow. It was also hard to draw rolling. There were so many important angles and moments in the motion and Zipporah couldn’t pause mid roll so he could examine her form. Instead, they returned to the practice courtyard so she could roll over and over while he tried to catch the right moments. They eventually had to put those pages to the side and focus on the leans and shuffles. It was some consolation that Zipporah consented to being depicted as a shirjack knight but the antlers proved to complicate the presentation. There were times they would be in the way, not to mention that a creature with a large weight on their head would naturally move differently than a person. In the end, he planned shirjack knights for the cover and conclusion pages. He also thought she would make a good character for the shumil diptych ordered by Alexandria especially since her colors were green.

They were able to continue their training at the Knights Order with Dedryck. Gottschalk had fun doing the dodging circle while Ortolf struggled to stay in time. He grew more and more frustrated as Nikloaus and Helenwig smacked him from either side. He was still improving, so he wasn't allowed to skip the exercise. There was more running than Melchior liked but he got to do it with other people. Gerianne led the fast group while he tottered along behind with his slower companions. His stamina hadn't suffered as much as he feared during the busy spring but he was still jealous of those who could train consistently without fail.

Now, however, he was fit enough to talk while they ran. It was much more enjoyable while keeping up a conversation and he got to know more about the youngest member of their introductory class. Little, nine year old Felicitus had big dreams about being a knight. He was particularly interested in hand to hand combat for some reason and wanted to learn enhancement magic. “Weapons are cool but not as cool as being a weapon yourself!” he declared. He’d witnessed exactly one duel between Bonifiatus and Eckhart and decided that weaponless combat was the coolest thing on the planet. He was excited that Lord Bonifiatus had exited semi-retirement once again to begin teaching the knights. “He is focused on dancing but we hope he will share other knowledge too.”

Lord Bonifiatus was choreographing new weapon whirls to show Rozemyne the following year and having a wonderful time doing so. Nikolaus asked to change his day off to be able to attend at least one day of those practices per week. He was increasingly often corrected for humming the songs when he got bored on guard duty.

In addition to training, Melchior recommenced assisting in his parents' offices regularly. With more free time, Sylvester had finally made good on his promise to visit Florencia’s office and remembered to demand a painting for his own. Melchior allowed him to hang the painting of the lower city as a placeholder. It was of novel but appropriate subject matter and a technical improvement over Melchior's earlier work. For the time being, the Aub's desire was sated but he requested a larger piece for permanent use.

Of course, it was difficult to calmly go about his days with the fitting looming. Melchior felt his attention waver while he studied and practiced harspiel. Even Deliroze was more diligent than himself in those few days. They went together to the fitting since Deliroze’s school preparations were in his care. They weren't planning anything new for him this year but Pepin had secured clothes befitting a mednoble from friends and family as well as bringing his own. The fancy tunic from Gerianne's brother was especially nice as it was created when their house had income to spare. The style was outdated but men's fashion moved slowly so only minor changes needed to be made. It would be more than adequate for the feasts.

The embroidery on the best uniform options would be swapped to maroon. Dirk didn't have very strong colors but the deep red brought out the red in his hair and made his eyes look warmer. He would have a rotation of three uniforms which would reduce the wear and tear on each allowing them to be returned or passed on again.

Melchior had much more fun being measured and fitted alongside a friend. It helped reduce the tension brought on by having both Florencia and Brunhilde in attendance. Brunhilde wasn't taking any more chances on missing his trends. At least this made it easy to show off his new dressing coat. The riot of colors matched neither him nor each other and he loved it so much he couldn't contain the urge to spin and flutter about the room.

Isolde waited with bated breath for Brunhilde’s verdict. “It is exciting,” she began. “Kunstzeal would certainly be amused¹.” Melchior frowned. They just didn't understand its beauty. Flautzeal was delighted. There wasn't much fabric left but he happily took the scraps home to turn into something.

His other new clothes would need to be altered. The seamstress and tailors planned for him to grow at a similar rate as he had over winter but his spring growth was explosive. “I did promise to grow faster,” he noted. It was somehow less funny now that he seemed capable of controlling such a thing. The loosest surcoat would be left since it only needed to be lengthened which Kirk could do while he was at the temple. Melchior was beginning to feel hot in his spring wools so a linen outfit was a nice change.

More of Wilfried's uniforms appeared. Melchior decided to leave the golden details. It matched his cape so it didn't look too strange. They were able to let out his previous years uniforms so he would have more blue options as well. Even with so many old pieces to repurpose, he still needed new uniforms, namely brewing clothes and a light armor tunic.

Wilfried had either managed to destroy his brewing clothes or passed them down. Florencia hadn't given a clear answer. Since multi-piece suits had become more popular, Melchior ordered a surcoat and short jacket combination. The surcoat would be sleeveless and made to expand so he could get at least three years out of it. The over jacket had practical sleeves and hooks for holding up an apron as was the fashion in Immerdink. Their students swore by them for comfort and convenience claiming it allowed them to circumvent the need for purpose made brewing clothes. The apron would have many pockets and loops for potions and pens.

As Melchior was not a knight, his knight uniform could be unique. No one had explained this before. He groaned and was scolded then commenced designing something on the spot. “It doesn't have to be blue!” he chirped.

“Blue is a strong color. We use it to honor Leidenschaft and Angriff,” Dedryck explained. He was against using anything but the established uniform.

Melchior conceded to keeping the same shape but he had ideas for everything else. Of course this was a practical garment so the padding placement, fasteners, and auxiliary loops had to be the same. This left the color and the shape of the bottom hem up for changes. “What is another strong color?” Yellow was the most obvious answer but Melchior still remembered Lady Hannalore’s whirl for Flutrane. Perhaps had Schutzaria's whirler been possessed as well, he would have seen that goddess as just as powerful. For the moment, he was convinced that green was the only option. They would add blue sword motifs using embroidery while the bottom hem would include Flutrane's keyhole shaped symbol cutouts creating a dagged edge. The pain could not be concealed on the seamstress' faces.

Kurtis watched from his corner as their offerings were assessed and the other clothes were ordered. He would curse Master Fred to his face later for failing to mention that this lord's venerated mother was the Archduke's Wife. He’d been expecting mednobles. Thankfully, he brought his best samples anyway. Hoping to get into the archnoble market, they were of very high quality already. Melchior purchased some of his white linens for underwear and the patterned black wool. Melchior didn't need new general uniforms yet but one day he would find a use for it.

Eventually they got around to issuing his challenge. Kurtis felt daunted by the order for autumnal clothes. There were no large events for Melchior in autumn but he still traveled for the Harvest Festival. He might return to giebe areas and be invited to dinner so he still needed nice clothes. Some of Wilfried's old yellow and gold outfits were tried. With the addition of blue accents or jackets they were approved and would be altered to fit. He only ordered one totally new autumn piece. It would feature new embroidery designs which Melchior produced from Kolteruze’s ideas. They were detailed drawings and Kurtis’s embroiderers would need to invent new techniques to accomplish them.

It would be yellow with a pale blue front triangle panel and dark blue details. Kurtis was invited to use a fancy weave or dying method for the panel. It was more of a challenge than he’d planned for but he was happy not to be given the winter feast outfit.

Melchior wanted purple to more closely match the season. Lady Florencia’s Renaissance had developed a two color dyeing method with smooth transitions between colors. They would provide a fabric that moved from warm purple to near red for the tunic. Blue accents would tie things back to his hair and eyes. Since he would only need the very fancy version for two events, it would include his first over-tunic in the purple with silver accents. This would have a second collar made from stiff embroidery with flame motifs and cover a red tunic with blue embroidery. Melchior looked especially proud while showing it to his mother. He hadn't predicted the multi-color fabric but was quick to add it in.

Melchior and his retainers stood together at the end to receive their appraisal. Florencia looked over the order and chatted with her attendant. Encouraging smiles were sent by Brunhilde and the tailors. “It is as Lord Bonifiatus said. You have many novel ideas. It is yet to be seen whether your more ambitious visions can be realized but you have planned well and ordered reasonable pieces,” Florencia began. She placed down the drawing and smiled more genuinely. “It is good that I was here.” she said. Melchior only had a moment to believe she meant she was happy to have seen everything before she gestured for some people to be invited in. The cobbler arrived and Melchior hung his head. “I am sure you will not make the same mistake twice,” she giggled.

His excitement returned. It was a small mistake and easily corrected. He celebrated quietly with Haldis and Isolde then went to order his shoes. He would get new boots for his many rugged activities and some of the cloth shoes to match his formal outfits. They were a rare choice for men but much less expensive than leather boots. Deliroze could fit his old boots, they would just be resoled. He also got a black pair of the cloth shoes.

Footnotes

1. Its not very pretty but it is eye catching. ^

Chapter Text

Belated Promise

For his final castle day, Melchior enjoyed some much needed painting time and a tea party with Charlotte and Florencia. They discussed his new clothes and the upcoming summer work and he played harspiel and flute at their request. Charlotte’s scholar had obtained an itemized list of everything he could be expected to play and those songs he was learning over the next two seasons. There would be a harsh talk with Flautzeal about divulging his secrets but it wasn't unpleasant to play for his family.

“You have progressed so much in so little time. I wonder if Kunstzeal hasn't blessed you with her divine favor,” Charlotte complimented.

“Thank you ever so much, sister. Your praise gladdens me,” he replied.

Florencia smiled and enjoyed the well brewed tea. She listened to the music and sighed. He was doing well. Sylvester’s worries that he was being too hard on himself were well founded but they needed to be strict. The whole country was watching him after taking First in Class and passing on his first day. Not to mention that with Wilfried graduated, all male socializing would fall to him.

His manners were superb. He was gentle and considerate. None of the garish flaws reported would be seen during this kind of tea. She would need to plan for more challenging guests to get to the root of things. For the time being, she praised his diligence in practicing music and expressed her anticipation for the next song on his list. He looked daunted then determined and promised to keep working hard.

Henriette was also delighted to hear him play. It had been sometime since her favorite brother brought his harspiel. Her new tiny harp thing wasn't nearly as impressive and didn't sound as nice. Plus, he would sing for her whatever she asked unlike her father who didn't know as many songs and ran out of patience after only two repeats.

Melchior also told her about another little girl he’d met. She wasn't happy that he spent time with someone else but he assured her, Ermalinde was neither as cute as her nor as fun to play with. She still wanted to write a letter when he suggested it. She would include one of her drawings but wasn't allowed to send her beige crayon. The problem didn't seem to be that it was the worst color since the red crayon was also denied. Melchior drew two animals instead. Henriette wanted to keep one but was generous enough to send the second one on.

Writing a letter from one four year old to another was more difficult than Melchior anticipated. All the necessities of etiquette had to be observed even though neither sender not recipient would understand them. Henriette also couldn't read or write more than a couple of words. But she could write her name so she was allowed to sign it in red crayon. All it said was: hello, thank you for hosting my brother, I like music too, and I look forward to your reply. Florencia would choose whether to send it since Henriette was a bit of an open secret but not something to flaunt or announce until her baptism. That Haldis knew could be expected but it wasn't something he would admit unless pressed.

Melchior tried to temper Henriette's expectations but she was too excited about receiving a reply to be calmed. He promised to write her a letter if things didn't work out then helped her form letters on her slate until she was ready to sleep. She was more motivated than ever to learn how to read and write so her attendants were only mildly worried.

As the weeks of summer continued to flow, Melchior fell into a rhythm. He spent his castle days studying and his temple days studying. The only difference being who made tea and what he wore. Of course, meals at the temple continued to be better than anywhere else. Alexandria gifted his whole family fish so Sheila had many new dishes to present.

For one such occasion, Melchior invited Adaire to the temple for lunch. He also included Deliroze since he continued to struggle with the loss of his friend. Melchior hoped that Adaire's bright attitude and their existing friendship would cheer him up.

Melchior wanted to meet Adaire at the Nobles Gate, but an Archduke Candidate couldn't stand around waiting for a mednoble. Instead, he waited with Deliroze in his chambers. Their actual lunch would take place in the atrium but they had enough time to teach Adaire how to play Reversi and take a tour. Deliroze was doing a good job of looking excited even though he didn't quite feel up to a noble tea party. The ones he occasionally attended either with Isolde or at her insistence were always harrowing.

The bell rang indicating a noble guest. Kirk opened the doors smoothly and quietly while Adaire watched him with interest. Once they were open he strode in and knelt before his hosts. “I offer greetings on this morning ordained by the vibrant summer rays of Leidenschaft the God of Fire.”

Melchior squirmed in his seat. “We accept your greetings! Welcome Lord Adaire. I hope your journey was not harsh.”

Adaire rose with the satisfaction of a greeting well given and accepted the seat his attendant pulled out for him. He wasn't used to being served by another noble yet. The difference in skill between a noble attendant and servants still amazed him. “My journey was smooth and without event. Thank you for inviting me. Lord Dirk, it is wonderful to see you as well.”

“Greetings, Adaire. Though we are friends, I must ask that you use my full name for the time being. I fear that society will forget that my name is Deliroze,” he replied. It felt overly tedious to pretend he hadn't just changed his name, as was Isolde's instruction, but Adaire took things in stride. Perhaps that was the difference between a commoner turned noble and a pure breed.

“Yes, of course, Deliroze. Please excuse me if I forget again,” Adaire replied. He wasn't sure why Dirk wanted to pretend that his name was different but he was willing to go along. “Have you been able to visit the library since it opened? It is an incredible place.”

“I haven't needed to,” Melchior said. “All the study materials I need are available at the castle.”

“I have yet to find the first year study materials available while I was visiting but it is very easy to meet people there,” Adaire explained. It seemed that he mostly went to talk to people and play with other kids. “The wooden blocks are quite fun to make towers with,” he babbled excitedly. “The librarian explained that they were based on a commoner toy but the couple of commoners I met said that they don't usually have so many nor are they of such high quality.” He went on to explain the various other toys and children's books available. His ability and willingness to read made him popular with younger kids. It wasn't uncommon for five and six year olds to visit. Even some laynoble seven year olds struggled with their letters. “They just don't have very much to read at home. They are becoming much better very quickly.”

No one forced Deliroze to talk so he sat quietly and sipped his tea. It was relaxing and better than being alone in his room. He would normally like to visit the orphanage to be among people but that place filled him with sadness. Not even speaking with Delia made things better sometimes. He was still grateful for her presence and advice. Their acceptance of his silence filled him with hope that this lunch wouldn't be like those other parties.

Melchior and Adaire continued to talk about the library and their year so far. Adaire was learning to be an attendant. He’d been hired by an archnoble house. “It is difficult but they are patient with me. I am so happy when I manage a new task.”

“Kirk is just the same. Indeed I think the feeling is universal,” Melchior said.

Adaire’s attention was drawn to Kirk once again. He was old enough to be baptized but Adaire had never seen this boy before. His dirty-pink hair, intelligent brown eyes, and pleasant face wouldn't be easy to forget even if Adaire was half as social. “Is Kirk a servant?” he asked.

“He is a temple attendant,” Melchior replied.

“I have never seen him in the Playroom.”

“Oh, yes, he isn't a noble. He is a gray priest,” Melchior explained. He wondered that the clothes didn't give things away but remembered that this was Adaire's first visit. He couldn't be expected to know everything.

Adaire blinked in surprise. He looked back and forth between the two people in gray outfits. One was an adult but even Kirk's manner and bearing was immaculate. “I had no idea,” he muttered. He would have to revise his ideas about commoner servants. While one would generally ignore attendants, Adaire felt compelled to ask one fundamental question. “Do you know how to shave?”

Kirk glanced at Melchior who gave his permission to answer. “Answering you, my lord does not yet grow facial hair so I have yet to acquire that skill.”

Adaire nodded. It was difficult to learn. He wanted to know how long it normally took. “Kirk has many other skills. He is a superb attendant and is also good at board games and can sew,” Melchior said. He worried that Adaire might think less of him since he had no opportunity to practice shaving. Melchior touched his face. It felt like it might be some time before anything grew there.

“How old are you?”

“Twelve, Lord Adaire.”

Adaire paled. He wouldn't even have started the attendant course. If this was what it took to serve an Archduke Candidate, he felt he would never make it. “You have inspired me. I will try harder to improve,” he declared.

“That is wonderful, Lord Adaire,” Kirk replied. He wasn't sure what this young kid saw that moved him so deeply.

Melchior wasn't sure what had occurred either but he agreed that Kirk was inspiring so he let things stand. They drank a bit more tea and discussed the struggles of becoming an attendant. Adaire was apparently too loud when serving tea but too quiet when walking around. Kirk and Lothar swapped knowing looks. Those were universal struggles.

They eventually got around to teaching Adaire Reversi. He wasn't an instant master but he enjoyed the game all the same. There wouldn't be much opportunity to play but he was happy to learn. After a couple of practice games, they went on their tour. When visiting the Divine Instruments, Adaire didn't begin learning any since he was saving his mana for school at the moment. Once he learned compression and had a bit more he would be excited to learn Flutrane’s staff. They looked at the chapel and peaked at the orphanage from afar. Adaire was particularly interested in the training courtyard.

“Even your knights that can't work at the temple are allowed to train here?” he asked. He tried to pick up one of the weights but it was too heavy.

“Technically, any citizen may visit at any time,” Melchior replied.

Adaire’s eyes glittered then frowned. “Mother said the temple is no place for a child. I don't think she will let me use the carriage that often either,” he sighed.

“I didn't realize you would be uncomfortable. Next time we can meet at the castle or even the library,” Melchior assured him.

“There is no need. I am happy to visit you wherever. The temple is nothing like what Mother described,” Adaire replied. “Perhaps next year when… when I have my own highbeast, I can visit more often.”

Melchior felt his hidden anxiety subsided. Adaire had no problem with the temple. He was even hoping to visit more often. “Deliroze will be preparing and forming his first highbeast soon. If you are able, you are welcome to join,” Melchior offered.

Dedryck sighed but couldn't argue. One extra novice wouldn't change much anyway.

Adaire smiled brightly. “Thank you! I will ask. Then I will be more free to move around.”

They contemplated possible animals. Adaire was a big fan of his sister’s shumil but his father said it was too girly. He still wanted something driveable since they were more convenient. Adaire was amused by the Iionbus and the Highbeest but he couldn't imagine treating a majestic animal that way and found the giant insect frightening. “There are a few appropriately round birds,” Melchior suggested. He promised to bring the bird encyclopedia or a drawing to their next gathering as fourth bell rang over the temple.

Adaire noted the sudden spike in excitement. Even Deliroze, who’d been quiet and broody the entire time, seemed energized. Perhaps that was only natural when lunch was upon them. Melchior always had effusive praise for his temple chef and the food in the Playroom was pretty good. But Melchior seemed so excited he couldn't speak.

They wound back through the temple to a door guarded by a gray priest. Kirk gracefully opened it to reveal a room full of sunlight and plants growing indoors. “This is our atrium, home to the only Lionshead Peony tree in all of Ehrenfest,” Melchior announced with a sweeping gesture.

Adaire froze just a few steps into the room. All around were flowers and lush greenery. A modest sized tree spread out from one of the garden beds, one of its roots slipping out like a leg out of a bath. It was amazingly beautiful and the smell was beyond description. He was struck yet again by the impossible divide between himself and the kind of boy who might run a duchy. “This is incredible,” he muttered.

“We have to agree. It is all thanks to the hard work of Kirk, Kolteruze, and Brother Gebhard. Oh and Sigsnyr but I'm not sure how much he contributes,” Melchior replied.

Adaire stared at Kirk once again. He was a commoner, yet he was capable of at least helping to create something so impressive. “Kirk did this?”

“Answering you, Lord Adaire. I mostly tend the ambassadors and do miscellaneous work under Lord Kolteruze’s guidance,” he corrected. This room was fueled by an unmeasurable but likely large amount of mana. There could be no ambiguity left around who was truly responsible.

Adaire was still impressed by the so-called Ambassadors to the Ehrenfest Temple. The small collection of plants were healthy and pretty. Some were even flowering in the summer warmth. “Kirk has grown much more skilled over the seasons. We once tended the plants together but he has surpassed me since then,” Melchior lamented. They moved to the table while Melchior continued to wax poetic about the dedication and brilliance of the atrium’s contributions. “Oh and Uncle helped us alter the circles when he visited. He is so amazing. I hope to do magic like him one day. He made a huge circle that let us see mana flows even in our own bodies!”

Adaire could barely imagine such a sight but the incredible surroundings lent much credence to the story. Once they were seated, Sheila began serving lunch. Deliroze had his own attendants who were getting more used to Sheila's cooking and plating style. Adaire's layattendant, meanwhile, looked very intimidated by the strange food. It was fish and summer vegetables, poached then cooled in the ice room. They would be served after a cold and sour soup. He tried to copy Sheila's technique but only managed to mangle the delicate fare.

Kirk took over while Lothar served Melchior. The attendant watched carefully to ensure safety and to learn. An artistic arrangement of fish packed into fish shaped molds and juliennes of vegetables woven into a sort of net was silently presented. Kirk withheld a smirk as Adaire's continued to be impressed by his service. “This is based on a dish I was served at the Royal Academy. It's called ‘se vee chea’.” Melchior explained.

It was a strange name but the food was good. It was buttery and almost sweet. For his first experience eating fish, Adaire concluded that they were delicious.

Naturally there was only one choice for dessert. The ice cream was served in standard scoops with fresh fruit and a couple of herbs. “This was made using a special honey from Gilessenmeyer. It makes it even more refreshing than normal.”

“Gilessenmeyer is the one with Flutrane's Country Gate?” Adaire asked.

“It is the Goddess of Light's gate. Hauchletze in the southwest has Flutrane's gate,” Melchior corrected.

Adaire and Deliroze nodded. They tasted the ice cream after Melchior who couldn't contain his delight. It was certainly a novel taste. He also wouldn't have thought to mix herbs and cream but that was pleasant too. Adaire found he understood Melchior's joy. It was warm in the atrium enhancing the brisk sweetness, the smell of which mingled softly with the flora scent in the air. It was a perfect moment with perfect food unlike anything he could have imagined.

“I see why you speak so highly of this treat,” Adaire mumbled. He was sad to reach the end but the tea that followed was good consolation.

“I was so enchanted the first time I tried it. I will give you the recipe,” Melchior promised.

“Thank you, Lord Melchior. Our chefs are not as skilled as Sheila, but they seem to enjoy trying new things. It is unfortunate that there isn't a good way to acquire fish.” Adaire sipped his tea and looked around some more.

“That's true. We are fortunate that Sister gives us so much when she visits,” Melchior replied. “She also left me some new books which we can read together.”

“I will look forward to it.”

They continued to chat about books. Adaire was able to read the newest Knight Stories and Royal Academy Love Stories at the library, so there was much to discuss. Eventually, fourth bell gave way to fifth bell and Melchior was forced to say goodbye. Kirk assured him that another flower would not be missed so Gerianne and Nikolaus retrieved one. Melchior turned a couple of seeds into five element faestones.

Upon his return home, Adaire's parents were stunned by the value of his spoils. They charged him to write a thank you note before gleefully experimenting with the seed he gave them.

Melchior, meanwhile, had a late training session. He did more rolling and shooting then returned to his room to bathe and have dinner. Trying to work on the new manual left him feeling vexed, so he created some designs for the shumil diptych. At three large gold it needed to be excellent but for a mednoble, it needed to be understated. He settled on including a lot of fine details. There would be two large people, the shirjack knight and a shumil attendant. Surrounding them, he planned a large group of shumils in clothes and tiny hats. It was so much fun to doodle the shumils in little hats that he had to be sent to bed lest he stay up all night.

With this he had plans for two of the five diptychs he had to complete before winter. As Ferdinand's wasn't any kind of secret, he felt confident that things would progress smoothly and no one else would discover anything. It was therefore mildly harrowing to receive a letter of introduction from a Klassenberg merchant signed by Marthe.

Kazmiar almost threw it away when it landed on his desk but Isolde happened to be around and pointed out that it was written on an experimental paper one could only get from Hasse Monastery. Neither of them knew what such a merchant could need with their lord so they asked the knights who’d traveled with him. They were uncharacteristically cagey making it clear that they knew something but weren't allowed to talk about it. Naturally, this only made the scholars more voracious for answers.

Isolde presented the letter just after their debrief for a particularly harrowing tea party with Lady Florencia, a mednoble boy, and his mother. Melchior had been chastised for being overly familiar and deferential. Isolde intentionally focused on nit-picking and micro-analyzing the other party's words and behavior just to exhaust him. Then she made her move.

“My lord, there is one final thing we must discuss,” she began as she pulled the folded letter from her leather case. “This is a letter of introduction.”

He picked his head up from his table and looked it over. A smile bloomed on his face and his entire mood lifted. This meant it was good news that he had reason to anticipate. “I shall meet them at the temple,” he declared. So it was sensitive or else something he wanted to hide from his parents. She talked him out of agreeing to a meeting on too short of notice which meant it wasn't a pressing concern. After enough leading questions to make him wary, she had to give up on getting a straight answer. It had to be part of a gift of some kind, she thought. This meant there were more gifts in the works than she knew about.

It was a wonder she hadn't considered it sooner. The gifts he planned for his knights didn't make much sense. She hadn't questioned it since he was overly generous by nature and it would spark a new trend. Now, things were more interesting. If it wasn't just the knights, then there was the potential for him to start several trends at once, over saturating the zeitgeist. She wondered whether she should stop him. In any case, she had permission to investigate the merchant, Plantin lehenges to impress into service, and a commoner dress for reconnaissance missions.

A New Game

Melchior didn't even question why Isolde asked for a rare day off, while he was at the castle no less. Usually she came every day, so, if anything, it felt like a much needed break. He did ask whether she was ok with missing his trip to the library with Adaire but she assured him that she was happy with reports from Deliroze and Flautzeal about him sitting in one spot reading. “There is no magical archive full of princes, after all.”

What the library lacked in royalty it made up for in throngs of people. At least, it usually hosted as many people as would fit. A ticket system had been employed. Only so many wooden tags of a particular color were issued from a table outside. Those colors corresponded to specific days of the week. Red, Earthday tickets were particularly coveted by adults while children were happy with any color so long as their friends had the same one. For Melchior's visit, everyone who wasn't an archnoble and a member of the Florencia or Neo Ehrenfest faction was turned away.

So, the library was nearly empty as such people didn't have the leeway to abandon their work on a random Windday. “It is awfully quiet,” Adaire observed. The two scholars serving as librarians were both at the front desk, a first in his experience.

“Welcome back, Lord Melchior,” Muriella greeted. “Is there anything we can help you find today?”

Melchior looked around and listened to the echoey halls. All the promised liveliness was missing. He made a small donation to the orb while he replied, “Greetings, Lady Muriella and Lady Elenore. I’m not certain at the moment. Is there anything you recommend?”

“Thank you for your generous donation. We have many interesting offerings. What you are interested in, Lord Melchior. Have you read the most recent edition of Knight Stories?” Muriella asked.

“Yes. I am allowed to read the books sent to the castle via the legal deposit system,” he replied. He tried to read all of them but some were unbelievably dull and verbose.

“Perhaps something pertaining to mathematics, Lord Melchior,” Haldis offered. It would be nice for Melchior to make real progress towards improving his sums so he could stop complaining about it.

Melchior nodded. “Yes, are there any books about improving one's math skills?”

Muriella looked pensive for a moment. “Your erudition is inspiring, Lord Melchior. I must admit that I’ve yet to peruse our mathematics section. Let us ask the shumils.”

Melchior was delighted to ask the shumils. Anything that could free him from the tedious questions and amused looks. The Ehrenfest Public Library shumils were not as advanced as Schwartz and Weiss but they were still adorable. They couldn't speak and had narrower parameters. Only the bare minimum were active for his visit so the Catalog Shumil had to be summoned from the ornate shumil hutch that served as both storage and a charging station.

When asked about books pertaining to mathematics it simply nodded, causing its long ears to wobble adorably, and trotted off to find them. “Let us follow, Lord Melchior,” Muriella said.

They sauntered through the empty library to a shelf in the general section. Most of these books were of the traditional variety, with gilded covers and high handed language. The library hadn't been open for very long and was meticulously cleaned yet these few math books had managed to accumulate dust all the same. Muriella produced a handkerchief and wiped them down before stepping back so Melchior could peruse. He gravitated towards the only Ehrenfest book in the section. Before he could take it, Haldis stepped forward for him and began the poison testing process

Adaire sighed. If everything Melchior touched needed to be checked in the same way, they would never get around to playing with a reasonable quantity of blocks. Still, they sat on one of the plush benches and looked at the book together. Melchior personally owned a couple of books handwritten by Ferdinand but Rozemyne generally didn't write things that weren't then printed before dissemination. Yet this book had the same neat hand she used for letters. Even on close inspection, this text had none of the signs of having been produced by a mimeograph. This book was one of a kind.

The reason became clear quickly. It was less about learning math as it was about teaching basic math to small children, a process which was already well understood. What was no el was that it recommended using a collection of similar objects called “counters” to illustrate numbers and show that addition was just putting two groups together. It was short with lots of pictures drawn by someone other than Rozemyne, so they finished it quickly.

“I suppose it will be useful for teaching Lord Haldenwin,” Adaire observed.

Melchior tipped his head. “Who is Lord Haldenwin?” he couldn't be Adaire's sibling since he referred to him with a title.

Adaire paled, adding extra intrigue to the question. “He is my employer's son. He is two.”

“You’ve never told me who employs you. I must know them,” Melchior replied. There were only so many archnobles living in Ehrenfest city. Even fewer had or were likely to have pre baptism children.

Adaire looked around for a way out. His eyes met Haldis's which looked calm but he knew were appraising him. “I… I have spoken too much. I cannot yet do credit to my teachers and ask that you do not inquire further, please.”

Melchior narrowed his eyes. What reason could there be to hide this information? Unless it was someone very famous whose reputation as a raiser of attendants would be damaged, it would have to be someone close to Melchior. Would Lord Bonifiatus take on a mednoble apprentice? But Adaire had asked that he not inquire so he smiled and nodded. “I know you will produce great results one day. You can tell me then,” he replied. In any case, he had scholars for things such as this.

One of those scholars was, at that moment, being dragged with bands of light to Kazmiar's office before being tossed quite rudely, she would add, into an ornate chair. “Would you like some tea?” Kazmiar began. Isolde looked down at her bindings. They disappeared as a cup was placed before her. “I was just taking a break to enjoy some refreshments when a breathless gray shrine maiden rushed into my office to inform me of a strange woman parading around the temple grounds.”

“How did you beat me to the gate?” Isolde huffed. She hadn't been walking slowly and was nearly there when she saw the shrine maiden who must have told on her.

“Isolde, I live here,” he sighed. “Now must I ask or will you tell me?”

She straightened her back and sipped her tea. “It is official business. I am investigating the Klassenberg merchant.”

“Personally? How thorough. So this is not merely an excuse to sneak into the Lower City?”

“Of course not. Lord Melchior charged me to gather information on this merchant and, as you say, I intend to be thorough.”

“Yes. So you say. Where were you headed first? Do you have contacts in the lower city? You may speak with the Plantin Company here at the temple,” Kazmiar questioned. They waited in guilty silence for a moment. Isolde was planning to talk to the Plant Paper Guild and Merchant Guild since they both handled tons of interdutchy trade. Besides that, she didn't have any leads or contacts. “You can keep your secrets but then you will have to use the North Gate.”

She huffed. “The knights would recognize me.”

“Indeed. You cut a memorable figure even in commoner dress. Did you even consider what might happen to such a girl wandering alone through the Lower City?”

“People made a few less than savory comments in our last visit,” she replied.

“‘Our’ last visit?” He pinched his nose. This was the last thing he expected to be dealing with today. “Let’s put the particulars aside for now. You were not by yourself last time so the chances of you being kidnapped were much lower.”

“Who would dare?!”

“Enterprising and nefarious persons with common rope,” Kazmiar said. “It isn't all too uncommon for a pretty girl to go missing or be ‘taken by the nobility’, as they say. I cannot imagine you want to explain to some slimy laynoble that you are a scion of a high house and scholar to the Archduke's son?”

“They would deserve such a scare for taking young girls,” Isolde muttered.

“As would you for running blindly into danger,” he snapped. “I can send my attendants to make inquiries and we can ask the workshop. You need only wait here for information to come to you,” Kazmiar pressed.

“Information collected by oneself is always more reliable,” she countered.

“If you get any information at all!” He gestured for more tea and thanked the many gods for never giving him a daughter. He would be blessed and vexed in equal measure for her to turn out like this pastel cyclone. He ordered his attendant to get dressed and prepare to visit the lower city. “Now, what are you hoping to learn and who do you want him to ask?”

Isolde shifted in her seat. “He goes often to the Lower City? He has made solid connections with merchants? He is adept at gathering information? I will have to reevaluate the quality of your help,” she asked with faux innocence. Kazmiar bristled. None of his attendants had those traits. Unlike Melchior, he had little business with merchants that couldn't be handled in the usual fashion. “So he will be useless?”

“Only as useless as yourself,” Kazmiar replied gruffly. They traded glares for a few moments.

Isolde decided to change tack. Kazmiar had been assigned to Melchior but he’d also accepted the unglamorous role of High Priest and worked to remain in his service when he had the opportunity to leave. They had to be at least a little similar. Like master, like servant, and all that. “I wish to visit the lower city to gather information about the Klassenberg merchant.” Kazmiar narrowed his eyes. He knew this already. “What must I do to convince you to support me?”

He paused. A list formed in his mind immediately that he was forced to ignore. He couldn't allow this. A fourteen year old archnoble girl could not wander the streets in a commoner dress even if her disguise were twice as convincing. But the problem whirled through his head. If she had a guide and could adopt a less noble mien?

“I will bring you back a treat,” she offered.

“I am not a child,” he replied. He wouldn't be tempted.

“As it is my lord's business, I’m sure he would allow me to utilize his attendants. I can take a guide.”

“You want to take Kirk along on this ill convince romp?”

She frowned. Kirk would only make fun of her in ways she could not defend against. “Sheila would be a better companion,” she said.

Kazmiar wanted to ask why she had such a reaction to Kirk but there were more pressing concerns. “Perhaps she would, but she is off today.”

“Ah, then could I ask as a personal favor?”

“A request from you is an order,” Kazmiar replied.

“I will send someone to ask in my stead,” she offered. “If she is amenable, then I will have a guide in the ways of the Lower City and access to any connections she's made.”

He frowned and stroked his chin. It could work and having a proper scholar there to ask questions and take notes might be better than using an agent. It might even be worth the risks since a foreign merchant was due to have a meeting with the High Bishop. All caution should be taken and finding information through the usual networks would yield very little.

“If she is amenable,” he grumbled. Isolde smiled brightly and hurried out of the room before he could change his mind.

She found exactly what she was looking for in the atrium. Kolteruze was working in the castle but the plants still needed tending and Kirk and Lyle would use any excuse to spend time there. They were lackadaisically shuffling between the beds making notes and gossiping about a recent visitor to the temple who was irate about being turned away when they asked to visit the sanctuary.

“Kirk.” They jumped and turned, looking guilty. “I need you to ask Sheila if she would accompany someone to the Lower City. The High Priest gives his permission but this is not a directive.”

He looked around with an exaggerated gesture as he knelt. “If you would excuse me, Mistress Isolde, this is a most surprising request. You are alone at the moment?”

She huffed and wished to wipe the subtle smirk from his words. “Are you not using the improper address?”

“Answering you, owing to your dress, I assumed you wished to obfuscate your status. I apologize for any offense, Lady Isolde.”

“I gave you an order,” she huffed.

“Indeed you did,” he replied without looking up. He didn't need to say that she was not his lady and that he didn't need to take orders from her when his lord wasn't around to affirm them. Indeed he was supposed to report something like this to Kazmiar immediately.

“Fine, you may go make your report. Lyle, you go ask Sheila if she will accompany me,” she ordered. Lyle bowed a touch lower then hurried away to complete his task.

Kirk gazed after him. “You are going to visit the Lower City, Lady Isolde?”

She froze. It wasn't her intention to reveal that information. “That is not your concern.”

“It is as you say. Only, you are my master’s precious scholar. How could I not worry for your safety?”

She took a step closer. She couldn't hurt Kirk, per say, Melchior didn't even like it when people tried to intimidate him, but she hadn't exhausted all the normal ways of getting information yet. If only he weren't so annoying. “Do you know why this merchant was given a letter of introduction by a gray shrine maiden?”

He didn't blush or pale but something about his preternatural calm told her that he did know. “How could I know such a thing?” he replied. It was said so sweetly, she was tempted to forget he wasn't showing proper deference by answering her question with a question.

“You are his closest confidant,” she snapped.

Now he blushed. By all rights, she, the head scholar, or Haldis, the head attendant, should have been his closest confidant. That it was this gray priest would continue to annoy her until she could usurp his position.

“You flatter me as always, Lady Isolde,” he said as he rose to switch knees before kneeling back down. “Be that as it may, I cannot answer your questions.”

“Whatever do you mean? We are on the same side, Kirk,” she said sweetly and stepped forward again.

Before she could get in range to touch him he looked up. “We are allies. That does not mean we are always on the same side of the peony tree,” he replied.

The door opened and Sheila walked in with Lyle to find the scholar staring daggers and the attendant looking up with a radiant smile. Sheila held her basket on one arm and wore a casual dress. It was a little nicer than Isolde's as she’d added a bit of trim to the skirt and sleeves. Kirk stood up and hurried away to give his report before Lyle could say he'd already spoken with Kazmiar’s attendant.

“You wish to visit the Lower City, Lady Isolde?” Sheila asked as the silence dragged on and the girl continued to fume.

Isolde took a moment to collect herself and fix her smile. “Yes. If you are willing to accompany me. Please do not feel pressured to come,” she said.

Sheila sighed. She'd been having a pleasant time playing Karuta before being summoned with promises of adventure. Seeing the girl now, she had to wonder whether she'd bitten off too much. “I would be delighted, my lady.”

“You may address me without title for this excursion. I should like to seem like a normal commoner,” Isolde replied.

Chapter Text

Sheila gestured for her to follow while hefting her basket to the other arm. Isolde was momentarily annoyed, then remembered that she’d just asked to be treated as an equal. “You will never be seen as a normal commoner. For one, no such thing exists. We will have to settle for a servant posing as a merchant’s daughter,” Sheila began. She instructed Isolde to put her ring back on, on her right hand. Isolde could hide neither her disgust nor her confusion. “It is obvious that you are well treated by someone. A ring shows that you have a master already. Now, some might attempt to ransom you but that would be very foolish. As they would have to remove your hand to remove the ring and contain the danger it poses, lowering your value, it just isn't worth stealing a girl in a magic ring.”

Isolde shivered at the thought. She rubbed her beloved wrist and worked to keep in step. They soon reached the back gate. Kazmiar was waiting there again with a few parting warnings but he didn't stop her this time. “Do not look at him directly,” Sheila corrected. “No servant would look thus at a noble.” She also corrected Isolde's posture and insisted they link arms. Isolde also wasn't allowed to walk anywhere except the busiest streets no matter how much she begged. “I must see you safely back to the temple,” Sheila huffed.

As they hurried along, Isolde noticed other pairs or groups of women walking and chatting together their arms also looped. They occasionally acknowledge Sheila and Isolde and frequently took a moment to look at their clothes. She found herself feeling more and more self conscious.

“Relax, it is because you are too pretty for the dress. It is no matter as you do not have another,” Sheila whispered.

Isolde nodded and tried to look more confident but not so confident that she looked like a noble. It was difficult to remember all the parts of her act and trying to emulate those around her presented a new challenge. Nobles strove for homogeneity. They wished to look much like everyone else with only small differences to set them apart and provide interest. The various commoners had as many ways of being as there were people in the street. There really wasn't a “normal kind of commoner”.

When she went with the knights, they did nothing so meticulous. Then again, anyone attempting to kidnap an apprentice knight would learn very quickly how little the apprentice part could mean. Zipporah and Sigsnyr we also too absorbed in their own company to care how they presented to other people. Isolde just went along with them.

Rather than the Plantin Company, they began at Master Fred's. It was a quaint little shop. The storefront was clean and boasted a hanging sign with a needle, thread, and measuring tape. The door swung open on oiled hinges and the two boys waiting at the counter wore matching outfits. Rather than the smell of oiled leathers like the last commoner shop she’d entered, the shop was scented with some flora something and clean linens.

It took the boys a moment to collect themselves after witnessing two of the most beautiful women they’d ever seen enter their shop.

“We…welcome, madams…I mean… misses. How can we help you?” asked the slightly older boy as he dropped the embroidery in his lap and shot up from his stool.

“We have come to speak with Master Fred,” Sheila replied. Isolde marveled at her shortness and flat tone. Surely the boys would be deeply offended even as they scurried away to summon their master.

A grunt announced Fred before he rounded the corner into the front room. “Calm down lads. It's only a woman,” he chided but stopped dead upon seeing Sheila. His surprise didn't stop him from inspecting their clothes but it did withhold his ability to give criticism. “Mistress Sheila?” he squeaked.

“It is I. I do not think we’ve had the pleasure to meet before today, but Kirk speaks highly of your business,” Sheila replied. “My companion is called Isolde.”

“Iso… Lady Isolde!” Fred gasped and sank to his knees. His apprentices looked at each other before following suit.

“No, no, stop. You will give me away,” Isolde snapped. “I am doing a bit of work with Verbergan’s blessing².” Fred looked confused. “Stand up,” Isolde ordered.

Fred stood but left all the blood in his face behind. “Isolde does not wish to be seen as nobility today. We hope to make inquiries around the Lower City,” Sheila explained.

“I see. How may we be of service? Do you need better clothes?” he asked. They would be hard pressed to procure something worthy of Lord Melchior's archscholar but anything would be better than the ancient travesty she was wearing.

Isolde looked down at her plain dress while Sheila shook her head. “No, we need to speak with the Merchant’s Guild,” Sheila replied. She explained that they were looking for information on a foreign merchant.

“We will need to speak with the second floor,” Fred sighed. “I don't do much business there and they keep a record of everyone that visits and what was said. The whole city will know about your business by tomorrow.”

“What do I care about the gossip of commoners!” Isolde scoffed.

“You give yourself away,” Sheila said softly.

Isolde fiddled with her hair. “It will not matter. A noble collecting information on an upcoming business dealing cannot be interesting news,” she said.

“It will be forgotten in a week among the upper set but mother and her friends will hound me all summer,” Fred lamented. He handed his apron to one of the apprentices and sent the other for another boy named Pat.

“How do you know my name?” Isolde asked while they waited.

“Kirk has mentioned you,” Fred replied.

“Mentioned? What did he say?” she pressed while continuing to twirl her shiny blue hair. Sheila rolled her eyes.

Fred had long thought nobles were a different species. It was somewhat relieving to know that all young girls grew nervous when faced with the opinion of boys they liked. “He continues to be amazed by your intelligence and beguiled by your beauty,” he replied.

“Nothing of note then,” Isolde scoffed, her bland smile taking on a small glimmer. Fred accepted his jacket from Pat while shaking his head.

They walked quickly across the city until it became clear that Isolde was built of gentler stuff. Fred’s shop was not far from the Merchants Guild but it was a longer walk than that between the Northern Building and the castle entrance. They slowed to a sedated pace a few blocks from the main plaza. Isolde made no effort to begin a conversation and didn't acknowledge Pat’s stare while she watched all the buildings and people slowly grow more colorful and clean.

A little kid bumped into her. She glared at him and he went totally pale before scuttling off. “Do you still have your purse?” Sheila asked.

Isolde was confused but still checked her dress pocket for her couple of loose coins. They were intact. “Why do you ask?”

“There are pickpockets occasionally,” Sheila replied calmly. Isolde was distracted by amazement and questions of how to quash this kind of crime until they entered the town square. Isolde had been fascinated the first time she came and was just as interested now. She was also in just as much of a hurry and unable to sit and watch people going about their lives.

Of most interest were the whispering grannies watching the area like predators. Their sharp eyes caught hold of Fred the Tailor walking around with a beautiful woman. Isolde could recognize the smell of speculation and the birth of good gossip anywhere. Normally she could saunter over and join or find out what was being said later on. Now she just had to shuffled closer to Sheila and try to look less conspicuous. If only she could enhance her hearing like the knights.

The moment they entered the Merchants Guild, she wished she were already deaf. The dim was as oppressive as the smell of unwashed bodies with hints of animal sweat. Pat grabbed her arm while Fred parted the sea for them. He’d gone completely red by the time they reached the other side but Sheila and Isolde hadn't gotten separated so Isolde forgave him for touching her. She checked on her coins again all the same.

“Registration Card,” said the guard.

Fred and Pat both produced silver cards but only Fred's was taken. “These ladies will accompany us,” Fred explained. The guard only huffed in reply as he held the silver card towards a golden fence wrought with a magic circle. This was obviously an old contraption. The circle was outdated and would easily be breached by any scholar worth their uniform. Pat’s eyes still danced when it disappeared.

“That never gets old,” he said and looked at Isolde to see her reaction.

“It is only a magic door too cheaply made to articulate,” she replied. Were she to replace it, she wouldn't get a passing grade unless it at least swung open by itself. The guard looked reprovingly at her while handing Fred his card back.

Fred offered Sheila his arm before walking through. “Oh yeah. You have to hold on to someone with a card,” Pat explained while turning a bright shade of pink and offering his hand.

“Very well,” Isolde huffed. She ignored his hand, opting to grab him by the elbow. He seemed to understand after seeing how Fred and Sheila walked because he straightened up and bent his arm in imitation before walking through the space where the gate had been. They passed through without incident before encountering the first bit of carpet Isolde had seen outside of the temple.

It felt nice through her thin shoes to finally encounter something other than ivory pavement and splintery floors. Isolde felt a little more relaxed in the space which might belong to a laynoble. Pat grew more tense. “There are meeting rooms over there. The big business owners meet there to have their big discussions,” Pat whispered. “Master Fred always takes a leherl to those meetings so I’ve never been inside.”

“Is Master Fred a big business owner then?” Isolde asked. She looked towards the mysterious meeting rooms without much interest. The unfashionable decor and lifeless paintings were more interesting than meeting rooms.

“I don't think so,” Pat replied.

Isolde stopped to look him in the eyes. “He is your master and you don't even know that much?” Pat motioned for her to keep her voice down but she ignored him. “How do you expect to render service if you don't even know where your business stands among its peers?”

“I just carry stuff around,” Pat whispered.

“You wouldn't even be qualified to be a servant,” Isolde huffed. Pat hung his head as they hurried to catch up to Fred. As much as Fred wanted to chide Isolde for raising her voice, he really couldn't say anything. The few other people waiting in the reception area didn't acknowledge them so he figured they could let it go.

He sent Pat to wait in line while everyone else moved to the seating area. Isolde took a seat near the lone shelf without pausing or asking anyone whether she was allowed. She perched with a straight spine and hands folded while Fred anxiously inspected the bench and Sheila stood calmly behind it.

A pair of women waited across the way. “How bold,” one whispered.

“Who's daughter do you think she is? She looks like Leo’s girl but isn't she too old?”

“Leo wouldn't let his daughter dress like that. And look who's with her.”

“No one I know.”

“Exactly, I know all Leo’s men.”

Isolde shot them a smile that could kill a person and they went quiet. Sheila retrieved a roll of parchment to distract her before she could order someone's death. Isolde looked at her questioningly but accepted. She had to withhold a laugh after unrolling it. “Is this a list of nobles?”

Fred finally took a seat next to her to look. “Yes. It's compiled from information provided by the merchant's with noble connections.”

“They just run around blabbering?” Isolde asked. “Do their patrons know?”

“It's mostly those with one time dealings or who are trying to raise their reputation in the guild. Otherwise I think it would be more comprehensive,” Fred explained. He pointed to a newer section. “The associates of the Little Bishop would be better known had I been consulted.”

Isolde looked over the hilariously incorrect and incomplete web of nobles surrounding Lord Melchior. She couldn't hold back a giggle. “He hasn't served Lord Melchior for three years and she doesn't even exist.” She pointed to another section. “This whole family has been invented from nothing and these people broke their engagement so how could they have children?”

“You seem to know much about the associations of nobles,” interrupted a high pitched voice.

Isolde looked up. Pat had returned at some point with a little girl in brown pigtails with two matching floral hair pins and a small version of the Merchant Guild uniform. She had all the haughtiness of a mednoble scion with none of the comportment.

Isolde ignored her to continue perusing the scroll with Fred. “Look at this, they don't know all the Aub’s children's names!” In particular, they didn't know Charlotte’s name. Then again, like Florencia, Charlotte preferred to hire exclusive personnel rather than employ businesses.

The little girl’s face twisted in annoyance but she moved forward to discharge her duty. “We are ready to receive you at the desk,” she said before storming away.

Isolde made no immediate move to acknowledge these words. “As common merchants, we cannot leave them waiting,” Sheila called.

“Ah, yes,” Isolde said as she returned the parchment to Sheila and stood gracefully. She and Fred followed Pat to the counter where the little girl waited with a scowl. Isolde made no introduction before beginning. “We need information on a Klassenberg Merchant by the name of Franz Ferrier.”

“We do not give out such information to just anyone,” the girl replied.

Isolde's smile didn't falter while Fred produced his guild card. “I am a registered foreman,” he explained. “Please give us all the publicly available information you have.”

The girl took the card and pressed it to a magic tool. After examining the collection of faestones that glowed she tossed it back to Fred before storming off yet again. “Is this what one can expect from the children of merchants?” Isolde asked.

“As the child of a merchant, are you not used to this?” Sheila asked at a much lower volume. “Little Rose does not know your father and thus has no reason to cower before you,” she added.

Isolde realized that she'd forgotten her disguise and treated the person with the higher status without proper deference. Of course Rose would be annoyed. Isolde took a deep breath. She knew how to sweet talk anyone if it was for work. This was for work so she could lower herself even for a commoner.

“So that is Rose,” she said exactly as loud as before. “How ignorant of me. She must think me so base. Oh, Master Fred, do you think I’ve ruined things?” she asked with faux concern.

Fred was deeply confused and unsettled by the sudden change and the contrite way she grasped his wrist and fluttered her pale eyes. “She’s the niece of the new guild master. Was baptized just last year.”

“I really should have known, shouldn't I,” Isolde said sweetly.

“It was my mistake for not warning you,” Pat offered, catching the glint of mischief known to all children. Isolde grinned at him and he blushed.

Rose returned with a smug look and a small box. “Here are the papers you asked for. They cannot be removed from this office,” she explained.

“Why thank you,” Isolde said sweetly. “We will only be a moment.” Rose’s harsh expression softened but she still gave a curt nod.

They moved to a bench next to a table and spread out the papers. It included a short record of Franz's visits to the Merchant’s Guild each year and a wooden board with the name of his company, patron, and city of origin. Isolde pulled out a folded sheet of paper and her pencil then paused. There were only a few people moving around the office but Fred's party cut such an interesting picture while being of obviously lower status that they didn't even hide their stares. Fresh whispers concerning the expensive objects began.

“Did she spend everything on paper rather than dresses?”

“Must be provided by her employer.”

“Who would provide paper for that kind of work?”

“Oh you. Always thinking such depraved things. She’s so young.”

“Never stopped a man before.”

The whispering was interrupted by one of the women from earlier being summoned to see the Guild Master. Isolde watched her disappear through a door. Just as it closed, she caught a glimpse of a familiar face. They locked eyes and Isolde hoped he didn't remember her from standing among the many scholars attending the annual meeting where the Merchants Guild handed over their taxes and donations to the temple.

It was unlikely, but she didn't want to take any chances so she began collecting the papers and putting them back in their box. Pat took it back to the counter while they prepared to leave. He returned looking sheepish. “They asked to speak with you again.”

Isolde glanced at Fred but he didn't seem to understand anything in her silent communication. He just followed Pat to the counter like she hadn't asked him to give an excuse for why they had to hurry away. Their business was concluded. Remaining would only give the other side a chance to strike. Isolde did the only thing that could salvage the situation. She hung back with Sheila and waited near the stairs for Fred to return.

Pat appeared instead. “They have offered to tell us more in exchange for the information you have about the nobility,” he whispered.

“They couldn't possibly have enough to trade,” she whispered back.

Pat looked at her with wide eyes. How much did she know, he wondered.

Fred was not in a position to challenge the Merchants Guild so Isolde was steered back to the counter. Rose stood beside an adult woman with a practiced smile. “Isolde, was it? Rose tells me you know much about the nobility and were looking for information about a foreign merchant,” she said calmly, merely implying that a deal could be struck.

This placed Isolde in her element. “But I know so little, how could that be worth exclusive tidbits?” Isolde asked.

Rose looked openly confused but kept her mouth shut. “Perhaps you don't know how difficult it is to hear even a few words about our benefactors,” the woman mused. “Compared to knowledge about the Malachite Company of Klassenberg, it is rare indeed.”

Isolde laid her mental picture of the Merchants Guild’s flaw list of nobles over her own. The difference was stark but that presented an opportunity. If they wanted any detail, there were many innocuous details she could pass on. Then again, she didn't want to give away her origins or make herself seem too interesting.

“I do not think you lord would mind over much the creation of better relations with the Merchants Guild,” Sheila whispered just a bit too loud. Isolde suddenly remembered her ring. How quickly she got used to it being on her right hand instead of the left. She was pretending to be a servant pretending to be a merchant's daughter which meant she was obviously sent on some secret endeavors by a weak noble.

Isolde's heart filled with the joy only subterfuge could provide. “That's true but…” she looked worried. “I didn't ask for permission. I’m not here to think,” she whispered back. She openly fretted for a moment before turning back to the counter. “I can only tell you what I know, which isn't much. What can you say about Master Franz?”

The woman described what he looked like and how much trade he conducted. He was a wealthy trader, which was obvious from the name of his patron and that he was from Klassenberg formally the First. It would be choice information to a servant of a laynoble house but to an archscholar deeply engaged in inter-duchy politics it was all things she could have guessed for herself. Still, it was good to have confirmation.

As payment, Isolde shared the names of some laynobles her “lord” didn't like very much and the names of the Aub’s children minus the youngest who currently didn't exist within public knowledge. “He wouldn't like me blabbering about him,” she apologized to avoid specifying who she served.

“This has been enlightening, Isolde. I hope our business was just as fruitful for you.”

“My lord will be so pleased,” she assured them. “Speaking of, I must hurry back. He awaits my report.”

Isolde led everyone back down the stairs and out into the plaza. She scoffed at the gate when it permitted her to leave without credentials and only relaxed once they had gathered at the fountain. Pat watched her seeth while Fred and Sheila said farewell.

“Please stop involving me in these things,” Fred begged.

Sheila patted his arm reassuringly. “Oh but you always meet expectations,” she cooed.

Fred groaned and held his head. “At least buy better clothes. I can't be seen with people so poorly attired.”

Sheila laughed musically, drawing many eyes. “We’ll go to you first.”

“Gah! Do not come to me!” he huffed before stomping away.

Sheila slipped an arm into Isolde's and took her away before any of the boys in the plaza could muster up their courage. “Let us go to the Plant Paper Guild,” she said quietly.

“Yes, let's. I know how to deal with these commoner vixens now,” Isolde muttered.

Dealing with the Plant Paper Guild turned out to be easier because Milda happened to be there and recognized Isolde. She paled much like Fred had but hurried them into a meeting room before kneeling. “How may I be of service?”

“I need information on Franz Farrier,” Isolde replied curtly. It was nice to be back atop the hierarchy even if she was annoyed to have been recognized.

“Yes of course,” Milda said before asking permission to retrieve some papers.

Sheila helped Isolde into a chair while they waited. “You are holding up admirably, my lady.”

Isolde glanced at her. “Of course. Such battles are a trifle compared to the Royal Academy.” She still smiled wider and resettled her hair with a few passes of her hands. “We should just have sent an information request from the castle.”

“You would get different information,” Sheila noted. “And you wouldn't have got to see the inside of the guilds.” Any child would be excited to see a new place. As much as she liked to pretend she was just a short adult, Isolde was still quite young.

“It has not been much to see,” Isolde scoffed. Maybe it was amusing. Maybe she would tell Veremund and Helenwig about it. But it wasn't impressive.

Milda soon returned with information about Franz's past dealings with the Plantin company and a report from Otto about his interactions with the city watch. She told them what she knew of his character and offered to act as a liaison between them.

“That won't be necessary,” Isolde said smoothly, “I am sure a merchant of Klassenberg knows how to conduct themselves.”

“Yes of course, Lady isolde.” Milda replied.

“I will convey this information to my lord. You may go,” Isolde said with a satisfied smile. Milda bowed and left with her papers.

Isolde was in much better spirits after this. Receiving proper deference had a way of elevating the mood. She didn't frown when Sheila took her arm once again and allowed herself to be led around the city. There was so much to see and hear that she was wholly distracted until the unmistakable smell of dead things filled her nose.

“Has a massacre happened in the midst of town?” she cried and, disguises and lectures be damned, prepared to raise a Rott. This was a smell that belonged in forests.

Sheila grabbed her wrist before a schtappe could appear in her hand. “That is just the meat market,” she assured her. “It is only animals.”

Isolde still looked horrified. “So many?”

“They are for sale?”

“But they are already dead?” Isolde asks. Her house also bought animals but they were slaughtered by their chef after delivery.

“Not everyone can afford the entire animal,” Sheila explained. She then tugged Isolde forward into the market ignoring the girl’s silent protests. No matter how uncomfortable it was, no matter how sick it made her feel, Isolde was not going to lower herself to whining or throwing up. It was still very difficult to walk with her head held high amidst the awful smell and cacophony of so many people screeching about the price of things. Visiting the Lower City was supposed to be exciting and fun. For the first time that day, Isolde began to wish that she'd sent an agent rather than coming herself.

*

Upon returning to the temple, Melchior was very surprised when Kirk requested to speak in his hidden room. He anticipated the worst until he saw Isolde's face twist into annoyance. Then he felt sure something else had occurred between them and that it was minor. Therefore, he was unprepared for the revelations. “She went into the lower city to gather information about the merchant!”

Kirk nodded. After recounting as much of the story as he knew, pausing to laugh with Melchior about her getting caught before she left instead of when she returned, they set their minds to brainstorming.

“She cannot find out. Did she find out what he is bringing? Is it what I thought it would be?” Melchior muttered.

“It is what you’ve been waiting for from Marthe. I located the inn he’s staying at and was able to speak with him,” Kirk declared.

Melchior eyes grew wide. “Kirk you are amazing! How did you do it?”

“I asked at a couple of inns. They pointed me towards where the Klassenberg merchants like to stay then where the latecomers tend to end up. Having an invitation board works wonders.”

“Didn't we already send him an invitation?”

Kirk nodded. “This one was fake. Well, it had all the same details so it was more redundant than fake.” They'd discussed what he had to deliver and how he came to be the courier in the first place. Apparently, on his first year traveling to Ehrenfest, he got caught in a storm just outside the city and went to the first building he could find while wandering on foot. “He was almost looted by bandits.”

“We have bandits!?”

“Sometimes. If the harvest is bad, the farmers turn to theft to make ends meet. He also said it's been better in recent years.” The clergy at Hasse agreed to let him and his men stay and park his carriages. They refilled his water and found him a guide to the city. The only thing they wouldn't do was allow him to see the workshop. “Apparently, they watch him every minute that he's there. He finds it disconcerting but they're otherwise so nice and generous that he endures it.”

After talking for a bit longer about the man’s offer to purchase some of the incredible wool, they went back into the main chamber to talk to Isolde. Melchior realized belatedly that they hadn't created a plan for how to keep the secret from her so he summoned Sheila to buy time.

Isolde wondered how she could forget that these were Melchior's loyal attendants. Sheila went into exhaustive detail about their outing. Master Fred helped them get to the more exclusive part of the Merchants Guide to ask questions. Foreign merchants had to register there to do business in the city so they were able to collect the man’s full name, the name of his company, and that of his noble patron. “I know the name of that house from somewhere,” Melchior mused.

“It is a branch of their Archductal family,” Isolde noted. She cringed as Sheila explained that from there they asked around the Plant Paper Guild and were recognized by Mistress Milda. Most foreign merchants were in Ehrenfest to buy paper and books so they knew all the visitors and repeat visitors especially. He was known for seeking fair deals over extreme profits and having an exacting eye. It wasn't uncommon for him to check every sheet in a large stack of paper but he always paid in full immediately and was polite. He also hadn't been in any brawls according to the guard captain.

“That's a lot of good information,” Melchior praised.”

Isolde sighed. It had been such hard work for so little and she was, somehow, no closer to discovering why this merchant wanted to meet with her lord. Sheila also dragged her all around the market to look at produce and grow dizzy from the stench of the butcher shops. She glanced at Deliroze who was working on a page of sums using only a slate for some reason, and handed Melchior a sound blocker. “Do you know why he is here?”

Melchior was so absorbed in the story that he forgot to think up an excuse. He remembered Adaire's tactics and decided that simple would be best. “I do know but I would ask that you make no further inquiries.”

“What!” she cried. “I… I mean. I apologize, my lord. You intend to keep this a secret from me as well?” she squeaked.

“Too many people know already. Unlike the pouches, you cannot assist so it is best if you do not know,” he said gently.

She shook with both fury and frustration. Sure she’d taught him this tactic but other people knew but she could not. Kirk knew but she could not! “Is it a gift for me?”

“I ask that you make no further inquiries,” he repeated.

She collapsed forward, resting her head on the table. There was nothing noble or lady-like in the gesture but she was too broken to care. Tears nearly spilled from her eyes. “My lord?” she wept.

Melchior struggled to maintain his composure. This was the right choice. No one could know. Every additional person, every move brought him closer to revealing the secret to Kolteruze. Isolde was excellent at drawing conclusions from disparate information. While Kolteruze wasn't a scholar and rarely attempted deductions, the glimpse Melchior got of his ability was frightening. “I cannot say. It shall be revealed in due time,” he insisted.

She sat up straight and held his gaze. Rather than be extinguished by her sorrow, her determination burned ever brighter. Just because he refused to talk, didn't mean she would never find out. If it was a gift, and the evidence strongly indicated that it was, she had until winter or late autumn to figure things out. “I understand, my lord. Naturally there will be things you cannot say. It is alright. Verbergan whispers in the quiet moments³.”

Melchior shivered. He sensed that this would be an even more challenging game than the one between himself and Charlotte. At least it might distract her from the true nature of her own present.

Isolde was again devastated not to be included on the day of the meeting. She shuffled down the hall toward Kazmiar’s office, as instructed, but paused at the t-junctions. One path led to the Nobles Gate, the other past the High Priest’s office, and the third went towards the chapel and the long way around to the atrium. She turned to take the third path, greeted the guard, then slipped inside. Just as before, who she wanted to find was exactly where she expected to find them. Lyle sat on the edge of a chair while Kolteruze relaxed and read a book. She hadn't expected him to be a fan of romance but he couldn't spend all his time studying and wouldn't read about faebeast hunting.

Lyle gracefully rose and prepared a place for her at the table. Kolteruze only looked up for a moment before returning to his book. “There is something we must discuss,” she began.

“If it is not an emergency and it is about work, we can talk about it when I am on duty,” he replied without looking up.

“I need your assistance,” she continued.

Kolteruze took several seconds to decide before placing the book down with a sigh. This was his own fault for meddling. “I believe I’ve done all an outsider can do,” he replied.

She waved her hands before her. “Oh no. This has nothing to do with that. There is a certain merchant visiting the temple today. I was wondering whether you know anything about that?”

“If I should know, I would already. Likely so would you. That you do not and are asking me means you are being kept from knowing and are running out of options. Considering our lord's tendency to be unnecessarily generous, it would be better to be surprised.”

“How much do you know?” she asked. He spoke as though he was well aware of the gifts in progress yet he was one of the parties Melchior was most adamant about not telling.

“I know only that he sent a message concerning wool acquisition,” he replied.

Isolde was dumbfounded. If he was telling the truth then he knew nothing yet had seen to the very heart of things. “What if the gift is for someone else? You aren't curious?”

“Not particularly,” he replied.

“And if it is for you?”

“He already promised not to give me anything,” Kolteruze sighed. Isolde blinked in surprise. What a strange promise to extract? Did Kolteruze not want gifts? “He was worried that I might feel excluded for not having a fur. I do not. Therefore no alternative is necessary,” he elaborated.

“Did he say those words exactly?” she asked. Melchior's promises were bound in golden flames but only according to their exact verbiage. Melchior might have promised not to give him a specific gift without precluding the option for other things.

“It was implied,” Kolteruze said. After a moment he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then it's worthless,” he grumbled. Isolde nodded. There was every possibility that something was still in the works. “But Zipporah said she’d talked him out of it.”

“In those exact words?” Now he looked towards the ceiling and groaned. It was strange to see him being so emotional but it certainly made him feel more like a real person. It also gave Isolde the chance to notice the length of his eyelashes as he stared up through them in exasperation.

“He must be stopped,” Kolteruze said after venting his frustration.

“You may simply allow yourself to be surprised,” she noted.

“Knowing him, it will be far too expensive a gift to give a retainer. What am I going to do if he hands me a priceless treasure?” Kolteruze groaned. Lyle took a moment to refill his tea. Kolteruze gave him a smile before returning to the conversation. Isolde couldn't withhold a smirk. He narrowed his eyes. “Do you find my anxiety amusing?”

“Far from it, Kolteruze. You are right to worry. I cannot say anything about it but know you are not the only one slated for rewards.”

“So you want to know what you are getting?” he sighed. She made things sound so dire but she was just being childish in the end, he thought. It would be best not to get involved.

“Why would he give me anything?” she asked with a tip of her head. It was so sincere that he couldn't fathom the question. She seemed sure that a large portion of Melchior's retainers would receive something yet wholly discounted the possibility that she was among them.

“Isolde, why would you be excluded?”

“I have done nothing deserving of rewards,” she replied.

“And I have?”

“Contrary to accepted understanding, I do not know everything.”

“I can assure you that I’ve done nothing but my job,” Kolteruze said. “If you wish to allow Dregarnuhr to weave ⁴, that is your choice. I will accept your assistance in this matter.”

“How fortunate that we are on the same side of the peony tree,” Isolde replied with a smile. Lyle did his best to look uninterested while they planned their approach.

Footnotes

2. Undercover ^

3. Something like “ your silence speaks volumes” or “you don't have to say anything. I’ll figure it out on my own”^

4. “Let nature take its course”

Chapter Text

The Wool and the Merchant

Master Trader Franz Ferrier, looked far more relaxed than the average merchant. He entered with his assistant and knelt before the High Bishop gracefully. “I pray that the Godddess would guide our meeting to fortuitous ends, your grace.”

The Ehrenfest nobles were momentarily confused. He seemed so confident but opened with the incorrect greeting. It was unlikely that he was attempting some kind of intimidation on the first meeting but they couldn't be sure. Melchior felt the best thing to do was what he normally did.

“I bless this day from the bottom of my heart. May the God of Fire Leidenschaft's guidance take the Malachite Company to even greater riches,” he intoned.

Franz stared at the blessing in surprise. “I… ah. Thank you, your grace. This is most generous.”

“Do nobles not bestow blessings on first meetings in Klassenberg?” Melchior asked as he took his seat and gestured for Franz to do the same. Franz’s assistant, Hauke, pulled out the chair with some trepidation while Franz rose slowly.

“Mana is too dear for such things, your grace.” His confidence began to wane as tea and cookies were presented. This was far kinder treatment than even his patron would give.

“In Klassenberg?” Melchior asked with a hand to his cheek. “Who knew things were so dire.”

“I would not say so, only that we are more precious about mana in general,” he replied.

Melchior nodded with a noble smile. The mana and manpower crisis plagued the whole country but Klassenberg was both a winning duchy and the main instigator of the purge. It was little consolation that they were not experiencing trouble but nice to hear all the same. “That is good news. Master Franz, I hear you have even more good news for me.”

Now Franz went pale. It was not so strange that the High Bishop knew his name and that of his company, but to be called using an honorific by a noble surely meant he was somehow displeased. “I was asked to transport some wool to Ehrenfest City on behalf of Hasse Monastery. I was told that you are expecting it,” he ventured.

“How excellent. I am indeed. Have you brought samples for our meeting?” Melchior asked with a bright smile.

Franz was glad beyond reason that he had. Hauke produced three skeins of yarn, finely spun, in three colors. The High Bishop looked amazed by the bundles of string while his knights checked them very thoroughly. Once he was allowed to touch them, he resisted the urge to touch them to his face but only barely.

Having met many nobles in Klassenberg, this was a baffling display for Franz. He usually dealt with adults though, perhaps noble children were more similar to common children than their mature counterparts or Ehrenfest nobles were a different breed altogether.

“From the bottom of my heart, thank you for your generous assistance,” Melchior said after enjoying his fiber for a few minutes. “Can we assume that there are multiple crates?” They took so much wool to Hasse after all.

“There is only one, your grace. The priestess, Marthe, explained that she worked to finish enough for the intended garment and will complete the rest as per your agreement,” Franz explained. He had every expectation that this meeting would turn sour at this small rejection but Melchior only nodded quietly. He turned to the similarly young gray priest and conferred about the most discreet location for delivery.

“Have you brought all of it today?” Melchior asked.

“Yes, your grace. It is on our carriage. Shall I instruct my men to carry it in?”

“We will send porters,” Melchior replied after a moment of thought. Strange merchants running around would be worthy of gossip and might catch Kazmiar's attention more than this had already. With their business done, Melchior moved to end the meeting.

Franz was amazed. “Your grace if you would permit me…” he sputtered. Melchior paused then gave his permission. “I have brought gifts of greeting.”

The High Bishop looked surprised, as though any merchant meeting a possible patron for the first time would forgo the opportunity to show off their merchandise. Melchior actually was surprised. Only Milda had brought him anything but she knew about his interests and had predicted, correctly, that he would be a good customer for crayons.

Hauke tentatively stepped forward and placed the gems and metal ingot on the table. Kirk tried to figure out where he’d been hiding them, causing him to look particularly severe. These were also checked for poison. Franz began to wonder why a child bishop needed to be so careful. Priests were supposed to be divorced from politics though many remained involved. Still, a child couldn't be all that entangled that the Temple needed to spend part of its budget on guards. This kid's story had to be fascinating even if it would be useless to his patron.

Melchior was eventually allowed to pick up the ingot and jewels. The shiny rocks were fun but only the fact that they were cut and faceted set them apart from faestones. Plus they were tiny; smaller even than his pinky nail. The metal, on the other hand, was obviously zaubertine from the rainbow glow but the base color was yellow instead of gray. It also dented easily and seemed to almost melt in his hand. “What kind of metal is this?”

“It is zaubertine, your grace,” Franz said matter of factly. He began to worry that he’d wasted his time and precious wares on someone who knew nothing about them. It was his own fault for not finding out that the High Bishop of Ehrenfest was ten.

Melchior frowned. “Yes, it is. That is clear just by looking at it. However, normal zaubertine is silver as it is a kind of naturally occurring steel and faestone alloy. This is obviously a different base metal. I would guess electrum or aurum but only you can tell me for sure.”

“It… it is pure gold,” Franz sputtered. It wasn't all that valuable in the face of metal made from mana so aurumzaubertine was rare and rarely refined to such a degree. There were some people who valued it for its ductility and high conduction rate but they were eccentrics. “Its primary use is in jewelry craft, your grace.”

Melchior's eyes sparkled. The Klassenberg book spoke highly of this material. It was much more popular before the invention of mana metal as it conducted mana well and had a high resistance to mana overload. It was considered a cultural treasure of Klassenberg's. “Is this from Schreer Mines?”

“It is… you know about Schreer?” Franz asked.

“Oh yes. I read about it in a book Lady Gentaine lent me. Unlike many mines, Schreer is a Klassenberg original and one of the few sources for aurumzaubertine in all of Yurgenschmidt.”

“From Lady Gentaine!?” Franz squeaked. He felt his entire understanding of this child shatter. How had a priest from Ehrenfest met the daughter of the Aub?

Melchior just nodded and commenced asking increasingly specific questions about the metal including how it was purified and what alloys were best. Franz answered them all in a daze. “Oh, and did you bring any finished pieces?”

The smell of business brought him back to his senses. “Yes of course, your grace. Shall I send for them?” Melchior gave his permission and the pretty trinkets were retrieved from the carriage. Kirk also had the crate of wool brought in while they waited.

Dedryck took a moment to whisper with his lord. “My lord, though it is not my place as your guard knight to intervene. I must ask whether you truly intend to purchase something from this merchant of useless baubles?”

Melchior’s enthusiasm waned slightly. Anything made from aurumzaubertine was bound to be expensive, especially when Ehrenfest didn't have any smiths with the experience to work it. He also had nothing to trade to lower the price and couldn't, in good conscience, use his status to intimidate. Plus, this was the first time they’d done business directly with his family. He needed to make a good impression.

Melchior took a moment to jot down the answers he’d just received to share with whoever ended up working with his little ingot. Franz sipped his tea and observed the book of seemingly blank pages. He didn't want to know how much such a thing cost even as he considered who would buy that if he managed to acquire one.

“I know you wish to keep part of this secret, but it would be best to call your scholar if you wish to make any additional deals,” Dedryck added.

Melchior weighed the possibility that Isolde would find out against the benefits of having her around. She didn't have access to his finances but she knew all the totals and how much he could afford to waste. He would also need to summon Lothar to finalize payments. He sighed. “Master Franz, I must ask a favor.”

Hauke flinched. His master couldn't say no no matter how unreasonable and the ‘favors’ nobles asked were always expensive and tedious.

“Anything you require, your grace,” Franz replied.

“I must ask that our previous conversation be offered to Verbergan. May I rely upon you?” Melchior asked. He tried to project just a bit of authority.

Franz felt his shoulders relax. This was the normal attitude of nobles but the request was simple. “It shall be as though it never happened, your grace.”

“Splendid!” Melchior chirped, ruining his gravitas. “I will summon my scholar and attendant. They cannot know either.” Franz gave assurances again as he wondered what kind of priest had scholars.

After the meeting, Isolde was left feeling more confused than when she entered. All her excitement at being included waned after Melchior purchased nothing that resembled a gift for Kolteruze. From the way his eyes glittered as he surveyed the metal figurines and toys, she expected him to waste quite a bit of money. He ended up with nothing for himself and enough embroidery needles for every woman he knew, Kirk, and Leibshitze.

Initially, he purchased some for Raphaela, which Franz sold him at the domestic rate since they would be pulled from his stock in Klassenberg. “Will she be able to choose the ones she prefers,” he’d asked. Franz assured him that she would, so Melchior doubled his purchase. Isolde then recommended that he also send at least a letter to Leibshitze so it didn't look like he was showing her undue favoritism.

“Why needles, Lord Melchior?” Isolde asked while she played with her own adorable wooden tube of sharps.

“I… I got some for Raphaela so I just got them without thinking,” he cried. “Leibshitze doesn't sew!” He declared that he would think of something else to add. Leibshitze could give them to his mother or sisters or something. He would need to wait for his return to the castle to have his letters approved by Lady Florencia so he focused on drawing a sheet of embroidery borders for the back of Raphaela’s letter and a note to Flautzeal about the merchant in case his uncle wanted to look at the special metals. He planned to include a couple slips of paper so Flautzeal could give them to whoever else he knew that was interested.

Delighted industriousness left him unprepared for Kirk to draw him into a secret chat once again. “Lyle told me that Isolde has enlisted Lord Kolteruze in her quest to discover why the merchant came to visit.” The blood drained from his face. With their power combined, they might even know already. “He noted that they know he would report their conversation to you and plan to use him to spread false information to our side. However, they have yet to figure out what is actually happening and Isolde is convinced she will receive nothing.”

His thoughts whirled. He had no idea how they would seek out the information, so he couldn't counter them. Kirk watched him begin to shake and sweat as he tapped his temples and looked around frantically. “What do we do, Kirk? They will find out!”

Kirk almost felt like laughing. His lord was on the verge of a nervous breakdown over keeping gifts a secret. Besides the adorably low stakes, it was impossible to see this as anything but frivolity. Naturally, he approached things with absolute seriousness. “We cannot allow them to discover the truth prematurely,” Kirk began. He paced back and forth. “We must contain the spread of information. The knights must be sworn to secrecy. Neither Lothar nor Sheila will talk. There is the possibility that they will speak to someone from Herzfeld. There is no way to compel their silence on this matter so, in that event, you should deny everything.”

Melchior listened carefully and took notes. “And we must ensure that neither of them are present at any meetings where it is discussed. I will move the diptychs to my hidden room discreetly,” he declared.

“They weren't already in your hidden room?” Kirk asked.

“No, only Haldis knows about the diptychs but there are often other people attending. It isn't possible to move them without someone seeing,” Melchior explained.

Kirk turned the problem over in his mind. He questioned the overall security of Melchior's hidden room considering his tendency to leave the door open and the fact that he allowed his attendants to clean it. “You can send them out of the room right?” he asked.

“Oh yes. I can send them to retrieve books or I can do it after they leave for the night,” Melchior said. “Oh and we shall be sure to send Isolde everywhere with an attendant. She must have gone to the atrium while no one was watching.” They should have been doing that already, Kirk thought.

“You should tell the knights as soon as possible. You spoke to them during the trip, but they might have forgotten.”

Melchior rushed to the door. When he stuck his head out, he heard the quiet whispering of conspiracy. “Sebastian!” he yelled.

The knight appeared with a gust of wind in a low stance. “My lord!”

“What did she ask you? Wait! Summon Dedryck!” Melchior cried with a glare in Isolde's general direction. She glared right back and tossed her hair.

The knights were shuffled into the hidden room as well so that Melchior could interrogate them. “She just asked me whether everything went all right,” Sebastian sighed. “She didn't try to get me to disclose what the meeting was about either. Also, why are you keeping Kolteruze’s jacket a secret from Isolde?”

Melchior explained that Kolteruze had nearly figured things out after a single ordonnanz. He could not be allowed any more details. “She knows too much!”

“She is your scholar. There’s no need to be so circumspect unless you don't trust her?” Sebastian replied.

“Why don't you just order her to stop looking into it?” Dedryck asked.

Melchior paused to digest this new idea. “I can do that?” he mumbled.

“You are her lord,” Sebastian replied with a sigh.

Melchior began to giggle maniacally. Was that the ultimate key to victory? He couldn't order Charlotte around, thus their ongoing intrigue, but Isolde worked for him. She turned her skills to his aims, he would just need to aim her at something else. This time he marched out of his hidden room looking smug. “Isolde, I order you to stop looking into this.”

“And what would ‘this’ be, my lord? she replied sweetly.

He sputtered. “Do not make me speak explicitly. You are aware of that to which I refer,” he blustered.

She placed a hand to her cheek. “My lord, I am but an apprentice. My skills of deduction are not yet fully developed. Do you refer to the gift you intend to give Lord Kolteruze?” she asked.

Deliroze looked up with eyes full of curiosity. Melchior cringed. The secret was spreading already. “I have something else for you to look into,” he snapped and crossed his arms in a show of annoyance.

“Oh?” She opened her folio to begin taking notes.

“Find out who Adaire works for and whether they treat him well,” he directed.

“He works for Lord Oliswald officially but serves in Lord Leberchet's house. They treat him with great care but demand he meet high expectations which he currently does not,” she said without pause. She giggled at Melchior's shocked face. “I know almost everything about every one of your retainers and those who hope to become your retainer,” she bragged. Deliroze looked terrified for a moment before hiding his face in his work.

“Ah… very good. Why did he hide that from me?”

“He was instructed not to raise your hopes in case he doesn't manage to become your attendant,” she replied.

“Yet you claim to have poor deductive skills,” Sebastian scoffed.

“I believe I said they were still developing,” she countered.

“Cease your investigation into the Klassenberg merchant and his delivery,” Melchior ordered. Isolde smirked. There’d been no previous mention of a delivery. Melchior didn't know what mistake he made, but her smug look annoyed him. “Devise a gift for Leibshitze!” he said and flopped into his seat. She raised an eyebrow and he stood up to sit more gracefully.

“As you wish, my lord.”

For the rest of his temple days, Melchior ensured that Isolde would be escorted everywhere. She taunted him with knowing looks and bizarre gift ideas. He could tell she was probing him and resolved not to budge. Even though she knew this wasn't serious, Isolde couldn't actually defy a direct order. She informed Kolteruze while they left the temple in the evening that her abilities had been pinioned.

“How curious?” Kolteruze mused. “He is behaving as though this matters a great deal. He must be confident we will enjoy his gifts since he isn't attempting to probe for our opinions.”

Isolde sighed. She wanted to speculate but there wasn't anything more to say. “The only detail he would reveal is that the merchant was bringing a delivery from Hasse. That could be paper. It's most likely paper.”

“That doesn't line up with what we already know. Unless he is under the impression that I am opposed to fabric specifically,” Kolteruze replied. He glanced at Lyle who stood next to his highbeast doing a good job of looking like he wasn't listening. “It is not the fabric I oppose but the extravagance,” he said pointedly. Lyle didn't meet his eyes but nodded minutely. “I should be happy with a new neckerchief,” he added before trotting away so he didn't blow dust into Lyle’s face as he took off.

Melchior contemplated just giving Kolteruze a neckerchief for a couple of moments that evening. On the one hand, it would be easy to obtain and he knew exactly what to get. On the other, he had a crate of yarn burning a hole in his retainers’ room. How could he give up now? Instead, he directed Kirk to ask Fred and Kurtis about knitters. They needed someone who could work with fine wool and make colorful patterns. “There will be no competition. I will choose from samples presented,” he made sure to add. Kirk promised to be thorough and discreet.

Cooking with Magic

Melchior put aside his anxieties to focus on his studies. He had two exciting things to learn. Rozemyne's math book included a novel way to do sums using written out numbers. The craze began with him and Deliroze but quickly spread to all of his retinue whether they liked it or not. Eikestine was deeply saddened to receive more math training but the new method proved helpful for her.

The second thing he had to study was the recipes and circles for his faestone armor and basic protection charms. He buried himself diligently in scholarship so long as it was one of those things. Not even history could compare for those few days. Isolde and Benedikt didn't even try to make him study law. They both had their own brewing to learn anyway.

As practice, and because she wanted to, Isolde would be brewing Deliroze’s highbeast faestone. The flying lesson wouldn't be until after the Starbinding Festival to give Deliroze and Adaire plenty of time to prepare. Adaire's parents weren't happy about the sudden rush on his highbeast but they had the alberbrise stone already so it turned out to be only a minor imposition. Melchior also invited Felicitus if he could manage the acquisition and dyeing at his age. “If not, there is always next year,” Melchior promised. Felicitus declared his unwavering resolve to make it happen loud enough for the other nine and ten year olds to hear. Before the week was out, an entire class was planned but that was a problem for the future. For now, Melchior and his scholars had brewing to do.

On the day of their class, Sigsnyr and Zipporah brought in the spoils of the knights’ hunts. Melchior had marked storage boxes but they felt it was best not to tempt the young scholars who now found the old brewing room to be the best for practice. In addition to the charts for the cutting shapes, Melchior was slowly decorating the walls with other handy information like basic recipes and the most common ingredient orders.

The knights had all the materials to transform the alderbrise stone and to make Deliroze's schtappe replacement tools. Since no one was directly related to him, they were going to splurge on archnoble level pieces to offset any penalties.

Melchior wondered whether they needed to worry. “I'm not related to Uncle but I haven't experienced any rejection issues,” Melchior interrupted while they went over the plan.

“We are not Lord Ferdinand,” Benedikt replied before continuing. Since Deliroze only had wind, most of Melchior's retainers could assist in the brewing. Ultimately, Flautzeal and Fonsel agreed to make the knife and brewing stick while Benedikt would brew the pen with Sigsnyr. They spent the entire first day in the lab examining Melchior’s pen in search of circles or any hints as to its creation. They were ultimately forced to brew the core using their own improved circles.

Since his teachers were otherwise occupied on the first day, Melchior and Pepin spent the time in independent study. They practiced simple protection and prayer charms. Having seen Ferdinand move a circle through the air, Melchior realized he could save faeparchment by drawing the circles over his pot then throwing them in. Prayer charms were so simple that he and Pepin had time to practice trick shots. They ended up with over a dozen and nothing to string them on so they moved on to Sigsnyr's personal recipe for mana chain.

It was a two step process where an inner chain was created then covered with a slightly different formulation. Notes on the recipe said that subsequent attempts would be easier as the use of a bit of existing chain helped to jump start the formation. As most of the chain was made of mana, more mana had to be added through stirring than for most recipes.

Flautzeal finished while they were trapped at their brewing stations. He came over to present a beautiful four color blade with a long tang that had a little hole in it. “I have done it, my lord,” he declared breathlessly while beaming with pride. Melchior boldly split his attention so he could examine it.

“It is perfect,” he praised. “We will have to acquire a handle that does credit to your work.”

Flautzeal finished catching his breath then frowned in spite of the generous words. “Do you mean to imply that you will entrust the completion of the knife to someone else?”

“I…well.” All his excuses for why a less expensive craftsperson might be used died before Melchior could say them. House Klavier was elated to carve wooden panels with square depressions. Asking for something as simple as a knife hilt wouldn't be an insult. They were also his exclusive carpenters now. He took a moment to stop his brew from boiling over. “Will it be very ornate?” he asked.

“That will depend on the budget unless you intend to once again grace us with full creative freedom,” Flautzeal replied, his smile returning with a look of relief.

“On the budget?” Melchior asked. Not once had they implied an ability to constrain costs.

Flautzeal giggled. “For a patron of the arts such as yourself, we understand your belief that money should not be an impediment to great art. For most people, a maximum is set.”

Melchior wanted to smack his head but his hands were employed. Of course people set budget expectations. That was the first line of every request and report sent to the Archduke's Office. He wondered whether everything would still cost three times as much when he could negotiate beforehand.

He could not have predicted how difficult it would be to constrain the price. Flautzeal spoke elegantly of the many decorative and functional options. They contemplated engraving Deliroze's name vs making them appropriate to pass to the next child slated to enter the guardianship of the Aub. It would depend on whether he paid for them himself.

Unfortunately, Deliroze’s own funds would be annihilated were he to pay for this himself. Just his clothes were taking a large chunk out of his resources. It was also a pain to access them since he had no dedicated attendant. “I send requests to Lord Norbert,” he explained.

“That must take ages to receive replies,” Melchior mumbled in shock. Few people were as busy as Norbert, the castle steward. Non-emergency requests from the Aub’s ward would never be his priority. Until he had an attendant of his own, there was no one who could take over his castle finances. Melchior promised to ask Sylvester about it.

On the second day, Pepin and Melchior showed off their chains and charms. Benedikt inspected each one and looked over the chains. He accidentally handed Melchior Pepin's, since they were largely identical. The outer portion turned to dust immediately. Melchior squealed in shock. “Oh, I’m sorry Pepin. I didn't mean to pass mana into it.” He tried to offer various things as recompense but Pepin just laughed.

“It is alright. I had no immediate plans to use it. At least we know now that our mana is incompatible,” he teased.

Melchior giggled as well. “Now we can never wed,” he sighed with mock sadness.

Fonsel cringed at their silliness but kept his thoughts to himself. He didn't brew with any regularity so he couldn't waste the opportunity to receive free instruction. His son would need many things brewed by his parents, not to mention any additional kids he had. Sigsnyr was also more patient and explained things better than his teachers at the Royal Academy.

While Fonsel made his second attempt at the mixing stick, Benedikt worked with Melchior to brew his armor. The materials they received from Hauchletze were of such high quality, they had to wonder how expensive the fabric and ink were by comparison. While Hauchletze's could send gifts with disparate values to the Ehrenfest siblings if they knew them well, they'd been forced to send generic gifts meaning they would need to be close in value to avoid offense.

“It was a lot of ink,” Zipporah observed.

“I got a small vial but how much did they send?” Benedikt asked.

Melchior paused to think. So much had been given away that it was hard to quantify now. “Ah… there was enough to give vials to all the scholars that helped, times three,” he replied. Benedikt blinked in shock. “There were two different colors as well,” he added.

Benedikt cradled his head. “That would be expensive. Especially since it was of foreign origin.”

“Wait, Hauchletze sent us a gift made in a different duchy?” Isolde interrupted. That was strange but not necessarily rude. It was a wonder why they would waste the opportunity to show off their own goods.

Benedikt shook his head. “Its from a foreign country. Likely Chifundo. I tested it to try to figure out the recipe or at least the ingredients but it didn't have any mana. It wasn't like Lanzaneve’s weapons that resist mana but it didn't have any inherently.”

Melchior barely heard anything after Benedikt declared that the ink he made such liberal use of was from beyond the Country Gate. “Do you think the fabric was from Chifundo too?” he chirped.

Benedikt paused his explanation of how he tested strange liquids. “It's possible. Considering how valuable the other things were. An imported fabric made through secret processes. What does it look like?”

Melchior described it in detail and promised to show him once they returned to his room. He also talked about the attempts Ehrenfest dyers made to replicate the effect with limited success. “If only we could ask someone from Chifundo how it works,” he sighed. How amazing would it be to talk to someone from another country. He wondered whether the girl from Ossvault really was from there or knew people from there. He would have to invite her to tea and ask.

They eventually got on with the brewing. With such nice materials and Melchior to generate gold dust, they decided to try for maximal quality armor. This would make the set he would eventually brew in class useless but it would provide the best protection and most efficient transfer of mana for temperature control.

“This circle has been modified to allow one faestone to act either as half plate or full plate depending on the situation. Sigsnyr even managed to make it possible to swap its configuration while you're wearing it,” Benedikt explained. He pointed out various parts of the circle and explained their functions. Melchior did his best to follow but he couldn't understand half of things. The interactions between sigils and the ways instructions and functions were encoded made sense alongside what he'd already learned but how they needed to be altered to account for the materials used was baffling.

“We change this Earth sigil and this set of Wind based instructions because we have brogbluthe scales,” Benedikt continued. Zipporah nodded along with a pensive expression while Melchior tried to grasp anything that might be useful. He was glad that he only needed to follow the directions exactly. With no more understanding than when the explanation began, he started processing the ingredients.

They were using a slightly larger pot this time so he had to borrow a larger stick from the brewing room. He wondered how Ehrenfest was able to produce enough quality implements for over a dozen people while the Sovereignty had to settle for hundreds of garbage wands. Was it actually worthwhile financially to replace twenty cheap magic tools over producing one of high quality. He was still careful and attentive while brewing with the loaner.

He realized half way through adding the thirteen or so ingredients that the recipe for brewing had been doubled since he received the initial board. “Am I making one for Deliroze as well?” he asked.

Benedikt chuckled then contained himself. Putting a mednoble in such armor would be insane. “You will need one for an underlayer. There will be times when discreet protection is necessary. A skin-tight suit of armor can be worn under your clothes for that purpose. In some duchies, most nobles wear them at all times.”

“Dunkelfelger?” Melchior giggled. They nodded. “That seems like it would be stressful.”

“It helps with temperature regulation if you add those circles used for exterior armors,” Sigsnyr called. “Also, adult women use something similar for support. You can just use armor for that, well you won't need to unless you grow a lot.”

Melchior turned to Zipporah. “Support for what?” he whispered. She just tapped her chest plate where it ballooned out. He was still confused but Gerianne’s eyes grew wide.

“Is that how it's done! I’ve been so curious. Mother told me it wasn't armor and she would teach me when I needed to learn,” she cried.

“You don't have to use armor. Those with less mana tend to prefer something purpose made or rely on commoner alternatives like kirtles and stays,” Zipporah explained.

Now Benedikt joined Melchior in being confused. They looked to each other for some kind of answers only to meet equally ignorant gazes. Melchior knew it was his responsibility as the youngest to accept the burden of asking dumb questions. “What are you talking about? What are stays?”

“They are women's undergarments for supporting the chest,” Zipporah sighed. She didn't want to spend the next quarter bell dancing through euphemism. Benedikt blushed but Melchior just nodded. This would never have anything to do with him. He then thought back to Sigsnyr’s comment that he might need something similar if he grew a lot but no matter how much he grew he wasn't likely to develop much of a chest.

Before he could embarrass everyone further with innocent questions, Benedikt turned their attention back to the armor. “Aside from the regular temperature control and protective qualities, Sigsnyr added a few silly things. You can turn it any color when you form it so you can match your siblings on occasion, if you want.”

“It can change colors!” Melchior cried happily. He contained his urge to wiggle in excitement as he stirred. It was a good thing these brewing sticks were so well made. He was sure to have broken it in his excitement. “I can see the possibilities now. Does it have to all be the same color or can it be multiple colors at once? What about patterns? Metallics? Could I use it to camouflage against tapestries?”

“I… we don't know. This is the first time anyone's used the circles as written. The mana cost for brewing is simply too high,” Benedikt sputtered.

Melchior looked back at the brewing pot. It didn't feel that intensive. Then again, nothing could compare to the phoenix highbeast. It was a noticeable amount of mana, which made it the most intensive thing he’d yet to brew, but not a great deal. “Is it really that bad?” Sigsnyr chuckled from the other side of the room while Benedikt pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It's especially bad since you dyed all these materials in one day and made gold dust and the circles were designed to front load the mana expenditures at the brewing stage so the armor itself won't be as much of a drain. In truth, I thought Sigsnyr was being foolish when he insisted you could do it,” Benedikt replied.

“I recall a small wager occuring,” Zipporah said.

Benedikt sighed and pulled a coin from his pocket. He flung it in Sigsnyr's general direction to the tune of children laughing. “We will see just how amazing it turns out to be,” he grumbled.

Chapter Text

Negotiations With Zarafina

The second day of brewing ended just like the first. Melchior returned to his room to chat with Flautzeal about Deliroze's implements. Most of his retainer's didn't have schtappe replacement tool sets to show off since they were all family heirlooms. Once they obtained a schtappe, they returned them. “Can’t you morph your schtappe into them?” Deliroze asked. He’d assumed that was how people designed their stuff.

“Oh, no. We use the examples from the Royal Academy classes. Except for Isolde,” Pepin replied. “I would have a hard time remembering my family’s. It's been a while.” Kolteruze failed to hide his shock but didn't say anything. How could you forget something you used for years of your life in less than one?

Nikolaus was able to transform his schtappe into the brewing stick he’d borrowed. None of Karstedt’s older children needed them so they'd been lost somewhere in his or Bonifiatus’s or his brother's vast estates. He ended up using a set they'd confiscated that was relatively compatible.

“Why didn't Deliroze get to use those,” Melchior sighed.

“They’ve been distributed to the Aub's faction already,” Isolde explained. Sylvester hadn't saved any for his wards. Even the previous Giebe Wiltort’s hadn't been held for Bertram to use. Melchior sighed heavily. At least his knights were skilled hunters and his scholars figured out how to make them. “In any case, there's no need to copy existing designs, my lord.”

That was both true and exciting. Deliroze had some ideas for what he wanted but neither he nor Melchior fully understood what was possible. Isolde's tools, for example, were technically possible to create as physical objects but the cost would be immense. Flautzeal could offer some advice on the feasibility of certain ideas but his carving skill was minimal so he couldn't comment on how much labor went into everything. It was also time to deliver Ferdinand's diptych blank so Melchior agreed to summon Lady Zerafina.

Haldis prepared carefully for the meeting. There were the cores for Deliroze's tools to cover but he would need new tools very soon himself. Getting his order in early would allow for something worth passing to his descendants and plenty of time to consult Edeltrude. He prepared his list alongside Melchior and Isolde's questions and the sketches.

Lady Zerafina arrived on the day promptly, at third bell, with her attendant and servants. She came with examples both for the tools and the wooden case they would be stored in. The changes to the Royal Academy curriculum meant they were doing more of this work than ever but it wasn't new to them. “Indeed, Glockenfried remembers making pieces before the standard was altered the first time and Father assisted in the creation of tools for Lord Adelbert himself.”

Melchior wondered whether his were made by House Klavier. He would check them for crests another time. For the moment, he needed to hide his amazement at the sheer volume of options. His case just had the crest of Ehrenfest but it could have intricate carvings or fancy inlays. There was something like wicker on one example and another with fancy molding.

Deliroze looked things over with less excitement. It all looked so expensive and unnecessary, especially the cases. “I do not think this will be within budget,” he mumbled.

Naturally, Zerafina heard this over the cooing and babbling of Melchior and Haldis. She took the opportunity to open discussion about cost. “Lord Melchior, Flautzeal tells me these tools are not for yourself and therefore need not approach the same aetheric beauty as usual.”

Melchior wanted to say that his usual orders didn't need to be so beautiful either but he settled for saying that they needed to concern themselves with price this time. He didn't want to insult either Zerefina or Deliroze by being cheap so he settled for something Deliroze could cover. That price would be the cost of one tool. He would cover the cost of the other two and the case himself. Deliroze paled while Haldis smiled through his amazement. Why set a budget if you were just going to be extravagant anyway?

Melchior left just enough space in his declaration for corrections. “Will that be enough for all the tools,” Haldis asked quickly. He ignored Melchior’s worried glance as they waited.

Zerafine made a performance of turning the price over in her head. That was plenty for something simple but well made. They could focus on doing the small details well and it wouldn't take much time. Spending that much on each tool would have allowed for truly elegant work but for a mednoble with no parents, it would be better to be understated anyway. “Were we to add, say three, we could work comfortably,” she replied. They could use good wood and highly conductive materials for something durable and efficient that way.

“We should like them to carry the motifs of the gods as well,” Melchior said. The keyhole, diamond, and circle would make each tool distinctive and match the Blauvrume name without having it engraved.

“That will be easy to do, Lord Melchior,” Zerafina assured him. The budget was set so they exchanged payment and the inner cores for the tools. Once this was done, they moved on to the real business. “Lord Melchior, we were delighted to receive your note about the merchant from Klassenberg,” she began.

Haldis narrowed his eyes while Melchior just said he was happy to help people make connections. “I hope the needles were to your liking, if only as a novelty,” he said.

“The quality was passable for the price. We were very interested in the case they came in. We are delighted to alert you, before anyone else, that Father and Uncle have taken an interest in needle cases. There will be many elegant options available very soon,” she announced. Flautzeal beamed with pride from his seat next to Isolde while Melchior sighed.

“They do say Vulcanift is never bored⁵,” he replied. “Was your uncle able to see anything to interest him?” Melchior asked.

Zarafina giggled behind her hand. “Oh, indeed. He and Lord Blumeschmidt have been haunting each other's forges for days now.” She sipped a bit of tea to settle herself before continuing. “They have a great many ideas for your new flute!” Oh how happy they'd been to finally receive his call. A new flute was to be born into the world.Her eyes sparkled in spite of her attempts to remain professional.

Melchior was dumbfounded. He had no plans for a new flute. Since she was momentarily lost to reverie he leaned towards Haldis to whisper. “I didn't order a flute. Why do they think I want a new flute?”

“What did your note say?”

“Aaa… Flutrane’s rivers have bestowed me with fresh roots. I wish to extend the tributaries such that Master Franz might reach new shores, else my friends might be delighted by new horizons, I think.”

Haldis considered for a moment how the introduction of a new merchant to acquaintances that might like his wares could balloon into a request for something so expensive. “Lady Zerafina, I fear that Ordoshnelli has experienced some difficulties in her travels⁶.”

Zerafine left the chorus of flutes playing in her mind to return to the topic at hand. “Oh? Was metal not the medium you wished to use?”

“I did not intend to insinuate a desire for a new flute,” Melchior replied. He read his note over and over again in his head, trying to understand where the idea came from.

“But you sent us tools? Was there some other object you wished to order? I admit to making assumptions since you are as yet without your own instrument,” she noted.

Melchior opened his mouth then closed it. It was true that he was just borrowing a flute from Klavier. They hadn't even charged him the usual fee. “Be that as it may, and not barring future agreements, would you explain how my missive inspired this?”

Lady Zerafina glanced at her son who could only shrug. She placed a hand to her cheek. “You sent tools along with an introduction to a new source of rare materials. Wouldn't anyone assume you wished to collaborate on a new piece?”

“When you say tools, you are referring to the needles?” Haldis asked.

“Are they not tools for case making?”

“They are for embroidery,” Melchior said.

“Why yes. Embroidered cloth cases are very popular for flutes. As you do not yet own one, we thought you would need one to fill such a case.”

“Lord Melchior is not a son of Vulcanift,” Haldis noted. The sentence hung in the air for a moment before Zerafina began giggling again.

“It is as you say. We have collaborated so much recently that we forgot. Oh how amusing,” she tittered. Then she grew visibly sad, as though her devastation was too great to hide behind a smile. “I will inform Uncle of my mistake.”

Melchior could not understand why the fact that he had no plans to buy a flute would result in such overwhelming emotions. Haldis tried to decide whether this was a selling tactic. With much effort, Zerafina put aside her grief to finish the meeting. “We… we have brought your diptych blank. When Father learned it was for Lord Ferdinand, he felt he had to innovate. We believe that Kunstzeal and Vulcanift have been appeased.”

Though he hadn't recovered himself, Melchior did his best to keep up. He watched while the cloth was removed from the pale wood. Zerafine had her hands cleaned by her attendant, then picked up the diptych and opened it. There were no cords holding it together. In their place was a hinge carved out of the blocks of wood then connected. The two sides could be flipped all the way open as normal. Inside was a pale blue wax poured over a darker blue wax, making the etched letters easier to read which she demonstrated on a single wooden tablet prepared for that purpose as they did not wish to deprive Lord Ferdinand of the joy of breaking the wax for the first time

This was, of course, a wonderful set of innovations but they were not why Flautzeal's grandfather was considered the best. The corners of the wood were slightly raised so that the painting wouldn't be rubbed when it was opened all the way. The hinge was made of over a dozen small, interlocking teeth. When opened flat, the two halves could be snapped together to create a single, continuous panel for the art. From the smoothly rounded edges, to the carefully sealed and prepared wood, everything had been considered and crafted with thought to both use and presentation.

“We have tested this mechanism through ten thousand cycles as well. It looks delicate, but the hinge will survive and work perfectly for many years as the wood has been sealed against moisture and salt intrusion,” Zerafina concluded her explanation.

Melchior was amazed and intimidated. He almost didn't want to paint it. He could always hire a professional but that would cost even more than the tablets themselves. Even for one large silver, it would be the most expensive diptych blank ever made but Melchior agreed to three without even haggling. He didn't want to know how hard the hinge mechanism was to carve nor how many of the tiny tools were employed to make the connection point so perfect it disappeared. He wasn't sure he could paint anything well enough to do it justice, but he would try. At least he had a good idea of how to make a diptych’s worth approach three large gold.

Flautzeal requested permission to walk his mother out, which Melchior granted. They reunited in Melchior's chambers with Flautzeal looking grave. He also didn't want to look Melchior in the eyes.

“Are you alright?” Melchior asked.

“I am perfectly fine, my lord,” Flautzeal replied mildly.

“Is Lady Zerafina feeling better?” Melchior pressed. Flautzeal shot him a glare and turned back to his study materials. “Flautzeal?”

“Mother will recover,” he said.

Melchior wasn't sure how to feel. That Flautzeal would be so open with his contempt meant he’d done something terrible. “Flautzeal, please tell me what's wrong. I did not mean to give offense.”

It took a moment for Flautzeal to place down his pencil and steady himself with deep breaths. “Mother is not offended. She is disappointed. But it is no matter. As you are not a craftsman, you could not be expected to understand our etiquette. It was our mistake for making assumptions,” he replied.

“I… I know Geldstromflug would have been pleased⁷ but is it so dire?” Melchior ventured.

“That is irrelevant. Entrindunge and Vulcanift shall not welcome a new flute into the world,” Flautzeal replied with emotions filling his voice. “It is to be expected that Mother would be affected.”

Melchior hadn’t expected it. Klavier had so many flutes and wind instruments. What was so exciting about one more? But he couldn’t ask that and something else was more confusing at the moment. “Entrindunge?” he mumbled.

“A fine instrument has a soul, my lord. It lends us its voice that the hidden depths of our feelings, which we seal within our vessels to protect the world, might safely flow to our fellow living creatures and the gods. So, yes, Entrindunge oversees their creation.”

The entire room blinked in surprise. It was deathly quiet while Flautzeal held back tears. Melchior reached out towards him. Flautzeal watched the little hand cover his own impassively. “My ignorance has caused this,” Melchior said quietly. “I cannot support the birth of a new flute and for that I am sorry. Will you continue to loan me one until I am able?” Flautzeal nodded. He didn’t stop Melchior from patting his hand but also made no move to get any closer. “I will have you read any correspondence I intend to send to your house from now on so that I do not offend or raise expectations needlessly again,” he promised.

“I will do my best to advise,” Flautzeal replied.

“Flautzeal, do all the craftsman’s houses share this special etiquette?” Isolde asked.

“I believe so.”

“Will you explain any more signals we should know?” she asked. He agreed to tell her what he knew at another time. For the moment he needed to relax so he could be less open with his emotions. It was harder to hide them within Melchior’s apartments for some reason. Both joy and, apparently, sadness flowed more easily around him. “Oh, and, my lord. We must decide what to say when you are asked about this.”

“About the meeting?” Melchior thought about it. He was otherwise happy with it. Deliroze’s tools wouldn’t be very expensive, the diptych was amazing, and he wasn’t buying a new flute. “Can’t I just be honest?”

Isolde tipped her head. “No, my lord. What will you say when asked about the crying woman you sent running from the castle?”

“What?” he squeaked. He glanced at Flautzeal who averted his eyes. “Oh dear. Do you think Father will ask?”

Sylvester didn’t ask about it at dinner but Florencia did. It was the first Charlotte had heard about any of this so she also fixed him with a curious gaze. Melchior gave the answer Isolde prepared. “It was my mistake, Mother. I apologize for disrupting the tranquility of the castle.”

“Lady Zerafina is the mother of your scholar, is she not? It is important to maintain good relationships with the families of your retainers, my dear,” Florencia replied. “Tell me what it is that you have done wrong.”

Melchior paled. It wasn’t that serious was it? “Through my ignorance of the special customs observed by the craftspeople of Ehrenfest, I gave the impression that I intended to…” He almost said it was about the expensive deal but Flautzeal made it clear it was about the instrument. “... to commission a new flute.”

“She was weeping over a flute?” Sylvester snorted.

“She must be very passionate about them,” Charlotte offered. Melchior nodded.

Florencia had a more muted response. “How did you leave such an impression?”

“My scholar explained that a gift of new tools is used to preempt a request for collaboration. The tools do not need to relate to the proposed project,” he explained.

She nodded. “I see. So your gift of needles was interpreted in this way?”

“Yes, Mother. This was reinforced by passing on the information of a merchant who sells materials which could be made into a flute. I simply remembered Flautzeal’s granduncle’s passion for metal and thought he would like to summon the merchant to see his wares.”

“And how did you come to meet this merchant?”

Melchior paused before he could spill all his secrets. There really wasn’t a good reason for him to summon a metal merchant to the temple. He wondered whether she would believe that he just wished to send every girl he knew embroidery needles. Then he remembered that Franz was from Klassenberg. “I recently read a book about Klassenberg’s mines and wished to see some of the materials mentioned close up,” he said and hoped it sounded normal.

If his parents noticed his circumspection, they said nothing and accepted the answer. Florencia could tell that he wasn’t being completely honest but she was glad he was getting better at hiding that. She was also more curious about other things. “Do you need a flute? I do not recall us owning one.”

“Flautzeal has agreed to lend me one until I can afford to commission one,” he replied. “Anything I buy now will be too small for me very soon.”

Now she giggled. “If Anwachs favors you,” she teased. He had been growing more recently but he was still small for his age. She wondered whether he was eating enough.

“Dear Brother, this merchant sells raw metal?” Charlotte asked.

He shook his head. “I believe he has some but most of our crafts people would not be able to work it. He brings variants of zaubertine ingots as well as toys, trinkets, and jewelry.”

“There are different kinds of zaubertine?” Sylvester asked. He looked at the silver clip in Melchior’s hair. He didn’t need any new bits or bobs but getting Florencia something like Ferdinand’s five rainbow faestones would be nice.

“Oh yes. Theoretically, any metal can be alloyed with faestones. Silver, gold, steel, iron, and copper naturally occur in Klassenberg’s mines. Eisenriech craftspeople, in what is now Volkwerk, once created zaubertine from bronze and tin before mana metal supplanted those lesser versions,” Melchior replied.

“You seem to know a great deal about this indeed,” Charlotte observed. “Do you know how this is done?”

“It isn’t described in detail but they mention brewing forges. I think it’s possible in a brewing pot, if inefficient and difficult to stir.”

She nodded. Zaubertine was known to be more durable than mundane metal. Perhaps it could be used to extend the life of movable types. Once the metal was alloyed, it could be forged in the usual fashion by commoners. That would be a large improvement over her scholar’s plan to use magic tools as type which would need to be both made and maintained by nobles. She asked to borrow the book and Melchior agreed to lend it alongside his translation if she needed it. Florencia began to consider buying a flute so her family didn’t need to borrow one from mednobles.

Planning the Tunic

The flute debacle was not the only problem to arise from Melchior's gifts that summer. He couldn't spend time in the semi-public parts of the castle without someone appearing out of nowhere to inquire or comment on the needles. Melchior never expected his split second decision to be generous would cause such a stir. The needles had been inexpensive but were well made and happened to come in novel packing. He had no way of knowing that the people of Ehrenfest generally kept their needles in cloth cases. Isolde showed him her’s which she’d made herself from densely embroidered scraps. It was filled with a little batting and rolled up to be secured with ribbon. This meant that the girls who received needles were showing them off and publicizing that he’d given them out for unknown reasons.

“I just felt like I needed to buy something,” Melchior sighed. He’d picked the least expensive thing only to realize that he would have to make gifts of it. Of course, he couldn't then give it to his mother and sister but not Isolde who was there to witness the purchase. He couldn’t give it to just Isolde but not the rest of his female retainers and he couldn’t leave his male retainers out but there was no equivalent object for them so he settled on giving them needle’s to give to the women they knew. He even had some left over since he hadn’t been sure at the time who would want some and how many female relatives everyone had.

Never had he been so happy to escape the eyes of society by fleeing to the temple. Isolde had no remorse for him. She was too busy studying the special culture of Ehrenfest’s noble craftspeople. Veremund even came to visit seemingly just to humor her and have lunch. “I also wanted to report my progress on getting certified as a tax official and forming my new schtappe,” he said.

The process was long and required a lot of studying. Next to his studies for his sixth year and planning his research, he had very little free time. However, his diligence meant he was on track to being ready by the Harvest Festival.

As for his schtappe, he was nearly bouncing in his seat with excitement to show it off. Melchior’s design was for a stick with a zantze clinging to the handle as though trying not to fall off. He’d thought it was adorable and Veremund was inclined to agree. Its annoyed face and the feather dangle that implied it had just failed to catch a bird were a nice touch. Unfortunately, “It is too adorable for a grown man,” Veremund rumbled with a blush. He could form it in that shape and liked to play with the feather when he was bored but the incessant teasing of his brother and father made him change the design for normal use.

Melchior found this confusing. Why should other people get to comment on Veremund's schtappe, of all things. It was such a personal object and what did it matter that it was adorable. Still, he wasn't offended that Veremund hadn't used his design, he was happy to see his revisions. Now a slightly longer than usual goltze sat on its hind legs with the stick part coming out of its head. There was no fun dangle but it appeared attached to a chain which looped around the wrist.

“I see you took inspiration from Sigsnyr,” Isolde noted.

“Yes, that thing he calls a schtappe is striking even if it's also ridiculous. And see, it's attached to the end of the tail,” he replied while showing off his jewelry.

“I think it's wonderful. I hope more people choose fun things over the boring one,” Melchior said.

“What do you plan to use?” Veremund asked.

Melchior had no idea or he had too many ideas. He wanted to use leaves and flowers but he was also interested in the more architecture style of Theodore's schtappe. The long thin shape seemed to cover every eventuality but he wanted to test other things too. He thought about making it much bigger or impossibly small. What if it were a tiny animal that hopped around his hands and launched Rott by yelling at the sky? He had too many questions about how they worked and the limits of their abilities to decide now.

“While a tiny animal would be cute, I’m not sure it would be very good in a fight,” Veremund laughed. He would just have to keep thinking about it

They enjoyed a lively lunch with Kolteruze who had so much to tell Veremund about the atrium. Melchior kept finding his attention drawn to Isolde watching the conversation rather than the conversation itself. He couldn't stop thinking of the way Lyle had looked at Kolteruze when she said he was smitten. She'd said before that Kolteruze and her were a bad match but Veremund might not be. He could even raise his status if he became her groom. Before he could begin meddling though, he would have to figure out which boy she liked. It was hard to tell when she fixed them both with the same dopey grin.

After lunch, Melchior left them in his room with Kirk and Lyle to ensure no conspiring could occur. He would have preferred to have Kirk with him to meet with Fred and Kurtis but it felt strange enlisting Lothar's help in their childish duel. Just before the door to the meeting room, Fonsel stopped him. “You should have Sigsnyr and Nikolaus wait outside,” he advised.

The boys couldn't hide their looks of scandal especially when Melchior agreed. “Why does Gerianne get to go?” Nikolaus asked.

Because Gerianne already knows, he thought. “As Gerianne was present for the initial negotiations, I am comfortable including her now. I have absolute faith in your loyalty and know you would not knowingly speak that which I ask you to withhold but our enemy is most cunning. The only way to ensure total discretion is ignorance,” Melchior said.

The seriousness of the speech mixed with the usual stakes associated with Melchior's dealings left his knights feeling conflicted. On one hand, it was hilarious, this was surely just about some gift or bauble he was planning. On the other hand, they had to wonder who he was trying to keep this a secret from that he couldn't even trust his closest knights. “Very well, my lord. You need only call out if we are needed,” Sigsnyr said with mock seriousness. Melchior was annoyed but he continued forward with just a pompous nod. Gerianne couldn't hide her smug smile.

Master Fred looked like he would collapse at any moment as he lowered himself into a kneeling position. He still couldn't understand how he kept getting drawn into business with the Archduke’s son even after introducing him to a bigger company. Master Kurtis tried to send him encouragement with his mind. Having observed this boy alongside his mother and retainers, he knew he was magnanimous and kind as well as silly and creative. Fred really had little to worry about beyond the base level of fear nobles inflicted.

They exchanged greetings and accepted tea before sitting down to business. Kurtis gave an update on Melchior's autumn outfit. He also brought the cloth Melchior wanted to give Kirk so he could practice embroidery on a piece of clothing no one would see. Melchior spoke to Fred about Kirk's progress in the craft and broached the possibility for Kirk to act as a go between for noble girls looking to secure some independent income.

“My lord, I do not mean to disappoint you. However, my store does not cater to the wealthiest clientele. I fear their compensation would not be sufficient for the time and skill of noble ladies,” Fred responded.

Melchior nodded. “I will communicate this with those interested. However, one's own silver is worth more than a father's gold. If they are willing to accept the same amount as common embroiderers, would you be amenable?”

Fred could foresee so many problems with this. If a powerful merchant or even a noble took a particular liking to one of those girls’ work and he wasn't able to recreate it or hire her skills, he would be in trouble. That he couldn't say where they came from would only make things worse. Still, he couldn't just say no to a noble.

“My lord,” Kurtis began. “I fear such a scheme might draw undue ire towards those ladies. Were they found to be selling their work to commoners, would their reputations not be tarnished? While we have faith in Master Kirk's discretion, those wishing to do harm to a ladies name might be more thorough than we can defend against as mere merchants,” he explained.

“I see,” Melchior replied. He would have to talk to Kolteruze and Kirk about this. Maybe there was a way to insulate Master Fred from scrutiny while offering a way for the girls to make money. He still remembered the sour expression on Zipporah's face when Gerianne bragged about having control over her own finances and Sister Streita’s glee over finally regaining her own financial autonomy. Plus, he wouldn't be able to hide his gifts half as well without laundering the money through his temple chambers. “Then I suppose we will have to consider things more thoroughly.”

Fred wanted him to give up entirely but this was better than receiving an order to “just do it anyway”. He couldn't totally relax but he was glad that Melchior would actually listen.

With these preliminaries out of the way, they moved to the important part of their meeting. Knitted pieces were brought forward. Kurtis preemptively apologized for the smell as cleaning a wool garment, such as a knitted vest, the way commoners cleaned their clothes was liable to destroy it. As the knitters wanted to put their best work forward, pieces had to be borrowed back from those they were given to.

Melchior found that while they did smell, it was only as bad as the first few blocks of the lower city when he was very close. “Shall we wash them?” Melchior offered anyway. Waschen was very delicate after all so the potentially dangerous process would be easy for them. It felt like a good way to repay the people for lending their precious gifts.

Kurtis wasn't surprised that a noble would be too disgusted to even consider the unwashed garments. He didn't want to allow these deeply sentimental items to be destroyed but he couldn't say no. With deep regret he offered his own sweater to be the first victim. Once they saw the destructive power of scrubbing, perhaps they would be more gracious.

Fonsel sighed as he lifted the filthy object. It would be nice enough were it not so dusty and slightly sweat stained. There was also a spot from someone dropping something brown on it and never fully cleaning it off. “Waschen,” he chanted and engulfed the sweater in a neat bubble.

Kurtis and Fred starred in open mouth amazement. This was magic. They would never forget the time the Archduke summoned a flood to clean the city; especially since it stripped the expensive paint from their buildings. Kurtis hadn't considered that it could be used so precisely. How easy must laundry be for nobles when they could summon water from thin air. He was surprised again when the bubble disappeared without a trace leaving his sweater cleaner than ever before. The bright colors he’d been so delighted by when it was given as a gift for his coming of age glittered once again.

Fonsel set the article back down gracefully. He wasn't an attendant but he wasn't a brute either, he thought. It floated back onto the table like a leaf on the wind. “I… thank you. It has never been so clean,” Kurtis sputtered. Since the process wouldn't damage them, Kurtis made no effort to stop the knight from casting his spell over the whole table. The colors all grew more vibrant. The smell didn't change very much since it hadn't been that bad to begin with but Melchior was now allowed to touch them.

The feel of the wool wasn't as nice as his samples but that was to be expected. He spent more time considering the patterns and the evenness of the stitches. Now he really wished he’d brought Kirk who had more knowledge about the quality of these kinds of garments. Instead he had to explain his ideas and doodle a couple of examples for Fred and Kurtis. He liked the decorated yoke part on some of the sweaters and wanted a wheat pattern done using the golden yarn. Lothar also presented the samples he’d secreted past Isolde and Kolteruze.

“This is very fine yarn,” Kurtis noted. It would make delicate and thin pieces and also take forever to knit anything with. This would be the only thing they could do for at least a season to create something as large as he wanted. Since he needed it before winter, there was no time to lose. “I believe only a few of these knitters can work at the speed you would require.” He moved the relevant pieces forward.

Melchior looked them over and chose the one with the neatest design and the most colors. Whoever could manage this would be plenty capable for what he wanted. Fred paled. It was his sweater that his mother knitted for him. To anyone else he would happily rave about her being the best knitter in Ehrenfest. It wasn't even surprising that her work was selected. However, he was hoping to become less entangled with nobles, not more.

They made an appointment for her to come speak with Melchior the following week. He also agreed to pay enough to cover her expenses for two whole seasons. As she was otherwise retired and lived with her son, Fred took solace in the fact that her winter supplies would be paid for. They could even afford a visit from the doctor if her lungs acted up again. Still, it was hard to be excited that his mother was being summoned by a noble.

Whirling Class

Melchior, meanwhile, was filled with excitement. He tried to appear relaxed but for days he was bouncing with anticipation. Thankfully, it was time to teach Gerianne how to dedication whirl so he could hide his true feelings behind excitement for that. She wasn't the only member of his retinue that wished to learn. In fact, all of the knights who usually visited the temple were taking his class. Flautzeal came to the training courtyard with his harspiel and a metronome. They even borrowed a little tent from the castle to protect him from the summer sun.

Flautzeal planned an entire set for the training session. He would play something upbeat while they warmed up, something relaxing while they stretched, something rhythmic for the dance circle they kept raving about. Unfortunately for him, no one who visited the courtyard could escape training. He was forced to run and exercise just like everyone else even in his scholar's uniform. It was easy to move in but Flautzeal was not in the practice of doing anything more strenuous than playing drums. He wanted to complain that Lothar didn't have to join but that would be like complaining that Zargerecht didn't have to do sums in the offices. Head attendants simply commanded a different kind of respect.

Once he was sure his lungs would collapse and his arms were almost too tired to strum, he was allowed to take his seat in the shade and given a cool drink. If only to console himself, he played a gentle melody while Melchior explained how to whirl.

“The whirl has four main parts: poses, spins, finger motions, and singing,” Melchior began. “First you shall watch me then we will begin with the static poses and basic spins. Watch carefully as much can be learned through observation.” He did the dance to the clacking of the metronome and Flautzeal's playing. It wasn't the right song but the tempo was the same and the music didn't contain cues anyway. Melchior would say he was just ok at whirling and those that had seen a graduation would be inclined to agree. For everyone else, he looked amazingly graceful and impressive. They clapped and gave blessings which he tried to fan away.

Since Gerianne was already interested, she’d been paying special attention to his practices for months now. She picked up the basics quickly and had fun learning. Melchior was surprised that Zipporah was also such a quick study before he remembered that their Spring Prayer Festival included whirling. Everyone else struggled either with keeping their balance after spinning or with remembering the hand motions. Sebastian and Dedryck did no small amount of grumbling about getting drawn into this madness while Sister Streita had a great time learning something new.

“I think some of the orphans who were reluctant to exercise will be tempted by this,” she said. She was pretty good since she already knew how to lead the spear whirl. “My girlfriends from Dunkelfelger insisted I learn. What fun we had tapping our spears and falling over ourselves,” she giggled. Melchior took the opportunity to ask about whirls for other weapons. “I don't remember there being any specifically. It is possible to lead the whirl with a staff but that's about it.”

“So Lord Bonifiatus is truly blazing new ground,” Cecilia said.

“Don't you mean blazing new trails?” Eikestine sighed.

“Or breaking new ground,” Zipporah offered.

The girls giggled while Cecilia huffed but Streita had more questions. “Lord Bonifiatus is creating new weapon whirls?”

“Yes, Sister Streita. Grandfather has been having great fun making new dances. I think he is finally happy with the shield as he is moving on to scythes,” Nikolaus replied.

“Can you do this shield whirl?” she asked. Nikolaus and Zipporah were devoted students of Lord Bonifiatus’s dance classes so they could both perform the newest version. Flautzeal played the Dame du Vents song he’d arranged for harspiel while they spun and leapt with their shields. Nikolaus felt it was only right to use the Divine Instrument. Its faestones glittered in the sun while he swung it around.

Sister Streita was very amused. In fact she sent an ordonnanz to Bonifiatus asking about it. By the time they gathered for the next whirling lesson, he was there to join them. Melchior didn't get to watch Bonifiatus dedication whirl since he was forced to whirl alongside him. This left him feeling particularly sullen as everyone showered his granduncle with praise. Still, it was fun to have an assistant for his class.

Everyone had practiced during their week regardless of how much they'd mumbled about having to learn. “You’ll be good enough for a performance in no time,” Bonifiatus praised. He corrected the angles of their hands and their hand motions while Melchior demonstrated each motion over and over when asked.

“Who did you whirl as, Granduncle?” Melchior asked while they were taking a break.

“I was an alternate for the God of Life,” he replied. Melchior was shocked. He felt for sure that Bonifiatus would be chosen. “Your place has as much to do with whirling ability as the rank of your duchy. I might have been better than Neuehausen but they were higher ranked than us.” There was also one less slot for boys than girls.

“What about Grandfather?” Melchior asked.

Bonifatius grew grave. “He was not well enough to perform,” he replied. “It is for the best. He was not as gifted as yourself.”

After their break he began teaching them the shield whirl. “I’m not quite satisfied with the end, but it will do for now,” he said. Nikolaus and Zipporah shook their heads but continued to demonstrate according to his instructions.

Gerianne used her shield bracelet, which was now only a bit larger than a dinner plate, while Melchior was given a small training shield. It was his first time holding a shield, let alone dancing with one so he had a harder time learning than everyone else. While that was annoying, he still had fun learning the leaps. Neither dedication whirling nor the pre-ditter ritual had jumps. Bonifatius said that he added them to honor the wind and gales. “Feel the breeze lift you and touch the sky,” he commanded. It was a more exhausting dance than any other. Flautzeal strummed happily from the safety of his tent.

Footnotes

5. Artists and craftspeople will find things to make even if there's nothing to do.^

6. There's been a miscommunication^

7. It would be a lucrative deal - Geldstromflug : The Goddess of Trade : Subordinate to Flutrane. The text implies her existence but never names her (as far as I know). She might not be a separate entity to the Spring Goddess referred to in the merchant's spring greeting but in this fic she exists. ^

Chapter Text

Meeting the Knitter

It was easier the second time to hide from Isolde. Melchior sent her to Kazmiar along with Lothar so he could take Kirk to meet the knitter. She was an older woman, hunched slightly with age but with great energy. Kirk could see how Fred could be her son. They both had the same penchant for colorful clothes and energetic speaking. Ilsa struggled to kneel and had to be helped back up but besides this, you could easily forget she was an old woman.

“Lord Melchior, we have brought with us the kitter you wish to hire. I must apologize that a discussion as you are used to cannot take place. Mistress Ilsa has not been trained to interact with nobles,” Kurtis began.

This was plainly seen in the way she gripped her tea cup and pawed the cake. Melchior just smiled. He was used to the way most commoners ate from the dinners at Hasse. “There is no need for concern. We cannot ask Angriff to weave nor Dregarnuhr to soldier⁸. I see, Mistress Ilsa, that you created an ornament to celebrate my Sister and Uncle's blessings from the Supreme Gods. I thank you,” he said.

She glanced at Fred who’d assured her she wouldn't need to speak and warned her not to say anything even if she thought of something to add. With drawn lips he nodded.

“ ‘Cuse me, Little Bishop. I don't really know what you're sayin,” she replied. Fred blanched as though he were facing the very sword of Ewigeliebe.

“Oh… I mean to say thank you for making a cockade for my sister's wedding,” Melchior corrected and tapped the spot on his chest where she was wearing her cockade.

Sebastian and Fonsel shared frowns. This woman was wholly unfit to be in their lord’s presence.

“Ah, yes. Of course, lad. That was an exciting time. All my friends were making ‘em. So of course I needed one too,” she chuckled. “And what a sight. You never seen people so pretty.”

Melchior nodded enthusiastically. “Yes Sister and Uncle are breathtaking. It is a shame Uncle does not like to be depicted.”

“Doesn't like to be depicted? Makes sense, with a face like that, you'd get tired of seeing it everywhere all misshapen by bad drawers,” she replied. Melchior giggled and Kurtis tried to bring the conversation to business.

“My lord, Mistress Ilsa has a couple of questions. You’ve described the garment and the patterns. Would you happen to have drawings for reference for this occasion?” he asked.

“I have a few. I had to be careful to hide them from my scholar. Please do not pass them around,” Melchior replied. Kirk stepped forward and presented the drawings along with a slip for Kolteruze's measurements altered to approximate his growth.

Ilsa leaned in to look at everything while Melchior explained. “This surcoat thing. I never seen one. It’ll be hard to recreate,” Ilsa muttered. She ran her fingers over the wheat and counted under her breath then nodded having figured something out. She was confused once again once she got to the measurements. “What's these numbers?”

“They are the measurements of the person who will be given the tunic,” Melchior explained.

Fred and Kurtis looked them over then frowned. “These were converted to noble measurements,” Kurtis sighed.

“We use different measuring systems!” Melchior squeaked.

“Not as such. But the notation is different and the translation could introduce errors. For such a garment, errors would be catastrophic,” Kurtis said. He couldn't bear the thought of Ilsa spending a season and a half on a garment that wouldn't fit. And that was if she could puzzle out what they meant in the first place.

“Can I just see the man? I’m good at estimating with my eyes,” Ilsa asked.

Melchior shook his head. Kolteruze was at the temple but they were doing everything they could to hide this from him. Bringing him here would ruin everything. “Would someone of similar build suffice?”

“Oh yeah. Knit stretches quite a bit,” she replied. Kurtis winched. He knew how tight noble standards were and didn't want to put his faith in the stretchiness of knit fabric.

“Ok, but you must keep the reason a secret,” Melchior whispered.

“A secret. Don't you worry. No one will get it out of old Ilsa.”

Melchior smiled and instructed Kirk to bring in Sigsnyr and Nikolaus. Neither boy was precisely Kolteruze’s build. They were also wearing armor which had to be removed. Sigsnyr stood still while Ilsa touched his shoulders and waist while muttering about how pretty they grew in the Nobles Quarter. Nikolaus blushed deeply when she squeezed his arm. “The recipient is a little taller than Sigsnyr and a bit thinner than Nikolaus,” Melchior explained. She nodded and chuckled.

“This will be a right challenge. I can do it though. I can do it. Are any of these lads wearing one of those surcoat things?”

Between the priest robes and knight uniform, they had an approximation. “The collar is the important part,” Sigsnyr noted having gleaned some of what was happening. He pointed out the curve of the collar and how the front panel tended to lay.

Ilsa and Melchior absorbed all of his advice. They changed the drawings a bit and created a new motif for the hemline. They giggled together with the same conspiratorial mirth, creating a new, coded language on the spot. Ilsa’s excitement redoubled when she saw the wool.

“Oh! My, my, my, my, my. This is fine stuff. Very fine stuff. Where do you get wool like this.”

“Herzfeld,” Melchior replied.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I visited myself. This is usually spun worsted,” he said.

She nodded knowingly while confusion spread over Sigsnyr's face. He’d been doing a good job of following but was now confused. As he’d fallen into the role of advisor rather than guard, he took a moment to touch the wool. It really was incredible. It didn't even leave his skin feeling itchy. That gave him some clue as to the identity of this wool. He knew from his own clothes ordering that if this was what he thought it was, not much of it was produced and what was was very expensive even for an archnoble scion. He wondered how Melchior came to have so much of it and in such a strange format.

Once Ilsa and company had all the information they needed and left with goodbyes and a slice of cake, he turned to Melchior. “My lord, what was this meeting about?”

Melchior narrowed his eyes. He wondered whether Isolde had bought Sigsnyr off somehow. “I cannot say,” he replied.

“Please my lord. I have deduced that some amazing advancement in fashion is under way. I beg you to tell me.”

Melchior placed his hand on his cheek. “Nothing of the sort is happening. Whatever gave you that impression?”

Sigsnyr explained what he’d gleaned from the coded conversation. A tunic made from rare wool was in the making. He was using some of the new designs from his presentation. It was also longer than his usual pieces. “If you tell me I will help you explain this to Lady Brunhilde,” he added.

Melchior didn't budge. In fact he giggled. He had the perfect protection for this non-trend. It would be painfully difficult to replicate and Kolteruze would never draw ire by wearing it to an important event. While he felt sure Kolteruze would at least wear it to lounge in, he was just as sure that it would barely see the light of day so he could avoid interrogation. Sigsnyr was amazed that not even heartfelt pleading had worked. “You must also swear not to speak of this to anyone, not even to each other,” Melchior said.

Sigsnyr had to give his oath no matter how hot his curiosity burned.

Now that the wool was finally stored elsewhere and production had begun on the tunic, Melchior felt more relaxed. They maintained a watch on Isolde and Kolteruze for a few more weeks just to throw them off before growing lax again. Lyle reported that they hadn't guessed the specifics but did know that clothing merchants had visited. The gate guards were more susceptible to probing than they'd counted on. They still couldn't say what was in the crate or why a metal merchant from Klassenberg brought it just for it to be handed over to Ehrenfest merchants. After spilling a couple of clues himself in casual conversation. Melchior learned that the best choice was not to talk about it at all.

With no more clothes to design until winter, he shifted his focus to the sea of diptych orders. Since he knew what they would look like, he began on Isolde's and the shumil order from Alexandria. This was his opportunity to test out his new paints. He needed to use oil for Ferdinand's since House Klavier’s sealant wouldn't work with anything else. But for the others, he followed the priming instructions from Ferdinand's letter. It was less depressing to read now that he had a slightly better understanding of Ferdinand and was farther removed from the exchange.

Using the egg paint was interesting. While egg yolks gave everything a bright glow, they had to be mixed every day in small quantities. He also couldn't mix colors on the painting in the same way forcing him to change his approach. It ended up being exhausting for everyone involved and unsatisfying since no one was allowed to see the finished work. Melchior was also doing a much better job of keeping it hidden despite keeping his hidden room open all the time.

After much labor, Isolde's pastel tea room came together. Having used so much of the new white pigment, he’d developed an opinion. It was worse in every respect even if it would not make him sick at some undetermined point in the future. It also felt strange to paint something with no people but he was happy with it more or less. Since the egg dried so quickly, he was able to wrap it up and set it on his shelf that same evening depriving anyone of sneaking a look into the drying box.

Since it wasn't a surprise, the shumil diptych could be painted outdoors. It needed to be since the tree sap proved too strong to use inside for long even near a balcony. This was perfectly fine since the scene was outdoors. He had Zipporah and Kolteruze pose under a tree. It was hard to change Kolteruze into a woman but the knights just couldn't mimic the grace unique to attendants and Sigsnyr wasn't guarding that day. Isolde made a good effort but even she didn’t have the same energy.

Once the shirjack and shumil people were done, it was time for the animals. Everyone wanted to design a shumil or have one designed after them. Near the knight, a bunch of shumils in varying amounts of clothing and armor adorably failed to practice their sword and spear fighting. They were tumbling over and struggling to hold things without opposable thumbs while the shirjack tapped her teaching stick gently on the shoulder of one shumil to correct his form.

The attendant's side, meanwhile, was preparing for a garden party. They tried to carry trays and tea sets as they hopped all over the large tables. The shumil attendant was unable to save a cup from falling off a table because she was adjusting the vest of one of the shumils. Melchior had so much fun painting it that he kept adding new shumils until there were dozens of adorable tableaux playing out over the small wooden tablets. He wasn't sure it was worth three large gold but he did his best.

Olishild's First Day

With the Starbinding looming on the horizon, the Nobles Quarter was beginning to fill with people once again. The older boys were not quiet in their mounting anxiety about their volume of invitations for the year. Even Dedryck got in a bit of whinging as he was yet too young to be confirmed as a bachelor and thus, not exempt from attending the festivities. Fonsel told them to just get engaged if they were truly so fed up with things to which they replied with more groans about the poor memories of married people. Luckily for them, Melchior had plenty of female guards and Fonsel so they would be free to take as much time off as needed.

Even though they kept quiet, it was Helenwig and Isolde who really had reasons to complain. Having developed mana-sensing over the past couple of seasons, they had debuts of their own. Helenwig spent the run up to her party extracting promises from her coworkers while Isolde was valiantly fretting in silence and filling her schedule with as much work as possible as a distraction.

For Melchior, this season meant little until he needed to perform the ceremonies and reregister medals. It was, therefore, no surprise that he was more excited about Olishild's first day than the impending festivities. Florencia had agreed to allow her to visit once per week to train with Haldis and the rest of his attendants. Melchior was instructed to have at least two female guards on that day and she was never to enter his private chamber. This left plenty to see and learn and she was delighted to meet Zipporah and Cecilia

“I thought boys only had male retainers,” she said in awe.

“Were I to exclude women on such flimsy grounds, I would not be blessed to utilize their abundant skills,” Melchior replied. He went on to introduce his attendants with the addition of a fun fact about them. “This is Pepin, he is excellent at teaching people. If you find you cannot understand Kolteruze's explanations, I recommend asking him.” She couldn't help but giggle as Kolteruze narrowed his eyes. “Kolteruze is very skilled and knows much about attending,” Melchior added quickly.

“I am ever so grateful to experience your tutelage,” she said.

“This is Zargerecht. My longest serving retainer. He has raised many Archduke Candidates and has deep wisdom about the art of attending. His standards are very high but do not be discouraged; he will not give up on you so long as you continue to strive for improvement and work hard,” he assured her.

She gave a sharp nod. “I will not falter in my determination,” she declared.

Haldis smiled warmly and allowed himself to pat her head once before beginning the real instructions. “Today is Earthday, the general day of rest in the castle. Nearly all of the scholars will be off work along with any attendants not in a retinue. For those of us performing direct service, our days off are organized differently to ensure a consistent level of care.”

While Melchior wanted to listen and interject he had to prepare for his tea party with Florencia. Isolde wanted him to ask about any matches they were hoping to make at the Starbinding and have a preliminary chat about the upcoming sale of Hasse's papermaking technologies. As Florencia was working harder and harder to hide who their guests might be, they were only half certain that this week would be Wilfried. “This is your opportunity to ask about his recommendations. I cannot be the only one with questions.”

She wasn't. Melchior was also confused why the selected knights were recommended and forced upon him. Sebastian worked hard and seemed dedicated but Gottschalk and Ortolf continued to struggle with fitting in. They're personalities were too incongruous with his own and his existing retainers not to mention their deep dislike for the temple which hadn't seemed to wane with time. He’d invited both of them to join the temple training but both chose to continue only going to the Knights Order. He wouldn't say that he disliked them but he felt little inclination to become closer friends. “That means you dislike them,” Isolde sighed.

“I said I wouldn't say that,” he replied.

“Who would you say you dislike?” she pressed.

“I could not give you their medals⁹,” he demurred. Isolde narrowed her eyes. She'd expect him to claim there was no one. It was much stranger for him to admit that such people did exist but refuse to share their names. She wondered just how long the list was or whether it was just one person he’d sworn himself the enemy of. It was something to research, but for the time being, they had a tea party to go to.

Their guest was not Wilfried but only because he canceled at the last moment. Florencia was pressing him to attend a couple of debuts. He was even going to Bertilde's in spite of his dislike for her sister. Isolde reported that the Second Wife had nearly begged for his support. He hated her on principle and she could accept his hate in personal and private settings but they needed to be politically aligned. Being invited to and attending Bertilde’s debut would show a willingness from both the Leisegangs and Wilfried to cool their conflict.

Instead, Lord Leberchet sat beside his lady looking around with bright eyes. Much like Florencia, he was skilled at keeping a neutral and affable mien but today he struggled against the urge to grin. Melchior felt that his mother almost looked a little put upon behind her smile.

“I offer greetings on this morning ordained by the vibrant summer rays of Leidenschaft the God of Fire,” Melchior said.

“We accept your greetings, dear. Thank you once again for joining me on your day off,” Florencia replied.

“I am always honored to receive your invitation. And special greetings to you as well, Lord Leberchet. This is our first time taking tea together. Oh, how Leidenschaft has blessed this day,” Melchior replied.

“How blessed indeed, Lord Melchior. I see you've brought only your apprentice attendants,” Leberchet replied.

Florencia sighed. “That is correct. As Mother is kind enough to host us we take the opportunity to experience her counsel and learn from her skilled retinue,” Melchior said. It was a strange thing to point out but he had to treat every question as earnest to maintain good etiquette.

“How wise. It is good for the young to seek greater wisdom and experience,” Leberchet replied with a noticeably tight expression. “ How else will they gain experience but by attempting the work,” he added.

Melchior glanced at Florencia. He knew it was usually pointless to search her expression for hints but he still did it every time. “This is Olishild's first day. Leberchet has sent Ordoshnelli even to Verfuhremer this morning.”

Joanna shook her head while Florencia sighed again. “My lady, you speak as though it is not a joyous occasion for one’s grandchild to begin work,” he said, sounding hurt. “Tell me, Lord Melchior. How has she performed in her duties so far?”

It had been less than a bell since Olishild was dropped off in her family's carriage. Haldis had to come to work quite early given Melchior's sleep schedule so she was brought separately at a later time. “She is presently learning the general rules for attending in the castle and will learn about tea service this afternoon,” Melchior replied. Leberchet leaned forward, his face pink with interest. “I believe she is doing well. Olishild has expressed great determination to excel.”

“Yes, naturally,” Leberchet replied calmly as though he was not all but wiggling in his chair. “She is my granddaughter.”

“And she is many years away from attending her Starbinding,” Florencia said. “As for this year, we should discuss a member of your exalted twelve, Melchior. Can you tell me about your head knight's plans?”

Melchior knew exactly two things about Dedryck’s romantic plans. “He cleves to the example of Mestinora and is content to be passed over by the Supreme Gods¹⁰.”

Florencia tipped her head to the side. “How passing strange,” she replied. “He has ample mana and comes from an outstanding family. I can conceive of no reason for his reticence.”

Other than being anxious around women, Melchior couldn't either. “This is his position,” he affirmed.

“Many a young man is daunted by the responsibility,” Leberchet observed. “Or has he entombed a rafel¹¹?”

“Such things can be overcome. Has he considered Giebe Sneftsitz’s daughter?” Florencia asked. “Her’s is a branch of their previous Archductal family and she seems diligent.”

Helenwig likely would develop enough mana as she was determined to match Kolteruze, Melchior thought. He’d never considered someone as young as Helenwig marrying Dedryck. They didn't seem to have much desire to make such a match.

“That would create the link the Leisegangs are hoping for without introducing undue pressure,” Leberchet observed. “The Giebe hopes to call her home though.”

“He will have to be disappointed,” Florencia mused. Sneftsitz had so few nobles worthy of service. They would have no links to the capitol if she returned regardless of who she married. If she ended up matched to a Leisegang with stronger ties to that faction, she would need to be watched as well as participate more enthusiastically in Charlotte or Florencia's faction. Sneftsitz needed to spend at least one generation building ties and proving their loyalty to the Aub.

“Dedryck does not want to leave Ehrenfest City,” Melchior said. He wanted to serve as close to Sylvester as possible, after all.

“What of Ernesta?” Leberchet suggested. “That match is a poor one anyway.”

“We cannot break her engagement,” Florencia said. Leberchet just didn't like her intended but he wasn't a bad match at all.

Melchior listened to them consider several more options while feeling glad Dedryck wasn't guarding at the moment. He glanced over at Isolde scribbling madly and thought about Flautzeal's method again. Maybe that would make it easier to take notes. He didn't want to order anyone to learn the skill, but the ability to take notes faster would be helpful in many circumstances.

“Melchior,” Florencia called. He snapped his attention back. “We are discussing the future of your retinue? Do you have anything to add?”

He knew that the conversation had progressed without him but he couldn't say how far. “I will speak with Dedryck concerning this but I do not anticipate him changing his mind,” he replied. He tried to discern from their faces whether he’d said something silly in context but they continued to be unreadable.

“Do you intend to do nothing to convince him?” Leberchet pressed.

“We cannot ask Dregarnuhr to soldier nor can Blaunfah bind as Liebeskhilfe,” he replied. His limited understanding of romance and politics meant he’d be almost useless. He still didn't understand why people were so interested in Dedryck’s marriage anyway. “Why must he amend his stance?”

“He is of Groschel but his parents are Sovereign nobles and he was raised outside the faction turmoil,” Florencia explained. “To those who value blood, he has the touch of Leisegang. For those who value stated loyalty, he gives his to the Aub. He is free of political mire, rich in mana, and handsome. That he has not yet wed continues to baffle and intrigue.”

Melchior had never heard his mother refer to anyone but his father as handsome. He felt a similar confusion as when he watched Brunhilde take Sylvester’s arm. “He prefers to focus on his knightly duties.”

“Would that he focused more on nightly duties,” Leberchet muttered.

“He is unfailingly dedicated,” Melchior snapped.

“Melchior,” Florencia chided.

“Would you give counsel, Mother? Am I to allow my knight’s reputation to be slandered in my presence?” he asked.

“You are to keep your temper,” she replied.

He took a deep breath and fixed an annoyed smile to his face. Leberchet returned its brightness with a nod. “It is my experience that Sir Dedryck is unmatched in his drive to serve with both skill and diligence. I hope that you would share with me if you find he slacks where I cannot see him,” Melchior said.

Florencia observed her son employ his solution: a radiant smile mixed with stinging words. She knew many people who attempted to spew venom through their fluttering eyelashes but only one person could completely disarm with his face only to pierce the heart with his words. Ferdinand was an effective socialite if not a willing one and Melchior was obviously mimicking him and quite well. Anyone who didn't know him would mistake his smile for a genuine one but she could see the bite at its edges.

“It is not enough to merely appear good-natured,” she chastised. Leberchet flashed her a confused look while Melchior's false smile faded. “Leberchet was making a double entendre not insulting your knight. You must focus more on understanding your interlocutors and not allow stray insults to distract you,” she said.

“It is as you say, Mother,” Melchior replied. “I apologize for my outburst, Lord Leberchet.”

Leberchet still couldn't comprehend why Melchior was in trouble a second time but he graciously accepted the apology.

Perhaps as a minor bit of defiance, Melchior allowed the conversation to lapse into silence. Leberchet had offered the topic of Olishild while Florencia brought up the Starbinding. It was his turn to present a topic or compliment the desserts if he had nothing else to say. There were many things he wished to think about between the ongoing interest in Dedryck’s love life and the implication that he couldn't defend his allies. He wondered what he was supposed to do instead then remembered that the person he would normally ask was sitting before him.

“Mother, what if my interlocutors are leveling spurious critiques?” he asked.

“We must assume the best of our conversation partners. Most supposed insults are born through misunderstanding or the misapplication of words,” she explained.

“And if they are not?”

“We must keep our temper,” she replied.

“Few would chance upsetting those who might punish them for it. You will therefore receive few insults, Lord Melchior,” Leberchet added.

Melchior held back a frown. Did this mean that those he could not punish would feel free to slander because he could not defend against it. “Is that to say that my allies may be harmed through my weakness or others' perception thereof?”

Florencia blinked rapidly in surprise. “No, my dear. It is to say that it is never proper to respond in kind,” she said.

“Then I must simply abide those who cause harm?”

“Few would offer insult outright,” Leberchet repeated.

There were some though. Hadrian of Drewanchel and Kalinda of Lembruck for two. No amount of graciously assuming the best would prevent their attacks. “And for those that do?”

“My dear, we must be better and control ourselves,” Florencia stressed. “It is never proper to return an insult.”

“Both the etiquette professors and Uncle said that cruelty can be allowed so long as it is elegant,” Melchior replied.

“That is not what they mean. One must maintain an amicable appearance even when feeling contemptuous. You will insult those you did not intend to insult by breaking poise to strike at those you do,” Florencia said. She was surprised he was so insistent. He disliked bullies, this she knew, but he’d thus far handled them calmly and without sinking to their level. With so many other people around, it was not the place to dive into the heart of things. She made a note to make time to speak with him more privately.

Melchior remained pensive. It wasn’t really a problem for Lord Leberchet to make jokes at Dedryck's expense since he wasn't spreading slander and tarnishing his reputation. Fonsel did it all the time. It was annoying but not damaging. What should he do if more nefarious persons began a concerted push to ruin one of his allies?

He was going to press but Pepin stepped forward to ask him to introduce the excuse he and Kolteruze had fabricated so Olishild could deliver something to the room. “Dear mother, this has been most enlightening. I thank you again for your wisdom. Would you be willing to give counsel on something of a different nature?”

“You are always welcome, my dear. Please feel encouraged to make any inquiries.”

Melchior nodded again and gestured for his attendants to enter. Olishild followed Haldis into the room. She wore the tiniest replica of the attendant uniform any of them had ever seen along with an ochre neckerchief edged with lace. Leberchet did not resist the urge to aaww as she stepped forward and placed the shumil covered diptych before Florencia with a small clack. It was neither as silent nor as graceful as the more experienced attendants might have done it but what mattered was that her grandfather got to see her work on her first day.

“I must compliment you, Lord Melchior, for the abundant quality of your retainers,” Leberchet said with a dopey grin on his face. Olishild blushed even as she frowned and gave a small huff. He asked for fresh tea and cake so she could carry it over. Haldis had to brew and set the dishes on the table so she didn't spill anything, but she kept her back straight and walked gracefully to transport the tea cup.

“Olishid is only visiting on Earthdays?” Florencia asked more as a reminder to her scholar than because she wanted to know.

“That is correct, Mother. We will continue to evaluate her each Earthday. When we are confident she will do credit, I would like to make a recommendation,” Melchior said with a look directly at Leberchet.

He sighed heavily. “Erwachlerhen cannot visit one house so often nor will we tempt Blaunfah to pay her respects¹²,” he grumbled.

Melchior sighed as well. Adaire was keeping Olishild from training with her grandmother but Melchior couldn't interfere in his career just to help her. She could be trained elsewhere if they could find someone.

“It will be good to venture a bit wider, don't you think, Leberchet. She will learn her family's style from Haldis. If she serves elsewhere she will learn even more things,” Florencia said gently. Leberchet nodded bitterly and looked at his granddaughter with weepy eyes. “I hear that Olishild is a devoted assistant to her mother. She would do well with another house that has small children.”

Leberchet put aside his grief to consider things more seriously. There were only a few archnoble houses who would report their pre-baptized children to the Archductal family. Only those who felt certain of being called into service. The first to spring to mind was, of course, the Knight Commander's. “I will speak with Karstedt about this matter,” he declared.

Florencia nearly rolled her eyes. They did not need his help to place her with Elvira. “I have other work for you,” she said. He crossed his arms and lowered his head. “I will not forget your years of fine service,” she promised.

He smiled. “Thank you, my lady. I know it is secure in your care.”

Olishild and Melchior swapped looks of confusion. Something had been decided, but he didn't know exactly what. It had to do with her placement and his mother said she would handle it so he returned an encouraging smile. Olishild still looked worried but set her face to one of determination.

After formal goodbyes, everyone except Kolteruze, Sigsnyr, Isolde, and three of his mother's retainers were sent out. Melchior took several deep breaths and unhooked his diptych to take notes.

“You were quite combative today,” Florencia began. It had surprised her so it was the first thing that came to mind. “Why are you worried about slander?”

“There are those at the Royal Academy who seek to cause harm. I can abide jeers at my own expense but I cannot allow my retainers and friends to be tarnished as a consequence of associating with me,” he replied honestly. “What can I do to protect them?”

“That is quite the predicament,” she sighed. “People had many choice words about Frenbeltag while I was attending. The princes were beginning to draw clearer lines between each other so the duchies followed suit. It did not help that a younger boy trod on my skirts¹³ every chance he got.” She smiled warmly.

“What did you do?” Melchior asked with a giggle, imagining his father fluttering around his mother as he might to this day.

“In many circumstances, one must simply bear with it and continue to smile. When it is someone of higher status, they're is little you can do without even stronger support. However, this will always come at a cost. There is no way to move through society without collecting your fair share of rumors and enemies. The best defense is being above reproach. Gossip cannot survive without sustenance.”

“I think I understand, mother. Thank you for your counsel,” Melchior replied. It sounded like there really wasn't much he could do. Perhaps Zargerecht was right and he should avoid standing out. Would it be enough just to distance Hildebrand, he wondered. In any case, he could resolve to be less conspicuous in the halls.

Footnotes

8. “Different people have different strengths” also “different people have different customs”^

9. I won't name names, alternatively, naming names won’t help^

10. “He is wholly dedicated to his work and doesn't wish to wed.”^

11. “Carry a torch” or “Being unable to let go of a past love”^

12. “We’re already working hard training enough people,” followed by “We don’t want any romance to develop.”^

13. Followed me around and bothered me ^

Chapter Text

Subterfuge - A Noble Interlude

Brunhide was doing her best to avoid stress and shocks but she couldn't refuse to meet with her own father. She welcomed him into the parlor with tea and cake. It was the height of summer so she wore light blue linen clothes with a high sash over her full belly. Her red hair was bundled high and set with a blue and gold hairpin which matched her blue and gold brooch. It took some time to receive it after the visit but she was enjoying it now.

Her father scoffed when he saw it. “There is no need to support the Archductal Couple of another duchy anymore,” he said.

Brunhilde got the distinct impression he was not talking about her accessories. “I have long awaited this gift from Lord Melchior. I will enjoy the summer colors before the season is out,” she replied.

“Ah yes. I hear you've given him quite a lot of support recently. Are you looking to sew thorns over the path¹⁶?” he asked.

“Oh which path, dear father. I believe it is the opposite. We have leveled his path to starting more trends in men’s fashion,” Brunhilde replied. In all honesty, she wasn't in the mood for heavy political talk; certainly not with Geibe Groschel.

He chuckled. “Leave it to a woman to be distracted by clothing during important days.” He watched her scowl with a grin. “Tell me? Can I expect better success this year?”

She swirled a bit of tea to wash the sour taste from her mouth. Even now that she was established as the Second Wife he would ask such questions. “Shouldn't I be asking that? I hear you have been attending the festivities.” He’d been seen at at least two Autumn Debuts already. He really was getting too old for that, she thought.

“Is that the concern of an Ehrenfest?” he replied.

“Ah. That is how things are then. As the wife of the Archduke then, I must inquire what you plan to do with a third wife at your age?” she didn't mean to include as much venom as she did but his self-assured slouch was making her angry. This was her house after all. He could at least respect her furniture.

The giebe cleared his throat. “Perhaps you are yet naive to the purpose of third wives,” he replied with a bold glance up and down. “As for second wives, they can also produce an heir.”

“Yes and invalidate years of hard work by the first wife through foolish tampering,” she snapped. They were just reaching a point of stability too. It would be foolish for her to try to make moves now. She was happy to have children of her own but had no desire to push them into a feud with either her friend Charlotte or Melchior.

“Foolish tampering?” he clicked his tongue. “Is it not foolish to ignore opportunity when it approaches. I thought you understood this, Brunhilde. When you asked Sylvester to marry you, I thought you showed vision. Now… well.”

“Is that what you call it? Vision. Yes I can see a mistake from far enough ahead to avoid it? Can you, Father? Or do you plan to bring ire from the Archduchess?”

“Since when have we had an Archduchess? I know of only an Archduke and a collection of children. One of whom shall be my grandson.”

“Or granddaughter.”

“Or male Archduke Candidate. Don't you see the opportunity?” He leaned forward, unable to conceal his excitement. “The possibility, Brunhilde.” Did he think she was stupid? How could she not see the possibility that her child, male or female, might become the Aub? Everything would depend on how long Sylvester wished to rule before retirement. If he delayed long enough, the Leisegangs could force her child into the seat.

He began young and his first children were only a couple decades younger. If he clung to his position for a long time, Charlotte wouldn't have a long reign but she would likely be finished having children. With at least one brother, her own children, and her parents still around, Ehrenfest would finally be in a stable place magically. To take her inheritance now would require marrying her into another duchy like Georgina, beginning that cycle of revenge all over again possibly, and sending yet another set of quality retainers out of the duchy.

Of course, this would happen regardless of which sibling married away. It would be easiest to compensate for Wilfried's retainers but Melchior had fewer of them and would be easier to convince to leave them behind. If only they weren't so dogged in their desire to remain in his service. Ehrenfest needed more political ties. At least one of them needed to go but she couldn't come forward with that position even if Florencia did. It would look like she was trying to remove competition igniting the smoldering hopes for a Leisegang Aub just when Charlotte was blossoming into a capable politician. She didn't want to think about the carnage.

“How is the little one? Doing well?” she asked rather than engage any further in this stupidity.

“It will be good to have a spare,” he replied, finally doing something to explain his search for yet another wife.

Was he truly so unhappy with Bertilde that he didn't even consider her a backup plan, Brunhilde wondered. But she was developing well and becoming a real leader. Perhaps that was the problem. The people of Groschel had lost their heir apparent and would be clamoring for him to name a successor. A young wife would make for a good distraction while his son grew. “So that is why you seek a third pillar.”

“At my age?” he asked. “What would people say, Brunhilde?”

So he was looking for a mistress. How distressing. For a man with daughter's he was woefully unsympathetic towards women. “I recall there being another child of Giebe Groschel,” she ventured.

“This is a time of great change. We need strong leadership in Groschel. Surely you understand or once understood?” He looked at her stomach again.

“I recall strong leadership being all the difference during our Entwinklen,” she replied. Neither Sylvester nor her father could remotely approach the work she put in to make that happen, even discounting marrying the Aub. “Tell me, what do you find so weak in Bertilde?” Even though it was pointless to ask, she wanted him to say it while Bertilde was around to hear it. Her younger sister still struggled to believe that their father held the beliefs that he did.

Even with both of his daughters painting him with questioning looks he was unconcerned. “That does not bear repeating,” he scoffed. “As I’ve said we need strong leadership both above and below. This is why I wonder what you are doing watering the gardens instead of feeding the lion¹⁷?”

“I see a bright future in gardening,” she replied. Both for Groschel and for Ehrenfest.

“Well, we cannot be blessed by Sehweit at all times¹⁸,” he sighed. “It is good that the God of Darkness remains in the night sky¹⁹.”

So he was making moves. He’d been frustratingly subtle then. “Yes, that is good,” she said to test whether his susceptibility to flattery was still intact. His smile said it was. “And what constellations might I expect?”

“Ah, ah… things are not at that stage.” He gestured for more tea when it was not forthcoming. “I will alert you when your assistance is needed.”

“Please do, father,” she replied. She would have to look into things now. Of course he knew that she would but did he know she could get to the bottom of things? It would be easier if he didn't.

“You need only take care of yourself,” he replied. “Though perhaps a spare would be ideal.”

She resisted the urge to frown. How many wombs was he looking to control. She wanted more kids but the way he talked about it gave her pause. He was also far too confident in whatever his scheme was. Even one good detail would put her in a good position to constrain things at these early stages. She needed to gamble on him thinking she understood more than she did. “And if it is a girl as well?” she asked.

His eyes rose in surprise. She'd hit something but she didn't know what. “We will consider that in such an unlikely case,” he replied. Unfortunately, she already knew that his best case scenario required a boy. She would need to find a new angle when she had the energy to fight with him.

Intelligence - A Noble Interlude

Isolde was happy to work right up to the time she needed to get ready. Had she been able to create a reason why she couldn't attend her own Autumn Debut, she would have. While it was good that it was actually happening, her father hadn't allowed her any input on the guest list at all. She took this as a bad sign. Her anxiety rose greatly when she couldn't find out who had been invited through her usual information channels either. It wasn't surprising that her parents didn't intend to waste tea on Kolteruze, but Sigsnyr was well within range and hadn't officially courted anyone yet. She didn't think her father knew of or would respect Zipporah’s claim to him either.

These were problems to face that evening though. For the morning she had groundwork to do. Her lord intended to support Herzfeld and it was her job to make that happen. She was also charged with delivering the crayons before Melchior found some other reason to give them away. She was glad Biligast had little to do during this season. He was young enough to be looking for a second wife, especially when his province was in such dire need for women, but his first wife was pregnant.

Melchior didn't have very many ideas yet. He knew of a magic tool that slowed down the consumption of fuel without reducing light output. It would use less mana than pure magic-lights but would still be very expensive over such a large area. There were the ovens Zipporah suggested. The enclosed burning chamber helped to redirect smoke making it easier to capture. Layers of wool could also be used to help filter air leaving the chimney. Linen was likely to catch fire but the wool was safe enough thanks to the design. There were also tools for scrubbing the air which weren't very mana intensive and could be used a few times during the winter but once again, scale was the issue.

“For this first stage, we recommend creating a clean air space where the most vulnerable can spend their time. Having two would allow the commoners to remain separate from nobles,” she concluded her speech.

Biligast had begun their talk looking amused by this young girl and her even younger assistant but they took their work seriously and were bringing good ideas even if they knew about most of it already. “These ovens are a novel solution. Do they require a brewing forge?” he asked.

“They are made of mundane clay by common potters,” she replied.

Now he smiled. This was something they could implement. She passed the schematics over while noting that they were also popular in Khune and Sneftsitz that they knew of. That way Herzfeld wouldn't need to talk to Haldenzel any more than was absolutely necessary.

“You have coworkers from Sneftsitz too?” he asked.

“The giebe’s daughter, Helenwig, serves as a knight,” Isolde replied. She considered laying out the temporary nature of the assignment but didn't think he needed to know.

Biligast look surprised as he nodded. It was strange that the son of the Archduke had female knights but he also had an apprentice female scholar conducting serious work. He would have to ask Sebastian whether Melchior was struggling that much to find retainers or just eccentric.

“We thank you for providing what assistance you could. I think we can implement your idea for a few clean air spaces even if heavier use of magic tools isn't feasible,” he said. It hadn't cost them anything to ask and he couldn't complain about receiving just a couple of new ideas.

“As I’ve stated, these are preliminary offerings that you may choose to implement immediately and without aid. We have been given the directive to help you find solutions up to the possibility of remaking your winter mansion,” Isolde said. She was beginning to wonder whether people even listened to the words she spoke.

His eyes grew wide and his scholar began scribbling notes. “Up to remodeling,” Biligast laughed. “That is the natural conclusion.”

Isolde didn't laugh and also shook her head. “We could provide long term assistance but that would over tax the Archductal family and be a show of incredible favoritism. Indeed, the Archduke is reluctant to perform an Entwinklen in a province with no commercial viability or ambitions. Lord Melchior is doing his utmost to convince him,” Isolde replied.

Biligast shifted his weight and frowned. She was so serious for being such a little thing but she was trying to help. With a couple of years left at the Royal Academy, she would be a good option for a second wife. If she was capable of work like this now, she’d be a real asset. He put away his thoughts about stealing her away to consider the information at hand.

That the Aub couldn't offer a province continuous financial or magical support was a given. Herzfeld didn't really need that anyway. Sylvester might not see them as commercially viable compared to printing but their wool industry was plenty profitable. If only life in their province could attract more nobles. Neither knights nor scholars had a reason to stay. It was new information that Entwinklen was being discussed. They'd been asking for decades now so it was impressive that Melchior extracted even such lukewarm support. They would need to convince the Aub and plan everything themselves. It sounded like Sylvester was hoping to have to cast the spell and nothing else.

“I wouldn't say we have no commercial viability. While it's true we have neither the abundant forests nor the manpower to join the printing industry, our textiles clothe half of Ehrenfest if not six tenths. We could do more were our population in better health,” he said.

Isolde noted this down without comment. She didn't know how much wool Ehrenfest used nor how much Herzfeld generated. Finding out hopefully wouldn't be difficult and would have been nice to know going into this meeting. She sighed. As much as she teased Kazmiar for his amateur performance at the Archdukes Conference, she wasn't doing much better and he’d done a pretty good job. “Does the market clamor for more?” she asked.

“If you want more of your population to work on a luxury product, their basic needs must be met. Warmth and protection from the elements is one of those. If we produced more wool than Illgner could produce less and spend more time making paper. As an example,” he replied.

She nodded. It made some sense. Illgner would have the money for that. “You believe that creating surplus even in those provinces that don't produce paper or books will allow us to make more?” she confirmed.

He nodded and watched her scribble away. Her tiny assistant tapped her arm. She sighed heavily. He wondered what the signal meant. “As it stands, this duchy is behind on many architectural and infrastructure innovations. Herzfeld isn't the only province with concerns dating back hundreds of years that only now have solutions. It is worse in Herzfeld because of the nature of our fuel sources but every Winter Mansion has this problem to some extent,” Billigast explained. “There is also the waste removal problem as mana eaters were never installed. I hear there's a new kind of well which makes drawing water easier and Alexandria and Drewanchel both have created water systems that deliver water directly to rooms without the need for pitchers.

“Ehrenfest doesn't just have a small population, we lack the infrastructure for a larger one. My father likes to say that we should focus on keeping people around, not just making new ones and I have to concede that he’s right,” Billigast concluded.

“You believe we should be more focused on extending life expectancy?” Isolde asked.

Since he finally had someone’s ear Billigast was happy to talk about the theories he developed at school about extending the working years of both nobles and commoners through better health and increased access to beauty. “Art makes life feel more worthwhile, improving morale and keeping people motivated!” he waxed.

Isolde calmly took notes as he raved about adding murals to every spare surface. She wasn't sure how much it would help but maybe he would say something really useful. People often did if you let them keep talking long enough.

Sure enough, “...It would go a long way to convincing people that an Archduchess is a good idea. Lady Charlotte’s been pushing rapid innovation, reinvention even, which the old guard find intimidating. They don't have faith in our foundations as a duchy. Its top heavy and its girls making it that way,” he explained. Isolde didn't react for fear he would realize what he’d said. “I think she's plenty smart and has the mana but, she has no love for Ehrenfest as it is, only as it could theoretically be one day if we abandoned our deeply held beliefs,” he said with a dismissive gesture.

Isolde didn't totally agree but she knew Charlotte had little respect for the older generation except for Lord Bonifiatus and possibly Ridyarda. Was it any wonder when her grandmother was such a bother and her grandfather enabled her reign of terror. “I fear she knows little love from Ehrenfest as it is,” Isolde replied.

Biligast looked confused for a bit. “Are you saying we aren't showing her enough support?”

Isolde shook her head. “While more vocal support would be nice, I mean that from our perspective, the previous generation have made a serious bungle of things. Only recently have we collected ranks and who enabled that?”

“Lady Rozemyne,” Biligast replied. He stroked his chin. “We neither suffered much under the First Wife nor gained much from the new innovations. You could call us Leisegang but only if we absolutely have to pick sides. Giving more support to Charlotte wouldn't be difficult but, we don't have a reason to do it.”

“Is this not reason enough?” she asked with a gesture to their meeting in general.

“You are Lord Melchior's scholar,” Biligast replied. Charlotte had never even visited Herzfeld and likely wouldn't until she did her tour as the new Aub.

“He wishes to give her his full support,” she replied. “We ask that you respect that.”

In other words, he shouldn't seem to be calling for Melchior to take the seat even if he seemed more likely to serve their interests. “Is that a condition?”

“At the moment, the siblings work in tandem. It would reduce efficiency were they to be driven apart,” Isolde replied. Charlotte might not be actively helping with this but she wasn't hindering it either. Things would become impossible if her army of scholars turned against the project to keep her brother from collecting accomplishments.

Biligast nodded. He could understand her implications. “How long do we have?”

“Well, Reunwalt is planned for next year. At the earliest it would be the year after should the Eternal Five remain unchanged,” if Bonifiatus or Veronica died, they wouldn't have the mana.

“That's time to make very solid plans. And time for other emergent problems,” he replied.

“It is, but we hope to keep focused.” She pulled a paper from her folio. Biligast looked at it curiously. “We will be sending a scholar with the clergy this autumn. If you could prepare this information, it would do much to assist him.”

Biligast looked at the paper. They wanted air samples and population data. Isolde added lines for wool export estimates as well. Since there wasn't much to do in his remote and peaceful corner of the duchy, this would be easy.

He left with the schematics for the oven and magic tools, seeds for a glowing flower, and, most importantly, his new crayons. As a giebe and grown adult man, he struggled not to skip out of the castle in delight.

Deliroze sighed along with Isolde. “You're late now,” he noted.

“Yes yes. I will collect enough lectures. Here, take my notes back with you. Inform our lord that I will give my full report tomorrow,” she gave him a pat on the head. “You did well. I am proud of you.”

It came out a little stilted but Deliroze was happy all the same. Isolde was a lot like Delia. They were both ambitious, abrasive, and decisive. He wondered what Delia could have achieved had she not sacrificed everything on a chance to give him a better life. Isolde was strict but her abilities were undeniable. He would learn all she could teach and use it to protect his fellow orphans. It was a bonus that she could be kind as well.

Isolde shuffled out of the castle with a heavy heart. She couldn't waste anymore time but she was already going to be forced to skip lunch so what good was it to rush home anyway.

Espionage - A Noble Interlude

The Starbinding season was coming to a close and Kolteruze was tired. Why so many people invited him to debuts after their daughters assured them he wasn't a good match was a mystery. All he’d collected so far were apologies. No rafels came his way. Even Helenwig, who took great pleasure in embarrassing him, had been perfectly poised and polite at her debut. She also looked deeply relieved to see him and Benedikt and any other boy she actually knew no matter how unlikely their prospects.

He wished their prospects were even more unlikely. His father had been clear: he should try to make a match with her. Their mana was just within a reasonable range but more importantly, she was the daughter of a new giebe, from a province with no Leisegang blood. Kolteruze didn't tell his mother that she liked him. Their power combined would seal his fate but keeping them apart would be very difficult. Whatever he needed to pay Isolde to run interference, it would be worth it. Giebe Sneftsitz would want them to move there but wouldn't make Helenwig the giebe. It would be even harder to see his family or visit home when they were likely to get saddled with watching the province so Helenwig’s brother could socialize in the capital.

It was unfortunate that Isolde had a party of her own to deal with. She’d cramed her schedule as full as possible with important meetings in the days leading up to it. It was a couple of days after the Starbinding Ceremony which just proved how little her father cared about it. She was an archnoble. Pushing others down the schedule shouldn't be difficult even for a disgraced house of the former Veronica faction.

They weren't making much progress discovering what Melchior was up to and the lack of information meant they ended up talking about other things instead of scheming. She was worried. None of her mutually beneficial acquaintances were coming. For a girl so popular with boys, it was impossible that no one wanted to go. She was even an Archductal retainer. The only conclusion to draw was that her father hadn't invited them.

Kolteruze wasn't someone to stick his nose into other people's lives. His prior interference was at the behest of Melchior's temple attendants. Sheila had even bribed him with promises of occasional snacks for his study sessions in the atrium. How could he say no? Still, he was worried too. In defiance of all reason, he asked for the night off and made a surprise visit to Veremund.

“Kolteruze Sonn Leisegang, you terrified my parents,” Veremund said once they were alone in his room. The decoration was nothing incredible but it was full of an incredible quantity of tools. They weren't just for leatherworking either. There was a corner for brewing, a carpenter bench, bookbinding supplies, pressed flowers, a taxidermied efinit, a large pile of embroidery floss, a large pile of brewing ingredients with seemingly no organization, and many things Kolteruze couldn't identify even if he had a closer look. “Sorry for the mess.” Mess was an understatement. Kolteruze wondered whether the servants had just given up trying to tidy. Veremund moved something off of a chair so his guest could sit. He sank into the only other open chair which was surrounded by crafting supplies. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I wanted to ask whether you received an invitation to the party tonight,” Kolteruze replied.

“You didn't need to come in person for that,” Veremund said. He felt that he didn't need to say that he hadn't. The look in Kolteruze’s eyes told him he knew that neither of them had. “It is strange isn't it.” He fished a sound-blocker out of a cubby hole and tossed it over.

Kolteruze caught it and gripped tightly. “You don't think he intends to make her a Goddess of Flowers?”

“A second wife seems more likely,” Veremund replied. That was quite a leap to make. “What makes you so worried?”

Kolteruze didn't want to say it was because her mother was a mistress. “It doesn't make sense for a girl so accomplished.”

Veremund nodded. “Maybe he fears her stealing the family from his true son,” Veremund suggested. Kolteruze narrowed his eyes. Was the son from the second wife not his child either? If she took a foreign groom like she was planning, a boy with more mana or more cunning than Isidore, Kolteruze had no doubts that she could do it and push her parents to a side building while they were still in their prime.

“In either case, you agree that this is wrong,” Kolteruze said. “He should be pushing to marry her into another house at least.” Total disgrace should be a last resort.

“Why risk it?” Veremund sneered. “He surely thinks she's too headstrong to make use of.”

“Even if he's right…”

“This isn't the way,” Veremund sighed. “But there's nothing for it.” She could recover from the embarrassment, but she really would need to marry out of the duchy.

“I think we should go,” Kolteruze said.

“As Chaoscipher to an archnoble house?” Veremund cried. They would kill him and if they didn't, his parents would kill him.

“We would be together,” Kolteruze replied.

“So blame would fall to me anyway?” Veremund said. He really couldn't afford that. “You know we try to remain neutral.”

“Yes, but isn't she your friend?” Kolteruze pressed.

“She doesn't have friends,” Veremund replied with a pout. No matter how many hijinks they participated in together, she didn't have friends.

“Then think of the favor she would owe you,” Kolteruze said.

Veremund wasn't sure it would be worth his reputation after her father decided to destroy his life. There really wasn't a reason for him to get involved other than to serve his sense of justice. And to help his friend in her time of need. “This won't solve anything,” he said.

“It would make it clear that she has stronger allies who won't just allow this to happen,” Kolteruze replied.

“Do we count as strong allies?”

“We have strong backing.”

“Perhaps you do but I’m just a craftsman and a mednoble,” Veremund sighed.

“You are a friend to Lord Melchior,” Kolteruze said with faux surprise. “Have you already forgotten his magnanimity?”

“You think I can rely on the kind feelings of an eleven year old? He might be an Archduke Candidate but he's barely out of the embrace of Weigemilch.”

“I think you can stake your life on it. It wouldn't be the worst thing for your family to accept her if it comes to that,” Kolteruze pressed.

“She isn't a neutral kind of person,” Veremund muttered. Not to mention that she came with the worst in-laws.

“She could be. She needs something to do, not necessarily stirring faction politics. You could expand your clientele to other duchies and send her on trips or something, what matters is that even the worst case scenario isn't that bad,” Kolteruze replied.

Veremund had to concede that a collection of pastel children would be adorable. Knowing she wasn't even considering it made it easy to be friends but he had considered it even just to decide it was a bad idea. He wouldn't call that the worst case scenario though. The worst thing would be being dragged out of his house into faction politics with no backing to speak of. His family wasn't going to pick a side until they were held at sword point. If he did, they would just distance him and that would be terrible.

“Plus you can always join our exalted twelve if you have to,” Kolteruze added.

Veremund shook his head. What kind of crazy retinue would call their positions a backup plan. This was the third person telling him the option was there if he needed it as opposed to an incredible honor he was letting pass him by. They were all Melchior's retainers too. He sighed. It was one party that almost no one would know he attended. “Fine. But you have to dress me since we're sneaking out.”

Kolteruze smiled and began wading towards the closet.

Veremund was surprised when they were joined by Sebastian and Sigsnyr. Even more so that they hadn't asked any questions when Kolteruze invited them. “I heard clandestine mission and party in the same sentence,” Sigsnyr said with a shrug.

“An insult to Isolde is an insult to Lord Melchior,” Sebastian argued.

They all turned to the one outlier in their group. Lord Spannegle of Klassenberg blinked rapidly. “What?” He was visiting with his brother who was bringing a faestone and happened to hear the message while having tea with Sebastian. “It sounded fun.”

“Alright, Klassenberg, just don't do anything wild.”

“I’m not…” he began but they were too busy planning.

“We should just walk in through the front door,” Kolteruze sighed.

“That might be easy when your name is Leisegang but we need to avoid being turned away,” Sigsnyr argued. “We would also need four carriages.”

“We know Isolde, we can just fly over,” Veremund said.

“You have to take carriages through your own city?” Spannegle asked.

“Yes, we should fly. That would make it seem like we are more confident,” Sebastian added. It would be simple, they would fly over, force a servant to show them the way, show their faces, then leave.

They ran into trouble immediately when the estate was covered in highbeast. “No one would invite every guest to come by highbeast,” Kolteruze whispered as they moved into the line preparing to land. There wasn't a single carriage on the drive nor any exterior indication that a party was about to take place. Stranger still, some guests were already leaving. “Do they not intend to socialize?”

Sigsnyr looked around. All these men were older. Kolteruze’s prediction that Isolde was being advertised as a potential second or third wife seemed true. They seemed to all be archnobles but there wasn't enough mana radiating from the estate ballroom for it to be full of them. “I think their going in small groups.”

Kolteruze paled. There was only one reason to do that for an Autumn Debut: to prevent the guests from seeing each other, something that would only be necessary were they doing something scandalous. His sick feeling deepened.

“Is that Giebe Groschel?” Sebastian whispered. They all looked toward the red haired man floating around with a knight.

“Keep your voice down,” Sigsnyr snapped. His Fonsel-style whispering was going to give them away.

“Are we going to wait up here all night?” Spannegle asked. As an archnoble from Klassenberg, he didn't usually have to wait for anything.

“Have some patience, Klassenberg,” Sigsnyr replied.

“I think he's right,” Veremund said. “If we wait just like everyone else, things will just proceed as planned.”

“If there isn't a true party to crash, we should make it impossible for these shears²⁰ to remain anonymous,” Sebastian said.

“What do you want to do, stand on the launching balcony and welcome them in?” Veremund asked.

“We just need to get inside and make a bit of ruckus,” Sigsnyr said. “Klassenberg, go knock on the front door and pretend to be lost.”

“Who would believe that? No one would send their guest alone without a guide through the city,” he scoffed. The Ehrenfest boys averted their gaze. “You people are beasts,” Spannegle muttered. He floated down and walked up to the main doors. Despite their being an event, there was no one waiting there. He looked for a bell or knocker or anything to indicate his presence. “I guess Ehrenfesters aren't ones for dropping in,” he muttered. He summoned a little hammer and tapped on the door.

They boys watched him wait for a long while but no one appeared. They broke from the formation and landed in a billow of sleeves. “No one replied,” he said.

They looked at his hammer quizzically. “You just whacked the door?” Kolteruze asked.

“You said to knock.”

“That was a figure of speech,” Sigsnyr sighed and touched an invisible magic circle on the door. Spannegle mumbled about this while his partners hurried to hide in the shrubbery. After another wait, the door opened to reveal an annoyed looking man, a mednoble attendant, likely the estate steward. He started once he saw a Klassenberg cape on over Archnoble formal wear.

He invited the young man in and knelt to offer greetings all the same. “May our surprise visitor be blessed. How have you come to our humble home, Lord Spannegle? This honor is unexpected.”

“Ah yes. I don't think this is the estate I was looking for. They all look the same here,” he laughed.

The attendant laughed as well. “That is true. Allow me to guide you back to the path,” he said and went to get his cloak leaving Spannegle by himself.

He looked around. The decor was kind of drab. There was a distinct lack of shiny fixtures and plants. Why live above ground and not surround yourself with life?

“Klassy!” came a very loud whisper. Spannegle turned towards the sound. Sigsnyr and Sebastian waved at him from over the banister at the top of the grand staircase. He looked in the direction the steward went one last time before hurrying up the stairs.

“How did you get here?”

“Secret passage,” Sigsnyr replied.

“Why do you know about secret passages in someone else's house?”

“All the estates are the same,” Sigsnyr whispered.

“You just left him waiting?” Called a feminine voice with obviously fake indignation.

Kolteruze paled and hurried them deeper in. “We need to avoid her,” he whispered.

“We need to get back downstairs. These are the private rooms.”

“Won't she find us?”

“There's like fifty people here. Its fine”

They followed Sigsnyr through the labyrinth, spotting hallways and peaking down stairs. It was hard to dodge the commoner servants but with a varied collection of faepeople they could sense most of the nobles and mana-bearing servants. This didn't make it easier to find anyone specific. It didn't help that every room they passed seemed to have one or two people inside.

“There has been a distinct lack of merriment,” Spannegle whispered.

“I did say it wouldn't be fun,” Sebastian said.

“You say that about everything,” Spannegle replied.

“I'm not a fun person.”

“That's not true”

“Quiet,” Sigsnyr snapped. They went silent. Soft footfalls echoed through the hall. He looked around. There was nothing to hide behind and that wouldn't be all that effective anyway. With nowhere else to go, Kolteruze pulled open a door and shoved everyone in.

“What is the meaning of this?” A man snapped. “Kolteruze?”

“Uncle, how wonderful to see you,” he replied calmly.

The others took a moment to kneel. “Yes, yes you may…What are you all doing here?”

“Uncle? What does one do at such an event?” Kolteruze asked with a hand to his cheek. “I must say, I’m just as surprised to meet you here, Uncle.”

He frowned. “Yes, well. I didn't know you were looking for such a thing.”

“At the moment, I’m looking for a friend. Can you tell me where the main event is taking place?” Kolteruze asked.

“Were you actually invited, even?” he questioned.

Kolteruze just smiled. “Would I come were I not, dear uncle? And how are my aunts? Did you truly leave them at home for this occasion?”

The man frowned even deeper. “What Sehweit cannot see Mestinora cannot write²¹.”

“Naturally, naturally,” Kolteruze chirped as he took the second seat on the bench his uncle was sitting on. The rest of the boys found seats as well and they settled into an awkward silence.

“Is this how they all are?” Spannegle asked after a bit. Everyone shook their heads. “Then why use such a boring format?”

“Discretion,” the older man said.

Spannegle spent a while in contemplation. “Isn't she your co-worker?”

“She is. Why else would we be here?” Sigsnyr replied.

Kolteruze’s uncle looked pensive for a moment. “I did not think he meant the same girl,” he mumbled, then stood up. “This is a strange thing.”

“Are you leaving so soon?” Kolteruze asked sweetly.

“I am not so anxious, other opportunities will arise,” he replied.

“Do be sure to bring my aunts next time,” Kolteruze called. His uncle left with an angry swish of his cape.

“Can you finally explain things to me?” Spannegle asked. Everyone looked at him with some confusion. “Like I said, I was just tagging along.”

“Our co-workers Autumn Debut is tonight. Rather than the usual gathering, awkward though they may be, this is an auction of sorts. Shears looking for tender buds come here but they do not want to be observed, thus the private rooms,” Sebastian explained. Veremund muttered something about the extravagance of archnobles. Sebastian ignored this and continued. “It would seem that the invitations failed to disclose the identity of the lady in question. Those not looking for conflict will naturally be unhappy with what they find.”

“Because she works for Lord Melchior?”

“I think he believes the exalted twelve can be replaced²²,” Sebastian said. “Does he think it will help his house to offend a future Dark God?”

“Or even a God of Fire,” Veremund scoffed. Sebastian glared at him but didn't press. It was the same either way. Bringing disgrace to an Archductal retainer was asking for trouble.

Sebastian felt something like a chill up his spine as two new mana signatures entered his perception. A small collection of bells twinkled brightly before the door opened to reveal a woman with teal hair and soft red eyes in a low cut dress made to hug the curves of her body. There were ample curves to accentuate. Spannegle let out a shocked gasp as his cheeks grew warm and pink.

He didn't even notice when another, smaller girl walked in after. She wore a slim cut, blue-green dress with a cape instead of sleeves. A densely embroidered collar encircled her neck, serving as the origin point of the cape. The stiff fabric created a silhouette like two triangles stacked one on top of the other. It was the most interesting version of this new trend he’d seen during his visit but sparked none of the awkward sensation that the older woman did. His sister would call it a dress made for the girl wearing it while the woman looked tailor made for his enjoyment.

“What is this?” Isolde snapped? “I do not recall any of you on the guest list.”

“There must be some mistake.” Kolteruze said. “We were sure we could not escape the Autumn Debut of one so closely associated with us.”

Sigsnyr played with his luxurious sleeves and long hair. “I even wore my nicest outfit,” he muttered.

She placed her hands on her narrow hips, drawing attention to her bangles. “Well we have confirmed all that needs confirmation. You may all leave before you cause any trouble.”

“Are we really the ones causing trouble? What does your father believe the end result of this will be?” Sebastian spat. “Lord Melchior would never allow you to become some third wife.”

Isolde looked pensive for a moment. “I will consider such things on the morrow. For now, Mother cannot see you.”

“We were very discreet. Though… this is a party. Should we need to be discreet?” Veremund asked. He stood up and moved to the door, past their hostesses. After glancing into the hallway he summoned his schtappe and began drawing a magic circle.

“What is that?”

“A locking circle. No one will be able to come in,” he replied. “Sit. Tell us who you’ve seen so far.” His eyes sparkled with mischief and curiosity.

“Did we really see Groschel?” Sigsnyr asked.

“I cannot say,” Isolde replied.

“There is no reason to protect them,” her servant said, barely speaking above the sound of a breath.

Isolde still caught it. She looked at her servant with a complicated expression. “You did,” she said. “I believe I also saw your uncle leaving before his turn. Mother tried to entice him to stay.” Once the dam gained a leak, information spilled out faster and faster. Isolde found that she wasn't just interested or amused by their guests, she was angry. She remembered their lewd glances and comments directed at her servant and felt her blood boiling. Even their mana felt slimy somehow. She'd refused all tests for capability since neither of her parents were there to force the issue. She thought this was a rather large oversight on their part but was happy to exploit it.

Every man who came, no matter how polite or confused, was disclosed alongside scathing critique about his person and circumstances. They even discussed possible reasons for why they'd come seeking a mistress. Isolde was so angry that it didn't matter that someone from another duchy and someone not in the retinue were present. All the carefully obscured faction politics were laid before Spannegle. He did his best to remember so he could warn his brother. No matter what he said, the engagement would never be canceled by such a besotted idiot, but this would allow for easier integration. He was suddenly very happy he came.

Kolteruze was less happy to have his fears validated. He shared worried looks with Veremund who grew increasingly dark the longer Isolde spoke.

“I think he was just invited to humiliate me,” Isolde concluded her description of one mednoble from Dandolf. “And he actually came, what a fool.”

A few minutes quickly turned into the better part of a bell. Isolde's servant made no move to stop or correct her. She even offered details where they’d been forgotten. Sigsnyr and Kolteruze had many questions while Sebastian focused on not Crushing anything in his indignation.

Eventually the locking circle began to glow. After turning red it fractured with a bright pop and the door swung open to reveal a very angry woman. “Isolde!” Lady Livia screeched. “Is this where you’ve been all this time!” After this outburst she noticed the rest of the room was filled with boys and smoothed over her countenance. “I see you were with guests, though I do not remember welcoming these distinguished persons this evening.”

They all looked at Spannegle. He laughed awkwardly, “I got lost in the Nobles Quarter and managed to wander in. These ladies were kind enough to host me anyway. I must say that your ward is a most polite and well-bred girl,” he said.

Livia managed to keep smiling. “Indeed, she does credit to her training,” she said as she gave pointed looks towards everyone who’d yet to explain themselves. Now that she had a moment to really look at them she noticed Kolteruze sitting on the bench, trying to look nonchalant. “You,” she whispered. He waved. “How pleasant to see you again, Lord Kolteruze. Was it my mistake or had we not invited your uncle this evening?”

“Uncle was most gracious in giving us his room,” Kolteruze replied. He also stood and began the long process of giving formal greetings. Each boy followed suit with none allowing any part of the process to be skipped or hurried. When it came to Spannegle’s turn they held his shoulder so he couldn't stand up. Having allowed him to greet Kolteruze’s uncle, he assumed they observed age related status conventions much like Klassenberg but he was technically of higher status because his duchy was higher ranked. He was willing to ignore that among friends. It seemed they now wanted to use his status to force Isolde's mother to kneel.

Lady Livia hesitated for a long moment but the bright red cape couldn't be ignored. She lowered herself to her knee then lowered her head. “May I offer a blessing in appreciation of this serendipitous meeting ordained by the vibrant summer rays of Leidenschaft the God of Fire,” she said.

Kolteruze tapped Spannegle, distracting him for a moment and drawing out the formality. “Ah… you may,” he said after realizing they were just messing with him.

“May this meeting be blessed,” Livia said immediately and stood back up. “As you have found a collection of local friends, we can be confident that you will find your way.”

“Are we to turn away such fine gentlemen on this night, Lady Livia?” Koralia asked.

Livia’s smile grew taunt. It would be silly to throw out a collection of single, well connected young men during an Autumn Debut. Having that pointed out put her in an even more awkward position but she did not have to argue with a servant and certainly not with this one. “We are not prepared for them. Now, go and inform our guests that the delay has been removed and Isolde will soon come to meet them,” she ordered.

Isolde paled. That would mean visiting each room alone. She didn't want to do that herself and was even less willing to send her servant. “I will go Mother. I’ll not cower behind a servant when it is my own fault,” she said and rose from the bench at the center of the group.

“No, no, it would be rude to leave our guests unattended. Ensure they do not get lost on their way to the balcony,” Livia ordered. She glared at Koralia who bowed without another word and moved off to do as ordered.

Isolde watched and clutched the sash hidden under her capelet. “Yes, mother,” she said quietly then turned to the boys. “Please follow me.”

It was already rude to have appeared uninvited. Now that they were found out, they couldn't make an even bigger ruckus. Veremund had even introduced himself, so Kolteruze couldn't ask him to make an even worse impression and increase the chances of him earning retribution. They rose and followed with polite farewells in spite of their varied levels of rage or indignation.

Isolde had calmed down considerably while talking with her surprise guests but was now even more upset than before. Was it really not enough of a chastisement to her mother that they'd come without invitations, punctuating their entitlement to such an invitation. Her mother didn't even seem worried that one of Melchior's three retainers present would inform him. Then again, she would report to him herself so that made sense.

She took the long way to the launching balcony so she had time to think and whisper. “Does your father have no respect for our lord?” Sebastian asked in much too loud a voice.

“He has been trying to convince me to quit since I was taken on,” Isolde replied.

“Why not just order it as the head of your house?” Spannegle asked.

“She was hired on Lady Charlotte’s recommendation. If he orders her to give up her position that's the same as saying Lady Charlotte was wrong to recommend her. He can't afford to give that kind of insult.”

“But he can afford to give this kind of insult?” Sebastian fumed.

“Had you not come, it would all be a secret,” Isolde replied. “I could give a report but there would only be my word to go on.” None of the guests would admit to seeking her for a mistress to Melchior or the Aub. In fact, none of them would be bold enough to take her as one after finding out. She stopped walking as a thought struck her.

This could all be an elaborate punishment for her stubbornness. Perhaps her father thought she would be too ashamed to return to work or wanted to hold this as leverage over her but he knew her well enough to know she could not be cowed in this way. It had to be something else and this was just a cover. The format allowed for largely secret meetings with many powerful men. If he’d given up on arranging her marriage to suit his aims, he had no reason not to use her Autumn Debut to further his political strategy.

As they understood the look and mood that had fallen over their co-worker. The boys didn't interrupt. They stood quietly in the hallway turning over their own theories until they heard a door open. Isolde pulled them into an adjoining hall. Sigsnyr stood closest to the corner and enhanced his hearing.

“This has been most enlightening. I do not see a quick solution but there is a way forward,” Isolde's father said good naturedly.

“Indeed, indeed. Do tell me what else to learn tonight,” replied a mysterious voice. Sigsnyr felt like he knew who it was but couldn't place it from such a short sample. It wasn't someone close to him but they’d met before.

They waited for the sound of footsteps to disappear into another room before hurrying on to the balcony. Watching the guest fly off did little to illuminate his identity. There were simply too many people with yellowish hair in Ehrenfest. All of the waiting highbeast had landed while they’d wasted Isolde's time so the air and balcony were mostly empty except for a few servants.

Isolde stood stiffly and placed a hand over her heart. “We thank you ever so much for attending our little event. May you live well with the divine protection of the gods until Dregarnuhr the Goddess of Time weaves the threads of our fates together once again.”

“I don't know what this was but it won't disrupt your chances,” Sebastian vowed. Even if he had to take responsibility himself, his lord would not be insulted by her inability to make a good match thanks to her father's cruelty.

“I already have an intended but if you need a way into Klassenberg,” and out of Ehrenfest, “please feel encouraged to keep in touch,” Spannegle offered. Even if she didn't grow up to look like the servant who was obviously her true mother, she was a skilled scholar and well worth stealing for his duchy.

“I thank you for your consideration, Lord Spannegle. I regret that we will not see each other again until this winter but I hope you enjoy the remainder of your stay in Ehrenfest,” she replied.

She looked toward Kolteruze and Veremund then looked down. “As the Goddess of Light rises,” Kolteruze said and summoned his highbeast.

Veremund took a bracelet from his arm and tossed it to her. It would block exactly one physical strike and deliver a sharp counter attack. If someone tried to slap her for her disobedience, they would be in for a surprise. Isolde turned red as she held it. She waited until they were no longer visible before slipping it up her arm and going back inside to face the many lectures that would keep her from going to bed at a reasonable time. Thankfully, seventh bell sounded over the Nobles Quarter. It was time for their guests to leave.

Footnotes

16. Make things more difficult^

17. He means supporting Charlotte rather than sweet talking Sylvester and earning more support for her own children, I think. I hope^

18. “Not every decision can be wise” or “You stumbled into the right choice before but lack real foresight”^

19. Be glad I’m still around.^

20. A pejorative for those who pluck flowers early^

21. Keep your mouth shut and I'll keep my mouth shut^

22. He thinks he can make her lose her place and thus her support.^

Chapter Text

Preparing for classes

After spending the better part of the week mostly doing the same old thing between the Starbinding Ceremony and registering medals, Melchior was amazed to find out how busy everyone else had been. He knew his scholars were taking the opportunity to do some groundwork while so many people were visiting the Nobles Quarter but even those with time off had an exciting week.

He had to sit for Zargerecht’s lecture at Kolteruze. The quiet, mild mannered Kolteruze, whose only hobbies were studying and plant husbandry, had snuck into an archnoble estate to crash a party. Melchior spent most of the lecture in a daze rather than looking appropriately reproving. He was drawn back in once Kolteruze began explaining his reasons only to implicate Sigsnyr and Sebastian as well.

“What has possessed you all!” Zargerecht grumbled. “To think we would receive a formal complaint.”

“Someone leveled a formal complaint against Kolteruze?” Pepin asked. What could be more stupid and pointless.

“Indeed. The Archduke and First Wife are much distressed. Isolde's father has asked for justice of some kind.”

“Isolde's father wants us to punish Kolteruze?” Melchior asked. Zargerecht nodded sharply. “Do we have too?” He only broke in because he wasn't invited because Isolde's father was advertising her as a second or third wife and hadn't invited any of the younger boys he might have.

“You will give insult if you do not,” Zargerecht explained. “It is important to maintain good relationships with your retainers' families.”

“It was only Kolteruze who received a complaint? Not even Veremund?” Pepin asked. Kolteruze hadn't mentioned Veremund’s involvement. He looked at Pepin with unconcealed surprise. “He is one of our closest allies and Isolde's friend,” Pepin said.

“I was the instigator. Perhaps he fears you would not punish so many people at once.” Kolteruze mused. Or he feared attempting to implicate too many of Melchior's retainers would lead to a cover up. There was also the possibility that it was just a message and a play for official assistance in keeping him out of their business.

“Please write them a formal apology,” Melchior instructed. “It is not nice to barge into someone else's home. Did you even get permission from Isolde to meddle?” he added.

While Melchior had little ground to stand on as a serial meddler, he wasn't wrong. Twice now Kolteruze had taken it upon himself to interfere without consulting Isolde, a strange choice when he otherwise had much respect for her abilities. “I did not, my lord. I will reflect and send my apologies before the end of the week,” he promised.

Melchior nodded and moved to do something else. “Is that all, Lord Melchior?” Zargerecht asked. Such an extraordinary breach of decorum by Kolteruze reflected poorly on his lord. A weak response was tantamount to supporting his actions.

“I will confer with Isolde upon her return. As part of the offended party, she will be able to give perspective,” Melchior replied. The only reason she wasn't here for this conversation was because she was delivering more reports to Sylvester and Charlotte about paper-making innovations.

The selling of Hasse's information had been delayed for some time as new facets were added to the impending meeting. Since it was about new paper techniques, Charlotte wanted to discuss them in relation to their upcoming joint research with Bershmann. Without Rozemyne's earth shattering genius, Ehrenfest required more time and preparation to create award worthy research. Philine's advice had elevated many people's research but she was now gone as well. They would need to take their example and substitute for any lack with more work and better planning. Thus, their student research would begin over the summer.

Hasse's information included a lot of data about the relationship between a faeplant’s characteristics and the resulting paper as well as ways to blend those effects. Melchior hoped to find out how much blending materials weakened or strengthened these characteristics if they had time to study it while his scholars were more interested in finding a faster growing plant that was viable for paper production.

For now, Charlotte just needed to know what his scholars were planning to publish the next year and how much time he anticipated they could give to the work. Deliroze and Isolde were also reading through Hasse's report and isolating the most important parts. Since neither one knew much about how paper was made, they needed Kirk and Melchior’s help to parse some passages while they learned the process for themselves from the Temple workshop. Melchior had a better idea about the overall management and costs while Kirk had actually worked making paper and understood the references to specific processes.

In addition to this very important work, Melchior had the task of planning his highbeast creation class. Expected attendance had exploded beyond his circle of close friends so he needed to present a well crafted experience. He wrote out a lesson plan that would cover three weeks with one class per week. Having learned from Benedikt the consequences of planning too little material, he was adding additional bonus information in case everyone worked things out particularly quickly.

Sigsnyr and Zipporah would teach speed flying if their students proved especially adroit but Melchior wasn't confident they would get to that. Instead he would share his method for using utility-beasts and allow them to look over his design drawings. It was difficult to resist the urge to redraw everything but he didn't want to use more paper. He also promised to show Adaire pudgy birds so they were bringing the encyclopedia.

The pressure mounted even more when he was summoned by Wilfried for a meeting while he was training at the Knights Order. He left Dedryck and Fonsel to continue teaching, taking a couple apprentices instead, and summoned Isolde from the castle. She arrived with grumblings about the impromptu meeting.

Things turned out to be rather casual. Wilfried just had questions about the upcoming class. “This sign up sheet is getting rather full so I’m asking whether you’d like to switch your venue.” He placed the sheet down between them. Isolde had entrusted the sheet to Wilfried when she came to reserve one of the mana proof rooms. He’d posted it in the foyer so that anyone could join since Melchior had agreed to allow anyone who could finish their faestone in time. Now it was covered front and back with names.

“Most of these people are not novices creating their first highbeast,” Melchior noted. “Was it not clear that this was a class for highbeast creation?”

Wilfried chuckled. “They are clamoring to learn from the master of the flaming bird,” he said. “That isn't the only strange thing about your highbeast. Can you really summon any animal?”

“Everyone can summon whatever animal they want,” Melchior replied.

Wilfried shook his head. “They can choose but most people are stuck with it after that. You regularly use two, so does your retainer. Naturally, people think you’ve developed some secret.”

Melchior considered this for a moment. There wasn't really any secret. He knew highbeasts could take any shape so he could form his into any shape. Of course he had a primary creature but there was no reason for it to be the only option now. “Why do people find it hard to change?”

“My lord, if I may,” Sigsnyr interrupted. Melchior gestured for him to go on. “It can be difficult to conceive of one’s highbeast as any animal other than the one you chose. It is difficult enough for some people to hold one mental image. They cannot conjure dozens of examples,” he explained.

Wilfried nodded along. “Mine is a lion. It has been a lion and it shall be a lion. I can't think of it any other way.”

Melchior pulled out his highbeast faestone and held it out. “What shape is this?” he asked.

“A blob,” Wilfried replied.

Melchior shifted it to a poor imitation of a teapot. “And now?” he asked.

Wilfried looked confused. “I think that might be a teapot if you squint.”

“So you see, a highbeast faestone can take any shape. There is no reason why yours must take the shape of a lion.”

Wilfried narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. He’d chosen and formed a lion so many times. In his mind, a highbeast was a winged lion. He pulled out his stone and stared it down, willing it to become an ugly teapot. It didn't change.

“You don't believe it can be anything else.” Melchior declared.

“I do. It's just hard to imagine,” Wilfried insisted. After another minute he returned his stone to its holder. “I’ll work on it. For now we will move your class to the biggest hall.” Melchior nodded. “I’m surprised though. You're doing so much to nurture your competitors.”

“What do you mean, dear brother. These are the children of Ehrenfest, our allies.”

“Yes, yes. In the grand scheme of things. But in the Ehrenfest Academic Consortium, they will be first years and you are helping them pass a practical early,” Wilfried noted.

Melchior's eyes grew wide and he groaned. “I hadn't even considered that. It will be much harder to win as second years and I’ll make it even easier for them to beat us.” He fell into thought. Wilfried watched his hem and haw with an amused smile. He took the paper and prepared to toss it. Melchior would need to rethink teaching all the ten year olds in Ehrenfest city. “I will train with Ansgar,” Melchior declared instead. “If we practice brewing and law, he will be ready to pass quickly. Then it will not matter that the first years can form highbeasts.”

“You could save much time and energy by not raising your enemies,” Barthold interjected.

“They are not my enemies,” Melchior replied. “And I have already promised.” He took the sheet back from Wilfried. There were even people planning to fly down from Groschel and Reunwalt. They couldn't cancel now. “I will just have to enrich my second years even more.”

Isolde didn’t miss the shock on Barthold’s face nor the proud smile on Wilfried’s. The scholar seemed to think that choosing to elevate your allies over tearing down your enemies was a strange choice while WIlfried was happy but surprised that Melchior would choose the harder option. She felt something similar to how she did about Raphaela. Getting Wilfried away from his retainers might make him less intolerable.

“I have something else to request,” Wilfired said. Melchior perked up and prepared to listen. “It’s come to my attention that you disliked Brunschwarts’s class.” Melchior glanced to the side. “In truth, you are the only person who didn’t complain,” WIlfried laughed.

“He would lose his position if our parents leveled complaints,” Melchior replied.

“Then you would be free of him,” Barthold noted.

Melchior nodded. “While that’s true, it would call into question Wilfried’s choice of appointment, possibly weakening his authority at the Knights Order as well as closing off Brunschwarts’s future as an instructor after only his first class. Complaints from others might serve as a lesson but from me they would be an indictment.”

“That’s very mature thinking,” Wilfried praised. “Thank you for your grace, Melchior. Bunschwarts was excited to become an instructor and hopes to improve. To that end, he would like to observe Dedryck as he teaches the novices.”

“I suppose he’s welcome to train with us so long as he doesn’t hit anyone,” Melchior replied. Wilfried took a moment to turn this sentence over. There was so much to unpack. Why did Melchior think Brunschwarts would hit people? Wilfried asked about observation or shadowing but Melchior was inviting Brunschwarts to join their training sessions. Did he have such a poor opinion of him that he thought he needed to train as a novice? Seeing his brother’s confusion, Melchior elaborated, “Since we finished the introductory course, we were free to move to independent training. Felicitus and the others needed a little more help so I allowed them to join me and practice with my knights. I also think some of the girls are just there to talk to Dedryck but they do the training too so… We are all training together, Dedryck just happens to be the most skilled so he ends up teaching everyone else.”

“So it isn’t some manner of protest to shield the other novices from being placed in another class?” Wilfried asked with a glance toward his scholars.

“No.”

“And you aren’t looking to personally raise young knights to replace yours who are graduating soon?”

“No, but that’s a good idea,” Melchior chirped. Perhaps Felicutus seemed like he might want to serve Melchior one day, even just at school. His fighting style would even be good in close quarters.

“So you are doing this… out of the kindness of your heart?” Wilfried pressed.

It was not out of pure kindness. “I don’t like training alone and Gerianne has become too good. We are no longer evenly matched. As I would like her to be as strong as possible, I must find new partners who are closer to my level,” Melchior explained. The entire office was stunned silent for a long moment. Who would so freely admit to being weaker than a medknight.

Wilfried recovered first and coughed. “I see, so you are looking for new friends to train with,” he said. Melchior nodded. He sighed heavily. All the high level theory crafting and information gathering had been for nothing. He wondered whether other people were thrown into chaos by Melchior’s innocuous intentions. How had he so skillfully predicted the poor outcomes that would arise from complaining about his instructor but not from pulling every novice in the Knights Order, regardless of faction, into his training circle and planning a massive class independent of the leadership. Was he a masterful political machine or a naive eleven year old. As further discussion wouldn’t illuminate anything, he brought the meeting to a close.

“Well, thank you for allowing Brunschwarts to join. He genuinely wishes to become a good instructor so he’s trying to learn as much as he can.” Wilfried said.

“I think that’s great. If he’s willing to learn and change then I’ll support him,” Melchior declared. They would take him in, if only so that future generations of novices would not have to endure what they had.

They left with new goals. Melchior needed to add more for the older students to do. Trying to teach Wilfried hadn't gone well so he anticipated other people struggling to emulate him and Gerianne. They would focus on the battle-beast and utility-beast dichotomy rather than trying to teach people to summon infinitely many shapes. The large quantity of non-novices would also mean that each novice could have a personal tutor.

He left the creation of teams to his knights and Isolde. Just the idea of using this to manipulate faction politics was exhausting to him but seemed to energize Isolde. He left them in his outer chamber to bicker and discuss while he planned study sessions with Ansgar and Gerianne. As he didn’t know much about how Ansgar’s studies were going, he prepared mock tests based on the syllabi and study guides. He was surprised to realize that even he couldn’t pass them with one hundred percent accuracy and resolved to review the materials again.

The written lessons were the easy part. They would need to obtain materials for Ansgar to brew and perform the second year rituals. There was also faestone armor forming and basic self-defense. If he didn’t have a crystal for armor, he could brew one along with his prayer charms. As a laynoble, it was likely to take him all day and several potions so those would need preparation as well. As Melchior was using his status to compel Ansgar’s participation, he thought it was only right to provide his materials.

After writing out a list of everything they would need to ensure Ansgar could pass everything on day one or within the first few weeks, he brought the list out to the council who were still arguing over which novice should be paired with which older apprentice. They’d pulled in Kolteruze and Benedickt since the list of attendees had mysteriously gained non-knights at some point. They couldn’t decide whether those without mentees should be allowed to practice something else, like speed flying or utility-beast creation, or whether they should make it seem like this class was only for novices and the older people were merely incidental. Melchior only had one comment at this stage.

“I will tutor Adaire and Deliroze as I promised them,” he said.

“You cannot show such blatant favoritism,” Isolde replied while shaking her head.

“Indeed, my lord. A great many people are coming. They will wonder why you’ve chosen to be so open about your relationship,” Zargerecht added.

Since even they were in agreement, Melchior felt he had to reconsider. He glanced apologetically towards Deliroze. “Lord Veremund has been assigned to me, my lord. I will be well cared for,” he said. He looked happy with this and excited so Melchior let it go. This still left Adaire. Looking at the list, his older brother would be teaching him. That would be all right too, he supposed. Now that he had no one to tutor though, Melchior was less excited about the upcoming class. He noticed that everyone else was organized by both status and most likely future profession.

Only after seeing this edited list did it really sink in how many people were coming to learn how to make highbeasts from him: a person who greatly struggled to make their first highbeast. He still couldn’t use the established method as described by Charlotte and others. Would he even be able to help anyone else? When it would just be the younger kids he already knew well, the possibility of making a mess of things and needing his knights to do the actual teaching hadn’t been a large concern. Now, all of Ehrenfest would know he didn’t know how to properly form a highbeast and used the embarrassing workaround of treating his faestone like it had thoughts and feelings. He gave it a pat and assured the rock that he did think had emotions and he wasn’t just pretending so it would work as a method of transportation. They would need another instructor.

It took the counsel some time to finalize their plans. By the end, everyone was tired and it was time to get ready for dinner so Melchior put aside his plans for studying until the next day.

After breakfast the following morning, Isolde and Zipporah looked over his study plan with neutral expressions. “You have almost all of these materials already. So it won’t be too difficult to prepare them. However, the armor crystals of laynobles are not usually made to this standard. You will not need all of these things.”

Isolde ran her finger down the page. “You intend to be quite thorough, I see. There is no need to go to so much trouble for a laynoble.”

“We cannot compete with the older students for highest grades, so we must compete on speed. Ansgar has the least access to materials and tutors so he will need the most help. I do not intend to lose to Deliroze and Adaire after spending years tutoring them,” Melchior replied. He’d really hadn't thought about them becoming his competition. If they beat his team, wouldn’t they begin to question his place as their tutor and surrogate older brother? What if they told Henriette about how he failed? He had to protect his pride as an older sibling.

Neither Isolde nor Zipporah could hear his thoughts so they didn’t know why the fires of competition burned brighter and brighter in his eyes. While winning credit to the book sale or dessert recipes was nice, it wasn’t something to spend the rest of the year preparing for. They didn’t want to encourage the culture to turn towards intensive studying beginning as early as the summer. “If that is your will,” Isolde replied tentatively. “In any case, this amount of material could take several weeks to cover. As you are only in the castle for four days of seven it will take even longer.”

“We can practice the rituals at the temple. It is thematically appropriate and will make for less wasted time,” Melchior replied. They also needed the Divine Instruments to practice the earth healing and spring prayer rituals.

Ansgar’s parents might complain about their son being forced to visit the temple, but their cries were easily silenced, Isolde thought. There was nothing otherwise wrong with the plan. It would put quite the strain on Ansgar to dye all the bits for his armor but that was one thing he was saving mana for anyway. Now he could make the bare minimum quality in class to save mana during the year without compromising his protection. Isolde delivered the invitation to the castle Melchior had written out for approval to the Archduke's Office. Ansgar would need leave to enter the castle brewing room and they would need a meeting room outside the Northern Building.

While she was gone, Zipporah called the other knights in for a quick meeting about obtaining the ingredients. After this meeting, Gottschalk came to Melchior and knelt. “What has inspired this, Gottschalk?” he asked while pausing his magic circle drawing.

“My lord, I hear you intend to have many study sessions with Ansgar to improve the chances of the second years completing their classes the fastest this year.”

“That’s correct,” Melchior replied. He narrowed his eyes. “Do you have counsel on this topic?”

“I have a request, my lord. Would it not improve your chances even more to include all of the second years?” Gottschalk asked.

Melchior placed his hand on his cheek and put on his best look of disappointment. “It would. If only they all lived in Ehrenfest city.”

“That would not be a problem, Lord Melchior. I have family with an estate here who would be happy to host their nephew for a few weeks,” Gottschalk pressed.

Melchoir racked his brain. There had to be a good reason to avoid Jochten. “I could not impose on those good people for my own childish ambitions,” he tried.

Gottschalk shifted his weight. He hadn’t expected this to be difficult given Melchior's usual pliability. Was it the cost of materials? His house could provide them even on short notice where Ansgar would struggle even to prepare by winter. It couldn’t be that he didn’t want to study with a mednoble either. Such things didn’t tend to bother him. If victory was his aim then this was the best way forward. Was it because he was too new to make such requests?

“Lord Melchior does not like spending time with Lord Jochten,” Pepin said in no uncertain terms as the silence dragged on.

“How rude to say such a thing, Pepin,” Melchior said a bit too forcefully.

Pepin was not cowed while Gottschalk's eyes grew wide. His brother reported trying very hard to win Melchior over and thought he might be making progress. “Would you tell me why, my lord?” he asked. His brother would be devastated to find out but it would improve his chances.

“Pepin is being too harsh,” Melchior said and gave him a sharp look. Gottschalk breathed a sigh of relief. “I do not believe Jocthen requires the same level of support.”

“I think that is true, my lord. But we can provide all the materials and it would be no great burden for him to visit for a few weeks. My brother would dearly appreciate the chance to spend time with his classmates so my family is willing to be a bit frivolous in this respect.” Not that anyone would call this frivolity. A month of intensive study with the First in Class might have extremely far reaching consequences for his brother and their house. Just being in Melchior’s study group seemed to have boosted his grades over Gottschalk’s.

Melchior looked unconvinced. Gottschalk glanced towards Pepin. If what he said was true, his brother had managed to gather enough enmity that Melchior didn’t even want to see him and was actively avoiding it. A cold sweat ran down his back. This was after a single year of close contact. What could happen by the end of their tenure? He’d never seen Melchior seek to hurt someone so he had no idea how good he was at it.

“Lord Melchior,” Pepin said. “Lord Jochten wishes to be your friend. Would you deny him even the opportunity to correct his mistakes?” Melchior pouted and looked to the side. “My lord?”

“There are over a thousand students at the Royal Academy, he…”

“Lord Melchior!” Pepin cried. Gottschalk wasn’t sure what he was going to say but it felt damning. “I know it is uncomfortable to imagine that some people will actively seek benefits but you must understand how great those benefits are. How greatly have you enriched Veremund and Adaire?”

“I merely share my desserts with Adaire,” Melchior countered.

“Is that how you see it?” Gottschalks gasped. No one wanted to hurt the kind Adaire but he was untouchable anyway. Even without Melchior’s presence, his word was enough to force the other children to ignore their parent’s directives to distance Dirk and Bertrum. He could pull med or lay nobles into games or chide them into studying. Even the archnobles didn’t dare insult him. With the scarf incident, Melchior had even reinforced that he would take Adaire’s word over anyone else left in the Playroom that winter. His head attendant had recommended him to Lord Leberchet's house!

“Lord Jochten is clumsy but he isn’t trying to manipulate you. He simply wants a fraction of the favor you show to others and is willing to offer those benefits he can provide,” Pepin explained. “This is what Isolde means by ‘beneficial agreement’.”

“If he is not trying to manipulate me then why does he constantly bring up my status? I do not need reminders about my own position and accomplishments or lack thereof nor those of my parents. I am not more intelligent than anyone else but he cannot seem to understand that more time and money has been spent educating me for the harrowing task of leading scores of people and protecting hundreds of thousands of lives!” Melchior roared. His chest heaved and his skin felt warm. Neither Gottschalk nor Melchior himself knew he had such strong feelings on the subject until they spilled forth uncontrollably. “And I am the High Bishop of Ehrenfest. My temple service is inextricable from everything else. If he so dislikes priests, if his family finds the temple so filthy and base, then why does he want to be my friend?”

These final words he directed at Gottschalk, one of the two remaining knights who refused to visit the temple. Melchior hadn't planned to force the issue. He was sensitive to the long held beliefs about the place but it was painful to know that even within his retinue, people's opinions could not be changed.

Gottschalk was quiet for a long time. Pepin made no move to interrupt while Melchior sat with his eyes closed taking deep breaths. “I will communicate your dissatisfaction, Lord Melchior. Will you allow us to make amends?”

Melchior remained quiet for a long while more. Hadn't he just extended a hand to Brunschwarts, of all people? He could abide annoying people, even for as long as this studying was going to take, but he didn't want Ansgar to suffer even more. “Very well, Jochten can join us,” he said. Gottschalk breathed another premature sigh of relief. “However, at the first hint of cruelty shown to Ansgar, I will send him back to Haseny.”

“I will ensure he is well prepared, my lord,” Gottschalk promised and lowered his head. He wasn't happy that a laynoble might stand between his brother and a better education but any noble could hide their contempt when the prize was so great. As for himself, he was not excited to inform his parents that he would have to visit the temple after all.

After a season of waiting

Isolde had been very persuasive. The knights would enjoy their bags more and have greater anticipation for their gifts, without totally spoiling the surprise, if they were allowed to choose them from the competition offerings. Melchior felt sure this was an elaborate scheme to convince him to divulge the secrets surrounding Kolteruze's gift, but he would not be swayed. That was so different in both its nature and production method that showing Kolteruze a work in progress would be useless.

He still agreed that allowing the knights to pick their bags would make them more useful in the long run. They could use the excuse that Theodore wasn't here yet to delay handing them over, so he could still disguise the fact that they were only half complete. This did mean that he needed to begin planning paintings.

At first, this task felt insurmountable. He needed five unique paintings that would appeal to each guard knight. He started with the easiest person. Nikolaus was always happy with wolf iconography. In spite of Karstedt's cruelty, he still felt deeply connected to House Linkburg even more so now that he got to spend so much time with his grandfather. He’d recently shown even greater enthusiasm for whirling and dancing so he wanted to integrate that as well.

Melchior contemplated many ways to depict a wolf doing a sword dance but found it impossible. A wolf could only hold a sword in its mouth and while that looked cool, it did not look graceful. Nikolaus was also getting a pair of bags so he would need to paint two scenes. One problem was solved by making a wolf knight while the other was a bit harder. He liked the idea of painting a pretty night time scene with a large moon but that might look boring in isolation. After a few sketches he put the Nikolaus ideas aside.

It was good that he started there though. It reminded him of the animal people which he could carry over to Zipporah and Gerianne's pouches. If Gerianne selected potion loops after all, there would be precious little space and he would just do a few snowflakes and some script. If she picked something bigger he would paint a schnestrum knight commander as a formal painting. The combination of silly animal with serious expression and posing left him giggling every time he thought about it.

Zipporah was equally simple. He’d already drawn her as a shirjack knight so that felt stale. Instead, he would do a normal shirjack in armor with weapons. This looked alot like the schnestrum portrait so he considered ways to make it unique. Zipporah liked hunting and she particularly liked hunting with Sigsnyr. He wondered whether it was subtle enough to place a silver shumil on the shirjacks shoulder. Maybe he would paint that on the underside of a flap.

Sigsnyr needed tiny pouches so paintings of mysterious objects that looked kind of like magic tools felt like a fun idea. He invented some dodades to depict which lead him to creating fantasy tools which gave him inspiration for Flautzeal's diptych. He could fill the Klavier signature workbench with impossible and strange tiny tools alongside tiny instruments.

Melchior was so taken by creative fervor that only the rumble of his stomach forced him out of his hidden room. Haldis and Pepin didn't hesitate to scold him for skipping lunch but that was fine. A season of painting adorable animal creatures awaited him.

So that his new knights wouldn't feel jealous, they were allowed to come too. Ortolf still didn't want to visit the temple but Gottschalk steeled himself for his first ever visit. Melchior's temple attendants were understandably shocked to see a flock of knights descended with their lord but they put on their smiles and gave greetings as usual.

“Welcome home, Lord Melchior,” Lothar said with a bow. He managed not to glance around nervously. Kirk did plenty of glancing for both of them but kept his eyes properly lowered.

“And so I have returned,” Melchior said brightly. “I have brought my knights to choose from the selections scheduled to be presented. I have delayed my coming such that they might make their selections then return to their usual duties with minimal interruptions,” he declared.

Lothar bowed again. They wouldn't need to host anyone in this case. He was glad of his lord’s thoughtfulness but still felt uneasy about the sheer volume of people. There were merchants hurrying about setting things up with apprentices assisting them. There would be much opportunity for clashes.

“We shall visit the atrium first. Not all of my retainers have seen it,” Melchior declared. That would keep everyone occupied until everything was ready.

Kirk accompanied them as they made their way to the atrium. Melchior walked slowly and described the architecture for the hundredth time. While they clearly weren't interested, the newcomers nodded and smiled along politely. Their placid boredom was forgotten the moment they stepped into the lush indoor garden.

Things were progressing well. The brewing ingredients had grown strong enough to begin harvesting on a conservative schedule. Gebhard paused his recording to step to the side so the nobles could inspect them more closely. He watched these children with a carefully controlled expression. Only the clergy even acknowledged him while the rest acted as though he didn't exist. Some had an excuse, like Zipporah who was dragged over to the magic circle wall immediately, while most simply glanced his way then pretended he wasn't there. While that was better than looks of derision, it was still proof that they thought him beneath their notice.

“This has been hiding in the temple this whole time?” Helenwig cried. “Was no one going to mention that there was a giant tree in here?”

“It's only a small tree, really,” Eikestine teased, though she gazed at it with similar amazement.

“It’s inside!” Helenwig repeated.

“It was more impressive when it was flowering but I still think it's nice. The fragrance is more subtle now,” Melchior said. He walked over to a previously empty bed where three saplings were now growing. The first two were obviously the same plant while the last one looked more alive somehow. It quivered when his breath passed over the leaves. “What are these?”

“More Lionshead peonies, High Bishop,” Gebhard said as he hurried over. “They were planted using enriched seeds. This third one is the seed Lady Rozemyne left behind.”

It suddenly made more sense that it was strange. “I see. I look forward to seeing how they grow. Have we done anything with the bed Uncle altered yet?”

“Lord Kolteruze is using it for a flax growing project. We have also grown additional barshoo plants to give to Dorrick's Apothecary as well as for ourselves. Its energy giving properties are strongest in the roots but the tea made from the leaves has grown increasingly popular,” Gebhard explained.

“Popular with who?” Melchior asked. He hadn't even tasted it so who was drinking it.

“Your retainers,” Gebhard replied. “I am also a fan but the elevating effects are not of much use to myself.”

Melchior turned toward the rest of the room. Isolde, who’d been standing nearby listening, promptly sashayed over to another bed while Sigsnyr continued to tour Zipporah across the wall. He would have to ask for some and create something cool out of it to taunt them with. He knew the plant was safe to ingest totally. Perhaps the leaves soaked in honey would impart their properties to the syrup. He would task Sheila with creating something for his revenge.

After a bit more perusing and explanations, Lothar came to announce that the meeting room was ready. “Excellent,” Melchior called. “Everyone, let us discuss the rules.” They all turned to face him and Isolde hurried back over. “To my apprentice knights from last year, I asked much of you during our time at the Royal Academy. In honor of your dedication, I have decided to give each of you a gift. Since Theodore is not here, you will have to wait until winter to receive them but you will be allowed to select them today. I will then purchase them myself.”

The knights went through a series of emotions from confusion to pain and back to excitement. “Once they have made selections, anyone else who would like to make a purchase will be free to shop.” The girls and Gottschalk looked intrigued. They hadn't been told what was being presented only to bring money. Dedryck and Fonsel narrowed their eyes at Sebastian. He was one of the only people who didn't look surprised by any of this. That Isolde and Kirk were in on things made sense, but Sebastian had no reason to be in on a secret while they weren't.

“Are there any questions?” Isolde asked, putting an end to the whispering.

“What will we be viewing?” Cecilia asked.

“Is that the only question?” Melchior replied. No one else put anything forward. “Then let us move to the venue and begin. You shall see when we arrive.”

Melchior expected exactly as many bags as there had been craftspeople. There were double or triple that many pouches or sets of pouches. Since they couldn't talk to anyone else, the crafts people had to vent their passion and excitement to each other leading them to goad one another into making more pieces. They'd traded dimension slips and inspirations and helped each other solve problems. Combined with the subtle challenge Melchior issued by questioning whether such work could be done in Ehrenfest, the craftspeople were very motivated to present the most incredible pieces they could manage. It was good that they'd brought so many knights.

They entered the meeting room to find several tables covered in leather goods. There were the pouches but the Plantin company also brought some of their planners and Veremund brought goods of his family's make. He stood in the middle of the room inspecting seams and tooling and was swarmed before he could give proper greetings. The children instantly dispersed around the room while Dedryck and Fonsel stood guard.

Melchior took his chair in the corner and greeted Fred and Milda. “Thank you ever so much for preparing all of this. I know it must have been delicate work.”

“You are far too kind, my lord. We are glad of the opportunity to serve,” Milda replied. He gestured for them to stand and offered chairs so they could watch the madness together.

“Are you satisfied with my creative vision?” Melchior asked. That was Milda’s excuse for getting involved after all.

“It has been incredible to see what the collaboration of your genius and our craftspeople has wrought, my lord. I believe you’ve elevated the craft through your patronage,” she replied.

Fred was pale and looked too nervous to speak but he quietly gave his thanks as well. His assistant nudged his shoulder several times before he gathered the courage to speak again. “My lord, one of the craftsmen wished to provide extra incentive to select his shop,” he began. The assistant stepped forward to present a wrapped package. Melchior could tell it was much larger than a pouch or folio. He unwrapped it awkwardly, nearly dropping it, before presenting a potion belt very similar to the one Melchior wore most days.

“Oh, how interesting,” Melchior cooed. The belt was tested for poison while Kirk brought over a small table. Fonsel placed it down once it was confirmed to be safe. It had the expected loops and hooks on one side and space to slide on pouches on the other. It didn't come with a little cage, but that was to be expected. It was decorated with a repeating pattern of overlapping circles with the occasional square thrown in to create interest.

Melchior liked it and might have considered it for himself if he didn't already have one that was a gift from his sister. “It is very nice work,” he mused. He was distracted by a loud groan from the otherside of the room. Someone seemed to have selected a bag for their gift that someone else wanted to buy. His gaze fell on Deliroze who eyed the folios and blank books as those were the only things he could afford. This belt was quite small since it was made for Melchior himself. “I will purchase it. I would like to see his pouches before I make my decision,” he said. With this declaration, Melchior stood up and went to peruse.

Fonsel glanced down at Melchior's belt which was already nicer than this one. He had no reason to buy a second. Maybe he was a bit of a spendthrift after all, he thought.

Chapter Text

Exclusive Tooling

In front of each pouch or collection of pouches was a sign with a number while some pieces also had colored tags. The numbers were a bid to prevent anyone from choosing based on past relationships with a leatherworker. Melchior wondered whether this was even necessary. He had no prior experience with commoner leather shops. They only needed to obfuscate which one was Veremund's though if he ended up choosing him he’d just pick someone else instead.

It was just as fun to see his designs realized as to see the novel things the craftspeople created. Every pouch included the blank space on the front but though the sizes of some were too small for his liking. But it wasn't his choice anyway. He was also surprised by the size disparity between pieces that were supposed to use the same dimensions. He wondered whether converting the numbers had caused errors.

“It seems that some people were confused whether the dimensions were internal or external measurements. The colored tags denote pieces which perfectly match the given directions. Blue means the internal capacity matches while red means the exterior dimensions are correct,” Milda explained.

Melchior looked over everything until he found one set with all colored tags. The tooling was nice, favoring repeating patterns over edge details, and the hardware looked easy to use. There were two versions of Sebastian's bag along with a set of tiny pouches made to Sigsnyr's dimensions. While they felt stiff and robust, they looked refined and delicate.

He called Sigsnyr over. “Do you like these ones?” He pointed to the small collection.

“They look fun but why are they so small?” He asked. He was holding a long bag made to carry lesser used potions that needed more protection than potion loops would offer and a set of pouches made with Nikolaus in mind.

“We thought you would like something for your magic tools that are too small and delicate to stuff into larger pouches with other things,” Melchior replied.

Sigsnyr looked over all the tables. There were six such small bags or sets thereof made by different people. “You ordered this many variations on the chance that I might like them?”

“The protected potion bags were for Zipporah, the loops for Gerianne, the tiny bags for you, the sets of two for Nikolaus, and the long bag we added at Sebastian's behest. It seems rather popular,” Melchior observed. “Since we couldn't see Theodore to look at his pouches, we asked for the most popular size among knights. Oh, could you all choose one for him too?”

Sigsnyr remained stunned for a while longer. Melchior waved a hand before his eyes. “Who would be so generous?” he whispered.

“I also wanted to see what was possible and chose an exclusive leatherworker,” Melchior said.

Zipporah joined them. She was the first to make her choice. “I would like this one my lord. It is much prettier than what I currently use but I do not think it will stand out too much,” she declared and presented one made to the popular dimensions.

Only Gerianne chose the pouch selected for her and only because she planned to buy the less expensive loops herself and have Melchior give her a set of two. Melchior was amazed and saddened that all his preparations had been for nothing. He also had to concede that Isolde was correct about letting them choose. “How could we get it so wrong,” he mumbled.

“My lord, it is true that I should have a pouch to protect my more expensive potions and would have been very happy to receive one, but I saw this one and was taken by the pattern,” Zipporah said.

“I hadn't considered having special bags for my tiny tools,” Sigsnyr admitted. He was now stuck between three options and had to look at everything a second time.

Nikolaus stepped forward with a set of loops. To meet the brief, the artisan had added a square of leather to the front. “You can never have too many,” he mumbled.

Kirk passed over the money for each item and placed them in a box to deliver later. For Theodore, they selected one of the long bags. While the gift receivers were happy to be getting things for free, they looked on with jealousy while the others took away their bags right then. After making their selection and paying, they were sent back to the castle so none of them noticed that they were charged twice as much as Melchior.

“My lord, did you commission all of these and pay the commission fees?” Sigsnyr asked after Sebastian purchased his long bag and two others.

“Yes. I put up five small golds along with Master Fred,” Melchior replied.

Sigsnyr shivered. That was so much money.

“My lord,” Zipporah sighed. “This is still much too generous. You do not seem to be planning to buy any pouches yourself either.”

“Perhaps I should get one for Wilfried,” Melchior replied. He didn't have a potions belt but wore the normal kind like any other knight. He left his stunned retainers to look things over again. A more decorated pouch would be best for Wilfried, he thought. This left only one option. It had tooling reminiscent of magic circles as well as carefully carved organic details.

“That is mine!” Veremund chirped. “I was rather sad that no one wanted it.”

“It is just so much,” Zipporah noted. “It would look out of place next to more understated pieces.”

“So it is perfect for Wilfried,” Isolde giggled.

“Did you find a craftsperson you like, Veremund?” Melchior asked.

“I did! In fact, this has been a lucrative day all around. Eikestine bought mana blocking gloves which will cover my pouch acquisition,” he replied. “And this, number twelve, their work is so refined, so delicate. I cannot do work like this.”

Melchior examined the pouches leftover behind the number twelve. No one had chosen one but they looked too fragile to be worn by knights. They were pretty and made to specifications but he had no confidence they would hold up under rigorous use. They were perfect for a scholar.

“I will select this craftsman,” Melchior said, indicating the bags he looked at earlier. Fred's jaw dropped while Milda shook her head. “Do they also make shoes?” Melchior asked, choosing to ignore their reactions.

Fred was still glancing from the new belt to the table and back while Milda urged him to respond. “Oh… yes, my lord. Cole doesn't cobble himself but their shop has one,” he replied.

“Cole is the young man who asked to inspect your belt and who made this one. We didn't expect you to pluck his number from the crowd,” Milda explained.

“Lord Melchior has a most discerning eye,” Isolde said. Melchior glanced at her. He wouldn't say it like that. He just liked the work more than the others. Perhaps, like Sheila, Cole had endeavored to court his preferences specifically.

In any case. Master Fred had to buy more bags than anticipated even though more were sold. All three adult knights made purchases. Fonsel bought one of the delicate bags from number twelve for his wife too. Deliroze decided against a folio in the end. The ones he could afford were too crude while the ones he wanted were too nice. Since he'd already purchased something expensive for Deliroze, Melchior didn't offer to buy one for him. He left feeling a little defeated but still had fun looking at everything.

Melchior returned to his room with his spoils and a heavy heart. He would need to rethink the paintings and redoodle the reference sketches. He would also need to ask Veremund what the best kind of paint for leather was. Veremund agreed to do some tests using the egg and sap and stray bits of leather and would let Melchior know in about a week.

Much like the highbeast class, he only realized how much he had to paint after a second look. There were the six pouches, Ferdinand's diptych, Flautzeal’s diptych, as many Hauchletze orders as he could muster, and their special order based on a poem he didn't understand. He also still wanted to make one for his mother and was considering painting Wilfried’s pouch since the blank spot on the front was rather conspicuous.

It was unfortunate then, that something more interesting than painting appeared the next day. With a bright smile filled with pride, Sheila presented the edible clay. It was a pleasant yellow-green and smelled slightly floral. Melchior squished and kneaded it while giggling maniacally.

“We have tested it extensively in the orphanage. This recipe is soft when sculpting while holding detail. It takes two full days to dry and can be reconstituted with a bit of water if forgotten without a cover. I added dye derived from safe to eat flowers and an equally safe but very bitter flavor,” she explained.

“Why make it bitter?” Melchior asked.

“It proved irresistible to the youngest orphans,” Sheila sighed.

“But it is so salty,” he noted.

“That was not a deterrent,” she replied.

“Excellent work, Sheila. I know this is not quite food but I appreciate you giving it just as much care as your other work,” Melchior praised. He made a copy of the recipe to sell to his father and began sculpting a zantze immediately. Sheila was both kind and magnanimous so she presented her creation after dinner when her lord would have ample time to play with it.

As only his knights remained. Melchior gave leave for Gerianne and Nikolaus to join him. He also found an excuse for Kirk to assist.

Making a zantze without the assistance of magic was harder than he anticipated. After a long while of making a four legged something that looked wonkier and wonkier, he pulled out his highbeast to make a model. He made a zantze that was just large enough to be detailed before working on his lump again.

The children carried on into the night squishing and molding and attempting to copy the sculpture with mixed success. They found Nikolaus to be surprisingly good while Melchior was shockingly bad.

As he had before, Melchior needed a teacher. Sculpting was a new art form in the temple so they would have to range farther afield. Kirk was sent on a new mission to find a sculpture with enough free time and nice enough manners to give a couple of lessons. He would also find a pottery shop willing to fire the figurines and make the blooming tea bowl.

Lothar was amazed. Melchior had only just received a portion of his commission fees back and had already found a reason to spend them. He was also not the only person surprised when Melchior pulled three duchy grade potions from his supplies to fill the loops on his new belt only to present it to Deliroze the next day.

“Uncle wears his all the time except for ceremonies and formal events. You can attach pouches to this side and we will find a cage or something for your highbeast to hang from here,” Melchior explained while Deliroze fidgeted and Kirk did his best to put a belt on a squirming child.

“Oh… thank you, Lord Melchior. I will treasure it forever,” Deliroze said as he danced before the mirror. “Now I look just like Lord Ferdinand.”

Melchior joined him, his diptych clacking as he bounded over. “We do, don't we!” They shared in their mutual euphoria while Isolde and Flautzeal looked on with envy. They liked Melchior’s belt but hadn't felt the need to have their own until this moment.

“We have much work to do, my lord,” Isolde called.

“Ah, yes,” Melchior replied and returned to his table. They had to plan the rest of their intensive course for Ansgar and Jochten as well as go over their pitch for the paper meeting.

They had charts showing the relationship between bells invested and profits for papermaking and printing. Deliroze noted that the Hasse clergy didn't spend that much time, perhaps three mornings per week, doing that kind of work. They still made a considerable profit since they produced their own paper and ink. Being as they were in their own pocket of lush forest, they were plenty capable of collecting nearly all of their materials.

What they did besides paper and book production, Melchior didn't know. He guessed farming and spinning and relaxing and such. So long as they made enough to support themselves and grew enough tasty vegetables, he saw no reason to interfere with their way of life. The thought of sending more permanent residents resurfaced. That priest had been so happy to return. Perhaps he didn't want to be parted.

“Lothar, how many spare gray priests do we have at the moment?” he asked.

“Close to twenty if we count those coming of age this year,” he replied.

“So it would not be a burden if two or three remained at Hasse in perpetuity?”

“Unless we see a large influx of new blue clergy, my lord. Would you like to send more priests to Hasse?” Lothar asked.

“I am considering it,” Melchior said but didn't elaborate anymore.

Looking at their profit, Isolde could understand why he wanted to send more workers there. Compared to the temple orphanage, they were doing more with fewer people. Then again, they didn't have as large of a building to clean nor were they interrupted by nobles nor did they have to herd children when they went gathering. The temple workshop made many innovations and served as a research center for the Plantin Company in Ehrenfest but Hasse was under the jurisdiction of the Archduke. That he was agreeing to pay for information generated in his own shop was confusing, but she wasn't going to ask the question and ruin the deal.

Instead she took some time to think of counter arguments. They brought in Kazmiar to look things over and make some corrections. He would be attending the meeting but would leave most of the negotiating and selling to the kids. After everyone's input, Melchior felt ready to do business.

Special Classes

Melchior spent the next morning reviewing the materials for his upcoming lessons with the other second years. He was annoyed that he couldn't get perfect scores on his own tests and went hunting for the more obscure information he’d forgotten. Ansgar and Jochten were bound to have questions and he would need to have answers.

Benedikt watched this fervor with some confusion. Melchior had created frighteningly difficult exams, far beyond what he would encounter at school, then worked himself into a panic because he couldn’t get perfect scores. Before now, Benedikt hadn't understood Isolde's insistences that their lord needed reminders to relax rather than to study but he did now.

“My lord,” he began. “Perhaps you would like to prepare for whirling class,” he suggested.

Melchior placed down his pencil to consider this. There was still a bit of time before he needed too but it was the first day Gerianne and his retainer's would join them. Lord Bonifiatus had finally acknowledged their skills as being good enough not to distract Charlotte during practice. He agreed to get dressed so there would be time to wrangle everyone. It turned out to be necessary since the knights couldn’t decide whether to change into floaty sleeves or remain as they were. After lots of bickering they ended up being on time to practice.

“Dear brother, I recall your request being for Gerianne to join us. You have brought nearly your entire retinue,” Charlotte sighed.

Melchior blushed sheepishly. “It has grown into a bit of a trend. I began teaching Gerianne how to whirl and they all asked to join us. I assure you, they will not interfere with your lessons,” he replied.

“It seems you cannot plan even the smallest event without drawing in more people than anticipated,” she teased but allowed everyone to stay. Flautzeal took the chair provided for him and began playing a calming tune for their introductory stretches and movements. He’d written and arranged even more songs in the proper tempo so they could have a variety of things to dance to. While this made things feel less austere and sacred, it was more enjoyable than listening to the same song over and over or the unaccompanied clacking of a metronome.

Melchior certainly had more fun now that they had enough people to fill all seven slots. Charlotte was glad of the opportunity to work on her spacing and coordination as well as her general whirling. She also noticed that the light gloom that had fallen over Melchior since Wilfried retired from their lessons was lifted by the new influx of people. It was a bonus that the knights could join her in practicing the spear whirl. She would need to perform as the leader for their pre-tournament ritual and possibly for ditter with Dunkelfelger.

Once again, Zipporah showed her superior passion for dance. She needed no breaks and took every opportunity to whirl with Charlotte or Melchior or just to Flautzeal playing. Some of Charlotte’s knights looked on enviously as Cecilia and Eikestine were allowed to whirl as well. To still their discontent, they were invited to join for the last dance of the day.

“Grant power to those of us going into battle!” Charlotte cried. She’d been practicing using a deeper voice to bark orders during hunts and ditter so this rang out deafeningly in the enclosed room. Melchior had to cover his ears as he watched the nearly all female battle dance spin and glitter before him. Their spears struck in unison and moved in identical arches even though they rarely practiced together. He shivered with Gerianne as they enjoyed the spectacle together.

Nikolaus retreated behind Melchior the moment it was over. “I felt I would be speared had I messed up,” he whispered. Sebastion didn’t say anything, but his face showed agreement. The girls, meanwhile, jumped and rejoiced about their incredible performance.

After lunch, Melchoir practiced music then began painting. There was no time for reading or portraits when he had over a dozen pieces to finish before winter. He was largely obligated to work in his hidden room since most things were gifts for his retainers and that's where his supplies were stored. He took a break for dinner, where he tried to convince his parents to come to whirling class, then continued until bedtime. After only one day of this intensive creative work, he was feeling tired. While he would normally plan to do something else with his freetime the following day, he felt he needed to keep up the painting. After a bit more compression than he probably should do, he fell asleep with a small sense of dread.

By morning he’d forgotten all about his impending evening behind the canvas. Today was the first highbeast creation class. Since his knight uniform was still being made he borrowed Nikolaus’s old one which was Cornelius’s old one. Being nearly a decade old now, it was soft and lovingly mended in spots. The metal treads were still intact so it was still just as protective as it should be. It was exciting to look much like everyone else for a change. This also meant that his first lesson in faestone armor forming was a crash course before breakfast.

“It’ll be easy,” Fonsel assured him. “You also won’t have time to create something ridiculous.”

Melchior made a pouty expression. “I intend to make something cool and beautiful,” he countered.

“And covered in flowers, no doubt,” Fonsel huffed. He ignored Melchior’s annoyance to begin his lesson by forming light armor and laying it out on the table. For boys, this included the breast plate, vambraces, greaves, and a codpiece. “It provides extra protection against the most deadly strikes,” Fonsel concluded.

Melchior wondered what was so deadly about being sliced across the ankle. “If the tendon at the back is severed, you will be unable to walk,” Sigsnyr explained. “Your wrists also have large arteries and will be closer to other people's weapons than anything else.” Melchior nodded along. The chestplate was self explanatory. Getting stabbed through the mana organ would turn you to soup instantly after all. He pointed to the last bit. “It might not kill you but that's important too,” Sigsnyr said with a slight blush.

Having scented blood, he naturally had to ask. “Why is the codpiece important if being hit there isn't fatal?” he asked with a mix of innocence and mirth.

“If you lose that you can't inherit your house,” Fonsel replied while shaking his head. It was neither a blushing nor a laughing matter. “Not even healing is guaranteed to restore their function so try not to lose them.”

Melchior nodded solemnly and began memorizing the look and placement of the armor. He held the deep blue feastone to his chest and poured mana into it. It was an odd feeling to be slowly ensconced in metal. As it crept around his torso he shivered. “It tickles,” he complained.

“When you do it that slowly, yeah,” Fonsel replied.

Melchior ignored him to maintain his mental image. After about a minute he’d finished the chest plate. “What about everything else?” He asked. There was no more faestone to use.

Sigsnyr placed his arm against his chest plate. His bracer was absorbed into it then reformed on his wrist in the blink of an eye. “Think about using more than you need since you need to move material to your legs and such with your arms,” he added.

After much work, Melchior managed to complete his light armor. He stood proudly before the mirror and sighed. As much as he teased Gerianne, he was only a bit bigger so the armor still only served to highlight how small he was. With the long tunic covering his pants, he even looked just like a girl his age. “I would like to change my hair,” he declared with a frown. The delicate front dangles and loosely gathered ponytail only made him look less intimidating. It was not so much a problem that he looked like a girl then that his gentle aspect made a mockery of the armor.

Pepin changed the style to match the archduke. The wild bangs and tight ponytail were just as adorable but looked more battle ready. Since he had time and sat in front of a mirror, Melchior went about changing the generic motifs on his chestplate. Fonsel teased him about the flowers so he was forced to add some around a tree branch curled into a loop. Sigsnyr and Pepin had praise for the design while Fonsel maintained a flat expression.

“Why change your hair just to add flowers to your armor?” he asked.

“Now, I do not look as delicate,” Melchior replied as though the answer were obvious.

Gerianne couldn't stop giggling when she saw him. “Oh how adorable. The armor just makes you look tinier, my lord,” she teased.

“Yes, yes. You have had your revenge. We must be going or we shall miss our own class,” he replied.

“My revenge has just begun and I need do nothing else myself,” she cackled.

Indeed, Gerianne didn't need to tell Melchior he looked adorable. Helenwig and Cecilia squealed when they saw him. He took a deep breath and prepared to ignore all whispering. It was terribly difficult when even Dedryck was dopey eyed for a split second. The only thing that saved him from being the talk of the day was the arrival of Sister Streita.

She wore her casual shrine maiden outfit over a practical shirt and riding pants as well as light armor under her golden sash. Melchior hurried over to greet her. “Welcome Sister Streita. Thank you ever so much for agreeing to teach everyone. I feel my own method would not be sufficient for everyone’s needs.”

“No one method is,” Strieta replied jovially. She looked around with a nostalgic smile. It had been some time since she stood before so many young, shocked faces. “Shall we begin?”

Before Melchior could say yes he was drawn away by his knights. “Why is she here?” Fonsel growled.

“I asked her to come,” Melchior replied.

“You asked a priest to teach knights how to use a highbeast?!” Fonsel whispered. It was a true whisper making it all the more unsettling. “What were you thinking? Why didn't you consult anyone?”

Melchior cowered under his intensity. “I…I made the decision very quickly. Sister Streita helped me so much. I thought she would be the best person to help us teach so many people.”

“She is a priest. They do not belong at the Knights Order,” Fonsel hissed.

“I am a priest and I am at the Knights Order,” Melchior replied.

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

“You are the Aub's son.”

“And Gerianne? And Nikolaus?” Melchior pressed.

“They are your retainers. They follow where you lead them but Streita has retired from noble society. She is not a knight and therefore does not belong here,” Fonsel replied.

Melchior took a moment to compress his rising anger. “Sister Streita accompanied the knights on trombe exterminations just this last autumn and she will do so again next autumn. Before that she served as a knight of Ehrenfest for over forty years. She was an instructor. If such service does not entitle her to walk these halls then neither does yours,” he said.

Fonsel took a step back. “That's…” That wasn't how things worked. He knew that but he couldn't say it when faced with such naked rage. Gerianne didn't even remind Melchior not to Crush anyone. Fonsel felt for a moment that pressing any farther would be bad for his heart. Plus, this was neither the time nor place to make a scene. “If that is your will,” was all he managed to say.

“It is that we might all benefit from Sister Streita’s deep wisdom and effective pedagogy,” Melchior said. He stomped his tiny greves back over to Streita. “I apologize for my outburst. Let us begin.”

She nodded and followed him to the center of the room. As his speech had only just carried through the large, echoy hall, no one asked what a shrine maiden was doing at the head of their class. The true novices, there to make their first highbeast, stood at the very front while those who signed up just to learn Melchior's strange techniques gathered behind them.

“Thank you all for coming on this morning ordained by the vibrant summer rays of Leidenschaft the God of Fire. Today we will be teaching the very basics of highbeast creation. Those who are already capable of forming highbeast, we ask that you support your juniors in taking their first steps,” Melchior announced. He then stepped to the side so Dedryck could read out the pairings. Some people looked happy to be assigned a kid they knew while others looked baffled.

Adaire was only upset about not working directly with Melchior long enough for his brother to walk over and begin encouraging him. Melchior watched on sadly. Now that there was another general instructor and his friends didn't need his help, he had very little to do. Streita began her explanation by having everyone expand their faestones to waist high balls. Those with time on their hands, spent it murmuring about her teaching techniques and how they differed from their various Royal Academy instructors.

“I would have gotten faster if we had her instead of Fraularm,” some one chuckled.

“She’s better than the old man who used to do it. Professor Duf… Doof… Do something. I can't even remember.”

“She didn't make them do full size balls?”

“Boxes already?”

Melchior walked around and listened to these comments while watching the lesson. It was not a long first lesson. Few kids had as much mana as Gerianne, let alone Melchior, so they reached their limits quickly. Melchior passed through giving encouragement and congratulations. “I was very disappointed not to fly on my first day as well,” he told one, particularly despondent girl. She was only eight and had pushed herself very hard to finish her highbeast feastone in time. “We will all come back next week and try some more.” she nodded and dried her tears on the handkerchief her tutor provided.

“We ask that our older participants now summon their highbeasts so our novice friends can peruse the options,” Melchior called. Those who’d lost enthusiasm found their souls reignited by the colorful herd of beasts.

“Horses and shumils are very popular these days,” Streita noted. “Do not be afraid to choose them. They are popular for good reason.”

No matter how practical and elegant, a horse could not compare to a goltze or schnestrum. The children were devastated to learn how many creatures were off limits because they represented a powerful house. “I thought it was just lions,” Felicitus sighed.

The scholars also brought out Melchior's drawings and other inspirational materials. Veremund had even offered a portion of his collection of animal paintings and drawings. While the novices had fun looking at all the highbeasts, Melchior was slowly surrounded by older knights.

“Lord Melchior,” one began. “Might we see the flaming bird?”

“I can summon it for a little bit but it requires too much mana to be practical. We think that having perpetually moving parts is like flying near top speed all the time,” Melchior explained and he conjured the image of a phoenix and had it leap from his hand.

This was both a novel way of summoning a highbeast and the most impressive one anyone had ever seen. They oohed and ahhed and touched the flames which weren't capable of burning anyone. Someone added a bit of mana causing the phoenix to snap its sharp beak at them. The clamor went silent immediately. All eyes flew to Melchior who was having a casual conversation with Gerianne about the feasibility of creating a curtain of frost around a highbeast.

“My lord,” Dedryck said softly.

“Yes Dedryck?”

“Are you paying attention to your highbeast?” he asked.

Melchior looked at it strutting with annoyance. “Oh no, I’m sorry. Did they do something?” He called it over and stroked its ruffled feathers.

“Are you saying you did not snap at Yarchteck for trying to power your highbeast?” Dedryck pressed.

Melchior looked shocked. “I wouldn't do that. I apologize, Sir Yarchteck. Were you injured?” The phoenix jumped back into his hand while he walked over.

“I’m perfect all right, Lord Melchior. How do you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“You seem to imply that your highbeast doesn't just move without you touching it but moves according to its own will, that you have imbued it with life,” Yarchteck elaborated.

Melchior blushed and looked down. “I have to imagine it has emotions for it to move at all,” he mumbled.

Those too far to hear wonder what could be so shameful for an Archduke Candidate to break poise. Was it all an elaborate act? Had he just been found out? Those who were close enough were stunned. It was a sentence that made no sense whatsoever spoken like it was merely embarrassing. “You imagine…” Yarchteck’s question was interrupted by the arrival of Wilfried.

The hall full of excited children and lounging adults immediately quieted as everyone paused to kneel or bow. “Greetings, brother. You have come too late to take the class,” Melchior said. He took the opportunity to hurry out of the circle of older students.

Wilfried looked around. “This doesn't look much like a class of any kind,” he replied.

“We are mostly finished,” Melchior said.

“I see, so the next group may enter and begin?” Wilfried asked.

Melchior realized that he'd forgotten the time. “Oh yes. My apologies, dear brother. We will surrender the hall,” he promised and stepped away to call things to a close. Everyone looked sad to leave. New friendships were forming between tutors and their students and between people who just learned they used the same obscure animal for their mount. “Thank you all, once again, for coming to our class. We shall reconvene next week at the same time and place to continue the lesson. It is dangerous to manipulate mana so do not attempt to practice without direct supervision from an adult,” he announced.

Everyone gathered their highbeast faestones and began to file out. A few people were also a part of the next group, so they remained to begin setting up.

“We shall be more cognizant of the time next week,” Melchior promised. His knights began to assemble around him while the scholars packed the materials away.

“Since you're here,” Wilfried began. Brunschwarts stepped out of the group of people following him. “You said that Brunschwarts could join you.”

“I did. And this is an advantageous time. Now you can speak with our other instructor,” Melchior said. He said goodbye to a dumbstruck Wilfried and led Brunschwart over to meet Streita. She was busy reminiscing with an older woman and accepting farewells.

“Sister Streita, this is Sir Brunschwart the new instructor who taught our class,” Melchior said while making every effort not to grimace. He watched Brunschwarts take in Streita's graying hair and blue robes but was unable to discern his opinions on the matter. After a moment she knelt and offered first time greetings.

“You may… I believe you are teaching the first forms incorrectly. I had to retrain both Gerianne and Lord Melchior,” he began.

“They are not incorrect, only different. The style I teach allows for greater delivery of force. A boon to women who are generally at a disadvantage in that area,” she replied.

“Why teach such a thing to Lord Melchior who is very likely to grow as large as the Knight Commander and will have the use of enhancement magic?”

“It will be some time before he is so strong. There may be battles in that time where a child's frame puts him at a disadvantage,” Steita returned. They continued to devolve into greater and greater minutia while being shuffled out of the training room. Not once did Streita not have an answer for Brunschwart’s questions. The high level conversation drew Dedryck into their circle so the novices were forced to begin practicing on their own.

“I think he likes her,” Gerianne whispered.

Melchior nodded. In spite of his gruff expression and incessant questioning, Brunschwarts was pink with delight and spoke with animation. The older apprentices were also drawn to the conversation by an unseen force so Melchior had to lead the conditioning himself.

It felt strange to run in armor. He had to slightly change his posture and felt like he couldn't breath as easily. Thankfully he could alter it a little to alleviate his problems. He couldn't make it any lighter though. The metal infused tunic was just heavy enough to slow him down and make it hard to hold a conversation while running. Felicitus was more than happy to fill the silence with musings on what would be the best faebeast and what he would do now that he could transport himself. Melchior suggested the library, making a point to advertise the math section and hinting about possible expansions to the collections.

The conversation had not ended by the time they finished exercising and doing a dodging circle so they dragged Dedryck away to teach them.

Chapter Text

Since his day was inverted by the highbeasts class, Melchior spent his afternoon studying and playing music. After his lessons for the day, Isolde brought over the paper meeting notes for them to look at one last time. Melchior was already confident but he could see that Isolde was nervous so he let her take him through several possible disaster scenarios and tried to come up with solutions. This cut into his painting time but that was a small blessing.

Zipporah also came to report that they'd finished collecting the materials for Ansgar and would deliver them to his house so he would have time to dye them. “Most people do not have enough mana to complete the entire process in one day,” Zipporah sighed when he asked whether that was necessary. Melchior took a moment to wonder what it was like to have so little mana before getting back to painting Ferdinand standing in an imaginary laboratory.

His parents had many questions at dinner about his class and why he brought a shrine maiden and what he told everyone about how he controls his highbeast.

“Dear brother, Yarchteck told me the most curious thing,” Charlotte began. “You must pretend your highbeast has feelings?”

Melchior sighed but managed not to hang his head this time. “Yes, that is the case dear sister. I cannot feel the connection other people speak of.”

Sylvester narrowed his eyes as he listened. The connection was faint for most archnobles but to be completely incapable of feeling it meant Melchior had a truly staggering quantity of mana. The months leading up to his birth had been such a chaotic time that he hadn't been able to support Florencia very much. He always assumed that Melchior would be weaker for it. Was it somehow the reverse that Florencia was able to give him more mana because she had more time away from Sylvester? Was Melchior just less sensitive than most people and had a perfectly reasonable amount of mana?

The conversation progressed without him as Melchior admitted to being friends with a faestone and explained how he simply asked it to do things rather than using it like an extension of himself. “That is just fine for a highbeast, dear. Do not take a similar position with your Divine Will,” Florencia warned.

“I hope my schtappe is easier to sense,” Melchior sighed.

“They are made to match their holder so I think you will be just fine,” Charlotte encouraged him. “Your unique control style aside, what else did your class teach?”

“It was just the very basics of highbeast creation. I believe everyone reached the stage of creating a box,” Melchior replied.

“You didn't also do a small class on how to identify the members of certain houses by their mounts?” Florencia pressed.

Melchior looked confused. “The subject did come up. We asked all the older attendees to show off their highbeasts. We then had to inform the novices of which animals are off limits.” He wouldn't call it a class.

“I see. Such information is not normally so widely acknowledged,” Florencia explained. “You have made it seem as though these claims are officially recognized.”

“That was not my intention. Should I issue a correction?” Melchior asked.

Everyone shook their heads. “Official or not, people can't just start riding wolves and goltzes and lions because they want to,” Sylvester said. He sighed heavily. “Just don't say anything else about it.”

Melchior nodded. He worried about what else he might say in error and wondered whether it was possible to know before he spoke.

“We must also discuss whether it is reasonable to have a shrine maiden teach our youngest knights,” Charlotte declared. Melchior felt his spine tingle. “My knights who attended had high praise for Sister Streita’s teaching. Their younger siblings also left feeling encouraged and motivated rather than despondent.”

As one such despondent lad, Melchior tried not to react. “I received several complaints. There are other instructors at the Knights Order, Melchior. Even if you don't like Brunschwarts, you didn't need to bring in a priest,” Wilfried said.

“She is a shrine maiden,” Melchior corrected.

“It's the same difference,” Wilfried sighed.

“It is not. I can understand the lay person making such a mistake but not one who has worked so closely with the temple,” Melchior replied.

“Melchior,” Florencia called. “There is no need to take offense to semantics. Wilfried is not insulting Sister Streita.”

Melchior took a deep breath and placed a bit of faestone into the larger mass currently in progress. Now that he knew how long the process could take he was trying to find the bare minimum of soothing he needed. “It is as you say, Mother. I apologize.”

“You must contain your emotions. Apologies will not still the mouths of your critics,” Florencia said.

Melchior remained silent. He could not argue against his mother's wisdom nor was he able to give unqualified assent.

“As I was saying,” Wilfried continued. “The knights are offended that you asked a shrine maiden for assistance before them. I promised to talk to you about it. There's no good answers to give them.”

“Sister Streita has retired from political life. This was a class of mixed factions. From what I’ve heard she is plenty capable. It seems like a good choice,” Sylvester said.

“But, Father, it's an insult to our knights,” Wilfried countered.

“Why is it an insult?” Melchior asked with an annoyed smile slowly becoming an angry one.

“Because she is a shrine maiden,” Wilfried replied gently. “The knights do not attempt to teach the priests how to do their job.”

“They have never been clergy, dear brother. They are not qualified to comment on our work,” Melchior said brightly.

Wilfried paused his next sentence. Something about Melchior's response was discordant from his expression. “Yes that's true,” he said cautiously.

“As Sister Streita was once an accomplished knight instructor, she is perfectly suited to teaching novices. You may simply tell people that,” Charlotte said, hoping to end the conversation.

“So we are allowing her to come back?” Wilfried asked.

“Replacing her would be a greater indictment than never hiring her in the first place,” Florencia said. “We are working to rehabilitate the Temple's image, are we not?”

Melchior finally felt himself begin to calm. With his parents' assent, there was no reason to replace Sister Streita and silently declare that she was unfit to enter the Knights Order. “I’ll give that answer going forward. I only ask, Melchior, that you warn me before doing these things. I can't support you otherwise,” Wilfried said.

“I will do just that in future,” Melchior replied. He wondered whether Streita's involvement would have been vetoed had he asked for permission rather than forgiveness.

That evening, he painted and considered the dinner conversation. He had many questions to which every answer made him upset. There was much rejoicing whenever Bonifatius left his semi-retirement but Streita received no such fanfare. Only those few who already knew her chose to approach where dozens of excited apprentices always clung to his granduncle. There was only one real difference between them. People looked down on Sister Streita where they venerated Lord Bonifiatus because one was clergy and the other an Archduke Candidate.

He carefully added ruelle fruits to the painting of the laboratory shelves and thought about his uncle. The official story now was that he was researching and reviving rituals as a pioneer but that wasn't true. Ferdinand was sent to the temple to degrade him and leave no shadow of a doubt that he would not take the seat even though he was vocal about his lack of ambition to do so. Though it was not the same for Melchior, he wondered whether people tried to convince him to distance himself so that his chances were better. How often and how loudly would he need to declare his own intentions before noble society would believe him?

Much like most days, Melchior forgot his musing by the next morning. The meeting with Charlotte and Elvira was at third bell and would require all of his facilities. He was hoping to secure worthwhile compensation for Hasse's hard work and years of data as well as gain a better understanding of the printing industry.

Isolde had a sheet detailing what their revised report contained that would tease the information without giving too much away. Kazmiar brought additional information from the Rozemyne workshop. Flautzeal was outfitted with plenty of paper while Melchior had his diptych and a winning smile. The children were encouraged by Kazmiar's presence and emboldened by their extensive preparations.

They could not anticipate being so thoroughly destroyed. “Lady Elvira is terrifying,” Isolde whimpered as they had a collective resting of their heads on Melchior's table.

Kazmiar remained upright but even he was visibly exhausted. “At least we managed to sell things,” he said.

“For only half what we expected plus a bonus for providing so much paper,” Isolde mumbled. She glanced at the box with two and a half large gold and sighed heavily. “We spent so little time talking about this. What did we even prepare for?!”

“It's because we prepared so thoroughly that we didn't need to discuss things so much. You told them exactly what we had to sell and they told us what it was worth. We are not deeply involved in the printing industry so it is no surprise we couldn't predict things better. Take heart, children,” Kazmiar encouraged. “Besides, we have work of our own and more opportunities to sell information.”

“That's true,” Melchior sighed. He was the first to rally. “I will send a letter to Hasse explaining the situation. They said they were researching what preserves their paper pulp so we are most of the way to one of the objectives.”

“That is tangential to our real problems, my lord,” Isolde huffed. “How are we to create a paper workshop in the dormitory?”

Melchior blushed. He’d agreed so quickly to take on the task of making paper from Bershmann’s sticks there wasn't even time to consider how they would get that done. “Perhaps we can route a stream under the dormitory?”

“The Zent won't approve an Entwinklen for a student research project,” Flautzeal replied. He sat up and began translating his notes from the meeting. He winched occasionally when he encountered a particularly harsh rebuttal.

“There are other ways to create an artificial stream,” Kazmiar mused. Since, unlike commoners, they could use magic tools, there were many options in fact. “The primary problem is building the trough for it. We will need permission to open the dormitory early.”

That would call Professor Ottile away from her family, Melchior thought. Having meddled in their lives enough, they would need to minimize the amount of time needed to assemble everything. “We won't be able to begin right away so the normal time should be all right,” he countered.

“We can't afford to fail. No research can be done if we cannot make the paper,” Isolde replied.

“Yes I know. It would be best to test the system here before we teleport all the materials to the dormitory,” Melchior replied.

Kazmiar took a sheet of paper from Isolde and began doodling. “We have the Entwinklen plans for the dormitory. So long as we know which room you'll be using, we can have carpenters fabricate the artificial stream in teleportable pieces then hook them together on site. Of course we need something to make it watertight. Flooding the dorm simply won't do,” Kazmiar babbled. Melchior leaned over to watch a plan materialize. Much faster than any of the children expected, Kazmiar created three rough designs based on different water speeds, total volume, and the ability for a person to maneuver around it.

“Using a greenstone would be very mana intensive. It would be more efficient to use the new Alexandrian method of using mana to create the force which operates a mechanical machine. We can use a magic tool to turn this wheel of buckets…”

Melchior was entranced by the increasingly fantastic contraption. “Is there a carpenter that can make this?” Isolde asked. Kazmiar and Melchior frowned. “I’m not trying to ruin your fun but couldn't we just use a pump?” The mad inventors paused to consider this. Kazmiar drew a new design that would use a pump with the lever replaced by a magic tool to ensure a constant flow. “It doesn't even need to be magic,” she noted.

Kazmiar frowned even deeper. “Can't it be a little magic?”

“It just needs to work as simply as possible. Paper is made by commoners. Any magic part will have to be operated by a noble. Having the water flow from one large reservoir to another would allow the user to do things other than pump continuously. I also recall Kirk saying that the second soak, after the boiling with ashes, can take place in a barrel. We should focus more on cleaning the water than making it move around the room in a giant trough.” Isolde insisted.

“But the stream is fun,” Melchior muttered.

“This much wood will be expensive. We are footing the cost for all of this, not Bershmann.”

“We will be able to make our own paper,” Melchior countered. How long had he dreamed of his own paper workshop?

“‘We’ will not be making anything. You will have to hire a craftsman who is willing to spend an entire season at the Royal Academy. Possibly two,” Isolde continued. She looked back and forth between the sad looking man and sad looking boy and sighed. “We have only a theoretical grasp on what a workshop needs. We can't make plans without expert advice. We must not fail this joint research.”

She expected looks of defeat and groans of despair but Melchior’s face lit up. “We will have to consult our expert and find a craftsman!” he chirped.

“Yes…”

“We must ask Kirk for his opinion,” Melchior said.

“You want to bring Kirk to the Royal Academy?” Isolde squeaked.

Three sets of eyes locked onto her slowly reddening face. Melchior smiled deviously. “He was ever so helpful during our assembly of the report,” he said in a teasing voice. “You do not mind him being there, do you?”

“No of course not… I mean… I have no opinion on which commoner craftsperson you should hire,” she huffed.

Both Melchior and Kazmiar doubted that very much. Melchior kept his giggles to himself while Kazmiar wondered how an archnoble girl came to blush at the name of a gray apprentice priest.

They had to wait a few days to consult Kirk. He had many ideas about the indoor paper workshop as well as a comprehensive list of the necessary equipment along with things that were just nice to have. As a child, he would be limited in the size and quantity of paper but they only needed a few trial sheets made from each plant. A stream was generally necessary, which excited the inventors, but less water would need cleaning if they brought only the inner white bark to the Academy. “That might be more information then you want to give the other duchy though,” Kirk noted.

“Yes. Only the pounding and screening remain after that. However, it should be acceptable to ask that they strip the branches,” Isolde replied.

“They will have to anyway. The bark must be fairly fresh at the beginning of the process,” Kirk said. Isolde flipped through her notes. At no previous point had this been communicated.

They spent quite a long time discussing and designing the workshop. Kazmiar got to add in magic tools for cleaning water. They would need less mana if their artificial steam had a few mechanical filters but magic couldn't be totally excluded. He wanted to have it built into the pump but Isolde reminded him that it would then require a commoner blacksmith to open the pump any time maintenance was needed. The final plan was less fantastic than originally imagined but far more likely to work.

“I will oversee the prototype and materials acquisition, my lord. I shall return my findings in one month’s time,” Kazmiar promised before floating happily out of the High Bishop’s chambers.

“I’ve never seen him so happy,” Isolde whispered.

“Me neither,” Melchior giggled.

With the workshop planning complete it was time to secure a craftsman. “Would you like to accompany me to…”

“Yes,” Kirk said.

“I hadn't finished,” Melchior sighed.

“I will accompany you anywhere,” Kirk assured him.

“It is still improper to interrupt,” Lothar chided.

“My apologies, my lord. Please continue.”

“I need a paper craftsman to create paper for our joint research. I would like for you to fill this role, Kirk. Will you be able to make paper in such a strange setting?” Melchior asked.

Kirk was less sure after the full explanation. It had been some time since his career in paper making ended. He would need to run the shop all by himself as well. “I can do it,” he declared with more conviction than he felt. He had a season and a half to refresh his skills. There was no way he would miss this chance to see somewhere new.

“If you are bringing Kirk, you should also bring Sheila,” Isolde said. Melchior narrowed his eyes. “No one is attempting to steal her. All the castle chefs are male. She will have more protection with a second of your personnel in attendance. Combined with the other manifold benefits of bringing her with you, I think you should.”

“I will consider it,” was the most Melchior would say.

Kirk and Lothar had their own reports. The summer disaster drill was a few weeks away. As Melchior had skipped the one in spring, Kazmiar strongly requested that he be present for this one. They would plan to host Ansgar and Jochten on another day even though Melchior thought it would heighten the experience to have guests. There was every possibility that an emergency would occur while guests were around, after all. He was counseled so strongly against this that he had to relent.

As for their other plans for the lessons. Melchior could authorize use of the Divine Instruments and Temple facilities himself. Streita was finished with the wooden boards used for studying rituals so they didn't need to make any additional copies. Paul and Chet would be called back to attend during their visit.

Melchior was excited for their study sessions but he was more excited about Kirk's report. “I have found a potter with a kiln they are willing to rent space in. They can also make the spouted bowl you seek,” he announced

“A spouted bowl?” Isolde asked. Kirk placed a handkerchief on the table. Inside were several more blooming tea buds. Seeing them filled Melchior with complicated feelings. His first ones were a gift from Violet but had been consumed the last time he could call Kirk his friend. They reminded him of that magical visit to the lower city and that he would never have such an excursion again. He hid this behind a smile as he described the visual experience and taste to Isolde. Eventually, Kirk had to bring water and a bowl so she could observe. While the tea bloomed and before Kirk could spill tea everywhere by attempting to pour out of the bowl, Melchior described his ideal vessel.

In a perfect world, it would be a large transparent teapot but such a thing did not exist. Instead, he envisioned a wide bowl with a tea spout and white glaze on the inner surface. The outside didn't matter as much but if it could match his existing tea set, that would be best.

“The liquid must touch silver at some point, my lord. Many poisons can be ruled out in this simple way. You will either need silver tea cups or the vessel will have to be silver,” she explained. The temple only had silver serving implements to save costs but all his dishes for use at the Royal Academy and castle were silver.

“Could I trade my aurumzaubertine for silver?” he mused. There was no good use for it anyway.

Isolde shook her head. There was no good way to obtain more. “I will ask the silversmith for an estimate,” Isolde promised and added another item to her to-do list.

“Would you still like a ceramic version?” Kirk asked.

“Let us begin with the ceramic piece to make sure that is what we truly want,” Melchior decided. They also planned to invite the ceramicist to the temple sometime after the intensive classes and before the Harvest Festival. Melchior didn't have time for sculpting anyway. He needed to help Kirk and Lothar mix egg paint for the leather pouches.

Veremund’s research revealed that the egg white based paint was the best. He didn't have high hopes for it lasting hundreds of years, but it was flexible enough not to flake off immediately. He was rewarded with free lunch before being impressed into service to make more paint.

“You have to do this everyday?” Veremund asked while he swirled the muddler around.

“It cannot complete a painting before it all dries and becomes unusable,” Melchior replied.

“Couldn't you use a time stopper? That's what I did.”

“I don't have a small enough one that isn't already holding something,” Melchior sighed. He wasn't going to let the Lionshead Peony die just to preserve his paint.

“Not in the whole castle?”

“I will have to ask,” Melchior concluded. It hadn't even occurred to him to borrow one of the many magic tools stored in the castle. Isolde added this to her list as well.

On his final temple day, Kirk delivered the second half of his report on his excursion. “We did not wish to raise your expectations before we could prove the workability of the method, my lord,” he explained. Dorrick and Linda told him about the methods they used to extract scents from plants. Some things had medicinal properties but most were just nice which they used to augment their medical practice by selling cosmetics. It was a much needed line of income since the apothecary trade wasn't particularly lucrative for how labor intensive it could be.

Together with Sheila, he presented several vials of water or oil and a cake of beeswax molded into a diamond shape and decorated with dried flowers. “How pretty,” Melchior cooed as he picked it up to inspect it. He was met with the smell of Lionshead Peony mixed with the woodsy smell he’d switched to recently and rounded out with something mysterious. A genuine smile formed on his lips.

Kirk and Sheila couldn't help but smile as well. “I have found the waters make it easier to add essences to desserts. I have evolved mitfair pound cake such that it no longer overwhelms the delicate flowers,” Sheila reported.

“I think these wax cakes would be a good way to efficiently use your rime wax. We could also add shavings to the usual packets or mix it into an incense blend. Kari and Violet had many ideas. If you would allow us to use your beeswax, we will attempt to infuse it with scent then test the best ways to utilize it,” Kirk explained.

Melchior gave his permission while sniffing the various bottles. After growing a bit dizzy from the strong florals he paused. “How did you get enough flowers for this?”

“They were dying so we collected all the tepels,” Kirk replied.

“How did you reach them?”

“We have a ladder and Lord Kolteruze can now summon a Highbeest.”

“They seem very convenient,” Melchior noted. The lionbus had no wings but he had to sit completely inside it. For the hyper-specific task of gathering flowers from trees, it was not the best it could be. This was not as much of a problem as the lack of flowers. “Father has not visited yet. He will be disappointed.”

“He will not be able to enjoy them with your mother,” Sheila sighed. Edeltrude and Haldis had been so adorable when they visited together.

“Father doesn't usually bring Mother when he sneaks out of the castle. She does not like it when he dodges his responsibilities,” Melchior said.

“Perhaps she just doesn't like being left all alone with hers,” Sheila huffed and went to finish dinner.

Melchior hadn't considered that. His knights were upset when they were left behind but that seemed different. Of course, Theodore was always heartbroken to be excluded from anything. He was terrible at hiding his discouragement but Lady Florencia was a master at hiding her true feelings. Maybe she really was the same. He wrote out a magic letter to Sylvester sharing his new found knowledge. It would be more fun if they came together after all and there was no telling when he would choose to escape to the Temple for tea. There was always the chance of him popping in even at the current hour. Therefore the message was urgent.

Sebastian reached out to stop the bird as it alighted without anyone else getting to read it, but it was too late. “My lord, are you willing to disclose what you’ve just sent?”

“It is just a note to Father,” Melchior replied and continued painting as though he hadn't sent an emergency missive to the Archduke.

His letter did not return that night nor did Sylvester mention it when Melchior visited his office. But it was a magic letter, guaranteed to reach its intended recipient so he wasn't worried.

Instead he focused on the second highbeast class. There were fewer older students this week but the novices came ready to learn. Any tutors who chose not to return were replaced. The class moved from boxes to more complicated shapes, ending with variations on tea pots. Melchior walked around giving encouragement and compliments once again. He watched Adaire and Deliroze laugh with Emery and Veremund and felt strangely depressed.

“Lord Melchior,” Yarchteck called, interrupting his brooding.

Melchior fixed his smile before turning around. “Sir Yarchteck, how may I assist?”

Yarchteck also smiled brightly. “I have attempted to employ your method but am having trouble empathizing with a faestone,” he said with absolute seriousness.

Fonsel and Dedryck suppressed their urges to grin. It only grew more difficult as Melchior gave the problem his full attention and attempted to give advice.

“You’ve worked together for years now so you are already friends. It helps to think about the fun adventures you’ve had together and to remember that your highbeast has never let you down,” Melchior replied.

Yarchteck nodded along with a grave expression. He held his highbeast faestone and stared into it. “How does it feel about taking so many different shapes?” His carefully curated expression began to break.

Melchior paused and narrowed his eyes. “Will you tell Charlotte everything I say?”

“Naturally, she is my lady,” Yarchteck said without hesitation. Melchior realized he was being teased and began to walk away. “Wait, wait, please Lord Melchior. Lady Charlotte is curious but unable to attend these classes. She has given me the time off on the condition that I tell her all I learn. I truly wish to learn your method.”

Melchior was still skeptical but he shared his opinion anyway. “It is a highbeast’s nature to fly and change shape. So long as it may do those things, I think it should be content.”

“You believe its joy comes from acting in accordance with its nature?” Yarchteck asked. Melchior nodded. “Do you believe the same is true for people?”

Dedryck felt his body tighten. Why would Charlotte’s knight walk Melchior into such a trap, he cried in his head. “I think people have more complex emotions than faestones, Sir Yarchteck,” Melchior replied, looking not at all like he’d just dodged an arrow mid flight.

“I think you are correct,” Yarchteck replied and moved to pat Melchior on the head. Gerianne blocked his hand. “Ah, my apologies. You reminded me so much of my little brother. Thank you for your advice, Lord Melchior. I hope to master autonomous highbeasts one day.”

“I look forward to witnessing your strength,” Melchior said and walked away to call the class to a close. They finished earlier than before but he’d promised Wilfried not to interfere with the schedule again.

Adaire went home with his brother while Deliroze returned to the temple. At least he could train with Felicitus and Gerianne for the rest of the morning. Melchior did his exercises while trying not to feel disappointed with the success of his class.

Charlotte and his parents had only praise at dinner but it was difficult to be happy about it. He’d behaved as a proper Archduke Candidate; overseeing the work of others and providing assistance only with what others could not do. “It is important to use your retainers and allies to execute your designs,” Florencia counseled. It would be easier to shift blame if that became necessary.

Melchior didn't want to implicate his retainers and leave them to face his rightful consequences while he escaped. He would prefer to be above reproach and prevent such problems before they could develop. As he wasn't sure how to accomplish that yet, he resolved to find out.

There was much time to consider things while he painted that evening but he found himself distracted by anxieties about his lesson with Ansgar and Jochten the next day. At its inception, the plan was sure to net a delightful few weeks and victory in the Ehrenfest Academic Consortium. Now Jochten was coming. There would be weeks of listening to him babble sycophantically or mockingly at himself and Ansgar. He couldn't even say that everything would be alright were he the only victim.

With dread in his heart, he was dressed and ready for the day. They would begin with armor brewing. Melchior already had armor and didn't need to be present for the lesson but he was going to communicate the schedule and to ensure that Ansgar had some protection.

“You seem anxious,” Pepin said suddenly while carefully combing the kinks from his hair. “I think things will be better. Gottschalk has relayed your feelings to his brother after all.”

“It is not so easy to change our nature,” Melchior huffed.

“My lord. Each spring, we must renew our appreciation for the budding branches²³. Have you not changed much since last winter?” Pepin replied.

Melchior was quiet for a bit. “I will try to be patient,” Melchior said.

“That is good, my lord. You will struggle to build a faction if you discard everyone who annoys you,” Haldis interjected. He took the face wipe from Melchior and handed Pepin a different comb. “This will be a good opportunity to practice. Many people will attempt to win your favor. Some will be malicious and some will not. You must discern their intentions in order to safely make use of the benefits they offer.”

“What benefits can Jochten offer?” Melchior asked.

“You may need additional scholars or allies in Haseny. The majority of the population are mednobles. Their influence cannot be discounted,” Haldis explained.

“Aren't the vast majority of the population commoners?” Melchior asked.

“I mean the majority of the noble population. By volume, the commoners do make up the majority of the total population,” Haldis corrected.

Pepin leaned in and added in a chipper voice, “And won't it be better if you can all be friends?”

That was true, Melchior thought. Things would be more pleasant if they could be on better terms since Jochten could not be excluded from the second year consortium. “If he is willing to improve, I am willing to reassess,” Melchior promised.

Footnotes

23. You have to reevaluate children as they grow up^

Chapter Text

Chemistry Class with the Second Years

Jochten proved willing to make an effort. He apologized to Melchior for his previous conduct and to Ansgar for being mean to him. Gottschalk watched him kneel and demure to a laynoble with mixed feelings. Nobles often needed to hide their true emotions and acquiesce to those of higher status but to lower his head in honest contrition felt a step too far. That Melchior had asked it of him showed just how much he disliked Jochten. How Jochten ever thought he was making progress at befriending Melchior was a mystery.

He still struggled with the prohibition against flattery. “Your chopping skill is most refined, Lord Melchior. As expe….” The words died on his tongue as Melchior shot him a frown. “Most refined,” he mumbled.

“I can see that you’ve practiced as well,” Melchior replied.

Jochten paused his cutting for a moment to blush and contain the urge to wiggle. “I hope to become a scholar. So I have asked Father to teach me,” he managed to say.

Melchior glanced at Gottschalk. Jochten didn't even need to travel all the way to Ehrenfest city to learn the second year brews. He chided himself for not thinking to just send the written material in a packet and be done with the matter. He finished processing the ingredients for a prayer charm and stopped to watch Ansgar and Gerianne.

Unlike Jochten, this was Ansgar’s first day holding a knife. Both Gerianne and Flautzeal hovered around to correct his grip and stop him from cutting himself. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead as Flautzeal corrected every small mistake.

“Flautzeal will you grade my ingredients,” Melchior asked as he approached.

“Of course, my lord,” Flautzeal said and went to look at them.

Melchior slipped into his spot and smiled at Ansgar. “You are doing well. Flautzeal is harsh with everyone, even me,” he encouraged.

Ansgar let out a heavy sigh. “I fear I cannot do anything right,” he whimpered.

“It is your first day. That is to be expected,” Melchior encouraged.

This didn't seem to cheer him up but he continued with a less anxious posture. After a brief delay, Jochten appeared at Melchior's elbow. Without Gerianne to move him, he was able to stand closer than normal. Now with more eyes than ever, Ansgar began to shiver minutely.

“How many tutors does one boy need,” Isolde snapped and shooed everyone but Gerianne away. “Your ingredients pass muster, Jochten, begin the first steps of brewing your armor.”

Melchior and Jochten hurried back to their brewing stands. “These pieces are larger than the others,” Flautzeal declared while pointing out the few chunks of faeplant he’d picked out. Melchior wanted to roll his eyes but contained himself.

“I will be more careful next time,” he said calmly and began drawing the sigil for Cuococalura. His letter and gift to Leibshitze would be rather thin with just the needles for his mother. Melchior intended to add a prayer charm since they didn't carry the same connotations as protective charms. Leibshitze was also working hard to become omni elemental. Melchior didn't know what elements he had or those he needed besides Fire so he was having a hard time choosing a deity. He was torn between Cuococalura to invite more tasty food or Sterrat since his favor was mostly useless making him an unlikely choice for Leibshitze to make for himself.

Melchior left the sigil floating next to his pot while he added the life faestone and a few edible plants to enhance the effects. “Lord Melchior, does it make the charm stronger to brew with the sigil over your pot?” Jochten asked.

“I am hoping to save parchment on these easy brews with simple circles,” Melchior replied with a shake of his head.

This did nothing to illuminate the floating sigils's purpose for Jochten but he was happy to steal glances at Melchior as he tried to puzzle things out. As he had his own complicated brew to tend, he almost missed Melchior spin the floating ink around his finger like a hoop before spiking it into the pot and smiling at Pepin. Jochten couldn't even speak. It was new and exciting that magic circles could be written in the air with pure mana. Half the reason he wanted to learn the time-saving brewing circle was to make those ethereal lines himself. His father warned him that they couldn't be moved once placed yet Melchior had just played with it as though it were a physical object.

“Jochten, you are beginning to smoke,” Isolde called.

With great effort he drew his attention back. “Thank you, Lady Isolde,” he breathed. What an incredible person Melchior continued to be. He would have to thank his brother again for getting him into the study sessions.

Meanwhile, Melchior held his new charm to the God of Cooking next to his previously brewed charm to the God of Stars. The black and white gems reminded him of Schwartz and Weiss. It would be fun to shape them into shumils but he didn't know how and wasn't sure it was actually possible. He wasn't good enough at sculpting to create anything recognizable at this scale so that was a quandary for another day. Isolde came over to check them. She wore a worried frown from watching Ansgar and Jochten nearly slice their hands and melt their faces, respectively.

“These are both wholly adequate to their task and should survive the rigors of accepting an archnoble’s mana,” she said.

Melchior came back from his mental excursion. “Oh… yes, thank you, Isolde. I cannot decide which to send.”

She wondered whether that choice warranted the amount of thought he seemed to be giving it. “You could send both,” she offered. It was almost the same difference. It would only become strange if he tried to send more than four or five.

He smiled. “That's a great idea, Then I shall get more practice.” A confusing declaration when the charms were already complete but she had to stop Jochten from almost melting his face off a second time.

After several potions and much stirring, Ansgar was able to finish the mednoble level armor. He was not in any state to do anything for the next few days at least, so Melchior began goodbyes and canceled their exams. They would meet again at the temple. Jochten failed to hide a small grimace at this “You are not required to visit the Temple if you find it intolerable,” Melchior added. Better to leave him out then deal with his veiled contempt.

Gottschalk shot his brother a glare. They’d talked about this over and over. He would have to endure his time there with a smile and give no indication that it made him upset. That he would fail at this one crucial thing meant he was doomed.

“I do not mind visiting,” Jochten said. “It is just that I’ve been told the temple is a place where weak men go to play Ewigeliebe and pluck flowers and that you were sent there to appease the wrath of Lord Ferdinand now that he is the First Husband of a greater duchy.”

Everyone was shocked. Gottschalk felt the blood drain from his extremities as his life as an Archductal knight evaporated before his very eyes. Were all his lessons for nothing? Had he begged on his knees just for disaster to visit him? Melchior looked just as surprised, his gentle and unfailing smile contorting into confusion.

“How specific and incorrect,” he muttered. “I was made High Bishop to ensure that the temple does not become so again. My venerated Uncle had nothing to do with that decision.”

“So you are not bravely enduring debasement?”

“No. I am happy to serve as High Bishop. It allows me to contribute to the duchy and offer mana to the gods such that I might gain many protections and be of even greater use to our people,” Melchior said.

Jochten visibly relaxed. “I have been mistaken, it seems. My anger was misplaced.”

“You were angry because you thought I was being debased?” Jochten nodded. “You may rest assured that is not the case.”

“Then I shall look forward to seeing that place you speak so fondly of,” Jochten replied and gave his own goodbyes.

Gottschalk left to escort him back to their aunt’s estate while Melchior retired to his room. He thought about all the times Jochten sneered or scowled at the mention of the temple. If he truly was reacting to the false belief that Melchior’s service was both compulsory and damaging, then Melchior had assumed the worst and judged him for it. Perhaps Hadrian’s mean comments managed to color every conversation he had at the Royal Academy concerning the temple. Kalinda mentioned it quite frequently, but maybe her intentions were not cruel either. He would have to reevaluate once he returned and spoke with her again. Though, thinking back, they'd never had a real conversation.

Pepin steered him to a chair while he was lost in thought. He returned from his musings to find both Isolde and Pepin sitting at his table with thoughtful expressions.

“Pepin has asked me to speak with you,” she began.

Melchior glanced back and forth between them and tipped his head. This was a strange team to be confronted by. “Has something occurred?”

They slid a sound-blocker across the table. Melchior took it and braced for something terrible. “We believe that Jochten has taken a liking to you,” Pepin began.

“Well Pepin thinks so.”

“I am inclined to agree with most things Pepin says,” Melchior noted.

“I agree that that is generally a good idea, however, in this case, I should like him to be wrong,” Isolde sighed. She played with a lock of her hair while Pepin twiddled his fingers. “There are a few angles you can choose to address this.”

“Address the fact that Jochten likes me? You have already given counsel that I reassess. I have tried,” Melchior replied with obvious worry as their anxiety seeped into him. He couldn't reform his opinion after a single interaction nor had he thought his relationship with Jochten would be so important.

“This is different,” Isolde said. “Pepin has asked for my help because I have much experience with this problem. When the Spring goddesses visit in Autumn, stiff breezes may inspire foolishness but the gentle wind will struggle to move even a leaf.”

Melchior was confused. He vaguely understood that she was discussing unrequited affection and various severities of rejection, but this felt disconnected to their previous assertions, or else too high handed a way to talk about snubbing someone that wanted to earn your favor.

“My lord, I do not think Lord Jochten has realized it himself, so there is no need for you to address the problem directly,” Pepin said.

“Though it can sometimes save much back and forth to be honest from the outset,” Isolde countered. “In this instance, I think you can pretend not to know as there is no future for Blaunfah let alone Liebeskhilfe.”

Isolde and Pepin alternated between giving encouraging smiles and averting their eyes while Melchior stared at them with a narrow gaze. “A future for Blaunfah between myself and Lord Jochten?” It was a perplexing sentence on its own. As far as he knew, Blaunfah only danced for men and women, one of each in pairs or else in the sad heart of one party. Then again, Sheila implied that Kirk saw romantic possibilities with both boys and girls. That sounded exhausting considering his position as a priest meant he had to forsake such things. Would his life be filled with autumnal storms? Did Melchior have an obligation to help him escape such a fate as his lord? This was not the time to consider that so he turned his thoughts back to the problem at hand.

“It is as you say. Such a thing will never occur,” Melchior concluded. He could grow to tolerate or perhaps befriend Jochten but an Archduke Candidate could not carry out a romance with a mednoble. He couldn't even be friends with a priest.

Isolde sighed with relief. She feared that Melchior might begin to consider it or, perish the thought, to reciprocate out of some twisted sense of duty or obligation. “Yes. And you need never accept advances out of politeness or pity,” she said. If he did, his life would be a never ending string of trysts, she thought.

Now that that was cleared up? Melchior had a follow up question. “Why did you ask Isolde to speak to me about this, Pepin?”

“I feared Haldis or Fonsel would tell you to ask your parents. Isolde has the most experience outside of Kolteruze and she can speak on the topic without… being stymied by Brennwarme²⁴.”

Melchior giggled and glanced at Kolteruze. Kolteruze stopped swabbing at imaginary dust to begin walking over. Melchior assured him he didn't require assistance while struggling not to continue giggling or asking how Kolteruze had so much experience rebuffing people's advances.

Kolteruze looked suspiciously from one giggling child to another. That their conversation took place under a cone of silence only added to his curiosity. It had to be about him at least a little, but what could he possibly have done to deserve such attention. It would be better not to inquire.

Melchior was happy to put aside thoughts of manipulation and intrigue to enjoy his favorite part of the week. This time he was bringing a truly incredible gift as well. After almost a year of delay, the promised clay substitute could be presented to Henriette, who’d forgotten all about the promise to begin with. She was still very happy to receive a new toy from her favorite brother. His presents were always the best since he brought fun things rather than more books or things to study.

Standing and waiting for the strange new substance to be tested for poison was awful. At least Melchior was there to talk her through the process and bounced excitedly with her.

“They must test for many kinds of poison. You are so small that even a tiny bit could put you in grave danger,” he explained.

“In danger?” Henrietta asked. She watched her knights and attendants tinker with the squishy looking stuff and grew pensive. “Would you add danger to a gift?”

“I would never knowingly put you in danger, but it is better to know than to trust. Even things from me and Charlotte must be checked.”

She nodded. This was the first time she was present for these tests and she resolved to ensure they were done going forward. Then it dawned on her. She had many toys. They had never been checked that she knew of. Were they safe? “There is danger all around,” she said.

Melchior froze. “What do you mean?” he asked before a true panic could fill him.

“There is danger in the toys,” she declared matter of factly and pointed to her chest of trinkets. Most were inherited from her older siblings and had never left this room.

“I do not think they have been poisoned. They have also been checked and are rechecked with frequency. You just aren’t usually present for the inspection,” Melchior assured her.

“So there is no danger?”

“Indeed, Lady Henrietta, there is nothing to fear,” Zargerecht interjected before Melchior could share the very true fact that the possibility was small but could not be discounted. “We have all been too young for nuance, Lord Melchior.”

Henrietta still looked up at Melchior for a response. He did not wish to lie but he didn't want her to fear that her toys were poisoned. “Your guard knights work very hard to ensure there is no danger.”

This seemed to be enough as she took up one of her toys immediately to pass the time while the clay was tested for poisons normally put into food. It had already been tested for contact poisons but Melchior proported that it was safe to eat in limited quantities with the warning that some children chose to search for that limit. That it was as bitter as some poisons did not make things easier. In the end, an entire third of the gift was consumed by tests before it could be placed down before the siblings.

By this point, Henrietta had forgotten about it. “Do you want to play with the clay?” Melchior asked. She was busy stacking her new wooden blocks on top of each other so she declined. “ Are you certain? It can change shape like a highbeast faestone.” She was not intrigued.

Only when Melchior chose to forsake the carpet and wood for the table and clay did she find renewed interest. He was frowning at a two legged lump whose calves were too cylindrical to be the bottoms of legs. Henrietta took one of the lumps near his hands. “I…” was going to use that, he began. The large blob was right in front of her. Why take one of the small ones next to him? Though baffled, he portioned out a new lump close in size to the stolen one and continued.

Henrietta spent a while mushing around and observing her blob of clay. It was a pretty color and felt cool to the touch. Melchior was too focused on his own blob to tell her what to do with it. He had mentioned it being edible so she put a bit in her mouth. “Ahhh! Eck!” It was awful. Who would eat something like this.

He giggled so she tried to put some in his mouth. He dodged. “No thank you,” he said.

“It is good,” Henrietta lied.

“You like how it tastes?” he asked with a teasing grin. She nodded treacherously and offered the bit she’d just spit out. “I have tried it and I know its terrible. You cannot trick me.”

Her plan thwarted, she had to come up with another game for the clay. She watched Melchior pinch his tubes and press in details with his hands. Making tubes proved to be more difficult than anticipated. She tried to pinch and squish her clay into a long and even stick but it was lumpy. “How do you make the sticks?”

“I have developed an ingenious method,” he bragged, then showed her how to take a piece and roll it against the table to make a sphere and tube. First he pushed back his sleeves from his wrists then brought his hands low over the table so they would be held back by the table top. Rather than use his carefully portioned bits, he grab more from the large blob, grabbed both ends, and pulled them apart. A long string formed which he then pressed into the table before moving his hand back and forth over it. Like magic, a tube appeared once he lifted his hands.

Henrietta clapped politely then attempted it herself. Rather than gather into a nice stick, her clay squished flat and smeared. “But why?”

“You are pressing to hard,” Melchior counseled. “You must be gentle and use only as much pressure as it takes to resist the current shape of the clay.”

What arcane knowledge. Henrietta tried to be more gentle but her smear refused to move. “It is stuck,” she said sadly.

Melchior paused his work to peel the flat slab of clay up and crush it into an oblong blob before placing it back into her hands. His assistance was needed in this way thrice more before Henrietta managed to create a lumpy stick. Now that she had a clay tube, she didn't know what to do with it. Melchior was slowly building something with four tubes attached to it. She grabbed another piece, conveniently already detached from the large bit.

Melchior replaced his carefully portioned piece again and moved the large bit closer to Henrietta. It was now between them. She would have to reach around it to steal his bits and she did. “Henrietta, I had plans for that bit of clay,” he said as calmly as possible.

She held up the piece she’d just taken. “There is more clay,” she said and indicated the large block.

“Yes I know. But I have taken off bits that I would like to use.”

As he spoke she was attaching one of her tubes to her ill gotten blob. He was annoyed but took some deep breaths and continued his work. Soon enough a tiny hand entered his peripheral vision. He placed his hand over it. “Henrietta, do you intend to steal another one of my pieces?”

“You have many pieces,” she noted and tried to move past his hand to collect one.

“Take some from the large blob,” he instructed. She looked at it and decided that his were more desirable. He stopped her again. As her efforts to obtain more clay continued to be thwarted, she grew frustrated.

“I want clay,” she cried.

“There is clay here,” Melchior said and placed her hand on the big blob. “It is the exact same stuff. Why do you want mine?”

“Its better!”

“It is not any different!”

“Nooo!” she screamed as he stopped her again.

“Lord Melchior,” Zargerecht interrupted, distracting him long enough for Henrietta to collect her prize. “Perhaps she finds breaking pieces from the large block intimidating,” he suggested.

“Why not say so,” Melchior grumbled and began breaking off pieces for her to use and setting them in a ring around her space.

But Henrietta didn't want those pieces. She wanted the ones next to Melchior. “Fine!” he snapped and swapped his for hers before reapportioning them into the sizes he wanted. Er long, the same little hand began to sneak its way over. “I don't understand,” Melchior whimpered while he watched his several seconds worth of work be taken again.

Henrietta did not offer an explanation. She was nearly finished with her amalgamation of various shapes. Once she smushed on the last stolen piece she smiled wide and turned to show it off. Melchior did not fawn and celebrate with her. “I made it,” she declared in case he was unsure.

“Why did you steal my pieces?” he asked.

“I needed them.”

“You have your own pieces.”

“They are not as good.”

“They are identical.”

“What's identcle?”

“I den ti cal, it means they are the same.”

“They are better,” she insisted.

Melchior hung his head. There was clay on the table so he couldn't set it down. He left his half finished knight and got up without offering compliments to her sculpture. She watched feeling sad as the distance grew between them.

“Lord Melchior,” Zargerecht said as the boy stalked away from his sister. He could see her mood deteriorating rapidly in the face of his rejection, putting them mere moments from a tantrum. “I think she has decided your pieces are better because you have selected them or because they are associated with you. It is an expression of her fondness for you,” Zargerecht insisted.

“But I asked her to leave them.”

“You did not use those words. Henrietta is still too young to understand implication.”

Melchior nodded. He still felt frustrated and annoyed, as much with himself for losing patience and Henrietta for taking his things. After a few more deep breaths he returned to his seat to properly look at her creation. If he was mean now, the clay would gain a sense of sorrow and Henrietta would reject it. “It is very good,” he forced out and patted her head.

She seemed relieved more than proud as she moved to add it to her wall of art. Of course, an abstract and floppy clay thing would not survive being attached to the wall nor could her attendants imagine showing Lady Florencia such a hideous thing. They convinced Henrietta to leave it on her little desk to harden, hoping she would soon forget its existence so they could discreetly dispose of it.

Melchior crushed his half formed sculpture back into the large lump along with all the pieces he’d so generously apportioned for Henrietta. She waddled back over during this process to hand him lumps. “What are you making?”

“I am putting it away. The God of Darkness grows in strength.”

“Putting it away?” Henrietta asked with real confusion. She was accustomed to walking away when she was done with something. It would magically disappear and return to its storage place. This process of putting things together and returning them to their receptacles was a foreign concept.

“Yes. We cannot leave the clay open to the air or it becomes hard and cannot be molded anymore. So we must put it away,” Melchior explained. It was the same with paints and papers. He did not have to clean up after himself completely or even frequently but there were some things he took extra care with not to mention how easy it was for him to place things back when their places were within arms reach. This saved many a silent conversation with his attendants about whether he was done with things or not. They did not allow him to do anything more than that no matter how much more convenient it would be.

“It is like the danger,” Henrietta mused. Completing her own thoughts about why she’d never seen this process before.

“Yes, your knights and attendants will do this work for you most of the time. The clay is sensitive to air and degrades quickly with time, so I have begun immediately,” Melchior explained. He finished shaping the clay into a squarish chunk before allowing Zargerecht to wrap it in the wax paper and Henrietta's attendant to wrap that in a moist cloth. The table was then wiped clean while the siblings withdrew to the carpet with a book. They continued to read and babble, Henrietta slotted into Melchior's arms, while the attendants exchanged frowns and sighs.

There really was no way to predict what Melchior would bring and say and how that would influence his sister. Charlotte’s influence, her stories about Rozemyne and the duchy and gentle reminders, had been subtle and predictable. Plus, as a toddler, Melchior was given to being pouty and needy making him easy to coral and control. By contrast, Henrietta was always energized by his weekly visit and devoured his new lessons, remaking herself almost overnight. Every new song was her new favorite. The moment she learned about letters, she wished to correspond with everyone, even her attendants who were there almost every day. It was not enough that Melchior wrote her notes of encouragement which she tooked great joy in unfolding and refolding and having read to her, she needed notes from her mother and Ermalinde and wanted to send them to every person whose name she’d ever heard.

Only after weeks and weeks of coaxing and distracting had she given up on bleating and emergency drills. Now she would want to see the poison test and would try to clean up her toys not to mention smear inedible bread dough on every flat surface. That he came every week with no breaks made things even worse. Henrietta could at least comport herself for Charlotte’s monthly visits and before her mother but with Melchior she seemed to forget the need to be polite and he allowed it. Only Florencia coming every other day could keep her education on course.

Zargerecht shrugged at their grimaces. He knew the siblings were too close. Melchior was already eleven and Henrietta was already four. Only they were here to witness this but should others know they might begin to say unsavory things about them. Melchior was already a priest, he could not afford an impropriety. However, they could not be parted. Henrietta would wail. Melchior would sulk. This was a private area so they could wait until Henrietta could understand better why curling into a boy’s chest was uncouth because Melchior would never be convinced to push her away. If he wasn't going to stop it, the others would have to endure and continue to hide their displeasure.

Lessons at Ehrenfest Temple

Jochten and Ansgar traveled via highbeast. They met at the nobles gate as they were both attempting to arrive right on time. The gate guards took them through the necessary procedures before allowing them to enter the Temple grounds, a rarity for children their age that only grew more common with time. A collection of people in gray tunics were there to welcome them including a pink haired boy close to their age. The guards with polearms stepped to the sides of the stairs with crisp motions while the boy knelt.

“We welcome you, Lord Jochten and Lord Ansgar, guests of the High Bishop, to Ehrenfest Temple,” he intoned. “Please allow me to escort you.”

Ansgar and Jochten looked around at the neat landscaping and priests. They'd expect at least one person they knew since this was a first visit. Either their main host or the house steward would always be waiting in greeting. Instead there was just this boy who they'd never met. This meant he had to be a commoner. Jochten worried this was another silent condemnation but Ansgar was receiving exactly the same treatment. He simply nodded and quietly followed the boy into the temple.

They passed another gray priest who paused his cleaning to kneel as they walked by. It was a short journey, so this was the only such person they met in the hall. After turning a corner, they finally saw someone they knew. Sir Fonsel stood outside of a door, a sure sign that Melchior was inside.

The pink haired boy was not acknowledged by the guard but he tipped his head to the nobles. He rang a little bell and the doors began to open immediately. Inside were more gray priests and Melchior in a white and gold outfit, sitting with his scholars, guarded by his apprentice knights. Every temple noble, except Kazmiar, was present and dressed in their blue robes along with armor, for the knights, and a potion belt for Deliroze the pre-apprentice scholar.

“Welcome,” Melchior greeted before awaiting their formal good morning. After this, Ansgar and Jochten were placed in the last two chairs and given tea. “Thank you for traveling all this way to study with me.”

“It is an honor to receive your lessons in prayer and ritual, O High Bishop of Ehrenfest,” Jochten replied.

“Its is good to be enthusiastic,” Isolde giggled while Melchior sighed heavily. She presented wooden boards to the newcomers. “There is no time to waste. These are the prayers you must learn for next year.” She gave an amused glance toward her lord. “Lord Melchior has elected to teach all the children of Ehrenfest to the archnoble standard so do not be discouraged if you struggle.”

“It only adds one or two rituals,” Melchior assured them with his gentle smile. This would be comforting if each ritual weren't long and written in archaic language.

Gerianne was invited to the table to assist and read out the prayers. Having spent weeks learning the first year content, they weren't totally unprepared but she still needed to pronounce several words for them several times. Jochten was delighted after he managed to read out the Spring Prayer without mistakes and received words of praise from Melchior himself.

They spent the morning reading and reciting and trying to memorize the prayer. Due to its length and strangeness this ended up consuming their entire first session. They were still rewarded with a visit to the temple book room. A barrier prevented them from stepping more than a few paces inside but Melchior allowed them each to borrow one book. “The temple records and bible transcriptions cannot be removed but we receive a copy of everything printed in the Rozemyne Workshop. You may take one of those for the week.”

Ansgar shivered with joy as he accepted the book of knight stories. He would normally need to wait the entire year for new editions to appear in the Winter Playroom where he now only had a couple of weeks total to read everything while fighting with other people. “I will be very careful with it,” he promised.

“What would you like, Jochten? What do you like to read?” Melchior asked.

Jochten was tongue tied. Watching Melchior stand in his book room and gesture gracefully and even offer to retrieve something for Jochten with his own hands was too great a gift. “What would you recommend?” he asked while looking away to steady himself.

“I am partial to stories of the gods. This one contains rare tales collected from the palace archives,” Melchior said as he plucked a book from the shelf. It was a gift from Rozemyne and the only copy in the duchy, so he was sure Jochten hadn't read it.

“I will take that one, thank you ever so much, Lord Melchior.”

Melchior stepped through the barrier and placed the book into Jochten’s hands rather than pass it through intermediaries. It took exceptional self control not to crinkle it by grasping too hard.

The rewards for the next two days were not as impressive. They were taken to see the shrine one day and the Divine Instruments the next. As they were allowed to look at the statues up close and touch the magic tools, it ended up being a real treat after all. Melchior also walked them to the nobles gate each morning before lunch.

Jochten found it easier to be kind to Ansgar now that Melchior wasn't favoring him but allowing Gerianne to act as his tutor. He even felt inclined to listen to him prattle about their day as they prepared to fly home. It was surprising to find out that Ansgar was learning things just as quickly as himself. Laynobles had always been behind on their studies and slow on the uptake but Gottschalk had relayed Melchior’s word that this was largely a symptom of their lack of access to good education. Working with the same materials on equally new content with Ansgar seemed to prove this hypothesis. It was entirely possible that years of disparity left laynobles at some kind of inherited mental deficit but things were not so dire as he’d been taught.

The temple also wasn't a sordid den of depravity. It was sparkling clean and peacefully quiet. If such things did occur, it did not seem any more frequent or acceptable than in noble society. Everything his parents warned him about seemed to be totally false. He began to understand Gottschalk’s hope of moving their house to the capital. Living so far from the heart of things had left them ignorant and backward. He was glad to have come a week early so that his aunt could correct some of his manners and teach him how to properly interact with the Archductal Family. At least by those standards, he didn't seem as much like a provincial.

Melchior was happy with the temple lessons too. Jochten and Ansgar seemed amazed by how different the temple was from the rumors and excited to see new things and learn more about the gods and magic. He was happy to teach and that no incidents had occurred between them and the clergy. It was going so well that he began to consider a Divine Instruments mana drive more seriously. There might be more people than his retainers willing to come and they might be trusted to behave.

The only downside to the intensive classes was the need to rearrange his schedule around them. This meant he had no time to assist either Kazmiar or his parents and had to practice music first thing in the morning and exercise after dinner which, thankfully, cut into his painting time. He was becoming so tired of his favorite activity that he was planning to do something else with his day off.

Footnotes

24. Becoming too flustered to speak due to embarrassment^

Chapter Text

The day soon came for the last highbeast class. More of the interlopers had dropped out so new tutors had to be selected again. Even Emery had abandoned his role as Adaire's tutor. “He has other work and hasn't been able to figure out autonomous movement yet either,” Adaire explained.

“It is alright, we will get you a new tutor,” Melchior promised. They looked around at the new pairs forming. There were no longer enough people to make matches based on status and profession. Whoever was around was assigned whoever needed help. They didn't technically need personal tutors but it was a good way to make friends with the older generations. The rest of his family had taken notes from Charlotte and sent their own knights, so this chance was even bigger than in previous weeks.

With archnobles and laynobles making inroads, Melchior saw no reason to continue holding back. “I will help you this week,” he declared. Fonsel and Dedryck were stunned while Gerianne only smiled. Just the previous week he’d been lauded for his exemplary conduct including not showing favorites so why did he suddenly feel the need to dote on a mednoble, they wondered. He also wouldn't listen to their subtle protest except to move Adaire towards the edges of the class so Melchior's towering guard knights wouldn't block the view.

Streita conducted the class as before. After the previous week, the students felt confident enough to practice in their off time so they skipped making more shapes in favor of forming animals. The references were available for anyone that wanted to look and Melchior was even willing to do a sketch or two for those that wanted something truly unique. Adaire looked through the pudgy birds and selected one with bright green plumage and a short beak.

“Your mana color is yellow so your highbeast will always look yellow. That is why the phoenix is blue despite being made of fire,” Melchior warned.

“That is alright, I think it will look cute in yellow too.”

Melchior held up the picture while Adaire focused and grew his highbeast faestone. This was the first time it needed to be big enough to support him but he didn't struggle to expand it twice as much as ever before. The remaining interlopers murmured about having too little faith in the method and how much mana they would have saved as children by practicing forming a smaller blob.

The bird came into being as adorable and fat as it had been in the pictures. Remembering the Highbeest, Adaire made it possible to open a door on the butt by lifting a feathered hatch. There was also a small ornate pouch hanging from its neck. Adaire wasn't sure what he would put in it yet but he loved it all the same. It was wonderful and well considered and he had no good way to sit on it.

“We didn't think this through,” Melchior mumbled while holding his head.

“Is it better or worse that I’m not alone,” Adaire wondered aloud.

Streita was very amused by the small group of students lamenting that their perfect and beautiful chosen beast was not conducive to human ridership. “I did say that shumil and horses are chosen for a reason,” she giggled.

Most were not willing to give up so easily so those with usable highbeasts got to take their first slow fly around the parade ground while the special cases came together to find solutions.

For some, the solution was simply to add an interior or cut out compartment like the lionbus or highbeest. Those willing to slightly distort their animal and add windows and doors were soon flying away. Adaire didn't want to distend his new friend’s proportions so he stood by, stroking its head, and thinking deeply.

Zipporah summoned her shirjack for the council. “Many problems can be solved through the use of a saddle,” she said. Her’s had a tall back to prevent her from falling off, allowing her to sit far enough back to clear the wings. “This harness combined with stirrups also lets me pull myself to standing if I need to reach something while gathering or perform certain attacks,” she explained.

“We will each need a unique saddle,” Adaire observed. The shirjack saddle wouldn't work on his bird nor the snake like creature someone else chose. He needed to sit more forward and would need some kind of step or stirrup to reach his seat. Melchior used his own highbeast stone to form prototypes so the others could save mana. After a shape was complete, they could add it to their mental image. It took Adaire some time in conference with Fonsel and Zipporah to create his, but it felt well worth the effort once he was sitting proudly atop his mount.

His troubles didn't end there. Despite being the only animals that could actually fly, aside from a few exceptions, nobles did not usually use birds for their highbeasts. The phoenix was made primarily to pull a cart so it could walk easily. The green jewel wren was not adapted to walking so its steps were not as sure. Adaire also had to wrap his mind around hovering and landing on flat ground all by himself. But he was already attached to his choice and motivated to use it. He would have time to work on these things later. For the day he was able to summon his mount outside and take off without issues. He even found something narrow to land on so he could dismount with a massive smile.

“I did it!” he cried with joy. “Flying is so fun.”

“You did!” Melchior cheered. “It’s wonderful and convenient. With practice it will feel like you were born to be in the air.” They shared smiles and congratulations with the other first timers before joining the larger class again.

The tutors and others clapped for the fledglings and gave compliments on their strange new highbeasts. They also took note of the profusion of extra details and decorations. Since Melchior announced that only moving parts and substantial size increases greatly impacted mana consumption, they felt bolder to add pretty fur patterns and bridles and things. Though they were still only glorified statues, they had more character.

Perhaps this made it easier for the children to use Melchior’s method. Every single student could call their highbeasts over like a trained animal. Some had given them names but most didn't need to. Their highbeasts knew who its master was even without them touching it. The older attendees all took notes and began to consider how they could emulate the technique using a less amusing method.

Since he'd failed to pass on his skill for two weeks straight, Melchior had planned something else to teach after the proper lesson. “In appreciation for all you’ve contributed by tutoring and sharing your wisdom, my guard knights will teach speed flying to all those who wish to learn.”

“That's just flying faster than normal. Isn't that governed by mana capacity?” someone asked.

“Well if you add more mana, you go faster.”

“Is that really it?”

Melchior continued the speech he’d written from Sigsnyr's explanation. “Your top speed will be constrained by your maximum mana capacity but the primary governor is how much mana you can expend at once and sustain for as long as you intend to fly. It should be possible for all to reach the theoretical maximum speed if only for a short distance. This is not recommended as you would then fall out of the sky.”

There was a loud chuckle followed by loud footfalls. “Fall from the sky indeed,” Bonifiatus bellowed. Traugott left his place in the crowd to fall in behind his lord. “They told me you were doing a class again, Streita. Did I miss it?”

“You did and you do not need my help this time. Or have you forgotten how to form a highbeast?” she replied.

Many eyes grew wide. Bonifiatus could be unconventional but to accept such a response, and even laugh at it, from a shrine maiden was beyond the pale. He even clasped her by the arm in a warriors handshake. “I’ll have been as many years flying the fields of Schlageziel before that happens²⁵,” he replied.

“Bonifiatus, you are interrupting your grandnephew’s explanation,” she chided.

“Ah yes. You were discussing how to fly fast enough to knock yourself out.”

“That is a possibility,” Melchior said diplomatically. “However, our attendees all have much experience flying and enough familiarity with their own mana not to endanger themselves needlessly.” Melchior looked around. The air felt awkward. He wondered if no one actually wanted to learn this or if it wasn't actually new information. “Shall we have a demonstration?”

There was a bit of renewed interest. “I’ve raced your apprentices before, I know how fast they are,” Bonifiatus huffed. It seemed he was still a bit annoyed about losing. “Give me a bit more time. I’ll defeat them soon enough.”

Now there was excited murmuring. They're were some questions whether this younger generation of archnobles had surpassed the oldest Archduke Candidates as well.

“That is not the case. It is a matter of technique,” Sigsnyr replied to the whispered question at full volume. Not everyone could hear the muttering but anyone with enhanced hearing could. This included Bonifiatus who raised an eyebrow at the offending speaker. They cowered and went silent. “It is well known that I do not have as impressive a capacity as my peers who learned the Rozemyne Mana Compression Method but even I can fly faster than Lord Bonifiatus.” He walked over and knelt. “Lord Bonifiatus, would you honor me by watching my demonstration?”

“Lets see it,” he grumbled.

“I thank you ever so much,” Sigsnyr said and produced an ordonnanz which he tossed to Traugott. “Would you speak into this then send it to… Kazmiar at the temple.”

Traugott looked skeptical and amused but did as requested. The moment he flicked his schtappe, Sigsnyr, Zipporah, and Sebastian summoned their highbeasts and launched into the air with lightning fast motions. A stiff breeze kicked up dust as they disappeared into the sky accelerating faster and faster.

Everyone waited for something to happen. They certainly looked fast but they were archkights who were known for pushing the limits of reasonable travel. They waited and waited for a response from Kazmiar which never came. Instead, Sigsnyr returned with a smug smile and a white bird clutched in his hand. He held it out for Traugott to tap.

“This is Traugott. Sigsnyr asked me to send this missive as part of a demonstration. Please reply once they’ve arrived,” it said in his voice.

Zipporah and Sebastian landed looking disappointed while the assembled nobles listened to the message repeat in amazed silence. After it turned back into a faestone, the children all clapped and whispered to each other about the amazing display.

“I didn't know that was possible,” Adaire said.

“Me neither. They didn't explain the demonstration to me beforehand. I’m glad I got to be surprised,” Melchior whispered back.

The adults and those near to being one were not amused so much as unable to believe their eyes and ears.

“It's not the most practical skill,” Sigsnyr noted once the bird had spoken. “But there will be times when flying this fast is a boon. Plus its fun.”

“How did you catch an ordonnanz,” Bonifiatus asked.

“Well, you have to pour as much mana…”

“I do not mean, how did you fly faster than an ordonnanz. How are you able to hold it?” Bonifiatus interrupted and clarified.

Sigsnyr blushed. “A certain friend grew exasperated by my profusion of ordonnanz and tried to snatch one from the air in frustration. To her surprise, it worked. I think anyone with fast enough reflexes could do it.” Bonifiatus looked grave. It would be bad for information security if people could just grab ordonnanz before they reached their target. “Only the sender or recipient can activate them though.”

Bonifiatus relaxed and nodded “Teach us about the flying then,” he commanded. He would need to experiment with this new knowledge later. It was good that the message couldn't be heard but it would still be bad if the birds never reached their destination.

After explaining things several times, there was nothing to do except begin training the new techniques. The young students were unhappy to be grounded but most had expended their mana for the day and would need to be transported home. But Melchior was merciful and softhearted and expanded his Lionbus until there were enough seats for everyone and his knights. Gerianne slipped into her rightful place in the front passenger seat before either Dedryck or Fonsel knew to petition for it. They were left to sit in the first row, which Melchior kindly flipped backwards so they could keep their eyes on the children while sitting down.

They could never have known how great a mistake this was. Melchior was good at flying. After transporting so many dubiously secured crates and lots of people, he could smoothly ascend and turn. There was still something about riding someone else's mount while being unable to see what was coming that produced an unsuppressable nausea in Fonsel. It did not help that as the lionbus flew faster and faster the children cheered louder and louder and the whole creature shook from the battering of the winds. A fat lion was not particularly aerodynamic and this one had no feathers to stabilize it, so Melchior was having a hard time keeping it steady.

The lack of any direct control mechanism was rearing its head as he tried to make requests then issue commands at a feverish pace. Still, even thinking single words was too slow to fully account for the battering of the wind. The lionbus also wasn't a real animal accustomed to flying so it had no knowledge of its own to impart on the subject. Melchior pressed his hands to the desk and tried to think faster or better or something. They were careening towards the southern wall of the Nobles Quarter now and needed to turn but he felt sure that trying to turn would cause them to roll paw over mane before slamming into it.

Still, this was his one lesson. After such a harrowing experience and if he got close enough to crashing, Dedryck would never allow any more. He had to learn what he could now or he would have to wait years to try again. So he forced his mind to run faster than ever and felt for the very edges of his highbeast. He pulled the too small legs in as tightly as possible and flattened the ears and tried as hard as he could to push against the forces of the gales. For a moment he felt less like he was giving instructions and more like he was the lionbus and it was him and they were going to make the turn. He had no desire to crush Ehrenfest’s future against the southern wall of the Nobles Quarter so he began his wide turn with plenty of space.

Everyone still felt like they were thrown sideways and had to clutch either the seats or each other. Fonsel had no warning before his world tilted and his stomach slammed into the side of his liver. He ground his teeth together to keep from hurling his breakfast over the excited children as his mouth filled with acid.

There were three more such turns to endure. Melchior had greatly improved over the first leg of the journey but Fonsel was already too sick to benefit from the better ride quality. He was not the only one. After landing safely back on the parade ground, most of the children tumbled out of the lionbus chirping excitedly and vowing to become master pilots themselves but Felicitus hobbled out and collapsed to his knees to touch the good, solid ground and evacuate his stomach. Kolteruze appeared immediately to pat his back and Waschen the area drawing Melchior's attention so he could join on the fretting.

Fonsel had the presence of mind to gesture to a servant for a bucket before spitting out his vomit and adding a second round for good measure. Kolteruze came over to wipe the dribble from his chin and straighten his clothes then pressed him into a seat. Once they were deposited in chairs, given water to wash the filth from their mouths, and mostly recovered, the teasing could begin. The bright smile on Dedryck’s face told him that revenge would be swift and thorough.

Even the Archduke had gentle jeers for Fonsel after hearing Melchior relate his version of events over dinner. “After expressing his dissatisfaction with Cuococalura’s gifts beside a nine year old²⁶, he vowed never to ride in your highbeast again?” Sylvester asked with a smirk. “And I heard it was the most amazing experience.”

“One could never have expected such a gift from Glucklitat²⁷ just a few years ago. It is good then that we each have our own mounts,” Florencia mused. Sylvester sulked. Would it really be improper for him to demand a ride in Melchior's highbeast just because he had a perfectly good one? Not that he had time for such a fun activity anyway. “Still be sure to write a report on this new technique,” she conceded.

Sylvester rallied. That was as good as permission to learn speed flying. “Yes, send it to my office,” he said with a grin.

“And mine as well,” Florencia added.

He looked at her with some surprise. There was a very quiet fire in her eyes. So small, anyone that didn't know her as well as he did would miss it. This was how she looked when planning her part of the invasion defense. It was novel at the time though Florencia had claimed that she’d always had such a streak. Melchior’s recent magic letter came to mind. Would she really approve of his escape attempts more if he included her? Perhaps he so rarely saw this side of her because he so rarely asked her to do anything exciting. There was only one way to test this hypothesis.

With so much talk about the fun of speed flying and its applications, there was no time to chide Melchior for showing favoritism towards Adaire.

After dinner, Melchior continued his painting endeavors. As he worked on the second half of Ferdinand's diptych which displayed Rozemyne standing in a library looking across the hinge at Ferdinand in his lab, he wondered if all this work was making him better or worse at painting. Flautzeal had praise for his most recent works but he turned out to be much easier to please with visual art than with music. He still knew several new techniques and could give reasonably good advice so Melchior was happy with him as a tutor.

His other retainers were just happy that this painting was not a secret. They were all excited every time he brought something out for critique even if they rarely had constructive criticisms. Even Sigsnyr, who was supposedly an artist himself and had proven he could draw decently well, could only offer unspecific praise. It was annoying when Melchior wanted informed opinions but did much to keep his motivation up.

Another bonus was that he was delighted to put down his brushes to go to bed. His retainers never needed to coax him out of his hidden room at the end of the day. There was also the great benefit of being an Archduke Candidate that he had other people to put things away for him so he could leap straight into his blankets and begin compression. Having relaxed so much in spring, he was feeling pressure to redouble his efforts.

His new compression method only had the one stage but he was managing to force more and more mana into the faestones. As they were not highbeasts, the mana was never consumed so it just became harder and harder. It was becoming difficult to do all five of his colors at one time so he had to fill the stones one by one. He made sure to rotate which colors he started with since he tended to run out of energy before filling all of them. One day he would need to think of a second stage but for this night he was just glad to be done painting.

Having learned their lesson the previous week, Melchior and his tutors saved the most mana intensive activity for their final study day. They'd done the simple brews at the beginning of the week. Since Melchior didn't need more ordonnanz he couldn't use yet, he worked on the chain for Leibshitze’s charms. It really had been much easier now that he had some chain to begin the process. His accessory was little more than two charms with holes connected to a chain with rings but for his very first foray into mana jewelry, he was happy with it. One day he would ask his uncle for pointers but that would have to wait for one of the rare times they saw each other and until he could converse intelligently about brewing with Lord Ferdinand the genius scholar.

That was not this day. On this day, they were forming faestone under-armor. It was a sort of vest which went under your clothes, next to your skin or over your underwear depending on personal preference. Fonsel was quite clear that the visual appearance was not important since no one was ever supposed to see it.

Melchior and Ansgar lamented having to make boring armor while Gerianne and Jochten made quick work of things. “What if my shirt is slashed through? Then people will see it and judge me for its boring design,” Melchior insisted.

“I will see it,” Ansgar added.

Fonsel sighed heavily. “In such a case, you would have more pressing concerns. There is also no reason for you to spend any amount of time standing in front of a mirror admiring your under-armor.”

Eventually, they were coaxed into doing the bare minimum. Ansgar didn't have enough mana to experiment during class and Melchior didn't want to hold things up. After forming their suits it was time to practice basic self defense. They were given some very old looking, physical shields to hold up and cower behind. The knights then came at them with training swords to get them a little more used to dealing with threats.

As they were Melchior's trusted knights, he felt little fear and was easily able to hold his ground or run away as instructed. Since Ansgar was one of Gerianne's scholarly training partners during his brief time at the Royal Academy last year, he was also quick on his feet and not prone to freezing up. Only Jochten could not reconcile Dedryck's usual kind affect with this snarling, looming, roaring thing filled with killing intent.

He shrieked and quailed every time. “You will never pass this way,” Gerianne sighed. “It is ok to feel scared but not to give up,” she tried to encourage. Jochten looked confused.

“Try not to think about the danger and only focus on your task,” Melchior added.

Dedryck shook his head and sighed. “Look, Jochten. Being in danger will always be frightening but fear is an emotion like any other. Put it where you put the rest to hide it from yourself.”

“Hide it from yourself?” Melchior asked. He knew about hiding your emotions from others but from yourself? Was that even possible? “How can it be hidden if I know where it is?”

“This will be a good exercise for you too,” Fonsel noted. He took a wooden knife from their collection of props and held it behind his back. “What color paint is on the hilt of the practice knife?”

The children shook their heads while Melchior guessed “Blue?”

Fonsel chose to ignore that correct answer and continued. “You know where the knife is but you don't know exactly what it looks like and you can't check. If you hide your fear from yourself, you can't spook yourself with the shape of it and can face the situation for what it is. Now this one is easy. You know Dedryck isn't trying to kill you or even hurt you. It will be more difficult when you face a malicious or indifferent threat.”

“An indifferent threat?” Gerianne asked.

“Yes, fire cares not who it burns,” Dedryck explained. “There are many threats that do not wish to harm you in particular but also have no qualms with doing so. Whether you find that better or worse than targeted action is for you to decide.”

Gerianne nodded while Jochten paled. A shield would do nothing in the face of a flood or fire. He couldn't be sure whether it was better that no one would expect him to defend against a blaze. All these thoughts of doom did nothing to encourage him. He shook as he let the heavy wooden slab rest on the ground. Melchior placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are unlikely to be alone during an emergency. It helps me to think of other people's safety. Come we will face Dedryck together,” he promised. Jochten felt a momentary swelling of courage. Lord Melchior, who was training to be a knight and had much more mana would protect him.

They stood back to back with their shields ready. Dedryck attacked Melchior while Jochten shivered and waited for death. “I’ve got it,” Melchior grunted and held up his shield. Wood met wood with a deafening clatter bringing a squeal of surprise. “I have blocked it, we are safe,” Melchior cooed.

It actually was encouraging to know that someone had protected him, having never been in any true danger, Jochten hadn't had an opportunity to test whether his older brother or parents would shield him. His sigh of relief was premature as Dedryck circled around to attack his side. “Just hold up your shield,” Melchior said. But that was easier said than done with an archknight bearing down on you.

He quailed and wilted to his knees. Dedryck didn't hit him. Instead he tapped Melchior on the shoulder while Jochten watched. “I’m sorry,” Jochten wailed as tears threatened his eyes. He just couldn't take it anymore. Being attacked then failing to protect Lord Melchior, embarrassing himself completely in the process, and performing objectively worse than Ansgar was just too much. Melchior offered him a hand up but was intercepted by Gottschalk who ripped his little brother up from the ground and shoved him out of the room with apologies.

“Should we follow?” Melchior asked. Everyone shook their heads. Jochten would not want anyone to see him crying and Gottschalk wouldn't want anyone to hear his lecture. They had to finish this class without Jochten passing.

By the end of the week, Melchior was happy to have some time off. His retainers thought it was odd for him to practice the flute rather than draw but he only spent slightly more time reading than he usually would. He took the opportunity to read something new from the castle bookroom that was wholly unrelated to his studies. It was a compendium of Ehrenfest plants. The pictures were terrible and the language outdated but that was better than being about troop movements or magic sigil interactions.

It occurred to him that despite the Temple's collection of plants having formed around his desire, he spent very little time with them. The plant shelf in his room held a different plant each week which he greatly enjoyed looking at and doodling but that was nothing compared to an entire room filled with greenery. He would have a bit of free time in the evenings to spend there and could move his music practice into that room even if the acoustics were awful. With these happy plans top of mind, Melchior took his sketchbook along to show Henriette his plant drawings. It returned to his room noticeably lighter than when it left.

Melchior felt it was a shame that he only got one day off. He returned to the temple somewhat reluctantly to find the exact same kind of work awaiting him; more tutoring and more painting. At least the final week's prizes were a treat for him as well. After three days of attentive studying, Jochten and Ansgar were invited to have lunch in the atrium.

Like so many people before them, they were arrested by the sight a few steps from the door. “Welcome to the Temple atrium,” Melchior began his now formulaic speech. He never tired of showing people the room but he did get tired of explaining everything and warning people not to touch the circles. Jochten and Ansgar shuffled in an awed daze to the table prepared for their meal. They complimented the food and music and asked whether Melchior planned to bring his chef with him to the Royal Academy.

Melchior was better at accepting such questions for what they were after hearing them so frequently. He was still unhappy with the implications that the geniuses of the Temple were somehow wasted on the clergy and should be taken to noble society where they could be properly appreciated.

Still, as the culmination to their intensive weeks of study, it felt like an appropriate event. Sheila made yet another new flavor of ice cream and fruit ice. While he would never think to use meryls in a sweet application, their smooth and fatty flesh mixed well with the sourness of early krans. A topping of crumbled cookies made the entire dish even more incredible.

Ansgar was not as excited as Jochten to receive the recipe at the end of their meal. “My house does not have a cold room. We will not be able to make it,” he said sadly.

“The library has a cold room attached to the kitchen,” Melchior offered.

“It would not be safe to eat food prepared next to commoners,” Ansgar sighed. Melchior glanced at his orphan chef but didn't say anything. “But thank you, Lord Melchior. We can still enjoy the milk mixture as a drink.”

Nothing had ever sounded so depressing in Melchior's opinion. He gestured for a board which Kirk delivered before Isolde could stand up. On it, Melchior wrote out the recipe for vegetable broth from memory. He’d rewritten the recipe for presentation to the Aub enough times to know it by heart. “I was not aware that laynoble estates lacked cold rooms. This can be made in infinitely many permutations and adds a wonderful flavor anywhere broth might be used.” Melchior placed it down next to Ansgar's ice cream recipe.

Isolde watched Jochten’s face fall without saying anything. He had been empathetic to Ansgar's plight up to the moment it was clear that Melchior would ameliorate his pain. She hadn't believed Pepin even after agreeing to help with the conversation. Now she could see the concealed jealousy and the desire to strike out at the cause of his misery. Even after she’d quietly copied the recipe for Jochten on a sheet of plant paper, which had both prettier handwriting and used more expensive materials, his annoyance continued to battle against a noble smile. Only once she’d walked Ansgar and Jochten to the noble's gate and watched them switch board for paper could she detect a calming of his ire.

“Thank you, Ansgar,” he said with a bashful smile.

“I can write on the back of the paper,” Ansgar replied with a shrug. He also knew he could save himself much grief by relinquishing the board voluntarily.

Totally ignorant of these goings on, Melchior was delighted to be finished with the special classes. Adaire could fly to the temple or castle to visit him. Jochten and Ansgar were poised to pass before the first years. It had been a busy but successful couple of weeks. He was glad to return to the normal rhythm of his life as he missed his parents and wanted to show off his new math skills. His entire retinue had gotten faster. It was almost unfortunate that there was so little work to do during the summer.

Footnotes

25. Even after death he will remember how for at least as long as he's been alive.^

26. Throwing up^

27. Trial or tribulation^

Chapter Text

Disaster Drill

The following week, Melchior executed his plan to spend his evenings in the atrium. Thanks to the less than specific wording of the rules, there was one day when the blue clergy were allowed to enter the atrium while he was there. The first visitors were surprised to see him but Lothar communicated that he was not disturbed by their presence so they continued to what was their usual spot to read one of the newest editions of Royal Academy Love Stories.

The room soon filled with the majority of the blue clergy. Melchior was amazed by how popular this place had become and happy that they made it open for visits. The quiet murmur of conversation floated over everything alongside the occasional turning of a page. Anyone who’d never heard of the Temple’s prior reputation might believe that this was a place of extreme erudition. Melchior hoped it could be that one day along with being a training place for knights and a growing place for plants.

One large part of protecting the peace and tranquility were the seasonal disaster drills. Each season the denizens of the temple would respond to a different imaginary threat. Spring was the fire drill while summer was the violent incursion drill. Everyone was required to shut themselves in their rooms and lock all doors.

“Both the main and servants entrances must be locked. All personnel will gather in their master's room. No one is allowed to leave until the signal for ‘all clear’,” Melchior orated.

“I shall reiterate as important things must be repeated. All persons within the temple will shelter in their master's room. Those not employed will go to the dining hall in the Girls Building of the orphanage. Every door is to be locked. There shall be no cooking, no fetching water, no emptying of chamber vessels, no peeking, no opening of windows. Every door shall be shut and locked and all will remain secure in their rooms. Does everyone understand?” Melchior asked. He stood before the assembly and did his best to project authority.

“Yes, High Bishop,” they responded.

“I shall ask again. Does everyone understand?”

“Yes, High Bishop.”

“Good. Then I can expect no deviations from the plan,” Melchior said.

The drill would commence upon the sounding of a special bell. It was a magic tool invented by Kazmiar to sound very loudly but only on Temple property. Only in a sealed hidden room could it be completely drowned out. The blue clergy only knew that it would begin before dinner but not the exact time. They had their attendants prepare vessels of water and additional chamber pots as well as snacks. The last violent incursion drill, someone had gotten peckish and sent an attendant for something to eat. Melchior's knights had barged into their room bellowing and flashing swords scaring everyone so thoroughly that a couple of them fainted. No one was in a hurry to make the same mistake.

Within a few minutes of the special bell sounding, the entire temple was silent. Even the great ivory doors slowly swinging closed made no sound. They wouldn't open unless the control circle in Melchior's chambers was activated or he touched the doors himself. No one else could make them budge, not even the Archduke when he arrived for a surprise visit with Karstedt, Fonbart, and Florencia.

Sylvester smiled as he landed. He’d been trying to sneak out for a while but kept getting caught. Pulling Florencia into his scheme had proven to be the solution. It was for the best anyway. He hadn't been able to spend much time with her since she banished him to fulfill his responsibilities to Brunhilde. They walked arm in arm towards the empty stairs.

“Aren't there normally guards?” he muttered. His countenance darkened. Gray clergy could do little against a real threat but having their eyes on the entrances was part of keeping his son safe while he was so far away from the castle.

“There are,” Karstedt replied.

“Did something happen?” Florencia mused. This might have been her second visit ever, though she couldn't recall the first only that she had gone once. It would make sense for there to be guards but there was no reason to panic immediately because there weren't.

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say to Sylvester. He and the knights summoned their schtappes as they approached the doors. “They’re locked?” Sylvester muttered. He looked all around for a circle to open or unlock them.

“Are they usually unlocked?” Florencia asked.

“They have never been locked before,” Karstedt replied.

“Shall we try another entrance?” Fonbart suggested. It didn't seem strange at all that a side entrance would be locked when no visitors were expected.

They walked towards the front doors. They were larger and flanked by even more statues and just as locked. As they stood contemplating whether to give up the element of surprise to send an ordonnanz to Melchior's guards, the young man in question turned a corner and let out an undignified yelp.

“What is the meaning of this!” Sylvester cried. “I came to visit but I’m locked out.”

Melchior recovered from his shock and prevented his eyes from rolling. He placed a hand to his cheek. “Oh no. I apologize from the depths of my heart, dear father. We were not expecting you and thus could not delay our disaster drill on your account,” he sighed.

Sylvester felt his eye twitch while Florencia giggled. “We wanted to surprise you,” she said. “It seems we were more successful than anticipated.”

“Indeed, but I am still happy to see you. Allow me to give you a tour, Mother, as this is your first visit.” Dedryck coughed very quietly. “Oh… yes… ah, we are doing our patrol. If we do not complete it and give Kazmiar the signal, everyone will be trapped in their rooms.”

“This ‘drill’ as you call it sounds rather intense,” Florencia noted. “Is so much stricture necessary?”

“We cannot afford another fatal error,” Melchior replied. “Fonsel, please finish the patrol. I will take Mother and Father to a receiving room.”

“We came to see the tree everyone's so worked up about,” Sylvester protested. He’d been shoved in a spare room too many times and knew the high clergy had few qualms with treating the Aub like a pest.

Melchior cocked his head in mock confusion. “We have many trees worthy of discussion,” he said and gestured broadly to the landscaping.

Florencia had enough presence of mind to see that he was stalling and to be amused by Sylvester’s inability to notice this as he tried harder and harder to explain something for which he’d forgotten the word. “We would like to see the atrium,” she said after watching for a bit.

“Yes, that. Good grief! You know what I meant,” Sylvester huffed.

Melchior placed his fist in his hand. “Oh. Of course. What else could be so well storied as to attract the attention of the Aub.”

“You told me about it!” Sylvester huffed.

“I did indeed,” Melchior replied. He waited for a long moment before Sylvester exploded again.

“Well, go on. Lead the way!”

“Yes, right away, dear father.” Melchior walked up to the doors under Sylvester’s narrow gaze and touched the relief of Schutzaria’s Shield. The doors opened smoothly and silently.

“Didn't I try that?” Sylvester asked his party. They nodded.

“Only the High Bishop may activate the doors from outside.” Melchior said. “Not even my faestone will work,” he added with no regard to how that phrase might affect his parents.

They were stunned enough to swap worried glances as they followed him through the empty halls. Having entered through the front doors, they passed the book room and the High Priest's office. Before turning down the hall to the atrium's front entrance. Sylvester frowned in the direction of Melchior's room. He always looked forward to tea and desserts but Melchior's explanation of the drill implied that nothing would be on offer.

This time there was no explanation of the architecture. They walked quietly through the halls, their footsteps echoing and breathing sounding louder than normal. Just as Sylvester was growing antsy from the deafening silence they arrived at a door. As there were no attendants or even the usual guard, Dedryck was forced to open it. He did not look happy about leaving his lord alone next to his parents. He would have to investigate later why he was anxious even of Sylvester.

Once they entered, the Aub did not pause to stare in amazement he rushed in and began poking circles. “You said there would be flowers,” he complained.

“Efflorelume has been succeeded by Anwachs then Forsernte²⁸,” Melchior replied sadly. “However, the other plants have grown more lush with time.” He walked over to the shelves and collected a bowl of seed-filled cones. “The seeds are still fascinating. You can turn them into faeatones.”

Melchior returned to the table where Fonbart was helping his lady into a chair only a little awkwardly. There were usually more than enough attendants at the temple to serve Sylvester during a surprise visit so he never brought any. After depositing the curiosities Melchior moved to the side board where a greenstone pitcher always sat and several cups were stored. Having observed the process many times, he was barely able to emulate his attendants as he took a tray and added cups and the pitcher. He contemplated tea but knew that attempting to use a new magic tool for a task he'd never done would only end in him burning himself with hot water.

He tottered over gracefully and set the tray down very slowly so as not to make a sound. Haldis had recently explained to Olishild that quiet service was of the utmost importance. “Would you Waschen the cups, Mother. It is my great shame that I cannot welcome you properly. At any other time there would be tea and treats,” he said while glancing towards Sylvester who was still touching everything and trying to read all the circles.

Florencia found that for the first time in a very long time, she didn't know what to do. The most proper thing for Melchior to do would be to cancel the drill in progress so that his retainers could serve his guests. On the other hand, the Archductal couple had come completely unannounced which would be a grave insult even to a laynoble. The importance of training the temple denizens to respond to an attack also couldn't be overstated. When Sylvester explained his plans to her, he said that he generally said nothing, preferring to appear at random as a small prank. Melchior always hosted him well and seemed happy to see him. He seemed happy to see his parents now as well, just at a loss for how to entertain them.

This all passed through her mind as Melchior stood next to her in his opulent outfit, with his little tray. “Of course dear,” she said before summoning her schtappe to wash the collection of dishes. Melchior then took the pitcher and a deep breath to steady himself before it filled instantly with water. Only a little spilled over before he stopped his mana flow and sighed. His casual robes still had larger than practical sleeves so he gracefully held one back while he shakily filled each cup just so much and no more as Kirk could do with his eyes closed. Then he sat the cup before Florencia only to realize he’d forgotten saucers.

“Thank you,” she said without commenting on any of the many serving mistakes she’d just witnessed. Her son would never be an attendant after all. Still, they had walked around the temple and stood in the summer sun, so the cool water was refreshing. It was also nice to be within patting range of her son’s head. Without the light clatter of servants she could bask in the calming quiet and observe Sylvester without being observed herself. She knew Fonbart and Karstedt were not judging her at least. Dedryck was another matter. He was not watching her but she also didn't like the way his eyes followed and lingered on her husband.

Melchior also poured himself a cup before perching on the edge of a chair that was too far from the table. He took one of the now poison tested seeds and turned it into a faestone. “For you, Mother.” He placed it in her hand.

His hands were still small, Florencia observed. She gave him one of her creation as well before settling into her chair. “Tell me about your life in the temple,” she said calmly as she felt the tension slip from her shoulders.

Melchior sipped his water and beamed brightly. It was so wonderful to be with his mother this way. “I enjoy my days here, very much. It was difficult after I was barred from the orphanage but it has been nice to spend time with my retainers and to invite my noble friends. So far Adaire has come and we had Ansgar and Jochten in to do intensive study. We will not lose to the first years just because they can form highbeasts early.” He found stories about his training and the lists of books he’d read in the book room bubbling out. It was rude to do all the talking at a tea party but Florencia kept smiling and reacting and asking questions. He refilled her water before continuing to talk about the painting he was swamped with. “I did not anticipate growing so tired of something I enjoy so much.”

“It has become part of your responsibilities so it is no longer just a hobby,” Florencia noted.

Melchior's eyes went wide. “I hadn't even realized. You are truly wise, Mother.”

Their pleasant discourse was eventually interrupted by Sylvester flopping into a chair as Karstedt helped him into it. He glanced from Melchior, perched on his seat, to Dedryck and back. “I cannot serve the water if my chair is as it should be,” Melchior said.

“Why are you serving anything? How many retainers have I hired for you?” Sylvester sighed.

“Twenty-one,” Melchior replied as he poured another cup and was reminded of his lack of little plates. “I apologize for my lack of grace. We will sound the bell very soon now, I think.”

Sylvester accepted his cup of water with a sigh. “We did appear completely without warning.”

“Usually the guards give us at least a few minutes,” Melchior noted.

Florencia giggled. “Is there a reason to hide your intentions from the High Bishop as well as Ridyarda?” she asked.

Sylvester blinked rapidly for a moment. “Now that you say that. I did it because Ferdinand and Rozemyne would always alert someone and get them to run interference.” He looked at Melchior. “Do I need to worry about that with you?”

Melchior shook his head. “You are always welcome here,” he said. “If you would like to observe the entire drill next time, we can alert you,” he offered as a way to assure them that this visit wasn't unwanted, only ill timed.

“I hear the fire one is more exciting,” Sylvester mumbled. He looked into his empty cup then glanced around for an attendant. Seeing no one he pushed the cup closer to Melchior. Before Melchior could move, Florencia took the cup. She used one hand to hold back her generous sleeves as she took the pitcher and elegantly filled the cup with graceful motions. With her arms in this position, Sylvester was treated to the sight of her pale wrist peeking out of her inner sleeves. She then used both hands to move it within his reach, setting it down with a soft clink and a glance up through her eyelashes.

He froze and stared. Maybe it had been too long since they’d been together or this really was the most elegant seduction technique ever invented. “Thank you,” he mumbled as his cheeks grew red.

Melchior just watched in amazement. His efforts really had been clumsy. In fairness, he didn't know anything about how archnobles might serve each other in the absence of attendants. It had never happened to him before. He would tell Isolde to add it to his curriculum, but that was plan b. “Will you teach me how to do that?” Melchior asked. Florencia hadn't personally instructed him in anything since he learned how to kneel. She was so good at pouring water that he was sure to become adequate under her tutelage.

“You don't need to learn that,” Sylvester huffed and drank his water angrily. He was suddenly annoyed that they were here and needed to complete this water party rather than at the castle, in their chambers, where he could properly appreciate the display.

“But…”

“It is as your father says. It will be exceedingly rare and under unique circumstances that you will need to serve anyone,” Florencia said.

He would have to ask Haldis or Lothar then, Melchior thought. Sylvester surveyed the table and, in his annoyance, was upset about not having a tiny feastone of his own. Melchior dutifully created one for him while talking about the different plants that grew from the changed seeds. After Florencia prodded him with her gaze he returned a faestone to Melchior.

“You are omni-elemental?” Melchior noted with some annoyance. Neither he nor his siblings had been born with all elements. He felt jipped seeing that his father was.

“Don’t look so sour. I acquired them later in life,” Sylvester explained. That was strange considering that Ehrenfest hadn’t had their turn to reacquire protections yet. “It was part of an experiment with Rozemyne.”

Melchior looked back at his mother. He found it hard to believe that she could be so impious as to not acquire a single extra element. She had five much like himself. “I had to hear about things later from Elvira,” she said without a change in expression.

Now Melchior looked at his father in amazement. “You didn’t invite Mother to acquire more protections?!” What a strange choice considering how much having more mana efficiency would help with her work. He felt angry on her behalf.

Florencia just looked at Sylvester, waiting for him to respond. “I… well, Rozemyne and Florencia aren’t very close and you don’t like to come to the temple…” he said.

“I have had little reason before now,” she replied. Melchior wondered whether he wasn’t a good enough reason. Sylvester came mostly just to spend time with him. He could see his mother in the castle which would save her the time in transit so perhaps she just didn’t see it as worthwhile.

Melchior’s sudden brooding was interrupted by an ordonnanz. “We are sounding the bell,” Kazmiar repeated from Dedryck’s arm. After a small delay, said bell gonged uncomfortably loudly throughout the quiet temple. Dedryck replied that Melchior was in the atrium with his parents. There was no response to this, but Melchior could imagine the panic spreading. He suddenly felt like he should hide the cups with their plain water and lack of saucers but they were currently in use.

“Now we can host you properly,” Melchior said with a smile. It would still take a bit of time for his temple retainers to appear with hot water and refreshments. “While we wait. We have a request, Father.”

“Go on.”

“According to Uncle, there is no way to turn the atrium’s off once they are activated. Given this, we feel it is best to consult with you first about activating any more of them.”

Sylvester looked around pensively. He would have liked to be consulted before this one was turned on but he could forgive Melchior conducting what he thought was an isolated experiment at the temple. There was a long enough history of such things benefiting the duchy. The collection of herbs was impressive and the tree was cool but he knew just how much mana maintaining a sandbox took. “I think it would be best to delay that for now. Are you collecting data on the mana consumption?”

“Yes. It is hard to quantify but we have some idea of how much mana it requires. Uncle also helped us alter the circles so that we can be more efficient.”

“When did he have time for that?” Sylvester sighed. He wanted to find it hard to believe that Ferdinand could still be coaxed into doing work for their duchy but he was glad that he couldn’t.

“When he visited. He summoned a giant circle that made mana veins visible in the air and in people! Then he used Stylo to draw new circles on the flowerbed. We are trying to recreate it but its been impossible even for Kazmiar.”

“Replicating Ferdinand’s work is often difficult,” Florencia observed. “We are blessed that you do not seem daunted by the task.”

“Just remember that he’s over thirty now,” Sylvester added.

Melchior felt a sudden tension forming as his mother replied, “We cannot know when he developed the skill for any of his many feats. There is no need to set a milestone.”

“There’s also no need to rush or to compare one’s progress against his,” Sylvester replied.

“Indeed, we cannot ask for ruterbs in autumn²⁹,” Florencia countered.

“Nor in spring.”

Melchior wanted to ask what they were trying to say when the door opened. Kolteruze entered with a frown, a book, and Lyle. Upon seeing the collection of other nobles, his face reverted to a noble smile. The two boys paused near the entrance, then knelt. Melchior almost told them to rise but they weren’t kneeling for him.

“Kolteruze?” Florencia muttered. He was dressed casually as well.

“As he tends this garden, I give him leave to visit whenever he wishes,” Melchior explained.

“More than a couple of scholars have inquired about visiting,” Sylvester said. “They’ll be much more insistant if you’re letting your retainers take their leisure here.”

Melchior placed a hand to his cheek. “If they would like to donate as much mana as Kolteruze, they are welcome to visit as well. It is not an exclusive arrangement.”

“How much mana does he donate?” Florencia asked. If it wasn’t a lot, she could stop Leberchet from hounding her about it.

“Speak,” Sylvester commanded.

“Answering you, Aub Ehrenfest. We used my storage faestones during the original dyeing. At that time I donated four full stones worth, while Sigsnyr gave two. Since then, it has become impossible to quantify my investment,” Kolteruze replied while keeping his eyes low. Lyle glanced his way briefly, seemingly experiencing him offering true deference for the first time. He also wondered how he managed to kneel for so long without looking even mildly uncomfortable.

“That's quite a lot,” Sylvester murmured. He looked around at all the lush greenery. If it required the dedication of an archnoble then any additional atriums were out of the question.

“If you would allow a mere attendant to elaborate?” Kolteruze asked. Sylvester didn't reply to this immediately. He normally found cheek to be amusing, especially from Charlotte who was a master at venting her annoyance in subtle ways and Melchior who was learning to do the same. From a random brat and a Leisegang it was less cute.

“Kolteruze has experience in gardening and was willing to take over the care of this space alongside Kirk who was in charge of my plants before,” Melchior said once the silence began to grate. “He is conducting research on how mana affects the growth and characteristics of plants.” Sylvester nodded and stroked his chin. Melchior got the feeling he wasn't happy about being interrupted. “Shall I send them away?”

Sylvester could send them away himself, Florencia thought. He was intentionally needling Kolteruze, likely because of his faction and because the boy had ready and consistent access to this oasis. It was a good effort on Melchior's part to offer to send them out as a way of reminding Sylvester that he was leaving Kolteruze kneeling for too long but it wouldn't be enough considering the look on the Aub’s face. “I would like to hear more about your experiments,” Florencia said.

Sylvester sighed and begrudgingly gestured for the boys to rise. Lyle took Kolteruze’s book and went to the side board. He quietly scowled over the disarray and lack of cups. While Kolteruze stood and answered questions he slipped in beside him to steal the tray with its one spare cup and pitcher. He couldn’t summon or heat water himself but Kolteruze didn’t need to pay attention to his hands. He turned to the cart when Lyle brought it over and began making tea in spite of his sleeves. Both Melchior and Lyle watched carefully. There was no cream, so Kolteruze selected a tea that didn’t need it.

“I would like to try the barshoo,” Melchior requested.

Kolteruze had to pause both his explanation and his motions. “You will not be able to sleep if you drink it now,” he warned.

“What’s this now?” Sylvester asked. He sat with his full cup waiting for Melchior to get his own and taste it.

Kolteruze served Melchior the same tea as everyone else while explaining. “It is a plant gifted to Lord Melchior by the clergy at Hasse. Imbibing enough of the plant or tea made from it, gives energy and an excited feeling. This can exacerbate anxiety, prevent sleep, and make the heart race.”

No amount of warning was going to stop Sylverster from wanting to try it. Florencia said she would try it at a more appropriate hour and instructed Melchior to do the same. “The flavor will not change before tomorrow morning,” she said. As such, Kolteruze performed the poison test himself. Sylvester took his cup happily while Melchoir contained the urge to pout.

“The taste leaves much to be desired,” he noted.

“It is too bitter for most people by itself. I recommend honey or mixing the leaves with other, sweeter teas. This can also mellow the effects depending on the herb used,” Kolteruze explained. He selected another jar and mixed it with the barshoo leaf in a third container. In addition to growing plants, he seemed to be using the atrium as a tea testing space. After some thought he added yet another plant before shaking the jar to mix them up. He prepared and tasted some of this mix but only offered the jar to Karstedt. “This mixture of barshoo, flax flower, and blenrus will be mild enough for regular consumption.”

“Blenrus?” Sylvester asked.

“We receive the tea with compliments from Lady Zipporah.”

This was the first Melchior had heard of this. He did have his own stock from his visit but hadn’t known it could be obtained through his knight. It would be nice to grow their own tree or grove of trees. If only they could figure out how to get the seeds to sprout.

As Sylvester savored his tea, Melchior’s proper attendants arrived. Lothar did a good job of hiding his shock at the state of things while Kirk had a slightly harder time not shaking his head. Kolturuze ceded his place without comment to take the chair provided by Lyle while Trude took her harspiel to a far corner where it could be heard easily in the echoey place without being overbearing.

“I thank you ever so much for your patience,” Melchior said. “We can now entertain you properly.” He introduced the treats he could see and asked his mother what her preferences were. It only took her a moment to decide between the many kinds of milk and available teas. As things returned to form, Florencia found herself feeling less relaxed instead of more. Perhaps with others, she would have been uncomfortable or offended with the slapdash presentation but with two of her favorite people, it had been nice. The tea and snacks were delicious and Melchior’s attendants were far more skilled servers than her son, but she found herself craving his adorable bumbling and the taste of plain well water.

After seeing his parents off and having a very simple dinner, Melchior sat at his desk playing with the tiny faestones containing his parents mana. They could plant Sylvester’s to grow another special plant but Melchior wanted to keep them. His mind kept returning to the five rainbow faestones which always adorned Rozemyne's hair. If he added one of hers they'd procured when she dropped a bunch and got two more from his other siblings, he would have five as well. Then he would just need one from Bonifiatus and Ferdinand to complete his set. But, should he also ask Aub Frenbeltag and Aunt Constance? Would he then need one from Rudiger? As the list grew longer and longer, he began to wonder whether his more distant family would even want to trade them. It was no trouble to generate tons of the small faeatones considering how many seeds they had but getting them to other people to transform would be quite the undertaking.

So that he wouldn't miss the chance when it arose, He asked Kirk to sew some small pouches to add to his potion belt, one for the seeds, one for faestones of his own make, and one for those from his family. He wasn't making good use of the pockets. The remaining leather bracelets were still there after all. That also meant that he didn't need to use the space for anything else. Since it was likely to take at least a year to complete his collection, he tried to design something that could be expanded so he could wear his stones now.

“Fonsel, you’ve made jewelry right?” he asked.

“I brewed a chain for my faestone and that's it,” Fonsel replied.

“What about charms?”

“A simple band works exactly the same as the fancy ones.”

Melchior thought his wife must be disappointed by his lack of creativity. In any case, he would be no help in Melchior's endeavors. He would have to ask Sigsnyr and Flautzeal and maybe Isolde for ideas and recipes.

A New Kind of sparring

The next morning, Melchior was finally treated to barshoo tea. Kolteruze had furnished his chambers with the same blend as the Aub so the tea was a very pretty blue with a spicy sweetness.

“What do you think Sheila? I think it was delicious in the soup and in this but its very bitter,” Melchior said.

Sheila's eyes shown even as she swirled the pure tea around her mouth. “I have many ideas, my lord. The solution to bitterness is often to eat more of it or else to drown it with sweetness then slowly add less until you enjoy it by itself.”

“We could also dilute it with other things,” Melchior offered he wasn't excited by the prospect of eating enough of this to trick himself into liking it. “Or store it in honey!”

“You enjoy things stored in honey a great deal my lord,” she replied.

“Doesn't everyone?” Melchior asked. Kirk and Gerianne nodded from their respective working positions.

“I will procure honey for testing. Shall I prepare anything else in this manner?” Sheila asked.

“I greatly enjoyed the apfelsige and mixed fruits. Rafel is also popular. We do not have anymore blenrus or we might have used that…”

“My lord, I must protest any further waste of such a valuable ingredient,” Nikolaus cried.

“It will not be wasted, we are eating it,” Melchior replied.

“My lord, it can be brewed into a potion of equivalent strength to those you find unpleasant to drink only they taste good,” Nikolaus insisted. “Sigsnyr and Benedikt have yet to perfect it but they let me taste their brew and just a few drops was as powerful as an entire basic grade potion.”

Melchior and Gerianne’s eyes grew wide. She was going to come forward in support of creating more delicious snacks but had to concede that delicious and powerful potions were more important. “I see. If we manage to grow our own or are gifted more by Haldenzel, we should spend it on that first,” Melchior decided.

“First…” Nikolaus whispered. If they somehow created an excess they should sell it, he cried in his head.

Unable to hear Nikolaus's thoughts, Melchior continued his conversation with Sheila. “I will leave any additional flavors up to you. I would like to invite both Leibshitze and Raphael to tea so something that might appeal to them would be nice. Which reminds me. Kirk will be going with me to the Royal Academy to make paper. I am told that having my own chef present will be beneficial to my socializing. Do you have any qualms with accompanying me to school?”

He watched her face closely. A bright smile bloomed in her eyes even as she maintained an even expression. “I will follow your orders, my lord,” she replied just as Melchior expected.

“Nearly all of the castle chefs are men. There are some that are not married. I am told it is not the most welcoming place for an unmarried woman.”

“I am bound in service to the gods,” Sheila replied but a wicked grin had replaced her neutral expression. Melchior felt sure she both wanted to go and was excited for the challenge. With thoughts of adventure and blanket permission to experiment, Sheila nearly bounced out of the room.

Melchior quickly found that he was also entirely too energized for the day. Sitting down to study left him wiggling in his seat and receiving many sharp looks for shaking the table by tapping his feet. Not even taking a quick walk around his room could alleviate his need to move. Music class was even worse. He kept playing too quickly or loudly and almost dropped his harspiel. Exasperated, Trude made him switch to the flute which he could play standing up though pacing ruined his breathing.

“You will have to practice while walking around more often,” Trude observed. She directed him to play easier songs while walking back and forth until he was wheezing but smiling.

His lunch disappeared before he could even properly taste it so Lothar shuffled him outside before everyone else. His guards and attendants rotated so they could all eat while he practiced his forms and shield whirls and spear whirls and running. He was filled with so much energy that he didn't even mind all the running. His knights slowly assembled to begin their warm ups and watch him zoom around.

“It is like the first time you had that tea and drank way too much,” Cecilia whispered to Zipporah.

“You still haven't let us try it,” Helenwig muttered.

“And you now see why. You cannot stand still normally, you will knock down a wall if you imbibe that stuff,” Zipporah replied.

“That is no excuse for the both of us,” Eikestine said, pointing to herself and Cecilia.

“We did not produce very much and Kolteruze extracts a mana tax. Make your requests to him instead of me.” The girls nodded. Cecilia and Eikestine shared a look of worry over the potential expense but ultimately shrugged.

Soon Streita swept in and called everyone to order. Her original plan of sending the little ones to shoot archery was discarded upon seeing how energetic Melchior was. At the current stage of their training, there wasn't much he and Gerianne needed direct instruction on. They mostly needed repetitions of the fundamentals while Nikolaus was at a critical point in his training and the fifth years needed to increase the seriousness of their sword dancing. Gottschalk, meanwhile, had much to do to make up for the deficiencies in his skills. Haseny was not fertile ground for knights. Neither was Herzfeld but Sebastian had the unfortunate luck to be in the same year as Wilfried and Rozemyne and was thus pushed to the very limits of his potential. Streita hummed internally. It was an exciting group of young people to work with.

Melchior and Gerianne were thusly banished to their corner with Kirk to practice forms and babble endlessly. Much like Gerianne, Kirk had the opportunity to practice everyday since Streita ran another training session for the clergy in the morning. Most people just enjoyed the running and now whirling but some had taken up weapons for the fun of it. There were now some grays that could wield the polearms they'd previously just held to look more intimidating.

This meant that Kirk was now equal to Melchior in skill and stronger than Gerianne by virtue of his sex and age. Only the gift of mana held him back from being a true competitor as well as the fact that he was just as adverse to injuring people as his lord.

“You cannot both be too afraid to strike!” Gerianne huffed.

Melchior and Kirk shrugged. “I like swinging the stick around but I don't actually want to fight anyone,” Kirk explained.

“We know you are not fragile, Gerianne, it's just… I suppose I cannot accept the risk of using my full power,” Melchior said with a shrug.

“You believe you have enough strength to harm me?” Gerianne scoffed.

“Yes,” Melchior replied. “Doesn't anyone in the right context?”

“We will never become proper knights if we only fight the air,” Gerianne sighed. “How will we face strong foes?”

Melchior grew pensive. He felt like he could fight a real battle if he had too. Hurting his retainers didn't seem like good practice for that eventually. Then again, all the knights he knew sparred and considered it an important part of training. They didn't flinch at the possibility of injuring each other nor did they hold back all the time.

“What about Squares,” Kirk suggested. “That's almost the same thing.”

“Yes it is the same thing over and over. The same blocks or dodges in the same order. It's not realistic,” Gerianne grumbled. “We should call over Agathe or Felicitus, they will fight me.”

“I think that would be fun but you would also win every match,” Melchior said. Gerianne just sighed heavily.

“It doesn't have to be the same moves in the same order,” Kirk said. They looked at him with twin looks of interest. “We could have the striker change up the order or have the third person call out a random set of numbers.”

“That sounds interesting. Maybe we start with the numbers. Just guessing sounds hard,” Melchior replied.

Gerianne was less easily convinced so she offered to call the numbers. They began with all the even poses followed by all the odds. As the attacker, Kirk set the size of the square and the speed of their footwork. At each corner he performed one of the strikes from the first set of forms. It was slow going as each boy tried to remember the moves in isolation from each other and shift their blades to the new position without the intermediate steps. The blocker/dodger had an easier time since they only needed to respond but their failure meant getting hit with the strike.

“This is much more difficult than I anticipated,” Melchior conceded.

“You’ve made it look clumsy but it cannot be that hard,” Gerianne said confidently. She soon found that it was as hard as they made it look. This only made it more exciting to play since they’d memorized the normal square a long time ago. Maintaining the rhythm, spacing, and proper footwork while trying to remember which numbers were coming or which block corresponded to each swing made it challenging enough to keep engagement. Gerianne found it unendingly funny to hear Kirk complain about Melchior dodging in spite of performing the wrong counter.

They ended up having so much fun that they continued until the older knights left and Nikolaus could join them. Since they now had even teams, they roped Fonsel into calling numbers. Despite training for much longer, Nikolaus had a harder time remembering each move by its number leading to getting wacked consistently.

“You don't think of them that way while fighting,” he grumbled after getting tapped for the fifth consecutive time. “The numbers are just for teaching babies!” He tried to illustrate this point by doing a square with Dedryck only to be thoroughly trounced. While he contemplated the order of the universe, Dedryck withheld his laughter. Perhaps the previous season he would have struggled just as much but he’d been herding novices for weeks at this point.

They continued practice until Lothar called for dinner. Melchior ate, bathed, then collapsed into bed and slept like death, almost a full bell before his normal bedtime.

Footnotes

28. “The flowers have become fruit” mixed with a comment on how long has passed since the invitation was issued.^

29. Ruterbs ripen in summer. She’s saying that you can’t delay development, in this case, they shouldn’t try to hold Melchor back.^

Chapter Text

Melchior awoke the next morning feeling normal and with a new appreciation for the power of medicine. Both he and his retinue thought better of drinking the tea. Sheila reported having an incredibly productive day which she did not wish to repeat any time soon.

“I was able to source much quality honey for a very reasonable price. The harvest was quite recent I think. They also included some free wax so we may make more of the decorative tablets as well as cloth wraps and seals for the preserving jars,” she explained. She’d also bought some tasty but ugly apfelsige which were perfect for preserving and not as expensive. The Plantin company waylaid her on her walk back from the market to hand over Melchior's order and chat about the summer.

“It sounds like you had a wonderful day. I look forward to all the delicious treats you invent,” Melchior replied. He took the leather folio he’d ordered for Pepin. Rather than one thick slab of leather, the craftspeople had glued two thinner pieces together which created a thin frame around the wooden boards attached to the covers. It was sturdier than the normal kind with fine string and the normal wooden beads. Melchior's first thought was about how he could paint both the inside and outside, then he considered changing the beads and whether putting a hole through faestone seeds was easy. He would have to ask after he returned to the castle. He was already late in leaving thanks to missing these reports the night before.

Kirk added the unfinished gift to his luggage with a smile that didn't hide his jealousy over Sheila's excursion. Melchior tried to think of a reason to send him out along with Lothar who hadn't left the temple in several months. There were very few things on his lists that would warrant such a trip but he’d yet to order a spinning wheel since his yarn ended up not needing one.

“Lothar, I would like to fulfill my promise to purchase a spinning wheel. Please inquire with a carpenter. You may take Kirk with you if you require his assistance,” Melchior declared. It sounded simple enough and would be an expensive enough purchase to require Lothar’s presence anyway.

“Should we not just summon the carpenter?” Lothar asked. He was doing a good job of hiding his surprise and ignoring Kirk's efforts to stop him from talking Melchior out of his orders.

“It is a specialty product but it isn't for my own use. It is for Hasse Monastery. I would like to deliver it during the Harvest Festival. I fear that using the normal method would result in many weeks of delays,” Melchior explained. He didn't know how complicated they were to make, but the description was confusing.

“Very well, my lord. We will make inquiries,” Lothar said. Kirk beamed behind him and began a list of the other things they could handle during their excursion.

Once Melchior had flown away into the sky, Lothar turned to Kirk. “We are only going to meet the craftspeople,” he declared.

Kirk’ smiled dropped. “But there's so many things we could do. It benefits Lord Melchior as well,” he insisted.

“Our orders were to find a spinning machine not to galavant about the Lower City as we please.”

“Lord Melchior never means for me to go one place then come straight back,” Kirk said. “And, you know he invented this errand just to give you a chance to leave the temple for a bit.”

“Why would he wish to send me out of the temple?” Lothar asked.

“Because both Sheila and I go on adventures frequently. Only you are stuck here all the time,” Kirk explained. They traveled through the servants' hallways back to Melchior's kitchen where Sheila and her assistants had countless jars moving through an assembly line of boiling and packing. Kirk paused his conversation with Lothar to take three steps back to get a second look at the proceedings. “Are you using rigar?” Kirk asked, suddenly distracted.

“Yes, Lady Raphaela likes savory things. We will see if rigar maintains its bite after preservation,” Sheila replied without stopping her cutting. “Oh, you are going out, no? Bring back more fruits,” she instructed.

“I… we are going to inquire with the carpenter not to the markets,” Lothar replied.

“It is on the way,” Sheila said with a dismissive gesture towards a handbasket. Lothar didn't move to take it. “Are you too weak to carry nabbles?” she huffed and walked over to shove the basket into his hands. “Do you have some other plans? Some lover to see, eh?”

“What, no. Certainly not!” Lothar sputtered.

“I didn't think so, now shoo. You’ll be eating lunch in the square if you dally,” Sheila said.

Kirk giggled as Lothar exited the kitchen in a daze. “See what I mean,” he teased.

“We will get the fruit and talk to the carpenter and nothing else,” Lothar said with a sharp look. Kirk ran off to his room without even acknowledging him.

Lothar had every intention of keeping to his word but his inferior knowledge of the lower city made this difficult. Both Kurtis and Fred’s shops were technically on the way to the craftsman's alley if you took the path Kirk did. Kurtis was happy to see them and chat about his various new noble clients. He was having to be selective since so many people had gotten his name from Lady Brunhilde, which was nice, but his one order for Melchior required more labor than any he’d filled before. If his shop did manage to get the exclusivity contract, they wouldn't have time to take on many extra clients.

“For the moment I am just filling the role of auxiliary procurement, finding fabric and thread and the like for people to give to other tailors. I was trying to connect with one of the foreign merchants, to find some new things, but they're an insular bunch and they only want paper.” he babbled. Kirk listened intently while Lothar questioned why they were wasting time there.

“I know one of the merchants from Klassenberg but he deals in metals,” Kirk said.

“Maybe he knows where those special metal threads come from,” Kurtis mumbled.

“They are brewed by scholars,” Lothar replied.

Kurtis turned to him as though it was the first time he’d noticed him. “You are a priest as well?” he asked.

“Yes, this is Lothar. He’s incredible. He served Lord Ferdinand and Lord Hartmut and taught me everything I know plus he makes the curriculum for all the apprentices,” Kirk replied.

“I take it those are important nobles?”

“One is the Aub’s brother,” Kirk said.

“That is something of an understatement,” Lothar sighed. “They were and still are very important but that does not mean that I am.”

“Well, its a pleasure to meet you Master Lothar. It sounds like you know a bit about nobles. What do you mean by ‘brewing’?” Lothar described the activity in the most general terms. “So it's magic? Ah… well. Nothing for it then. I guess it will be provided whenever the Little Bishop needs new knight robes. What a sentence.”

“That is not his name,” Lothar said.

“Yes, but, like most nobles, no one knows their names or how they're related to each other. There's a book at the merchants guild but that's just names with the barest descriptors and you have to be a pretty successful business to get access. He’s the bishop and he's tiny so if you call him the Little Bishop, everyone knows what you mean,” Kurtis countered. He pulled some thread in the worst shade of green from behind his counter. “Here, Kirk, this came out the worst color ever. Use it for practice.”

“Wow! Thank you Master Kurtis. Don't you want to keep it for your own apprentices?”

“I just can't look at it any more. It's been to the dyer three times and comes back worse every time. It will somehow be ugly in black too, I just know it!” Kurtis ranted. “I need it out of my sight!”

Lothar recoiled slightly from the emotive display while Kirk just laughed. “Well thank you. It feels expensive too.”

“It was,” Kurtis groaned into the sky.

Kirk added his thread to his basket and they left with warm goodbyes.

“Do people always give you things when you visit?” Lothar asked.

“Only sometimes. More often they just say interesting things,” Kirk said.

Lothar considered that Lord Ferdinand would find it interesting to know that his tailor was looking to make connections with merchants from other duchies and had been receiving many requests. It was also something Haldis would want to know. Ensuring that Melchior’s exclusive tailors were well connected to only the right people would be important for keeping him safe. Someone could add a long acting poison to the samples or convince the tailors to stitch in a dangerous magic circle. He grew so absorbed in contemplating the possible disaster scenarios that he was easily pulled along to Fred's shop.

“No!” Fred cried the moment he saw Kirk while a boy about Kirk’s age leapt over the counter to welcome him.

“It's been too long. Did you bring your dad this time?” the boy asked.

“Of course that's not his dad, you fool, eh. Ga! I’m trying to get out of the expensive child’s dealings. Half the knitters in this city think I rigged your contest you know!” Fred cried.

The boy spent this rant looking from Kirk to Lothar and back. Lothar had dark hair and eyes while Kirk’s hair was pink. The shape of their facial features was also different. “You really don't look related,” he mumbled. “Who is this pretty man then?”

Lothar blushed, his response getting stuck in his throat.

“That's Lothar. He also works for the Little Bishop. Never see him out of his robes though. What are you wearing?” Fred asked and began poking and prodding at Lothar's clothes. “You stopped growing?”

“I’m almost thirty,” Lothar replied.

Fred stared at his face for a long moment. “You’re lying.”

“How dare you…” Lothar began.

“That's incredible!” the boy called. “You look so young. It's a shame your clothes are so drab.”

“Ah, it really is. And out dated. How old are these? Ten, fifteen, years?” Fred asked.

“They are second hand and I do not need a replacement,” Lothar snapped. He began to shake with indignation. “Is this truely how you treat your guests! Prodding and fondling and insulting?”

Kirk touched his arm. “We are all friends. They do not mean anything by it.”

“Well, Lothar. I’m sorry we don't meet your posh standards. We aren't that kind of shop you know. Go see Kurtis if you want someone to ignore your outfit,” Fred replied. “Save me the stress, kek!” He disappeared into the shop where Lothar couldn't glare at him.

Lothar was silent as he worked to suppress his rage. “We were just at Kurtis's. He gave me some thread!” Kirk chirped.

The boy from behind the counter looked at the gift and touched it all over. “It's an unfortunate color but it's also a unique green. You could use it for thread painting, add some interest to foliage and such,” he advised.

“Would you like it then? I’m still just working on the basics,” Kirk offered.

“But it's so nice.”

“Too nice for me right now,” Kirk admitted.

“I'll trade you then,” the boy said and also disappeared, taking the thread with him. He returned with yarn instead of thread and began selling it to Kirk.

Fred also returned with a few samples of cloth which he began holding next to Lothar. “I like this red and this tan,” he mumbled. “Though you're both thin and muscly, something knit would really get the girls going.”

“I have no interest in ‘the girls’,” Lothar replied flatly.

Fred just gave him an eyebrow and continued. “We could make something sensible for a few large silver or something fitting your station for a few more. The shirt’s fine but you could use a better jacket and vest. And think about the knits. They're very cozy,” Fred said.

“There is no need for me to spend so much money on something I wear so rarely,” Lothar countered.

“All the more reason since people will see you so rarely. Their only memory of the Little Bishop's head attendant will be this,” Fred said and gestured broadly to Lothar's everything.

Put this way, it was hard for Lothar to dismiss. He had no opinion on his outfit other than that it didn't stick out like gray robes would. Until now, his lords almost never sent him into the city. Since Lord Melchior had progressed to inventing outings, he would need to begin considering things. He also had more money than he could ever spend from the wages Lord Ferdinand started paying him after Rozemyne began paying her attendants. He was conflicted about this tradition dying since he liked having his own money in theory but in actuality had nothing to spend it on nor opportunities to do so. Perhaps now, he did.

“I’ll consider it,” he agreed after thinking for a time.

Kirk paused his bartering to look surprised while Fred just smiled. “Let me know,” he replied politely. “And keep this one away. He brings the most ridiculous jobs my way.”

“I'll be sure to lecture him,” Lothar promised.

“But Master Fred,” the boy from behind the counter whined. He and Kirk shot Fred pleading glances while Kirk was herded away with his nice new yarn.

“He isn't serious, Lothar,” Kirk mumbled as they walked away.

“I’m sure there is some truth to his words. You are one in a long line of children who excel at bringing chaos into the lives of the mild mannered,” Lothar replied.

Kirk looked anything but chastised. “Does this great lineage include who I think it does?” he asked. Lothar just glared at him.

They began by visiting the carpenter who maintained and built the printing presses. He was a middle aged man by the name of Ingo. He had more than enough to do just furnishing the workshop with presses and winter handicraft materials so he introduced them to a different shop which also made precision instruments. They're schedule was packed until the following year so they introduced them to yet another workshop who the owner liked to give small projects to.

Janto’s carpentry was headed by an old man as creaky as an old chair and specialized in fixing things rather than building new ones. Whatever color his hair had been, it was now a dingy gray and clung to his head. Lothar felt dizzy due to the oppressive scent of oil and varnish permeating the shop. Janto himself permeated something like old tree sap and smoke. His shop was still fairly clean, free of dust in the front room and well swept before the door. He also knew a lot about spinning wheels. There were even a few great wheels and walking wheels stashed around but nothing that fit Marthe’s specifications.

“We need something that can spin fine wool into very fine threads or yarn,” Kirk explained.

“Thread or yarn? Those require different amounts and even directions of twist,” Janto replied. “You know the staple length of the wool your mama normally spins?” Kirk chooses to ignore his implications about their family situation in favor of describing the fiber options. “That short eh? Must be fine stuff. Where do you even get that from?”

“Oh, well it's from Herzfeld but I think the sheep at the monastery are different. Is there no version that can adapt to many kinds of wool?” Kirk asked. He also took out the paper Marthe had given him and tried to hand it over.

“Can't read that,” Janto said with a shrug. “Hey! Pete, get out here,” he bellowed with a slightly broken voice.

A young man eventually appeared from the back with a sour expression. He stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing Lothar, only recovering after Janto smacked his shoulder and pulled him forward. He was similarly struck by the sight of Kirk but for different reasons. “You're the noble kid with the flower pictures,” he said.

“I’m not a noble but the rest is true,” Kirk said.

“Oh, how's that knight doing these days?”

“Sir Damuel has moved to Alexandria to join his lady and have his stars bound,” Kirk replied.

Pete smiled. “That means getting married. Ha! I remembered.” He paused to collect himself after causing Lothar to flinch at the loud sound. “Oh, sorry. What can we help you with?”

Janto explained then shoved the note into Pete’s hands. “Read it.”

“Ah… its measurements and lengths and such. Something about scoured wool. It's going to take me a bit. The writing’s fancy,” he admitted.

Lothar sighed and held his hand out for the page. He read it verbatim, skipping nothing, and failing to add emphasis where it might be needed. “I apologize for my poor recitation. I know almost nothing about this topic,” he concluded.

“No, that was incredible and helpful. Knowing what it's supposed to say will help a lot. You seem very literate. What kind of work do you do, if you don't mind my asking?” Pete said.

Lothar paused. “I… I am a priest.”

A noticeable chill fell over the room. Janto squinted from Kirk to Lothar and back again. “You did look too young for a kid his age. Thought you was brothers or something. Doesn't matter. When do you need this wheel by?”

“The end of Autumn, for the Harvest Festival,” Kirk said. He found his own ears turning pink from the way Pete looked Lothar up and down in a mix of disbelief and something else.

“That some religious thing?” Janto asked.

“It begins the second week of the last month of autumn. Anytime before the last month of autumn would suffice,” Lothar replied.

“What is it exactly?” Pete asked.

Kirk smiled brightly, happy to explain. “Its when the blue clergy travel around the duchy collecting the Spring Prayer chalices, collecting taxes, and giving blessings to the people who live outside of Ehrenfest city,” Kirk said. “The nobles also stage a hunting tournament. Do the city citizens not celebrate as well?”

Pete shook his head. “We're too busy with winter prep usually.”

“Be easier if you got yourself a wife,” Janto grumbled.

“Will you quit nagging me about that? It's harder than it used to be,” Pete snapped.

“Not if you just accept the hands reaching out for you,” Janto fired back.

“Will you be able to produce the wheel in that time?” Lothar interrupted.

“Yeah yeah, if you got the silver. We can alter an existing one. If you’ve got the gold we can make something new,” Janto replied. He wiggled his eyebrows and leaned forward to emphasize the word gold.

“Modifying an existing wheel will be fine. We cannot know if they will even be happy with it,” Lothar said with a sigh.

“Can't never know with women,” Janto huffed before tottering away to commune with the timber.

Pete was left to conclude the transaction and make apologies. “He lost his wife of many years just a year ago,” he said quietly. “I think he's angry she went before him.”

Lothar smiled his usual smile, “Grief changes us,” he consoled.

Pete spent a long moment unable to continue before moving to business and collecting their money. He was just going to write a normal board but Lothar insisted on two copies of a more formal contract. It took a while to settle on language that both a commoner craftsman and a noble could parse but the results filled all three men with pride.

“My lord is one to honor his bonds but it's always best to have more protection than less,” Lothar concluded as he slipped the board into his basket with a satisfied smile.

“We don't work with nobles usually but a merchant tried to scam us once. Something like this might have helped,” Pete replied.

“Master Fred says it's enough to have two copies with signatures unless someone has both a lot of power and nefarious intentions,” Kirk added. He continued to look around at all the strange wooden objects even as they gave their goodbyes. “Now we just need to find some fruit for Sheila and herbs for the wax tablets,” Kirk declared.

“I did not agree to visit the apothecary,” Lothar replied.

“I go every time, Lothar. It is a given,” Kirk argued. “I will just have to take yet another excursion for the herbs if we don't go today.”

“Then you may go on your own,” Lothar sighed. Kirk looked visibly disappointed. Lothar raised an eyebrow. “Why does it matter whether I go?”

“I just thought it would be nice… and the old lady who sweeps keeps asking about you,” Kirk replied. He could not admit that he just enjoyed spending time with Lothar without getting lectured or taught something. That he brought the dignified authority of an adult and was mistaken for his parent was just a bonus.

Pete took the opportunity while they argued in his shop to grab a satchel. “If you're going to the market, mind if I join you? I know a good fruit seller,” he promised.

Lothar and Kirk paused to look back at him. “Why?” “Sure!” they replied in unison.

“There is no need for you to accompany us,” Lothar added.

“Maybe it's not needed but it could be fun. And he said he knows a farmer,” Kirk said.

Lothar just narrowed his eyes and took a moment to really look at Pete. He was tall for a commoner with dirty green hair and blue eyes. Unlike Janto, he smelled more of sweat than tree sap and seemed to be covered in a light layer of saw dust. But his expression was affable, lacking any calculation, and slightly embarrassed. It was clear that making the offer took a bit of courage as confusing as that was. “Fine, but we are in a hurry. We will miss lunch if we dally.”

“We can eat in the square. There are a few tasty carts,” Kirk assured him.

Lothar shivered. Food from a cart open to the dust and grime of the city could not compare to Sheila's excellent preparations, even the simple fare she made while their lord was away. “We should avoid that if we can,” he said gravely.

Pete’s preferred fruit seller had earned this prestigious title by being inexpensive. Their selection included only the cheapest produce sorted according to quality. The fruit in the lowest basket was bruised and soft, some juices leaking from those particularly ill treated but the best quality were all well formed and carefully tended. Lothar didn't even look at the lesser options before selecting more beautiful fruit than he and Kirk could easily carry. Kirk had to talk him into switching to some less pretty but equally tasty fruit.

The fruit seller was happy to flirt with both Pete and Lothar and even included an extra fruit which she promised was as sweet as Lothar. She did not have anything for them to carry such a large quantity of produce so Pete left and returned with crates from his shop while Lothar mumbled about this being why they ordered things for delivery.

Since they now had to carry more than any one man and twelve year old could, Pete came along to the apothecary. They simply ended up there while following Kirk. “Kirk! Why are we here?” Lothar gasped as he all but dropped the crate on the floor of the shop.

“We have to get the herbs,” Kirk insisted.

“Hello?” Gale called from behind the counter.

Lothar straightened up immediately. “My apologies for our rude entrance. We have meandered through the city with heavy crates,” he said with a pointed look at Kirk. “It seems we are here to acquire herbs to decorate wax tablets if you wouldn't mind giving some recommendations.”

Gale also straightened up. He’d seen Kirk and assumed it would be the same screeching and fondling as usual. “Yes of course sir,” he said and began fetching things to recommend.

“He is never so nice to me,” Kirk muttered.

“You just come here to mess around,” Gale called back.

“I’m a paying customer,” Kirk insisted.

Pete laughed at their back and forth and took the moment to take the bench. He hadn't expected Lothar to be as strong as he seemed to be. His build was rather narrow and his mein soft but he hadn't struggled with his crate at all.

Looking around the rich shop, Pete had a moment to consider just how much money Lothar had spent without flinching. Pete had had to barter the price down and Kirk had pushed for more economical choices while Lothar seemed unaffected by the many silvers slipping from his fingers. Of course Lothar was also a priest, an orphan, and not someone with a pampered existence considering how strong he was. It was as fascinating a dichotomy as how pretty he was compared to how frumpily he dressed. Someone with the spare cash to use food as a cosmetic should have the fashion sense to match. It was for the best though. He would be impossible to speak to were he any more attractive.

Gale performed his duties swiftly and professionally. His fellow apprentices found excuses to walk through the shop and help with what was obviously a one person job. Linda did not grab Kirk's arm but she did spend a bit of time whispering with him about whether this was one of those people he was always talking about. Violet informed Kirk that she was making more blooming tea in anticipation for their order which Kirk placed and paid for from his own little pouch. He also talked about some custom pottery that was in the works.

It was amazingly fun to watch just as talking to Kirk in the square had been fun during his brief stint there. Lothar might not have been a noble but his posture and motions were still dazzling. Pete found himself standing straighter subconsciously and trying to figure out how he managed to be both quick and silent.

Eventually, a bundle of herbs was added to their burden and the lads said their farewells. Lothar gave a formal goodbye before taking up his crate then bowed again before leaving the store. Kirk copied this bow as though he normally forgot to do it then held the door for Pete and Lothar.

“That was my first time visiting an apothecary,” Pete said. “It smells so nice in there.”

“It was my first time as well,” Lothar replied flatly.

“Did you enjoy it?” Pete asked.

“It was not unpleasant,” Lothar said.

“I wonder if we should get uniforms? They look expensive though,” Pete said.

Lothar paused to do some calculations in his head. “May I assume that you do not need white aprons?” he asked. Pete agreed that they would not and added that they wouldn't be white for very long. “Then you might have them for two large silver per person. Only those interacting with customers would need to wear them.”

“That sounds expensive all right. Plus Janto would never waste his time getting new clothes,” Pete said.

Lothar tried not to take offense to the unspoken implication that he was like Janto in this way. The gray robes were replaced when they wore out and not before. His current clothes were in perfect condition.

The walk from Dorrick's to the back gate wasn't long. Pete hadn't been this close to the temple since his coming of age. He didn't even take particular relish in the Star Festival. Seeing the looming white building, he was suddenly filled with anxiety about actually going inside with his crate. He was both thankful and sad when another gray priest in their robes came forward to take the box. There was some satisfaction to be taken from the man grunting from the effort. He’d placed the heaviest things in his own box so even if Lothar's wasn't light by any definition, he still felt like he might have left a positive impression.

As he stood awkwardly just outside of the gates, things were tallied and checked. Just as it began to feel like he should quietly slip away, Lothar turned around with two of the prettiest fruits and a small jar. “We thank you ever so much for your timely assistance,” he said while placing these gifts in Pete’s arms.

“It was nothing really. I had fun,” Pete replied.

“The day will most likely never come when Dregarnuhr the Goddess of Time weaves our threads back together but I pray that you live in peace with the divine protections of the gods,” Lothar concluded with a bow before striding into the temple followed by other priests with the crates.

“I will come to inquire about your progress and to pick up the wheel,” Kirk added.

“It will have to be delivered,” Pete said while watching Lothar disappear into a door beside the grand stairs. He didn't understand the lengthy speech Lothar had given but the wording and Kirk’s expression seemed to communicate that they would never see each other again.

Chapter Text

There was laughter and teasing issuing forth from the brewing room of the Third Husband’s side palace. “Stop it! You are making it harder to brew!”

“I’m certain you could brew while upside down.”

“You know this for certain, do you?”

“Sadly no,” a male voice giggled. “But one day.”

“Ahh!”

Samira hurried forward, not wishing to miss the fun. At the sound of her tiny footsteps, the room went quieter. By the time she turned the corner her father and his friend were stirring a brew calmly and leaning against a table, respectively.

“Ah it is little Samira,” called Menowin.

“Goddess’s greetings, Lord Menowin. Were you playing some manner of game?” Samira asked.

Her father cackled. “A game, yes. One could call it that. How are you this morning?” He reached out an arm for her to settle her shoulders under.

She rushed over happily despite the repeated warnings of her attendants. She could stop hugging her father in another year or two, she decided. “I am well, Father. What are you brewing?”

“New charms for our battle and for you,” he said while giving her a squeeze. Her head attendant, Burgalind, brought a chair to the other side of the table and tapped it reprovingly. Samira basked in the sweet smell of her father and the warmth of his embrace for another moment before dutifully walking to the chair. She did not have many opportunities to smell people, except for those who wore entirely too much perfume, but in her opinion, this was the best scent. It was a mix of several botanicals, foreign spices, and rime wax which Aub Gilessenmeyer gifted all her husbands though only the third was actually willing to use the stuff as perfume.

Menowin clicked his tongue. “Lowen’s cooked up something truly heinous this time.”

“Is it worse than the charm which returns damage with dissolving acid?” Samira asked.

“Do not look so intrigued,” Menowin sighed. Lowen was raising a menace, he thought. “It's not the nature of the attack but the target this time.”

“It merely sends back the attack with greater power,” Mitleidlowen insisted. Menowin clicked again. “So what if it aims directly for the eyes.”

Samira shivered just thinking about being on the receiving end of such a thing. Then she took a moment to consider how useful that would actually be. “Why the eyes, Father? Don't people usually wear helmets anyway?”

Mitleidlowen smiled. “That is a good note, my exquisite bud. I think it will still have a blinding effect meaning that even if their armor or charms endure, they will be hampered by their inability to see, giving you time to run or counter attack.”

Running would be preferable but having the opportunity to get in an attack was nice in theory. Regardless of how useful it might eventually prove to be, she was still happy at the implication that she would receive one. “This one is for me?” Samira asked. She struggled not to wiggle with excitement.

Her father smiled again, a radiant thing which she always enjoyed. “There will be one for you. I must also make some of the flame powder kind and the one which coats the target in ink for weaker attacks,” Mitleidlowen replied.

Samira held up her arm, which was already heavy with mana jewelry. “I still have the ones you made last year, Father. The Royal Academy is not so dangerous as to require this many,” she said but couldn't hide the glee in her eyes.

Menowin huffed. “That's what we thought before the war and before that graduation attack and before Lanzenave. Danger does not send a kind note warning of it coming, Samira.”

“It is as you say,” she sighed. “Thank you for doing so much to protect me, Father.”

“I would do more were I able, but my abilities are constrained to brewing and entertaining,” he replied with a deep sigh. He recovered quickly from that flash of melancholy. This life of luxury and pampering as one of many expensive ornaments was the one he chose, fought for, killed for, so he was determined to be happy with it. At least he’d gotten a daughter out of things. “I will ensure you are taken care of as much as I am able,” he promised.

Menowin watched father and daughter laugh and banter for a little while. He was generally happy when Lowen was happy but did want to spend what little time he had before he needed to head to the Sovereignty for school with his friend. He didn't mind being a professor but he did miss this when he was away.

“Have you practiced all your brewing for next year?” Mitleidlowen asked.

“Oh yes Father. I will not be out done as I was last year. Nor will I be surprised by new material again,” she declared.

“How do you know what new material you will encounter before you see it?” he teased.

Samira pouted. “I will just learn everything,” she muttered.

A clinking began to issue from the brewing pot. After a few more seconds there was a flash. Mitleidlowen removed the beautiful band from the pot and poured his mana into it. “Here, for my exquisite little bud,” he cooed while placing it in Samira’s waiting hands. She looked it over with sparkling eyes. It was even prettier than the ones she already had.

“Oh thank you, Father. I will keep it safe,” she promised.

“Ha ha, it is for keeping you safe. You don't need to protect it,” he laughed. They looked at her collection and chose one to remove. “This one is garbage,” he said as he tossed it over his shoulder in Menowin’s general direction. He’d drawn the trace amounts of Samira's mana out of it during the very brief window it was in his hands.

Samira huffed. “Lord Menowin is our friend. You should give him something of quality,” she chided.

Mitleidlowen patted her head. “He can brew his own charms if he's unhappy with it,” he said warmly.

“It would provide inferior protection,” Menowin mumbled as he slipped the cuff onto his forearm. There was a soft hiss. Lowen’s retainers were used to their over familiarity but Samira's looked on with veiled disgust. Menowin realized he’d been drawn in by the casual atmosphere and made a mistake. Kunigarte would hear of this, that he knew, but it was better to behave as though neither thought anything of it than to begin blushing and blubbering. He would only be sent to school early rather than some less savory punishment.

“Then perhaps you should spend more time brewing and less time reading dusty books.”

“Shall I stop sharing my new spells with you then,” Menowin snapped.

Mitleidlowen looked pained for a moment. “No. Please, anything but that,” he pleaded.

Even Samira rolled her eyes at his faux contrition. “I would like to hear about your spells, Lord Menowin. Did you ever complete the one which makes fabric stiff?”

“It would seem that making fabric into emergency armor is still only a dream,” Menowin sighed. “Though, perhaps you could assist me.” Samira perked up. “Spells tend to be diminutives of rituals. Students have much better access to the Archduke's Archive. Perhaps you could find a ritual that I could augment,” he suggested.

“I do not know how to read the ancient language,” she replied sadly.

“So long as you learn to transcribe, you may ask the shumils to bring you relevant texts.”

“Oh, now that sounds exciting. I wonder if there's anything there that would make the Lord of Autumn easier to manage?” Mitleidlowen mused.

A fire filled Samira's eyes. “I will practice, and then I will find something to help us,” she declared. Both men smiled. She was so easily coaxed into helping. Perhaps all the work they did to keep her safe and insulated from the horrors of the court was worthwhile after all.

Mitleidlowen patted his daughter on the head again. “That's my little bud. I know you will manage it er long,” he said. He certainly hoped so. They were running out of ways to kill the thing and the harpies continued to take notes.

Samira couldn't stay and chat for very long. It was the beginning of autumn which meant she had more studying to do then ever. She did not intend to come sixth again this year and she absolutely could not get worse grades than her half-brother nor could she allow him to get poor grades and embarrass their house. Her scholars carried her study materials to a room just outside of the children's wing of the palace. He would be moving there next year but for now he was not allowed to enter.

Quirinolf was waiting with his attendant. A full complement of retainers had been selected but he yet lacked the standing to command them. He rose and knelt to offer formal greetings. Samira was already annoyed at being separated from her father to attend this pre planned event so she just gestured half way through for him to get up and sit down.

“I do not wish to waste so much time with this meeting,” she sighed. Quirinolf smiled and sat down. He had to contain his urge to begin reading things before she started handing them out. “Here. This is for Prayers and Rituals. We cannot embarrass ourselves as we did last year.”

“No one was prepared for the new class. Well, except for the bishop from Ehrenfest but I suppose that is his reward for having to work at the temple,” he shivered and picked up the papers to begin looking through them. The First Husband's faction was doing a very good job of hoarding things. Samira was lucky enough to have her own retainers in every grade and career or even she might have struggled to get good notes. For Quirinolf, son of the second husband and just an archnoble at the moment, it was impossible.

“Tck,” she clicked with a toss of her hair. “What a waste of a perfectly usable Archduke Candidate.”

“Maybe he doesn't have enough mana. Perhaps that's why he doesn't want to be Aub,” Quirinolf suggested.

“There's no good way to know until classes get harder or we develop mana sensing,” she replied, hoping to end the conversation there. She did not like talking about Melchior of Ehrenfest. It made it more difficult to hide her emotions for some reason.

“And if you can sense his mana… do you plan to steal him?” Quirinolf asked. It could very well be that he was just on the losing end of a landslide victory of a faction war.

“I do not see how that's your business. You have enough to deal with simply proving your own worth,” she snapped.

Quirinolf fell silent. Samira's moods had grown even more unpredictable lately particularly around the topic of marriage. She would spend half their study time waxing poetic about her dream outfit and what the subsequent feast would be like one week then curse the topic as frivolous the next. But Samira was nice to him, in her way. She shared her notes and acknowledged his eventual position as an Archduke Candidate where Beatrice had poisoned him once just to tell him to avoid her. That was uncalled for, he felt. His father had already warned him to keep his distance.

After a bit more tutoring her attendant produced a box. “Here, these are to be discarded. I have better ones now,” Samira said.

Inside were several charms of mysterious effect. There were little wooden tags but who could trust such things. Samira watched Quirinolf inspect them and squint at the circles. She knew them to be excellent charms and didn't want her father's perfectionist tendencies to make them go to waste. None of her retainers wanted them so Quirinolf was as good a recipient as anyone else. She figured that his father had made him some that were just as nice but his wrists proved to be bare as his attendant rolled back his sleeves.

He swallowed thickly. With the magic tools presented thus and Samira staring at him, he couldn't have them checked as thoroughly as he should and felt he had to make a show of trust. As one shrank to the size of his arm and no smaller he let out a sigh. It didn't seem to have any ill effects so far except needing a fair chunk of mana to power. His attendant put the others aside.

“Thank you, Lady Samira. I will treasure them,” he said as he examined the pretty bracelet. It was obviously made for a girl, what with all the flowers and filigree, but no one would see it under his clothes.

“See that you do,” she replied. Too much hunting and brewing had gone into them for him to toss them in a closet to molder. She did wonder why the famous researcher from Drewanchel hadn't proffered his son with charms.

Autumn continued in its cool and fragrant way. The palace began to fill with some of Samira's favorite foods and her school uniforms began production. She’d grow a couple inches over the year and seemed likely to grow a bit more so a whole new set was needed. The second year also had a brewing class so she would need a purpose made outfit for those lessons no matter how few she ended up attending. That was more exciting than the beautiful foreign fabrics they’d been gifted by the sultan, which she could use for her formal dresses, and those were luxurious and unique. No, she was excited for brewing clothes because they meant she had something to wear when visiting her father's lab. Now there would be no excuse why they couldn't brew together.

The season was full of fun and wonderful things but it was also full of wind storms. They tore even through the cities with their ivory walls and windbreaks bringing warm air and thunderstorms. They would only increase in intensity until either the Lord of Autumn was slain or the night of Schutzaria had passed. Allowing them to continue would only destroy the harvest and not delay winter by even a single day. So the Knights Order prepared for battle under the command of the Third Husband.

Samira could tell her father was worried about the hunt. He had been more thorough than ever with preparations and training. He’d even accepted assistance from the Second Husband and his army of scholars. She wove through the river of crates full of magic tools to reach where they were doing the final planning.

When she was younger, she might have run straight in but now she was old enough to know that she needed to stand to the side and wait for the meeting to end. So, Samira looked into all the crates and pretended to both recognize and care what they contained.

After what seemed like a small eternity, the squad captains were dismissed with their orders and her father stood alone with his knights in his sparkling black armor. It was the exclusive right of male Archductal family members to wear black armor in Gilessenmeyer and Samira thought it was even more beautiful than the gold that was the exclusive right of their women. Mitleidlowen wore his dark purple, nearly black, hair in a long braid with totally slicked back bangs. Even in such a severe style, Samira thought he looked lovely.

“You are as beautiful as ever, Father,” she complemented.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “I am bedecked in the trappings of war. At least tell me I look fierce and deadly.”

“They shall quiver at the sight of you,” she corrected.

The adult knights surrounding them held back giggles even as he shot them a harsh glare. “That is better I suppose. Have you come to see us off?”

“Yes and to bless you. I learned how in class,” she declared proudly.

He stroked his perfectly smooth chin before nodding. “Let's see it then.”

“O God of Warding, Chaosfliehe, of the God of Darkness's exalted twelve, I pray that you grant Mitleidlowen your divine protection,” she chanted and black sparkles rained over the black armor.

“Why thank you, dear.”

“I am not finished. That one was special, just for you,” she said before turning around. She’d been saving mana for this so she dearly hoped it wouldn't drain her completely such that she fainted shamefully. “O Goddess of Endurance, Dultsetsen, of the Goddess of Wind, Schutzaria's, exalted twelve, I offer you my hope and faith and pray that you bless our hunt with your divine protection!” A great yellow light flew into the air, split, and then covered the general area in the blessing. Samira took a potion from her attendant and drank it while everyone was staring up in amazement. By the time her father looked back she’d managed a smug smile.

“That is impressive, little bud. And I think it will aid us in our fight,” he said as he placed a hand on her shoulder. He hadn't missed the fact that she’d avoid the most obvious choices since they could whirl for Angriff and Steifebrise’s blessings. “What can we offer you for this generous gift?”

Samira thought deeply. The hunt of the Lord of Autumn brought many useful things and her father was in charge of distributing them. But she didn't want to seem greedy or like she’d only offered a blessing in exchange for a fabulous prize. There was one small thing she wanted though. “I would just like a harpy feather, if that is not too much to ask.”

Mitleidlowen had no immediate reaction to this request while his knights took sharp breaths. Eventually he knelt down. “Did you see the pen on Mother's desk?” he asked sweetly. She nodded. “I see… if that is truly all you desire…”

“It is, Father. It is more than enough for me,” she assured him.

“Alright. Then we shall get you a harpy feather,” she bounced happily. “But… you must use your newfound knowledge to help heal everyone after the hunt.”

“I will. My mana is for Gilessenmeyer,” Samira promised.

She was led away by her attendants in high spirits. Soon she would have a beautiful, fluffy pen of her own. Having never been told the story, Samira could not have known that Mitleidlowen had nearly died for that feather, proving his incredible skills in the process. The feathers were rarely found fully intact because they were quite delicate. Spiriting one away from a harpy nest was neither easy nor worth the effort. It was generally believed that only Aub Gilessenmeyer had a genuine harpy feather pen and all others were the dyed plumage of another, equally rare but easier to hunt faebird.

Having none of this foreknowledge, Samira was unprepared to enter the sick room containing the “feather squad”. She expected to be healing a few scrapes and bruises, not one man with half his bones shattered and another with a deep, still bleeding, claw rake across his abdomen.

Samira went completely pale and might have screamed had Mitleidlowen not stepped in front of her blocking the sight. In his hand was one undamaged feather. “Your prize, my lady.”

She shook as it was placed into her hands. “What happened,” she whispered.

“He had to fight off a brood of harpies while protecting something so delicate you can snap it with your little hands,” he explained. A tear fell from her eye which he wiped away. “Are you not happy with it?”

“I didn't know,” she wept. “I would not have asked.” She reached up and touched the scrape along his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“You need not apologize to me, your highness. I am but an archnoble bound to follow your orders.”

“I did not … order. I only asked. Why didn't you say?”

“A request from you is an order and an honor, my dear.”

“I… thank you, Father,” she whispered. He took the feather back and handed it to her dumbstruck attendant. Her hand began to close around it before she realized what it was and switched to cradling it with the most possible care.

Mitleidlowen dried his daughter’s tears with his handkerchief. “Bear up. There is work to do,” he commanded.

Samira took several deep breaths and prepared to see the carnage. He guided her over to the man with the gash across his chest. “We must begin with triage. It's important to start with those in the most danger,” he explained.

She nodded and placed her hand on the knights. “O Goddess of Healing…” she chanted. For a moment, she worried no green light would appear but it flowed from her ring and into his body, closing the wounds. Some flesh had been lost so a shadow of the claw marks remained. He began to breathe easier but looked just as pale.

“Very good. The previous healer's prayer was not as strong,” he observed.

They continued going from bed to bed, worst injured to least injured. After an awful looking head wound they came to the first person with a broken bone. Mitleidlowen did nothing to warn Samira before the screaming started. He just held her shoulders and rubbed her back while making sure she didn't get hit by any flailing limbs.

Her breathing quickened and she clutched her hands before her chest. “It is ok, my dear. He is healing. If you cannot bear witness now, when this is a good thing, how will you handle it when you must hurt people to achieve your aims?” he cooed.

“I do not want to hurt people,” she wept.

“No one wants to hurt people but sometimes we must do things we don't like to achieve what's necessary,” Mitleidlowen explained.

“What on earth are you teaching her?” called a gruff voice from the entrance.

“Lord Gereon, I offer greetings,” Mitleidlowen said with a smile punctuated by his subordinate’s stifled screams.

“I accept your greetings and reiterate my question.” Gereon replied. He stood surrounded by more scholars than knights with his short chartreuse hair settling into its characteristic frizz.

“Samira was not born with a tendency towards cruelty so she must be taught,” Mitleidlowen replied.

Gereon scoffed. “What are you saying?” he muttered. Mitleidlowen left Samira with her attendants to drink a potion and steady herself while he offered Gereon a sound blocker. The Second Husband was loath to accept something directly from his hand even though he knew Mitleidlowen wouldn't poison him in so public a place nor where it could easily be traced back to him. “I just wanted to see how the feather squad is doing. They look much worse for wear.”

“Oh we are all accounted for.”

“Curious considering the danger of your mission and that those in a less precarious position were not so fortunate,” Gereon said. He glanced at the sound blocker still being offered and thought better of looking like he was hiding something.

Mitleidlowen shrugged and put them away. “I can only save those who follow my orders.”

“Tck, a leader should know when and where to put people to account for such things.”

“We all mourn what happened. I have had an unbroken record until now.”

“Your record? Is that all you care about?” Gereon scoffed. He watched Samira walk to the next bed and, with tear stained cheeks, cast healing on a man with bandages around his eyes. After squirming a bit he pulled away the bandages and stared at her with a dopey grin.

“I was not excited to sacrifice for a pillar god,” Mitleidlowen hissed.

Gereon met his cold stare. “This was what? A gift?”

“An incentive to wrap things up. It's been two years.”

Gereon began to regret not using a sound blocker. There was much he wanted to say in response that simply couldn't be said. “These things take time.”

“Yes, yes. And how many promising young sprouts will we see trodden underfoot³⁰ while you take your time?”

They stood in silence for a while. Gereon needed to think. His investigation had turned up only the echoes of crimes and the cobwebs of nefarious dealings. They might have known his target was guilty, but they had no solid proof so he couldn't act. They certainly couldn't kill his son in a carefully orchestrated hunting accident. “This is why we keep you in the box,” he whispered.

“Perhaps you should be more concerned about why it was opened,” Mitleidlowen replied. He’d been quiet as well. It was not because he needed to consider things, his part was done and he didn't need to justify himself to Gereon. Rather, he could hear the quiet procession of footsteps approaching long before Kunigarte entered the room.

Aub Gilessenmeyer was in the habit of being casual while walking around her palace. On this day she wore a wrapping gown over a yellow linen dress with tasteful but minimal embroidery. It was all of the highest quality fabric but still much simpler than what she might wear to an event or the Archdukes Conference. As the Aub, it was her exclusive right to swan around in loungewear. No one else was allowed to emulate the style.

She looked around with her usual impassive smile before her eyes landed on her shivering and weepy daughter. “Samira, you are forgetting poise,” she chided.

“She’s experiencing the resetting of bones for the first time,” Gereon explained. He was under no obligation to protect this girl that was not his daughter but who could ignore a distraught child. Mitleidlowen said nothing but he didn't present the usual resplendent smile which he reserved specifically for greeting the Aub.

“Our knights have valiantly struggled to obtain a gift that you might be delighted. The least you can do is show them a smile so that they know their work was not in vain,” Kunigarte continued as though no one had protested.

“It is as you say, Mother,” Samira replied while doing her best to smile through her extreme discomfort. She drank another potion and continued healing.

“Did you allow this?” Gereon asked rather than engaging with the amazingly bad parenting in the room.

“Does our god of war do anything without my knowledge?” she said. She watched with appraising eyes as Samira visited another bed and bravely presented an obviously fake smile.

“I had things in hand,” Gereon sighed.

Mitleidlowen’s attendant took this moment to present a feastone. It was passed through the usual checks before resting heavily in Gereon’s hand. It was easy to forget with the stones of animals or plants but the fact that this one had been a young man he’d spoken to only days before sent a shiver down his spine.

“As you have such a close relationship with his father, I would like you to deliver it,” Kunigarte said brightly. “Reap well the autumn harvest³¹.”

Gereon allowed his fingers to curl around the stone. He gave one last, pitiful look towards Samira then left her to the monsters she called parents. Mitleidlowen watched him go feeling conflicted. Gereon was a man who just wanted to brew in peace. Being forced to enact political schemes was obviously wearing him down. But he was from Drewanchel and could not be insulted with a demotion to Third Husband no matter how much it would improve his well being.

“I would be done with this and the boy would have lived,” he whispered.

“We can't know what might have been,” Kunigarte replied. “This was not a part of our discussion,” she noted with a gesture towards the room.

“It was a personal matter and a lesson.”

“Does our god of war do anything without my knowledge?” This time it was an accusation. He hadn't told her about the feather and now a dozen of their best knights, personally trained by him, were half bedridden. She reached out and touched the bruise on his neck. “Tck. So close to your face,” she chided. After granting healing she tipped his head from side to side to inspect it. “I will have to check the rest of you later,” she sighed.

“That is enough, Samira,” Mitleidlowen called rather than respond. He walked over and plucked the third potion from her hands. “No one is left in critical condition. The other healers can see to the rest,” he said. Samira nodded and let out a great sigh of relief. “You did well,” he praised.

“Thank you, Father.”

“You must thank everyone else too,” he charged.

She folded her hands over her skirts and did a curtsy. “From the depths of my heart I thank you for your service,” she intoned. It would have to be good enough considering.

Mitleidlowen watched her leave with her retainers. He wished he could follow but he could not leave a room with Kunigarte still in it if she didn't dismiss him. This was an important lesson that he planned to see to the end. There could be no telling what her attendants would say and how they would bungle helping her interpret her feelings. He could feel his face contorting into worry even as he tried to restrain it. Kunigarte chuckled. “A fair punishment then,” she noted and looped her arm into his to take him even farther away.

Samira returned to her room as quickly as her heavy dresses would allow. Before she could place her hand on the faestone to open her hidden room, Brugalind stepped before her. “I must shut myself away,” Samira cried. “As Mother said I cannot be seen in this state.”

“She means before strangers and a room full of men, no less,” Burglind sighed. “We are your retainers and these are your private chambers. Your distress is not so acute anymore either.” Samira nodded and allowed herself to be guided to her desk. “Now, let us discuss. I do not agree with Lord Mitleidlowen’s methods but his lesson today is an important one.”

“What was I to learn? How awful it is to be injured? How foolish I am?” Samira asked with fresh tears threatening to fall.

Bruglind shook her head. “You were not foolish, only ignorant. You did not know what it would take to obtain that which you desired. Now you do. It is best to experience the learning process in reverse of what you did.”

“Father must be so disappointed,” Samira sighed. No wonder he didn't seem enthusiastic when she asked for the feather. He was always happy to grant her requests so she should have known right then. If only she hadn't been blinded by her excitement.

“Lord Mitleidlowen has never spoken such words about you,” Bruglind replied.

That wasn't a guarantee, Samira thought. “Father does not say everything he thinks. He is a good noble.”

“He is quite skilled which is why it speaks volumes that he is so expressive with you. Do not linger on such unpleasant thoughts. Today's lesson was simple. Collect all the relevant information before you act. I could have told you about the harpy feather had I been consulted.”

“I will seek your counsel in the future.”

“It need not be my counsel. You have many retainers with diverse knowledge. There is no reason to act without information, Lady Samira.

“It is as you say,” she replied quietly.

It was not easy to stop dwelling on those unpleasant thoughts. Would her father feel such a harsh lesson was necessary if she had not disappointed him so deeply? Was she failing so completely to meet expectations? She thought about her inability to completely mask her emotions in spite of her mother's many reprimands. She could not remember to sit up straight at all times nor had Beatrice felt comfortable taking her to many tea parties.

Seeing the absolute state of some archnobles and Archduke Candidates’ educations had given her more confidence in herself. Perhaps it was actually arrogance. She made a promise to herself to work harder. She would learn the ancient language too and restore her father's faith in her.

Footnotes

30. How many young people will die or have their lives ruined.^

31. Don't waste this chance.^

Chapter Text

Just before the turn of the season, Melchior had a final fitting for his autumn wardrobe and received his new knight uniform. He hadn't grown nearly as much as he had over spring so everything needed to be taken in. “I thought it should be easier on everyone if I did not grow so much,” he joked. Kurtis had not been there for the other jokes in this vein but even he felt uneasy at the implications. If nobles could control their physical growth, it would explain why they were generally taller but the mere thought of it was rejected by his lifetime of carefully constructed understanding.

When Melchior leaned over his shoulder to try to see the numbers, Kurtis offered the board and received a bright smile from Melchior and a sharp glare from his older assistant. He swallowed and took a moment to quiet his heart. This man was obviously not the boy's father but he would still have the power to have Kurtis eliminated. Melchior saw none of this and merely returned the board with a shrug.

After being measured and trying on the works-in-progress, Melchior returned to the main room so Deliroze could have his turn. Florencia and Brunhilde sat enjoying tea and chatting about the upcoming Hunting Tournament. Florencia wore a well tailored dress with an overdress that was fancier than she might normally wear for a day in the castle. She had even had her hair styled in a more trendy updo. She still looked comfortable and commanding.

By contrast, Brunhilde wore a loose fitting gown with her sash higher up than normal with her hair set in an easy style. It was less fashionable than her normal outfits but looked easier to move in and just as beautiful. Sitting together, the eye was drawn to Florencia as though she were intentionally distracting from Brunhilde.

Melchior wondered whether they needed to observe this time but they seemed to be enjoying the relaxed atmosphere. Was this just a good excuse for them to spend a quiet afternoon together?

“How do you like your new clothes, dear?” Florencia asked after he’d settled into his seat.

“I am delighted with them, Mother. Thank you again for trusting me with this duty,” he replied. “And thank you again and from the bottom of my heart, Lady Brunhilde, for your counsel.”

They smiled. “Her counsel has been most adamant,” Florencia said over the rim of her tea cup. “I wonder, will you have new wisdom to impart when it is your own son?”

“Lady Florencia, I simply believe that Lord Melchior is uniquely positioned to accept this responsibility. He has witnessed two siblings tread this path and had the assistance of several fashionable retainers. My counsel to Lord Wilfried would be different,” Brunhilde replied.

“It is not that you wish to see what blessings Kunstzeal has bestowed?”

“Of course there is always that,” Brunhilde giggled.

Melchior sat quietly enjoying their happy mood and drinking his own tea. His outfits from the previous autumn were a better fit than his previous summer’s clothes. This made sense to him since he'd begun serious compression around the autumn of last year. It also said that having just one season of growth might not be enough to reach his goals. It was a conundrum.

Once Deliroze had finished his fitting and returned to his place standing behind Melchior, Otto stepped forward with a large flat box. It had already been checked for traps and poison so he was allowed to gracefully lift the cover and part the fabric protecting a few dozen brooches with white branch hoops covered in various decorations. In the middle lay one which was noticeably finer and hung with white honeysuckle. Each flower had different color stamens organized to create a rainbow gradient.

“Oh how wonderful!” Melchior cooed. Seeing his art become reality filled him with immense satisfaction. “Your work is just as impressive as always. It was worth waiting.”

Florencia was not sure she agreed. His retinue had not been able to debut them at the Starbinding. As only his original apprentices had their own, it made it look like Dedryck and Sebastian didn't support his trend. Still, they were beautiful and looked like a cohesive set despite having different designs. No one would doubt that those wearing them were a team nor could anyone in Ehrenfest attempt to wear a white hoop without creating an association.

“They are lovely. I am impressed with your design acumen,” Florencia praised.

Melchior beamed and took one of each kind out to show Brunhilde and gush about his creative process and the immense pressure there would be for the following year. “My retainers will expect something new every winter now,” he lamented with a bright smile.

“I would look forward to it as well were I so beautifully appointed,” Brunhilde replied. “The girls in the dormitory were always excited to receive a hair pin in their first year,” she added.

Melchior paused before launching into assent. He felt somehow like she was trying to coax him into doing the same. “That could not have been without inconvenience,” he said.

Florencia felt proud that he’d detected the double meaning. Still it was exactly what he needed to consider. “Wouldn’t you all look lovely and it would do much to popularize flowers as a men's accessory,” she pressed.

Melchior looked back and forth between them, feeling like he could not escape the task ahead. At least there were only seven first years. “Oh but the first year we outfitted the entire dormitory. It made such a statement,” Brunhilde added.

Melchior paled. Unlike hairpins, brooches could not be made fancier by simply wearing more of them. He would need three new designs. Brunhilde continued to explain how she selected colors and arrangements based on every girl's hair and eye colors. The fact that she'd memorized these each year did not escape Kolteruze who grew nearly as pale as his lord.

Brunhilde took notice of Kolteruze in the middle of her speech. “I doubt this will be any great struggle for a retinue of such quality. And the cost is quite reasonable when they need not be as fine as your own,” she noted while looking directly into his eyes.

Melchior tried to argue. “This trend is merely an extension of Sister's original invention. Surely there is no need…”

“But won't it be great fun, my dear,” Florencia interjected. “And I’m certain Kolteruze has already done the difficult work of memorizing everyone's colors.” They all turned to Kolteruze now. He blushed and nodded weakly. “What an excellent recommendation, Lady Brunhilde.”

“I could not offer my own service after all,” Brunhilde tittered.

Kolteruze and Melchior shared a pained look. No matter how prepared they were for the endeavor nor how “reasonable” the cost, it was going to be expensive. Haldis produced a fresh piece of paper, a pencil, and Melchior’s crayons without being asked. Brunhilde and Florencia gave their opinions on the evolving designs while Kolteruze was forced to offer all he knew about the appearance of his peers.

The boys were only freed from their torment when Melchior was called to try on his new armored tunic. The sewists had pulled its seams and basted it back together according to the new measurements. It would take more work to alter than his normal garments so they wanted a full fitting.

As everyone wanted to see them, he came to show his mother and Brunhilde. With no armor, it looked like a practical but gaudy tunic with slightly too large shoulders and a lumpy profile. Once he formed his armor over it, which he'd gotten much better at, the blueish metal color he’d selected coordinated nicely with the blue embroidery while hiding many sins. Now that it felt like armor rather than clothing, he just looked more solid instead of poorly proportioned. The dagged edges and vibrant green made it obvious that he wasn't a normal knight but so did his small stature and delicate hairstyle. The effect was enhanced by the spring coloration. One could not think of green without thinking of Flutrane and thoughts of Flutrane inevitably turned to flowers and the dance of the spring goddess. Having brewed the wire herself, she knew the armor would provide superior protection but it looked for all the world like the only thing Melchior could fight against were broken hearts.

“What do you think?” he asked with his hands on his hips, doing his best to look tough.

Florencia and Brunhilde were shocked silent for a long time. He was pretty, not one of the usual qualities knights aspired to, and unique without being too ostentatious. Melchior’s knights had already reacted and reset their expressions and the Wives’ guards stood behind them, so neither Florencia nor Brunhilde could see a knight with their naked envy on display.

“I did not expect it to match the other uniforms so well,” Brunhilde noted. Standing with his guards, Melchior looked special but not out of place. The blue accents served to tie the outfit back to him and to everyone else.

Melchior began to look anxious, his eyes quietly questioning Florencia so long as she also remained silent. “I think it looks nice, dear,” she said eventually. Nice was an understatement. He looked adorable in the extreme but that wasn’t something she could say in front of so many people. Nor did it need to be said out loud. “The other knights will clamor for new uniform colors, now.”

“Would that be allowed, Lady Florencia?” one of her knights asked hopefully. He was neither a young man nor had he shown much interest in fashion before this moment. Perhaps it was because he spent most of his time in the knight uniform.

“I would need to inquire with the Aub and Knights Commander though considering the mayhem that would cause, I would not think so,” she replied. Melchior was an Archduke Candidate after all. He was not in service to a lord nor was he officially a member of the Knights Order. It was important that his armor worked, not that it matched. This was the same reason why Wilfried and Charlotte were allowed their ostentatious lion armor.

Florencia later wondered whether she should have taken this request as an omen of some kind. Things were quiet so long as Melchior was not seen in his new light armor. It needed to be altered so he continued to wear the set he borrowed from Nikolaus. The rumors spread by her and Brunhilde's knights could not be substantiated since Melchior's retainers were tight lipped on the subject. This was partially because Melchior didn't want to spark a major uprising and partly as a quiet protest. They had each independently come to the decision to withhold praise so long as he withheld their new brooches.

Melchior was of the opinion that they should be stored until the Feast Celebrating Winter where they would once again debut. His retainers, especially those without, wanted to start using them immediately. Only Eikestine and Cecilia agreed with him since they wouldn't be getting a brooch. Their service would end once school began and they moved to permanent positions in Charlotte’s retinue. Some of her guards were getting married the following year so their Royal Academy service was to be extended into a permanent placement. They were excited but were forced to admit that the brooches created a tempting reason to swear fealty to Melchior instead.

“Charlotte has also ordered brooches,” Melchior noted after listening to their lamentations.

“But will they be as beautiful?” Eikestine asked.

“I also designed them so I am inclined to say that they are,” Melchior replied. “They are just accessories anyway. That cannot be compared to the power and dignity gained by serving a great lady.”

“Do you believe yourself to be less deserving of fealty than your sister?” Cecilia asked. There were many reasons besides accessories to join his service. It was just a fun way to probe his willingness.

Before Melchior could admit that he did, Haldis stepped in to say that it was time to dress for his whirling lesson. Considerations about whether Melchior was willing to monopolize female guard knights when he didn't need them would have to be deferred. Neither Eikestine nor Cecilia was truly committed to the idea but they knew Helenwig would want an answer to that question. She would be training with Melchior for even longer which would make it harder to leave in the end.

Only Dedryck was given his brooch right away. Melchior insisted that he wear it on his trip to the Sovereignty, echoing Florencia’s chastisements concerning his lack of one at the Starbinding. He would have to order one for personal use eventually but for now he couldn't stop playing with the little flowers. Having resisted the accessory for so long, he was embarrassed to be so happy with it. Along with this, he was entrusted with Melchior's gift which had been negotiated down to a portrait of Dedryck as a shumil knight and an unpainted diptych featuring his sister's name with space for her to add other symbols. Melchior wanted to include one of the ones he painted for Hauchletze but was told he couldn't make Dedryck's little sister the only child in the Sovereignty with one. Not when Prince Hildebrand was without along with all the children from greater duchies. He settled for a moderately priced, metal stylus and a letter of congratulations.

His noble retainers’ pain was redoubled when he presented his temple attendants with white and gold sprays of mitfairs to pin to their chests. They didn't clash with the gray robes while instantly drawing to mind the High Bishop’s vestments. “You may wear them whenever you like and I will occasionally request them for special occasions,” Melchior explained.

Kirk held his with reverence and stroked the delicate petals. “I have never owned something so beautiful,” he muttered happily.

Sheila turned hers over, examining it from several angles. “There is a little hook on the back,” she observed.

“Oh yes. Soon I will brew charms which even commoners can use. They will be hung from the hooks on the back. The flowers should hide them so there is no need to be embarrassed,” Melchior declared proudly.

“My lord, how could we be embarrassed by so generous a gift?” Lothar asked.

“Sigsnyr and Kolteruze said protection charms are normally something given only to close younger family members. As you are adults, I thought you might not wish to wear another's charms.”

Sheila giggled while Kirk blushed deeply. “We do not have mana to influence, my lord. It is not the same,” Lothar explained. “I am honored that you would see fit to protect me in this way.”

“I am sorry that my lack of skill caused such a delay. Sister furnished her retainers over two years ago,” Melchior sighed and shut his eyes, openly displaying his pained expression. “I think it will be some time yet before I can give them to my personnel too.”

While everyone was still with surprise and confusion, Melchior returned to his studies. Isolde recovered first. “You can have your scholars brew them for you. The owner of the mana does not matter in this case,” she offered.

“It is a matter of ingredients,” Melchior replied.

“The knights are planning an autumn hunt, you could task them to collect what you need in the same fashion,” Deliroze said.

Melchior looked over at his knights. He knew they had lives beyond his service and were often engaged in training and excursion, which he only learned about when they offered him part of their quarry, so he wasn’t totally shocked to hear this. He was more surprised that Deliroze was aware.

“They want to collect Kolteruze’s autumn ingredient for his jureve,” he explained.

Melchior looked at Zipporah. She stepped forward. “I had no idea,” he grumbled.

She shrugged. “We did tell you though you might have been distracted by other events. In any case, we can only take trained knights. Not even Gerianne can come this time.”

“Did she go at another time?” Melchior questioned.

“She has not been available though there was an opportunity over the summer,” Zipporah replied.

“I did not wish to leave you behind, my lord,” Gerianne added.

His jealousy was quelled but he was not entirely happy about everyone getting to go exploring without him. For a moment he considered planning an outing for himself, then he remembered that he couldn't go anywhere without endangering his person and by extension, everyone else.

“Some ingredients for charms are not in such dangerous places. Shall we plan a hunt together, my lord. You said once you wished to learn the process,” Zipporah offered upon seeing his mood vacillate then settle on sad.

“I would like that,” Melchior replied with a noble smile. He needed to learn how to lead and organize people even if he couldn't actually attend. “Let us plan a time during studying hours.”

Isolde took this cue to look through the schedule. “You have met your goals for this school year so any auxiliary studying can be planned at your discretion. Otherwise we will continue our inexorable march towards sixth year content.”

Melchior spent the rest of his temple evenings painting and dreaming about tree-filled excursions. He’d finally acquired a small time-stopper for his egg tempera paint so his attendants were able to work on their own art project rather than mix even more. Chet was left to attend while Lothar, Kirk and Sheila organized herbs into pleasing arrangements in molds then poured wax over them. Rather than mix them together, they coated the cooled beeswax in rime wax. The fresh, sweet smell clung to their clothes after, giving Melchior a hint at what his perfume would be like. They also saved a tiny chunk in a bottle of oil to add to rinsham or cookies later.

The sachets in all his closets were replaced by these tablets. There were some left over which no one would accept so they were tightly wrapped and stored away. The old sachets still smelled nice and he still liked the smell so they were hung around his rooms.

Zipporah was particularly delighted by this. She took up the habit of guarding next to one and taking deep breaths. “It smells like the woods,” was all she would offer as an explanation. The sachet in the outer room was moved closer to the door to accommodate her.

While Zipporah was calmed by reminders of the great outdoors, Sigsnyr was vibrating with excitement all week. He wouldn't tell anyone what was happening, claiming it was the most incredible surprise though Benedikt seemed to know. He certainly ran interference during the weekly brewing practice while Sigsnyr stirred up several clinking brews and hummed to himself.

Melchior and Gerianne cornered Zipporah. “I can provide ample compensation for information,” Melchior whispered.

Zipporah chuckled. “You would like to ruin your own surprise?”

“So you do know?” Gerianne questioned.

“Strangely enough, he hasn’t told me but I think that’s because he thinks I can guess,” Zipporah replied.

“Then it is easy to guess,”Melchior muttered to Gerianne.

“Though she might have knowledge which we lack,” Gerianne said. They nodded and whispered some more until Isolde snapped at them from her brewing pot to get back to work. There wasn’t very much work for them to do compared to the older students. They had completed the second year course and could brew all the normal potions and the higher grade variations taught at the Royal Academy and included in Ferdinand’s book. Benedikt had given his approval for them to attempt his personal recipe but that would take more time than they had left for the day. Benedikt had to pull out a bit of the emergency work he’d planned at Pepin’s insistence to be deployed when the younger kids got too rambunctious around the dangerous equipment.

“Come look at this,” he called. They arrived quickly and looked over his shoulder at the wooden board. “This circle is wrong, can you tell me how?” The magic circle was a perfect octagon with different sigils in each slice and little indication as to what it even did. They stared in confusion and shock. “You can take your time figuring it out,” he teased and shooed them over to a table. With the little ones thus engaged, they only had to listen to Sigsnyr humming and clinking along.

The wait was short but agonizing. Only one sleep later, Sigsnyr presented a small collection of magic tools. “I have perfected them!” he declared and began an in depth explanation of their use.

“So they are ordonnanz roosts but portable?” Melchior asked at the end.

“Yes, you have got it!” Sigsnyr chirped. He placed a pretty filigree bracelet before Gerianne. “This one is for you.” He placed a plain but solid looking one in front of Melchior. “And this one is for you.”

Melchior and Gerianne giggled as they slipped on the bracelets. They shrank down to fit their wrists then drained some mana to dye and arm them. A murky yellow faestone surrounded by three smaller feastones rested in each.

“You don’t have them mixed around?” Sebastian asked. Melchior’s looked awfully plain for an archduke candidate.

Melchior did not seem to care and he bounced in his chair and caressed the metal around his wrist. “We had to make it as robust as possible. There are even extras. Gerianne has less mana than either me or Benedikt, probably, so we could make it a bit nicer and dantier. She is a girl after all,” Sigsnyr explained.

“It should theoretically last until next season, maybe next spring while Gerianne shouldn’t dust her’s until after she acquires a schtappe,” Benedikt added.

“Where did you get the idea for a bracelet? Hadn’t Lord Evones developed a small box for portability?” Isolde asked.

“Aunt Elvira created and uses an ordonnanz bracelet. I have always thought they were so elegant and useful,” Zipporah said.

Sigsnyr’s eyes lit up. “Do you want one?” he asked and began rifling through his pouches. “You told me about it but showed no desire for one at the time.’

“I can brew my own if you don’t mind passing me your recipe,” she replied.

“Certainly!” he chirped.

Sebastian still wasn’t happy that it was so plain looking but Melchior was obviously happy with it. “I can send messages now,” he muttered. “Just think of the possibilities, Gerianne.”

“Yes we will be able to coordinate much more easily,” she agreed. She tapped the blueish faestone as instructed and a little bird appeared on her wrist. She giggled before stroking its head to make its mouth open. “Dear Father, this is Gerianne. I am sending you my first ordonnanz,” she said. She stroked it again and the beak closed then she touched the greenish stone and the message played back to her. With her excitement nearly boiling over she moved her arm in smooth but swift motion, tossing the bird into the air. Just like a normal ordonnanz, it flew away, right through the walls.

She and Melchior could not contain their excitement. Gerianne produced her mana-draining tool from a secret pocket and stared in the direction of the message, waiting for the response. Melchior chose to compress his rising mana instead. The bird soon returned and landed on her bracelet. She tapped the green stone and waited to hear the response. “This is P’pa! How is this possible?” it said only once. Gerianne played it several more times while she and Melchior squeaked in a manner lacking the usual poise.

“Lord Sigsnyr has invented a magic tool to allow even those without a schtappe…”

“Improved an existing tool,” he called in the background.

“Improved an existing tool to allow even those without a schtappe to send messages,” Gerianne sent.

They waited again. “Praise be to Lord Sigsnyr!” the ordonnanz replied.

“Praise be to Sigsnyr!” “Glory to the gods!” They cried and raised their arms into the praying pose. Yellow lights rained over Sigsnyr while gold dust fell onto Melchior’s head.

“Oh no,” Gerianne squeaked.

Melchior lowered his arm and observed the now empty settings in his bracelet. He almost cried. “I broke it!” he whimpered. “I didn’t even get to send a message.”

Benedikt and Sigsnyr unintentionally ignored his distress to begin conferring. “It did not even survive his enthusiasm.”

“Should we have added a throttle?”

“Evones didn’t think it would need one. Ordonnanz are not that fragile.”

“Perhaps he will need to brew it?”

“But is he skilled enough? And are the circles up to the task?”

Melchior meanwhile sat in his seat trying not to weep and taking deep breaths. Gerianne placed her non-bracelet hand on his even though she had to contort a bit. “We are nearly always together. You can always borrow mine,” she assured him.

Another bird arrived. “Ah my sweet, now we can speak at any time.” “And all the time!” Gerianne’s parents' voices called. This extra magic tool reverted to a normal faestone which Gerianne deftly caught. Melchior looked sullen. To have the possibility of communicating with his family at any time and all the time offered then stolen away was devastating. He tried to compress but his despondent feelings made putting forth the effort impossible. It was another downside to using only compression to control his mana, came a strangely clear headed thought.

Pepin helped him rise from his chair. “I am going to my hidden room,” he announced as the bracelet itself lost its battle and slipped from his arm to the ground with a metallic clang.

This sound snapped Benedikt and Sigsnyr out of their conference. “My lord?” Sigsnyr asked and strode over. He blocked the path and knelt. “There is no need to despair. We will find a solution. Indeed we already have one. It is not as elegant but you can always carry a box roost,” Sigsnyr assured him.

Melchior nodded and forced a smile. “Yes that is true, thank you, Sigsnyr. I must still retrieve my magic tool,” he replied and stepped past his knight. Gerianne trailed behind into the inner room but Isolde held Sigsnyr back.

“You speak as though you have been in recent conference with Lord Evones or else developed this idea last winter,” she said with a questioning eyebrow.

“We exchange letters?” Sigsnyr said matter of factly.

“Is Lord Melchior privy to these letters?”

“Should he be? It is just about research.”

Isolde sighed. “It is inter-duchy communication which means it is read by the Aub’s scholars meaning the Archduke knows more about your correspondence than your lord.”

Sigsnyr looked pensive. “I didn’t think of it that way. I only have Evones’s replies but I’ll bring them for him to read. Though… are you certain this isn’t just because you wish to read them or use them for some unknowable scheme with Hauchletze?”

“I would like to read them, yes, but you need not show them to me if they are too private. As for schemes? We just distanced a great many people for such things,” she replied. He nodded and continued after Melchior.

They all returned after a bit looking calm. None of the redness of withheld tears nor the defeated body language lingered. Melchior sat back down, ready to hear the rest of the presentation.

“We have made an even smaller variant of the box. It holds only one bird at a time and two ordonnanz but the use of the homing variety is not necessary. However, we have found that the homing ordonnanz is much easier for commoners to send. By using blood or other fluids, it is possible to create a strong enough connection for a commoner to send ordonnanz as normal but they will be the only commoner capable of using the roost. We attempted to use switches but they only work for receiving all messages, recording all messages, and sending only homing ordonnanz.”

Sigsnyr pulled a three bird roost out of the box with an unattended-like clank. “As such, we have created a tool for the temple. It will be tied to whichever gray priest you select, preferably one that can reliably be found there, so not Kirk, but has met your family and their guards. Along with this we have homing birds tied to the Archduke's office and the Knights Order. As it turns out, a roost isn't necessary to set a permanent destination. It just makes things much easier.”

“If only you could get that positioning tool working,” Benedikt sighed.

“What tool is this?” Melchior asked.

“I wrote about it in my story. It tells you where you are in the country. I wanted something that would indicate on a circle but the circle has to be too big to be useful. Using a grid has also proven to be too complicated. I’ve attempted to use triangulation based on foundations but that would require knowing their exact, physical locations which no one wants to disclose,” Sigsnyr rambled.

“If only there was one powerful magic tool that never moved and you knew the exact location of,” Melchior lamented. Maybe they could use something located at the Royal Academy. It had plenty of very powerful magic tools.

“Like the foundation,” Kolteruze interjected.

“I just said no one wants to disclose those locations,” Sigsnyr huffed.

Kolteruze squinted. “I heard you so naturally that isn't what I’m referring to. I mean The Foundation. The country foundation. It’s said to be directly in the center of the country and its influence can be felt all over. There are also the gates if you really want to use triangulation,” he said.

As much as Sigsnyr wanted to snap about him being smug, he’d said something brilliant. “Who says this?”

“Lady Rozemyne,” Kolteruze replied. Melchior tried to remember an instance of her saying where the county foundation was. It was highly sensitive information so it didn't make sense for her to just come out and say it.

“Not in those words,” Isolde mused. “She does call it the central foundation, says that it might be under Farthest Hall, and refers to the Garden of Beginnings as the heart of Yurgenschmidt. Even though none of that means it is necessarily at the exact center, it stands to reason that it is on Academy grounds placing it very close to the middle. Since it doesn't move, it doesn't matter if it's a little off as that deviation can be easily accounted for.”

Sigsnyr bounced with excitement and began taking notes. “I think it would be possible to measure the distance from the Country Foundation and our angle relative to…say… the line between Geduldh’s gate and the Foundation,” he muttered.

“Why that gate?” Gerianne asked with a hint of contempt.

“It’s North,” Sigsnyr replied.

“Sure but Geduldh isn't even the best goddess,” Gerianne replied.

“Ewigeliebe doesn't have a gate,” Melchior reminded. He also wondered whether Gerianne was jealous of Ewigeliebe’s one true love and what that meant about how much she liked him.

“It’s placed at the top of maps so it seems like the most natural choice,” Sigsnyr replied, obviously feeling like this was interrupting the real work of designing his new toy.

“If you create this and it becomes popular, using Klassenberg’s gate as the main reference point will surely go to their head,” Isolde said as though it were obvious.

“Well which would be better? The Goddess of Light or God of Darkness?” Sigsnyr asked.

“I see no reason not to use Schutzaria's gate. You are from Ehrenfest after all,” Isolde sighed.

“Won't people find that confusing and inconvenient when maps are drawn with north at the top? Plus it isn't just our country. Other countries use lodestones strapped to rafts, or something, floating in liquid to find the north,” Sigsnyr said.

“That sounds so cool!” Melchior cried.

“Doesn't it! I built one once. It was incredibly cumbersome and impractical for wayfinding.”

“How do you know this?”

“There used to be a professor for international studies who actually traveled through each gate and returned with a report. Did you know that Bosgiez might have developed plant paper even before the gate was closed,” Sigsnyr asked and looked ready to launch into a long talk about what he'd learned from reading this old travel guide.

Melchior and Gerianne hung on his every word but Isolde stopped him. “You can discuss this at length another time. Indeed you may go read the book yourself. We should return to the topic at hand. Is this positioning magic tool what you would like Sigsnyr to work on now that he is mostly finished with the roosts?”

“You do not mind doing something just for me?” Melchior asked Sigsnyr.

“Not at all. Any new magic tool would be a delight.”

“Can you make something to heat small rooms or else to make it safe to have a fire in an enclosed space,” Melchior asked.

Sigsnyr fell into thought rather than respond immediately. He opened his mouth to speak a few times before closing it again.

“Do you find the fireplaces to be insufficient, my lord?” Kolteruze asked.

“There are some rooms in the temple which lack fireplaces,” Melchior replied.

Isolde sighed. “Does this have something to do with heating your attendants’ rooms?” Melchior nodded. “Using a magic tool for such an endeavor would require a great deal of mana, not just more than Kirk has but more than most of the blue priests as well.”

Kirk had no mana, so naturally it would take more than he had, Melchior thought. He remembered her saying it wasn't efficient but magic tools could make things much more efficient. If his scholars could create a stove or miniature fireplace, then the gray clergy wouldn't need to freeze all winter and halfway into spring.

“The easiest solution is just to give them different rooms,” Isolde said.

“Only the rooms on the upper floors and the kitchens have fireplaces,” Melchior replied. He did not need to say that those rooms were for nobles.

“Aren't most of them empty?” Gerianne noted.

“They are for nobles so you would have to find something else for the gray clergy. Couldn't they move to the orphanage for the season?” Kolteruze said.

All three clergy shook their heads. “My attendants would rather die of cold,” Gerianne said gravely. She hadn't even asked about the state of their accommodations let alone spent a year fretting over it. But she liked her attendants and didn't actually want to see them suffer so she decided to support this endeavor.

“Isn't it the same difference?” Kolteruze asked.

“The gray clergy consider it an honor to be chosen to attend. At least those that volunteer do. Many do not wish to return to the orphanage even though it is much improved. For those as old as Lothar, it is a place filled with sorrow and shame,” Melchior explained. “To send one's attendants to live there is a condemnation of their skills and an expression of extreme dissatisfaction.”

“If there are empty kitchens, you could move them there,” Isolde suggested. “Having them use a different room for a single season should not be an insult. Even noble children do that.”

“I will consider it if the stoves are impossible or simply too difficult to produce in a year. I wonder whether Herzfeld could make use of the concept? Which reminds me, we have to ask them about their progress and write Veremund instructions for his visit. There are other things too. Um…” he paused.

“Perhaps we should have a meeting to prepare for autumn and winter. That will give us time to organize our thoughts and collect ideas from everyone,” Isolde suggested. Melchior accepted this and they planned to meet the following week on his first castle day.

Chapter Text

The Uniform Uproar

Sigsnyr spent the rest of the morning hanging the smallest roost from a lanyard. He struggled on where to place his holes such that they wouldn't interfere with operation or pass through any magic circles. Since schtappes could only remain manifest for a few minutes when not transformed, he had to keep summoning it in the shape of a hand drill. No course or book in the Royal Academy listed such a transformation nor detailed how to invent one. All his attempts had failed so far.

Through his and the tailors diligent work, Melchior was able to appear for practice in his new uniform, with his communication device hanging from a hook in his chestplate. He strutted around confirming the rumors before making an appearance at Wilfried's office.

His brother could not conceal his jealousy. “Why green?” he asked nonchalantly, trying very hard to seem uninterested.

“I saw Lady Hannalore whirl and was moved by the strength granted by the Goddess Flutrane,” Melchior replied.

“Ah yes, the strong, agile, powerful whirl of Lady Hannalore,” Wilfried replied with mild venom. “Naturally the Goddess of Water would bestow strength while the God of Fire would make one exceedingly lovely.”

“I enjoyed your whirling very much, dear brother,” Melchior assured him.

“Yes, that is why you chose Leidenschaft blue when the question arose.”

Melchior sighed. He wondered when, if ever, Wilfried would forgive them for this small betrayal. “I am actually here to ask if you would like to play Gewinnen with me.”

“There is no time for that now nor is my board here at the Knights Order,” Wilfried replied.

Melchior giggled, “Oh no. I would not interrupt your work with an abrupt challenge. I hoped we might commune as we once did. Lord Ortwin has graduated but there are still many distinguished lords I hope to defeat.”

“Including myself, as I recall,” Wilfried replied with a smirk.

“Indeed,” Melchior said with a bright smile. “I hope to face your true strategy.”

“We shall see whether you can endure it,” Wilfried replied. He sent his attendant over to talk with Sigsnyr since none of Melchior's attendants nor scholars normally accompanied him to training. They did not agree on a day right then but the planning was in the works. Melchior gave his goodbye then hurried back to the training area where the other novices had already begun.

He had to run and warm up by himself which gave everyone the opportunity to stare at his new costume. The complicated hem fluttered and the vibrant green stood out brilliantly against the ivory environment. Melchior’s retinue hosted the other novices in a corner of one of the larger training areas meaning that there were many more people around then just the youngest knights. Unfortunately for them, he was training and neither Dedryck nor Brunschwarts, who was carefully reforming his methods, would allow an interruption.

During their spring lessons, Brunschwarts had been mean, acerbic, and inflexible. He was quickly growing more compassionate and patient and had even apologized to both Gerianne and the younger boys for pitting them against each other.

“I believed it would motivate you to work harder and that Lady Gerianne had enough standing to endure my harshness without injury. I had not considered your feelings, Lady Gerianne,” he said with a bowed head.

“I accept your apology and hope that future novices are not injured as I was,” she replied.

The other boys also replied favorably and some even apologized to Gerianne for being mean to her. After this the running groups changed with those faster boys that chose to stick with Melchior before shifting to the lead group. Gerianne forced them all to run faster and spar with her before she forgave them.

Felicitus was not as easy to mollify. He’d had such a poor experience being rudely criticized while being offered little in the way of instruction. The invitation to stand with Melchior had felt like salvation even though he paid for it with crueler treatment when Melchior was away. “Father said I was being a coward by huddling beneath your paw and should bear up like a true knight in spite of everything,” he explained tearfully. “I felt I could not get better no matter how much I tried.”

Melchior patted his shoulder and hid him from stares with his body. His uniform attracted more attention than Felicitus’s breakdown so this was of limited use but the thought was there. “It is not cowardly to seek a better situation for one’s self,” Melchior assured him. “Sister says that it is important that you gain strength and knowledge, not how you gain it. I think that was an excuse to read instead of practice etiquette but the sentiment remains the same.”

“You are always protecting me like this,” Felicitus sighed.

“You are still young. It is ok to be protected,” Melchior replied.

Felicitus nodded then looked up into Melchior's eyes. “I will become strong and then I will protect you too.”

Melchior grew shifty. That sounded too much like a declaration of future intentions to accept uncritically. “We shall protect Ehrenfest together,” he said, noncommittally. This seemed to be enough for Felicitus who perked up and recommenced his training. He even joined in to take a turn getting defeated by Gerianne.

A full two days had not passed when Sylvester called his son over to his desk. Melchior had been happily employing his new math skills to process reports faster than ever when he was summoned to the sound-proof bubble.

“Sit,” Sylvester commanded. Melchior folded his hands to keep from fidgeting and waited for his reprimand. He was not sure what he'd done to deserve it but Sylvester had not cleared the room so it could not be that bad. “I received a few letters from the giebes this week. Do you know what they asked?”

“I am not yet aware,” Melchior replied.

“They wish to know whether the mortal realm may be filled with color by their sons of Leidenschaft and daughters of Schutzaria.”

“Oh that sounds fun. Each province could have its own knight uniform color,” Melchior chirped.

“Yeah, I thought so too. Then Ptolemaus sent a kindly worded note asking me to ignore all calls for more diversity or even changes,” Sylvester said with forced calm. His eyebrow twitched showing just how hard this facade was to maintain.

Melchior quietly cheered him on and tried to keep his tone light as well. “The Quartermaster does not support more uniform colors?”

“He does not wish to create any additional difficulties surrounding the occasional need to furnish our knights with temporary replacements for their light armor. A reasonable worry. Also, the Vice Commander does not want to make it any harder to distinguish knights from their charges.”

“So only the giebes are interested in changing.”

“No no,” Sylvester said and slid a paper covered in names across his desk. “The rest of the Knights Order is of the same opinion. The Huntsmaster even wants to outfit his rangers in bright pink to make them easier to see during excursions.”

“It sounds like they have been outvoted,” Melchior chirped.

Sylvester shook his head. “I am the Aub. My word in Ehrenfest is law. Even I do not dare cross the Quartermaster. His loyalty to the duchy has been unshakable and he is hard to replace,” he sighed. “We cannot afford his wrath.”

Melchior’s eyes grew wide. “I didn't know he was such a terrifying figure. Sir Ptolemaus is always kind.”

“Kind!” Sylvester clucked. Karstedt’s grimace broke for a moment. Even Fonsel chuckled quietly. “You think he is kind? Weigemilch does not teach guile.” Melchior frowned at the implications that he'd been manipulated into thinking Sir Ptolemaus was nice. He greeted Melchior warmly whenever they met and never tried to goad him into running.

“He once had half my meals replaced with frossas grass after I accidentally ruined a crate of provisions,” Karstedt whispered. “Even at home.”

“Is frossas edible?” Melchior.

“Technically,” Sylvester replied while holding back a laugh.

“He does not allow the apprentices to leave the dining hall until they eat everything they requested from the servers,” Fonsel said.

“You say he is cruel for forcing people to eat what they asked to be put in front of them?” Melchior questioned.

The three grown men shivered. “That is what he says. I can still see his wicked smile,” Karstedt whispered.

“He even got along with Ferdinand,” Sylvester added. “They would grumble together and make up new and exciting punishments for slacking on duty.”

Karstedt chuckled at some private memory. “Yes, well…Ptolemaus also refused to poison his knights even if the food wasn't much better than poison at the time.”

Melchior listened to them swap stories about the strictness of Sir Ptolemaus with a calm smile. From what they said, the Quartermaster was nice to him because Melchior had never done anything to cross him. “I see why you value his opinion so highly,” he offered diplomatically.

“We just can't afford to have him quit,” Sylvester replied. “No one wants his prestigious title.”

“Is his job difficult?” Melchior asked.

“Well he's a knight doing the job of an attendant. The knights want to be knights,” Fonsel explained.

“Why not hire an attendant?”

“For a lead position at the Knights Order?” Karstedt scoffed. “The Quartermaster also needs to protect the supply lines. An attendant can't do the job.”

Melchior wondered whether that task of protecting the supplies couldn't be delegated to any of the many knights at the Knights Order while an attendant handled the administration. He didn't get a chance to ask because Sylvester suddenly stared at him intently. “You caused all this, you know. Why wasn't I informed of your new style of armor?”

“I sent it along with my report on the fitting,” Melchior said. He placed a hand to his cheek. “Do you read my carefully prepared reports, dear father?”

“Of course I read then,” Sylvester scoffed. “I just don't have time to go over every outfit choice you make. That's work for Florencia.”

“Mother was supportive of my design,” Melchior said. She hadn't been as impressed by the actual clothes but they had her approval.

Sylvester huffed and his shoulders sank. “Look, we have to say no. You can keep your armor but don't wear it for normal training. It's special and we want to make it feel that way, yeah.”

“It shall be as you command, though we may need to compensate Sir Karstedt for my extended use of his family's precious tunic,” Melchior replied.

“Great, done. I'll toss anyone a few coins for this to die down. Should I have them send inquiries to Ptolemaus?” He stroked his bare chin.

“You want to send him more work?” Karstedt asked with a raised eyebrow. It did not sound like he was trying to advocate for Ptolemaus so much as warning the Aub away from making a terrible mistake.

“Nope. I'll have the scholars send out a canned response,” Sylvester decided on the spot. He called Ridyarda to come take the sound-blocker away and sent Melchior back to his work station. Melchior wondered whether he should send a gift by way of apology to Sir Ptolemaus for causing him so much trouble. Better to stay on his good side after all.

Though Melchior couldn't wear his new uniform to the Knights Order, he could wear it to practice at the temple. Sister Streita had nothing but praise both for his outfit and for the Aub for not tearing down the Knights Order by offending the Quartermaster.

“Ptolemaus is a good boy, but he has a difficult position. It's hard to find a Knight of the Vanity in Ehrenfest, though…” she looked at Sigsnyr.

He shook his head vigorously. “That's half the reason I took Chambers instead of Estates.”

“It's about the attitude more than anything,” Streita replied.

“I am committed to directly defending my lord,” Sigsnyr insisted.

She sighed. “He isn't young anymore. We really should be getting him an apprentice. The Aub will have to order someone to take up the role. Let's just hope for your sakes, young knights, that they are as committed to good food and warm lodging.” She sauntered away to being instructing Gottschalk while Sigsnyr and Gerianne shivered.

The Big Meeting

While Melchior was at the temple he took some time to prepare for the seasonal meeting. Isolde was hurrying around consulting with various people in hopes of having everything organized. She and Kazmiar went over his designs for the indoor stream again. After looking at the more complete plans and sending them to Sylvester for a budget review, Kazmiar had begun hiring carpenters and giving orders to the dormitory handyman. There wasn't much work for the handyman to do before installation but he was put in charge of coordinating the workman and keeping the project on schedule.

Isolde wanted to speak with him so she could report on his progress. She was also seeing Veremund and ensuring he was on the list of tax officials for the year, conferring with Herzfeld about their implementation of preliminary measures, speaking with Charlotte’s scholars about her plans and goals for the Academy term, and talking with Kazmiar about the Harvest Festival. She'd taken to bringing Deliroze with her to take notes and carry extra things while leaving Flautzeal with Melchior to act as their point of contact.

Flautzeal also had a roost bracelet now, his parents didn't delay even a single bell upon receiving the schematics. Since they didn't have the mana to brew the entire bracelet, part of his was carved from blitzhigen wood, a tree whose ability to efficiently transfer energy and extreme height made it a natural lighting rod. The more times it was struck by lightning, the more black “glass” that would form in the wood from the crystallization of its sap. The wood gained value the older it was and the more times it had been struck. Flautzeal’s bracelet was more glass than wood and intricately carved with a tiny relief telling a story about Ordoshnelli which served no practical purpose but his brother wanted to help so they let him add a carving. This appeared on his wrist the very next day after his father, both of his father's wives, and brother worked through the night.

Now that he could send and receive messages, he could be included in their spontaneous sharing of short melodies to which he responded with his own. So far, he received an ordonnanz at least once a bell filled with nothing but humming, though he assured Melchior that his family was just excited and would slow down eventually. Melchior felt increasingly sad that his family had not responded to his new magic tool by showering him with missives but he still allowed Flautzeal to transfer the birds to his roost or the one in the High Bishop's office so they could replay the humming for Flautzeal to transcribe without monopolizing his bracelet.

Melchior didn't have much to prepare aside from a short report about his progress with painting Hauchletze's order and another about his goals for autumn and the Academy term. With their free time between messages from Isolde and Flautzeal's family, Melchior studied shorthand. Now that Isolde could read Flautzeal's transcripts, she insisted that Melchior had to learn how as well. “We will not have to create translated copies, leaving evidence all around and delaying our talks,” she said.

After his scholars’ passionate entreaties he agreed, not knowing that Flautzeal used well over a hundred characters so he could capture regional accents and even idiolects. Commoner bards from various regions had stronger accents, of a greater variety than nobles who all attended the same school and exerted extreme social pressure to conform and Flautzeal’s life goal was to collect and create as many songs as possible.

“I have even more unused marks for when I eventually hear more foreign languages,” Flautzeal explained proudly.

Rather than learn everything all at once, Melchior made Flautzeal organize his symbols in groups according to how often they were needed. As the more obscure pronunciations of Yurgen were often denoted by additional marks around a base shape, it was not as difficult as first imagined. Still, on the first day he was only able to read a few example sentences or translate from the written key. But it wasn't painting, so he was happy to do it.

Melchior still enjoyed painting. In fact he was nearly finished with the leather pouches and other gifts. Only Pepin's folio interior was without a reference sketch. It was mostly that everything he worked on reminded him of the challenge from Hauchletze. It was a gift for the archduchess of the duchy most associated with great art. She was sure to have taste approaching Kunstzeal and a deep knowledge of artistic works. It would be impossible to impress her with pure novelty or technical skill. Melchior also didn't feel like he had any deep insights about the poem.

He put off thinking about Hauchletze for another night and worked on Pepin's gift instead. The boards needed to be primed. He left them to dry while he considered what to paint on the front and each panel. Since the front was what most people would see, he decided to leave that simple, perhaps with a decorative border and family crest. Despite knowing Pepin for several years now, he didn’t know what his family symbol was or if they even had one. Fearing that asking might give things away, he wondered whether he could just ask Fridegern. After an ordonnanz filled with surprise and unspoken questions, Pepin’s second older brother informed him that they didn’t have a particular crest but that their whole family had a minor obsession with a certain tree that grew in their back garden. Melchior was invited to come look at it whenever he wished along with doing some sketches for portraits to adorn the inner covers. Fridegern was also sworn to secrecy.

Melchior’s visit to Pepin’s estate would have to wait a couple of weeks. He knew there would be a lot to do after the seasonal meeting and wanted to give the portrait the time it deserved. Isolde was tasked with planning for a morning while Pepin would be stuck at the castle.

The seasonal meeting was being held in the large meeting room in the Northern Building. There was a much smaller chance of interlopers walking past the door and hearing something but Ortolf was still assigned to guard in the hallway. When Melchior asked, Dedryck only said that he felt they needed more vigilance this time.

The agenda had been devised mostly by Isolde with some input from Melchior but all his scholars had papers and boards before them. In Deliroze's case, these were mostly documents for Kazmiar and Isolde but he liked looking just as involved as Melchior’s other scholars.

“I will begin with a few announcements about things which tangentially affect you all but will not require your input,” Kazmiar said. He explained the indoor workshop construction and talked about the dates for the Harvest Festival. Isolde was asked to elaborate on Veremund's role in their planning for Herzfeld’s Entwinklen and alleviating their air quality problems. Once they finished talking about Gerianne and Nikolaus’s schedules, Zipporah came forward with a question.

“My lord. Are you not planning to return to the provinces you visited in the spring?”

“I wished to see Spring Summoning and collect gifts for my sister and… and I have done so. I can allow others to experience the wealth of Haldenzel and already promised Gerianne she could return to Herzfeld,” Melchior explained.

Zipporah paled. “So you do not wish to return to Haldenzel?”

“Why should he wish to go where he is not welcome?” Sebastian grumbled.

“Of course Lord Melchior is welcome in Haldenzel,” she replied with forced calm.

“So you say but I don't recall that being the case,” he countered.

Zipporah was quiet for a moment. “I cannot deny our previous mistake. But I assure you, my lord, there shall be no repeat of our failure,” she said.

The fight happened too quickly for Melchior to intervene. He glanced from the naked derision on Sebastian's face to the total contrition on Zipporah’s and felt confused. He didn't know why Sebastian had such strong feelings on the subject. Was it because of the long standing feud between their provinces or because he'd been given the same accommodations? In any case his decision had nothing to do with what happened during Spring Prayer. Haldenzel gave the highest cut of taxes of any province to the clergy that visited. Now that they had a flourishing printing industry, strong harvests, and more hunting revenue than ever before, this was more of a prize than ever before.

“I recognize how it might be misconstrued as my silent censor, but my choice has nothing to do with those events which I have already forgiven. It is a matter of Temple business,” Melchior replied. Zipporah’s color did not improve even a little.

Both those who understood the facts and those who didn't were brimming with questions. They didn't get a chance to ask because Kazmiar spoke up. “My lord, High Bishop, as something did occur, everyone will see your decision not to return for what will likely be many years, as an expression of your extreme displeasure. We can simply make alterations to other parts of your trip.”

“Very well,” Melchior replied. He was rewarded by relief spreading over Zipporah. Though Sebastian seemed passionate before, he didn't have a strong reaction to Melchior's decision to return. Melchior still made a note to bring Fonsel instead.

“My lord, as I will come of age only a few short weeks after the Harvest Festival…” Sigsnyr began but was cut off.

“You will still be underage when it occurs,” Dedryck finished his sentence. “Gottschalk, however, came of age in summer. You will travel with us to a few towns,” he declared.

“Very well,” Gottschalk replied while doing everything in his power not to react. He wasn't even sure how he felt about it yet. This didn't really count as being selected over Sigsnyr but he was getting to go while Sigsnyr had to stay behind. On the other hand, it was a religious trip. His parents would be unhappy but he had a feeling it would be just as quiet and austere as the rest of Melchior's religious work.

Melchior was struggling through an entirely different mental quandary. He knew, academically, that some of his retainers were graduating this year, but he was only planning an event to celebrate Sigsnyr. As one of his oldest friends, he wanted to participate in his Coming of Age party but Haldis insisted it was a private family affair and Melchior would have to plan his own separate event. Now he had two other sixth years who might feel jealous since he'd forgotten their birth seasons and ignored their becoming adults.

He leaned over to whisper to Isolde. “When does Benedikt come of age?” he asked as he hoped beyond hope it was in winter.

“Spring,” she replied.

Melchior paled but didn't elaborate. Dedryck finished his explanation about the Harvest Festival and Hunting Tournament and turned the stage back to Isolde.

They talked about Charlotte’s goals for the school year and what research she was planning. Melchior declared his intention to provide support and man power. “I am only a second year. We will have four years to do our own research alongside the ongoing study of Divine Protections.” Since Benedikt would be splitting his time between improving Bershmann's paper and his own research into a potion that would increase the body's healing ability for a long duration, they would also provide him extra support. “As a sixth year, he cannot be simply one researcher on a long list of contributors no matter how well decorated the research project.” He wouldn't have the time to source and bargain for his ingredients so Melchior’s knights would assist with his gathering.

The actual making of paper would be overseen by Flautzeal and Deliroze. Flautzeal had enough mana to run the system, a meticulous eye, and experience in crafts. Deliroze needed an excuse to remain at the Royal Academy once his classes were done and already knew how to make paper.

Melchior had his own goals for the year. He wanted to have a tea party with his couple of friends and make new ones. He also needed a book to lend for the Bookworm Tea. Since they had time to prepare this year, offering his second and third sword manuals would make him look both vain and cheap.

“I think they are wonderful, my lord. Anyone would think you are most generous to share something labored over by your own hands,” Dedryck insisted. Melchior still wanted to take something else, especially since Dedryck’s love for sword books made his opinion on this topic unreliable. Even with lukewarm agreements from the other knights, Melchior made the executive decision to pick something else. “You should still take them with you for the dormitory bookshelves,” Dedryck said.

Besides this, Melchior wanted to pass all his classes on the first day but needed a way to escape his room after that. “You can still attend classes you have passed,” Benedikt offered.

“I will work harder to grow my shield, my lord. It just takes such a long time,” Gerianne said.

“Oh,” Sigsnyr laughed. “Ah… I forgot about that. Making your shield large enough to cover your upper body is all but impossible. You know those rings that decorate the shield and measure how big it is?” Gerianne nodded. “Each level takes twice as much mana as the one before it.”

Gerianne paled and held her head. No one knew how much mana she’d given the thing but to know how much more mana she would need to give it to make a decently sized shield seemed to have crushed her spirit.

“I don't think you wasted your time. Dame Strieta didn't give it to you out of malice or anything. She said it can block attacks from fighters of greater mana than your own once its mana exceeds certain thresholds,” Sigsnyr hurried to explain. Gerianne expanded it and held it before her.

“Ah, so my face will be well protected,” she scoffed. It was still only, just big enough to hide her head from a straight on perspective. Blocking anything would require perfect precision.

“Don't cry… don't worry. We can alter the circles to make it better. Or we can drain it into a mana blade, Gerianne. It will be ok,” Sigsnyr cooed as Gerianne’s gruff facade gave way to misty eyes and a quivering lip.

“If you cannot contain yourself then withdraw,” Dedryck said to the teary child. “You are interrupting the meeting.”

“She just needs a moment,” Fonsel said. Gerianne nodded, dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, and reset her face into a scowl.

“I apologize my lord, for my outburst and for my inability to protect you in the dormitory,” she said with a slight hiccup.

“It's ok, Gerianne. I’m not strong enough to protect myself either,” Melchior consoled. Dedryck wanted to interject that no amount of strength would ever afford Melchior the ability to move around by himself but he said something even more outrageous right after. “And we can help you. Other people can add mana to such weapons, right? So long as it doesn't exceed your own contribution.”

“That is not something to offer so casually, my lord,” Dedryck said.

“Having your mana would make it more effective against you. Only those who trust Gerianne unequivocally would give their mana to her weapon,” Fonsel added.

Melchior grew pensive. “It's a shield so it would just make it harder for me to hurt her, right?”

“I guess that's true,” Dedryck replied.

Melchior smiled. “Then it's fine. My offer still stands,” he chirped. Gerianne seemed to rally at the prospect of receiving a donation.

“She is still insufficient protection for you, my lord,” Zipporah said. “We apologize for our inability to free you from confinement.”

Melchior sighed. He would just have to plan for some exciting things to do. “On to my last goal,” he said. “We will not have much winter before we must return to the Royal Academy, but we must find a solution to the parue problem.”

His new retainers looked at each other to make sure it was as confusing for each of them while his old retainers grew grave. The fruit was purported to only grow after the Lord of Winter died so they wouldn't be able to do much before they left and it might be harvested while they were away leaving the commoners to struggle through the winter.

“My lord, I know you greatly enjoy these fruits. You will not be deprived by sharing with noble society,” Isolde assured him.

“My deprivation would not be a problem. We must combat the possibility of the populous starving,” he replied

“I do not think they will starve for lack of a winter sweet,” Isolde assured him.

“So not even you believe me,” Melchior muttered. Isolde and everyone else who’d shared her sentiment but hadn't spoken up, felt a shiver run down their spine. “Will you still seek a solution?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. My lord, as those are your orders,” she hurried to say. “It is just. I do not think the loss of a luxury product will have as great an impact as you imagine.”

“It is not a luxury for the commoners,” Delirose said. All eyes turned to him. “They appear during the deepest cold of winter, when stores begin to run low, after everyone has been trapped in their homes for weeks on end. Even if parue were just a winter sweet, having that small bit of joy during one’s darkest days can be all that renews hope.

“But they are not just a winter sweet. In the orphanage, we never want for sustenance but it is not so for other commoners. Some people cannot afford all the provisions for winter or have some of their provisions spoil or some other small catastrophe. In those cases, parue serves as the only thing which gets them through to spring. They drink the milk and trade the pulp to families that keep animals in exchange for other kinds of food.

“When I told my friend from the forest that there was a way to eat the pulp as well, he cried. He wept because his family would not have to starve in the late winter. I can not say for certain, but he was so thin, he would not have survived another winter like those before.”

For nobles from the kinds of families that could support an Archductal retainer, the concept of starvation was a distant but still looming threat. Not even Archnoble houses could take winter provisioning lightly. They were all quiet while Melchior smiled at Deliroze for his assistance.

“I see. Forgive me my lord. I was mistaken,” Isolde said quietly. She took her notes on the subject and handed them to Deliroze to file away. With a new sheet of paper, she began to think. The task was impossible with how much time they'd been given. Kolteruze hadn't had any success growing the plant outside winter nor would that be safe when the seeds launched with enough velocity to break windows. “I think, what we need is more time or else a more aggressive approach.”

“What do you suggest?” Melchior asked. He didn't have many ideas himself beyond spreading the seeds across the Nobles Forest or the boring castle gardens.

“We must seek more thread from the God of Darkness,” she declared. Both Melchior and Dedryck winced at the thought. Sylvester was not known for being patient nor for taking back his orders. He was also looking for more ways to expand his influence and repair his image. Every small boost was worth taking when his reign was on such shaky ground. “There is also the option of spreading the trees to the Nobles Quarter or forest.”

“That would be disastrous,” Zipporah cried. “A fae fruit appearing in the dead if winter would empower the faebeasts there.”

“It would be too dangerous to harvest,” Dedryck added. “Any groves planted to close would be attacked.”

Melchior wondered whether this was why they didn't appear there. “What about an orchard with its own barrier near the castle. The ivory repeals faebeasts and the barrier would protect the building from the seeds,” Melchior suggested.

“How much mana would that take?” Benedikt questioned.

“It would only need to be activated when the trees appear.” Kolteruze noted. “And it would make collecting stray seeds trivial.”

“This could work, but it will take time to research and set up such a barrier along with approval. If our God of Darkness hopes to debut this sweet this winter. We will not have enough time,” Kazmiar noted. “It seems we will need more time regardless of our solution. We cannot allow any significant percentage of our population to perish over the winter. Even the loss of young children will have grave consequences in a few short years.”

“Perhaps Deliroze should present his speech to the Aub as well,” Fonsel suggested.

“Would he believe the word of a single former orphan?” Isolde asked. “He is also your retainer.” So Melchior could easily put him up to it.

Before, Melchior might have argued that the Aub had no reason to doubt Deliroze but he hadn't believed Melchior either. They would need more to convince him. “We could ask the other gray clery to share their experiences too,” Melchior suggested.

“You think the Aub would listen to the opinions of a few priests?” Gottschalk scoffed.

That was unfortunately true. Most nobles discounted the words of commoners. Melchior was no longer sure that his own family was any different and this would be a bad time to find out.

“Kirk brought back a lot of information when he stood in the square,” Nikolaus said.

“How many testimonies do you think it would take?” Gerianne asked. As much as she wanted new snacks she didn't want the commoners to starve. Her chefs were commoners after all.

“We can ask as many commoners as we want but the Goddess of Light will never be able to see Sterrat³²,” Kolteruze said. “We should focus more on how to solve the problem when we are inevitably told to deliver results on time.”

“Do you have ideas then?”

“If the Aub demands this then he should have no qualms setting up the necessary infrastructure. He has scholars to draw the barrier and gardeners to tend the trees. We only need a plan he can execute.”

Melchior sighed. If only it were so simple. “Any plan we make will be less convenient then sending knights to the Lower City forest to collect the fruits. We will still have to convince Father that they are important to the commoners survival. I will speak to him again and have Kirk collect more testimonies.”

“If that fails you can always cry,” Sigsnyr added.

“I do not think Father is so easily manipulated,” Melchior replied. All of his adult retainers nodded. “Surely not.”

“Who could resist the tears of an adorable child,” Isolde teased.

“I am not adorable,” Melchior snapped in the most adorable way possible. Eikestine and Cecilia covered their mouths to giggle. He shot them a sharp look which only served to spread the dopey grins around the room. “What is next,” he grumbled.

“Ahh… you wish to purchase more stories this year. Lord Melchior asks that we each attempt to write a story to add to his gift this winter,” Isolde announced.

Those who'd already tried and failed held back frowns. Zargerecht had spent more than one evening trying to write something nice but found everything he penned both boring and sad. “If you cannot, that's ok,” Melchior added. Zargerecht nodded along with Benedikt and Fonsel. Everyone else looked excited to try or try again.

After discussing the rest of his gifts for his family in Alexandria, they opened the floor for anyone else to speak. Sigsnyr and Pepin both tried to begin but Pepin graciously gestured for Sigsnyr to take his turn. “My lord, I fear Benedikt and I will be unable to brew an ordonnanz roost that can sustain your mana capacity. The brewing is also both time consuming and complicated. As your parents must dedicate their mana too the duchy, we would like to suggest a different method,” Sigsnyr said. He took a moment to steady himself as excitement filled him. “We believe we can create a tool for you if we might be allowed to use your ingot.”

It took Melchior a moment to realize what was being referred to before he also filled with excitement. “I think that would be wonderful. You know how to work aurumzaubertine?!”

“Oh, no,” Benedikt admitted. “But it can't be that hard.”

“You will want a brewing forge if it will be made into a magic tool,” Flautzeal noted. He held up his own wrist. “We even needed one for this and blitzhigen is much easier to work than metal.”

The magic tool geniuses were momentarily cowed. There wasn't a forge in the castle. They contemplated using the one at the library but they would need much more time and many trials to figure things out. “There isn't enough material to use the usual methods,” Sigsnyr murmured.

“You could commission the Blumeschmidts,” Flautzeal suggested. “They have forges and lesser versions of zaubertine to experiment with.”

“Their services are neither cheap nor easy to command,” Fonsel huffed. “Vulcanift only smiths for the deserving, and all that.”

“Lord Melchior is plenty deserving,” Sebastian countered.

“What are their criteria?” Melchior asked Flautzeal.

“Total creative freedom,” he replied with a shrug.

Melchior held back a cringe. That meant they would be expensive. “May I interject?” Pepin asked. Melchior nodded. “I believe you could come to an agreement if you give them the recipe for roosts.”

“You want us to give away our recipe?” Benedikt asked.

“It isn't actually ours even. I purchased the base from Evones. There was a fee for every single one I made until I’d made enough changes and upgrades,” Sigsnyr explained.

“So there is a version over which you have free use?” Pepin asked.

“There is but why should he give it away for free?” Benedikt challenged.

Pepin rose from his chair to kneel before Melchior. “My lord, I know you do not like to use your status but in this case I humbly request that you use any means necessary to spread this innovation all over Yurgenschmidt such that every child with mana might have one.”

Everyone was quiet. Melchior blinked in confusion. “You want me to demand Sigsnyr’s hard work and spread it as my own trend?” he asked. It was a strange request from someone as kind and understanding as Pepin. Melchior glanced at Sigsnyr who’d grown serious. He didn't seem happy with the idea. “Can you tell me why?”

Pepin looked up, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Many emergencies arise where only a schtappless child is there to bear witness. Had they one of these bracelets or even just a normal roost in their house, they could call for help when it's needed most.” He paused to recollect himself. “The ability to communicate between disparate estates in times of crisis cannot be overstated. For everyone, it can be the difference between life and death and our youngest friends are wholly bereft.

“I beg of you, my lord. It is unlikely you will ever be able to do more than this would do to protect the people of Ehrenfest.”

Melchior looked back and forth between Pepin and Sigsnyr. He didn't want to steal his knight’s hard work or create friction with Hauchletze by stealing from Evones but he understood Pepin's plea. His clunky little box filled him with envy because of how much Gerianne and Flautzeal’s families sent them messages, but it also gave him immense peace of mind.

“Not all parents will wish to give their children the ability to send for help,” Isolde countered. “They will not take kindly to us spreading this trend too aggressively.”

“Do their feelings outweigh the safety of our next generation?” Pepin asked. “I did not think you would be against this.”

“I’m not. I’m simply stating the facts.”

“Any parent that would not choose to give this to their child is a fool,” Haldis hissed. Fonsel nodded along. “Edeltrude and I did not waste even a day creating one for Olishild. We have several spare waiting for our youngest and any subsequent children. I have to agree with Pepin though I do not think it is necessary to commandeer the recipe. Simply purchase it from Sigsnyr.”

“Not all children can be trusted not to embarrass themselves with such a magic tool,” Zargerecht countered. “Consider the possibility that many of our youth arrest their careers before Weigemilch has offered them to Erwachlerhen³³.”

“Better their careers than their lives,” Pepin replied. “How many of us were tarnished before we even had the chance to… to choose our own masters. Would it be better for us to not exist?” All arguments died. No one could argue against Pepin on this topic.

Sigsnyr rose from his seat. “I offer my innovation to you my lord. Please use it as you see fit.” Benedikt stared at him in shock. He could have at least asked for compensation.

“Thank you, Sigsnyr. We will work to spread this trend and I will order a bracelet from Blumeschmidt if they will accept my patronage,” Melchior declared. “I will see that you receive compensation,” he added.

Pepin smiled and knelt down again. He took Melchior's hand and pressed his forehead to the green ring. “Thank you, my lord, from the bottom of my heart.”

“Of course, Pepin. You have convinced me.”

Their meeting ended with a final announcement from Dedryck about the knights going on a hunt before the Harvest Festival and an invitation from Melchior to challenge him in Gewinnen so he could practice. In spite of this attempt at levity, everyone left with heavy expressions and much work to do.

Footnotes

32. The extraordinary can never understand the struggles of the mundane ^

33. “Before their baptism” but also “Before they develop common sense”^

Chapter Text

The Quartermaster

The Harvest Festival was still more than a month away but the many visiting merchants would soon begin traveling home. Isolde said she had a plan for how to get his mundane letters delivered both to Dunkelfelger and Klassenberg but they would still need to be reviewed like all inter-dutchy communication. He needed to have them written and sealed before Franz and his compatriots left.

After writing everything out on the front of a page of embroidery designs, Melchior realized that he didn't need to send Raphaela’s letter with the metal merchant. By that point though, he’d already covered several regular sheets of paper with drawings of historical Ehrenfest embroidery designs based on his memory and paintings in the castle so he chose to forge ahead. Having gotten the text pre-approved, the final collection of papers didn’t spend very long on the Aub's desk. Melchior even got to seal the bundle with the Aub’s ochre wax while helping in Sylvester’s office.

Leibshitze's letter received far more scrutiny since he was sending faestones along with it. It would also have to pass through Alexandria where it would be checked by them as well. He therefore couldn't say anything that might give away trade secrets or alert Ferdinand to things they weren't planning to tell him. “My brother draws information out of the aether, out of mountains of useless dribble,” Sylvester explained with a small shiver.

“Isn't it more likely that Sister will read it?” Melchior asked.

“You should expect them to read it outloud to each other in the middle of a busy office,” Sylvester counseled. “Write with that in mind and you’ll never say anything too incriminating.”

With that in mind, Melchior included a letter inside his letter to his sister and uncle saying hello and sharing some lighthearted facts about how their research was going. This delayed the letter even more.

While those were stuck in administrative limbo, Melchior worked on his next spring and summer wardrobe. He hoped to have at least one thing ready for the first day of summer to avoid the crisis from earlier that year. As he was saving to purchase some Alexandrian fabric to play with, he tried to incorporate that too.

His bracelet-roost order with Blumeschmidt also needed some preparation. Melchior wouldn't admit it but he was afraid of meeting with another house of craftspeople. Learning normal noble manners and mores was hard enough. That there was another secret language between Ehrenfest craftspeople in which he'd twice managed to give offense without properly understanding it, filled him with anxiety.

Since they require full creative freedom anyway, he asked Flautzeal how to skip the need for a meeting. “You do not want to meet with your craftsman?” Flautzeal asked in disbelief.

“Does Kunstzeal require criticism? Does Vulcanift require guidance³⁴?” Melchior asked while trying not to look like he was just trying to dodge an awkward encounter.

Flautzeal sighed. “While that is true in a sense, they will wish to know your preferences. In those there is no greater authority than you.”

“I would like to be surprised,” Melchior said.

“People always say that. It is never true,” Flautzeal countered.

“I would like to learn this lesson through experience,” Melchior insisted.

Flautzeal struggled to hide his annoyance. “Very well, my lord. Since you would prefer not to speak with the maker of an expensive piece of jewelry you must wear for the next year and a half at least and will wish to pass down to your own children, you can provide them with a letter detailing your requirements along with the magic tool recipe and send it with a retainer that knows you well enough to give counsel on your preferences. Of course, you will lose the opportunity to impress Lord Blumeschmidt with your cursory knowledge of magic smithing and to sate your curiosity by asking him questions.”

Melchior shivered in his seat. He had many questions about zaubertine and mana forges and metalworking in general. His knowledge wasn't impressive at all but the possibility of leaving a good impression on a master smith with random anecdotes about Klassenbergian mining magnates was almost too tempting to give up.

“My lord, you have never displayed such trepidation about anything before,” Haldis interjected. “I see no reason for you not to meet with Lord Blumeschmidt.”

“I do not wish to conjure another summer storm and send anyone else home from the castle in tears,” Melchior admitted.

Flautzeal pinched the bridge of his nose while Haldis shook his head. “My lord, you cannot avoid every Daughter of Ventuchte and Son of Vulcanift for fear of giving offense,” Haldis sighed.

“I promised to assist you in these matters. Do you distrust my ability?” Flautzeal asked.

“Oh no, Flautzeal. I have faith in your scholarship. It is just… it has happened every time.”

Haldis took a seat at the table. He fixed Melchior with a gentle smile. “My lord, this is just what happens when we encounter a new culture. Nobles of our noble craftwork families rarely ever chose a faction and have not joined Archductal service in generations. You would normally only interact as a client but through Flautzeal you have been invited in as a collaborator. It will take time to adjust but they seem willing to be patient and extend grace.”

Flautzeal nodded. “My mother was devastated but only because she was so excited to work with you. Veremund spoke very highly of your leatherworking competition, your design ability, and the quality of your patronage.”

“Veremund leaked information about the competition!” Melchior cried. He’d specifically asked everyone to keep quiet about it.

“It wasn't intentional and the secret has not escaped our two houses. His father happened to observe him working on his submission and forced the details out of him. Then he shared his praise during a tea party with my uncle. Then you sent everyone information about the merchant which we often do upon finding something fascinating. You even allow me to spend some of my working time developing my carpentry skill. As you are also an artist, the prevailing feeling is that we have found a kindred spirit,” Flautzeal declared with a smile. “When you found your house, you should consider dedicating it to artistry.”

Since he wasn't going to be the Aub, Melchior would be founding his own house. He hadn't thought about that at all. Were he to dedicate his lineage to painting, he would need to find a wife that was also passionate about art. He thought that might be nice even if the idea of having a wife was still scary.

Melchior felt his resolve melt under the gentle smiles of his retainers. Even Nikolaus was shooting him encouraging glances from the door. He gathered his courage. “Flautzeal, please summon a member of house Blumeschmidt to accept my commission. I will arrange the information from Master Franz about aurumzaubertine and create a page of inspirational motifs.”

“You have information on how to work aurumzaubertine?” Flautzeal asked with a fresh look of disbelief.

Melchior flipped through his nearly full blank book. “I asked about alloying and purification. He also told me about how they add elements though he only knew the theory as that work is done by nobles. There is also a process called ‘foiling’ where you make very thin sheets then use those to decorate things. I’m sure that would be pretty but it seems like a waste,” Melchior babbled.

“May we purchase this information?” Flautzeal asked. Melchior slid the book in his direction.

“It was freely given to me so you are free to take it. Please make two copies and,” he held onto the book, preventing Flautzeal from taking it, “do not flip through it,” he charged.

Flautzeal nodded solemnly then began transcribing with a smile on his face. While he worked, Flautzeal used his roost to plan a meeting with Eisenfleur, a fourth year attendant from the Blumeschmidt family. He intended to open communication with her then have her pass his message to her father but she took the opportunity to take the order herself. Melchior hoped meeting with her would make things easier.

With none of his meetings planned for his remaining castle days, Melchior had every intention of working hard to complete all his tasks. His week of quiet diligence was interrupted by a note from Sir Ptolemaus, asking to meet with Melchior when he next visited the Knights Order.

“Do you think he's still upset?” Melchior wondered aloud.

Isolde read through the note several times. “I see no indication of that,” she replied. The note was passed to Zargerecht who also concluded that the missive gave no indication of displeasure. “Perhaps it is just a friendly chat.”

The two agreed and went back to studying while Eikestine turned pale. She didn't move from her guarding position by the door but shook at the thought of being summoned by the Quartermaster. It was even worse when she was sent alongside Nikolaus to collect information about the impending meeting. Neither of them were well suited to information gathering, what with Nikolaus being too shy to speak to anyone and Eikestine being from the provinces. She was still happy to be entrusted with something. Her fellow retainers all rightfully treated her as a temporary spy even if Melchior himself did not.

Eikestine did convey information to Charlotte but only what Isolde and Dedryck allowed. Plus, Melchior had few secrets worth spilling and was very open about his activities. This meeting with the Quartermaster turned out to be just as uninteresting. At first it seemed exciting when everyone, not just the pair of bungling knights, struggled to collect information about him but this was quickly dulled by meeting the man himself.

Ptolemaus was a man all but forgotten by noble society. He quietly and competently did his work of which there was so much that he could politely decline all invitations to tea. After seeing his office, they couldn't even fault him for summoning an Archduke Candidate rather than visiting the castle. There were boards and papers everywhere along with beleaguered looking assistants and one impressively old layattendant falling asleep next to a cold pot of tea.

He didn't even look up from his work when Melchior entered, partly because his view of the door was obscured and partly because there was no one to announce visitors. The door was also kept propped open as though daring anyone to stop in for a casual chat.

The old man was startled awake by Kolteruze making use of the tea cart. Seeing that the boy had things well in hand, he went back to napping. Only when Kolteruze replaced Ptolemaus’s empty cup with a full one did he look up.

“Thank you… Oh, my apologies for the lack of welcome. Every moment counts when the Harvest Festival approaches,” Ptolemaus said while setting down his pen and moving a stack of documents so that he could see Melchior while sitting at his desk.

“You seem very busy,” Melchior replied. “I hope my ostentation did not cause any great inconvenience.”

Ptolemaus knitted his brows as though trying to remember that such a thing had ever occurred. “Ah,” he said eventually. “That was worrying but as nothing came of it, there is no need to apologize. That is not to say that I dislike your armor or even the idea, it's just that we have a very complicated highbeast to fly.”

Melchior giggled at the imagery of this serious man flying a lionbus with extra bits stuck to it. Ptolemaus was unsure what he said to make this child laugh so he continued on. “However, I must thank you for your most generous gift. We needed more forms.”

“Everyone always needs more,” Melchior replied with a look in his eyes that told of many battles fought against ruled paper. For a moment they just sat there looking at each other then Isolde cleared her throat. “I do not wish to consume too much of your valuable time,” Melchior coaxed.

“Yes… I wished to speak with you about your knight. Lord Sigsnyr.”

“He does not wish to become the Quartermaster,” Melchior replied before the question could be posed.

Ptolemaus began talking then stopped. “I see. That is unfortunate but not surprising.” He looked at the knights Melchior brought with him to the meeting. “I do not think you have anyone else suited to the task.”

Melchior tried to think. Plenty of his knights were good at math but none of them took any interest in attendant duties. “If you would permit a mere scholar to speak,” Isolde began. She waited for Melchior to gesture for longer than usual as he’d forgotten he was the highest status person in the room. “Zipporah and Dedryck are both skilled at administrative tasks. Have you considered any of the more pugnacious attendants or scholars?”

“Sir Dedryck would never consent to a placement so far from direct service to the Aub. Lady Zipporah would seek the wilds’ embrace er long. I do not have the luxury to go hunting very often,” Ptolemaus replied. He ignored their amazed expressions and continued. “As for attendants with the blessings of Angriff, I’ve never met one.”

“Dunkelfelger has many attendants of the sword. There is also Lord Justus,” Melchior countered.

“Lord Justus became an attendant to escape Georgia as it was the only profession that would allow him to do so. Attendants of the Sword are just failed knights forced to pick another profession. I do think they would suffice but we do not have such traditions in Ehrenfest.” Melchior wanted to argue on behalf of the Attendants and Scholars of the Sword but had to pause when he remembered that the only one he knew was in fact a failed knight. “As for Lord Sigsnyr, he is an attendant forced to be a knight by his family. Even for all his skill, he is not pugnacious by nature.”

“I… I will have to ask him about that,” Melchior conceded. “You seem to know a great deal about my retainers.”

“Only your knights because I must know about every knight in Ehrenfest,” Ptolemaus replied. “Of your scholars and attendants I know little. Is this attendant of yours of a pugnacious nature?”

Melchior shook his head while he wondered whether Ptolemaus even knew Kolteruze's name. The Quartermaster sighed heavily. This had been a waste of time. If Melchior's knight did not want to take up his mantle, Melchior would make it very difficult to compel him. It was a refreshing characteristic for a lord to have. His lady of a few years wouldn't have given up the opportunity to gain more influence.

“I see. This has been as fruitful as I could have hoped. If you would excuse my rudeness, I have a great deal of work to do and fewer assistants than ever,” Ptolemaus sighed.

“Did someone poach your assistants?” Melchior asked.

“We have fewer nobles now than we once did,” Ptolemaus replied.

Melchior nodded gravely. This was their fault it seemed. He looked at his retainers, sending a shiver down their spine but no one was in a position to stop him from offering them as tribute. “My retainers often assist in Father and Mother’s offices so they are trained to do administrative work. I cannot come myself but my attendants do not have to care for me while I am at the temple.”

“Are you offering to send your retainers to assist me?” Ptolemaus asked with narrow eyes. He didn't want to waste time talking around the point and was starved for competent help.

Melchior balked at his hungry gaze. He looked towards Isolde who gave him nothing but encouragement. Ptolemaus had already proven himself to be well connected in spite of his hermetic habits. “Yes, that is correct. I can spare Benedikt, my scholar, for at least one day and…” his eyes fell on Kolteruze. He was particularly good at learning new systems quickly. “And Kolteruze, my attendant.”

Benedikt had not accompanied Melchior which spoke volumes about how much he was needed. Kolteruze on the other hand appeared to be quite valuable to his lord. He also had the practiced look of someone who was always paying attention but didn't want anyone to know it. Ptolemaus wasn't going to argue. The boy could sift through his files for all the secrets he wanted so long as he tallied invoices. “You are most generous, Lord Melchior. I will accept. I can only wonder what you will request in exchange.”

Melchior hadn't planned to ask for anything. He knew the pain of having your retainers stolen and felt bad about how much work Ptolemaus seemed to be piled with. That he’d been nothing but kind so far was an added bonus. Thankfully Isolde stepped forward. “We would just like your assessment on future additions to Lord Melchior knight roster,” she said sweetly.

“Only one of the new ones seems likely to stick around and she's set to be poached by Charlotte. It is only a matter of time before that little one pledges his loyalty. Say no to Nantfelda’s son if you want peace,” he said dryly and without pausing to think.

Melchior spent some time dissecting this. He glanced at Sebastian who didn't seem affected by this prophecy about his future. There was also Zipporah’s little brother who’d shown no indication that he wanted to serve and was given to needling those of lower status. As for Felicitus, he already knew that.

“What do you mean by peace?” Melchior asked.

“Lord Claudio is very loud,” was all he would add.

Melchior didn't feel like he gained much from the meeting but Isolde looked happy. That was not always a good thing but he couldn't recall lording over Sir Ptolemaus so it was likely nothing dangerous. He sent Kolteruze and Isolde back to the castle and joined in on the training session. Gerianne was teaching everyone the new form of Squares and getting demolished by Brunschwarts and Dedryck. This meant they were the only people she wanted to play with but she had to take turns with everyone else too. Melchior leapt happily into the fray and found he could enjoy this version of sparring.

An Interesting Tea

Melchior's weekly tea with Florencia and sometimes Charlotte was more lively that week. Charlotte was not in attendance but the guest of honor was Dedryck. As he’d recently returned from the Sovereignty, both mother and son were hungry for details.

“I apologize that I have so little to share. It was just a small family gathering,” Dedryck began with a blush already creeping up his neck.

This was also a rare opportunity to see him in something other than his uniform. Unlike the Starbinding Ceremony, he was dressed casually. Since most of his clothes, aside from his knight uniforms, were from the Sovereignty, this meant he was more than adequately arrayed for tea with the First Wife.

Like Melchior, Dedryck had blue hair but his was a brighter blue. Unlike Melchior, he had no qualms about wearing only blue, perhaps because he could match it with its color opposite since his eyes were orange. His outfit was composed of pale oranges next to pale blues mixed with bright embroidery depicting birds and trees and fruits. Ehrenfest favored more geometric patterns but a trend from Gilessenmeyer had left the Sovereignty with a taste for complex nature scenes.

Sovereign nobles also took cues from the Royals, adding extra capelets on top of their capes even for casual affairs. Dedryck’s had stylized floral cutouts, allowing his ochre cape to peek through, which he insisted made it less formal in spite of making it look more fancy.

Melchior felt underdressed but he was also happy to see new fashion and wondered why he’d never ask Dedryck about it before. His usually shy knight looked comfortable in his vibrant outfit. He’d washed his hair with rinsham and set it such that the sides were close to his scalp but a frill of curls fell over his face. Looking at him now, Melchior felt he understood why everyone was so interested in who he planned to marry.

“A small family gathering, you say,” Florencia teased. “Haldis also planned a small family event.”

Dedryck chuckled nervously. Haldis hosted over two hundred people for Olishild’s baptism and Ehrenfest was a small dutchy. “We tend to have smaller gatherings in the Sovereignty. Perhaps those from greater duchies have such a crowd but for Wesselina we invited only sixty people or so. In fact, my parents hadn't expected me to come. They were most grateful to Lord Melchior for giving me leave.”

Melchior smiled smugly. “Of course I was happy to allow you to attend.”

“It is so nice to see that other families in Ehrenfest are also committed to remaining close,” Florencia added.

Dedryck went fully red now. He managed not to lower his head mostly by looking off to the sides and venting his nervousness through laughter. “Wesselina was intrigued by your gift. I fear I did a poor job of showing her how it works,” he said in a bid to change the subject.

“They are not as popular with knights. Has Wesselina chosen a profession yet?” Melchior asked.

“She has a friend from Dunkelfelger who insisted she must join her in becoming a scholar of the sword. They have taken to sparring and studying together,” Dedryck explained.

“She sounds like she will be a boon to our duchy,” Florencia said. “Were you able to meet any old friends while you were visiting?”

Dedryck blushed at this too. “A few. I had a spar with one of my friends from Jossbrenner who joined the Sovereign Knights order. He’s gotten stronger. I didn't expect to maintain my unbroken winning streak.”

“Oh? Do you find our training to be inadequate to maintain your skills?” Florencia asked.

“No. Not if you look hard enough. The skill disparity in Ehrenfest makes it difficult to find good training partners but Fonsel has been very dedicated to matching my strength and Alexis continues to excel. It is unfortunate that Cornelius and Angelica have moved away.”

“Are those our only strong knights?” Melchior asked. He felt sure there were more.

“No, but I don't know many people I can ask for a match or to train with me consistently. In truth, Dame Streita has been a great boon. I worried that Erwachlerhen would forsake me once I graduated. That is not to say that the instructors at the Knights Order are lacking but there is something which only Dauerleben can provide,” Dedryck explained.

“It is a true shame that we allowed her to retire so quietly,” Florencia mused. “Have you sparred with Wilfried?”

Dedryck shook his head. “He mostly works with his own knights and occasionally Lord Bonifiatus.”

“Should we ask him to join our training sessions?” Melchior asked.

“That would not be safe,” Dedryck replied nonchalantly. “I cannot protect you from someone with so much mana.”

Melchior was taken aback. He knew Dedryck was overly cautious but didn't think he actually saw Melchior’s siblings as a threat. Melchior looked to Florencia. As usual, her face gave nothing away. “It would be best to engage when Melchior is not also training at the Knights Order,” Florencia agreed.

“Then I could not watch,” Melchior countered. He struggled to process the fact that his mother seemed to agree he should be wary of Wilfried. Did she feel that way about Charlotte?

“You are not yet skilled enough to gain much by observing,” Dedryck replied. “It is not worth the risks.”

“What risks can Flutrane bring to Schutzaria?” Melchior snapped far more aggressively than he intended.

Dedryck’s eyes grew wide. “Were Ewigeliebe not essentially to all life, Leidenschaft would not abide him. Was it not just so between our five pillars³⁵?”

Melchior was stunned into silence. Perhaps he should have expected such a sentiment from the world’s worst older brother. “Melchior,” Florencia said softly. “It is a knight’s place to be cautious. He does not mean to say that Wilfried would repeat those mistakes of our recent past. It is simply that his shield cannot protect you in the event of an accident. Until you have your own schtappe, it is best to give the swords of those stronger than your knights a very wide berth.”

“I understand, Mother,” Melchior replied. He sighed with relief. Of course his brother would not wish him ill.

Dedryck felt less relieved. He did believe that Wilfried was a danger to his younger brother and if not Wilfried himself, than his retainers. He didn't fully trust Melchior's parents or Charlotte either but the threat of them sending his charge up the towering staircase felt less immediate. Theirs was a latent threat breed from their proximity to power while Wilfried felt more actively malicious somehow, as though he were a member of a different family, adopted by this collection of loving people, waiting to be pushed to the edge.

“Tell us about the ceremony,” Florencia said, dispelling some of the tension. “Is it true that Her Majesty has been officiating such things?”

“If that is so, we do not have the standing to command her presence,” Dedryck chuckled. “It was much the same as they have always been. I didn't have the opportunity to share with my parents the changes we’ve made.”

“It was not just Olishild’s baptism?” Melchior asked.

“All those in our factions have placed the gods back at the center of their ceremonies,” Florencia said. “Kazmiar has been forced to attend many a feast as a result.”

That was good, Melchior thought, though he wondered whether Kazmiar had time for that. Noble baptisms themselves weren’t very long but the subsequent party could continue for several bells. Kazmiar wasn't a fan of socializing so having to attend six or seven baptismal feasts per year would be trying on him. “Is it only Kazmiar?” he asked?

“The other priests are all commoners. It would not be appropriate to invite them into fellowship,” Florencia replied.

Melchior meant to ask whether Kazmiar was officiating all the baptisms but was dismayed to hear that even though he wasn't, the other priests weren't being treated with any more courtesy than before.

“Not even Sister Streita?” Dedryck asked.

Florencia placed a hand to her cheek. “Those who can afford Sister Streita’s service will choose to employ the High Priest for only a small additional fee.” Besides her, all the noble clergy were apprentices and they would retire soon after coming of age to get married. Nothing would change so long as the clergy were not nobles as well. He began to wonder whether they could raise more noble blues themselves.

“I hope that people will take rituals more seriously so that Ehrenfest can gain many divine protections when we redo the ritual next year,” Melchior said. “Mother, do you think people would attend a mana drive for the Divine Instruments.”

Florencia asked what that would entail and Melchior explained. “I fear few would seek the gods favor in that way though they might seek advantage from you,” she mused. Melchior's face fell. “Let us consider it when you are older and more cunning.”

Melchior nodded. Once again his own inadequacy was holding things back. He resolved to develop more guile or to try and put the idea to the back of his mind.

The Potter

When he returned to the temple, Melchior tried to focus on one of his seasonal tasks. “Kirk, we plan to send you back to the lower city to speak with people about the importance of parues. Do you have any concerns?”

Kirk and Lothar took a long moment to blink at each other in amazement before beginning to ask clarifying questions. “You need information on the ‘importance’ of parue, my lord. Is there anything more specific you would like to know or shall I pose this as a general question?” Kirk asked.

“We must obtain an extension from the Aub. To do that we need an overwhelming number of testimonies about the necessity of parues to prevent the starvation of the population. Perhaps we should have you stand in a poorer part of the city rather than the main plaza,” Melchior explained.

Lothar paled while Kirk became pensive. “My lord, it would not be safe to send your attendant to such a place,” Lothar said.

“You think that those of lesser means are more likely to attack Kirk?” Melchior countered.

“A boy dressed in such fine attire is sure to draw negative attention. Those citizens are also much less likely to recognize an attendant uniform and would thus be undeterred,” Lothar replied.

Nikolaus coughed like he was choking back a laugh. “Lord Melchior would not send him alone,” he whispered, awkwardly.

“I will employ a knight, as before,” Melchior explained.

Lothar didn't look less anxious about it but he still nodded. Kirk meanwhile, vibrated with excitement. “I can wear my own brooch this time. It will be farther to carry a table but I think people will be happy to speak with me again.” They shared their plans with Isolde who made a note to request a layknight for the job. With breakfast and the reports finished, he had only studying to distract him from the problem of finding more rituals for the nobles of Ehrenfest.

Try as he might, Melchior couldn't stop thinking about the donation drive and protection acquisition. He wanted to find more rituals that would appeal to the nobles but he couldn't even read the High Bishop's bible. The translations and transcriptions only detailed the necessary rites for a functioning temple. The more obscure stories of the gods gifted to him by Rozemyne held some clues to events that could be reinterpreted into rituals like the entreaty by Geduldh's subordinates, but Melchior had neither the time to dissect them nor the additional context he would need to draw definitive conclusions. That he did his reading under the lionshead peony tree was all that calmed his frustrations.

Well, there was also the visit by his new sculpting instructor. Melchior had forgotten about this meeting amidst the business of the week. He was therefore pleasantly surprised when Lothar announced it as part of his schedule for the day. Melchior practiced his music jubilantly then changed into some of his old training clothes just before lunch. They were looser than normal clothes by their nature so they still kind of fit. That they should be passed down soon was just an indication that they were perfect for playing with clay.

Wil the potter had more refined manners than Melchior had come to expect from commoner craftspeople. As it turned out, their sessions had been delayed by a short but intensive class in basic manners forced on Wil by the gray clergy. Lothar and Kirk were worried that Melchior’s knights might finally snap if another commoner spoke to their lord like Ilsa. “I was happy to do it, my lord. I am excited to teach my trade to someone as passionate as you.”

“I am excited to learn,” Melchior assured him. Alongside Melchior were Flautzeal and Lyle. Flautzeal was included because he begged while Lyle had displayed a passion for manipulating the edible clay along with all other artistic endeavors and caring for the plants. Melchior hadn't been able to see Lyle very often since he was barred from the orphanage. Now that Lyle had gotten over his fear of the Noble's Section, he was happy to be summoned for sculpting lessons.

The three students sat on one side of the table while Wil stood on the other. He explained the basics of working with clay. “We begin with wedging,” he said and started slamming clay against the table and rocking it back and forth. Lothar and Sebastian were stunned while the students were immediately enamored.

Pottery, it turned out, was a highly physical craft. There was the loud mixing process but also rolling with big wooden cylinders, lifting fragile but heavy slabs of clay, and so much squishing of things against other things. After a little while, Wil forgot the careful instructions he’d received and rolled up his sleeves revealing impressive arm muscles and a few scars. He told the stories of his clumsy handling of ceramic shards while warning the boys to take care and correcting their form.

Kirk stood to the side taking notes and watching with great interest. Surprisingly, Kazmiar also watched with interest. He didn't normally insert himself into Melchior's dealings with the lower city, having much work to do in general, but this time he wanted to be present. Occasionally he asked for elaboration on the lessons but mostly he sat at the little table drinking tea.

Melchior struggled to manipulate the strange new substance. It was not as malleable as the edible clay but it could hold a crisper edge. The act of using his body weight to do something was also new. Even with sword fighting, you didn't throw yourself into each movement but without using his meager mass, the clay took ages to wedge.

Lyle and Flautzeal picked this part up much quicker. Neither had qualms about slamming their blocks into the table either. While everyone waited for Melchior to finish they talked about what they wanted to sculpt.

“I’ve been trying to make people with the dough but they always look lumpy,” Lyle said.

“Are there any instruments made of clay?” Flautzeal asked.

Wil got clay in his hair as he scratched his head. “Instruments? Like tools or knives or something?”

“Musical instruments,” Flautzeal specified.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Then again, I mostly make statues and reliefs. If you know a lot about instruments, and even if not, I think you should give it a go. That's what clay’s all about,” Wil replied enthusiastically. Melchior and Lyle giggled. “What?”

“Flautzeal knows more about musical instruments than anyone,” Lyle said.

“Not than anyone,” Flautzeal countered.

Melchior paused his slamming to lean in. “His whole family are instrument makers,” he whispered.

“Not my whole family. Some of us only play instruments and have other professions,” he said.

“Are there any clay instruments in your collection?” Melchior asked.

Flautzeal fell deep into thought. He counted something on his fingers, made a whistling sound, and eventually replied that he didn't know. “We don't always know what they're made of, at least in Yurgen.”

“How many instruments does your family own?” Wil asked.

“Five hundred and forty-seven give or take,” Flautzeal replied. Everyone stopped, jaws dropping in unison. “Many of them are small rattles or something similar. It sounds more impressive than it is.”

“No it doesn't,” Kazmiar huffed. “That's incredible. You just keep them in a closet somewhere? Never show anyone.”

“We show them to guests. Lord Melchior has played a couple,” Flautzeal said.

“Aldegiege even played drums for us,” Melchior added.

“I can ask if any are made of clay,” Flautzeal offered while holding up his bracelet.

Wil looked at the jewelry intently. “That's some impressive carving. Can I have a closer look?”

Flautzeal offered his wrist while extolling the extraordinary skill of his older brother. “He really enjoys doing tiny pieces. Something about the fine details makes him excited. He once carved a whole portrait on a wooden disk the size of a small silver.”

“My my, he really is that good, eh?” Wil clucked. Lothar coughed lightly. “Ah… I mean. He seems to be blessed by Kunstzeal herself?” Kirk gave an encouraging smile. “How do you get gold to attach to glass like that? Also carving glass must be challenging.”

“It's actually a kind of wood,” Melchior said. “If you can believe that. And the metal is made of mana so it isn't hot even when it's liquid.”

“It's made of what now?” Wil asked.

“Mana,” Melchior repeated. “You know magic.”

“I don't know magic but I understand what you mean. You can make solid objects? I thought it was just sparkles.”

“Oh no. Magic covers a wide variety of disciplines. Blessings are only one small part of using mana. A big part is making magic tools, like Flautzeal's bracelet or that box.” Melchior pointed to the ordonnanz roost that now lived on his shelf. “They send messages.”

“Messages? Like words on wooden boards?” Wil asked. He sat down to begin his example piece. This was supposed to be a ceramics lesson after all. As fascinating as it was to learn about magic, he had a job to do and get back too.

“They are verbal for the most part. There's a different way to send letters,” Melchior said.

Melchior was finally done mixing his clay. He joined everyone in sitting down and pinching their lumps into unrecognizable shapes. Flautzeal paused to send his message. He hummed a short melody then said, “do we own any ceramic instruments?”

Lyle and Wil watched the white bird fly through the wall with wide eyes. “I continue to be amazed,” Lyle said. “You do not use the usual message format, Lord Flautzeal,” he pointed out.

“Each of my family members uses their own tune to identify themselves. Grandfather gave me my own after my bracelet was complete,” he said proudly.

Melchior could not be more jealous if he tried. He squished his clay with a little to much gusto and ruined the zantze leg he was working on. “It's hard to make art without a reference,” he muttered.

Flautzeal ordonnanz returned with a short hum and the sound of knocking in the background. “We have discovered a couple. Do you need one, my dear?” Lady Matilda said once.

“We were discussing it with our pottery instructor and we were curious. Thank you for looking. I would like to see them when I return home,” Flautzeal replied.

“I want to see them too,” Wil muttered. Musical instruments made of clay from exotic lands sounded fascinating beyond his imagination.

Flautzeal’s eyes lit up. “We shall invite you over!” he declared.

“I'll set them aside,” his ordonnanz said.

“You plan to summon a merchant you don't need so he can look at your family heirlooms?” Sebastian asked once the ordonnanz finished speaking.

“All lovers of music are welcome in our home!” Flautzeal declared.

“Perhaps it would be better to bring a few pieces here,” Lothar suggested. Wil’s complexion was looking worse by the minute. He’d worked hard to learn his manners but he wasn't ready to debut at a noble estate.

“Unless they are fragile. I would not wish to impose,” Wil added.

“There is no need to be shy, Master Wil. As I said, all lovers of music are welcome in House Klavier. We will show you all our instruments and you can identify the ones made of clay. Then we can try to recreate them!”

Melchior giggled. “You will never escape,” he said.

Wil paled further. “I do not want to impose,” he repeated in a high voice.

Flautzeal was too busy sending off the good news to hear this. He had to be stopped from dragging Wil away that very night. Melchior lent him a wooden board to write the summons. “Just present this to the knights at the North Gate. They will let your carriage through without questions.” Wil accepted the board looking ashen. A countdown of three days began to play before his waking eyes.

Footnotes

34. "Can those of lesser skill judge those of greater skill." You could totally keep going - Does Angriff require pointers? Does Dunsteal require coaxing? Does Mestinora require proofreading?^

35. Melchior asked how siblings could be a danger to one another. Dedryck replies that brothers are always close to conflict while implying that Melchior and Wilfried are not true brothers (as Leidenschaft and Ewigeliebe are in-laws) then points to the civil war as an example.^

Chapter Text

The Potter Cont.

The rest of their lesson was given in a shaky voice. Wil went over the tools he’d brought for Melchior. There was only one set since he was only told about Melchior being his student. The boys tried the sticks with their funny ends and the oddly shaped pieces of metal. They dragged them through their blobs and studied their effects on their terrible sculptures.

Over the course of the evening, Wil got half way through a sculpture of Lothar's face. He demonstrated how he used each tool to add details and refine shapes. “As an apprentice you would learn more about preparing the clay and cleaning the shop before this. It's kind of nice to skip to the fun part of teaching,” Wil mused. He also did a brief segment on how to clean up. Melchior and Flautzeal were not allowed to help.

Once the lesson was over, Kazmiar took his leave and Kirk brought over the box with Wil's other offerings. The first thing was a pair of long clay tiles with different colors on them. “These are the same colors,” he said while showing off two sets of very different colors.

“They aren't,” Melchior replied. He wondered for a second if Wil was trying to trick them or just exhausted from the lesson.

Wil laughed and shook his head. “They are, it's just that the color of glaze can change considerably once fired. So this black becomes red and this bluish turns yellow. I was told that you like to paint. You might want to add color to your pieces. In that case, you’ll need this to choose colors.”

“Can you mix colors?” Lyle asked, touching one of the unfired swatches, immediately smudging it. “Oh!”

“Ah, that's just a dust deposit holding on by force of will. So be careful. Also don't eat it,” Wil said.

“Why would we eat it?” Flautzeal asked. He touched the fired colors which were well attached.

“I suppose you're old enough to know better but you’d be surprised what looks appetizing to a kid,” Wil replied.

Along with the tiles he’d crafted the shallow bowl with a teapot spout. There were a few versions. One had something more like a pitcher spout while another also had a handle. “This one was fun but I don't think the handle helps much,” he explained.

Melchior bounced in his seat and touched the vessels all over. He called for water and a blooming bud to test them. Lothar was selected as the operator. He took this charge very seriously, sending Lyle for additional resources.

Once everything was assembled, Kirk, Lyle, the noble boys, and Wil sat watching Lothar elegantly transfer water between many vessels. Sigsnyr and Dedryck drifted away from the door to get a better angle as Lothar began by filling each one with cold water to test the quality of the spouts. One was rejected for dribbling with cold water, a sure sign that it would fail to beautifully pour hot tea. Another was impossible to hold elegantly, since guests would watch the tea being poured, that also wasn't acceptable. Once two were selected to undergo hot water tests, Wil began asking questions.

“So the spout has to be perfect?”

“Naturally,” Lothar replied. “I was not a part of the ideation for this new pot. However, I can say that it should pour cleanly, ideally with a smooth stream, display the tea to advantage, and be complementary in design to Lord Melchior's other dishes, at a minimum.” He filled both bowls with hot water to warm them then poured it out. Tea made from small, dried blossoms was added then washed.

Everyone watched the little flowers puff up and spread their petals again while the water drew blue from them. Around each one an aura of color formed. “I’ve never watched tea brew. It's quite beautiful in a way,” Flautzeal observed.

“These are just regular tea. I think the blooming buds will be even more impressive,” Melchior said.

Part of Melchior's largest set of tea cups, a collection of twelve decorated with blue leaves, were warmed then placed before the audience. Lothar poured equal amounts of tea in each. It wasn't a lot, since the bowl couldn't hold very much.

“How did you know how much to pour into each cup?” Lyle asked.

“After pouring a bit of tea, you learn how to estimate these things,” Lothar replied.

“A bit of tea,” Kirk scoffed quietly. Lothar had poured thousands upon thousands of pots of tea. Estimating the contents of a vessel was, for him, a trivial task especially when he could see the level of the liquid.

Wil tossed the tiny amount of liquid into his mouth while the boys sipped a little bit. He glanced around once his cup was empty and blushed. Since no one reacted to his faux pas, he chose not to point it out himself. The flavor was too delicate for his taste but he wouldn't call it bad.

The flavor of the tea was the least of everyone else's worries. They discussed how it looked being served and whether the host should serve it themselves. Melchior argued that having an attendant hovering over the table wouldn't be as elegant while his attendants assured him that the task was beneath him. He would only be able to serve tea to those equal in status meaning that, without an attendant, he would be asking others with zero experience with his new tea bowl to elegantly serve him tea. “Attendants exist specifically to alleviate these confusions,” Lothar explained.

“Then I could serve some people?” Melchior asked.

“Technically speaking, yes,” Lothar replied.

Melchior nodded thoughtfully while the attendants shared worried glances. Lothar caught Sigsnyr eyes. “If you would offer counsel, Lord Sigsnyr,” he said. Though Lothar had never seen it, he could easily guess that Sigsnyr took every chance he could to serve his girlfriend tea when they were together. He would know much more about an attendant-less gathering of archnobles than anyone.

The young man returned a radiant and genuine smile. “My lord, as an Archduke Candidate you are never without attendants. However, if this new trend spreads, I predict many will learn to pour tea for their guests. You would not want to be unable to perform the task on that fateful day when Dregarnuhr weaves your threads so.”

Melchior also burst into a smile. “It is as you say,” he agreed.

“Before then, we attendants should develop a new style for serving this tea. As we will be at the table, it will have to be more beautiful than normal,” Sigsnyr said with delight.

Lothar felt anxiety prickle down his back as Sigsnyr walked over to stand next to him. Dodging the knight who wished to be an attendant’s attempts to pledge himself as Lothar's disciple was a constant struggle. Now he was creating a joint project to bring them ever closer. Being the disciplined man that he was, Lothar simply smiled. “That is so. It must also be understated so that the task does not become over long,”

Wil watched what began as a silly collection of pantomiming develop into a serious discussion about how an attendant standing at the table should use the bowl versus a host sitting at the table. He watched and listened carefully, trying to grasp what changes he needed to make before throwing his next set of spouted bowls.

The discussion was confusing in many ways. He couldn't grasp whether he should make the bowl harder to use so that nobles could silently communicate their superiority or easier to use so that no one would embarrass themselves. A larger version might be nice but the nature of the blooming tea favored smaller gatherings. Only one thing was certain, he could make it prettier. His first designs focused more on functionality as he was just exploring the concept. It was clear now that no amount of ornamentation could be considered “too much”. He had no plans to create a national treasure but he did want to have fun adding superfluous statuettes and filigree.

He found more inspiration in seeing the tea for which the vessel was invented brewed in one of the prototypes. Many layers of flower petals and leaves had been laid over one another and tied together. Once set into hot water it unfurled into a new kind of blossom. Yes, Wil had many ideas for his next designs.

“I will purchase these two,” Melchior said after it became clear the attendants would be engaged for a long time. “I will also officially commission another. Can it be ready by winter?”

“Another simple one can be made but anything more complex will take more time,” Wil replied.

“I see. Then something simple which meets Lothar's other criteria would be acceptable,” he replied. Kirk presented a board with notes from the discussion and a summary of Lothar's recommended changes.

“Um… thanks,” Wil said. He squinted at the board trying to discern anything of value. He could read and write his name and a few words for the materials his foreman purchased often but not much more. He would have to ask his foreman to read it later.

“Will you be adding one to the atrium, Lord Melchior?” Lyle asked. Kolteruze would want to look at it. Had he known new teaware was being debuted, he would have wanted to be present for the ceramics lesson. Alas, Lyle would have to relate everything he remembered instead.

Melchior thought about it then nodded. “I would like to have at least one more tea party with Adaire and Kolteruze likes to test new tea when he visits. The other one we can use and show to Lady Eisenfleur at our consultation.”

“Lady Iron Flower?” Lyle asked. “That's a cool name.”

“It is! She is of House Blumeschmidt. I hope they can create a silver version for use at the academy,” Melchior explained.

“You also need a silver version?” Wil asked, his curiosity overcoming his training.

“Silver dulls in the presence of many poisons. It is essential when one must interact with so many new people,” Melchior explained as though he were not speaking of treachery.

Wil paled at the thought. “People try to poison you?” he asked.

“It has not happened yet but most people experience it at least a few times,” Melchior replied nonchalantly.

“Most people...right…ha ha,” Wil looked at the board in his hand then back to the boy who was obviously the center of everything in this room. The gray orphans insinuated that he was very important but hadn't said how. Was he really important enough to poison? Wil clutched his board. He would need to be extra careful. He would ensure that harm did not come to these children through him both because they seemed like nice kids and because he valued his own life.

Melchior's subsequent temple days were spent sculpting instead of painting. To himself he made the excuse that he needed time to consider the poem before he began on the diptych but in truth, he was tired of his favorite activity and completely baffled by the poem.

While studying and working, he didn't have to think about it but while standing ten paces from an archery target, he had nothing else to think about. By now he could keep perfect form without much focus. If he deviated too far Gerianne would remind him but so long as he was doing the right motions, there was nothing to interrupt his thoughts.

“To gaze beyond the heaving wind, I lay down burdens bright and grim. My blade, my cape, the searing sun. My chorus rising though as one,” he muttered to himself. Ehrenfest was not a duchy devoted to artistic pursuits so interpreting poetry was not a part of his education. He had to repeat it to himself several times before the sentences even made sense.

“Have you begun offering your shooting to the gods?” Gerianne asked.

Melchior paused. “Wha… no. I can only shoot ten paces. Schlageziel would be offended,” he replied.

“That might be true,” Gerianne mused. “Do you think I have offended Lord Ewigeliebe?”

“I don't think he's actually the god of swords just because he uses one. His domain is life and swords bring death,” Melchior argued.

Gerianne thought about this for a few shots. “What were you muttering then?” she asked, choosing to consider this revelation more deeply at a later date.

“The poem from Hauchletze. I don't understand it.”

“How does it go again?”

Melchior recited it again. It was burned into his mind now. “Fascinating words there,” Strieta said behind them.

Both children jumped. It took great self control not to release the arrow Gerianne had just drawn back. She relaxed then turned around with a scowl. “You scared me.”

“And you didn't panic. Good job,” Streita replied. Gerianne worked to maintain her annoyance after being praised. “Now, did you write that, Lord Melchior?”

He shook his head. “It was sent to us from Hauchletze along with a commission for the first wife” be explained with a sigh.

“A strange poem to send a child,” Streita observed. “At least, I think it is.”

“That's what Dedryck said,” Gerianne noted.

“Oh,” Streita called him over. “What do you think the poem means?”

“Which poem?” he asked and was informed. “Ah. I think it’s about the end of something, perhaps the end of life. Not the end of childhood despite the reference to wind. It struck me as a strange choice for someone at the beginning of nearly everything in their life.”

“I like that,” Streita mused. “I think it's good to contemplate the end at the beginning. It helps you to appreciate the here and now. What do you think about it now, Lord Melchior?”

“I don't know how to paint that,” Melchior replied.

“Well, it still has strong imagery. The laying down of burdens. The sword, representing responsibility, and the cape, representing allegiance. The letting go of retainers and such,” Streita said.

Melchior blinked in amazement and muttered the poem again. “I didn’t see any of that. And where does it talk about retainers?”

“The chorus. Your retainers all work together but lend you all the credit, if you want to take it, like a choir pretending to be one singer,” she explained. “Taken all together, I see someone coming to the end of their reign seeking something new beyond the trappings of power.”

“Like a temple full of students,” Gerianne offered.

“Yes… I suppose that's right. I did gain much after laying down my burdens,” Streita said and patted Gerianne on the head.

Everything made more sense now but Melchior felt conflicted. He didn't understand things as well as Gerianne and Dedryck seemed to and hadn't been able to draw his own conclusions. On the other hand, he now knew much more about the poem and could begin to see a painting in his mind.

“I should study more poetry,” he sighed. There wasn't much in the duchy as far as he knew.

“We study nothing but,” Streita scoffed. “All those prayers and not one of them can just say what they mean straight out.”

“And all the songs you have to learn for school,” Dedryck huffed.

Thinking of it that way, there was a lot of poetry in Ehrenfest. “I guess I’ll have to look at everything again,” Melchior declared. Then maybe he could decode any subsequent commissions by himself. “Thank you, everyone,” he said and went back to shooting.

Dedryck wasn't sure that he'd done anything but he resolved to lend Melchior the only book he owned, a short volume filled with poetry written by his friend. He watched the children shoot for a few more moments before returning to Sebastian to continue sparring.

Blumeschmidt

The next morning Melchior accepted Dedryck's gift with a bright smile. “I will take very good care of it,” he promised while stroking the simple leather cover. It was a strange little book. Though handwritten with careful penmanship on fine parchment, it wasn't properly bound. Perhaps this was because it was so thin. A simple stapled spine held no more than twelve sheets of parchment. The cover was embossed with the words “for dedryck” in all minuscules.

Melchior would have to wait until that evening to be confused by these new poems. He could be momentarily distracted by the implications of intimacy between his shyest knight and the mysterious author, a scholar from the Sovereignty who Dedryck wouldn't name. “They do not want their name attached to the book for reasons even I barely understand,” was all he could say. “Do you mind me telling you once you finish reading it? They would greatly appreciate you experiencing their art on their terms.”

Melchior agreed to remain ignorant and allowed the book to be set aside. His schedule for the week was busy enough without interrupting it with poetry. He had his normal training and studying but also needed to meet with Eisenfleur about his bracelet and tea bowl. His envy was at an all time high after it was decided that Deliroze would receive one of the roost bracelets brewed for the inevitable day when Melchior’s broke from fatigue. They just hadn't expected that to happen so quickly that he couldn't use them. Deliroze didn't have many people to send messages to, but he was still glowing with delight.

His secret excursion to Pepin's would also occur during his castle days. He needed Pepin to be away from home so it couldn't happen during his temple days when Pepin's whereabouts were harder to predict. He might be doing extra work in Melchior's chambers, assisting around the castle, visiting the library, or at home and there was no way to know for sure without asking or giving orders, tipping him off. Isolde's efforts were stymied by the simple fact that Pepin tended to make plans the night before or the morning of as opposed to Kolteruze, who planned his off hours weeks in advance, or Zargerecht, who'd kept the same schedule since Haldis had been hired. Pepin had some events planned with more lead time but they were too far away at the moment.

Melchior and his scholars discussed all this before the meeting with Eisenfleur. Only Isolde knew the real reason he wanted to visit Pepin’s family. To everyone else they simply said that he'd had a passing flight of whimsy and was now committed to follow through. “Lord Fridegern had such effusive praise for their tree that I was consumed by the desire to see it,” Melchior only partially lied.

Benedikt chuckled. “You have such a passion for flora. It is no wonder you created a greenhouse in the temple.”

“That was mostly a happy accident but it is a wonderful place,” Melchior replied.

“Indeed. You really should try to visit,” Flautzeal added.

Benedikt sighed. “My parents will not give their permission. As my work can be conducted without going, I have no way to force the issue.”

“Did you not come of age in the spring?” Isolde asked.

“Well… yes, but I still live at home and I value my parents' counsel. That is not to say I believe their opinion of the temple is correct but it is true that they are not alone in having such thoughts,” he replied.

“That is to be expected,” Melchior said sadly. Ortolf’s family was the same way. Then again Eikestine and Cecilia visited for training after hearing about Sister Streita. Veremund came for the food. Maybe all Benedikt needed was sufficient incentive. “I hear that many scholars wish to view the atrium. Wouldn't your parents be willing to let you take advantage of such a coveted invitation?”

Benedikt stroked his stubbly chin. He and Fonsel had accepted Melchior’s request to attempt to grow beards. It was not a fast process in his case. “They might. I will try that angle, my lord.”

“One must donate at least a bit of mana as well. Do not be surprised when it is requested,” Isolde added.

“Everyone who's visited has donated mana?” Benedikt asked in disbelief.

“Everyone has been asked if they would like to donate to the Divine Instruments,” Deliroze replied with a wry smile. Isolde flashed him a grin before resetting her neutral expression.

Benedikt missed this little exchange as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Does this require a lot of mana?”

“Only as much as you would like to give,” Melchior replied. “The more mana you donate more often, the faster you can learn to summon them,” Melchior said.

“I’m not sure how useful that would be for me personally, but I’ll keep it in mind. We really should finish our discussion about the Blumeschmidt visit. We keep getting sidetracked,” Benedikt said.

Melchior nodded. There wasn't much to talk about but he didn't want to make another mistake. He turned towards Flautzeal. “That's true. We must remember to bring my ingot and the notes from Master Franz. I also have needles left over. Do you think Eisenfleur would like some?”

“Her family makes needles,” Flautzeal began. Melchior hadn't considered that at all. Of course she wouldn't need needles. “So she will be very excited to have some of foreign make to examine.”

This was not the conclusion Melchior would have come to alone. “I am glad you are here, Flautzeal,” Melchior replied. Flautzeal blinked and blushed and murmured his thanks. “I was wondering though. Couldn't Klavier handle this order?”

Flautzeal shook his head then stopped. “Perhaps, but it would take much time and experimentation. If you would like to have it ready by winter, only Blumeschmidt can fulfill your order.”

“Are we giving them too little time?” Isolde asked.

“It's not that. They are just faster than anyone else. They also specialize in jewelry where my granduncle specializes in instruments. He would need to reconfigure his smithy. This is also a good opportunity to become a client of Blumeschmidt. They are more lenient with children.”

“Could they deny an Archduke Candidate?” Benedikt asked.

“They can make the process excruciating,” Flautzeal replied.

“Even if the Aub ordered them to comply?” Benedikt pressed.

“It would be unwise to anger such a large portion of the capital's nobles,” Isolde said before Flautzeal could lose his cool. “There are also other smiths capable of doing such work.”

“House Blumeschmidt isn't that large.”

“The noble craftwork houses can almost be considered their own faction. They do not involve themselves with the general faction politics but they will close ranks if threatened. Now, what do you think might happen if you motivated a dozen sets of highly skilled, wealthy mednobles to do you harm?” Isolde asked.

Benedikt paled. “It would be best to avoid that,” he agreed.

“Do not look so afraid, Benedikt. It would just become very hard to buy anything,” Flautzeal sighed.

“Anything?” Deliroze asked.

“Well, anything requiring or required for specialized labor,” Flautzeal elaborated. “You know, like furniture, clothing, musical instruments, parchment, embroidery floss…”

“Yes I understand,” Benedikt said with a shiver. “What disqualifies one as a client of House Blumeschmidt?”

“Well, they would argue that they don't take clients. They only collaborate or ‘do a favor for a friend’. They will swear to the Goddess of Light that they are not a craftwork house anymore and simply dabble in jewelry craft to maintain their antique equipment,” Flautzeal huffed. “That they accept coin in exchange for goods and services and perform highly skilled work for individuals incapable of doing that work themselves apparently doesn't make them craftsmen.”

Deliroze giggled. “You seem annoyed by this.”

“It just makes talking to them trying,” Flautzeal admitted. “I recommend, my lord, treating this as just another tea party where you happen to talk about a bracelet you wish existed.”

“Even Eisenfleur keeps up this pantomime?” Isolde asked. “She is generally so logical and frank.”

“Oh, she will not come alone. No one would send a child to accept such an important commission,” Flautzeal scoffed.

“This is the sort of information we should have begun with,” Benedikt sighed. “Let's begin again. Who is coming? Are they friend or foe?”

They went through the planning framework again. The new information changed little except the tone and number of chairs. Flautzeal couldn't say which artisan would accompany their youngest family member. Unlike Klavier, Blumeschmidt didn't have a designated saleswoman. Whoever was curious generally found a reason to tag along. Eisenfleur was still young, unbetrothed, and cared about proper etiquette. She could be relied upon to rebuff her family's attempt to come all together but at least one person would have to accompany her.

This person turned out to be the oldest member of House Blumeschmidt, Eisenfleur’s grandfather, Reinhold. He wore a short, red tunic with minimal embroidery, dark gray pants and black boots. His hair had grayed to a dusky pink in most places save for a few streaks of deep maroon. Eisenfleur’s hair was also maroon. She wore a similarly understated goldenrod dress with long fitted sleeves.

They would have looked underdressed if not for being adorned with fine silver accessories. Eisenfleur wore a collection of bracelets. Unlike magic tools, they were loose and jangled like bells when she moved. Her faestone ring was accompanied by three more on each hand. Some were delicate while others boasted heavy bands. The only unifying element was that they were all silver. Her cape was secured at the shoulders with two silver medallions.

For his accessories, Lord Reinhold chose to wear fewer things of impossibly fine quality. He had a thick silver bracelet set with thin bands of red crystal or faestone. He also wore a monocle with a delicate silver nose clip and a long chain. Rather than simple links, it was composed of tiny people and animals holding rings with their hands, mouths, and tails. Melchior spent longer than was polite squinting to find a repeated figure. The lens of the monocle was cut from clear crystal. The center was perfectly smooth but a ring of facets around the edges gave Reinhold’s right eye the look of many smaller eyes staring out and appraising the viewer.

They entered and knelt. “I offer greetings on this morning blessed with bounty by the fruitful days of Schutzaria the Goddess of Wind?” Eisenfleur began.

“I accept your greetings,” Melchior said. “Thank you ever so much for making the time to visit. I am surprised and delighted to see a new face.”

“It is our pleasure, Lord Melchior. Please allow me to introduce my grandfather, Reinhold.”

The old man lowered his many eyes to give first time greetings then looked up to continue judging their newest potential patron. “My granddaughter speaks highly of your artistic skill. She purchased a drawing from your scholars last year.”

“Lady Eisenfleur, you are so kind to say such things. I hope my offerings of today do not bring disappointment after your generous words,” Melchior replied. Pepin and Zargerecht set the tea and treats. Not knowing who would come, they chose something easy to customize with an approachable flavor: pound cake made with Ehrenfest honey rather than sugar. Melchior introduced the refreshments and tasted the jam, cream, and fruit compote for poison.

The Blumeschmidt’s partook happily giving compliments and offering observations on the evolution of the dessert. “We like to use savory things sometimes. The bacon and poundcake was most enjoyable that time our new chef mistook the cake for regular bread and served it for breakfast,” Reinhold chuckled.

“Grandfather, you cannot encourage everyone to serve strange concoctions at every tea party. I apologize, Lord Melchior. My Grandfather just loves adding bacon to everything,” Eisenfleur sighed.

Melchior smiled. “It is delicious. I can understand your passion Lord Reinhold. My chef likes to coat thick pieces in breadcrumbs then fry it in oil for an additional crunch.”

Reinhold's eyes sparkled. “That is genius. I will instruct our chef to do the same. Have you had it cut into very little pieces? The resulting bits can be used much like a spice.”

“Then I could add bacon to everything!” Melchior chirped.

“Indeed. Soups, roasted vegetables, other meats, the potential of bits if bacon is infinite,” Reinhold orated.

“It is as you say,” Melchior replied. They continued to discuss the culinary possibilities of bacon for a little while longer while Eisenfleur worked hard to keep smiling. It was clear that she'd been forced to endure these conversations more than once. “Lady Eisenfleur, is there an ingredient which holds your passion?” Melchior offered.

She glared lightly at her grandfather. “I tend to eat what is placed before me but gold fills me with inspiration,” she said.

Reinhold blushed just a little. “Yes, you always were a fan of gold over silver. It is softer, easier for a child to bend.” He gestured for his attendant to bring forward a box. It was placed on the table. “Eisenfleur has taken up goldwork with more enthusiasm lately. I always tell her she must complete her studies as well. But, you must know how children can be.”

“I do complete my studies, grandfather. And it is just as important for me to train,” Eisenfleur replied.

“Lady Eisenfleur receives honors every year, Lord Reinhold. Doesn't she show you her faestone each time?” Melchior asked.

“You know, I thought that was from some courtship,” Reinhold admitted.

Eisenfleur sighed heavily. “That is not how it is done in our day.”

“You have experience with how it is done?” Reinhold snapped back.

Eisenfleur grew red as she opened and closed her mouth, trying to think of a good response. “Of course I do!” she settled on eventually.

“Is that why you’ve brought me here today? Have you been secretly courting one of the exalted twelve?” Reinhold asked, his eyes falling over Flautzeal who sat behind his lord taking notes.

Melchior also glanced at Flautzeal. He had sent Eisenfleur an ordonnanz directly and before third bell. Flautzeal rolled his eyes. “We asked Lady Eisenfleur to come give her opinion on a few jewelry designs. I imagine she informed you of this and you begged to follow along,” Flautzeal replied flatly.

Reinhold performed a look of scandal while Melchior was genuinely surprised by Flautzeal's lack of comportment. Eisenfleur smiled smugly. “Yes, that's correct. You were hoping to make a magic tool using aurumzaubertine, such a rare thing these days,” she said languidly. “Though if you would rather give offense to House Klavier by offering your least musical granddaughter, Lord Melchior Sonn Ehrenfest and I can discuss things ourselves.”

Melchior glanced back and forth between his scholar and his guests. It was clear that the history between them was deep and their families close. Perhaps they were not close enough for Lord Reinhold because he chose the third option of whining to Melchior about his sorrows.

“I just wish to see these young people well established and you see how they treat me, Lord Melchior,” he blubbered.

Melchior was instantly sure whose side to take. “How could they shun your concern so sharply,” he cooed.

“Even Weigemilch understands³⁶,” Reinhold cried with performative sorrow.

“I would also like to see my retainers well established. It is just that Flautzeal has such high standards,” Melchior said.

Reinhold restrained some of his performance to look appraisingly between lord and scholar. “He always says that his intended must be able to sing as well as him and play more than one instrument,” Eisenfleur offered.

“Indeed, Flautzeal is moved only by the beauty of one's music. Neither the fine work of Entrindunge, nor the blessings of Vulcanift, nor the favor of Geldstromflug³⁷ can stir his heart,” Melchior said. He glanced just over his left shoulder where Pepin stood ready to attend. “Yes Flautzeal has made his requirements clear, perhaps there might be wisdom in looking towards those who are still mysterious.”

Reinhold withheld the cheeky comment he wanted to make while Eisenfleur followed Melchior's eyes. She looked appraisingly at Pepin. He’d always been so mousy and quiet while at the academy and she had no reason to see him outside of school. Now that he looked more relaxed and confident standing behind his lord, performing competent service, he was worth a second glance. He even met her eyes and smiled, not flinching at the implications of her gaze. She had to look away and blush, finally alerting Reinhold to what was happening. He also looked at Pepin who pretended to be too engrossed with opening the box and checking its contents for poison.

He did need to focus on the poison testing. Not only did he want to keep his friend safe but Zargerecht was standing beside, grading his performance. It was difficult to remember all the steps if he didn't do them in the same order and the same way every time but the task came up frequently enough that he didn't have time to forget the steps.

Once it was checked, he presented it to Melchior. It was an iron stylus with gold and crystal inlay. Eisenfleur had elected not to use faestones so she could create a pleasing gradient of pale blues. It was not as fine as those made by Flautzeal's granduncle, but it was better than Melchior expected from a fourth year.

“How beautiful,” he complimented. “I see you paid special attention to the shape of the tip and paddle,” he noted. It looked like the tip would create a unique line when dragged over wax. He tested it and was happy to find it was especially thin. He would be able to write even smaller to save space. Or he would have had he planned to keep it. It matched Isolde's diptych so he would give it to her. He gestured for Zargerecht to step forward with a pouch of lions. The Blumeschmidt attendants didn't move to accept.

“It is a gift, Lord Melchior, to celebrate our collaboration,” Eisenfleur said. She glanced toward her grandfather who didn't seem upset by the merchant-like gesture.

Remembering Flautzeal's advice, Melchior tried to sound casual. “Why thank you. You have given me much to consider in this piece. I have also brought something of interest,” he announced.

Pepin brought forward one of the little needle cases and the stack of information and diagrams. Melchior had procrastinated his backlog of commissions to paint a couple of needle cases. He presented his favorite to Eisenfleur. They were too small and round for a complex scene so Melchior tried layering little flowers together to make an all over pattern.

Eisenfleur smiled brightly. “My friend has been taunting me with hers for ages,” she muttered. A triumphantly cackle simmered just under the surface.

“Flautzeal tells me that you produce the enchanted needles so many of our noblewoman rely upon for their embroidery. I thought you might like to see some of the mundane kind created in Klassenberg,” Melchior explained, choosing to ignore the outsized air of superiority flooding the room.

Eisenfleur was obviously not that interested in the needles inside the case, but she made a cursory look through them. “Like the others I’ve seen. The eyes are well done and the tips are sharp. The metal is good steel and smooth. I have more questions about the case. Were some of them decorated?”

Melchior shook his head. “I painted this one after a flight of inspiration. If you would like something more suited to your tastes, I am told that House Klavier has discovered an ingenious way to replicate and improve them.”

“I’m sure they have,” Reinhold mused while observing the growing look of victory overcoming his mild mannered granddaughter. “Glockenfried cannot see a wooden thing without wanting to make it. He has been that way since he was a boy.”

“You have know him that long?” Melchior asked.

Reinhold chuckled. “I have know every child of House Klavier since they enjoyed the embrace of Entrindunge³⁸. We are as one family in all but the most important ways,” he said with a light glare towards Flautzeal.

“How could such assurances be necessary between us,” Flautzeal replied. “Apologies my lord.”

“I wonder whether we should have you sit with us,” Melchior mused. Pepin brought over a chain and gestured Flautzeal forward. He was obviously reluctant and Zargerecht silently expressed displeasure but Melchior felt it would be easier if he didn't need to ask for permission to speak. Their guests obviously wished to speak with him too.

“You are most generous and accommodating my lord. Lord Reinhold is well known for his inability to leave well enough alone,” Flautzeal said, his voice dripping with annoyance.

“Now, now Flautzeal. Is that any way to speak to one's lord?” Reinhold chided.

Flautzeal sipped his tea and crossed his leg. “Perhaps we should look at my lord’s other offerings before Dregarnuhr weaves over long.”

Eisenfleur was happy to oblige. She immediately split the sheets between her and her Grandfather then swapped the piles upon seeing hers covered in unreadable magic circles. “Still intimidated by magic are you?” Reinhold teased.

Eisenfleur frowned but otherwise didn't respond. She looked through the drawings of bracelets and possible engravings while Reinhold read the magic circles. “This jewelry you envision, sends messages?” he asked. His many eyes filled with amusement.

“Yes. It allows those without a schtappe to send ordonnanz. We hope to spread this trend all over Yurgenschmidt and thought you would have insight into how to make the bracelets more appealing,” Melchior replied. He felt silly pretending he wasn't ordering a magic tool but Flautzeal smiled reassuringly. Maybe he was doing a good job.

“This one looks to be made of wood,” Eisenfleur observed. She held up a drawing of a black and gold bracelet.

“Yes. It is a drawing of Flautzeal's. It was so well done, I had to include it,” Melchior replied.

Two sets of eyes locked onto Flautzeal's wrist. His roost peaked out of his scholar uniform. He sighed and placed it on the table. Reinhold immediately began examining it and comparing it to the technical diagrams. His monocle began to glow with mana, the clear portion fracturing into dozens more facets. These many eyes didn't even appear to all be looking in the same direction.

Melchior watch in rapt amazement. He saw magic all the time but this was something new and exciting. He began to wonder what Reinhold was seeing and how the monocle functioned. Everyone held their breath as he worked.

“Why not make this entirely of mana metal? Matilda and Zerafina were in a hurry and haven't the highest mana capacities but your parents do not have such limitations,” Reinhold said eventually.

“We cannot have the duchy fall into sand so that I can send ordonnanz,” Melchior replied with a bright smile.

Reinhold nodded gravely. “The alternative is that Lord Melchior brews this…” Eisenfleur gestured to the pile of complex instructions, “himself.”

“There are also your siblings,” Flautzeal suggested.

“They are not scholars,” Reinhold said. He did not need to say that asking an Archduke Candidate to brew for another was a ridiculous notion. As far as Melchior knew, only his uncle did that and he was eccentric in many ways.

“Though I believe they could accomplish this task, our family is still quite small,” Melchior replied. He had faith in Wilfried and Charlotte’s brewing abilities but they had to perform mana replenishment where he didn't. “I would also like to make use of a bit of aurumzaubertine that has come into my possession.”

The ingot was placed on the table. Reinhold swooped it up immediately and gave it the many eyed treatment. “This is fine stuff; very pure, omni-elemental, unalloyed. We will have to alloy it with something stronger but that will allow us to influence its properties.” Reinhold’s eyes gleamed as he spoke in increasingly minute detail about the many processes he would need to undertake to create the magic tool. “Works of this kind simply aren't done in our day. Mana-metal was discovered some two hundred and fifty years ago and fully supplanted zaubertine some hundred and sixty years ago. Yes, we still have the forges but it's been so long since they've been used.”

“Is it impossible then?” Melchior asked.

“Of course not,” Reinhold snapped. “It will just take time.”

Melchior's face fell. “I see. So I will have to use a box at the Royal Academy. This will delay our trend,” he muttered while trying not to look at Pepin.

Eisenfleur noticed his sudden moroseness and was about to offer words of comfort. “Oh… no. It will not take that long,” Reinhold chuckled. “I would like to have time to experiment but I can produce the necessary magic tool in only a few weeks. I will not be able to employ the most elegant of solutions unfortunately. I am as a novice at this ancient craft,” he spoke with quivering conviction, his eyes glassy and far away.

“Lord Melchior must wear a bracelet roost to the Royal Academy if he is to spread them as a trend. Anytime up to then can naturally be negotiated,” Flautzeal said without mirth.

Melchior began to worry that he would compromise the collaborative feeling and lose their chance to become clients. “Please take all the time you would like to experiment. I only need something to use for the school year that will not disintegrate. I know that innovation and genius take time. The final product can come later.”

Melchior's retainers wanted to scream a collective objection. More time would mean more prototypes which would require more materials which would raise the price to astronomical levels. The jewelry of Blumeschmidt was always of heirloom quality and occasionally a national treasure.

Reinhold smiled a radiant, genuine smile devoid of all noble pretext. “We will create something worthy of your ambition, my lord.”

Flautzeal flashed Eisenfleur a panicked smile. She shrugged but attempted to calm things down anyway. “We will need to remain in conference with Lord Melchior. As I recall the best alloys are made by increasing the proportion of faestone or introducing mana-metal. Using your mana would greatly improve the tools receptiveness to you while the use of aurumzaubertine would preserve its flexibility. You have also graciously given us information on how it is worked in Klassenberg.”

Reinhold's glee dimmed at the mention of continuous collaboration with Melchior but returned to a lesser extent once the possibility of using his mana was introduced. They could do more experiments more quickly if they didn't have to rely solely on their family's mana capacity. Since Melchior intended to start a trend, they might even get more commissions and would be able to sell any working prototypes.

The information was another story. “We have records of its use at home, Klassenberg learned how to use zaubertine from us,” he scoffed.

“They did?” Melchior asked.

Flautzeal sighed as Reinhold launched into the storied history of a house of smiths that dated back to the Eisenreich era and supposedly invented the artificial enrichment process. Melchior took notes in his blank book as he listened. “He acts as though his is the only house older than the duchy,” Flautzeal whispered.

Only Melchior was close enough to hear this. “Your house is older than the duchy?” he whispered back.

Flautzeal nodded. “It is older than harspiels,” he whispered.

Melchior was too amazed to listen to any more of the history lesson. Thankfully, Flautzeal and Isolde were still taking notes for him to read later. The harspiel felt eternal. He could not fathom a time before all children were forced to learn it and play before noble society.

“Lord Melchior,” Eisenfleur began in a break during the recitation of a feud between Blumeschmidt and another house of smiths that now resided in Vogtwerk. “If you can provide mana-metal and/or faestones, we will be able to develop a unique and exceptional piece that shall not grieve Geldstromflug. Especially when you are also offering the materials.” She slid the recipe back across the table. “And are graciously allowing us to use your recipe freely.”

“And widely, I hope,” Melchior replied.

Reinhold pulled himself from his reverie. “You speak as though you wish to spread this new device widely yet you have presented it to us.” Their house was known for their very limited clientele.

“I have given it to many others as well,” Melchior assured them. “It is my hope that every child in Ehrenfest and then Yurgenschmidt will have access to emergency assistance when they need it the most. Your creations may be few but they never fail to influence the zeitgeist.”

“That is a noble goal, my lord. We will assist,” Reinhold promised. “I must ask. Is wide adoption your foremost desire?”

“It is,” Melchior replied.

“Very well. Let us speak more about your specific vision,” Reinhold said and pulled over the inspirational sketches.

They discussed designs and methods until fourth bell sounded. Melchior hadn't intended to spend his entire morning on this but Lord Reinhold was full of knowledge and enthusiasm. Eisenfleur was barely any help in restraining him as her own anticipation rivaled her grandfather’s. In the end they agreed that Melchior would offer a modest sum in exchange for their expertise and labor but provide all of the materials except for the metals which would be hard for him to acquire while Blumeschmidt already had much in reserve. In exchange, they would make him something to wear to school and a proper masterpiece come spring or summer as well as lend him some books from their library. They had records from before the founding of the duchy though most were dry accounts about their business. Rozemyne would be happy to read the transcriptions nonetheless. There was no time to talk about the spouted bowl.

Footnotes

36. “From the mouth of babes” or “even the youngest/least experienced understands”^

37. Goddess of Trade^

38. Were babies^

Chapter Text

Lunch was a lively affair. Everyone had opinions on the proceedings. They began with a short lecture from Zargerecht about considering the repercussions of agreeing to fund extensive research, about accepting less than appropriate treatment, and about inviting one’s retainers into a tea party in progress.

“Flautzeal is a medscholar. You invited him but what of your archscholars? Benedikt would have much to add about the nature of the magic tool and Isolde could assist you in controlling the conversation. You allowed yourself to be dragged about and distracted from the point for nearly an entire bell. That any conclusive agreement was reached is a miracle. You treated these mednobles as though they are your equals but they are not. My lord you must have more poise, more gravitas, more awareness.”

Melchior had had a wonderful time and was happy with the agreement and everything he learned. He also wasn't sure that House Blumeschmidt would respond well to being looked down on and belittled just to remind them not to pull his retainers into side conversation. They never forget to give deference and didn't even speak to him like he was a child, most of the time. They treated him like a person not a terrifying and distant entity visiting among them to speak his will and cast judgment. Plus, they wouldn't have settled on such a fun design without collaboration.

Additionally, he didn't want to scare anyone else away by being too austere. He would have to project authority to some extent sometimes but there had to be a happy medium between the crushing aura of the Aub and the silliness of Sylvester. He would take some time to find it. For now he thanked Zargerecht for his counsel before beginning his lunch.

“How do they support their trade with so few clients?” Benedikt wondered aloud once the serious debrief had ended.

“They only have few clients in Ehrenfest. They have many more clients from other duchies and the Sovereignty,” Flautzeal replied.

Isolde placed her fork down. “How many more? And how frequently do they communicate with foreign nobles?”

“Do not panic. They are ever loyal to these lands. The unrest caused by Ahrensbach was worse for their house than most. They could not conduct business and no one had money to spare. I do not like to call us a faction, but our faction has only one goal and that is enduring peace in the land. Only during times of peace can artistry and craft flourish. Even a maker of swords does not wish for war,” Flautzeal said. “Besides, their best clients are in Frenbeltag.”

“Frenbeltag?” Isolde asked, Flautzeal's long speech momentarily forgotten. “Why there of all places.”

“Lady Constance was a dear friend. One of her mednoble retainers married Eisenfleur’s eldest aunt,” Flautzeal replied.

“Wouldn't a swordsmith welcome war?” Benedikt asked having been distracted by this comment and hearing nothing after

“Arming troops means making the same object over and over and over. That's boring. Plus the craftsmen rarely become wealthy even when producing so much. Ceremonial and decorative pieces are far more lucrative and fun,” Flautzeal said.

Benedikt and Isolde fell into their respective thoughts. Melchior and Deliroze continued to enjoy their meal while listening. Flautzeal turned to them. “You have missed music class,” he noted. Melchior sighed. It wasn't even his fault but he still would not escape.

After lunch was training and after that was the makeup music lesson. Only after dinner did Melchior have time to consider his afternoon's efforts to spread roosts to his fellow novices and his morning tea. While the parents in and of his retinue were swift to adopt the trend, none of the other novices were confident about their parents ability to profer them such an expensive and complicated item. Fonsel was working hard to improve his brewing and had the ability to hunt his own ingredients but even he was glad that he had several years before his first child would need one. For poorer children of families with less mana, a bracelet roost looked like a second highbeast faestone and the first one had come at an exorbitant cost.

They would wait and see. For now, Melchior encouraged them to think about the box version or some other way to reduce the costs. Melchior's scholars and Sigsnyr would figure out less expensive options.

He set the problem aside to think about his commission from Hauchletze. Before he had no idea what to do largely because he didn't understand the poem at all. Now that it had been explained to him, he felt unsure how to represent its ideas on a object meant to be carried around. Would a woman in her prime want to have a constant reminder about her inevitable retirement or death hooked to her belt? Besides, no one he knew well had ever died.

It felt strange to think about his Aunt Georgina being gone but they'd only met one time. She'd been polite but dismissive and almost unwilling to look at him. At the time he was sad that they wouldn't be anything like family now he was hurt by the thought that she might have hated him for his resemblance to a young Sylvester.

These thoughts did nothing to help him come up with a painting but they were harder than most to simply set aside. Instead he turned the large diptych over and over in his hands. Klavier hadn't been happy about having no measurements for reference but Melchior had seen the First Wife of Hauchletze’s hands only once and only in relation to a diptych which had never been measured. They still produce a beautiful piece with a wooden hinge that disappeared. He would have to paint something that looked good as two pictures and as one and was worth three large gold. He sighed and put it away once again.

By the next morning, Melchior's anxieties about the order were wholly eclipsed by excitement for his visit to Pepin's estate. It was hard to hide his plans from Pepin entirely. The attendant kept looking between Isolde and Melchior as they schemed while pretending to be studying as normal. He needed to study properly as their next brewing class would entail making Benedikt’s personal rejuvenation potion recipe for which ingredients had been set aside for ages. Isolde had finally mastered all the steps and could oversee the lesson while Melchior and Flautzeal had performed each method used in the process at least once.

Unfortunately, the impending trip was too thrilling to ignore. The morning proceeded achingly slowly with Melchior being generally unfocused and everyone else being suspicious. Isolde hadn't been told why Melchior was visiting Pepin, only that it was a secret from Pepin. She tried to probe for his reasons without alerting anyone else, only serving to make everyone else more interested.

The real battle didn't begin until after lunch. Melchior wanted to bring as few people as possible. His initial plan was to bring just his knights.

“You cannot visit an estate without an attendant,” Pepin huffed when Melchior tried to escape with only Sigsnyr and Fonsel. Everyone was surprised that he beat Zargerecht to this particular lecture. Then again, Melchior had strategically avoided looking at him all morning making him feel like something was happening.

“An estate?” Melchior asked in what he hoped wasn't a guilty tone.

“Yes, an estate,” Pepin repeated.

“Whatever do you mean, Pepin?” Melchior asked with practiced confusion.

Pepin frowned at the false inflection. “My lord, you ordered a carriage,” he said.

Melchior shot Isolde a look. “You cannot fly your highbeast to an estate the first time you visit,” she said with a shrug.

He winced while Pepin wore an exasperated expression. “As I said, you cannot visit an estate without an attendant.”

“It is as Pepin says, Lord Melchior. Is there a reason you wish to leave us all behind?” Zargerecht asked.

Yes, Melchior wanted to say. He wanted to throw a little tantrum and flex his gravitas but that felt wrong. It was only an inconsequential secret about a gift for Pepin. He didn't need to exclude everyone. Kolteruze was out. Despite standing in a corner looking perfectly disinterested, Melchior knew he was calculating all the reasons why Melchior was being so shifty. He was also the most likely to spill a secret.

Pepin and his family were mednobles and Melchior wasn't in the mood to be lectured for being polite to them so Zargerecht was also out. This only left Haldis who was currently engaged in some other business in the castle. “What I meant to ask is why do you assume I am going without an attendant. Haldis is coming,” Melchior said.

Pepin and Kolteruze exchanged glances. Haldis was busy, everyone knew that. Was Melchior really planning to pull him from his meetings about winter preparations to visit a random estate instead of taking one of his available retainers. Did he have so little faith in them?

“But my lord!?” Sigsnyr said with very convincing surprise. “You promised me that I could practice serving you on this unimportant outing.”

“You're taking Sigsnyr?” Kolteruze asked with unconcealable shock.

Melchior laughed sheepishly. Everything was going wrong. Lies stacked on top of lies creating a tower in a constant state of tipping over. “Yes, that's correct,” he said.

Zargerecht frowned. “You are dressed as a knight.”

Sigsnyr and Melchior looked at his clothes. “Well I was also going as a guard. I can't be without my armor.” He also couldn't be out of the attendant uniform. It would look like Melchior had too few retainers again.

“My lord, while I support Sigsnyr in his quest to acquire skills as an attendant, is there any reason why he must perform a dual purpose on this trip?” Kolteruze pressed.

The only reason was that Melchior wanted to bring as few people as possible. He’d planned to slip away unnoticed and without facing the disappointed smiles of Gerianne and Isolde who were also being left behind. At his stray glance, Gerianne stepped forward. “I shall offer this day to Verbergan,” she whispered.

He looked at Fonsel. “Since Sigsnyr will also be there, that's fine,” Fonsel sighed. He didn't know what all the fuss was about anyway. He did know that the appointment time was growing closer by the second and they had to ride in a slow carriage to a mednoble estate.

“Please change, Sigsnyr,” Melchior requested while Gerianne fell into her place at his shoulder. Sigsnyr disappeared in a flash of silver while Melchior smiled calmly at his dumbstruck retainers.

“My lord,” Isolde began.

“I will not have need of a scholar,” Melchior assured her and Flautzeal. Flautzeal didn't look like he planned to ask nor did he pout when prematurely denied. Pepin watched with a neutral expression and calculating eyes. He could feel just at the tip of his sense that this was about him somehow. Melchior was also nervous of Kolteruze and Zargerecht. He was left to wonder whether there really was something happening between Melchior and his attendants.

Meanwhile, Melchior stopped in the foyer to daub his forehead with one of his new handkerchiefs. The fabric square wasn't new but having it on his person was. Sigsnyr reappeared quickly in the attendant uniform with his hair in a more relaxed style. ”I am ready to serve, my lord.”

“I look forward to your discreet work,” Melchior replied.

Sigsnyr lead their group to the exit in high spirits. Once they were inside the carriage he turned his full attention onto Melchior. “I simply must ask. Why the circumspection? And where are we going?” Gerianne also fixed him with curious eyes.

“You do not need to ask,” Fonsel sighed. “Your lord has indicated an unwillingness to speak about it so it is not your place to ask.”

“Thank you, Fonsel,” Melchior said.

“Do not thank me. This is something you should be saying yourself. Didn't Dedryck and Sebastian already discuss this with you? You do not need to entertain questions,” Fonsel said gruffly.

“But they were right. It is improper to go on a visit and not bring your own attendant,” Melchior countered.

“You should be considering these things yourself so that they do not need to intervene. We will not always be able to offer counsel in the moment and it will sometimes be too late after the fact.”

“I understand. Thank you for your counsel,” Melchior replied. The entire carriage fell into silence as they passed the archnoble estates. Considering absolutely everything was a daunting task but Zipporah had said something similar. Being a leader sounded trying, Melchior thought.

“My lord,” Sigsnyr said after a bit. “I know you have been doing many things in secret and I am not asking you to reveal them. It is just, it will not be possible to hide your activities from all of your retainers. Is there no one you feel you can trust completely?”

Melchior looked both surprised and wounded. “Do you believe I do not trust you all?” he asked, his eyes shifting from face to face. No one wanted to say yes but they couldn't say no either. “That isn't the case at all. I was hoping to surprise you,” Melchior said.

“Surprise us?” Gerianne asked. “That is a frightening prospect, my lord.”

“But gifts are not as fun when you know of them in advance. Then you just end up waiting for ages,” Melchior replied.

“But then you can coordinate to make sure they are both beloved and necessary,” Fonsel said. “A surprise is only fun when it's small. You are more likely to have a positive result when you speak with the recipient. Why spend so much time and money on something you aren't sure the other person will like?”

“Consider how happy Isolde is with her mark. I am also excited for my pouch but had I been given the option I would have ideas,” Sigsnyr said.

“That wasn't Isolde's gift,” Melchior said.

“It wasn't?” Gerianne asked. She paled. Everything fell into place before her. Those things he was willing to let them see were not the actual gift. “My lord, what are you preparing for Isolde?”

Melchior frowned. “I have managed to keep my secrets this long, I will not stumble before the moment of victory,” he declared.

“When, may I ask is this moment of victory?” Sigsnyr wanted to begin using his new pouch. He’d already set aside what was going to go inside.

“The autumnal coming of age,” Fonsel replied. “Or when Theodore arrives, whichever comes first.”

“Fonsel you were supposed to keep that a secret,” Melchior whispered.

“Keep what a secret?” Fonsel whispered back much louder.

“The coming of age party,” Melchior replied.

“He didn't say anything about that,” Sigsnyr said with a smirk. Melchior grunted in frustration. He’d forgotten his most powerful tool: keeping his mouth shut. “Why are you planning such an event?”

“Isn't it obvious,” Gerianne asked. “You are coming of age.”

Melchior looked out the window to hide his shifty gaze. “Why would my lord plan a party just for me? What about Benedikt, Gottschalk, and Cecilia?” Sigsnyr asked.

“I forgot about Cecilia,” Melchior murmured. That wouldn't matter. She was ok with visiting the temple anyway.

“My lord, this is too much,” Sigsnyr groaned.

“You see why I have kept things secret. Kolteruze knows almost nothing but has been sending me messages to cancel his gift for months. Zipporah keeps subtly hinting that she is willing to feign surprise so long as she can begin using her gift sooner. But then everyone will know. Who would she be pretending for?” Melchior grumbled. “Anytime I attempt to give gifts, the recipient attempts to give remuneration. If everyone would simply reply with an ‘I thank you ever so much’ and giggle with joy, then I could collaborate with you all but at every turn everyone tries to convince me to be less generous.”

“Have you considered that you are being too generous, my lord?” Sigsnyr asked.

“How could I be when you all render me such fine service?” Melchior countered.

Gerianne sighed. “We receive pay for our work.”

“That is paid by the duchy. I do nothing to compensate you all and yet I continue to ask for more and more strange things. A small gift is nothing in comparison.”

“Lord Melchior, what you considered to be a small gift is rarely a small thing.” Gerianne pressed.

“It is just a leather pouch,” Melchior replied. He wasn’t his uncle after all. He did understand what constituted too much.

“You had almost thirty custom made for us to choose from!” Sigsnyr cried.

“And if one follows the logic of Isolde's gift, you are augmenting them. They will be treasures by the time you have finished,” Gerianne added.

Melchior compressed his rising emotions. This was all little more than a game yet he felt real anxiety. He had finished painting. Nothing could be changed about his plans for the knights yet he was beginning to question everything and felt more and more sure he would collapse under the pressure. “You may do what you like with them in the autumn,” he replied.

The knights let out a collective sigh. “My lord, I know you enjoy spreading joy to everyone around you and will find any small excuse to do so but I must protest the holding of large events,” Sigsnyr pleaded. How would he ever explain that to anyone? There really was no telling what people would say.

“Very well. I promise not to hold a coming of age party just for you even though I am not allowed to attend the one at your home,” Melchior grumbled.

“The one at my home?”

“Yes, Haldis said I should not even ask.”

“We are not planning any such event, my lord,” Sigsnyr said.

Everyone looked at him in surprise. “We had a small party for Wilfried and will have one for Charlotte too.” “My brother's was a sparkling event!” “You dad isn't even going to get you drunk for the first time?” They said in unison.

“What… no. Why would… I’m not going to get drunk. I’m not the strange one in this, ask anyone,” Sigsnyr huffed.

Thus were a flock of ordonnanz released from their carriage. They returned with the consensus that anyone that loved their child would throw them some kind of private get together.

“I was so sick after,” Gottschalk’s said warmly.

“It is only because they are such private affairs that you haven't heard much about it,” Fonsel said. “All the more reason why I also think you should reconsider, my lord.”

Melchior didn't reply, he continued looking out the window as the carriage turned down a shrub lined avenue. “We are here,” he said.

“Pepin's estate?” Sigsnyr mumbled.

“I have absolute faith that all of you will keep silent about all that occurs,” Melchior said as they pulled to a stop before Fridegern who stood at the foot of the stairs with an older man who was likely the estate steward. They all stepped out and began the greetings.

“Welcome, Lord Melchior. We are honored that you would grace us with a visit to our humble estate,” Fridegern said as he gracefully took a knee. “I offer greetings on this afternoon blessed with bounty by the fruitful days of Schutzaria the Goddess of Wind.”

“I accept your greetings, thank you ever so much for having me,” Melchior replied. They moved inside where Pepin's parents and oldest brother waited. Melchior had met Pepin's parents when they came to the castle to accept their son's reinstatement in Melchior's retinue. Only his oldest brother had to offer first time greetings.

“I am Helgemut, Pepin is my youngest brother, I offer my undying gratitude for preserving his place,” he said after giving his blessing.

“Pepin is invaluable to me. I would not be so easily swayed against him,” Melchior replied. “In honor of his excellent service, I intend to make a gift of a small collection of drawings. As he loves nothing more than all of you, I ask that you allow me to draw you.”

Pepin's parents visibly relaxed and their noble smiles bloomed into genuine grins. “We would be more than happy to pose for so illustrious an artist as yourself,” his mother said. Melchior also smiled and assured everyone that he wasn't very good but hoped he could do justice to their image.

“You mentioned wishing to see our tree as well. Might we begin there while the Goddess yet endures³⁹,” Fridegern suggested.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” Melchior replied. He followed Fridegern through a beautiful yet modestly appointed home. There were a couple of paintings depicting nature scenes and a tapestry woven with geometric designs in bright colors. Fridegern introduced the art and told short stories about them.

“Much like yourself, Pepin has a great love of color. He is particularly fond of this tapestry. In fact, he used to chew on the corner when we weren't watching him closely enough.” Melchior struggled not to laugh as Fridegern told more embarrassing stories of a young Pepin’s search for everything bright and soft. “We once found him napping in the linen cupboard, swaddled in spare bed linens.”

Melchior began to wonder whether a knitted jacket would have been a better gift. He lamented that he'd already chosen to give Deliroze his scarf from Herzfeld. Then again, there was always next year.

By the time they made it outside, Helgemut had already prepared a small table with refreshments in the shade of an awning that was seemingly built there specifically so that someone could look towards the small line of trees surrounding the back garden. Melchior first thought it was a temporary structure but once they arrived he saw that its posts were solidly sunk into a large stone platform. Besides this pergola, there was a small vegetable patch near what looked like a servants entrance and a trail that disappeared into the treeline.

It was immediately obvious which tree was the source of the legends. It was shorter but broader than its neighbors and had large, gnarled roots and low, heavy branches that swept close to the ground. “Pepin used to climb into the tree to watch Helgemut and I play with hoops,” Fridegern said while they settled into chairs. Helgemut quietly served his younger brother tea and a tart. “Please tell me what you think of the tart Lord Melchior. We are trying something new with falloids.”

Sigsnyr tested everything then served his lord. Melchior and Fridegern chatted about the tea and snacks while looking out over the little wood. Melchior could easily imagine Pepin's parents sitting here watching their sons play and calling out gentle warnings. He was struck for a moment with nostalgia for something he’d never done.

There was a small covered balcony with a view of the Archduke's private courtyard that had hosted all of Melchior's pre-baptism trips outdoors. Once he followed his siblings out of the main building, he had more freedom to visit the gardens and could walk around the temple once he joined the clergy. He’d still never gotten to play outside with his family.

“Pepin tells me you are creating a new way to serve tea,” Fridegern said, drawing Melchior out of his reverie.

“Oh, I have not been much help, but Sigsnyr and Lothar have been enthusiastically practicing and choreographing,” Melchior replied. “I was introduced to a kind of tea which looks beautiful even while brewing and commissioned a dish which allows one to view the brewing process before serving.”

“As that would require the attendant to pour while standing at the speaking table, the service must be elegant,” Fridegern mused. “What a wonderful quandary.”

“What is a speaking table?”

“Oh, my apologies. It is what we attendants call a table such as this, where guests are seated for socializing and service,” Fridegern explained. Melchior still looked curious so he continued. “It may also be called the ‘main table’ at a small, single table gathering like the one we are having now. But at a large event, the main table is the one with the person of highest status, usually the host and guest of honor. At such events, other tables are referred to as ‘auxiliary tables’ and given numbers or colors or some other identifier but they are all considered ‘speaking tables’ to differentiate them from the sideboards, gift tables, preparation area, and other tables used for support.”

Melchior nodded along with a look of fascination. “Attendants have a whole secret language,” he muttered.

“In a way, we do. It helps us coordinate even when we are not used to working together.” They sipped tea in peaceful contemplation for a little while. “Do you need paper, Lord Melchior?” Fridegern asked. Melchior said he came to draw yet looked very much like he had nothing fit for purpose and was chatting as though the time did not matter. Paper was expensive but Melchior had given Pepin enough that they had some to spare.

“Oh, I have allowed myself to be distracted. You are just such a wonderful conversation partner, Lord Fridegern. I have all I need,” Melchior replied. He placed his notebook on the table and pulled out a pencil to begin sketching the tree. As he was already running behind schedule, thanks to the many conversations, Melchior drew with silent focus even though that was kind of rude.

Fridegern didn't seem perturbed, he just turned to Sigsnyr and began asking about the new tea vessel and their progress on developing a beautiful pouring style.

Frigegern and Helgemut swapped places and forced snacks onto the knights while Melchior doodled. He pulled out a larger sheet of paper which he’d folded to fit into his belt and began a larger drawing. Eventually, the crayons he packed without their case made an appearance. It was only the sounding of fifth bell that brought him out of his daze with a start. “Oh no, we will run out of time,” he cried, interrupting a stirring tale about Helgemut’s painfully boring days serving a baron.

He met Helgemut’s eyes with confusion. Pepin's and his brothers all looked remarkably similar but while Fridegern and Pepin had purple hair, Helgemut’s was forest green. For a moment, it seemed like Fridegern’s hair had magically changed color.

“Is something wrong, Lord Melchior?” Helgemut asked. Their voices were different enough that Melchior realized he was looking at a new person and relaxed.

“He was so focused, he did not notice us trade places,” Fridegern observed.

“Yes, it is as you say. My apologies, Lord Helgemut and Lord Fridegern, I have been a poor guest.”

“Have no worries, Lord Melchior. We are delighted to accommodate the creation of a gift for our dear little brother,” Helgemut assured him.

“Yes, and you didn't miss much. We were only discussing how stark Helgemut's romantic prospects are,” Fonsel teased.

Helgemut looked properly dejected. “There are only four women in our barony,” he moaned.

“That cannot be true,” Melchior replied. “I have seen the census.”

Fridegern giggled. “He means that there are only four girls that are theoretically eligible for him to marry, though one of them is only six.”

“And a half. She will raze a field of wheat if you forget the two extra seasons,” Helgemut sighed.

“I suppose this is a bad time to ask about Lady Gertrude,” Melchior teased.

Helgemut rallied while Fridegern beamed. “It could never be a bad time. She is well. She came to the Starbinding with Giebe Haldenzel's entourage just to see me. I am so fortunate.”

“I had no idea. I could have shown her our progress on the translation,” Melchior said sadly.

“I doubt she would wish to be parted from her god of darkness,” Fonsel chuckled. “Then again, he seems awfully level headed for a man in love.”

“Do you mean to imply, Sir Fonsel, that I should swoon and blush at the mere thought of her?” Fridegern asked. He was certainly pink with delight but he was perfectly coherent as well.

“No no, you just don't seem embarrassed in the slightest to talk about such floral implications,” Fonsel replied.

Helgemut shook his head. “What could there be to be embarrassed about? The binding of stars is serious business, as is the binding of hearts, shame does not enter into it,” he insisted.

Fonsel and Sigsnyr looked amazed. “I cannot breathe in the general direction of a girl without drawing chuckles,” Sigsnyr muttered.

“Dauerleben does not always grant wisdom⁴⁰,” Fridegern sighed. “If you would excuse a mere attendant to give counsel,” he said, turning to Melchior and Gerianne. “You must always treat matters such as this with sincerity. They are of the most delicate nature and greatest importance.”

The children nodded while Fonsel shook his head. “This is precisely why the topic draws such mirth.”

“If you are content to have your son hide his true feelings from you, treat them so indelicately,” Helgemut snapped. “Though I suppose you believe that Angriff knows nothing of Efflorelume⁴¹.”

Melchior quietly began collecting his scattered implements so he could run away from the mounting tension. Sigsnyr stepped forward to assist breaking line of sight between Helgemut and Fonsel before they could really begin fighting. “Do not worry, it will pass,” he whispered in Melchior's ear.

It did pass but only because Fridegern interrupted the argument with a question of his own. “Speaking of Liebeskhilfe, Pepin tells me you pointed him out to Lady Eisenfleur.”

“I did.” Melchior replied.

“Do you have a greater purpose for tying them together?” Helgemut asked.

“No, it was just as I said at the time. Flautzeal has been clear about his feelings on the subject while Pepin has not given a definitive no. It seems to me that it would be a better use of one's time to court him instead,” Melchior explained.

Fridegern nodded thoughtfully. “While I don't disagree. I humbly request that you not make such declarations until you’ve spoken with Pepin about his goals.”

“It is Lord Melchior's right as his lord to make such matches,” Fonsel noted.

“That is correct. But as his friend, I should think Lord Melchior wishes to see Pepin happy,” Helgemut replied. They exchanged poisonous smiles once again.

Sigsnyr leaned down to tidy the pristine tabletop. “It has been like this all afternoon. Do not worry.”

Melchior nodded minutely. “I would like for Pepin to be happy. I will ask him about his desires for a partner before meddling again.”

“We thank you from the very bottoms of our hearts,” Fridegern said. “Ah… it brings us great peace to know our little brother is well tended in your care.”

“Do not grow too peaceful,” Helgemut muttered.

Fridegern fought back a pained expression. “No, of course not.” He took a moment to steady himself. “Shall we go inside to begin the portraits?”

Melchior jumped up. Sigsnyr was only fast enough to assist because he was already so close by. “Yes let’s. We will run out of time. We must depart in time for dinner.”

“Please follow me,” Helgemut said as he gracefully stood with Fridegern’s assistance. He led them through a different door and past another painting.

Melchior glanced at Gerianne. She shuffled forward. “Do you know why they are fighting?” he whispered.

“Sir Fonsel and I went to school together. We have never agreed on anything,” Helgemut called over his shoulder.

Melchior bit his lip. It was a rude question to ask and he felt awful that their host had heard it. He wished for a moment that he had sound-blockers in his belt pockets. Gerianne patted his shoulder and fell back into place.

“I admit, I was young and stupid and was terribly unkind to Helgemut,” Fonsel added.

“And now you are older,” Helgemut said. Fonsel grumbled something unintelligible.

They soon came to the drawing room where four chairs had been set up. Two were for subjects while one small table and one easel were set up at chairs across from them. Fridegern appeared followed by his parents who were now dressed in finer outfits which matched their respective hair colors. Like Helgemut, Pepin's father had dark green hair while his wife had purple hair. The boys pressed their parents into their chairs to go first.

“I will be more important for your pictures to be finished,” Helgemut insisted. “And we are running out of time.”

“Of course you may visit again any time, Lord Melchior,” Pepin's mother said brightly.

“Thank you ever so much,” Melchior replied. He looked at the two options for drawing then turned to Sigsnyr. “Sigsnyr, may I rely upon you once again?”

Sigsnyr looked surprised and very much like he wanted to say no but a bit of charcoal appeared in his hand all the same. He took the easel on Melchior's insistence while Melchior sat at the table facing Pepin's mother. She smiled, paused to swat at Fridegern as he tried to adjust her hair, then turned back to smile again. “Mother it is crooked,” he insisted and leaned down to try again. With one hand resting on her far shoulder, leaning down with a tender expression, Melchior thought Fridegern looked more beautiful than ever before. He took a moment to fix that second in his mind and began drawing the mirthful frown Pepin's mother directed up at her son.

Perhaps it was wrong to draw the subject twisted around, not facing the front, but he could still capture most of her face and things felt more lively that way. Once he'd also carefully recorded their embroidery and jewelry he began to called Sigsnyr to switch with him.

He paused before any sound could escape to watch Sigsnyr frown at his paper. Someone had replaced his folded sheet with an uncreased one and provided a wooden board to support it. Melchior couldn't see well from so far away but he could tell that Sigsnyr hadn't gotten very far. Rather than switch places he chose to draw Pepin's dad from his seat.

Helgemut buzzed around his father serving tea and making the gruff man chuckle while he was trying to look dignified. Melchior was enamored with that moment between his grimace and his laughter. He was also amused by Helgemut’s hand gestures and how much he wiggled his head while telling stories. What a shame that he'd missed this earlier while being focused on the tree. Melchior drew several of Helgemut's funny faces before settling on one he liked.

At one point, to punctuate his tale about an embarrassing time he’d been kicked by a small child while dressing the giebe and fallen over his lord's shoulders, he wrapped his arms around his father from the back. The older man shoved him off quickly while laughing hysterically. This was the only choice for their portrait in Melchior's mind.

They continued drawing and listening to familial chatter until the steward hastened into the room. “Lord Pepin has returned,” he announced with panicked eyes.

Everyone paused. “Oh that's right, Pepin always leaves before dinner time,” Sigsnyr mused before turning back to his easel.

“Why didn't you say so!” Melchior cried. He looked around for a solution only to realize there was no good way to hide their activities. Seeing as Pepin would find them no matter what he turned to his knights. “You must hide!” he whispered loudly.

“Why would we hide, my lord?” Gerianne asked while Fonsel looked visibly torn between following orders and protecting Melchior.

“Or take off your armor. Pepin will be frightened to find knights in his home,” Melchior insisted, he placed down his tools and leapt up, pushing Fonsel towards the nearest object large enough to hide him; the curtains. Gerianne instantly joined him in shoving.

“I’ll doff, I’ll doff,” Fonsel said while resisting the combined efforts of the two tiny knights. He transformed his light armor back into a faestone while Gerianne did the same.

They had moved out of sight of the door when Pepin burst in. “Why is everyone hid… Helgemut!” he yelled and ran over, obviously intent on flinging his arms around his brother. Helgemut stopped him and looked at Sigsnyr. Pepin looked hurt until he followed his eyes.

He blushed bright red as he smoothed his uniform. “My apologies, we have a guest. Lord Sigsnyr, welcome. What are you doing here? You should be with Lord…” he looked around again only to see his lord and the knights standing in the corner looking incredibly guilty. “Lord Melchior?”

“Greetings Pepin. Fancy seeing you here,” Melchior replied.

“I… live here. But yes, it is amazing to come home to find you here in our drawing room.”

Pepin's mother stood up. “Pepin, dear. You’re still in your uniform. Why don't you go change for dinner. Helgemut will assist you,” she said and shooed him away. He was dragged from the room with narrow eyes and a cackling Helgemut .

“What’s going on? Why are you here? I mean I’m happy you're here but why?” Pepin asked as he was escorted up the stairs.

“Your lord was coming to visit. How could I miss that?” Helgemut replied.

“He is visiting without me here. What’s happening?” Pepin pressed.

“I cannot say. What does it matter?”

“It matters a lot. I’ve wanted to introduce you for such a long time. Now I’ve missed the chance.”

“There's still your other friend. I haven't met Nik yet,” Helgemut said in a soothing tone.

“Do not try to calm me. I wish to be angry right now. Why can't you tell me what's happening?”

Helgemut patted his head anyway. “It is all for you. We are helping to prepare a gift. You do not want me to spoil the surprise, do you?”

Pepin sank into his chair with a sigh. “He is a menace. This rampage must end before he empties his coffers. And how do all of you come into this?”

“I must once again demure,” Helgemut said. He gestured from Pepin to get up and turn around. “Though, I am impressed. He seems to care very deeply for you.”

“Why do you say that?” Pepin asked.

“He tried to hide his knights when he heard you were here,” Helgemut replied. “I was amazed that he knew, let alone that he would go so far to accommodate you.”

“He is like that with everyone,” Pepin said but a blush rose on his cheeks. “I’m happy you’re home.”

“Me too. I think I’ll stay for a couple of days since I flew all the way here.”

Pepin spun around and wrapped his arms around Helgemut. “Really!? How wonderful. There is so much we should do. Oh… but I have work for the next couple of days.”

“We can talk in the evenings,” Helgemut assured him. “We can even sit in the tree.”

Pepin beamed. “I have devised a way to bring tea up. We can have a little party!”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

By the time Pepin had dressed and returned for dinner. Lord Melchior and his retinue had vanished along with everything that was set up for their visit. The rest of his family was just as tight lipped though they kept glancing at a sheet of paper and giggling. It was eventually delivered to Pepin where he could finally see that it was a small sketch of Helgemut making a funny face while their father tried not to laugh. It was very obviously sliced from a larger piece of paper and drawn by Melchior.

He returned to his room after a long and boisterous evening. Pepin no longer believed that Melchior had suddenly developed a lack of confidence in his attendants. It was more likely that he didn't want to spoil his outing or the surprise. He shivered at the thought of Zargerecht stalking around his house then considered Kolteruze. There was no reason for Melchior to exclude Kolteruze from a visit concerning Pepin's gift. At least he didn't think so. Something told him that Melchior did lack trust in Kolteruze at least a little bit. Unless he worried that, like Zargerecht, he would make it difficult to interact with Pepin's family. Whatever his beliefs, Kolteruze was only mean to the clergy because he felt threatened by their competence for no discernible reason.

It was a huge mess and Pepin's head was already throbbing. He needed help sorting things out and stopping this rampage before his lord produced a life size painting of his family or something equally absurd. He readied an ordonnanz and his heart. There was no telling what the price would be for her help.

“Oh Pepin. We share a passion on this topic. Your assistance is all I need,” said Isolde's voice three times. She sounded dangerously pleased.

Footnotes

39. While it’s still light out^

40. You can get older without getting wiser^

41. A way to dismiss something as “woman stuff” or “real men don't do girly things”^

Chapter Text

Hunting Lessons

While the web of collusion thickened in the background, Melchior and Zipporah began their first lessons in leadership. “This is the list my father gave me,” she began. On the table was a well loved wooden board with six lines of text:

Decide what you are hunting
Locate where it can be found
Collect the necessary personnel
Communicate your intentions
Assemble your supplies
Do not die

It was as straightforward as the socializing framework though he wondered whether the final step was superfluous. “You would be surprised how many people must be reminded that their life is worth more than any ingredient,” Zipporah chuckled. She brought out another list. “Let's plan a mock hunt for something very simple. Rungorb are easy to find and plentiful. How would you begin?”

“Well, we’ve decided what we are hunting so I suppose the next step is to ask you where it can be found,” Melchior replied.

“Why me?”

“You are here.”

She giggled. “That's true but I am not from here and have hunted in this locale only rarely. I am not the best person to ask.”

Melchior nodded. “Then I should consult Fonsel or Sigsnyr who have hunted here their whole lives,” he said.

“Yes. Very good my lord. Now, you have asked and been presented with several possible locations, what is next?”

Melchior felt like it would be premature to jump to assembling his team. “I would ask more questions and try to pick the safest location.”

“You did not blindly follow the list, that is a good instinct,” Zipporah praised. “However, while safety is among our chief concerns, we can accept a little risk to gain other rewards. We must also consider how often a place has been visited. Taking from only one place too frequently will end up balding it, making it unusable for future gathering. That is why we must perform the ritual at our gathering spot.”

She continued to explain in great detail all the considerations to make when deciding where to go. Mana of different types pooled and gathered in different places which could affect some sensitive plants and drew in different faebeasts. A hunt for one thing would inevitably net other things as well and these ancillary ingredients were important to consider. Plants, animals, fungi, and their fae counterparts influenced different environments in different ways meaning that taking frossas grass from one area would affect that place differently then it might in another area.

“Is it possible to know all these things about everywhere you go?” Melchior asked while reviewing his notes.

“No. That's why it's important to have a local guide,” Zipporah replied. “Let's move our hunt to Leisegang. How would you find the information you need?”

“I would begin by asking Gottschalk since he might have done some hunting in his neighboring province.”

“Why not Kolteruze since he’s from there?”

“I do not think he has done much hunting,” Melchior replied honestly. “I would ask him to recommend someone if Gottschalk could not provide the information we need.”

Zipporah nodded. She’d gotten that impression too. “It is always best to have a local guide but I would choose someone you trust who knows less over a stranger that knows more. You will have to be more conservative and might not have access to the best hunting ground but a knowledgeable guide that seeks to do you harm will have much opportunity in a wilderness you are unfamiliar with.”

Melchior nodded and added these new warnings to his notes. Gerianne stood behind him frowning in her efforts to remember everything. For reasons she did not explain, Zipporah had insisted this be a one on one lesson. Of course, she could not be alone with her lord but she didn't want him to become distracted by other students as he so often did. Besides, they would be in earshot and he would share his notes whether asked to or not. Helenwig and Gerianne were the most disappointed while Gottschalk and Ortolf seemed more annoyed than anything. They were certainly annoyed that Gerianne was allowed to stand close enough to see while the rest of the apprentice knights had to keep a professional distance.

Melchior was doing a good job of ignoring them but he kept glancing over his shoulder showing how much he would rather just include everyone. Zipporah continued on as thought they were the only people in the room.

“I would also choose an inexperienced person over an expertly written resource. Plant identification is difficult enough when you have seen what you are looking for. Using descriptions will make it all but impossible to find things and many beneficial plants look similar to poisonous ones.

“Maps are useful but the time necessary to create them means they are usually out of date by the time they are completed or else too vague to be useful. A hunting map would need to be updated constantly to be useful as more than a general reference.”

“What about Sigsnyr’s map of the Royal Academy?” Melchior asked.

“It is rather general and mostly portrays things that are unlikely to move: buildings, gathering spots, lakes, plant distribution, geologic information. That sort of thing.”

“Geologic information? Like what kind of rocks there are?”

“Yes. That has a large impact on what kind of plants are likely to be there. Storms and natural disasters can scar the landscape but the same kinds of plants are likely to return to the same kinds of soil.”

It was a lot of information. The second entry on the list was the longest by far. They almost didn't have time to touch on personnel and equipment. “Those are kind of easier to manage because they do not change quite so much.” She produced yet another list, this one on a roll of waxed parchment that was crisp and new. Beside it she placed her own list which was stained and crumpled and had been altered several times. “This is what I take on every hunt without fail, no matter how short. My schtappe has replaced some of these tools but it is good to always have a real, mundane knife.”

A knife was not forthcoming which was devastating. Melchior could easily afford one mundane knife and sheath but he felt sure it would be better to be gifted one. He vowed to remember that when he taught this all to Henriette and added it to the list of things to task Kirk with acquiring from the lower city.

The rest of the items were self explanatory. Rations, water, and potions were familiar but Melchior had questions about cordage and how it differed from rope, fire starters, dowsing rods, insect repellent, ect. Zipporah had answers for everything while the apprentices struggled not to add stray comments. Eventually they had to move on. She promised a more indepth lesson once these things were assembled into an adventuring kit for him.

“As for personnel,” Zipporah said before gesturing broadly to the audience. “Your retainers will be the primary members of your hunting band. The knights hunt. The scholars secure information and prepare equipment. The attendants serve as camp followers.

“Since we are on the subject. Only Haldis has both the skill and the temperment to serve as a camp follower, which will not help you at the Royal Academy. You will not be leading any hunts next year, but I strongly advise you to consider taking on an attendant that can follow you into danger.”

Kolteruze and Pepin could not take this indictment silently. “I am not incapable of accompanying a hunt,” Kolteruze insisted.

“I have grown beyond the worst of things, my lord, and I will continue to develop such that this no longer causes you any inconvenience,” Pepin declared.

Zipporah fixed them with an intense smile for interrupting while Melchior just grew pensive. “Does it have to be a noble attendant?”

“You will want their ability to use magic tools but commoner camp followers can do the work,” Zipporah conceded.

Melchior nodded. Perhaps Adaire would not mind coming along on hunts. Needing Kirk’s assistance in this way would also be a good excuse to bring him even after the paper research was completed.

“This is a much debated topic, and you are sure to develop your own opinion, but I am of the opinion that camp followers need only enough mana to perform their duty to the minimum standard and no more.” There was a murmuring in the crowd. Zipporah raised a hand and explained. “Everything your body creates, from chaos to breath, contains mana. The more mana you have, the more mana you shed into your environment. Mana attracts faebeasts and camp followers will be the most vulnerable out of anyone.”

“Why not use knights as followers?” Melchior asked.

“In a dangerous area, at least one knight is always left at camp but you generally want to have all the power you can get focused on the task,” Zipporah replied. “Sigsnyr would be an exceptional camp follower; able to protect both himself and others. But he is an archknight. You will want him by your side.”

It was a lot to take in and think about. Melchior and Gerianne went over his notes while everyone else was released to find the closest flat surface to pour what they could remember onto their own pages. For the first time, Gerianne felt like she needed a diptych

For a Warm Winter

The rest of his week was uneventful. He visited his little sister and had tea with his mother. Florencia asked him to host the following week's tea for himself and Charlotte as she would be too busy with planning for the Hunting Tournament. That was something to look forward to after his temple days.

After settling in, Lothar shared the schedule. He’d secured a time to meet Kazmiar and Streita before the all clergy meeting concerning the Harvest Festival and Wil the Sculptor would return for another lesson. Melchior was filled with excitement for his next lesson but he needed to focus on the meeting.

He didn't anticipate it being difficult to convince Kazmiar and Streita to approve of his reforms. Everything he had planned would improve the lives of the gray clergy and provide a warmer winter for all. Lothar was less confident but he shared his knowledge of the temple finances all the same. Melchior and his scholars knew a lot but Lothar understood the entire system of donations, expenses, and disbursements necessary to keep the temple operational.

“The greatest obstacle to any reform is the will to enact it, my lord. This problem is not life threatening and does not impact the service rendered to the blue clergy. They therefore have no reason to support any changes especially if it might impact their own quality of life,” he explained. Isolde nodded along while Melchior frowned.

“It impacts my quality of life to see my attendants suffer,” he grumbled.

“Then we have failed in our duty,” Lothar replied. “Our personal comfort should not influence your service.”

“I do not want you to hide your discomfort,” Melchior insisted. “I may not have much power but I can assist in these small things.”

“You have much authority, my lord. That is why it would be an usurpation of our place to request your assistance,” Lothar countered.

“Then who would you ask?”

“We would adapt such that it does not influence our service.”

“And if I find that unacceptable?” Melchior asked.

Lothar could not say what he aught, that knowing his lord suffered when he suffered just meant he would have to work harder to hide his suffering. He also couldn't say what he wished, that this revelation brought him joy.

“You can simply order them to tell you, my lord,” Isolde interjected. “If you think these measures are necessary then they are.”

Melchior grew pensive and looked at Lothar. As always, his smile was calm and unreadable. “Let us continue the cost analysis,” he decided. Questions of will could wait until the meeting itself. Warming two additional rooms would be expensive for any one priest but was doable using their collective budget. After taking a ten percent cut from the proceeds of the sale of Hasse's papermaking, they could even afford to buy a few extra gray mantles so that every gray attendant could be issued one along with a small collection for the orphanage. Coats would use less fabric but the size disparity between individuals would mean they needed even more articles.

Isolde and Flautzeal felt just as proud of their work as Melchior felt sure it would be accepted. They failed to predict Kazmiar’s actual complaint.

“I cannot allow my attendants to be in such close contact with the attendants of other priests,” he said. “They handle too much sensitive information and work too closely with me. The threat of a scheme is much too great even if the likelihood is very small.”

“You believe the other blue priests would use the warming dormitory as a means to do you harm?” Melchior asked in amazement.

“Not just me, but you as well,” Kazmiar said.

Streita was forced to agree. “They also have time now to enact such plans.”

“Because of the day off?” Isolde asked.

“Indeed. I would not have endorsed this before but now I cannot even remain neutral. There is too much risk in allowing the attendants to mingle so closely,” Streita said.

“Wouldn't the presence of so many others not constrain their ability to conspire?” Flautzeal asked.

“Most will have no reason to involve themselves. It is often safer to turn a blind eye,” Kazmiar said. “Even with orders to report everything, we still do not hear about all that occurs. You also cannot rely on feelings of gratitude towards you to outweigh all accumulated dissatisfaction.”

Melchior sighed heavily. If the easiest option was so dangerous, they would have to go for the more complicated one. “I see. In that case we will have to finish the stoves.”

Kazmiar felt a shiver slide down his back. He expected the High Bishop to accept their wise counsel and give up on the idea. The gray clergy were uncomfortable but they wouldn't die over the winter. It was clear from his body language that he intended to continue pressing the issue. “What are the stoves?” Kazmiar asked while hiding his dread behind curiosity.

“As we saw in Herzfeld, it is not safe to set fires in an enclosed room but it should be possible to create a magic tool to mitigate these problems. A magic and mundane hybrid stove able to warm a single room,” Melchior explained.

“Sigsnyr and Benedikt are already working on it,” Isolde added.

“You wish to outfit every room with one of these stoves?” Streita asked, her eyes wide. That would be so much more expensive than heating two extra arch-noble rooms for a season.

“Only those currently occupied. I believe the insulating properties of ivory might make it possible to use just one stove to heat multiple rooms on a rotation,” Melchior elaborated.

Kazmiar looked deathly pale. That would also require mana, if they were magic tools, and no one could afford something like that. He wondered whether this was some kind of threat to force the previous plan through.

“We could use more rooms. Can we assume that you do not have the same misgivings about your attendants mingling with Lord Melchior's?” Flautzeal asked.

“They do already,” Kazmiar replied.

“Then simply have two rooms for your attendants and two rooms for everyone else’s. They can't have the same worries as an Archduke Candidate and their retainer,” Flautzeal said.

The budget they’d created did not account for a doubling of the necessary firewood nor could they agree on who all’s attendants should be placed in the High Bishop's ancillary chambers, as they began to be called. Gerianne, Nikolaus, and Deliroze were all in his service but their attendants were not involved in the running of the temple. Since Melchior never visited their rooms it was decided that they would go to the other chambers.

The next problem was how many gray priests needed to be boarded vs shrine maidens. The other priests would need to use an archnoble room to accommodate all of them but tha t would place them closer to Melchior’s chambers than anyone was comfortable with. By contrast, the few retainers kept by Kazmiar and Melchior together would barely fill a laynoble room.

After much moving around, assigning the other noble blues’ apprentices to the High Bishop's auxiliary and electing to bring over spare beds from the orphanage and storage rather than move them from the gray clergy's rooms, they were left with only one problem.

“How will attendants who are so far away from their master be summoned when needed?” Streita asked. The Orphanage Director's chambers were different from the rest of the temple such that her attendant's rooms were not nearly as cold over the winter. But she was used to planning for every contingency and the problems that might arise from such delays.

Everyone was quiet for a moment. “What about the bells?” Melchior asked.

“The bells are not that loud.” Kazmiar replied.

“I mean the magic tool that we use at the Royal Academy,” Melchior said.

“We would need so many. It would be quite expensive,” Kazmiar sighed.

“If Lord Melchior's knights gather the materials and his scholars brew them, the cost would be negligible,” Isolde mused. “How many clergy are there in total?”

The plan was more cumbersome than originally intended but the warming dormitories were approved and announced. The other blue clergy were unhappy with the couple of small silver they would be charged for this service but the gray clergy couldn't totally hide their relief.

No one seemed upset about Melchior taking Haldenzel. The tax allotment for clergy was higher in this province but travel expenses were much greater too. There were some murmurs about Gerianne getting Herzfeld but no one could make a case against her after she personally contributed to the success of their ritual. The autumn meeting ended without incident or uproar.

After this battle, Melchior and company were happy to lose themselves in another sculpting lesson. First he asked Wil all about his trip to House Klavier.

“I was treated very kindly. They are passionate about their crafts and their music. It was inspiring. Only… they are considering building a kiln and ceramics workshop at their estate for me to use,” he said with a sigh.

Lady Matilda and Lady Zarafina had shown him their clay instruments and asked endless questions about how they might be reproduced and about the possibility for new musical inventions. Wil was treated to dinner and a tour of their workshops including a mostly empty building that would be perfect for a studio if he had plans to leave his place of business.

“My foreman would be devastated. Not to mention that I generally make sculptures anyway. Musical instruments would be a fun pastime but I have exclusivity contracts. My lord, your grace, wo… it is beyond me to make requests but, could you speak with them?”

Wil couldn't say no on his own. He would have to go to his other patrons for help but he didn't want to tell them about the clay instruments lest they ask for one as well.

“Of course they could not ask you to give up the life you've built in the lower city, but you can make a few instruments right?” Melchior asked. He was just as curious about ceramic flutes as Flautzeal.

Wil glanced at Flautzeal who hadn't interrupted but was obviously listening. “The level of investment they request would preclude other commissions entirely,” he replied.

Melchior nodded. “I am looking forward to my tea bowl so I will have to withdraw support for instruments at this time. Perhaps there is someone else you can recommend.”

Wil promised to find someone then began their second lesson. This week they brought over some of their own clay from the Orphanage storage. It was stiffer and smoother than Wil's. He was fascinated and chose to do the entire lesson while using the new substance.

“It is hard to work but also very strong. It takes fine details exquisitely,” he mumbled as he showed off new skills.

This time, Melchior was prepared with a reference sculpture. He formed his highbeast faestone into a rudelhute to the amazement of Lyle and Wil. Once they finished oohing and awwing, Wil had a confession to make. “I am terrible at sculpting animals. In truth, I’m also bad at doing people but I’ve gotten good at faces and clothing so that hasn't mattered as much.”

“Why would you sculpt someone without clothing?” Lyle asked.

Wil laughed nervously as six young eyes appraised him. “Some people request such things,” was the most he would say while Lothar smiled daggers at him.

“I have never drawn someone without clothes. It seems like it would be less interesting than the alternative,” Melchior mused while trying to get the neck angle correct.

“Figure drawing is important for improving your art but I think you can wait some time before beginning,” Wil encouraged.

Melchior frowned. “If it will make me better, why should I wait?”

Nikolaus coughed while Lothar stepped forward. “My lord, I believe you should consult your art instructor on this topic.” Melchior turned to Flautzeal, throwing Lothar into a mild panic. How could he forget who Melchior's current instructor was. Flautzeal was likely to advise taking any step to improve one's art. “And your parents,” he added quickly.

“It would not be difficult to arrange. You have many servants,” Flautzeal noted.

The blood drained from Lothar's face. Melchior naturally caught this. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

“Quite, your grace. If I might be so bold as to request to be excluded from such things in the future, I would be endlessly grateful,” Lothar said in a higher voice than usual.

Melchior glanced around. Everyone except for Lyle, who looked confused, and Flautzeal, who looked calm, were pale and shaking. “I will wait,” he declared, causing a mass exhalation.

Since Wil struggled with animals, he made their second reference highbeast look like Dedryck in his tea party outfit. Lyle and Wil were once again amazed but the frozen terror that had just thawed filled the room again. Even Flautzeal was horrified this time.

“My lord, that is a person,” he squeaked.

“Yes, I know.” Mini-Dedryck did a wave before resettling his posture and going eerily still. “Master Wil said he struggles with animals. I thought this would be easier to use for demonstrations.”

“It is. Thank you, my lord,” Wil said and began sculpting happily. He mumbled praise for the exceptional clay as he worked, oblivious to the tension in the room.

Flautzeal looked ashen. “How is this possible?”

“What do you mean? Highbeast can take any shape. You look frightened, Flautzeal,” Melchior replied. He looked around again. Every noble looked like they’d seen something deeply troubling. He desummoned it. Wil stopped working with a frown but recovered upon noticing the air. The nobles all relaxed but the general feeling of disquietude remained.

“Lord Melchior, a person is neither an object nor an animal,” Flautzeal said. “I do not think you should use your highbeast to create people.”

“I must agree with Flautzeal,” Nikolaus said. “I cannot imagine seeing myself like that.”

“I do not mind,” Gerianne said. All eyes snapped to her. “It could even be useful in a fight.”

“You can't be serious,” Nikolaus gasped. “You are talking about a person shaped highbeast!”

“Could it fly?” Gerianne asked.

“All highbeast can fly,” Melchior replied.

“I think you should be discreet about this particular ability, my lord. And only create people with their permission,” Flautzeal suggested.

Melchior nodded. “I will ask for permission,” he decided. “Master Wil, we will be switching to Gerianne.”

The lesson continued with an awkward air. The sculptures of Gerianne by the novices were not good, but Melchior chose to keep his two figurines. He needed to make a small army so he couldn't be too picky. Flautzeal smashed his immediate every time while Lyle was content to continue refining his rudelhute the entire lesson. It ended up looking better than Melchior’s but Melchior was not offended in the slightest. Instead he heaped Lyle with praise as the apprentice of Wilma, maiden of Kunstzeal, and included it along with his own to be fired.

“They must dry completely so it will be several weeks before they are fired,” Wil warned. Melchior was devastated but had already waited this long to assemble his army. He could wait for as long as it took.

Letters- An Interlude

Once the ochre seal was pressed onto Lady Raphaela’s letter, it sat on Melchior's desk for a couple of weeks. Eventually it was brought to the temple where it lived for a couple of days in comfort amidst other sheets of paper. Then it was placed in a basket and taken into the Lower City to an inn which had been recently renovated and outfitted with new furnishing in order to attract the new wealthy merchants from greater duchies.

One such merchant was Franz Ferrier, into whose satchel the letter was placed. Franz was the second generation of merchants in his family. His brother was still a ferrier as so many of his ancestors had been. Their work traveling around, shoeing horses and selling horse related equipment led very naturally into commerce. As they already knew how to acquire quality metal for their shoes and tack, the selling of metal goods was also an easy decision.

It was harder to gain noble patronage but Franz was nothing if not ambitious. He learned the etiquette, sourced only the very best goods, and leveraged his brothers incredible skill as a horse caretaker to secure the favor of an archnoble house. As such, he took his duties to that house very seriously. This is how the letter made its way into his patrons hands alongside any other correspondence he’d been entrusted with. There was also the fact that he didn't know the girl to which it was intended.

“It is unreadable,” he complained after the lengthy greetings and reports on his trip. “The attendant who gave it to me said it is intended for Lady Raphaela whom the High Bishop of Ehrenfest is also sending a gift.”

“What is this gift?” his lady asked. She touched the seal and looked over the script several times. It was perfectly readable, just written in the kind of script noble’s used to make their writing look particularly fancy. It was neat and pretty and clearly written by a child.

“Needles or other things of equivalent value. He paid but is allowing the young lady to make her own selections,” Franz replied.

“Needles you say?” she smiled a smile which reached her eyes. “Oh how amusing. Though priests are not allowed to wed he would send a gift of courtship.”

“If I may be so bold. I do not think it has anything to do with matters of Liebeskhilfe. He is too young and purchased a similar gift for his female retainer, the women associated with his male retainers, and every other woman he knows,” Franz said.

She waved away his logic. “Oh but how boring is that. No, it's far more exciting to think that he's interested in one of our women. Though, there is the question of how he met her in the first place. I do not recall a Raphaela accompanying the delegation that traveled to Ehrenfest with faestones this summer. Nor do I think they would visit a temple.”

“Do you know who she is?” Franz asked with a sigh.

“Of course I do. She only entered the Academy last year.”

Franz wasn't sure how that made it easy to know the girl in question. The Royal Academy and everything about it was clouded in mystery for a commoner merchant no matter how well connected. There were no horses at the Royal Academy so his family wouldn't even have the chance to send servants.

His patron tapped her lips with the back of a pen which wrote without the use of ink. “He did not tell you how they know each other?” Franz shook his head. “And you were unable to learn his name?” Franz said that he hadn't. He’d been summoned by the High Bishop of Ehrenfest and was expected to use that form of address.

All he’d said about their relationship was that they were friends. There were many ways to become “friends” with someone. So many that the word barely held meaning and that was the extent of the High Bishop's explanation concerning their relationship. “I suppose there's only one way to find out,” she mused and flipped the letter over. She positioned her knife just next to the seal then paused.

It really was a beautiful seal. Large and vibrant, the yellow wax pool had been marked with a complicated and expensive seal featuring crisp lines and a lion reared back on its hind legs. There were even flecks of gold isolated to the lion’s mane. Franz's lady had passed geography in her first year then promptly forgot about the duchies beneath the notice of Klassenberg. However, there was something about this seal other than its beauty that gave her pause and brought to mind those studies from all those years ago.

“This is from Ehrenfest,” she thought aloud.

“That is correct, your grace.”

“And their duchy color is yellow?”

“They would insist it is called ochre but you are not incorrect,” Franz replied.

She set down her knife. A letter without the name of the sender was strange but only for the sort of person who needed to put their name on things. Someone who could mark a letter with their duchy's color and heraldic animal would not need to write their name. It would also be above her station to open such a missive even if it came from Ehrenfest.

So the letter escaped defilement long enough to be placed in the hands of the Second Wife. “I just thought you would be equally amused by a priest from Ehrenfest sending a missive to that chalice's⁴² daughter.”

“You just want to read it but lack the authority,” the Second Wife replied.

“Oh, how well does Schutzaria know Ordoshnelli?” Fran’z lady tittered

The Second Wife rolled her eyes but opened the letter all the same “It is from the High Bishop of Ehrenfest, you say? So the youngest son. Mel-something or other. Gentaine told me but you know how I struggle with all those insignificant children they send to school every year.” Once the seal was carefully removed without being damaged, they read the letter out loud.

“Oh how adorable, he sends his blessings and laments that they spent so little time together. How besotted must he be?”

“You are throwing things out of proportion yet again,” the Second Wife sighed. “He is a child who has yet to sense his first whiff of mana. What can he know of besottedness?”

“But it is curious, no? He sent needles and embroidery designs. It is practically an invitation for her to reply with a handkerchief and then a cape.”

“He also notes that it is her one and only hobby outside of studying. What else could he send her?” the Second Wife asked.

“My lady, my dear friend. That is the most boring interpretation and the most flattering,” The Second Wife raised an eyebrow. “What damage it would do to their efforts to have a daughter courted by a priest? To have their perfect, flawless princess so mired by association?”

“The temple is not as it once was, especially in Ehrenfest. You must be unaware of the efforts of the Zent to reform it and improve its image. We must support her even with our stray words,” the Second Wife said.

“Yes, yes. It is as you say but that work is ongoing and not yet complete. We will seem all the more progressive for behaving as though it is a boon for little Raphaela.”

It was a petty plan which would needlessly tarnish the reputations of two children but it would make Winter Socializing that much more entertaining so they decided to carry it out. They owed nothing to either the Klassenberg Traditionalist faction or an Ehrenfest Archduke Candidate after all. Pettier still, that they took their favorite sheet of embroidery designs and spread the rumor that Melchior of Ehrenfest had given embroidery supplies to dozens of girls hoping to receive dozens of handkerchiefs in return. They could disavow their rumors with theories about his interests in embroidery as an artform or fan them with insinuations that he was taking after his father, a storied crusher of rafels.

The rumors about Raphaela’s supposed suitor reached her before the letter with its seal reattached and one page missing. It was short and the extra pages only included art so there would've been no way for Raphaela to know it had been opened had Melchior not mentioned the number of pages he was sending. She still couldn't demand her stolen sheet but her mother could spread counter rumors about the kinds of women who take what isn’t theirs.

That was no help and only served to keep talk alive about her supposed courtship with a priest. It was surprisingly common for people to be ignorant of the fact that this priest was the High Bishop and an Archduke Candidate even though it made no sense for a girl all but imprisoned in her family's estate to know a member of the clergy from a different duchy if she hadn't met then at school where many noble clergy members now attended.

“You’ve never mentioned this boy before,” her mother said when she came to deliver the letter. “I thought these rumors were unfathomable but to think they were true. How shameful! I should not even let you have this.” her mother spat.

Unfortunately for her, only the marked recipient or someone of higher status than Lord Melchior could open his mail. She would never know what it said if Raphaela didn't open it. “I have spoken about him. He is Lord Melchior of Ehrenfest. We took tea together at the beginning of last term,” Raphaela argued.

“I was told this was from a priest,” her mother snapped. “Was that a lie?”

Raphaela withheld the urge to roll her eyes. She'd already explained this and those possibilities weren't mutually exclusive. “He is a member of the clergy. The…”

“How shameful. You have been communicating with the temple. Have I not taught you to avoid depravity? Why have you flung yourself into the mire!” she screeched.

“Lord Melchior is not depraved. Ehrenfest Temple is different from ours. He was appointed High Bishop by the Aub not sent there because of a crime,” Raphaela argued.

“That we know of, there is no telling what a place such as Ehrenfest would try to cover up.” Raphaela just waited patiently for her mother to finish retelling the sordid history of their neighbors to the southeast. Once it was made clear just how backwater and uncouth a place it was, her mother announced something good. “A merchant is here to see you. Your priest is sending a courting gift.”

“It would not be a courting gift,” Raphaela said quickly. Lord Melchior had been clear about his intentions being non-romantic.

“Are you certain? It is from a merchant of fine metal goods,” her mother mused. “Perhaps it is a necklace.”

Raphaela was sure it wasn't. “He has detailed it in this letter. He paid this merchant, while he was in Ehrenfest, a small silver with which I may select the needles I prefer. ‘As Kunstzeal could not allow any other to select her brushes’,” Raphaela explained.

“That is rather cheap for a courting gift.”

“It is not a courting gift!” Raphaela cried, exasperated.

“Watch your tone, young lady. I am still your mother and this is still my house,” her mother snapped.

“Apologies, Mother.” Raphaela sighed.

She folded up her letter and slipped it into her own pocket before her attendant could remember to take it from her. Perhaps that was the benefit of all this. She’d received a letter which her parents could not withhold on the grounds that her newest friend was a bad influence. It even included novel and antique embroidery designs and came with sharp new needles. It was a shame there was no thread but that would absolutely be considered a courting gift.

She'd been dubious when Lord Melchior declared they were friends. That could mean so many things and it generally meant he wanted something from her. He was already the strange sort of Archduke Candidate that would try to offer deference to an archnoble and strike up conversations with random mednobles in the halls. When he offered the protection of his retainers she’d prepared herself for a truly difficult request but there was nothing. So far he wanted nothing in return for being kind and sharing valuable information except that she offer her protection to his retainers of lower status and learn to transcribe the ancient language.

That wasn't so bad in the end. It was even a pretty way to add text to embroider designs without having to worry overmuch about the meaning. It was a small price to pay for the assistance of Alexandria’s Archduchess in her time of need. Oh how radiant and beautiful she was up close. Not even her mean husband could distract from her elegant loveliness. In fairness, he had shooed away her tormentors and chastised her attendant for doing nothing to help her charge. But his guard knight was scary and Aub Alexandria's was almost as pretty as her lady.

Thoughts of female guard knights just reminded her that Melchior had also sent her her very first knight escort and it had been a dashing lady instead of a dirty boy. Raphaela clutched her pocket with her letter and needles and giggled. She hurried back to her room to stash them with her embroidery things before her mother remembered to take the letter away. There was still the chance that an attendant would come rifle through things and take it but this was the best she could do until she was old enough for a hidden room.

As it turned out, the real benefit of Lord Melchior's letter was that the missing page was returned by Lady Gentaine herself. Raphaela was only a little disappointed after being handed a sheet of paper rather than an offer to join Lady Gentaine’s service but at least she’d been able to meet her dream lady a second time. Maybe she would remember her now.

Slightly crumpled with a tea stained corner, it was clear that the page had been through many hands. Raphaela understood at once why this page was stolen out of all the others. These were not traditional designs but ones of Melchior's own creation. He clearly didn't know how embroidery worked but that meant he was uninhibited by reality. She couldn't help but smile as she took her page back to her room in the Winter Dormitory. She had new thread and new blank handkerchiefs to test these new designs.

Footnotes

42. A not at all polite use of the euphemism for “vagina”.^

Chapter Text

Letters Cont.

A second letter, well package, was sealed in the Archduke's office some time later. This one was taken by a girl with pastel blue hair and pink eyes and entrusted to her commoner servant to deliver it to the Plantin company. In the fall and spring, certain members of their multi-duchy spanning business traded places. The girl was aware of this from discussions with Sister Philine.

This package was begrudgingly accepted. It would be different were it addressed to their patron but it was for a boy in yet a third duchy, one where the Plantin company had no presence. It was marked by an Archduke Candidate who was a very good customer and would give them an excuse to make connections with Dunkelfelger traders visiting Alexandria. Milda and Benno would always capitalize on opportunities even if they came in inconvenient packages. This would be no different.

As it was inter-duchy communication between nobles, it had to be turned over to the authorities in Alexandria. The Aub’s pet merchants wouldn't break her laws even if others would try. The package was declared and confiscated at the border gate before being teleported away to the castle on a small circle made for that purpose.

There was a building unattached to the main castle structure dedicated to overseeing the mail. It was a new initiative from the Archduchess meant to connect the people of her duchy like never before. Couriers and magic circles linked every province to the capitol allowing for news and personal letters to travel quickly for an affordable fee.

As the package came from the border guards, it was taken to a special room to be inspected. The seal of Ehrenfest meant it could only be opened by the Aub or an Archduke Candidate but it was still subjected to checks for contact poison and malicious circles. Having passed inspection, it was sent to the castle scholars. They ran into the exact same problem, so the letter was placed on Aub Alexandria's pile unopened.

“It's from Ehrenfest and bound for Dunkelfelger, how curious,” the head scholar chirped. “Did they assume we wouldn't read it?”

“They have a similar policy surrounding inter-duchy communication so they must have expected it. It's still rare to see something sealed with our crest,” said a guard knight.

“This isn't the crest of Ehrenfest,” the Archduchess noted after putting aside her other work to examine the mysterious box. Unlike a normal package, it was a box folded from waterproof paper. The seal was one used by all the Aubs children but the presentation brought to mind the one in particular who’d sent some of this paper as a gift once before.

“Shall I summon Lord Ferdinand?” asked the scholar.

“He will want to be present for a letter from home so yes. We will wait until he has free time to read it with us,” declared the Aub. She sighed and set the exciting package aside.

Thankfully, her wait was not long. The man with light blue hair and piercing yellow eyes appeared after only a bell. A scholar was summoned to report on the journey of the package before the Aub and Ferdinand retired to a private room to open it. “It was entrusted to the Plantin Company but the ultimate destination is Dunkelfelger?” he asked while tapping his temples. “Why not use a merchant from Dunkelfelger?”

“They are aware of our law. Perhaps they intended for us to receive it and didn't want to risk it being smuggled through the duchy? There were also fewer merchants from Dunkelfelger this year,” a blonde haired scholar noted.

They wouldn't learn anything more by staring at a sealed box so Ferdinand summoned a knife to cut off the seal. He intentionally cut it in half so that the recipient would know it had been inspected. The ribbon fell away and the boxes were slipped apart. Inside was a letter resting on a pillow of Leidenschaft blue created by a handkerchief wrapping around a small collection of objects. The letter was not sealed so he flipped it open. A slight grimace appeared on his face.

“Oh what's wrong with it?” asked the Aub. She held out a hand for it and made an excited grabbing motion. There was nothing wrong with it but the top page was addressed to them as though the sender knew it would end up before them rather than with scholars. It was one thing to write the main letter in coded language because you knew it might be intercepted, everyone did that. It was quite another to include a note to the people you expected to do the inspecting, calling them out by name.

“Oh it is from Melchior. How delightful… he certainly excels at the use of euphemisms,” the Aub said with a deep frown of concentration and a marked obliviousness to the implications.

“Do not look so confused by the phrases of a child,” Ferdinand teased. He hid his amusement behind a frown as he sorted through the rest of the pages and the gift; a simple chain with two prayer charms attached and a small wooden cylinder.

The Aub scowled at him then fixed a noble smile to her lips. “I was merely complimenting his writing. I find it perfectly intelligible.”

“That's impressive, my lady. It is layered so completely with the touch of Grammaratur that it would take anyone some time to decipher,” giggled her green hair attendant.

The letters were read out loud. The one for its intended recipient was formal with season greetings, innocuous anecdotes about the year, a full description of the packages contents including allusions to the extra letter incase it managed to slip through, and a friendly Gewinnen challenge to be played at the Royal Academy. “At least we will not need to return it with corrections,” Ferdinand said. He seemed to withhold a smile though a nostalgic glimmer reached his eyes.

The Aub sighed heavily. “You would return Melchior's gift to someone else with corrections on his letter. We are not his parents, you know.”

“He is related to us. Poor breeding will reflect poorly on his entire family.”

“Alright. It doesn't matter. As you’ve said it is well written. It isn't as confusing as the letter to us though.”

Ferdinand read this one again. It was in the Ehrenfest style which employed a mix of euphemisms and poetic candor that looked like a euphemism to anyone lacking the right shared experiences with the sender. “That is because it is to both of us. It therefore contains personalized allusions to passed conversations. It is a good attempt but he will have to learn to make even his most coded sentences read well to those who will not understand.”

The Aub's eyes grew wide. “Oh how fun. What secret messages did he send you?” she asked.

“It is not fun. It is an essential skill, one you must also continue to develop,” he replies. “He has included information about his botanical research.” He explained the findings while the Aub glanced back and forth between him and the letter with growing amazement.

“My goodness. My little brother is so talented. I had no idea. What parts don't you understand?”

“This section where he asks about what is unseen by soldiers during yearly feasts.”

“Oh, he’s asking for advice on what to wear under his High Bishop's robes. See, it says he wants to be comfortable both in his casual robes and his ceremonial ones. Those he wears to dinner with the soldiers at Hasse and those he wears to meet with the supreme gods,” she said while pointing out the lines in question.

Ferdinand read the letter yet again and sighed. “We will have to pen a reply but there are no more merchants traveling so late in the season. We will have to wait for the term to begin.”

The Aub looked pained. “That would be so long to wait. How anxious he would be. Sylvester moved most of the legal deposit circles to the castle. We can just send it using them.”

The assembled scholars paled. “My lady, we cannot encourage people to see the circles as possible vectors for sabotage. That they travel only in one direction is what gives peace of mind,” one explained.

“Think fool, Ehrenfest nearly had to imprison your scholar to allay fears about them being embroiled in a new conflict,” cried Ferdinand. He thought for a moment. “We do not need to include gifts. A magic letter will suffice.”

They bickered about the immediacy of using teleportation and the restrictions imposed by the magic tool while the letter was folded back up and placed back atop the blue handkerchief protecting the necklace. The boxes were slid back together and the ribbon replaced. In addition to the split seal, a seal of Alexandria was added. Unlike the Ehrenfest seal, which was just from an Archduke Candidate, the Alexandrian seal was from the Aub herself.

It was then whisked away and teleported to a different duchy gate where knights in orange-red capes handed it to knights with blue capes. Dunkelfelger did not have a policy of checking all their noble’s mail from other places but this package had seals from two other Archduke's offices, making it quite the curiosity. Since an Aub had sealed it, only an Aub or the intended recipient could open it without sparking an inter-duchy incident.

Aub Dunkelfelger looked annoyed to be bothered. “There is no need for the god of darkness to interrupt Ordoshnelli in her flight between children,” he grumbled.

The scholar who’d received it from the scholar who'd been given it by a servant who’d recieved it from a merchant traveling from the border, pointed out the twin seals and noted that it contained magic tools. “It is for Lord Leibshitze as well.”

“Which one is that?” the Aub asked.

“He is the grandson of the Knight Commander, a pre-apprentice scholar going into his second year.”

“That man has too many grandchildren to remember all of them,” the Aub grumbled. He did not want to open the package and doing so would give minor insult to the Knight Commander by giving great insult to his grandson. For something that was bound to be deeply unimportant, there was no need to go through the headache.

This would have been the end of things had his son not come with a report while the box still sat on his desk. “Is that a letter from Ro…Aub Alexandria?” the young man asked.

“It is from Lord Melchior of Ehrenfest,” the Aub replied.

“But it bears her seal.”

“They checked it as it contains magic tools.”

“Should we not check it as well?”

The Aub sighed and leaned back in his chair. It must have been a good moment for a lecture because he began to explain why that was more trouble than it was worth.

“The Knight Commander will not be injured if we simply summon Lord Leibshitze,” argued the young man. Being told he could not know what the package contained only made him more interested to know what was inside. “What if the tools are dangerous or revolutionary. We will never know if we do not look.”

The scholars and attendants were moved by this speech and began adding their own encouragement.

“Ehrenfest is often strange but also occasionally brilliant.”

“It bears the seal of Aub Alexandria. It must have her approval.”

“Perhaps it was invented by Lord Ferdinand.”

“It could change our entire understanding of magic!”

“Perhaps it can be used for ditter!”

“Alright!” yelled the Aub as the fervor spread and intensified. “We will summon Leibshitze.” He held his head and sent an attendant hurrying away.

A few days of waiting on a shelf later, the package was presented to a polite boy and his mother. Leibshitze was pushed forward to give the greetings which he managed without error. Of course he had no idea why he’d been summoned so he kept things as simple as possible.

“You are planning to become a scholar?” Asked the young man. He sat in a chair near the desk looking angry about nothing in particular.

“That is correct, Lord Lesitlaut. I also intend to take the Knight Course for personal enrichment,” replied Leibshitze.

Lestilaut and the Aub looked him up and down. He was definitely too small to be a knight but his dedication to training was admirable. His manners were good and his mother seemed to have enough trust in him to allow him to answer for himself.

“Come sit, Leibshitze. We have received a package for you,” the Aub said and gestured to a chair. Leibshitze paused after rising from his kneeling position. There was only one chair which he felt sure he shouldn't take when his mother would have to stand.

“If I might be allowed to demure to my mother, I would be most grateful,” he said.

The Aub smiled and nodded. Leibshitze's mother sat with a self-satisfied smile of her own. “Thank you, Aub Dunkelfelger. We have long awaited your summons though you say a missive is the only purpose of our fellowship today.”

“Mother,” Leibshitze squeaked before correcting himself. “The scholars of the exalted twelve were selected long ago. Greifenchan did not favor me.”

Lestilaut narrowed his eyes with impatience. “Indeed. This is the reason for our meeting and nothing more,” he said while gesturing to the package. “Open it,” he ordered.

Leibshitze moved immediately while his mother and the Aub shared a look filled with emotions that only parents would understand. In honor of her courage to ask, he took a moment to consider her son. The boy was only in his second year but knew what he wished to do and looked to be working hard at it. He’d been trained in etiquette and learned well and the Aub recalled his name as one from among the honor students. The only thing that could be considered strange was the collection of prayer charms which dangled from a chain on his belt and the fact that the Archduke Candidate of another duchy was sending him letters. He’d had to go to extra effort to make the sigils of the gods visible from a distance hinting at a simmering religious fanaticism.

It was correct that the scholars for Aub Dunkelfelger’s children had already been selected from the children of families which usually produced scholars as opposed to those which produced knights. However, a boy of exemplary quality could always become an exception to the rule. This was Dunkelfelger after all.

Leibshitze used his knife to carefully lift the wax seals then unwrapped his gift. He held the letter like he was unsure whether to read it or turn it over. “Read it out loud, dear,” his mother instructed. He nodded and read without tripping over any of the more difficult words or turns of phrase. He could not withhold a smile at certain points.

Lestilaut gestured for it and looked it over himself while Leibshitze took out the gifts. He offered the needles in their pretty wooden case, painted bright blue, to his mother before removing the charms on their long chain.

“A faestone necklace?” muttered a scholar.

“The letter just said that Lord Melchior has included extra chain in case it breaks,” scoffed Lestilaut. The Aub also scoffed. That hadn't been clear to anyone. The language was too flowery to be quickly understood unless you were Lestilaut who loved poetry and took joy in sending letters dripping with euphemisms arranged into metered sentences.

Even Leibshitze wasn't entirely clear about everything but he would have plenty of time to dissect and translate the words with the help of his parents and siblings. His sister also liked poetry.

Lestilaut tossed the letter back towards its box. “Well, this hasn't been as interesting as I thought. I have other work to attend. If you’ll excuse me,” be said and stalked out.

Would that he had waited a few extra seconds, he might have seen the little drawing done on the bottom of the paper box and hidden by the handkerchief. Alas, he did not get to enjoy the sleeping wolfpaniel puppy.

Leibshitze and his mother returned home with Leibshitze in high spirits and his mother in a pensive mood. She sent him away with his charms but took the letter to show his father. His eyes filled with the beginnings of a tantrum like one he hadn't had in years.

“Worry not, I will return it by dinner time,” she promised.

He calmed and nodded. It wasn't pleasant to be separated from his very first letter from his future lord but his mother kept her promises so he could be patient. Instead he took his necklace to the brewing room so he could use his knife to separate the links. He could add these charms to the others on his belt. Of course Lord Melchior had managed to select ones he didn't have and hadn't considered. Coucocolura and Sterrat felt like random choices but there was sure to be a deeper meaning that Leibshitze just didn't understand yet.

He greeted their family scholar, who was calmly sorting through ingredients, before moving to his brewing station and taking out his knife. Leibshitze didn't think it would be possible for him to cut through Lord Melchior's mana chain and he was correct. In fact he couldn't even dent it.

After a moment to sigh in awe and resignation, he returned to his room where his little sister waited looking pouty. “What took you so long?”

“I was working on a magic tool,” Leibshitze replied.

“You are always brewing or training. You never play with me anymore.”

“Did we not train just yesterday? And the day before, I let you read my book and even explained the hard words for you. You cannot say that I never play with you,” Leibshitze huffed.

“Hump!” Having been beaten by logic she chose to vent her annoyance with animalistic noises. Leibshitze knew what she really wanted was for him to tell her about his adventure to the castle. Why she couldn't just say that, he didn't know.

He summoned her to come sit beside him on the couch in his room. There was a time when she liked to sit on his lap and she still would if he let her but she was almost as big as him now despite being two years younger. Thus, she was forced to sit on the couch but as close as possible while he told her about the Aub and the Heir and his package.

“It is from Lord Melchior, my future lord. He sent me prayer charms that I might gain more Divine Protections and get even stronger,” he explained.

“I don't remember a Lord Melchior,” she said.

“He is from Ehrenfest. Do you remember where that is?”

“On the other side of Alexandria,” she said proudly.

That was kind of correct so he let it go. “Yes. He’s an Archduke Candidate just like Lady Hannalore and Lord Lestilaut. It will be important to learn the names of all the Archduke Candidates attending the Royal Academy while you are there. I’ll keep updating my list for you, so don't worry.”

“Will I have to memorize it?” she sighed. He nodded and she sighed even harder.

“It is not really a good thing, but our generation is quite small. There won't be as many Archduke Candidates for you to remember,” he assured her. “Plus the more you know about them the easier they are to recognize.”

She nodded. “Tell me about Lord Melchior,” she asked. Leibshitze smiled. There was so much to say

Reports and Moves

With everyone becoming so busy in anticipation for the Harvest Festival and Hunting Tournament, Melchior half expected Wilfried to cancel the Gewinnen match. He was glad this didn't happen but it was hard not to feel guilty for taking up his brother's valuable time.

His contrition only deepened after hearing Kolteruze and Benedikt report on their two weeks of helping the Quartermaster.

“It is worse than Kazmiar's office. Maybe even worse than the Aub’s office in spring,” Kolteruze sighed. He then let Benedikt explain his own work first. Ptolemaus had quickly realized that he was best suited to being a runner as he could be given long lists of specific tasks and would dutifully complete them exactly as ordered. He was also an archnoble which smoothed over many interactions that would otherwise be hard for his mednoble assistants.

“It is not that they are bad at their job, they just aren't particularly good at it either,” Benedikt said.

Kolteruze huffed. “No, they have no motivation to excel since Sir Ptolemaus’s endorsement means so little and they have not intention of remaining after their two year terms. They are also knights so they're frightened of being selected as a replacement if they prove to be too skilled.”

While Benedikt had many stories about talking to various captains and instructors and directing servants to move this or that, Kolteruze had been chained to a desk most of the time. “I was able to complete records from spring and have begun on the backlog from summer. The reports sent to the Aub have usually been converted into the proper format but Sir Ptolemaus’s office deals directly with suppliers. Every merchant and farmer uses a different method for their invoices. It slows down absolutely everything.”

“So that is all?” Isolde asked. “You didn't learn anything interesting, didn't collect any good gossip, just worked until you couldn't see straight?”

Benedikt nodded while Kolteruze shook his head. “It would be better if that were the case. Unfortunately, Sir Ptolemaus has been… bereft of company for quite some time.”

In short, Sir Ptolemaus was obviously lonely. His attendant couldn't be bothered with his antics anymore and his assistants were terrified of him. He had so much work that he couldn't socialize with anyone and that had been the case for so long that he no longer had any close friends. His children had married into the provinces and his wife was hermitic in nature. For a gregarious man who loved to talk, she just couldn't provide as much stimulation as he wanted. He was stuck in his office and she was happy to sit at home reading, stitching, and raising her shumils so they had little to talk about.

“From the moment all the assignments are given until I leave for the day, he talks,” Kolteruze said with a heavy expression. “It would be interesting, he knows everything about all the knights but it's just so much.” It was distracting, even for Kolteruze who could process language quickly. He could not work at speed while listening to Ptolemaus talk and responding appropriately. “It would almost be worth it to send someone who's entire job was to entertain him. I could get more work done that way.”

“You don't enjoy talking to him?” Melchior asked. Ptolemaus sounded both well informed and passionate but his work wouldn't get done any faster if the people sent to help were a distraction.

“Not while I'm trying to work,” Kolteruze replied.

“Should I ask to remain in the office?” Benedikt asked.

Kolteruze shook his head. “You are doing too much to address the backlog of errands. We cannot afford it.”

Melchior tapped his temple while he considered. It wouldn't be difficult to send an additional person but Pepin could not spend that long at the Knights Order and his other scholars were helping in the temple.

Isolde seemed to vibrate with anticipation. “My lord, we do not have as much work to do in Kazmiar’s office at the moment. Flautzeal is already spending much of his time in the orphanage. I believe I could be spared for a day.”

“Couldn't you go in the afternoon?” Kolteruze asked. “After you leave the temple.”

Isolde shook her head. “I have other commitments at that time. I must socialize and train the younger scholars among other things.”

“You have my permission to accompany them. Benedikt, I know I only promised one day per week but perhaps you should go more often,” Melchior suggested.

Benedikt stroked his chin. “We are working on your room heating magic tool and new kinds of potions. I must also prepare for our research at the Royal Academy. It is already fire upon coals that you have offered your retainers for even one day.”

Melchior nodded and sighed. Everyone was getting busier, not just the Quartermaster. Helenwig shuffled forward from her position by the door. “My lord, is Sir Ptolemaus in need of that much assistance?”

Everyone nodded. “His work is important but not very knightly so he has struggled to find reliable help among the knights or a successor.”

“Why not use attendants or scholars?” Helenwig asked.

“He holds, ostensibly, one of the three most prestigious ranks in the Knights Order. It must be held by a knight. I’m not sure why he struggles to hire those from the other two professions but that's why he can't find a successor,” Kolteruze explained.

Isolde shuffled through her papers. “No one wants to work for him because he once served Lady Georgina,” she explained. Wide eyes swiveled to stare at her over open mouths. SHe preened under their shock. “He was ignobly discharged from her service but no one wants to risk associating with one of her former retainers. He had to marry a disgraced woman and his children married out of the capital. It seems that the Quartermaster before him was similarly mired in disgrace. In short, the position is cursed.”

“It isn't cursed, it just conflicts with the usual disposition of knights,” Benedikt tutted. “We’re a large enough duchy to need one but not so large that we can easily produce many candidates.”

“You would think the prestige would be enough and if it's so hard to find a knight, why not use a scholar or attendant?” Melchior asked, still unable to understand the logic.

“Well it has to be an archknight because the Quartermaster isn't just in charge of tending the Knights Order. In times of war, they have to establish and protect the supply lines which includes commanding troops. Knights won’t be happy to take orders from an attendant,” Isolde explained.

“I guess Brother will have to appoint someone,” Melchior murmured.

Isolde and Kolteruze shook their heads. “He is to be Knight Commander and his knight is already beginning the handover to become Vice Commander. Charlotte will need to make the appointment or… you could offer one of yours. You already have someone perfect for the post,” Isolde said.

“Sigsnyr does not want to be Quartermaster. I will not order him to,” Melchior replied with a shake of his head. “I will talk to Charlotte about this. She has more retainers to choose from.”

Kolteruze was about to continue his report but Helenwig stepped forward again. “May I offer my assistance as well?”

“If you prove capable, you will never escape,” Kolteruze warned.

Helenwig giggled. “You speak as though I would be appointed on the spot. There are a great many obstacles to my being placed in the position but, I can find out what is needed and speak with my friends and faction. If we can dispel some of the mystery surrounding the position, I think it will be easier to find a replacement.”

“And you would not be upset to be selected,” Isolde noted with a smirk. “And you can spend more time with Kolteruze.” She twirled her pencil while he blushed.

“Oh… that's true. There are so many good reasons to help Sir Ptolemaus,” Helenwig chirped.

Benedikt shook his head. “If this is what we are discussing now, I believe it is time for me to return to work. I will prepare those brews we discussed for your lessons this week, my lord.”

Melchior allowed Benedikt to take his leave. Isolde watched him exit, then, just after the door shut, she turned back to Kolteruze. “Is he actually useless?”

“No, just unsuited to the complexity of this kind of administrative work. He has to ask about every new format and there are a lot. Sir Ptolemaus just doesn't have time to train him as thoroughly as he needs,” Kolteruze replied. “He really is good at running errands though.”

“Are they that complex?” Melchior asked. “The different forms I mean?”

Kolteruze shook his head. “No, he just needs a framework for everything. He can't… jump to conclusions… as it were. I can't really describe it.”

“He is the same with absolutely everything. It's why he's so bad at socializing. Everything must conform to established patterns or he can't move forward and has to invent a new framework and category system,” Isolde complained.

“Isn't it good to stick to the plan?” Melchior asked.

“To some extent, but the rigidity with which he approaches even the most casual interactions… Goddess, he’s never had a single stroke of genius in all the time I’ve known him and if he gets his way, no one else gets to either,” she continued.

“You really dislike him,” Helenwig noted.

Isolde took a few deep breaths to calm herself. “Yes, but also, it is simply correct. Take his research for example. He’s trying to create a long lasting potion which increases the body's natural ability to heal. A good idea and, if it's strong enough, a powerful tool in protracted engagements. Now, how might you go about discovering this?”

Everyone fell into thought. “I would try to find ingredients with long lasting effects?” Melchior offered.

“Maybe reverse whatever things scholars do to make potions faster acting?” Helenwig said.

Kolteruze frowned pensively. “That would just make it delayed in its activation though that might help if you wanted to create a cascade effect. You know… different potions activating in sequence to create the effect of long lasting rejuvenation. You could also make it harder to digest, using the body's natural cycles to act as a time release. Or put it in a magic tool small enough to swallow. Or maybe…base it on something like alcohol where the active poison is produced as a byproduct of metabolism. Then again, why use a potion instead of a magic tool or magic circle embroidered in your cape?”

Isolde paused her note taking. “You have considered more novel approaches in these few minutes than Benedikt in the last two years.”

“That can't be true,” Melchior squeaked.

She nodded. “At the moment and for the last two years he has been cataloging the effects of substituting various ingredients in the standard recipe. He claims this will allow him to select all the best ingredients to use for the next stage but if he’d instead moved forward with those ingredients he's already found, I think he would have a working brew even if it's weaker than he wants it to be.”

“It sounds like his work is valuable though,” Melchior countered.

“I have to agree. It just isn't the work he claims he is doing,” Isolde sighed.

Everyone was quiet for a bit. Helenwig broke the silence. “Maybe he needs help. Someone to test the ingredients while he moves on to invention.”

“If he likes doing the testing, maybe he needs someone who can invent the potion,” Melchior said.

“Maybe, but you don't have anyone in retinue capable of doing that,” Isolde noted with a defeated expression. “I am trying to learn but it is such a deep field of study. I am so far behind.”

“Isolde, we’re only 13,” Helenwig sighed. “You haven't even taken advanced brewing yet.”

“Yes… I know but… the work won't wait for me to grow up,” Isolde replied.

Melchior nodded gravely. He certainly felt this as well. There were so many problems and not enough people to fix them all and being a child was a great inconvenience. “Please feel free to join Kolteruze and Benedikt in assisting Sir Ptolemaus. Isolde will go so he has someone to talk to.”

Helenwig giggled. “My lord, are you sending him a friend?”

“In that case he should send Kazmiar. They’re both in need of companionship.” Kolteruze chuckled.

Kazmiar was not happy to receive his new imperative, especially when Isolde was already abandoning him for one morning per week. He could only talk his lord down to one bell of service, “for companionship!” his ordonnanz squawked with annoyance. He also reserved the right to pick whichever day he wanted instead of the same day as the children. Said children spent a few minutes laughing hysterically before moving on to study.

Melchior's studies had entered a period with greater flexibility. Rather than continue with the finer points of law, he chose to read more about brewing. Ferdinand's book was a nearly complete resource on the fundamentals and Melchior had brewed enough to begin understanding. He even finally realized something about Ferdinand's alternative recipe. It needed less mana for brewing since the ingredients were richer in mana by themselves. This also meant that the effectiveness was not as diminished when sharing potions.

High on the sense of accomplishment this brought, he flew to the Knights Order for training. It was another beautiful autumn day but Felicitus looked uncharacteristically depressed. They warmed up and went through their forms. Only once they had their first break could Melchior ask what was wrong.

“My parents are knights. They looked at your recipe and nearly fainted and that was before they saw how much mana was needed. I don't think we can create this magic tool. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, Lord Melchior,” he said with tears in his eyes.

Melchior patted him on the shoulder. “It’s ok. We will just have to find an alternative. I hear the box is easier to make.”

Felicitus nodded but Agatha slipped into the conversation with a frown. “It would need to be magnitudes easier, Lord Melchior, and require a tenth of the mana. As it is, only an archnoble or pseudo-archnoble,” she looked pointedly at Gerianne, “could afford to give this to a child.” Agatha was a mednoble from a middling sort of house. Her’s certainly couldn't produce such a magic tool.

Melchior held his box with a frown. The brewing looked complex but doable to him but he’d seen many magic circles and been specifically trained. He also had enough mana to complete the entire project in one day. Sigsnyr said that he and Benedikt had spent several weeks producing four bracelets and months producing several boxes. “Is it just the mana that's a problem?”

They shook their heads. “Even the materials are hard to acquire when you don't have knights,” Agatha said. “It is disappointing. I wanted to send messages too.”

Melchior did his best to console them while thinking of ways to solve this problem. He’d promised Pepin wide distribution so he had to make roosts accessible even to laynobles. But their concerns were difficult to address. The materials need to be readily available. The brewing process needed to be less mana intensive while the results couldn't be more mana intensive to use. The product still needed to be simple to operate and portable and fashionable. By the end of their break, Melchior was happy to put the problem aside and lose himself in the joys of exercise.

Unlike many things, he couldn't totally forget about it. He had to summon Benedikt and Sigsnyr to pass on the feedback and request that they pivot away from the stoves and back to roosts. Sigsnyr promised to write to Evonnes for his opinions. Isolde argued that he shouldn't include their advancements in using alternative materials. While Sigsnyr was loath to keep secrets he agreed that he needed something unique to Ehrenfest to present at the Interduchy Tournament lest Hauchletze claim this trend completely.

Pepin suggested working from the simplest possible version still operable by those without a schtappe and developing alternative recipes. Haldis suggested asking various magic tool craftsmen to mass produce them for those with the money but not the skills.

Kolteruze asked about modularity. “The magic tool is separate from the container isn't it. That's why you can swap out such large sections with other materials. Maybe you can find a way to add the functionality to something a scholar can make then sell to families who can finish the tool as they like. Drawing all the magic circles is the hardest part right?”

Benedikt argued that obtaining appropriate materials was the hardest part but Sigsnyr’s eyes sparkled. “You are suggesting having experienced scholars do the complicated work while letting families furnish the auxiliary pieces according to their abilities. I see. It could work. It would be best if they could finish the magic circuits with their own mana, making the tool more efficient. The finishing process will have to be very simple or else they could destroy an expensive part they cannot recreate or have a useless hunk of magic they cannot use.”

Deliroze followed him around taking notes while he continued to mumble. Benedikt began working as Pepin suggested, drawing out the simplest possible version and tweaking it. Kolteruze just stood in the middle of the room frowning and looking around.

Chapter Text

The Shape of Trust

Melchior left them to their musing and went to his hidden room to work on Pepin's gift. He also had more ideas about Lady Hauchletze's diptych. What he had already was nice but it didn't feel like it would be worth three large gold even with an amazing stylus. He planned to finish painting it then included it among the one gold commission if he thought of something better.

Pepin's gift was much easier. He had plenty of reference including Sigsnyr’s half finished sketch of Helgemut and his father looking appropriately sober. There had been so few moments where that was the case that Melchior was impressed he managed to capture anything. He looked at it for a long time. Sigsnyr’s sketches of the brewing room in the library had been neat and impersonal, almost eerie in their detachment from the subject. Sigsnyr liked brewing so it had felt strange for art he produced on the subject to be so devoid of joy.

There was something similar about this sketch. Some lines were expressive but it felt like the artist was holding back. Melchior spent a long time dissecting every line and shape before setting it down next to his own sketch. In addition to being from different angles, they were opposites in tone. Rather than sober, Helgemut seemed to glow with joy while his father flushed with warm indignation. He obviously wanted to stop his son’s antics but was too amused to do so strongly. There was just so much love between them that the other drawing felt it could not show.

For a moment, Melchior considered the reactions of all the people who’d been uncomfortable being portrayed with their candid feelings on display. As this was a gift for Pepin rather than his family, maybe he would want to see their emotions but he might want them to have their privacy.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice Kolteruze enter to inform him that it was dinner time. The attendant didn't attempt to pull him from his reverie once he noticed what was on his easel. Pepin, Isolde, and he were trying to figure out all the gifts. Isolde was just curious while Pepin and Kolteruze were invested in tempering their lord’s generosity before it was too late. Now he could see the leather cover and all the sketches laid out for Pepin's gift. Suddenly, he felt like he couldn't do anything of the sort.

“I think he will like the happy one best,” he said.

“Bwah!” Melchior cried and leapt from his chair. For a second he looked properly terrified then defeated. “Why didn't you say something before you entered?”

“The door was open,” Kolteruze replied. “You close it when you want real privacy.”

Melchior's shoulders fell. “I suppose it is no use trying to keep secrets. You will tell everyone now,” he said with a deep sigh. Melchior shuffled back over to the chair and dropped gracelessly into it.

Kolteruze slid the door shut. “Why would I tell anyone that which you charge me to keep secret?” he asked.

“I don't know. Because you believe art should be shared?” Melchior replied.

Kolteruze thought for a moment. “You told me I could not look at your painting until it was finished, not that I couldn't tell anyone about it. I didn't know you intended to keep it hidden. I apologize, my lord, for failing you.”

Melchior just looked at him for a while. Kolteruze generally disliked being the object of attention but he bore this as best he could. “It is alright,” Melchior said eventually and moved to begin putting things away. Kolteruze reached out to help but was stopped with a gesture. “You have already seen too much.”

“My lord?” Kolteruze asked, unable to stop from sounding wounded. “So it is true. You don't trust me.”

Melchior stopped. “Why do you say that?” he asked in a forcibly casual tone.

“Pepin has noticed it and now I can see it clearly myself. You seem to trust Pepin but could not rely on him in this case. Other than him you would rather take no one than myself or Zargerecht and, perhaps, even Haldis. I know we are not as close but I am loyal to you. You may rely upon me,” Kolteruze said.

He watched Melchior’s countenance cycle through many emotions. It was clear that Melchior did not believe this. Kolteruze considered all the things he’d done to tarnish his image. It was highly unlikely that this was the work of treachery and Melchior was quick to ignore outside factors like faction and family ties, so it had to be his own fault. His head fell. “I see. I will offer this meeting to Verbergan. Dinner approaches,” he said before swiftly exiting. He only stepped just outside so that the curtains would hide him from everyone in the room while he took deep breaths and tried not to cry. By the time Melchior was ready to leave, he’d managed to fix his smile but couldn't displace the deep anxiety flaring up in his heart.

Melchior went to dinner with complicated feelings of his own. He wanted to present the problem of Ptolemaus’s replacement to his mother and sister as well as report on the temple’s autumn plans. There was also the roost problem. They were still feasible for archnobles so Melchior hoped his family would help spread them to their own factions.

“Melchior, you wish to spread this trend to all factions simultaneously?” Charlotte asked in amazement.

“Yes. It is universally useful and we hope to protect all the children of Ehrenfest and one day all the children of Yurgenschmidt.”

Sylvester regarded his son with a serious expression. “That is a lofty goal and an unconventional way of going about it. We won't be able to gain much support if we make it freely available to everyone immediately.”

“Indeed, this is a powerful new tool, you should prioritize your faction or they will question why they follow you,” Florencia said. “I understand that you have good intentions but your attempt at neutrality will be seen as anything but.”

“Surely this is a problem which transcends factions,” Melchior insisted.

“Nothing transcends factions, dear brother,” Charlotte countered. “Everyone is always seeking ways to establish and bolster their power. If you do not take control of your trend then others will. It would be trivial to place oneself between those who wish to create roosts and the means to create them. One could cut off access to ingredients or skilled scholars then the benefits of having this magic tool will create a stark separation between those that have one and those that don't.”

“Will controlling the trend prevent these problems?” Melchior asked. They sounded too complicated for that.

“Unfortunately, they will not. But it will allow you to benefit instead of just a collection of opportunists,” Florencia replied.

Melchior nodded. “I think it is more important for Father and Charlotte to build their factions so I will give this to you. I only ask that you attempt to spread it as widely as you are able.”

Sylvester and Charlotte blinked in unified amazement. “This was developed by your retainers and you paid for it. You want to just give it away?” Sylvester sputtered.

“Charlotte is the leader of my faction anyway,” Melchior replied.

His family looked pensive. “I will accept and I will attempt to spread this quickly,” Charlotte said with a sharp nod. “Thank you, Melchior.”

Sylvester also agreed and Melchior returned a bright smile. “I have made a couple of promises to my training partners and friends but I won't give it away to anyone else.”

Charlotte gestured for her attendant to bring her something to take notes. “Can you be more specific? Who have you spread this too so far?”

Melchior explained that he’d given schematics to his training partners, that is, every pre-apprentice knight in Ehrenfest city, for their families free and unrestricted use. All of his retainers for their free and unrestricted use including Flautzeal whose family had passed it to all their friends. Blumeschmidt, since he was ordering a magic tool, who hadn't promised anything but implied an ability to spread the trend much farther than anyone else. They would also try to sell any working prototypes. “Oh and Veremund helped Sigsnyr and Benedikt a couple of times so he probably knows how to make one.”

Charlotte recorded all of this without a change in expression while Sylvester’s gaze grew increasingly fraught. “It sounds like you've done a very good job of spreading this to your faction already.”

Melchior tipped his head in confusion. “I haven't even sent Isolde to pass it around.”

“Yes, exactly, dear brother. You have chosen to spread this trend yourself to a collection of allies with dubious connections to the established factions as well as mednobles and laynobles who are easily swayed. With such a powerful trend as this, anyone might think you are attempting to gather your own support base,” Charlotte explained.

“I… that isn't the case at all,” Melchior cried as the blood drained from his face. “I just told my friends and retainers.”

Sylvester sighed. “That's what a faction is at its most basic. Those people who feel positively towards you or who agree with your political goals. It becomes a faction when you begin to exchange information and favors or present a united front against another faction.

“People joined to receive better access to information and resources, better marriage prospects and career options, and protection from and for unscrupulous activities. These are all things you provided. Therefore, your collection of friends and acquaintances, especially those without or with loose ties to an existing faction, are very close to turning into one.” His plates had been cleared so he propped his head up on his temples fingers. “If you are a member of Charlotte's faction, you need to begin consulting her before making any moves. Things you consider small are not.”

The dining room descended into heavy silence. Melchior contained the urge to stare at the table. “Thank you for your counsel, Father. I see that I have not handled things appropriately.”

Sylvester’s posture collapsed with a sigh. “Really it's our fault for waiting so long to teach you,” he said.

“I do not think this is as much of a problem as it could be. Instead, we should consider that this is the first time we've heard of this,” Florencia noted.

“Even you’re surprised?” Sylvester asked.

She nodded. “I had not heard the extent of things before now. I heard that Melchior was looking to spread this trend but I did not know how active he’d been already.”

Charlotte glanced back and forth between them. “That's true. I know very little about this. In that case we can proceed. Melchior has spread this to his close associates, that is all. We can still take charge of spreading this to our factions, Father.” Sylvester nodded but continued looking at Melchior appraisingly.

Melchior breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that his mistake wasn't unsalvageable. “May it serve you well. There is one other thing I would like to discuss. Sir Ptolemaus is looking for a successor. My retainers have been assisting him for the past couple of weeks but that is not a permanent solution.”

“And he accepted your help?” Sylvester asked.

“Yes. Has he not in the past?”

“He has refused many recommendations. It seems he does not wish to pass his burden onto someone unfit,” Charlotte replied.

“I believe he said they should be someone who can abide the work,” Florencia added.

Melchior considered all his retainers had said before in light of this new information. “Are you saying that you merely sent him a list of names?”

“We do one per season,” Sylvester said. “We’re running out of people. Why did he accept your recommendations?”

“I didn't send a list of names. My retainers go to his office just like we do in all the others,” Melchior said. A milder surprise circled the table. “You have never attempted to just send him workers?”

“No one has labor to spare,” Florencia sighed. “I thought that Wilfried would help address this problem now that he spends so much time at the Knights Order. I will speak to him again.”

“My scholars said that we cannot take more retainers from Wilfried,” Melchior said. “He has already sacrificed one archknight.”

“Sacrificed,” Sylvester huffed. “It's no small honor to place a retainer as the Vice Comman… Ah, I see what they mean.” He turned to Charlotte. “You need to pick someone for Huntsmaster. Tiedemonn has plenty of willing replacements and he's at a good age to make a choice. That position takes more training than any other.”

Charlotte nodded. “I will consider the options. But doesn't he wish to pass his mantle to his son?”

“His son has declined in favor of serving his lord,” Florencia said calmly. “His second son will not be baptized for another two years. It will be too late to wait for him to grow up.”

It was unfortunate that so little was solved by the end of the meal. Melchior felt both exhausted and unfulfilled. He was used to such serious discussions happening over dinner especially as they moved closer to socializing season but they normally had little to do with him. This time, he was keenly aware that he’d under prepared.

After writing a report for his scholars, Melchior returned to his work in his hidden room. He remembered to close the door before laying everything out. Kolteruze's words rang in his ears. He’d been hurt that Melchior didn't trust him but Melchior wasn't sure he could bring himself to suddenly alter his opinion.

It was true that he hadn't asked Kolteruze to keep his winter painting a secret yet the idea that Kolteruze couldn't keep secrets in general had entrenched itself in his heart. There was also the reality that Kolteruze could figure many things out from small collections of information. He was also working with Isolde to discover the nature of all the gifts.

After considering it, Melchior realized that it wasn't that he didn't trust Kolteruze, it was that, at this moment, they were on opposite teams. Kolteruze hadn't spread the existence of his painting to anyone outside Melchior's retinue nor had he disguised his activities. For all other things, he was perfectly willing to entrust things to Kolteruze. He might not bare his soul, but they weren't close friends to begin with.

As for Zargerecht, Melchior just knew he wouldn't approve of his activities and conduct and so chose to avoid him. In a serious situation, he knew he could trust Zargerecht implicitly but there was no need to collect lectures over small things.

With his thoughts thus sorted, Melchior began sketching a large tree in a small wood with a purple haired boy watching two others playing with hoops on the front cover of Pepin’s folio. In actuality, the scene was largely green but Melchior planned to add extra colors by altering the tones of the shadows and highlights and giving the tree an omni-elemental glow. Inside he would do the happy portraits just as Kolteruze suggested.

Replies and Brewing

The next morning, Melchior and his retainers moved to the old brewing room for class. By now the walls were covered in charts. Every kind of ingredient had an associated cutting chart with listed exceptions. Common recipes for rejuvenation potions and magic tools occupied one wall while drawings of common plants adorned another. These were a joint project between Melchior and Sigsnyr, the former drawing specimens brought back from hunts while the latter sketched those plants which could not be moved.

The shelves had grown more full of personal storage boxes as more and more apprentices and their mentors found the space superior to other alternatives. Melchior’s boxes remained untouched, partly because Benedikt was so frequently there and partly because his white hoop was now a known symbol. Other instances of theft were investigated by Benedikt with a very high rate of success. In fact, he was so good at carefully unraveling the web of deceit that it became unfulfilling to steal.

“I just use this list and go through each step in turn,” he insisted while showing off his framework. It was very simple and generally consisted of interviewing everyone related to an object or ingredient and whoever had been in the room at the time of the theft then cross checking with everyone after collecting all the facts.

Occasionally, he needed Isolde or Sigsnyr’s assistance but for the most part, people willingly admitted to just grabbing something they needed without considering who it belonged to then paying the going rate for how much they took. That some people's things were accidentally grabbed more than others was ignored in favor of peaceful resolutions. Plus the going rate for ingredients was more than most people had to pay after friendly discounts or personal excursions leading to the victim making a profit. Benedikt also taught people how to make enchanted locks.

As such, there were additional people using the old brewing room. A large space had been left for Melchior but he chose to take more knights rather than clear the room.

Melchior mostly had materials to make. He needed mana metal for his Blumeschmidt order and large quantities of enchanted embroidery floss for one of his gifts. He also brewed a bulk batch of Benedikt’s potions for the Harvest Festival. It took all morning, but since he could chat with Deliroze and Gerianne the time flew by. Isolde had her own work to do but still took a moment to observe the amazed glances or impressed murmurs launched in her lord’s direction as he continued to brew mana intensive things without pause and seemingly without stress. He finished things up with a couple of prayer charms to round out Gerianne's gift.

At lunch they spoke about his dinner meeting and how they would proceed going forward. Pepin worried that relying on Charlotte and Sylvester would slow adoption too much while Isolde assured him it was the best way.

“At most it will take a couple of extra seasons, maybe a year but wide acceptance is only a matter of time. We still have to solve the issues of cost and acquisition as well,” Isolde assured him.

“So much can happen in a year,” Pepin argued. “We can't allow faction politics to cost even more people their lives.”

“Faction politics cannot be ignored,” Isolde countered. “A backlash against this trend would delay adoption even longer. Lord Melchior does not wish to establish his own faction and even if he did that would only cause more nobles to eschew roosts in order to prove their loyalty. This is the best way. Charlotte’s faction covers most of the young people while the Aub’s faction contains many families with homogeneous affiliation. As Charlotte and Florencia often work together, the only people who will be completely passed over are those loyal to Wilfried and Veronica alone.”

“Oh no. I didn't consider that. Is there no way to bring them in?” Melchior asked.

Isolde huffed. “If Wilfried will lead his faction to greater cooperation with everyone else then yes. Otherwise, you cannot act without Charlotte’s approval. That's what it means to be a part of her faction.”

Melchior and Pepin shared sober expressions. “It will matter little until we can solve the problems with affordability,” Benedikt interrupted. “As it stands, there is little we can do to simplify the simplest version. The need for subtools used in activation creates irreducible complexity.”

“Do you need all of the buttons? What if it only plays ordonnanz the normal way? Then you only need a button for sending no?” Pepin asked.

“Even Pepin…” Isolde grumbled into the report while Benedikt looked at the attendant with open amazement.

“That… that could work. I didn't even consider that kind of simplification.” He began a whole new set of notes and diagrams and had something workable by the end of the working day.

While Benedikt huddled over his papers in Melchior's room, everyone else went to work in the Aub's office. It was another day of math and transcriptions until Sylvester called Melchior to his desk. He placed a letter with a broken orange-red seal before him.

“Can you read this for me?” Sylvester directed with a carefully controlled expression.

Melchior was wary but took the letter anyway. He read the first page out loud with an ever growing smile. It was from Rozemyne and included answers to his questions about her summer and autumn as well as advice for what to commission for his next set of clothes. There was even a terrible doodle of some animal in the corner that was rounder than any real creature.

Sylvester’s expression didn't change but he shifted his weight as Melchior flipped to the next page. Rather than normal text, it was densely covered in magic circles. “Ahh… It is from Uncle.”

“We guessed that,” Sylvester said.

“This is hard to read but I think he's replying to our notes about our research. He’s asking about the plant grown from an omni-elemental seed and… ahh… Well this part is chastisement for my letter writing. Apparently my euphemisms don't always read as normal sentences. It will take me a while to decode the rest.”

Sylvester nodded calmly before placing a sound-blocker on the desk. Melchior took it and tried not to look so nervous. “Why is Ferdinand sending you letters encoded in magic circle script? My scholars thought it was some kind of curse. One of them almost fainted.”

Melchior couldn't stop a giggle. “Some of the atrium circles are just for explaining things. We complained that they were hard to read. This must be his way of teaching us.”

“Why is he like this?” Sylvester sighed. “We still need to read it so I need you to translate it. I’ll also have to tell Ferdinand not to do this again. I guess even he can get carried away when he's having fun.”

“I’ll do my best. It shouldn't take that long,” Melchior replied. He took the slightly magical letter from Rozemyne and the wholly mundane sheet from Ferdinand and returned to his tables. He sat down close to Kolteruze. “I need your help.”

Kolteruze paused the budgetary form he was tallying to look at the papers. A rare genuine smile played on his lips as he took in the collection of circles. “I thought your letter was pretty good,” he mumbled, then pressed his hand to his mouth to stop from giggling. “He wants a cutting of the plant grown from his wife's mana. I don't know why he stacks so many goddesses together when just the Goddess of Light would do.”

Melchior followed his finger. A particularly beautiful circle marked with no less than twelve goddesses appeared in several places on the sheet. Melchior was filled with warm feelings thinking about how much his uncle loved Rozemyne. “She wrote about him too. He hung Wilma's portrait up in his office and mine in his hidden room. I guess you all were right. He did like it.”

“And you wanted to scrape it off,” Kolteruze teased. He took out a fresh sheet of paper. “This is going to be hard to translate.”

“The information isn't exactly presented in a linear fashion. Is this one a real magic circle?”

“Oh… yes it is. That must be why it's on volarin paper so it can't be activated. What do you think it does?” Kolteruze replied.

Melchior spent a long time looking at it. It invoked several spring goddess, the God of Trees, the God of Growth, and the Goddess of Light. “It reminds me of the growth acceleration circle. Do you think it's an improved version?”

Kolteruze read it again. “I did and now I’m mostly sure. You're getting pretty good at reading circles now.”

“I want to brew a roost bracelet so I’ve been studying,” Melchior replied. They continued dissecting the letter for most of the session. They tried writing out the sentences from left to right, top to bottom, but as many overlapped and some circles were a part of multiple phases, everything ended up jumbled. Plus, there was a small section surrounded by a circle marked with Verbergan. It was specifically about Melchior's mana capacity. Ferdinand wanted him to conduct a series of tests to determine just how much he had.

“Do you think I should?” Melchior whispered. He indicated the blank section at the bottom of their translation but was also referring to the tests in a general sense.

“Don't you want to know?” Kolteruze asked while hovering his pen over the page, a signal that he would do what Melchior commanded. For a moment, Melchior tried to contemplate both things. Then he moved on to the more pressing concern. He had no reason to hide this from his father, the Aub of Ehrenfest. That Ferdinand seemed to imply that he should was confusing in and of itself. Did this mean that his mana capacity was something to hide, to be ashamed of, or was it a test? Melchior had done a lot of bumbling recently and Alexandria had many ways of getting information from their duchy. Maybe Ferdinand was probing to find out whether he was a threat.

This felt more likely than the alternative, that Ferdinand was worried about his mana capacity so much that it needed to be kept secret. He might have less than his siblings at his age but the sibling Ferdinand had the most experience with was a once in a generation prodigy. If it was that dire, he still had time to increase his compression and even if he still fell short, he wasn't going to be aub.

So Melchior tasked Kolteruze to translate that section too. They didn't include the stated imperative to hide the information though. If it was a test, Sylvester would know about that already. If it wasn't, it would be best not to implicate Ferdinand in anything. They would just remember and look out for anything else.

Ridyarda passed the finished translation and the original back to Sylvester while he glared at the two boys in front of him. They really hadn't spent very long deciphering a code that took his scholars over a day to begin to parse. That the complete work was just as jumbled and chaotic as the previous attempts only made him upset.

“Why is he like this?” Sylvester sighed as he read the disjointed letter. There really was no reason to write a letter like this just for the fun of it. Of course Melchior was quite amused. “So, you’ve developed a passion for magic circles now?”

“I just thought they were useful and pretty before. Now they seem quite fun,” Melchior replied. “Uncle must like them a lot to be able to write a whole letter in circle script.”

“That's an understatement,” Sylvester grumbled. He read through everything again before passing both sheets to his scholars. Melchior watched the papers disappear with a protest on his brows. “You’ll get it back but we have to learn to read this code if you're new pen pal is going to write in it.”

Melchior nodded and held Rozemyne's half of the letter more tightly. “I look forward to its swift return.”

Sylvester chuckled. “Don't. It's going to take them a while unfortunately. I'll have someone write a copy of your translation,” he promised before leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “You can have another year.”

Melchior and Kolteruze looked at each other but neither held understanding in their gaze. “For what?” Melchior asked.

“Your winter project,” Sylvester replied. “Florencia gave a passionate entreaty on your behalf so remember to thank her.”

A smile blossomed on Melchior's face as a tension in his shoulders relaxed. “Oh thank you father. We promise not to disappoint.” Now Kirk would not have to stand out in the autumn chill asking passersby about the importance of parue. Maybe he would be sad but Melchior could send him on an errand to make up for it.

Melchior returned to his room with his spoils and good news to consider his replies. Had he known Ferdinand's letter would be taken, he would have worked harder to memorize it. Kolteruze had to apologize for failing to do just that but he remembered enough to write out a few paragraphs of organized information. When the letter was actually three letters laid on top of each other, this was no mean feat even if the result was still just organized by topic.

The topic about which he remembered most was botany. Melchior withheld the urge to tease him while he considered the revelations laid before them. Justus was overseeing the creation of a brewing kiln. The process was long and expensive and the circles had to be invented from scratch. The magic circle he’d sent was an improved version of the growth-acceleration circle as they’d predicted. Ferdinand had been putting it on everything in his greenhouses. His was more efficient than the one from the atrium.

Sadly they’d yet to use the clay for very much. Neither of them remembered the reason but they seemed to be involved in some other massive project that required everyone's attention. Alexandria had had time to develop a method for producing clay faster. The rock-eating-tree would grow in normal soil but took on a different presentation. It grew closer to the ground but spread over a wider area, sending down deep and plentiful roots in search of mineral matter. This version grew readily from cuttings but didn't put off flowers or fruit. It put all its energy into finding nutrients.

“They’ve used this to grow large mats of rock-eating-scrub, also he requested a better name. Those are then laid over sand which is partially turned into clay in a matter of weeks,” Kolteruze explained. “That's a lot of work for a substance they're unsure about the value of.”

“Maybe they know more about it than they're letting on. It would make sense, especially if they plan to present research at the Inter-duchy Tournament,” Isolde said. She also tapped her pencil to her forehead in a show of impatience. While she was very interested in the letters, they were going to Wilfried’s estate after lunch and no amount of leading the conversation was getting them through their preparations.

“Sister’s letter mentions their researchers having a competition. Maybe someone decided to work on this independently,” Melchior speculated.

“Maybe it's magical enough to warrant the effort. If only we had a good way to measure these things. Trying to measure things by sight just isn't reliable,” Kolteruze lamented.

Before Melchior could inquire after that strange phrasing, Isolde cut in. “We will have ample time to discuss this. What we are running out of time for is our preparations for Gewinnen.”

Melchior looked at Kolteruze. “Everything is ready my lord. Your board and pieces and… the gift.” Melchior had packaged the gift himself and wouldn't let anyone see so he knew very well it was ready. He chose to ignore any implications in favor of nodding and turning back to Isolde.

“I do not mean the objects but your approach. You have not had as many opportunities to speak with Lord Wilfried as of late and there are many things you need to discuss with him,” she said.

Melchior’s shoulders visibly fell. He’d been dreaming about Pepin's tree and his family gathered in their garden for uncomplicated fun. It had been such a long time since he got to spend time with his brother. He didn't want to accomplish anything today. Even winning their game was the furthest thing from his mind.

“My lord, don't you want to ask about his recommendations?” Isolde whispered.

“I suppose this is my best chance at receiving an answer,” Melchior conceded. Charlotte was lending him retainers temporary but she’d still made sure they wouldn't clash with his existing retainers. Ortolf and Gottschalk were supposedly dedicating the rest of their lives to his protection yet they barely knew him and disliked his other retainers.

He tried to put this out of his mind for just a little while so he could be excited about wearing his autumnal clothes. Half his reason for challenging Wilfried was to have an excuse to wear them. He twirled around in his honey yellow with blue accents. Kurtis's shop had created a beautiful brocade panel for the light blue triangle. It was a simple pattern of even smaller triangles but the tile pattern alternated between shiny spinel threads and matte wool. The dark blue and goldenrod embroidery, which featured wheat and vegetables rather than the usual geometric patterns, managed to tie everything together rather than busy an already complicated outfit. Melchior especially liked the spray of stalks at the top corner closure on his asymmetrical front panel.

Melchior thought it looked wonderful over his dark blue pants, light blue socks, and dark blue cloth shoes. There was just something so incredible about seeing something from his imagination come to life. He proudly strode out of his rooms while his retainers contained their need to coo and giggled over how adorable he looked being so confident in his new clothes.

Chapter Text

Gewinnen at Wilfried's Estate

During their flight over the Nobles Quarter, Melchior went back to considering things he should ask about but didn't plan to. Why had Wilfried ignored the problem of the Quartermaster’s successor? Why did Dedryck think he was a danger to Melchior? Was he truly leading a secret anti-Charlotte faction? What were his plans for Charlotte's coming of age party? Only the last one held any real interest for him. It would be nice to plan a gift together, then it could be even better than what he could create by himself.

When they arrived, neither Wilfried nor his steward were waiting on his launching balcony. Instead, Isidore stood at the bottom of the front stairs as though they expected Melchior to come by carriage to his brother's house. It might have been his first visit, but they were far from strangers.

They all landed awkwardly in front of the stairs. Melchior slipped off of his lion and fumbled to catch his faestone but managed to land safely, if not gracefully, and not drop anything. Isidore calmly ignored his bumbling before giving greetings then leading them inside. Melchior's retinue for Gewinnen was larger than normal. He brought all of his male knights plus Zipporah and Cecilia who would actually do all the guarding. He also needed all four attendants to manage the three boards and extra pieces he’d brought. Of course his scholars had also come along to take notes and possibly play music.

Isidore managed to remain calm in the face of this but Wilfried swept into his foyer and visibly balked. He sent his servants and attendants scurrying while Melchior and company knelt. “I offer greetings on this day blessed with bounty by the fruitful days of Schutzaria the Goddess of Wind.”

“I accept your greetings. Melchior, what is all this?”

Melchior tipped his head in confusion. “We are here to play Gewinnen,” he replied.

Wilfried’s smiling lips pressed into a thin line. “As I recall, that does not require quite so much fanfare.”

“I have only brought what we normally use for these gatherings,” Melchior said. He took a few steps closer to Wilfried causing a slight stir to ripple through his brother's knights. “Are your retainers afraid that we have improved too much?”

“We would be more afraid if you hadn't,” Wilfried replied with a smirk. “Come let me show you the grounds while our battlefield is prepared.”

Wilfried's home of two and a half seasons was predictably boring. The most interesting part was that its close proximity to the library meant one can watch visitors travel to and from. Melchior wondered how useful such information could be before being whisked back inside and placed at the Gewinnen board. They checked their pieces and Melchior took his opportunity to go first with relish. The strategy books always said that going first was ideal. It surely meant that today was his day for victory.

As the two brothers slogged through a three stone game, Melchior set forth his questions. “I have been wondering, dear brother, how did your recommendations distinguish themselves?”

“My recommendations for what?” Wilfried replied.

“Knights,” Melchior said as casually as he could muster.

Wilfried took his time to reply. After taking a piece, he looked up. “Well Sebastian considered serving Rozemyne for a while, then declared that he wanted to serve you instead. As for Ortolf and Gottschalk, they wanted to be guard knights and you needed some.”

For a moment, Melchior was ready to accept this answer uncritically. However, the longer he considered it and his moves, the less he agreed with the logic. Though he would admit that Flautzeal was an impulsive choice, the rest of his retainers had been carefully vetted, tested, and trained. Pepin was quite young when he was selected but his family had a very strong reputation. Brunhilde still considered it her duty to ensure that Kolteruze was perfect. Only his newest crop had seemingly been chosen at random.

“Is that the only quality you look for in the exalted twelve?” Melchior asked. “Willingness?”

“Most everything else can be trained,” Wilfried replied nonchalantly. “If you find them insufficient to the task, just let them go.”

The tension in the room spiked. Melchior felt a shiver slide down his spine at how casually Wilfried referenced ending someone's prospects. “Surely it is better to select those most likely to see the end of the journey?”

“It's a rare person who actually keeps to their life long vow. A whole half of retainers are planning to retire just a year after graduation. The rest will leave the moment a more advantageous position is offered,” Wilfried replied. “If they can do the work, why consider things more deeply?”

Melchior looked around at his retinue. Some were bent over boards, including Isolde who wasn't actually losing very badly. The rest stood around the room pretending not to listen to the various conversations. Only Flautzeal sat in the corner looking unconcerned, strumming the score to his own little world. Melchior didn't want to lose them but he had to admit that many were considering futures beyond his service. He still felt scandalized by Wilfried’s attitude.

“You do not consider how they will interact with others in your service?” he asked.

“Maintaining cordiality is part of their job,” Wilfried replied, implying that an inability to do so meant they should be fired.

Melchior tried to breathe calmly and play intelligently but couldn't temper his worries. It seemed that Wilfried put almost no thought into the knights he’d offered. It would explain why he hadn't felt the need to introduce them personally. Yet, they seemed almost intentionally bad. Melchior might not have known about Gottschalk’s hatred of Kolteruze, but someone who trained with him for years at the Royal Academy should have. And Ortolf had a way of being that was so obviously unpleasant that no one could have ignored it.

“I see. Can you say why you chose to honor the willingness of these people in particular?”

“You did not like the alternatives.”

Isolde made a sharp tutting sound. Melchior wished to make his own. There was no way for him to judge knights from the provinces who couldn't travel to participate in the Gewinnen gathering last autumn. Still, it would not be difficult to infer his preferences.

Perhaps this was an answer to his question about why Dedryck was so wary of Wilfried. Wilfried just wasn't as considerate as the rest of his family. His opinions about retainers must be clouded by losing so many of his own. That combined with seeing his little brother so rarely when they were growing up meant he just hadn't given it much thought. Still, wasn't this what retainers were for, to cover their lord's weaknesses. Zargerecht certainly wouldn't allow Melchior to hand Henriette just anyone.

Ah, Wilfried's Zargerecht had been taken from him too. Melchior would have to forgive him even if Isolde never would.

The rest of his questions, he could not bear to ask. Instead they talked about Wilfried’s recent hunts and work. Alexis was adapting well to the position of Vice Commander while Wilfried was diligently training to be Knight Commander. “I just don't know how Uncle managed things when he was my age. There's so much to juggle all at once. At least I don't have to be a guard knight on top of everything.”

“Uncle is truly awe inspiring,” Melchior agreed. “At least there are two of us so we only need to be half as good.”

Wilfried chuckled. “Just half… it's still so much.”

They continued to fight a fairly even game. Wilfried took more ground but Melchior took more pieces. As he was poised to make a very strong counter attack, Wilfried sighed performatively. “I simply must ask. Are those vegetables on your collar?”

Melchior brightened immediately. “Oh yes. My attendant designed new patterns featuring a variety of plant motifs. For fall, we have selected something to celebrate the bounty of the season. Do you like it?”

Wilfried kept a carefully neutral smile. “It is interesting and novel,” he replied while glancing towards Melchior’s large collection of attendants. “I recall seeing Uncle in a similar style of tunic last winter.”

“Yes. I thought it was incredible. The actual material used is still a mystery. Do you have any ideas?” Melchior asked.

“I do not but I wonder why you’ve chosen to support fashion from another duchy over our own styles?”

It took Melchior a moment to answer. “While it is from another duchy, I would not say that it is not our own style. The craftspeople of Ehrenfest have contributed skills unique to us.”

“You seem to know a great deal about your garments.”

“Doesn't everyone? They are so important.”

Wilfried shook his head. “Normally mother would handle these things for you until you leave the Northern Building then your retainers would take over. I suppose it's true then, that you have taken a personal interest in this.”

“It is “

“And you’ve invited others to critique,” Wilfried said with a tone and inflection that said he did not approve of those from whom Melchior sought advice.

Wilfried's dislike of Brunhilde was well known but Melchior wondered whether he realized he was also insulting Lord Bonifatius. As he didn't want to fight, he chose to be diplomatic. “I had no idea you had an interest in such things, dear brother.”

“I do not.” Melchior's invitation died on his lips. “I have been asked to offer my advice anyway, to encourage you towards… handsomeness,” Wilfried said with deep annoyance. “Please consider yourself encouraged.”

Melchior nodded. “I will tell Granduncle you gave it your best attempt,” he promised.

Wilfried looked like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “At least consider not wearing women's shoes.”

Melchior kicked his lightly covered feet. He really liked his cloth shoes. It was rare for older men and boys to wear them, but Melchior liked showing off his shockingly expensive stockings. Cloth also came in more colors than leather so it was easier to match his outfits. More than this though, they were made specifically for him so they weren't women's shoes.

He did not get a chance to voice these stellar arguments. Their game moved into the most important final moments. Wilfried managed to maintain his territory and advanced enough to push Melchior off the board. It was very close but he still lost. Melchior wasn't sad. It was fun to play against Wilfried's actual play style and Dedryck was available to critique their games. Many things that Melchior never would have considered became apparent after the replay and a select few words.

“Thank you Dedryck. I feel like I have gained a whole new level of insight,” Melchior said.

“Perhaps with many more visits from your Erwachlerhen, you will finally please Angriff,” Wilfried teased.

After such a close game, Melchior felt bold enough to return a genuine smile. “Next time, dear brother. We shall see.”

With all the games concluded and advice given to all, it was time to hand over his gift then depart. Wilfried didn't seem to be in a hurry to get rid of him like at their normal, impromptu meetings at the Knights Order so Melchior decided to take a chance. “Dear brother, our work in the temple has blessed us with novelties. I was hoping you might find them interesting as well.” Wilfried shifted his weight and lifted an eyebrow, waiting. Melchior pulled his little pouches from one of his new pockets. He saw Zargerecht wince at this but the items were too precious to entrust to anyone else.

While Wilfried watched with interest, Melchior removed one purple seed and one, five-color faestone. Barthold stepped forward to begin poison testing. He gave Melchior a strange look but received only the normal sweet smile. Barthold was reminded again of how difficult it was to figure out his plans and interpret his actions. This display was seemingly just as confusing for even his own retainers as anything else he did.

Once they were deemed safe to touch. Wilfried took them and examined the tiny faestone and seed. “I am attempting to collect one from each of my family members to create an accessory. Naturally, I will give you one of mine in return.”

A deep chuckle began to wrack at his brother. Despite all his years of training and etiquette, Wilfried could not contain this laugh. It spilled over the table and filled the room. “Shall I brew it for you as well? Will you have Uncle design it?”

There was so little mirth in his laughter that Melchior found himself frightened more than amused. He remembered the story behind Rozemyne's hair pin but it hadn't been his intention to repeat everything about it. “I could not ask you to do that and Uncle would not have the time,” Melchior replied. He felt unsure how to help his brother as his eyes gained a dark and sad character.

Wilfried picked up the seed. It flashed immediately. “Here,” he spat while tossing it across the table. Melchior had to catch it before it fell to the floor. “No, you could not ask because I could never produce something approaching that quality and everyone is well aware of that.” When he sat back with a huff and picked up Melchior's faestone, he paused. It was very small in his hands and had one less element than his own.

“Thank you,” Melchior said quietly. “I would not be able to complete my vision without you.”

Wilfried looked back at him, his expression softening. “You're welcome, Melchior. I look forward to seeing what you create.”

The sharpness in the air began to subside. The brothers sat quietly while the other tables murmured about anything other than what just occurred. Melchior felt unsure about his next move but it would at least distract from the previous moment. He gestures to Kolteruze to begin the gifting process

Melchior had instructed Kolteruze to wait until the end so that Wilfried wouldn't be tempted to open it on the spot. Melchior was vague in his introduction which served to make Wilfried more and more wary. “I must also request, dear brother, that you do not begin using it too soon. If you might delay until after the Harvest Festival or have your chosen recipient delay, I would be most grateful.”

“You are giving me a gift now that I cannot use for an entire month yet?”

“It is just the Hunting Tournament, really,” Melchior admitted. If Wilfried appeared with a leather pouch decorated with a painting of a lion in armor, his gift for the knights would be spoiled. “We are not yet ready to debut.”

“So this is a new trend? You are sure about giving it to me rather than Charlotte?” Wilfried replied with forced nonchalance.

Melchior tried not to look sad. He wanted Wilfried's faction to have access as soon as everyone else, but he couldn't support Charlotte and Wilfried at the same time. Their factions were too far apart. “I would not call it a trend,” he said softly, which did not make things better. “Perhaps you can find an accord.” For such a magic tool, it would be worth it.

“Perhaps Ewigeliebe will look at Blaunfah⁴³,” Wilfried snapped. Melchior didn't hang his head, preferring to sip his tea instead. “I cannot expose my people to their cruelty.”

Melchior had to wonder what Wilfried thought Charlotte would ask of him. Momentary cooperation on something small would be enough considering Melchior’s request to spread the trend as quickly and thoroughly as possible. It would be more of a formality than anything. “As you know, this is beyond my expertise,” Melchior began. “However, if wide adoption were our goal, no great compromise would be necessary.”

Wilfried glanced toward his scholars. They hadn't been playing, so they were free to take notes. They were too busy scribbling to catch Wilfried's eye. “So compromise is more important than advantage in this case, even given the prize?”

“That was my request. It is not mine to fulfill,” Melchior said.

Wilfried gave his scholars another couple of glances before returning a smile. “Truly, you are without guile,” he sighed. “I must reconsider you yet again.”

Melchior was only half sure what he meant but he returned his own smile. Their afternoon soon came to a close. Melchior's army of retainers took the additional boards and pieces away with them. Wilfried showed them to the balcony this time and gave a formal invitation to use it for all subsequent visits.

Me and My House

As they flew back, Melchior felt a soft sense of loss. Rather than fun banter about their game, they'd entered into a serious political discussion. His request for a faestone had drawn an incredibly intense reaction which he couldn't fully understand. While Melchior was happy to have conveyed his feelings and hoped Wilfried could convince his allies to make a token gesture, he was sad that they couldn't just enjoy each other's company. That he’d touched on something so upsetting without meaning too, was distressing.

His contemplation was interrupted for a debrief. Deliroze had been left to take notes. His were not as detailed as either Isolde or Flautzeal as he was struggling to learn the short hand, but Kolteruze was able to augment his notes with his memory while Pepin had insights into the body language of the participants.

As usual, Zargerecht was allowed to begin. “My lord, there is little to say. Your comportment was proper though your language was slightly too direct. You should allow your attendants to manage any items. Hiding your hands is often seen as a precursor to attacks. In this case, the importance of the objects and the closeness of your relationship can excuse this.

“There was no need for you to confirm that you are the driving force behind this trend. It could be argued that you should not have encouraged Wilfried to seek a compromise as that is work for the heads of your faction.

“However, as your faction heads are both women, they must be more constrained in their dealings with an unmarried young man. In this case, it was proper though you should have consulted Lady Charlotte before your gathering with a member of an enemy faction. This was not bad politics but you have much more to learn.”

Melchior couldn't help but smile. He’d expected a long lecture about his failures as both an Archduke Candidate and a guest. Advice about those things he was struggling with was very welcome by comparison. “You do not think it was wrong to land at the front door or to bring Isolde?” he had to ask.

Zargerecht’s flat smile gained a strained character. “The mistake concerning where you would arrive was not yours. Your attendants should have coordinated with the estate steward. It is your right to bring whatever retainers you deem necessary. Is there a reason you are concerned about Isolde in particular?”

“It has been mentioned before,” Melchior replied.

Zargerecht looked at Isolde who returned a similarly flat expression. He still seemed to see something in her response. “If a young man finds he must alter his behavior in the presence of a lady, his behavior was insufficient to begin with,” he declared before signaling that he was finished unless Melchior had more questions.

There were many wide eyes but no further questions so Deliroze began his report. He’d taken notes on what was said at Melchior's table and nothing else. It was obviously hard work even to manage just that so everyone simply offered praise and encouragement. Isolde would help him package his notes to give to Charlotte alongside anything else they thought she should know.

With the mention of Charlotte, Cecilia stepped forward. “I have been reprimanded for my failure to pass on important information to my lady. As you are well aware, my lord, my placement in your retinue is temporary and my allegiance remains with Lady Charlotte. Eikestine and I have thus far only communicated what information we were allowed to pass on and anything pertaining to your game with Lady Charlotte. I do not think that can be the case anymore.”

“Perhaps you should return to your lady,” Sebastian suggested. Melchior and several others regarded him with surprise. “Mestinora will not serve Flutrane. Verdraeos suffers only the God of Darkness⁴⁴.”

Cecilia remained calm. “My lord, my commitment to your safety will never be compromised. I am informing you of what was asked of me such that you may make decisions. At this time, I am in your service and will abide by your orders. Is it not the same for others who serve you?”

There was a distinct shift in the room. Melchior glanced at Dedryck who remained impassive. His eyes then flicked to Ortolf who hadn't shown an inclination to pass his secrets on to Wilfried. Nor could he be a very effective spy considering how little Wilfried seemed to know about Melchior's dealings. Besides them, Melchior couldn't think of anyone passing on information without his knowledge and permission.

Isolde temples her fingers. Her eyes seemed to burn with anger. “It is not uncommon for information to pass to those who recommend a retainer. It is an unspoken expectation. You claim to be committed to loyalty to your current master but how can this be so when you also say your allegiance is to Lady Charlotte. That is more than good feelings and gratitude. That is treasonous talk.”

Cecilia took a deep breath. “I was placed with you, Lord Melchior, to learn. You have taught me far more than I had hoped. Made me stronger than I imagined possible. I am in your debt and so present myself with honesty. You are aware of my life’s goal. To achieve them, I cannot continue as I have.”

“Why did Charlotte request this of you?” Melchior asked. He understood placing spies in his retinue as part of their game but for general purposes it was unnecessary. Melchior would just tell her whatever she asked.

“I doubt it was Charlotte herself,” Kolteruze said.

Haldis stroked his chin. “What exactly have you been asked to do?”

“Charlotte’s head scholar expressed dissatisfaction with the delay in knowledge about your trend and activities in spreading it. It is my failure to communicate that kept Lady Charlotte unaware,” Cecilia admitted.

“So, in order to maintain your future place, you have been asked to relate sensitive information which our lord might wish to control. Rather than do this, you have informed him of the request. Cecilia, one must wonder what worth your allegiance has?” Haldis said.

Now she paled and looked down. “I… I do not wish to be the point of conflict between our eternal five.”

“And if conflict is inevitable?” Isolde asked.

“It is not,” Melchior interrupted. “Conflict can always be avoided and it is my intention to do so. Thank you for informing me Cecilia. Isolde and Dedryck will continue to oversee what information may be passed on. As I endeavor to be of greater use to my sister going forward, more information must naturally be conveyed.”

“You…” Cecilia stared at him with confusion and unshed tears. “Are you saying you will support my efforts to spy on you?”

“Subterfuge is not necessary in this case,” Melchior replied.

Isolde looked even more severe at this assertion. Haldis spoke before she could. “There will always be things our lord does not wish to share. I am more curious about the extent of your duties? Is it only yourself and Eikestine who have been charged with this?”

“Only we were spoken to that I know of,” she replied.

“I see. Lord Melchior has promised to train you and accepted the risks this accrued. It seems he does not fault you for the business you must undertake,” Haldis noted. He turned to Isolde and Dedryck.

They nodded. “You can expect changes to your guard rotation,” Dedryck said coldly.

“Shouldn't there also be changes to yours?” Sebastian asked.

Now there was deafening silence. Everyone looked back and forth between the two knights. Dedryck was unmoved. He merely looked at Melchior.

“No such expectations exist between Father and Dedryck. He is charged with my safety, nothing more,” Melchior said.

There was something like surprise which passed over Sebastian’s face. “We have just seen how quickly such a thing can change. You would accept split loyalties?”

“I will consider that if it occurs. At the moment, I am happy with Dedryck’s service and have no desire to offer offense to the Archduke,” Melchior replied calmly. “Isolde and Dedryck will continue to manage the knights and information. Cecilia and Eikestine will act as intermediaries. We will speak with Helenwig at a later time. For now, I am more interested in what was said during the other matches.”

No one wanted to let the topic go. There was a long pause while Melchior's retinue compressed their need to argue and Sebastian failed to fully neutralize his expression. He remained quiet while Gottschalk gave a summary of his loss to Alexis. They spoke of the transitions of power at the Knights Order.

“The problem of the Quartermaster seems to be the least of everyone’s worries. Wilfried is still quite young. Alexis has only just stepped into his role. While Sir Fonbart remains an active advisor, it is clear that the leadership of the Knights Order is unstable. There seems to be fear that Sir Tiedemonn will gain even more influence since he has more time before he must retire.”

Sigsnyr had been quiet and pensive until this moment. “What reason could there be to fear such a thing? Father has no ambition to control the Knights Order.”

“Nor is he in service to the Archductal family,” Isolde noted. “His loyalty remains a question.”

“It's not questionable at all,” Zargerecht interjected. “He has always and will always be loyal to Lady Constance.”

Everyone younger than Fonsel reeled with shock, except for Sigsnyr who squeezed his eyes shut. “At no point has this inspired father to harm our duchy. This is Lady Constance’s childhood home. She has instructed him to protect and serve it.”

“That she can still instruct him to do anything…” Sebastian sputtered. “What are we doing as a duchy!”

It was a fair question, Melchior thought. The Huntsmaster was a very important position. He knew more about the geography and wildlife of Ehrenfest than anyone else. Were he to turn against them, his treachery would be incredibly effective.

“He is already under oath and fire⁴⁵. In that case, he would simply ascend to the towering heights,” Sigsnyr said quietly but firmly.

“This still presents a problem for the Knights Order. The most influential member of the leadership will be a knight with split loyalties,” Isolde observed. Sigsnyr looked like he wanted to protest but remained silent. “That is how it looks,” she conceded. “We also can't simply replace him too or our leadership will suffer. The selection of his apprentice cannot be delayed.”

“It also can't be left up to the new Knight Commander,” Haldis said. “Add this to your notes Deliroze. I am sure Charlotte is aware but a reminder will be good. Isolde, what about you?”

Isolde finished taking a couple of notes. “I would like to dismiss some of the assembly,” she said with a look at Melchior.

Everyone looked at Melchior to see who he planned to send away. Melchior wasn't sure what to do. He didn't trust everyone equally but he didn't want to demonstrate that so clearly. There was no way to tell how this would affect their relationships.

“Let us use a sound blocker. There is still more to discuss after this,” Melchior said instead. “We will speak just with the head retainers.”

Haldis moved immediately to collect the sound-blocker and activate it while the other scholars rose and stepped away. Melchior's eyes grew wide when he stayed. “My lord?”

“I… isn't Zargerecht…”

Isolde didn't employ any of the standard gestures for polite questioning. “You thought Zargerecht was your head attendant?” she asked in a tone of real surprise.

“Didn't they tell you when Haldis joined your retinue?” Dedryck asked.

Haldis just laughed. “All this time? My lord, you have been confused all this time?”

Melchior’s mind whirled through every conversation he could remember since Haldis joined his retinue. He didn't remember anyone at any time referring to him as the head attendant. He hadn't come with Melchior to the Royal Academy. Then again, for any serious conversation where only a couple of retainers could be present, it had long been Haldis not Zargerecht who accompanied him. Zargerecht also split his time between Melchior and Henriette. In retrospect, it was obvious.

“What did you wish to say?” he asked instead.

Isolde glanced at Haldis again before speaking. “In truth it is nothing so serious but your retinue is compromised in more ways than one and all of them are in this room. I have not had time to reevaluate everyone.” Melchior nodded. “Gregor had more to say about Wilfried's romantic prospects. He personally hoped for a match with Bertilde. Her connection to the Leisegangs is not as strong as Lady Rozemyne’s but her assistance could place Wilfried back in the running for Aub in the event that his siblings encountered some difficulties.”

“Does Wilfried agree?” Haldis asked.

“No, he dislikes her on principle,” Isolde replied. “I am more concerned that Wilfried's supporters still haven't given up on the possibility of him becoming Aub even though Wilfried himself has.”

Dedryck heaved a sigh. “They won't ever give up. King Consort Anastasias publicly declared his secession and placed himself as vassal to his older brother. He worked tirelessly to prop him up but at no point did his supporters give up on the possibility of him becoming king. They still haven't. If the possibility somehow presents itself, they are prepared to take it and propel him into the seat. That your retainers accept your deference to Charlotte is exceedingly rare if not unheard of.”

Isolde and Haldis stared at him. He blushed and looked away but continued. “I have seen this game play out in several duchies as well as the royal family. It is never over. Those who cannot take power for themselves are the most dogged in their strivings to gain power by association. History has many examples, The Zent Emeritus is one such example, of the candidate with the least chance becoming the victor.”

Melchior rested awkwardly in his seat. This was precisely the kind of talk he least wanted to engage in. After all the questions about split loyalties and treachery, he felt anxious and that anxiety made him tired. “Was there anything else?”

“I would like to discuss Lord Wilfried’s reaction to the faestone. Where did you get the idea for such a trade, my lord?” Isolde asked.

“Mother and Father were willing. I hope to collect one from each of my family members,” Melchior said. “I’m not sure what kind of accessory to make. Fonsel was not helpful.”

Only Dedryck knew of this event but he didn't add anything to the explanation. Isolde and Haldis swapped theories about why Wilfried reacted as he had but ultimately found they didn't know.

“Perhaps, Wilfried didn't brew sisters hairstick,” Melchior offered. “If that is just the public story but he was unable to do it in truth, perhaps he didn't like being reminded.”

Isolde gestured to someone outside the bubble of silence. Pepin cautiously stepped inside while every eye in the room watched. “Why was Wilfried so upset?” Isolde asked.

Pepin didn't seem surprised by the question. “For some reason, it reminded him of his inferiority to Lord Ferdinand. It is a fact he is well aware of but in this instance, the idea was unbearable. I think it may have something to do with how he feels about Lady Rozemyne. There is little else I can glean from his actions alone.”

Isolde smiled at him and wrote down his analysis. “Is Wilfried sad about their betrothal?” Melchior asked.

“It is painful to know that you will never compare,” Dedryck whispered. He recovered quickly and added. “In this case, I think it is best to remember this but behave as though it never happened. Your brother will thank you for the discretion.”

Melchior nodded. Isolde seemed like she wanted to argue with this analysis but Melchior looked so relieved to have permission to forget that she stopped. “We should decide what to tell Charlotte and the Aub and Lady Florencia. And what to say at dinner.”

After a few more words about the refreshments served during Gewinnen, everyone who wasn't scheduled for that evening was released. Cecilia was sent to guard the hallway while Melchior prepared for dinner. Melchior was happy with his outfit so he only needed to freshen up a bit. He sat before his mirror while Kolteruze reset his hair.

“Kolteruze,” he began. Kolteruze just glanced at him through the mirror to acknowledge him. “Do you have any ideas for what to do with my faestone seeds?”

Kolteruze was quiet for a bit longer. “As you do not wear your hair in the same way, a hair stick would not work as well. It cannot be a necklace lest it be mistaken for a courtship item. Your options as a boy are limited. Perhaps a cape chain?”

Melchior tried to imagine it. Next to his red registration brooch and its ornate holder surrounded by a floral brooch, his still narrow chest would look awfully busy. Then again, the seeds were very small and a thin chain wouldn't stand out much. As much as he liked his colored tapes, if he stuck with ochre to match his cape, the rainbow of faestones could be subtle enough. He could also add them to the end of his sash or decorate his potion belts but he wanted something he could wear all the time.

He wiggled his head to play with his front dangles. He wore them almost everyday now in one form or another. To have the faestones of his family hanging there, within his field of vision at all times, would be comforting. Melchior touched his hair and tried to imagine how to secure them. Perhaps a small comb or a metal cuff. It would need to be very secure since losing a faestone, however small, that contained the Aub's mana was unthinkable.

Melchior took these thoughts with him to dinner where the Gewinnen match was discussed again. Without Wilfried to give his side of the tale, Melchior felt conflicted. They were discussing his brother in such sterile terms and the actual game, the part he was excited to speak about since this was his first time facing Wilfried when he wasn't impersonating Ortwin, was glossed over in favor of everything else. His retinue had decided to be honest and forthcoming about everything so there was much to pick apart.

“I recall telling you to talk to your faction head before making moves,” Sylvester said after Melchior’s explanations.

“Indeed, Father. I find I do not know what constitutes a move until I am informed after the fact,” Melchior replied.

Charlotte giggled behind her hand. “I remember being the same way, dear brother. Eventually I learned that nearly everything is a move or a trend or both.”

Everyone nodded knowingly while anxiety raced up Melchior’s spine. If everything he did counted as making moves then he really couldn't do anything.

“Even the absence of activity is a choice in itself. People will read into every action,” Sylvester added. “I do have to commend you. By alerting Wilfried to the promises between us, you’ve made it difficult for us to use your trend to extract… tribute.”

Even without Haldis’s heel click, Melchior took a moment to consider whether this was genuine praise. He felt it was safest to fall back on his relative ignorance. “Is that a good thing?” he asked.

“It will force us to deescalate the faction struggle rather than solidify our power base,” Charlotte explained, which didn't illuminate much at all.

“Don't we want the conflict to settle?” he asked.

“That is a constant consideration. A calming almost always comes at the expense of strength while greater strength allows for control over the conflict, silencing resistance,” Florencia said. Melchior still didn't think this was an answer. “As it stands, this will help you achieve your own goals. Just be sure next time to check that it will not damage your sister’s.”

This was easier to understand so Melchior nodded. He looked at Charlotte and tried to discern her feelings. She was just as good at controlling her face as Florencia, most of the time, and this was not one of the rare exceptions. “I think I will retire from faction politics for a time. It is exhausting.” This broke his sister's expression. More giggles bubbled up and Charlotte covered her face again.

“Would that it were so simple,” she sighed. “Though, we can allow a little while longer for you to remain neutral.” She said this with an encouraging smile and tone but Melchior couldn't help but feel dread well up in his heart for what would happen once this grace period ended.

Footnotes

43. “Getting Ewigeliebe to look at any other goddess” is a common way to say something is impossible. Blaunfah was selected at random.^

44. A retainer cannot serve two masters^

45. Magical contract^

Chapter Text

The Trouble with Henriette

That evening, Melchior visited Henriette. He didn't have any new toys or gifts but she greeted him joyfully nonetheless.

“Mel! Mel! Come see. Come see!” she cried while she pulled him towards her desk rather than the table. Her obsession with formal greetings seemed to have passed or else she was too excited to give one. On the desk was a single sheet of paper neatly folded. She presented it as though it were the greatest of treasures.

“What is this? May I look at it?”

“Look. It is from Erma… Er ma lind e.” Melchior took the letter with a smile and unfolded it. “Read it,” Henriette insisted.

Though Melchior was sure her attendants had read it to her many times already, he obliged without argument. “Dearest Friend, the breezes of autumn continue to bring the sweet fragrance of bounty. I dearly wish that you are blessed just the same. Father has given me a lyre. It is made of white wood with little flowers down the side. I have drawn one of the flowers on this note.” The flower in question was a blob of red and yellow in the corner of the page. “Have you begun music lessons? I cannot yet play a song but one day I hope we can play together. May the gods bless and keep you. Ermalinde.”

Henriette begged for him to read it again and he did but the third time he insisted that she read it to him. “Dear…est Friend, the b…br…breez…breezes of…” it was incredibly slow going but Melchior listened patiently and helped her sound out words. She read it through a second time with more confidence even though there were many long words.

“Have you been practicing your little harp?” Melchior asked. Henriette looked guilty for a moment before saying that she had. He looked towards her attendant who shook her head. “There is no reason to lie, Henriette. I’m not upset, only curious,” Melchior pressed.

She looked amazed to be found out. “It is not as good as when you do it,” she admitted.

“I had to practice everyday since I was your age to be as good as I am now.”

She nodded gravely. “Then it is impossible,” she decided.

Before she could resolve never to practice again Melchior took her by the shoulders. “It is very important that you learn to play harspiel. When you turn seven, you will have to play before the whole duchy and if you are not good enough then you will be demoted out of our family.”

Melchior realized instantly that he’d made a mistake. Henriette didn't seem perturbed. “What does ‘demoted’ mean?”

He spent a long time trying to collect the words. Before he managed, her head attendant stepped forward. “It means that Lord Melchior will no longer be your brother. You will not be allowed to see him.”

“But why?” Henriette asked, her face scrunching as she prepared to wail. “Just for harps?”

“No that's not…”

“Yes. Harspiel is important,” her attendant pressed.

Melchior felt his body warm as tears fell down his sister's face. “I hate harps! I hate harps! Why?” she cried.

Her magic tool was pressed into her hand while Melchior knelt beside her little desk, frozen in agony. Draining her mana didn't seem to do anything to calm her. She resisted her attendants attempts to sooth her as she dropped to the ground screaming and crying.

Melchior didn't know what to say. It was all true. If she failed her debut at best she wouldn't be made an Archduke Candidate. He didn't know what that would mean or whether she could move into the Northern Building. At worst she would be sent to the temple which… was his domain.

“Henriette,” he said and knelt down. Her attendants continued to try to pull her up but he shooed them away. In their place, Zargerecht came and knelt and began rubbing her back without trying to move her. “Henriette, if you do not learn harspiel you will not be able to join me as an Archduke Candidate but I will still be your brother. I will always be your brother.” One of her attendants made a face like she wanted to interject but he shot her a glare.

“You will still be my brother?” Henriette blubbered.

“Yes always. I will always love you and come visit you.” She began to calm almost instantly then shuffled forward on her knees to fall gracelessly into his lap. She allowed Zargerecht to move her into a more dignified position only because it wouldn’t move her away from Melchior.

“I do not have to learn harps?” she asked.

“I would like for you to learn so that we can live together,” Melchior replied. She would end up the High Bishop anyway but he’d rather it not come after a disgrace.

“I hate harps,” she insisted.

“I did not enjoy them either but I have learned to like them. You can also choose another instrument later and your knowledge will make it easier.”

This was interesting to her. “There are other instruments?” she asked.

“A great many. My scholar’s family owns over five hundred. One day we can visit and he will be delighted to play them for you.” He spent some time telling her about the instruments he’d seen and some that were too fantastic to actually exist. She could not tell the difference and accepted all of them into her growing understanding of the world.

“I want to learn the dipipillzaps,” she declared. The horn one played by slapping its bell did not exist but Melchior assured her Flautzeal would be happy to demonstrate his mastery one day.

Zargerecht left them to collect her little lyre from its shelf. Henriette glared at it but Melchior took it anyway. “For now you will have to learn harspiel. It is a good instrument for learning all the notes,” he encouraged. “You do not need to be as good as me.”

Learning that the bar was somewhere below Melchior’s skill level was more encouraging than anything else. She allowed him to play scales on her seven string toy. She even played a few herself for which Melchior offered abundant praise. He taught her a ‘song’ that was just two arpeggios alternating but they came up with the words together so it was her new favorite song.

“I hate my harp but I must learn to be a proper lady,” he sang.

“When I am old I’ll never play a harp again,” she sang back.

She helped him remember one of the first songs he’d learned on this very same harp since he’d forgotten half of it. She had more fun correcting him than learning from him so he played up his struggles to a ridiculous degree. “Oh it has just been so long. I don't know how I ever learned the first time.”

Eventually, they both grew tired of strumming and laughing so they read one of her books. Being sapped of strength by her earlier tantrum, Henriette fell asleep before the usual time. Melchior insisted on staying there on the floor with her in his arms. He continued to read a book be could recite from memory until Zargerecht kindly brought him one of the volumes of children's knight stories which Rozemyne had included in her most recent gift.

Nikolaus’s story with Melchior's art was featured in this first volume. All the others were about happy adventures through brightly lit forests. The fear and struggle undertaken by the knight in Nikolaus's tale stood out both for its tone and for how little the pages were creased. Melchior wondered whether anyone had read this story to Henriette. He didn't want her to feel scared by it but he thought she might enjoy a tale about such a young character. Everything worked out in the end after all.

On their walk back to his chambers, Melchior stopped to look at Zargerecht. First he noticed that he didn't have to tip his head back as far, then he asked his question. “Why did Lady Bluthrinde say that?” It came out colder than he planned.

“We have been trying to encourage Henriette to practice for two seasons now. This was the longest she has held her harp thus far,” Zargerecht replied calmly.

Melchior wasn't sure how far along she was supposed to be. He only had vague memories of learning which had been overwritten by his years of intensive practice. “Please communicate with Henriette’s retinue that they are never to say or imply that anything would sever our bond as siblings.”

Zargerecht paused and Melchior raised an eyebrow. They were not Melchior's retainers. He couldn't issue orders to them and the threat had been effective when nothing else had worked. “I can only pass along your request,” he said.

Melchior schooled his expression before it could become particularly grim. “I will speak with Mother.” He declared. The ordonnanz was in the air before anyone could stop him. Melchior was suddenly very glad to have a roost.

At his request, Florencia and Melchior had breakfast together in the dining room. Melchior arrived at his normal time only to sit for half a bell drinking tea and doodling. At some hidden signal, the meal was brought out. Melchior wasn't normally present for these preparatory steps. He watched Haldis test and taste for poison, order drinks for accompaniment, test the drinks, warm his dishes, then plate his meal while Florencia’s attendants did the same. As everything was ready to serve, Florencia swished into the room mid-conversation with Leberchet.

Melchior stood but was not acknowledged. He understood that his mother was taking time out of her schedule which was so busy she couldn't even rest on Earthday. Only once their point was made did Leberchet take his leave and Florencia accept her son's greetings.

“I thank you ever so much, Mother, for giving me even a moment of your time this morning,” he said. She just nodded. Neither of them ate. “Might we entreat Verbergan?”

“That would be best,” she said. Haldis stepped forward and placed the area sound blocker before all of their retainers stepped back. “This is an urgent matter?”

“Yes, Mother. Last night I visited Henriette. I admit she suffered some distress when it was revealed that it would be possible for her to be demoted should she fail to learn the harspiel. Her attendant explained this complicated topic in the simplest of terms: that we would no longer be siblings.” He allowed these words to hang between them. Florencia made no move to reply but her smile transformed into a light frown. “Though it is not my place to make demands of those you have charged with my sister's care, I ask that you ban all such talk and that threats of this nature not be used to encourage Henriette.”

“I see. Henriette has rejected the harp for sometime. It is unfortunate that this has thus far been the only motivation sufficient to encourage growth. However, I agree that other methods must be found.”

“Thank you, Mother. May I take this that I can rely upon you to support my request?” Melchior pressed. She seemed to agree but this, the normal noble answer, felt insufficient. He wanted an explicit promise.

“And your request is?”

“No one is to say or imply to Henriette that our bond as siblings will even be severed nor use such a threat or implication to convince her to do anything.”

“And if that is the only thing that will convince her?”

“That cannot be the case. She is four, four year olds cannot be that hard to encourage.”

They were quiet once again. Florencia began eating with a pensive expression. Though this was more information than she would normally display, it was insufficient for Melchior to guess what she was thinking. They continued to eat in silence until the end of the meal. They ate quickly and there was none of the usual mirth Melchior had come to enjoy from sharing his meals with his retinue but he still felt a small joy at sitting across from his mother sharing breakfast.

Florencia rested her fork and patted her lips with a napkin. “I will support your request,” she said. Melchior smiled. “In exchange, anytime there is an impasse, you will use your influence over Henriette as her favorite sibling to steer her to the proper path.”

As much as he wanted to give immediate and unqualified assent, Melchior felt a trap hidden in these words. He had some understanding of what the proper path was for a young noble but remembered much of it bringing him great distress. Was it worth protecting his sister from one sadness only to become complicit in heaping on others.

“I cannot promise to do anything that will cause her pain,” Melchior replied.

Florencia held his gaze. The look in her eyes was frightening. Only a couple of times had she levered the full weight of her power onto him; once when he’d screamed about Charlotte hating him so much she left him behind and again after he went to harvest parues. Both times he’d had to look away. This time, though it took every drop of courage he had, he held her gaze. “I would never ask you to do that, Melchior. Do you imagine I wish to harm my daughter?”

“No, of course not,” he said quickly.

“Then do you agree to these terms?”

Melchior took the excuse of thinking deeply to look away. Florencia also leaned back and took a sip of water, relaxing the intensity of her presence. “I will help if I am able,” he said quietly.

“Then I will rely upon you,” Florencia said. “I am sure you have much you wish to accomplish today. You may return to your rooms.”

He accepted his dismissal with a small bow. Haldis pulled back his chair. Melchior stopped just before the door and knelt. “Thank you, Mother,” he said before rising and returning to his room.

Tea With Charlotte

It was difficult to focus on anything after breakfast. He’d used his wait to consider his new hair ornament. Since he’d only gotten as far as planning how to keep it in his hair, he needed to plan how to attach the faestones so that they could be added or else swapped out as more were collected.

Haldis wanted to discuss the breakfast. He even sat down at Melchior's table and offered a sound blocker but that was the last thing Melchior wanted to do. His mother had been angry both at him and the situation. While he understood the latter he didn't understand the former and didn't want to admit to making such a huge mistake. Only he and Florencia knew what had been said. If he refused to talk, no one would know.

“My lord, I can help you sort through the proceedings if you tell me what happened,” Haldis pressed. He saw the tears waiting at the edges of Melchior's eyes and didn't want to back away. Zargerecht told him what happened the night before. How had this talk ended on such a poor note? Melchior shook his head and turned back to his designing leaving Haldis with no choice but to give up and try to get the information at a time when the emotions were less raw.

For the accessory, it seemed easiest to plan as many slots as he had family, fill them with his own faestones, then trade them out as he completed his collection. The only problem was that his family was likely to grow over time. As his siblings married and had children he would need more spaces. It was a daunting task until he remembered that he could just design something new later on and transfer the faestones over. Once he had more than a dozen, a cape chain would make more sense. As he currently had four, the hair dangle was perfect.

In the end he planned for nine slots: The three Aub's, their spouses, his elder siblings, and Bonifatius. He wasn't sure whether all of them would be open to giving him a faestone, especially his family in Frenbeltag. If some said no, that would leave space for Letizia, Rudiger, and Brunhilde. It would still take half a year but if everyone said yes he would have to design something new or wear two dangles or two chains on the same dangle.

Melchior presented his designs to his retainers and Olishild before music class. “I think they'll be pretty,” Olishild declared with a smile.

“They will certainly be eye-catching,” Isolde agreed. “Everyone will understand that you are trying to do something similar to your sister but the effect will not be the same when all the faestones are not of the same exceptional quality.”

“That's ok. Sister and I are not of the same quality either,” Melchior replied.

“Are you sure you're ok with having it in your face all the time?” Nikolaus asked.

Melchior nodded then his eyes took on a mischievous grin. “Dear cousin, would you be willing to contribute?” he asked.

Nikolaus shivered with restrained delight. It was the first time Melchior had referred to him as his cousin. Even though it was part of a ploy, it still made him happy. “You would like to add my faestone to your familial collection?”

Melchior smiled. It was both devious and genuine at once. “Of course. You are my cousin.”

“Will you add Sir Dedryck’s too?” Olishild asked.

Melchior looked confused while Isolde considered this. “Their grandparents were half siblings from a provincial line while Nikolaus and Melchior’s grandparents are full siblings from the Archductal line. The relationship is not as close. No one would call them cousins. Indeed it is a stretch to call Nikolaus your cousin, my lord. His children will not be considered your children's blood relations.”

Olishild took some time to absorb the complexity of this. She'd just begun studying Ehrenfest's family tree. “It is even more complex than I was led to believe,” she muttered.

“Be happy you were born in Ehrenfest. Jossbrenner’s Archductal family extends to four other duchies and twelve provinces and that's in the last three generations,” Isolde said. Everyone stared at her. “Each Archduke has had three wives who all produced multiple children. They have to go somewhere.”

Melchior just slid a seed and a faestone over to Nikolaus while shaking his head. “It is more shocking that you have that memorized alongside the twenty three other duchies,” Nikolaus said.

Olishild squeaked. “I will never pass geography.”

“You don't need to know that. It is just a passion of Isolde's,” Melchior encouraged her. “It is enough to know that milk and cheese are their primary domestic products and exports and that they have a giant statue of Forsernte riding a cow in their capital.”

“They have a giant statue of a cow?” Olishild asked.

Melchior nodded and began to expound on the less important, but no less interesting, monuments that could also be found there. Olishild listened quietly through the first three before frowning. “Oh, this is boring isn't it?” Melchior asked.

Before Olishild could reply, Haldis called from across the room. “Even if it is, you must not show it or say so.”

“Certainly not, Lord Melchior,” she replied through gritted teeth.

“I do not mind, but that is generally correct,” Melchior said. “You can always offer another topic or say something like ‘My, my. How fascinating. I will have to research the topic myself at another time.’ A good conversation partner will then ask you what you might like to talk about.”

“It is not that it's boring. I do find it fascinating. I just wonder why you know all of this?” Olishild asked. Haldis clicked from across the room and she covered her mouth with her hands. “My apologies.”

Melchior smiled. “Lord Melchior will not fault you for asking such things but other Archduke Candidates will feel insulted,” Isolde said. “You should never question, only praise. ‘It is a wonder that you can remember so many facts about other duchies’. It communicates the same thing but an idiot will mistake it for true praise.”

“It would be better to say nothing,” Nikolaus whispered. Olishild nodded gravely and applied his advice immediately.

Melchior sighed. “I am not the best person to train with for these things. I apologize.” He turned back to his designs while Olishild refreshed his tea without making as many obtrusive clacks. She was getting much better at handling things quietly.

Nikolaus returned a faestone made from his mana. Melchior hadn't expected to receive a six element faestone even though he knew Nikolaus had acquired elements from Divine Protections. Annoyance flared all over again over Sylvester not inviting Florencia into Rozemyne's experiment. The First Wife now had fewer elements than an archknight. It tempered much of the pride he felt at seeing the clergy excel but he was still happy for his knight.

Eventually, Melchior had to set aside his planning to practice his flute. Flautzeal had other things to do with his morning but Melchior knew that he would know if Melchior skipped a day. Afterward, his attendants presented their plan for the tea party.

“This will be a good chance to show Charlotte your new tea vessel,” Kolteruze said. He looked properly excited. “Sigsnyr will arrive after lunch to lead the demonstration since Lothar cannot be here.” He was also encouraged to present any trends that would affect their Royal Academy term.

“It is just the roosts,” Melchior replied.

Isolde shook her head. “Your faestone accessory will also draw attention.”

Kolteruze placed down a sound blocker. Isolde narrowed her eyes at him but caught a glance from Pepin and relaxed. Melchior took it. “My lord. If you are planning to give all of your knights what you gave Lord Wilfried, that will become a trend in and of itself.”

Melchior's eyes grew wide. “You looked at it?”

“I had too during the handover. I will not tell anyone, not even Isolde since I learned during the course of my work. I will even help you show Charlotte without showing your other retainers,” Kolteruze replied. His expression was carefully neutral, so much so that Melchior knew it was fake. He still couldn't withhold the small note of pleading in his voice.

Melchior wasn't sure why this was so important to Kolteruze but Charlotte wouldn't spill his secret so telling her wasn't a huge problem. Her retainers were a different issue. No amount of handing down orders would stop someone from making a mistake in a thoughtless moment. Still, Isolde had been right about letting the knights select their bags and he’d received several chidings this week about failing to communicate.

“Ok, we will bring Zipporah’s since she is the least likely to care,” Melchior said. Kolteruze’s expression softened.

“I will use the utmost care,” he said before taking back his magic tool. He stepped back, no longer blocking Isolde's view of their conversation with his body.

“I hate that you always remember to do that,” she mumbled. Olishild squeaked at her rudeness but no one corrected her. Kolteruze just beamed while resettling into position. Both girls and Pepin stared at him for a long moment before beginning the conversation anew.

After lunch, Sigsnyr appeared in his attendant uniform. Olishild was caught staring at Melchior's retinue once again. The older children politely ignored her except for Pepin who quietly explained the romantic situations of his coworkers. She was more despondent with each person who proved to be out of reach. “Don't worry,” Pepin whispered. “There are many boys you haven't met yet.”

“Are they as pretty,” she whispered back.

Pepin paused, “Well, not yet, but maybe one day.” This was not encouraging.

The service for their tea would consist of the blooming tea bowl, Melchior's favorite tea cups with little landscapes painted on them, and silver spoons. “We considered a small silver pitcher but it steals too much warmth from the tea. It’s too cold at the moment for cold tea,” Sigsnyr explained. He directed Pepin and Kolteruze on how to support his efforts and set the table. In addition to the tea, they had blenrus honey made from steeping the leaves. Sheila had acquired intact leaf teas from Zipporah at some point so the sweet, golden leaves would unfurl in their cups. “I’m convinced this will be the prettiest tea service we've ever done.”

Kolteruze and Pepin watched carefully and took notes. Olishild stood to the side with Isolde, her eyes wide and full of sparkles. Since Melchior made his offer and for all the months she’d been training, everything she learned was well established tradition and method. Today, she would witness something brand new and given Melchior's retinue, she might be able to contribute to its development.

She followed Sigsnyr and Kolteruze to the venue in case she could do anything to help set up. Flautzeal soon arrived with a larger than normal harspiel to perform his role as Melchior's personal musician. He began to play immediately after sitting down in his corner. The deeper tones were soothing and light. Olishild knew it wasn't normal for musicians to play for the attendants but she wished it were.

Once the service was set, the cookies brought up from the kitchen, and the trend examples situated on a table with Kolteruze standing guard, Charlotte’s attendant arrived to prepare for her lady. She coordinated with Sigsnyr about last moment additions to the chairs and the general flow of the tea-party. As they were serving familiar snacks, that part of the explanation was short.

The discussion about the new tea was much longer and filled with animation. Charlotte’s attendants were just as curious and excited and forced Sigsnyr to pour water for them using the new method. Olishild watched as well but was distracted from the demonstration by girlish squealing.

At this moment, she noticed that all the retainers in this room were apprentices. She'd been told that these weekly tea parties were a training exercise once before but they were always so well executed that she'd forgotten. Only last week had she been deemed sufficiently well behaved to watch the whole thing. Looking around, one might never think this was all planned and executed by children.

She looked at Kolteruze, Melchior's head apprentice attendant with momentary awe. As he wasn't engaged in the pouring of water he noticed her gaze and returned a questioning expression. Olishild looked away, embarrassed. She'd forgotten herself yet again. Lady Elvira was always telling her to look more neutral and contain her attention. She heaved a sigh. Everyone was working so hard to teach her things she kept forgetting.

Her father had been candid with her. She was expected to become an Archductal retainer. The Archduke's son had taken a personal interest in her education. The Knight Commander welcomed her into his home. She was an archnoble from a well established house and the perfect age to become the secret daughter’s head apprentice. The position was hers to lose but the scrutiny would be immense. She could not keep getting distracted.

Melchior arrived while she was resetting her attendant smile. He looked everything over and whispered with Kolteruze before moving to his chair. Sigsnyr was doing all the serving but he would be in front of the table so a second attendant, Pepin in this case, needed to do everything else. Pepin helped Melchior into his chair. Olishild wanted to point out that he hadn't placed a napkin on his lap but the reason became clear quickly.

When Charlotte entered with a bounce of golden curls and a flood of beautiful noblewomen, Melchior stood to greet her. Having a napkin on his lap would make this moment just a touch awkward. These were the “little elegances” her father was always talking about, she decided.

“Welcome, dear sister. I hope the fruitful days of Schutzaria have blessed you with bounty this morning,” Melchior said. It was something between a formal greeting and a casual hello, the sort of thing one could only say to a family member they held in high regard. The little tilt of the head at the end only added to the deferential but playful air.

“Greetings, Melchior. It has been too long since we took tea together. My attendant tells me you have something new to share. I simply cannot wait,” Charlotte replied.

Olishild wondered when her attendants had even had the time to pass on this message. She hadn't seen an ordonnanz fly and no one had left the room after entering. With these questions whirling through her head, Olishild watched the siblings sit and laugh together.

Eventually, and with seemingly no preamble or signal, Sigsnyr stepped forward to begin making tea. “This is the new dish you are hoping to popularize?” Charlotte asked. “I wonder if we will have more success than Gilessenmeyer and their sugar bowls?” Charlotte said.

“I’m not trying to spread a trend at the moment. It only works with a specific kind of tea. In truth, I’ve wanted to share this tea with you for a long time but there was never a good way to go about it,” Melchior replied.

Charlotte looked intrigued. “You have invented a new serving method just to show me a new tea?” she asked.

Melchior smiled brightly. “It is also for my own amusement and that of my retainers. Kirk and I devised the tea bowl together. Sigsnyr, Kolteruze, and Lothar have developed the serving method. Sheila has added the honey leaves. I fear that if we delay anymore, we will depart from reasonable enthusiasm entirely.”

“All of this from one tea,” Charlotte mused with a giggle. “It must be truly exquisite to be so inspiring.”

“I think you shall agree that it is,” Melchior said.

By this point, Sigsnyr was finished warming and washing the dishes with the hot water and setting out a little ball on a spoon resting on a saucer. He placed down saucers with his hand and two cups using silver tongs. His movements were graceful and silent. Everyone waited patiently and quietly until the only sound was that of flowing water. Everyone leaned closer in anticipation and was rewarded by the sight of a flower blooming in the tea bowl before their very eyes. It was a dried flower so the colors were not as vibrant but its appearance from within a greenish-gray nugget was arresting all the same.

Only Olishild's breath caught audibly. She covered her mouth with her hands as Charlotte glanced towards her with a smile. “I must agree with your tiny attendant, dear brother. The experience takes one's breath away.”

“So it does. This is the first time I’ve seen everything done together,” Melchior replied brightly.

“It will be so lovely to see in the deep winter this small reminder of spring,” Charlotte continued. “This is sure to become popular by the time you graduate even if you invite only your paramores to witness it.”

Melchior frowned. “You speak as though you anticipate my having more than one.”

“You will certainly have more than one option,” Charlotte replied. Sigsnyr seemed to struggle to hold back laughter along with everyone else in the room. But he was standing front and center so the minute shaking and strained character of his smile was evident. “Your attendant agrees.”

Melchior looked betrayed. “Do you really, Sigsnyr?”

“Well… my lord…you already do,” he said while trying desperately not to break into a fit of laughter at Melchior's shocked face. “You are so young and busy with other things. It felt premature to mention it.”

Charlotte was totally free to cackle at her brother's expense while the tea was poured into a small ceramic pitcher and stirred with a silver spoon. This spoon was then displayed before the guests on yet another little plate situated closer to Charlotte. The purpose of this was unclear to Olishild but Charlotte took a moment to acknowledge the spoon so it must be important.

Sigsnyr then lifted a tiny bundle of something from a little white pot. It dripped with a shiny golden liquid. Without spilling a drop, he moved two bundles to Melchior’s cup and one to Charlotte’s before pouring tea on top and repeating the silver spoon display. From her place at the side and her small stature, Olishild couldn't see into the tea cups. She could only watch Charlotte smile brightly and wonder what was so wonderful.

With his job done for the moment, Sigsnyr stepped back three paces from the table and stood just sort of in the middle of the room. He didn't look nervous but Olishild was sure anyone would be.

“We aren't entirely sure what should happen now. As Sigsnyr is technically serving both of us,” Melchior explained. “We hoped you might give counsel.”

Charlotte sipped her tea and fell into thought. Her attendants began a very hushed conversation. It seemed to be about the same topic as they kept looking back and forth between Sigsnyr and the table and the sideboards.

“What did your attendants say?” Charlotte asked.

“We haven’t shown Haldis and Zargerecht yet,” Melchior admitted. “Lothar recommended that my attendant move to stand behind me and pour at my signal allowing me complete control over the service. That feels a touch aggressive to me especially for such an intimate tea party between myself and my closet associates.”

Olishild wasn't sure who Lothar was but Charlotte didn't question his authority to speak on this topic. “Well, you certainly cannot have your attendant stand in the middle of the room. At the moment, your retinue are the only people capable of performing the service which means you must offer explicitly or implicitly, as you are now, that your retainers are at my disposal. This is a very intimate act indeed.”

One of her attendants stepped forward and asked for permission to speak. “It would be easiest to use this as a manner of entertainment and switch back to normal service afterwards,” she suggested.

Sigsnyr moved to prepare second cups of tea. “That would be such a waste of tea but we could remove everything after the first cups,” he said. He also produced a third cup which he served for Charlotte’s attendant. The girl took it without a change in expression but a blush spread across her cheeks.

“Then we could not enjoy the flower,” Charlotte noted. “As the whole point is the visual experience and the tea can be passed down after the fact, I think it would be best to move back to regular service while leaving the bowl as a decoration.”

“I am so glad we asked you, dear sister. Your wisdom is always a gift,” Melchior said. Sigsnyr collected everything but the tea bowl and moved it to a sideboard where Pepin was already preparing tea in the normal fashion next to one of Charlotte's attendants.

“Now, now, dear brother. I must thank you for bringing this to me first. I am deeply honored that you have saved such beauty for our fellowship specifically,” Charlotte replied.

“Your fellowship is always full of beauty. I am happy to have returned some small part of what you share with me,” he said.

The quietest sighs escaped as everyone gazed on as though seeing a baby take its very first steps. Charlotte smiled as well. “And you are surprised you will have options,” she teased.

Melchior never looked happy to be regarded as adorable and was confused as to why he’d elicited the reaction now. Olishild couldn't fathom saying something so sweet if you weren't intentionally trying to inspire those feelings. Yet here he was, his smile flatter than ever, a stark contrast to the openness he usually afforded his sister.

Chapter Text

He moved to change the subject “I feel all awkwardness would be avoided if I served the tea myself but my retinue assures me it would be worse.” He reached towards the tea bowl then stopped as a palpable worry filled the room. “We are even the same status. I know I am yet unpracticed but there is no need for panic,” he grumbled.

Charlotte shook her head softly. “Dear brother, I must agree with them. There is simply no precedent for an Archduke Candidate serving another at a tea party.”

“I know. But between friends I thought it could be allowed considering the new style,” Melchior replied. “Wouldn't you enjoy something like that with your friends? With Lady Beatrice or Lady Franziska?”

“I would not pour anything for Beatrice,” Charlotte scoffed. “But that is about her personality, not the act itself. I do think it could be fun but tea parties at the Royal Academy are rarely casual affairs. During negotiations, everything from the desserts to the tea provided send a message. Serving the tea will confuse, at best, or undermine your position, at worst. It asks for a level of trust from both parties that doesn't usually exist between friends at the Royal Academy.”

Melchior listened carefully and looked pensive then, for the shortest moment, sad. “I see. I will consider this. Thank you again, sister.” His smile returned as though nothing had occurred and he changed the subject again. “There are other things which I think might impact our time at the Royal Academy. I must ask for your utmost discretion. It is a gift you see.” he said.

Charlotte promised to honor Verbergan and Melchior gestured to Kolteruze. He brought forward a box and stood such that only Charlotte and her closet attendant could see while keeping it far enough away not to trouble the guard knights. Once it was revealed, Charlotte smiled brightly and gestured him closer. She touched whatever it was, sending a wave of anxiety though the room, and giggled again. “It is a shame I make so little use of such things or else I might be jealous of the favor you bestow,” Charlotte said.

Kolteruze sealed the box again and returned to his table. This time he passed a painted diptych through the usual channel.

“I gave one to Brother, I hope that was alright,” Melchior said.

“He will have a much harder time concealing this,” Charlotte replied. “Especially if your gift was to your usual standard of quality.”

Melchior looked nervous. “He agreed to stymie Ordoshnelli until after the Hunting Tournament. That is the best I can hope for.”

Charlotte nodded and took the wooden tables. She looked even happier about these. They were one of the several Melchior had painted as part of an agreement with Hauchletze. It featured unicorns grazing in a lush valley beside knights building a camp for the night. Olishild wasn't sure whether people could actually ride this faebeast but in this world of Melchior's creation, the creatures and people seemed to care for one another as seen by the protective circle made by the unicorns and the attendant distributing fruits to the faebeasts. It was not Olishild's favorite, but she liked it all the same. House Klavier had created a matching stylus that sparkled like the sunset in the background and bore striking resemblance to a unicorn horn.

Charlotte was not known to carry a diptych on her belt like her little brother. She had received one as a gift from their sister just like Melchior but she always had a scholar around to take notes for her. Yet, with this masterpiece revealed, the fires of envy burned in her eyes. “This is for Hauchletze?” she asked mildly.

“It is part of their order. I’ve completed six of the possible twelve and will likely have another couple to add,” Melchior explained. He ate a cookie, seemingly unaware of the danger.

“You have had time to paint more than six such pieces and several of this other type,” she mused.

Melchior tensed. Olishild wasn't sure what she said to cause this reaction but it held the weight of a threat. “I have spent all year practicing my painting,” Melchior replied. “Would you like to make a request, dear sister?” Melchior smiled brightly and seemed absolutely delighted to give her whatever she wanted but there was a subtle hint of pain. Melchior had spent the last two and a half seasons painting and was slowly losing all will to continue. Most recently he was reading and studying longer just to leave less time for art.

Without understanding the context and blinded by desire, Charlotte said that she did. “Something to express the closeness of our duchies,” she said. She did not specify which duchies but Melchior seemed to understand. He forced excitement onto his face and promised something wonderful.

“But, Sister, I am of course honored by your faith but wouldn't it be best to seek the assistance of one closer to Kunstzeal⁴⁶?” Melchior asked.

“Dear brother, you command the attention of the whole of Yurgenschmidt. Do you question Kunstzeal’s favor?” Charlotte replied.

Olishild found herself lost in the conversation as it swirled with more and more euphemisms. Her parents spent plenty of time teaching her both specific euphemisms and how people built new ones on the spot. There was still no accounting for the personal history between two people. Melchior mentioned their sister's tendency to exaggerate. Charlotte referred to an event from before their baptisms which no apprentice could have seen. What the argument was even about had long since escaped Olishild.

“If it is truly what you wish, dear sister, I will turn my insufficient skill to your aims. Only, do not think to emulate the generosity of the Supreme Goddesses of Darkness and Water,” he concluded.

Charlotte glanced around but didn't seem to find the eyes she was looking for. She had to look back at her brother who was working very hard to look relaxed while also holding his ground. The effect was awkward instead of intimidating. It did not leave room for negotiation but failed to squash all questions. It was clear that Melchior would not be swayed but made no effort to force Charlotte to capitulate. Olishild wondered whether such a half-hearted attempt at intimidation could possibly work.

Whether it worked or not was unclear. “We shall allow Gebordnung to give guidance after Verzeichanmut⁴⁷ takes account,” Charlotte said. Melchior nodded with a flat smile before gesturing for his next offering. Olishild wondered whether it counted as rude to monopolize the topic of conversation with a succession of so many things. The newest one was the drawings of Melchior's faestone hair clip.

Charlotte regarded it for a long time, her smile never shifting. “How do you hope to obtain the necessary omni-elemental faestones?” she asked eventually.

Though Melchior looked nervous about this reaction he explained his scheme in simple terms and produced the necessary items from his belt pocket. He had three pouches one of which contained the faestones he’d already collected. Charlotte did not ask whose stones this pouch contained nor did Melchior offer this information. He just placed one seed and one five element stone on the table between them.

“I am not omni-elemental, my stone will not be so impressive,” she noted.

“That would not diminish the honor afforded to me by your kindness. And it would be a comfort, there is no other motivation,” he replied. Olishild thought about what it would be like to have a drop of her parents' mana close to her at all times. She'd already taken up the habit of fiddling with her roost which contained their mana and wishes for her safety. However, she wouldn't say such a thing out loud even to Ermalinde.

Eventually Charlotte took the seed and transformed it. “It is interesting that you intend to both design and brew your own hair pin. You do not wish to entreat Uncle?”

Melchior obviously thought this was an odd question or at least an important question. He recovered quickly and said that he would consider Lord Ferdinand's counsel after he had the opportunity to ask. For now, he wanted to practice the craft. “My scholars have promised to teach me more about mana jewelry. I hope there is a way to create a hole without brewing the faestones into a magic tool.”

“I have done little in the way of creating mana-jewely so I cannot say. If your scholars do not know, you can always ask your new friend,” Charlotte said.

“That’s true. I must meet with Eisenfleur soon anyway. I will consult her. Thank you sister,” Melchior replied.

“Eisenfleur?” Charlotte asked with a teasing lilt. “It seems you've grown close indeed.”

Now Melchior blushed. “It is because of our collaboration, nothing more,” he insisted.

Charlotte took a moment to giggle before turning the conversation to her own trends. She was still working to popularize plant paper and its accompanying inks. Since this was Ehrenfest’s primary export, Melchior was also responsible for this. It was important that he read and lend the various Academy Stories and other new publications.

This was only the beginning of a complicated conversation about the national factions. There were no longer princes to support but the greater duchies were vying for allies in elevating their own Zent Candidates. “At the moment, whoever obtains the book first will win but there can be some flexibility there. Alexandria and Letizia would be our first choice but they’ve shown no ambitions. Our next option is Dunkelfelger, their Archduke Candidates are still young, one year above you and one below in fact, so that is also yet to be seen.

“Only Drewanchel has openly shown themselves to be seeking the seat. We are on good terms with Drewanchel but we do not want to make any solid show of support. There is still Prince Hildebrand and the Zent’s child.”

“Who am I to support?” Melchior asked sheepishly.

“Like most middle duchies, we will remain neutral for as long as possible. We have yet to see anyone with an omni-elemental schtappe, so the question still remains.”

Melchior looked quizzical. “One must have an omni-elemental schtappe?”

“Yes. Either through being born with all elements or through divine acquisition. Before you obtain your schtappe you must obtain blessings from every pillar,” Charlotte explained. “Until a student appears with a schtappe of all elements, and even after, it's important to seem neutral with a lean towards Alexandria, our primary benefactor, and Dunkelfelger, to whom we owe much. Do not make any declarations though.”

Melchior produced his diptych and made a couple of notes himself. The conversation naturally lapsed completely while he worked. Olishild began to understand why there were scholars to do this for him. Isolde was writing quickly while looking up regularly to see everyone's expressions. She also glanced around the room at both her coworkers and Charlotte's retinue. Olishild tried to look focused whenever this gaze fell on her but it was difficult not to look back.

Once the notes were complete Charlotte spoke again. “You must paint your diptych as well. You will miss your own trend.”

For a moment, Melchior’s shoulders sank. “I think I will hire another for this,” he mumbled.

“Are you unhappy with your own work?”

“Would it not be the height of arrogance?”

“Perhaps we should petition Hauchletze to return your magnanimity,” Charlotte mused. “It was certainly arrogant to request so much time from an Archduke Candidate. It is fascinating that such a thing spread its wings through the night sky⁴⁸.”

“I do not think it was an insult. Such things are more common in Hauchletze,” Melchior replied.

Charlotte sipped her tea. “It is not common here. It gives a different feeling.”

Olishild wasn't well versed in the gossip of the castle. She suspected her father would understand these implications but she didn't. Melchior seemed ignorant as well. He ventured to ask if anything was being said to which Charlotte responded there were vague insinuations about how his skills must be being degraded to prop up his older siblings.

Melchior's entire retinue looked horrified. “What reason could there be for Sterrat to hide his glow before the Goddess of Light⁴⁹? You are so accomplished already.”

“That is kind of you to say, dear brother. There would be no space for such rumors had it not been created,” Charlotte said. “In any case. We should suggest an exchange. Next year, we can speak with Lord Philomenar ourselves and come to an agreement.”

“They have offered one large gold for each,” Melchior said shakily. Ehrenfest just wasn't the kind of duchy to spend so much gold on trinkets of this kind especially when they had their own artists.

“There is no need to request a dozen,” Charlotte noted. “He has an affinity for aquatic plants and poetry. If you create something specifically for him, it will be easy to goad him into a competition of sorts.”

Melchior nodded with less enthusiasm than ever before. Their tea party ended with warm goodbyes and lamentations about how rarely they could meet. The moment the door shut on the last of Charlotte’s retainers, Melchior heaved a great sigh and lowered his forehead to silently rest on the table top. He’d been excited about completing most of his painting for the year. Now he had several more to do.

Time with Ptolemaus - A Noble Interlude

Kazmiar finished his breakfast with a sigh. Seving a child was hard work. They did incomprehensible things like lending their retainers to whoever needed them and for the strangest things. Kazmiar and Ptolemaus were close in age. To a child this was more than enough reason for them to become friends. That they both had better things to do and a long history that precluded closeness was irrelevant in the face of their theoretical loneliness. Kazmiar was not lonely; he just preferred his own company.

Whether Kolteruze was correct in his observation that Ptolemaus was lonely was beyond Kazmiar to predict or care about. Even for a fellow man forgotten by society, socializing with the former retainer of the woman who invaded her natal duchy was a delicate thing. He had to admit that using the auspice of assisting in an over taxed office, as Melchior was want to do, was a great excuse to get closer to the Quartermaster. They would even earn a favor from one of the leaders of the Knights Order.

For this reason, and that it was a direct order, Kazmiar was dressed in his scholar's uniform by his temple attendants before setting off to spend one bell helping Ptolemaus. He would never again make the mistake of not bringing his own attendant, so he summoned Ludgar from the estate, ordering him to meet at the Knights Order.

They arrived just before second bell so the Knights Order was full of people rushing here and there to start their day. Kazmiar received interested looks from the training and lounging knights. It was clear that most of the young people didn't know who Kazmiar was and most of the older people would give perfunctory acknowledgement only because of his position. Only Eikestine broke away from her training to properly greet him as a senior member of their retinue.

“I offer greetings, Lord Kazmiar. It is rare to see you within these halls. May I be of assistance?” she asked to the amazement of some of her training partners.

Kazmiar replied with only a little reprimand in his voice, “I accept your greetings. In this, I fear you would be aggrieved to participate. I am to assist with computations for Sir Ptolemaus.” Eikestine was still vocal about her distaste for administrative work even after months of doing it regularly. He felt she should have acclimated by now but still wasn't going to force her to do it.

She swallowed and paled before giving the correct response in a high, pained voice. “Not at all, Lord Kazmiar. My computations have improved greatly as of late. It would be no burden.”

Kazmiar gave her a fond look. “There is no reason to hurt yourself. We may need someone to carry missives. In that case I will summon you. Is there anyone else around?”

“Sir Dedryck is training Lord… training with Lord Wilfried at the request of the First Wife. Ortolf is also… around somewhere… possibly swinging some manner of martial implement,” she replied with a look full of relief then veiled contempt.

“I see. I will inquire with them if the need arises. You may continue as you were,” Kazmiar said. He waited for her polite bow before continuing on his way to the tune of more whispering than before.

It was a short walk to Ptolemaus’s office. Like most of the leadership of the Knights Order, it was close to the entrance for easy access. This placed it very far from their rooms but that was a blessing as well.

Ptolemaus didn't look up when Kazmiar entered his office even though encountering someone within your mana sensing range was always more likely to draw one's attention. For an Archnoble, this often meant it was someone to whom it would be unwise to give offense. Ptolemaus was unmoved even while his med and layknight assistants quailed under the appraising eye of the archscholar. His layattendant also didn't rouse from his nap.

The children had described this office as a travesty, filled with parchment and boards in haphazard piles, and stinking of poorly washed knights. If it had ever been that, it was not so now. There were many stacks of documents but there was an obvious method in the process of being established. Though, the assistants looked terrified of touching anything so Kazmiar guessed that Kolteruze was in the middle of organizing and had left these for his return the following week. To combat the smell, decorative wax tablets hung from hooks placed around the room. The scent was mostly neutral, likely leaning towards purifying herbs rather than sweet smells.

“Sir Ptolemaus, I offer greetings on this morning blessed with bounty by the fruitful days of Schutzaria the Goddess of Wind,” Kazmiar began.

Ptolemaus looked up like a man just awakening from a long sleep. His pinkish orange eyes, the color of the dark side of a peach, looked glassy and unfocused, full of confusion until they cleared all at once. Kazmiar was not a knight and he was not one of the children Ptolemaus was growing used to seeing. He was Lord Melchior's only adult scholar.

“I accept your greetings, to what do I owe this extraordinary pleasure. If your apprentices are to be believed, you do not enjoy the same dearth of responsibility that they do,” Ptolemaus said. He did not offer a chair but Ludgar brought one over for Kazmiar anyway before standing calmly behind his lord and eyeing the tea cart.

Kazmiar held back a scoff. “I do not. However, those budding branches point to a vessel drifting upon a distant pool under the power of a single oar⁵⁰.”

Even someone as skilled at hiding his emotions as Ptolemaus had to force air from his nose in lieu of a chuckle. “It is just so rare to encounter someone to whom I need not repeat myself,” he replied with a sidelong glance at his still frozen assistants. They returned to lazily working.

“Yes, Kolteruze often falls back on an attentive expression and knows quite a lot despite his youth.” There was an awkward pause. “Well, I have offered and thus fulfilled the prescriptions of my lord. We must be in agreement that my time is better spent on invoices,” Kazmiar said.

Ptolemaus’s eyes dulled almost imperceptibly before he replied. “The invoices are completed for the moment. Lord Melchior's retainers are particularly gifted in arithmetic. We are now working through years worth of late reports for the Archduke's Office concerning the average consumption of the knights as well as organizing the documents pertaining to that by year and season.”

“Shall I continue the organizing? Did Kolteruze say whether he was favoring the system employed by the Aub or the temple?”

“I believe he said he is ‘using that method which has become popular throughout the duchy’. He wrote a guide,” Ptolemaus produced a wooden board from within his desk.

Kazmiar took it and looked it over. “It is the one we use in the temple. That makes things easy,” he said while rising from the chair. He went over to shelves and began moving piles while referencing the guide. Ludgar moved to the tea cart and began preparing to brew. He had to pause upon seeing the unlabeled jars of mysterious mixes of herbs.

“Ah, Kolteruze brought me several new blends of tea. The one with the pink cap would be best for this moment, I think. He said it's a mix of stinging nettles and wangrund tips. I would not think to use wangrund for tea, seeing how difficult it is to forage, but I must admit, it is delicious,” Ptolemaus said.

“That sounds agreeable, thank you,” Kazmiar replied.

“It is amazing that Lord Melchior's knights have come into such a large supply that other uses must be found for it,” Ptolemaus noted in a casual tone.

Kazmiar was only half paying attention so he almost replied honestly. Wangrund was so difficult to find that Kolteruze had dedicated an entire garden bed to the bushes which now budded such that there was a harvest once every two weeks rather than only at the beginning of each season. The mana rich environment and tender care meant it was of very high quality while the rarity of the other ingredients in the potion it was used for meant they had excess. Kazmiar could not reveal this secret yet, especially not to the Quartermaster who had the authority to requisition any ingredient collected in Ehrenfest for the good of the duchy. He did not make use of this power often but no one would argue if he did so over easily accessible wangrund buds.

“They are quite talented. Zipporah and Sigsnyr intend to win the Hunting Tournament this year,” Kazmiar replied evasively. He dearly hoped he sounded like he knew nothing rather than like he was hiding something.

Whether Ptolemaus had sniffed him out or not, he let the topic go. “Our young knights have developed tremendously over the last couple of years. I shall look forward to witnessing their strength. I think I will have time to spare this year,” he chirped.

The tea was brewed and set. Ludgar had to toss the first steeping but managed to make something passable on the second. It might have become awkward at the stage for the poison test since the tea was a gift from Melchior's retainer, stored in Ptolemaus’s office, brewed by Kazmiar's attendant, while using Ptolemaus’s tea service. The line between host and guest was thoroughly muddied but Ptolemaus didn't pause for a moment before draining half his cup.

Kazmiar stared at him in shock. “If I wished to do you ill…” he muttered.

“As poorly conceived a plot as that would be, I would need to take some time away to recover at home,” Ptolemaus mused as he took yet another sip. His eyes glazed as though considering a pleasant afternoon in his future.

As someone who’d given up their day off and only regained it recently, Kazmiar understood this sentiment. On his worst weeks, he considered staging an accident of some kind just for the excuse. He had been calmly sorting documents, not half-heartedly, but not with intense focus.

Now Kazmiar placed the documents back on their pile, took a sip of the tea, which was alright, and began working in earnest. He stalked around the room observing and reassigning the work of the assistants. Ludgar was set to the task of transcribing alongside them both for productivity’s sake and to ensure they actually worked. Once the subordinates were settled, he sought out the pile with records for the reports Ptolemaus was currently working on and began sorting them.

Ptolemaus did nothing to stop or correct him even when his assistants frowned in his general direction hoping he would chide this interloper who dared to command another's retainers but he just went back to working. The office descended into quiet diligence for half a bell before Kazmiar placed a completed report on Ptolemaus's desk.

“This is winter from three years ago, I took the format from the report of spring that same year.” Ptolemaus just stared at him. The report for autumn of that year was sitting on his desk half complete. He’d started on it that morning and thought he was making good time yet Kazmiar had finished it in a quarter that time while doing other things.

After far too long, Ptolemaus looked down to check the report. “It is missing the totals from the previous season but I can add those once I’m finished with this one.”

“Then I’ll continue organizing. I do not want to leave one partially done,” Kazmiar replied before returning to his original activity. There was quiet once again.

A little before third bell, Ptolemaus finished his own report and broke the silence. “Lord Kazmiar, did you ever figure out how to brew Gewinnen pieces?” he asked.

Kazmiar froze, wooden board a hair’s breadth from the shelf. It was exceedingly rare knowledge that Kazmiar had, during his time at the Royal Academy, attempted to brew faestones into figurines. His excuse the one time anyone asked about it, was that he wanted to make Gewinnen pieces. This conversation was not with Ptolemaus nor did Kazmiar remember him being in the brewing room. Then again, Ptolemaus spent a lot of time brewing after being fired as an apprentice guard knight.

At the time, Kazmiar hadn't heard any gossip about this very boring fact about himself. That didn't mean there hadn't been any but the chances were small. People had much more to say about Ptolemaus being all but thrown from a meeting room during a rare lasp in Georgina's well controlled temper where she screamed at him for lacking loyalty and being useless for anything but his feastone.

Someone still might have mentioned Kazmiar’s failed attempt to brew a miniature dedication whirler. This was the most likely reason that Ptolemaus knew. The far more terrifying and only slightly less probable reason was that he remembered a conversation that happened in his vicinity almost thirty years ago and remembered it as being the only hobby Kazmiar had ever publicly entertained, making it the only thing to bring up in a bid to make light conversation.

“The recipes for Gewinnen pieces are well known. There was no need for me to reinvent so I gave up eventually,” Kazmiar replied. He continued sorting if only to distract himself from the implications.

“That's a shame. With all the rituals being revived lately, a whiriler piece would make a nice addition to Gewinnen sets,” Ptolemaus said.

Kazmiar turned slowly. Ptolemaus wasn't looking at him. He was calmly drinking tea brewed by his attendant who had woken up at some point and silently refreshed their cups. Kazmiar glanced at his steaming beverage and wondered if bringing up ancient, personal esoterica was an intimidation tactic. It was working.

Kazmiar couldn't even sputter a response before Ptolemaus continued. “I remember because I attempted it myself. I found that the detail was never as fine as I’d like. My wife likes to sew plush animals and clothes for dolls so I thought it would be nice to brew faestone dolls for her, maybe make them dance and such. I’ve wondered whether you perfected the technique,” he said while awkwardly toying with the rim of his cup.

He wasn't blushing. Neither was Kazmiar but he suspected it was only through a similar force of will as himself. “I did not, unfortunately. Instead I employ the services of a sculpture for small figures.” He sipped the tea. It was better than Ludgar’s but that made sense if Ptolemaus's attendant had been brewing it for the last two weeks.

“Then you still…” Ptolemaus was interrupted by third bell. His office was very close to the bell tower so the chime was louder here than most other places.

Ludgar instantly put his transcribing aside, leaving the ink and pen for the assistants to handle. Kazmiar, similarly dropped the documents he was sorting. “How quickly the shuttle flies. I must return to my normal responsibilities.”

“You… the children… um… yes, thank you for your assistance. Please convey my gratitude to your lord,” Ptolemaus stuttered.

Kazmiar gave a quick nod before all but running away. He wasn't sure what Ptolemaus’s game was, but he felt unprepared to play with a man who was once hand selected by the most exacting Archduke Candidate in recent memory. Ptolemaus looked towards his door for a long time before going back to work.

Footnotes

46. Closer to Kunstzeal- more skilled in art in this case “better than me at art”^

47. Verzeichanmut Goddess of records - goddess of my invention. Like Mestinora she records information, unlike Mestinora she only records raw facts. Subordinate of Light^

48. Got past the Aub or was agreed to by The Aub^

49. Why should a normal person need to pretend to be less than an obviously superior person?^

50. “The kids said you were lonely”^

Chapter Text

Melchior had not been so happy to escape to the temple since the needle debacle. He awoke early and skipped breakfast just to flee the castle as fast as possible. Kazmiar came to accompany him and Haldis walked him out then gave a bow and a promise to care for his home in his absence.

“I rest assured in the knowledge that you remain here to care for my home,” Melchior said quickly before summoning and mounting his lion in one smooth motion. At least he attempted to make it one smooth motion. He could summon his lion below him and jump high enough not to impede its growth but still fail to land in exactly the right riding position. This time he was rather high on the mane but didn't acknowledge his mistake before launching into the sky. Kazmiar and Haldis shared an amused glance before the latter followed his lord and the former returned inside.

Melchior greeted his temple retainers so warmly that they were suspicious. “The fruitful days of Schutzaria bless my return. I am certain the temple has been well cared for. Let us return to my chambers,” he declared with a smile before charging in without asking for the usual brief update.

A longer update was provided while Melchior waited for breakfast. “Preparations for the Harvest Festival continue apace. We have ordered carriages be reserved should you require them and alerted the farming towns on your route to the schedule,” Lothar explained. “Lord Kazmiar has requested a meeting this afternoon over lunch. Will Lady Isolde and Lord Flautzeal be here as well?”

“I think so. Everyone is visiting the Quartermaster tomorrow so they should be here today,” Melchior replied. Lothar looked curious for a moment before suppressing the urge to ask. “He needs help with his backlog of paperwork,” Melchior added.

Lothar nodded while Kirk raised an eyebrow. Melchior told Kirk about the troubles suffered by the Quartermaster and the upcoming tournament. “It sounds like Lady Isolde will have fun,” he noted with a giggle.

“She enjoys secrets and Sir Ptolemaus seems to know all about the knights.”

“How does he know so much about the knights if he's trapped in his office all the time?” Kirk wondered. Melchior had no answer but offered to send Kirk along with his other retainers to find out. “Is that allowed?”

They looked towards Lothar who, for once, didn't have a good answer. A priest’s attendants followed him wherever he went and went wherever he sent them. Kirk was allowed in the castle and even had a uniform so he wouldn't stick out in gray robes. There was theoretically nothing wrong with this but he questioned it nonetheless. “It will make it look like the Quartermaster lacks appropriate help,” he concluded. That's what happened to Melchior after all.

“He does! So, maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe you should go too since you're so good at administrative work,” Melchior suggested.

Lothar shivered minutely. He remembered the Aub’s hungry eyes and recalled how much harder it was to work without the respect of those working under him. Going to a distant office without his lord would be unpleasant. “We cannot leave you without attendants. Lord Kazmiar is also bereft as your retainers are going elsewhere,” Lothar replied with no hint of the anxiety he felt.

“Oh, that's true. Perhaps while I am at the castle,” Melchior mused but didn't make a definite decision.

Kirk had reports about his excursion. An ordonnanz had been sent to cancel his talks with the common people but replaced it with an errand. He’d acquired a knife for Melchior's hunting kit. It was beautifully crafted with a bone handle polished to a bright shine and a small, sharp blade. Dark and light layers of steel overlapped to make a wavy striped pattern reminiscent of wood. It came with a dark leather sheath and straps to attach it to his ankle. “It wasn't the most expensive but it's the nicest one they had for practical use,” he explained.

Melchior was delighted. He kept sliding it in and out of its sheath with a silly smile. “You have a knife, right Lothar?” he asked. Lothar presented his small knife. As Melchior's head attendant he was the only one allowed to carry something so close to a real weapon in his presence. Its blade was half as long and stuck out of a simple wood handle.

The contemplation of bladed tools absorbed his attention until breakfast. Kirk had more to say after presenting his spoils and resolved to hand over new and fascinating objects at the end of his reports in the future. Once Melchoir was distracted with food, he could continue. “The spinning wheel will be completed in time to deliver it to the monastery. And…” he double checked that none of Melchior's noble retainers were close enough to hear, “...your order from Ilsa is complete,” he whispered.

“We will have to plan a meeting so it can be presented. Should we show it off before or after the party?” Melchior mused.

“Party, my lord?” Kirk asked.

Melchior paused his eating. “I’ve been thinking about it for so long that I forgot to inform you. I would like to have a party at the end of autumn, in the atrium, to celebrate my retainer's coming of age. We need only a few snacks and tea or… that wine from Herzfeld that children can drink.”

The end of autumn was quickly approaching. They would be away for a few weeks between now and then and would need to process Melchior’s tax revenue once they got back. It wasn't much time. Kirk looked at Lothar who didn't look anywhere near as panicked as he should about planning such a rare event with so little warning.

“In that case, I believe we should meet with Mistress Ilsa a soon as possible,” Kirk replied in a high voice. It wasn't hard work to plan a meeting with merchants but it would be one more thing amidst so many. If it could be gotten through quickly and easily, that would be better.

Melchior considered the pros of giving Kolteruze his gift early or trying to hide it for any length of time. The return of the merchants so near the end of autumn would rightfully be seen as a sign that a gift had been delivered. While he could send Kirk to spirit it into the temple disguising his activities as a completely normal excursion, then Ilsa would not get the joy of seeing his reaction, a thing which she spoke about as the reason she took to knitting in the first place. He would just have to store it in his temple hidden room and have it handled only by himself, his temple retainers, and maybe Gerianne.

“Plan a meeting for next week,” Melchior ordered. “For when Kolteruze is scheduled at the Knights Order.” Kirk nodded with relief. His joy lasted only as long as it took for Melchior to speak again. He had one other impossible task. “How good are you at embroidery now? Could you apply Deliroze's name to a scarf?”

“Simple letters would not be difficult,” Kirk replied. Much more would be beyond him.

“Could you do a magic circle?”

Kirk was already pale which Melchior could not see while he was focused on eating daintily. “That would be beyond me at the moment. Aren't those stitched by noblewomen?”

“Well, anyone can brew the threads. Having someone else do the stitching supposedly degrades the effectiveness of the circles but you don't have mana to influence them. I thought it could work.” Melchior replied.

Kirk contemplated this scheme while Melchior finished eating. He knew magic circles to be complicated and ornate, full of curves and sharp turns. From Isolde's grumblings, it took years to reach the level of skill needed to apply them and the needles placed a tiny but constant drain on one’s mana. Kirk continued to think about this while clearing away the meal and presenting Melchior’s study materials.

The High Bishop looked over the swaths of knowledge before him and sighed. It would all be interesting on another day but he was tired. Charlotte had once again provided him with information about the other duchies and Ehrenfest’s socializing strategy. He got it earlier than last year since he would be more involved and so that his scholars could send information back. The prospect of diving into more faction politics was depressing so he put that aside.

There was also more law and brewing and battle formations and all of it felt like too much. So, Melchior made the executive decision to practice sculpting. His instructor wasn't scheduled to return for a couple of weeks but he wanted to have something to show Janto. As an Archduke Candidate, he couldn't be worse than a gray apprentice priest and Lyle had much more time to sculpt. This surely counted as auxiliary studying.

Thanks to this flimsy excuse, Isolde entered her lord's chambers to find him covered in dirt and his table filthy. “My lord, I see you've begun relaxing early.”

“I am practicing my sculpting. I am studying for the return of my instructor in two weeks,” Melchior explained.

Isolde glanced at Kirk who strategically looked away and affected a disinterested air. “And what great benefits can we expect sculpting to bring to our duchy?”

Melchior's hands paused on his malformed faebeast. “We are hoping to create plant pots capable of withstanding the rigors of accelerated growth.”

Isolde sat down at the small table and spread out her own notes. They'd gotten so much new information in the days prior that she needed to organize. She also needed to plan for what to do while her lord was away for the Harvest Festival. She did not wish to be dragged around by her mother again because she appeared to have free time. Thankfully, there was a lot to consider before winter.

It was therefore particularly annoying to see Lord Melchior shirking his studies to play around. Isolde took several deep breaths. “My lord, the creation of sculptures and the creation of hollowware are different crafts. Practicing one will not improve your skills in the other.”

Melchior made a sound of amazement. “I didn't consider that. I guess I should work on that after. I must finish this for Henriette. I do not want her to forget about me while I am gone all winter,” he said without stopping.

“I highly doubt she could forget her favorite brother,” Isolde scoffed. She watched for a few more minutes before turning back to her own work. There had to be a more serious reason that Melchior was lacking in diligence that morning when he was usually coaxable even when he wasn't enthusiastic. She let it go.

Eventually, the clay was cleaned up for music class then Kazmiar came over for lunch. He brought his own food and eyed his fellow scholars suspiciously. “Do you always remain for lunch?” he asked

“Generally,” Flautzeal replied.

Kazmiar chuckled, then began eating in earnest. “It's good that you're here today. Saves me the trouble of summoning you later. I wanted to discuss my excursion from last week as well as the emissaries we are sending to Gaussbuttel. The castle has requested a priest to accompany them.”

Melchior paused his eating to consider this. “We cannot afford to lose anyone for the Dedication Ritual.”

“If we receive assistance as we did last year, we will not be burdened by the loss of one clergy.”

“Just send one of the useless ones,” Flautzeal suggested.

“They will leave a poor impression on Gaussbuttel,” Isolde countered.

“Can we rely on help again this year?” Melchior asked. If not, it could take over a week to fill all the chalices.

“We must hope so. I don't think Nikolaus will be able to return for the ritual this year,” Kazmiar explained. “If we send Kampfer or Friartack, we will struggle to prepare the ritual. If we send Streita or myself, we will have to send one of the apprentices to any late season trombe in addition to all the other struggles that would cause.”

“We must send Kampfer or Friartack, then.” Melchior agreed. They could manage without them but the orphanage needed Streita to complete winter preparations and the temple would turn to sand without the High Priest.

Kazmiar nodded gravely. “I will have them study the materials pertaining to the ritual. Can you show us the page in the High Bishop’s Bible?”

“We will have to ask father for the key,” Melchior replied. Kazmiar’s expression grew pinched. That would make things very difficult. “We will have to go without.”

They finished with the report about Sir Ptolemaus. Kazmiar thought better of talking about their conversation concerning his hobbies and only shared their professional exchanges. Melchior looked disappointed that his friendship scheme hadn't been an instant success but didn't rescind his order. He encouraged Kazmiar that such things took time and that he didn't need to feel bad. Kazmiar restrained the urge to roll his eyes.

“I was wondering, would it be appropriate to send Kirk along with everyone else?” Melchior asked.

Isolde took in a sharp breath then pretended nothing happened. “You wish to send Kirk to the Knights Order to assist in Sir Ptolemaus's office?” Kazmiar asked. He looked Kirk over while he contemplated. “He is a commoner.”

“Yes but he helps you all the time and he knows how to do the written math too. Or he could attend and free Kolteruze to do administrative work the entire time,” Melchior replied.

“You received complaints the last time you sent a priest to the Knights Order, my lord. There will already be so many of us there. Do you lack confidence in our abilities?” Isolde asked.

They both knew this wasn't the case. They also knew that the problem with Sister Streita stemmed from having her teach the knights. Priests were called the Knights Order for funerals on occasion so there was no actual prohibition against them. Plus, Kirk wouldn't be going in his gray robes.

They were all well aware that Isolde's arguments were unfounded so it wasn't surprising that Flautzeal spoke out against them. “None of that matters and Kirk would be helpful. Plus he would free you to chat with Sir Ptolemaus and steal his secrets. Why wouldn't you want him there?”

Isolde could not say it was because he made her nervous for no discernable reason. She could only glance towards his pink hair with her pink eyes before tossing her braids. “I would not like a repeat of what happened in spring. People will think Lord Melchior lacks competent help.”

“Or they will see what the bare minimum requirements are. Kirk does very good work, especially in this area. Any scholars that wish to pledge themselves should be at least as capable as Kirk. I think it would be alright. I will order a carriage,” Kazmiar declared.

Kirk and Melchior shared delighted smiles while Isolde grimaced. “Traveling by carriage takes forever,” she grumbled.

“Are you offering to transport him in your highbeast?” Flautzeal teased.

“She’s the only person with a drivable one,” Melchior noted.

“Kolteruze can summon a Highbeest now too,” Isolde scoffed. “I mean… no. I was just making an observation.”

“I could fly him there then pick him up,” Melchior suggested. It wouldn't take him very long at all.

“My lord, you cannot seem to be playing ferry for a gray priest,” Kazmiar said. “You would have to find some excuse for being at the Knights Order at which point you might as well assist your retainers.”

For once, Melchior seemed reticent to offer his assistance. Isolde was going specifically to talk about secrets and politics and as an Archduke Candidate he would have to involve himself in the conversation even though it was sure to be tedious and anxiety inducing. It would be better to avoid things all together.

“If you send Nikolaus he can attend the whirling class,” Flautzeal offered. “Kirk can ride with him.”

With a glance at Nikolaus it was decided. The opportunity to spend time with his grandfather was worth the mild indignity of carrying a commoner on his wolf. With these things settled, Kazmiar returned to his office and Isolde began a lesson with Kirk on how to navigate the Knights Order.

Everything went peacefully until after breakfast the next day. Nikolaus and Kirk left with polite bows and smiles, Chet came to replace Kirk looking excited to escape Kazmiar’s office until an ordonnanz landed on the roost assigned to the High Bishop's chambers. It was actually tied to Paul since he never left the temple but the temple attendants rarely needed to reply.

No reply was required this time. The ordonnanz was just to inform them that the Aub would be visiting… at some point that day. It seemed Sylvester still wanted to keep some mystery but this was almost worse than him just appearing at the gate. The whole day Melchior was listening for that particular twinkle of the Archduke's bell and fidgeting in his chair.

It didn't come while he studied troop movements or during music class. Trude commented both on Nikolaus's absence and his lack of focus while Gerianne calmly strummed. “Father says he is coming to visit but I don't know when,” Melchior admitted.

Trude looked pensive for a moment then nodded. “You will be ready when he appears whether you prepare or not. Is that not always so?”

“I guess that's true,” Melchior replied. They had a stash of treats prepared for these impromptu visits and Sylvester seemed perfectly happy with whatever was provided.

This was not enough to stave off all of Melchior's anxiety by the time lunch came and went. He considered skipping training so that they wouldn't be caught unawares but Gerianne argued that the Archduke wouldn't mind watching them train. “He will probably insert himself into the sword dance in spite of his heavy clothes,” she predicted.

Of course, she was correct. Sylvester landed in the middle of the training courtyard with a sly frown. “You’ll be all sweaty for our tea party,” he complained.

Everyone stopped moving and sank to their knees. Only after completing the flourish on his landing and loudly complaining did Sylvester stop to take in just how many children were kneeling to him. Melchior walked over before kneeling as well. “We welcome you, Aub Ehrenfest. Shall we withdraw inside for tea?”

“Not when half my Knights Order is here. What is happening?” Sylvester asked and gestured for everyone to rise. Streita waited for everyone else to stand before leaving her kneeling pose and walking over in case he had questions Melchior could not answer.

“We are training with Sister Streita. Gerianne and I are shooting, the fifth years are sword dancing, while everyone else is working on forms at the moment. I think we were soon to move to a dodging circle,” Melchior explained.

“And the scholar with the harspiel?” Karstedt asked.

“Oh, Flautzeal came once for whirling class. Now he comes everyday to play for us while we train. He has specific songs for the dodging circle, sword dances, and Squares!”

“You make your personal musician play for your workouts?” Sylvester sighed.

“Only at the temple,” Melchior replied. “It’s nice.”

Sylvester shook his head but let it go since not even a discussion about him interrupted Flautzeal playing in his little tent. “Let's see you shoot then,” he commanded and strode over to where Gerianne still stood with their equipment. She grew pale but dutifully turned back to the targets. Lothar came over with a chair for Sylvester then stood to the side in case he wanted anything else. Kirk almost stopped doing forms with Helenwig and Nikolaus but Lothar signaled that he should do nothing to draw attention to himself.

“Not bad,” Sylvester said after watching a few arrows. “Is this as far as you can shoot?”

“We are up to twenty-five paces accurately,” Melchior chirped. “I think Gerianne could shoot farther but it wouldn't be safe to have her behind me.”

Gerianne shook her head. “In this we are equal.”

“I still haven't shot anything yet,” Melchior countered.

“You will have your chance,” she replied but looked smug all the same.

Though Sylvester seemed strangely content to watch archery for quite a long time, their time at the targets had to come to an end. Everyone formed a circle around Streita with only a step and a half between them. “Do you want to join?” Melchior called to his father.

“And roll around on the ground?” Sylvester scoffed though he played with his clothes in a way that suggested he resented them. “Get in there Karstedt,” he ordered.

Karstedt sighed and grumbled about his safety but took a position between Nikolaus and Gottschalk anyway. Gottschalk looked terrified at the prospect of slapping the Knight Commanded when he lost the rhythm while Nikolaus just looked uncomfortable. Eventually the song began at a slow but steady tempo. Streita called out the movements for Karstedt's benefit but he seemed to pick things up quickly.

Perhaps it was because they had such a distinguished audience, but Melchior felt it was their best circle yet. They moved in tandem from side to side and up and down, even landing their jumps in sync. He couldn't hold back a smile then a laugh which spread like an infection and threw people off. One moment it was a beautiful dance. The next moment, there was chaos. Children flew over each other as one doubled over laughing while the other kept up the game. Dedryck and Karstedt were quick to extract themselves but Sebastian was dragged down by Cecelia and Zipporah into a chuckling pile.

“We were doing so well!” Helenwig cried. She grabbed Sigsnyr who get up because he couldn't stop laughing at how Zipporah and Sebastian kept knocking each other back down then pretending nothing had happened. “Get up! Get back in formation!” she barked while trying not to look towards Sylvester cackling in his chair.

Her voice was just commanding enough to pull everyone back and get the circle going again. This time Flautzeal picked up the tempo. No one had time to giggle while moving so quickly and recovering from periodic smacks from their neighbors. Karstedt was still unfazed.

“Wow Sir Karstedt. You're incredible. You didn't miss even one step,” Melchior praised while catching his breath.

Karstedt scratched the back of his head nervously. A strange reaction to praise but Melchior didn't spend time examining it. “Can we move on to Squares now?” he asked Sister Streita.

“Yes yes, perhaps your father can call the numbers,” she suggested.

Melchior beamed and scurried over to Sylvester. “Will you call numbers for us, Father?” he asked.

“What just ‘one, two, three,’ and such?” Sylvester asked with a pout. Why he seemed upset was unclear but Melchior went on to explain how the game worked. “That's not the best approximation of sparring. Your opponents won't attack in time to music,” Sylvester noted.

“That's true but it's fun in its own way. And you can play with people of many different skill levels,” Melchior replied.

Now Sylvester looked interested. “Really now. Why don't I play with you? You, with the white hair, call numbers for us,” he ordered.

Gerianne bowed her acknowledgement and stood back to do her duty. “Wow, Father, I’m amazed you still remember all the numbers for the forms. The older apprentices all forgot,” Melchior teased while they got into position.

Sylvester narrowed his eyes then paused. “Actually I don't remember any of them, but I can block your attacks just fine and on beat,” he sassed.

Melchior smiled and readied himself. “Four, seven, five…” Gerianne called and their square began.

It turned out to be quite true that Sylvester could easily predict what move would come next and brought up his block to meet Melchior’s wooden blade at just the right moment to clack on beat. They did three slow squares then Flautzeal began increasing the pace after each revolution. No matter how fast, Sylvester looked completely in control. After a missed swing, he disarmed Melchior with one smooth motion.

“You almost ducked that,” Sylvester noted. “I’m impressed.”

Melchior clutched his chest and worked to catch his breath. They were going at a punishing pace just before that deep sense of dread came over him. He could see the edge of the wooden blade strike his hand before it connected and knew what to do to avoid it but also knew he would never be fast enough. He hadn't even noticed his own mistake until after the fact. “I’m still not fast enough,” Melchior pouted.

Sylvester raised an eyebrow. “I think you're plenty quick. You can't expect to beat a seasoned knight just yet though.”

“That's true. That was very impressive, Father. Would you like to take a turn attacking?”

Sylvester rolled his shoulders and smiled. “I think I will. I’ve remembered all the numbers now,” he looked at the assembled children. “Who do you suggest as an opponent?”

“Dedryck,” Gerianne said, then covered her mouth in embarrassment.

“If you want a challenge, that is the only choice,” Melchior confirmed.

“Isn't this a cooperative game?” Sylvester asked.

Melchior heaved a sigh. “That is what I always say but everyone insists that the loser is the person that makes the most mistakes.”

“Ok then,” Sylvester said. “Dedryck! Come fight me!” He called across the courtyard.

Dedryck instantly stopped his staff fighting with Gottschalk, nearly getting wacked in the process, and bounced over like an overgrown shumil. “Certainly, you grace!” he chirped, cheeks flushed.

Gerianne made a knowing glance at Melchior who returned a question with his gaze. She shook her head. He didn't understand. Dedryck happily took up his position, then the music began. No one had been selected to call numbers and it seemed like the competitors didn't need them. Their strikes still landed on the beat but their movements were far more complex with one striking a few times then the other becoming the aggressor for a few moves seemingly without any pattern.

While the pace was slow, they looked a little awkward but as it sped up then grew feverish, they seemed more and more graceful. Sylvester’s sleeves bellowed around him majestically and seemingly without impending his movements at all. Dedryck whirled around with a stupid grin on his face and absolute precision in his movements. Without any sort of signal, they ran out of patience for Flautzeal's slow acceleration and abruptly doubled the tempo.

It was as beautiful as it was terrifying. Everyone stopped to watch and thus witnessed Dedryck's practice sword fly straight up into the air, spinning perfectly along its vertical axis. Dedryck stood still with one arm raised and Sylvester's blade pinched between his upraised shoulder and his neck. He caught the blade, swinging it in an arch to rest behind his back and knelt with a sweep of his cloak. He lowered his head though this did a poor job of concealing his beaming smile.

“That was fun,” Sylvester said and bounced on the balls of his feet. “I see why you like this game, Melchior. Rucken,” He made a graceful motion which ended in him flinging his sword halfway across the courtyard. Everyone was surprised but Sylvester most of all. “Rucken,” he repeated in a whisper.

Melchior nearly fell over laughing. “Father, that was so incredible right up until the end. A practice sword is not a schtappe. It won't just disappear.” No one else had the audacity to laugh at the aub but several people hid their smiles while their shoulders shook.

“You, get over here,” Sylvester yelled and began chasing Melchior to ruffle his hair. Melchior immediately understood his motions and ran away. They did a turn around the assembled children before Sylvester yelled “By order of the Aub come and be tousled!”

Anyone that wasn't laughing before was now in stitches as Melchior strode back with all the gravity of a man facing execution. He tossed his cape in imitation of Dedryck and knelt with his head beneath Sylvester’s hand. “I submit myself to your punishme… ahh!” Sylvester picked him up and flipped him upside down, ruining his hair in an entirely different fashion. Melchior screamed and laughed while Sylvester held him up by one leg and swung him around.

“Tell me your opinion now,” he taunted.

“That was great. Just the most amazing thing!” Melchior cried.

Really everyone should have been more anxious to see Melchior tossed into the air but he spun almost gracefully and landed on his feet in an impressive show of coordination with his father. “Keep that attitude,” Sylvester ordered.

“I think that's enough practice for today. Why don't you all hurry along to dinner,” called Streita.

“Ooh, what's for dinner?” Sylvester asked.

“I’m not sure yet. Would you like to join me?” Melchior asked brightly.

“Sure. Let's go.”

Melchior pushed his sword into his sash and led Sylvester inside. Kirk followed behind trying to avoid Karstedt’s curious eyes. He disappeared down a servant stairway at the first opportunity and reappeared while Sylvester was drinking tea and talking to Melchior over a partition while the latter took his bath. They babbled about Melchior's training progress while Sylvester looked over the sword manuals and the practice drawings.

“Drawing rolling is so hard. I never know which part to depict. It all feels important since you have to know where to hold your head to keep from smacking it into the ground,” Melchior said.

“I think we do that instinctively,” Sylvester mused. “It's more important to know how to avoid banging your knees and how to get up quickly.”

“I don't know if that will make it easier to draw but I’ll take that into account,” Melchior said while walking back out into the common space. He wore fresh socks and night clothes and his multicolored house coat that followed him everywhere.

Sylvester stared in shock then began laughing. “Wow, it's hideous! I love it!”

Melchior frowned. “It's fun and brings joy to all who see it,” he countered.

“Hey, I said I love it,” Sylvester repeated. “I think I want one too, in fact. Who dyes fabric like that?”

“We think it's from Chifundo but you would have to ask Hauchletze,” Melchior said.

Sylvester grew pensive. “It doesn't look like anything I’ve seen in Yurgenschmidt before but couldn't our dyers replicate it?”

“It remains outside of their abilities but strides are being made. I purchased a fabric with blocks of color but the interlocking and overlapping is still too much.”

“I see. I guess I’ll just pick something in a garish color for the time being. Maybe put the Renaissance’s on it or something.” Melchior felt like apologizing to all those craftspeople whose lives were about to get much harder.

The food was soon served and though Sheila made an effort to plate things fancier than normal, there was no hiding that it was just vegetable stew, roasted meat, and bread. “As we did not know we would be hosting you, Father, I’m afraid we didn't prepare anything special.”

Sylvester poked at his steak. “Is this what you eat all the time?”

“More or… well not usually less. The taste is still excellent,” Melchior assured him while happily munching.

Sylvester silently conceded that it was tasty. Still, “Why is it so simple?”

“It is less expensive this way.”

“Are you struggling to fund your chambers?” Sylvester asked.

Melchior shook his head. “It is just that the money is better spent on other things,” he replied. “By demonstrating frugality I encourage others to do the same.”

Sylvester looked around at the abundance of paper and expensive art supplies in the room. There was a rare plant on a decorative stand in one corner and a shelf filled with books in another. “Frugality,” he muttered. His son was rumored to be a terrible spendthrift, famous in all of Yurgenschmidt as the kind of person who turned gold dust into paint. It would be funnier, and maybe it was funnier still, if Melchior didn't say this with such conviction.

Sylvester eventually left far later than he initially planned. Melchior was not allowed to walk him to the gate in his night robes but waved all while he walked down the hall before turning the corner and disappearing. He waited for a long moment before heaving a sad sigh and going back inside. Kirk coaxed him into bed without giving a report on his day at the Knights Order as originally planned.

Chapter Text

Family Talk

Kirk had to wait until the next morning to give his report on his trip to the Knights Order and by then it was best to wait for Isolde to appear just after breakfast with a stack of notes and a radiant smile.

“Ptolemaus is impossible!” she cried in outrage tinted with joy. “We spoke for so long and I learned almost nothing. Then he drops this collection of reports into my hands and shoos me out before we can even speak about the implications. And what implications!”

Melchior began reading through the reports while she recounted their conversation. The exchange was so packed with euphemisms and clever turns of phrase that Melchior wasn't sure anything had been communicated at all. He certainly didn't expect Isolde to be happy about the conversation or working so hard to remember all the tricks Sir Ptolemaus used to speak for several minutes without answering a question.

The reports were much easier to parse. Sir Ptolemaus knew everything worth knowing about the knights of Ehrenfest city and almost as much about the knights in other provinces. He’d been making collections of these facts and tidbits for years but the Archduke simply didn't have the time to read about the marriage intrigues of layknights and already knew about anything worth knowing about those of higher status. The information was exhaustive but with subtle undercurrents rather than explosive revelations. It was nothing but implications.

“A few years ago, Ptolemaus was told only to send information that might impact the safety of the duchy. While he has some ideas about what that is, naturally it's impossible to predict how the actions of one knight might impact the duchy. But in retrospect, the connections are so clear. I just need to study the patterns from years past and apply them to the current information to figure out how it all connects. Do you think we could collect this kind of information on scholars and attendants? Oh and we should figure out how to hide this information about our allies. Oh but where does it all come from, that's one question he refuses to answer no matter how obliquely.”

“Isolde, you believe that by gathering enough information you can predict the future?” Flautzeal asked, looking tired. He hadn't even gone to help in the Quartermaster's office but just the reports from everyone else were enough to exhaust him.

“It will help,” she replied.

Flautzeal shook his head while Kirk stepped forward with a grin “I know where the information comes from, at least the more private things.”

Isolde's eyes grew wide alongside Melchior’s. “Tell us,” she asked breathlessly.

“All the servants of the Knights Order serve Sir Ptolemaus. He pays their salaries and gives them bonuses every autumn to prepare for winter. They tell him everything and if he finds out they lied he fires them so the information tends to be unadulterated. There's no reward for passing it on but he actually listens to them and addresses problems they encounter and protects them from other nobles.”

Isolde and Flautzeal paled and looked around. “But there are servants everywhere in the Knights Order.” High ranking knights had attendants while wealthy lower ranked knights hired their own servants but they just tended to one's lifestyle. The cleaning and meals and general upkeep were done by servants, one of whom was stationed in every occupied room to render service immediately if needed. Sir Ptolemaus had ears everywhere all the time and no one was paying them any attention.

“That’s brilliant!” Isolde cried.

“It seems like the first thing one would think of when trying to collect secrets over such a wide area,” Kirk replied. “Nobles can detect magic tools but ignore servants. Even if they don't, it's impossible to never slip and say something you meant to hide.”

Isolde stared at him until he blushed and looked away. “You mean to say that you aren't surprised?”

“Not even a little,” Kirk mumbled. “And his head servants were so nice I would have said more than I should have had you not warned me.”

“Did you learn anything from them?” Melchior asked while his scholars took a moment to contemplate their place in the world.

Kirk fell into thought. “I don't know. I don't think so. They tried to convince me to apply at the Knights Order over lunch but I spent my time attending the office so I couldn't ply anyone for information.”

“Do you want to work at the Knights Order?” Melchior asked.

“Oh… no. I’m more used to knights and nobles now but I don't think it would be as nice as serving you. It was fun to meet so many people though. A couple people will be going to the Royal Academy and promised to introduce me to some of the regulars.”

“He has eyes everywhere,” Flautzeal mumbled.

“You told them you were going to the Royal Academy. That falls under ‘more than you aught to say’,” Isolde snapped.

Kirk quailed. “It didn't seem like something I needed to hide,” he replied.

“I will have to teach you what is and isn't safe to share. Telling them you are going will make people begin to ask ‘why him’. There are other papercraftsman. You didn't tell them you were going to make paper did you?” Kirk shook his head. “Good. There are others who might like your position and see an opportunity in the fact that Lord Melchior is bringing one of his attendants rather than a career craftsperson to push for the inclusion of their agent. They may not have an apprentice scholar skilled enough to join our research but a commoner craftsperson could steal trade knowledge just as easily.”

“That seems awfully convoluted,” Kirk sighed.

“Noble society is always awfully convoluted,” Melchior replied. He and Kirk shared a giggle.

In spite of the implication heavy reports, Melchior felt like his motivation had returned. He didn't quite feel ready to study faction politics again but knight studies weren't so bad. Nikolaus and Zipporah could help him with anything he didn't understand so it was a productive morning of studying.

At third bell they visited Kazmiar’s office together. Isolde spent most of that time regaling him with her discoveries under a sound blocker while everyone else worked. From where Melchior sat, Kazmiar look interested if not enthused and participated fully in the conversation. Melchior wondered if it was a scholar thing which made him wonder why Sir Ptolemaus was so interested in these things when he was a knight.

It was a question he would have to answer another time. When he returned to the castle, he received the distressing news that there would be an Archductal family meeting in two days at third bell. Charlotte would also miss whirling practice that week which was a true shame since they had a solid rotation going for the seven slots. While she was always in the space for the Goddess of Light, Melchior and their retainers took turns dancing as the other deities.

Gerianne was getting better every week and was looking forward to trying blessing whirls. Zipporah was now as skilled as most Archduke Candidates and everyone else was capable of doing all the motions in time to the music. It was also more fun to watch the ditter-ritual when there were more people to do it.

Without Charlotte and her retainers, the room felt empty. Melchior liked dancing with his retinue and it meant that they got to receive instruction from the tutor who was normally too busy with the Archduke Candidates but he missed seeing his sister's golden hair swirl around the room. It also did nothing for his gnawing anxiety to have her absent.

Before that meeting, he had other things to plan. Everyone was too busy preparing for the Hunting Tournament to have tea that week except for Melchior. As much as it was about spending time with his mother and siblings, it was also part of his education so he was expected to host someone. Since he had materials to hand over and wanted to see the prototypes, he invited Eisenfleur. As he was going to be much too busy over the weeks before winter to spend time with his friend, he wanted to invite Adaire.

“Are you certain, My Lord?” Pepin asked after receiving their orders.

“Are you questioning your lord?” Zargerecht interrupted before Melchior could answer.

Pepin frowned and turned back to Melchior rather than answering Zargerecht. The air grew tense but the look in Pepin's eyes said this was a very important question. Was he sure about who he planned to invite? His reasoning felt sound. Melchior searched Pepin's face for any more clues about what he meant. Pepin only glanced towards Zargerecht and Haldis over and over again.

They would be there. Well, they would be nearby but their expectations would hang over the meeting. Did he want to see Adaire in those circumstances? Zargerecht tried to order the apprentices to get to work but Melchior gestured for him to pause. He needed to think. Scaring Adaire with the trappings of power hitherto unseen in their relationship, could be disastrous. He could be frightened like Kirk had been and decided they couldn't be friends after all.

Melchior liked Adaire. He was like the little brother he didn't have until Deliroze became his responsibility. Scaring him away was the last thing he wanted to do. “Perhaps not,” Melchior said while attempting to contain the sadness in his voice. “Let us only invite Lady Eisenfleur. Inquire whether he will be available in the late autumn. Speak with Lothar about the date. If not, please plan something casual for before winter.”

Zargerecht looked from Pepin to Melchior and back. “Of course, My Lord,” Kolteruze said, just a bit too loud, when none of his fellow attendants moved fast enough. “I will see it done.”

With the planning in the capable hands of his attendants, Melchior had time to fret. He fretted all through knight training though he maintained a smiling facade. Flautzeal eyed him worryingly during music class as his anxiety was clearly detectable in his playing. After lunch, he worked through some difficult math to try and distract himself. It only, kind of, worked.

Once his duties were done for the day, he had nothing but time to think of all the terrible things his family could need to talk about. They did not come together for random meetings unless the duchy was in peril.

The anxiety made it more difficult than normal to lose himself in art. This was also partly because his commissions were so closely tied to faction politics of one kind or another. It did not help that he knew so little about aquatic plants from other duchies. After less than a quarter bell, Melchior closed his paints back up in their time-stopper, gave it some mana, and exited his hidden room to read instead.

That night he worked extra hard on his compression. It was now back-breaking work to compress anything. Rather than meditative focus, Melchior had to focus until beads of sweat dotted his forehead just to add one color of mana to its faestone. He had to create a secondary holding area out of little ponds arranged in the shape of an artist palette to contain uncompressed but sorted mana since he couldn't use compression as his sorting technique anymore. Still, if the fate of the duchy was once again in question, he needed to be ready. Even if the compression made him feel sick and trying to swallow his emotions made him feel even sicker.

The fateful meeting came eventually. Melchior and his three head retainers took up their place with solemnity. Isolde received a few looks but no comments. No one in his family seemed overly anxious but that was a poor indicator among adult and near-adult nobles. Melchior tried not to fidget during the greetings. It helped that he had to stand for nearly everyone's arrival.

After tea was set and tasted Sylvester began. “Immediately following the Hunting Tournament, Brunhilde will enter her confinement period.” Only Melchior’s breath caught. He looked around for anyone else to react to Brunhilde being imprisoned. “It’s in anticipation of the birth,” Sylvester clarified for the benefit of the clearly panicking child.

“The birth?” Melchior asked. He looked at Brunhilde. Such things generally followed a period of pregnancy.

“Yes, Lord Melchior. I am to have a baby girl sometime near the end of autumn or early winter. We are pushing things but I have felt exceptionally healthy these last months,” she explained.

Melchior was flabbergasted. How had he missed all the sighs? He hadn't even been paying much attention when she walked in. Was she larger than before?

“As such, we will continue to take up the mana burden in her stead. As Charlotte is in her sixth year and cannot afford to leave the Academy, Bonifatius will step in to socialize with the Leisegang faction,” Sylvester continued.

After they discussed their approach and how Bonifatius would interact with the younger generation, Melchior took the break in discussion to speak. “Can I help at all?” he asked. He hadn't been asked to donate anymore mana than usual and he would have time to spend at home.

“Dear brother, you must save your mana for the Dedication Ritual and all male socializing at the Royal Academy now falls to you. You cannot afford to be away for so long,” Charlotte replied.

Melchior tried to think of something he could do. He looked around. Without mana to give or the ability to control Brunhilde's faction, maybe there really wasn't anything he could do. His eyes landed on Haldis. They blinked at each other, then Haldis fell into thought before asking for permission to speak.

“Lady Brunhilde has expertly managed several events over the last few years. It would be my honor to ensure those traditions carry forward next season.”

Melchior wasn't even sure what events they were talking about but everyone else fell to muttering. “It would be good to have an agent not tied to my caretaking,” Brunhilde noted. Bonifatius’s attendant stopped muttering with Ridyarda.

“It would be no burden for my estate to take over,” Bonifatius replied.

“Naturally, there was no implication intended,” Haldis replied. “Only, the status of the venue has much impact on the reception. Lady Brunhilde enjoys the comforts of her station and the dignity therein⁵¹.”

Melchior leaned towards Isolde. “It means more if it's in the castle,” she whispered and Wilfried's scholar gave them a glance to silence unruly children. Even though their exchange was over, it made Melchior want to extend it just to be contrary.

“Seeing you all come together in support will mean much as well,” Florencia said.

Bonifatius looked grumpy but nodded. “I will accept your assistance, Melchior,” he said curtly. Melchior wanted to point out that it was Haldis who would do all the work but remembered that the input of his retainers would be attributed to him regardless of what he said.

“I am happy to help,” he replied instead.

With a few final words, Sylvester began to end the meeting. Melchior couldn't hide the way relief spread over him. Nothing was being destroyed or getting invaded. He was just getting another sibling.

“Congratulations,” he said brightly just before everyone could get up and leave. All eyes turned to him. “We forgot to say,” he added quietly.

There was an awkward pause. “Thank you, Melchior,” Brunhilde replied.

“Would you like a blessing?” he offered brightly. He knew little of childbirth except that it was dangerous and enjoyed the dedication of its own goddess. “From Entrindunge?”

There were murmurs and exasperated sighs. “Of course he means a literal blessing,” someone said.

“Blessings introduce foreign mana. It’s dangerous to the baby,” Wilfried sighed.

This was confusing. Why would the blessings of the Goddess of Childbirth be dangerous to babies? He understood the dangers of influencing a young child's mana but surely the goddess had some contingency for that. Plus they were siblings.

“Half-siblings and not the important half,” Wilfried corrected.

Charlotte’s eyes grew wide. “That is too far,” she snapped.

“Ah… I would never imply,” he hurried to add. He looked at Brunhilde and tipped his head in apology.

Melchior felt like Wilfried had been very direct in his assertion. They would be only half siblings from their father. Being born of the same mother made one much closer. Matrilineal half-siblings were exceedingly rare but they did have nearer mana.

“I would greatly appreciate the favor of Entrindunge at this time,” Brunhilde said to the cessation of muttering. It was replaced by shocked faces.

Melchior just beamed. “O Goddess of Childbirth, Entrindunge, of the Goddess of Water, Flutrane’s exalted twelve, we offer you our hope and joyful anticipation and pray that you would bless my new sister and Lady Brunhilde with your divine protection,” he said. It was not a standard prayer but it came from the heart so two green lights shot forth from his ring and sprinkled over Brunhilde and her, now obviously larger than normal, belly. “I cannot wait to meet her.”

“It will be seven years,” Wilfried replied, looking exasperated. The room remained quiet and tense.

Of course, Melchior had to wait until his baptism to meet Rozemyne. He kept his head up in spite of this realization. Holding a tiny Henriette had been fun, so had playing with her as a toddler and young child. There would be none of that with Brunhilde's children. He would have to think of another way to nurture their relationships. He knew he should defuse the situation by thanking Wilfred for his reminder but he could only think about the empty children's room left behind by Charlotte.

“I hope she is not lonely,” he muttered instead.

Brunhilde looked from Melchior to Sylvester and back. All she’d observed of the boy told her that he would be a caring and attentive older brother but it was so far outside of noble custom. It was considered dangerous. While he currently had no reason to attack his half-siblings. If she had a boy, he would have good reason to cut his threads. “Let us reevaluate once her mana has settled, yes,” she offered diplomatically. Wife of the Archduke or not, she was still only an archnoble. As much as she could not outright deny Melchior’s request, she couldn't just say yes either.

It seemed to be enough for Melchior. He smiled brightly. “I will look forward to it,” he declared. Sylvester looked pale but didn't contradict.

*

Melchior felt much relieved after the meeting ended up not being about the imminent destruction of his home. He floated through the rest of the day with a bounce in his step and a hum on his lips. Even harspiel practice was sweeter without anxiety tainting it.

“I’m glad you are feeling better, my lord,” Flautzeal said while they switched over to flutes.

Had he failed that badly to maintain a noble facade? “Was it that obvious?” Melchior asked.

Flautzeal just smiled and placed down a new song. Whether it was the light, happy sound or the fact that it wasn't required or that they weren't working at such a punishing pace, Melchior just enjoyed learning the flute more than the harspiel. When presented with this new song, however, he had to pause.

“What is this notation?”

“It’s time to bring together all you have learned so far,” Flautzeal said brightly.

“I don't think I’ve learned this,” Melchior replied.

Flautzeal tipped his head. “What do you mean? You do this all the time, make that obnoxious whistling sound by breathing into your flute incorrectly.”

Melchior scowled and made the high pitched noise in question. Kolteruze and Zargerecht glanced over with pained expression. “I only do that when I’m annoyed and only a couple of times since it upsets everyone so much.”

“And I’ve found a song which includes it. It's a legitimate technique. We need only harness it for euphony,” Flautzeal declared.

“What if I do not wish to use it for good. I quite enjoy using it to vent my dissatisfaction,” Melchior countered.

“There is no reason not to keep doing that, if you so desire, my lord. But it remains an advanced skill worthy of nurturing.”

Melchior blew into his flute to make a long, high whistle while Flautzeal smiled dangerously.

After dinner that evening, Melchior wanted to make more obnoxious sounds but restrained himself. His very first directive as Henriette's favorite sibling had been handed down. Predictably, he was instructed to convince her to practice harspiel for part of his visit every week. Sylvester and Charlotte gave him sympathetic smiles but offered no advice on how to accomplish this task.

“My sister tied me to a chair with Bands of Light. I don't recommend that approach,” Sylvester said.

Melchior went to his visit with a heavy heart and his own harspiel. He was given a week to develop an approach but after that, his failure would result in the application of more severe methods.

“Melchior!” Henriette cried upon his entrance. She hurried forward and latched onto him before he could recover from being called by his full name.

“Greetings, dear sister,” he replied calmly. She scowled. “Hello Henriette,” he tried. This did not improve her mood. “Henhen?”

“No.”

“You don’t like Henhen?”

“No.”

“What about Henri?” She considered this for a moment then nodded. “Greetings Henri, I noticed that you can now pronounce my full name.”

Now she beamed. “I practiced. And I practiced greetings and kneeling and moving my hands.”

“Moving your hands?” Melchior asked.

“We have begun teaching her polite gesticulations to replace her more spirited versions,” Zargerecht explained.

“I see. So you are becoming more graceful by the day,” he praised.

Henriette giggled and stepped back. She attempted to kneel only to trip over her feet and fall back onto her butt. Melchior held back a laugh at her look of utter betrayal as though her feet had staged a coup. He stepped forward and with a bright smile and a flourish, offered his hand. “My lady, do you require assistance?”

She looked at him and seemed to struggle between wanting to cry and wanting to look graceful. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“The hand things and the kneeling,” she asked while ignoring his hand in favor of sitting more comfortably on the floor. Melchior attempted the motion she’d just failed. He stepped back into a kneel.

“I believe it is a matter of keeping your feet on their own paths, not crossing them and allowing for tripping,” he explained. “As for the hand motions… that is just practice and observation. You see what other people do and you copy it. I recommend watching Charlotte.”

At Charlotte’s name a sad look crossed Henriette's face. “It will be forever,” she mumbled.

Melchior sat down as well. “Charlotte is very busy like Father is very busy and she has to make a special appointment everytime she comes.”

“You don't need a special app…oint thing.”

“I have a standing arrangement but Charlotte cannot come regularly,” Melchior explained. “That is why you must make the most of it when she is here.”

Henriette made no promises. They sat in companionable silence for a while before Zargerecht brought over the harspiel. Henriette frowned but recovered once it was clear that it was for Melchior not her. She moved closer.

“I won't be able to play with you in my lap,” he warned. She considered this for a moment before moving closer and placing her head on his shoulder instead. It wasn't a comfortable position for him to play either but he could still play some simpler songs with one hand. “What did you learn this week?” he asked while playing a song he often used just to warm up.

“We did letters and Laly made balls of paper and dust from the slate fell all over the carpet with the blocks and rattle,” she paused to giggle. “They got all dusty.”

“That’s what happens when there's dust.”

“And my pot tipped over with the soup.”

“The soup?”

“The orphan soup.”

Melchior didn't remember telling her about the soup created in the orphanage. He wondered how she knew anything about that. Maybe she’d gotten curious about the temple and asked Zargerecht.

“Would you like to hear a story?” he offered at the end of a song. She nodded and happily replaced the instrument in his lap. While her attendants continued to look displeased, he continued to ignore them as he requested the book of knight stories. “Have you read these before?”

“Zargect reads the blue ones,” she replied.

Melchior tried to discern what made a story blue while leafing through the pages. She made him stop at the various pictures before poorly explaining what was happening in them. When they got to Melchior's illustration, she paused. “Where did this come from?”

“Haven't you seen it before?” Melchior asked. She shook her head. “But it's in your book.”

“Did it teleport?” she asked.

Melchior chuckled. “Do you want to know a secret?” he whispered

“Yes, yes!”

“I drew this and the story was written by my knight.” Henriette looked amazed. Her head snapped back and forth between him and his knights. “It was not one of these ones. Look here. It says ‘Story by Nikolaus Sonn Linkburg of Ehrenfest. Art by Melchior Sonn Ehrenfest’.” He pointed to the line below the title.

“Ehrenfest. We are in Ehrenfest.”

“Yes, that's true. You are so smart.”

“He, he. You made this?” she asked and looked towards her wall where more scribbles than ever hung next to the tasteful landscape painting.

“I did. It's fun to see it published…” she reached out and began to tear the page. He grabbed her hand. “What are you doing!”

“I will add it to the wall.”

“But part of the story is on the back!” Melchior said while gently unfurling her fingers. She looked ready to scream about that but stopped when he turned the page to show her the words on the back. “See. It will be incomplete. Then you won't get to know what happens.”

“What happens?” she asked, weighing the value of the story against the illustration.

“I will make a copy for your gallery wall. Please do not destroy the books. Sister will be so upset.”

“Sister loves the books,” Henriette noted. “What happens?”

Now Melchior paused. He knew this story was a touch scary. That was likely why no one had read it to her yet, in spite of its origins. “It is scary. You might not like it.”

“I am brave,” she declared in the same cadence he always used to declare it.

“That is no reason to seek out scary things.”

She patted his arm. “I am here. There is no need to be scared.” Melchior felt his heart melt. He smiled and began to read.

Henriette proved to be made of sterner stuff than expected. She was excited by the story but showed no lingering anxiety after it was read and fell asleep easily afterwards. There were no subsequent reports of problems so Melchior assumed she was fine with the slightly scary tale.

Tiny Birds

Melchior was not fine. It was not the story but the sinking worry that he wouldn't be able to convince her to practice. All morning Isolde tried to finish their preparations for tea with Eisenfleur and all morning Melchior was unfocused and contrary.

“I understand that you wish to show off your new tea service but the method is yet unrefined, my lord. We don't need to serve tea out of it just to place your order. There will be plenty of time for this trend to grow and spread,” Isolde explained yet again. The tea party was already in an inconvenient place. The new serving method would triple the number of necessary dishes.

“But the tea is delicious and it’s such a waste to brew it where you can't see it.”

“There are other teas. Would you like something with mitfairs?”

“We do that all the time,” Melchior complained.

“My lord,” Pepin interrupted. “You are never so invested in the tea service.”

Melchior frowned. “We have created a new type. Naturally, I am more invested now.” Neither Pepin nor Isolde looked convinced. “Very, well. Choose what you deem best, Pepin,” he said with a dismissive gesture.

“Will you tell us what is bothering you? We cannot help you otherwise,” Pepin replied.

There was a long pause where Melchior couldn't insist that he was fine and nothing was the problem. He just glanced back and forth between them. Eventually, their patient expressions won over. “How do you teach babies the harspiel?”

“Put them in a chair, hand them the instrument, smack them if they try to run away?” Isolde offered.

Pepin regarded her with a look of horror. “I hope, for your sake, that isn't how you learned.” Isolde shrugged. “I think Helgemut sat me on his lap and directed my hands to the strings. I don't really remember the lessons themselves, only all the giggling.”

“Mother told me I had to, so I did,” Melchior said.

“It seems we are all bad examples. Why don't you ask your personal musician tomorrow. For now we need to discuss what to ask Eisenfleur,” Isolde sighed.

They never quite finished but Melchior had to practice his flute. Isolde continued to scribble notes and draw diagrams until lunch where Melchior refused to talk about anything.

Melchior knew he would protect his sister if she ended up being sent to the temple. It would even be easier to make her life comfortable than if she moved into the Northern Building as usual but the cruelty of noble society would be sharper than ever. His entire family's right to rule would be called into question. Plus, as the High Bishop, Henriette would have to interact with nobles more than most clergy and she couldn't take any lower of a position.

She simply had to learn to play harspiel. Maybe it would be easier to threaten her. Maybe that was the only way after she regarded even Melchior's harspiel with such derision.

On the other hand, her debut was three years away. Was there any need to rush so much to the harp. She only needed to be better than the other children her age then know enough to pass her classes quickly. Melchior hadn't developed into a minor prodigy until he moved to the temple and found Rozemyne's curriculum. The longer he used it, the more he realized that Uncle Ferdinand, harspiel enthusiast that he was, was pushing her harder than strictly necessary. Henriette didn't need to be the Saint of Ehrenfest and bless the Winter Feast through musical worship. She just needed to be better than Wilfried.

It was enough consolation to propel him through afternoon tea. The tea was hosted in Melchior's favorite corner of the castle, framed by a rectangle of lazy sunlight. One had to intentionally detour to walk past but many nobles did, especially when Melchior was rumored to be there. To prevent interruptions, Melchior's knights were stationed in the connecting hallways to redirect interlopers.

In the vaulted halls of the castle, one could hear the twinkling of Eisenfleur's silver bracelets before they could see her. She wore autumnal yellow and orange along with her ochre cape with a hair ornament made of fiery leaves and silver wire in curly springs. She knelt for greetings after taking a step onto the carpet that marked the seating area.

“I offer greetings, Lord Melchior. May there be a pleasant meeting of our minds.”

Isolde and Melchior flashed a glance at Flautzeal who had no reaction to this. Whether it was a perfectly normal thing for Daughters of Ventuchte to say or he was just too enraptured by playing music was unclear.

“I accept your greetings,” Melchior said calmly and gestured her forward. Eisenfleur’s attendant looked suspiciously similar to her charge but began her work with the practiced air of a career attendant. She handed her box over to Kolteruze immediately before beginning to make tea.

Eisenfleur looked pink with excitement. “My lord, I do not abide arrogance, but I think we shall impress you today. Already the forges bring forth beauties and we have yet to truly understand them.”

“I am most interested to see what you’ve brought. I know many of my ideas were unfeasible but we spoke of many incredible things that could be done,” Melchior said.

The contents of the box were placed on the table one by one. There was an even smaller box, several worn leather-bound books, and a couple of faestones which seemed to be ordonnanz.

Melchior took the small box and removed a cloth wrapped bundle. Eisenfleur watched the whole time, barely able to contain herself. After much anticipation, Melchior held a silver bracelet, glittering with many-colored light, attached with a delicate chain to a silver ring with a single faestone. The bracelet had two more faestones set on either side of large empty divot.

“The small chain is ambitious,” Melchior muttered.

Eisenfleur still heard him. “Zaubertine is many times more resistant to overloading than mana metal. Since this was enriched with your own mana, the piece is particularly strong against you. We felt like a delicate chain would be ideal since the small links will limit the possibility of snags.”

“I see the speaking stone was placed in the ring with the activation and erasing stones on the band. This blank is for ordonnanz then?”

Now Eisenfleur sighed. “Unfortunately, they create unwanted bulk. The need for additional skin contact compared to mana metal means the use of a contained setting unlike other pieces which allow the ordonnanz to float and touch the skin directly. You will see once you add one. For now, we think it best to activate the birds from loose ordonnanz,” she explained with a gesture towards the included magic tools.

“It would be nice if we could make ordonnanz smaller,” Melchior noted.

“We did try to add a shrinking feature to the usual circle but that only makes the birds smaller,” Eisenfleur said. She tapped one of the ordonnanz on the table. A tiny bird, only as tall as a finger bone, formed before them. Melchior squeaked with delight while Eisenfleur shook her head in defeat.

“I wonder what else you could change about ordonnanz,” Melchior mused while trying to coax the little bird onto his hand. “Maybe we could use other species of birds or make them other colors and sizes. What about a really big one!”

“While those all seem like laudable goals, it doesn't change the fact that the faestone gets in the way. This is our first working prototype. We plan to remove the storage feature entirely with the next one,” Eisenfleur replied. She hungrily eyed the box resting on the side table which was sure to contain more faestones and metal filled with Melchior's mana.

Meanwhile, Melchior picked up one of the ordonnanz and turned it to dust. “Oh no, not the tiny one,” he sighed.

“I…I’ll give you the circle,” Eisenfleur said without thinking, her whole attention consumed by confusion and shock.

Melchior pulled an ordonnanz from his belt and stared at it until it changed. She couldn't quite say how it changed until he wrapped his hand around it and squeezed. Molten faestone leaked out between his fingers before collapsing into more powder.

Isolde took the opportunity to step forward with a little brush to sweep up the gold dust and whisper to her lord. “What are you attempting?”

“I’m trying to make it smaller like I did with my highbeast faestone,” Melchior explained at his usual speaking volume.

“You made your highbeast faestone smaller? That's not possible,” Eisenfleur said. Faestones could be inflated but would only ever be as small as when they were first created. The quality required of highbeast faestones meant they were on the larger side. Many people had tried to make them smaller and failed.

Melchior pulled out the rock in question and mushed it around like clay to the amazement of his companion. “It wasn't easy. Crushing an ordonnanz will take finer mana control in addition to the physical force,” he replied then tried for a third time. He got as far as pressing with both hands before he was left with more dust. His shoulders fell. “It would be easier to brew them into a different shape. Could you make a hoop and inlay that into the bracelet like your grandfather's ring?”

Everyone was still stuck on the display and its implications so it took Eisenfleur a moment to reply. “Um…ah… yes. We might be able to do that. Hopefully it will not create a cylindrical bird.”

They both giggled at the thought. “Well, I’ll send you a smaller ordonnanz if I manage to make one,” Melchior promised. It was an impossible task which he treated as merely difficult. The silence stretched on as Eisenfluer continued to process the events and their implications. Melchior grew antsy, he tried to lighten the mood with a conspiratorial smile. “At least it will be easier than mana compression. I won't have to shrink a liquid.”

It was just an outlandish enough assertion that it distracted her but Eisenfleur couldn't even bring herself to laugh out of obligation. “Shrink a liquid, my lord? Are you implying that mana itself is a liquid?”

“Yes. When you gather enough of it it's always a liquid,” Melchior replied, mirroring her look of confusion.

They blinked at each other until Isolde asked for permission to speak. “The mana in your body, which you envision as part of mana compression, takes any form you imagine for it.”

“What?”

“My method involves casting metal then pounding it. It is only liquid during the first stage,” Eisenfleur revealed.

“How does that make it more compact?” Isolde asked.

“It works for me,” Eisenfleur snapped before recovering her veneer of calm. “Apologies. It is just that everyone asks.”

Melchior continued to stare at the table with wide eyes. Mana was a liquid. He’d seen it flow from the chalice and pool in brewing cauldrons. This knowledge was the sole reason that none of the methods other people shared with him seemed to work. Then again, “I guess it doesn't actually need to make physical sense,” he muttered.

“What doesn't?” Eisenfleur asked.

“Your compression method. Well, any compression method. I developed one based on a faulty understanding of the world but it worked until I stopped believing it would work. Mana compression doesn't need to make sense, you just have to believe in it!”

Eisenfleur was quiet for a while. After frowning in concentration she clicked her tongue. “It is more difficult than you would think to imagine a process that doesn't make sense.”

Melchior tried to think up something. There weren't many ways a thing could get smaller even when it didn't obey the laws of nature. “You could reduce your metal by boiling it like soup. I rejected that idea after learning that steam is water too but you could imagine it as… something else.”

“Maybe,” Eisenfleur said with a shrug. “I am happy with my method and mana level at the moment. If I grow too much it will be hard to find a match.” She popped a cookie into her mouth then smiled, not missing Isolde catch on the word “match”, but choosing to ignore it. “These are good.”

“It is hard to believe they are made from legumes and honey,” Melchuor said and chuckled while Eisenfleur’s eyes grew wide.

“The ingenuity of you chefs never cease to amaze.”

“Once again, it is the ingenuity of Sister,” Melchior sighed. “Though we may have pioneered the shapes,” he added half-heartedly. They were just cut into squares then stamped with a simple design, wholly inferior to the flower sculptures made in Alexandria.

With the talk of tea party snacks paving the way, Kolteruze stepped forward with one of the new tea bowls. Melchior regarded it with mild disappointment but moved forward with the presentation anyway. “I will need a silver version for the Royal Academy and matching cups. It is important that it pour smoothly, without drips, be easy to hold, and provide a clear view of the brewing chamber.”

Eisenfleur took the bowl and examined it all over with a smile. “This is a fun idea, Lord Melchior. Some teas are quite beautiful. I feel like the vessel should be simple so as not to distract.” So began a long discussion about the nature and use of tea services. They debated the total number of matching cups, the need for argentzaubertine vs mundane silver, how pale they could make an alloy to better accentuate the color of the brewing liquid without compromising its ability to dull in the presence of poisons. Once again, only the ringing of fifth bell brought an end to their communion. They didn't have time to discuss the books but Eisenfleur and her “attendant” left with large smiles.

Footnotes

51. “It’s important that her party take place in the castle to support her authority” Hosting it at Boni’s would make it seem like she’d lost the privilege somehow^

Chapter Text

Retreat

Melchior had much to think about before dinner and no lectures to sit through. Kolteruze and Isolde gave reports on the tea for Zargerecht and Haldis. Melchior felt they were being unusually vague but felt no desire to add anything. Instead, he was drawing a portrait.

It had been some time since he just sat and drew someone. This time it was Olishild, in her tiny attendant uniform with a tiny ordonnanz on her hand. She struggled to sit totally still for so long but Melchior was used to squirming targets.

“Lord Melchior,” she whispered.

“Hm?” he responded but didn't take his focus from his page. Being so distracted from a conversation was a breach of etiquette but something about its casual nature was nice. It was also easier to talk without his full attention.

“I have an idea for the new tea service,” she ventured. Now Melchior glanced up. His bright blue eyes regarded her for a moment longer than if he were just doing a reference glance. “I don't think there's a god of tea parties, but you could make it a pre-party ritual. Like the ditter ritual. Aren't tea parties just as important as ditter?”

“Most people would not say so. However, some tea parties feel very much like battles. That would give me an excuse to serve the tea,” Melchior replied with a smile. “That's a good idea.”

Olishild also smiled. She’d been trying to keep up her neutral attendant face. “What do you think, Lord Kolteruze?” she asked. He was finished giving account and was standing nearby. She now knew this meant he was following the conversation even if he wasn't trying too.

“You would have to invent a prayer and convince people that doing so is not a sacrilege,” he said after recovering from being addressed.

“How could offering our prayers and gratitude ever be a sacrilege?” Melchior asked. “We will just have to select the right deity. Perhaps Geduldh?”

“Or Vanetole.” Kolteruze said.

“Isn't he the God of Alcohol?”

“He’s the God of Brewing like Coucocolura is the God of Cooking. Tea is brewed.” Kolteruze argued.

Melchior stopped drawing and fell into thought. Tea parties were about more than just the tea. Adults often replaced the tea with alcohol or nothing at all. Should they focus on the pleasantness the tea brought to the meeting or the act of meeting itself? It would be easier to focus on the refreshments but they were secondary.

“What about Unheilschneide,” Olishild broke through his musings. “The most important thing is the offering of untainted succor and the trust inherent in the act of imbibing,” she recited.

“I see you've been studying,” Kolteruze praised. Olishild blushed under the warmth of his smile while nodding cheerfully.

Melchior took up his cup and considered what to say. “O Goddess of Purification, Unheilschneide, of the Goddess of Light’s exalted twelve, who drives away all that taints and brings blight. We offer unto you our cups that you might judge our intent and find us of upright heart and honest intention… what do you think?”

“I think you’ll strike terror into the hearts of everyone,” Isolde interjected. “Who brings honest intentions to a tea party?!” Eyes involuntarily fell on Melchior. “Who else?”

“Maybe if it’s a really important tea party,” Olishild suggested. “Then people will feel some compulsion to be honest.”

“Only the devout and they were likely to be honest already,” Kolteruze noted. “Perhaps Grammaratur and Verdraeos to encourage communication and distance conflict.”

“Oh I like that,” Olishild said. “Perhaps Mestinora for wisdom.”

“Vanatole, Grammaratur, and Verdraeos don't have much to do with each other in the stories I’ve read. It will be hard to convince anyone that this is a normal ritual,” Melchior mused.

“There might be three people in all of Yurgenschmidt who’ve read as many stories of the gods as you and they would all be in favor of adding more devotion to your activities,” Isolde replied.

Melchior hadn't even considered the opinions of the country yet. “Maybe drawing attention with more rituals would be a bad thing.”

His retainers all regarded him with surprise. “My lord?” Haldis whispered from across the room.

“What do you mean?” Olishild asked. “Aren't we trying to promote devotion to the gods?”

“Not everyone has a positive opinion on the temple and religion in general,” Melchior explained. “There are some who don't even believe the gods are real.”

Olishild looked shocked. “But they give us protections and let us do magic.”

“That doesn't mean they are people who live somewhere in the sky,” Isolde noted. “Their names could just as easily be magic words that we personified then wrote stories about. Other than Erwaermen, no one's ever met a god and lived to tell about it.”

“I happen to believe they are real people, just a different kind of people,” Melchior explained. “In any case, I want to make a ritual, as you suggested. We can decide whether to use it later. What do you say?” Olishild nodded and they began planning the prayer and motions while Melchior continued to draw.

*

It was becoming more and more common for Melchior to see his temple days as an escape. He was so happy to see the doors of the temple with Lothar and Kirk waiting for him that he visibly relaxed upon landing. This time he listened to the preliminary report on the delivery of the spinning wheel, dates for his meetings, and the successful trombe subjugation.

“Lady Zipporah has requested time to complete your hunting class in preparation for a hunt at the end of this week,” Lothar explained.

With a little frown, Melchior replied, “That's fine. I assume everything is ready for our meeting tomorrow but it would be nice to know before the day before. Can you use the roost ok?”

“Paul is able to send messages. In this case, we could not find sufficient wording to inform without also informing those you would prefer not to. I apologize that this has made the event feel rushed,” Lothar said.

“I understand. We should agree on code words next time,” Melchior whispered. He smiled mischievous and turned to Kirk. “Were you able to test the wheel?”

Kirk looked delighted beyond reason. “I have been very diligent while you were away. I only managed some lumpy yarn but I was able to embroider the scarf and Master Fred can do the more complicated embroidery. He will, of course, use all discretion, not showing his work to anyone and completing the project himself.”

“I don't think they would work without someone to brew the thread but we could get in trouble for teaching magic to commoners,” Melchior warned.

“Would Lord Kolteruze get into trouble for teaching Lyle and I how to draw magic circles. I can't activate them but with the right kind of ink, I can make them usable,” Kirk said.

Melchior thought for a moment. “Maybe we don't admit to that,” he decided. The boys nodded then looked towards the knights who nodded as well.

Zipporah’s class was planned for his third day and his pottery instructor was coming the following week so Melchior chose to sculpt once again. He summoned Lyle as well so they could give each other pointers.

Since his assistant had been stolen, Kolteruze appeared alongside the scholars to take him back. “There are other gray clergy,” Isolde teased.

“He knows how to make tea according to my tastes and follows instructions to the letter. I don't feel like training anyone else. Can you at least lend me Kirk?” Kolteruze whined.

Lyle struggled to hide his delight at being missed and fixed Melchior with a pleading look. “Fine, fine. Take away my sculpting partner,” Melchior huffed. “But only once music class begins. You can read at the little table if you would like tea.”

Kolteruze said something under his breath but took the spot offered with a performatively deferential bow. Kirk served him and added a bowl of toasted nuts to the table. Isolde looked on with glee before diving into her reports about her efforts to divine the future using the courtship records of Ehrenfest’s knights.

“I cannot wait until Fireday to meet with Ptolemaus again. This time I will convince him to talk to me,” Isolde declared with a clenched fist and eyes burning with determination.

“Fireday?” Melchior asked, a bead of cold sweat rolling down his back. “Don't you mean, Sproutday? Tomorrow?”

“No, the Knights Order is rehearsing for their whirling presentation at the Hunting Tournament so we switched days. Is that a problem, my lord?” Isolde leaned forward with a grin.

“Why would it be?” Melchior asked in what he hoped was a casual tone. He went back to shaping his figurine.

“So long as it won't conflict with any gift related meetings with the Lower City merchants,” she teased. Melchior froze. There was no way she knew but he couldn't feel secure in that fact. “Oh, I see,” she cackled. “Yes! Yeess! It would be that time! To think I nearly missed it by being distracted by the Knights Order.”

Kolteruze lowered his book with a sigh. “Weren’t you ordered not to look into this anymore?” Kolteruze asked. “What is the point now, so close to the end?”

“You don't want to win?” Isolde asked.

“It isn't fair for me to play anymore. I know too much because of my work,” Kolteruze replied.

Isolde looked outraged. “You know what all the gifts are and you won't say?”

“I don't know all of anything but I’m not going to compromise my lord’s trust in me a second time,” Kolteruze snapped then blushed deeply.

“Kolteruze?” Gerianne breathed.

He stood up quickly. “I will be in the atrium if anyone needs me,” he said before rushing out, not even waiting for someone to open the door for him. Lyle glanced between Melchior and the door with a look of obvious distress.

“I should go talk to him,” Isolde said and began to rise.

“No,” Melchior said. “It would be easy to get him to divulge at the moment. I will go.”

“You are thinking of our game at a time like this?” Isolde asked. Melchior just looked at her. “No, don't look like that, I was going to say I’m proud of you. It's important to remember the whole of things in moments of distress.”

“Thank you for your counsel.” Melchior huffed before rising and waiting for Kirk to open the door. He walked down the hall to the atrium entrance nearest his quarters. As it was a much shorter walk they arrived at the same moment Kolteruze did. He froze in the doorway and looked ready to flee a second time.

Melchior gestured for Kolteruze to follow him to the seating area. He did so with a sagging shoulders and a worried expression. There were just the two chairs, Kirk, Nikolaus, and Gerianne. “My lord, I apologize for my outburst,” Kolteruze began without taking the chair Kirk held out for him.

“Please sit,” Melchior sighed. He waited for compliance before continuing. “I do not distrust you in general.”

“In general?”

“Yes. I know you will follow my orders and work to my benefit. It is just that in this instance, we were on opposite sides of the conflict,” Melchior explained.

Kolteruze stared blankly and adjusted his posture. “It was not my intention to set myself against you.”

“Maybe it was my fault for trying to surprise you and for assuming you would treat everything like the painting. Then, you joined Isolde in trying to figure everything out...”

“It's a really nice painting,” Kolteruze replied. “I’m not sure why but I couldn't bear to see it hidden away forever. I wanted other people to see it so that we could talk about it. I didn't… I didn't mean to give things away.”

Melchior nodded and was quiet. They sat and looked at the tree for a long time before Kolteruze spoke again. “So what did you get me?”

Melchior scowled at the smirk on Kolteruze’s face. “What does it matter? It is too late to intervene,” Melchior replied.

“Fine fine, I will just say ‘thank you ever so much’ and smile,” Kolteruze teased.

Melchior shot a look at Gerianne who held up her hands in a gesture saying it wasn't her who said anything. “My retinue is a den of traitors,” Melchior huffed.

“You already knew that,” Nikolaus giggled. Both Gerianne and Melchior looked at him in shock. “I know we aren't but in a way we are.”

“We are not,” Kolteruze said. “We are just rabidly curious and have nothing better to do.”

“There is the whole duchy to worry about,” Melchior suggested.

“Yes, yes but for the most part, you aren't involved in anything so we aren't supposed to be involved in anything,” Kolteruze replied. “Doesn't seem to stop you though.”

“There's too much to do and my siblings were all doing things at my age.”

“Yes but that isn't normal. Most children, even Archducal ones, spend their time learning and playing not overseeing the expansion of new industries. Your sister left behind many unreasonable expectations,” Kolteruze said.

Melchior frowned again. “They are not unreasonable. We do not have a large Archductal family, we cannot have the same luxuries as larger duchies,” he countered.

Kolteruze opened his mouth then closed it, taking an extra second to form his response. “I think the work you do is admirable and I enjoy helping. I also know that it should not have to fall to you.”

“It’s alright. Someone has to be High Bishop,” Melchior replied with a smile. He wanted to add that he was capable of doing some things but held back. “Well, since you’ve betrayed Isolde for our side, you can keep her occupied tomorrow when the merchants visit,” Melchior declared.

“I…” wasn't planning on coming tomorrow, Kolteruze wanted to say. But the atrium was as good as his room and he was trying to display his dedication anyway. “Very well. You may rely upon me.” For a moment, Melchior felt bad for tricking Kolteruze into running interference on himself, but it was as much of a guarantee as he could get that neither he nor Isolde would appear out of thin air. Perhaps he should have known that Kolteruze would see through his plans “Although, my lord… if this is a gift for me, I would not mind it if Isolde got to see it to satisfy her curiosity.”

All of Melchior's guilt fled immediately. “That would be as good as you seeing.”

“She won't tell me if you order her not too. It's just, you must have knights so someone will know. Why trust them and not her?” Kolteruze asked.

“I do trust her, in general. But victory is at hand,” Melchior argued. “Why would I give up now?”

Gerianne leaned in. “You can just declare victory now since they never figured it out before the gift was delivered,” she noted.

“Would that be fair?”

“It’s a trade I think Isolde would make,” Kolteruze replied. “ She likes knowing things almost as much as she likes figuring them out for herself. If she hasn't gotten it by now, she won't guess while it's sitting in a box somewhere.”

Melchior cackled. “No one would ever guess,” he wiggled in his chair before remembering to maintain his decorum. “Very well. But you will still have to wait.” Kolteruze regarded him strangely but agreed.

They left Kolteruze to his reading and returned to sculpting practice. Flautzeal and Isolde had disappeared into one of the offices by then so Melchior was left in peace through music class and into lunch time.

Kazmiar came for lunch to give his weekly update about his friendship with Ptolemaus. He mostly had praise for the organization the apprentices had completed the week before. Between Kolteruze and Kirk, the work was quickly finished. He passed on Ptolemaus's words of praise for Isolde’s conversation skills alongside tips for their next meeting.

“He’s so slippery,” Isolde mumbled into her tea cup.

“Only because you are willing to play with him,” Kazmiar noted. “Where the both of you find endless wells of patiences for minutiae is beyond me.”

Besides working through some new orders for winter provisions, Kazmiar and Ptolemaus talked about the temple. “He asked whether I enjoy the rituals. I have to say that I do. Perhaps you agree, Lord Melchior, that there is a certain peace and oneness that comes from communing together with the gods.”

“I always feel so calm afterwards,” Melchior replied. “and tired.”

Kazmiar chuckled. “Yes, you are always ambitious with your ritual participation.”

Kazmiar had tried to give hints about the possibility of participating in the Dedication Ritual over the winter without making it sound like they were panicking because they would be without an archnoble and another of their best lower mana clergy. He wasn't sure how successful he’d been but Ptolemaus was now informed of the option.

After lunch, Melchior, the knights, and Flautzeal moved to the training courtyard as usual. There was something different about training that afternoon. They were dedicating an entire session to archery for the first time in a long time. Everyone, even Fonsel, had a physical bow and rotated between the few targets. It was still too dangerous for anyone to shoot from farther away than someone else, and the targets were immovably anchored into the ground, so Melchior, Gerianne, and Kirk shot as one fixed group while the older students mixed and matched.

It was kind of boring to spend so long standing off to the side but there was fun to be had in watching Streita and Zipporah correct everyone's form. Melchior had every expectation that Dedryck would continue to be the best but he was only ok at archery.

“I just don't shoot very often and when I do I use my schtappe. Then you only need to shoot in the general direction,” he explained. He also pointed out the differences in the shooting styles from different provinces. Haldenzel favored agility and adaptability while Haseny focused more on quickness and with their bows made for maximum arrow speed.

“Haseny is very flat and the forest is thin. If you don't hit your mark fast enough, it just runs away,” Gottschalk explained. He was smiling and excited to talk about what made his home unique. He and Eikestine spent some time arguing for the superiority of their provincial styles.

Ehrenfesters seemed more focused on looking regal while shooting. Nikolaus and Fonsel were taught to take their time nocking and placed their arrows on the opposite sides of the string, letting it rest on their pointer fingers. Then they posed calmly, sighting their target, and pulled back to full draw. After a momentary pause seemingly just to let people look at them looking ready to fire, they fired with musical twangs. It was very similar to the style Streita taught but her’s was more flexible and had cut out all of the showmanship. Gerianne was delighted to switch to a more practical tradition while Melchior tried to look just as regal as Fonsel.

“Why are we all doing archery?” Melchior asked no one in particular during one of his breaks.

Helenwig looked up from polishing a scuff on her bow. “The Hunting Tournament is coming up. We need to be prepared to win,” she replied.

“Is the Hunting Tournament hard to win?” Melchior asked. He’d been but he was kept around the refreshments area with his mother.

“I don't know, this will be my first one,” Helenwig replied. “We don't have them in Zaugause…er… they didn't have them in Old Zaugause nor our province.”

“Really?” Gerianne asked. “Then how did you celebrate the harvest?”

“With the Harvest Festival,” Helenwig replied. “A priest would come and register the new citizens, then the commoners would sing and dance. We just had a formal dinner if no one was being baptized,” she said with a shrug.

“That’s the same as our provinces, though, giebes like to summon priests for their children's baptisms during their birth seasons instead of waiting for the Harvest Festival,” Gerianne observed. “Do you think you can win?”

Helenwig shrugged. “I don't know how skilled the competition is. Everyone has to use physical bows which few people use after they obtain their schtappes.”

“Why does everyone have to use a physical bow?” Melchior asked. This was the first he heard of that.

Both girls giggled. “Because the Aub loves archery,” Gerianne said.

Melchior had to think about that. He knew his father owned several bows and shot as regularly as his busy schedule allowed but he hadn't considered that Sylvester had a great passion for the sport. It now made sense that he had the patience to watch novices shoot when he had patience for almost nothing else. “I guess I should try harder to like it,” Melchior sighed.

“Just don't hurt yourself, my lord,” Gerianne said with a pat on the shoulder. “It's really quite boring.”

With plenty of rest between sets, Melchior didn't feel particularly sore at the end of the day. He offered to heal anyone with a string-slap welt before everyone left. Eikestine and Sebastian lined up with carefully controlled expressions while Cecilia and Fonsel teased them. Despite not being as tired as usual, he slept well enough.

Ilsa’s Opus Magnum

The next morning, Melchior awoke feeling excited. He was finally going to see the work of a master knitter. After all his work collecting specialty wool and hiding from his own retinue, he was tired and delighted to declare victory.

“I thought I had until winter!” Isolde huffed when she arrived. “How can you suddenly declare our intrigue complete?”

“We anticipated that you might be upset,” Melchior began in an infuriating even tone. “That is why I present to you a choice. You may accept defeat now and be allowed to attend the meeting or continue and await the reveal alongside everyone else.”

Isolde nibbled her pencil and fummed. “Is it a cloak?” she asked. Melchior remained silent and suppressed the urge to shake his head. “What if I guess right now?”

“You will never guess,” Melchior assured her gently.

“Very well. If you would humor my final inquiries, I will concede victory to you should I fail to uncover the truth before the meeting,” Isolde said.

Melchior made a show of considering the proposal. He knew very well she would never guess so he agreed.

“Is it a cloak?”

“No.”

“But it’s made of wool?”

“I did not agree to give hints.”

She growled. “Is it one of those voice recordings magic tools set into a stuffed toy?”

“No.”

“Stop giggling, Kirk!” Isolde snapped. She shuffled through her notes and mumbled. Melchior went back to reviewing his autumn and winter prep expenses. “Is it just fabric, not made into a garment?”

“No.”

“So it has been made into a garment?”

“I did not agree to give hints.”

“Grrr!”

Isolde continued to attempt to guess until Master Fred and Ilsa were sitting before them with Master Kurtis. The men were doing an admirable job of hiding their amusement while Ilsa listened with a bright smile. Sebastian and Dedryck watched impassively while Kirk and Gerianne contained the urge to laugh at how angry Isolde continued to be.

“In a right tizzy this one, my lord. You at an impasse?” Ilsa asked. Kurtis and Fred paled. Fonsel and Sebastian sneered. Ilsa and Melchior ignored all in favor of giggling conspiratorially

“I am about to declare victory in our conflict. Lady Isolde is my head scholar and has been attempting to unravel our scheme.”

“Unravel… tee hehehe.” Both Melchior and Ilsa chuckled at his pun while Isolde looked infuriated.

“You have agreed not to be offended on my behalf,” Melchior reminded. “And Mistress Ilsa has been a staunch supporter of our efforts.”

“This old woman has been of assistance to you?” Isolde asked while gesturing with her pencil.

“Our plans were delicately woven,” Melchior said.

Fred and Kurtis looked ready to collapse under Isolde's glare while Ilsa and Melchior fell into conversation about the work. “Oh it was most interesting. I had to work out the pictures but I think we did well. That boy with the silver hair ’ll be proud I say.”

“You told Sigsnyr?!” Isolde gasped.

“Not really, he happened to be on hand to give counsel,” Melchior replied.

This did nothing to mollify the scholar but she took a moment to center herself. Her behavior was uncouth, she’d realized. Being at the temple and meeting with Fred had made her complacent. She slipped back into a proper noble attitude and gestured calmly. “Why don't we proceed. I have been looking forward to seeing the object of interest for many months now.”

Melchior was wary of this new calm but agreed. Fred’s assistant stepped forward and placed the box before the knights. Kirk opened it such that the contents were not revealed to Isolde or Melchior. It was checked for poison while Gerianne looked over Dedryck’s elbow and made less than noble expressions of wonder and delight. After much fanfare, the garment was removed from the box with an elegant flourish and laid on the table.

Isolde sat perfectly still. Melchior felt his face stretch until it hurt to smile. He was finally seeing a knitted garment of archnoble quality. Where the temple orphans' work was neat but crude and Kirk was improving all the time, Ilsa’s work had a subtle refinement. Every stitch was perfect and every line of stitching in perfect tension.

The yoke of the tunic was dense and decorated with a brown border and goldenrod yarn in the shape of wheat stalks. This continued seamlessly into mirrored panels held together with brown loops and yellow bobbles. These stopped at the waist, where a sash would hide the ends. The hem was also decorated with gold and brown with the entire rest of the garment made up in a brilliant white, knitted in a lighter stitch so that it was floaty and soft. The final touch was on the sleeves. They began with generous volume that cinched into long cuffs also appointed with the wheat design.

Ilsa turned it over and showed off its many features like where she added cord for extra stability or how stretchy the cuffs were despite looking so solid. She waved her hand under the gossamer body to show that it was still mostly opaque. She explained how they even made a wooden form using the measurements to double check the fit.

“This is incredible!” Melchior praised. “Ah, it was all worthwhile and Mistress Ilsa you were not honest about the true depth of your skills.”

“I thought I was rather arrogant,” Ilsa teased.

Melchior touched and squeezed the surcoat while Kirk stepped forward to present their payment. Fred seemed to relax after counting it and putting it away. Ilsa looked at it with a slight scowl.

Isolde recovered her shock just to see this. “Is the compensation insufficient?” she snapped.

“Isolde.” Melchior said reprovingly. “There is no need for this.”

“I apologize, my lord. I am just so amazed. You are correct. I could not have guessed you were inventing a new kind of undergarment. I can only imagine that you have offered appropriate recompense, yet Ilsa seems to have taken offense.”

“Oh no, dear. Nothing like that,” Ilsa assured her. “I just mostly make gifts for friends, you know. Feels… clinical to just get some coins.”

“Some coins!?” Fred breathed. Isolde lifted an eyebrow at him. He mouthed the amount.

“Lord Melchior!” Isolde squeaked. Melchior glanced back and forth in confusion. “You spent so much!”

He really didn’t feel like he had considering Ilsa’s skill and the fact that she could take no other commissions while she worked on his. “As you said, we were creating something new. The yarn was very small. It took over a season to knit.”

“Just finished last week,” Ilsa said.

“When did you start?”

“Early summer.”

“It isn't even embroidered,” Isolde mumbled and shook her head.

“It has decorations,” Melchior countered.

“Little Bishop. I am happy to be making a bit o’ profit on this old hobby but… it's just hard to feel satisfied when I can't see the person wearing it, you know. See that smile,” Ilsa ventured.

“Ilsa, we cannot make such requests,” Kurtis coaxed.

Melchior paused to consider. Kolteruze was at the temple and even if he wasn't he could be summoned for such an exciting thing as this. He was just about to decide it was worth handing over the gift early when Isolde tutted. “You wish to see an archnoble scion in his unmentionables?”

The whole room froze in shock. “What do you mean, Isolde?” Melchior asked.

“This is an all white garment with close cropped sleeves. Only priests and babies wear white outer garments. And the sleeves. There isn't even any lace,” she explained.

Melchior turned to the knights. Sebastian paled while Gerianne looked pensive. “I… I didn't even consider that,” Sebastian noted. “We wear white in Herzfeld. Not for formal occasions but casually.”

“See, this is a casual garment, not… underwear,” Melchior said.

Ilsa still looked grave. “This is the finest thing I’ve ever made.”

“It's really very nice. The best I’ve seen,” Sebastian assured her.

“Kolteruze is also dressed casually today. We should summon him and then you will understand,” Isolde said.

Melchior sent off an ordonnanz. “I’m sure we can convince him, Mistress Ilsa. I want to see it too.”

“If those are your orders,” Isolde sighed with a tired gesture.

Kirk put the surcoat back in its box while they waited. Melchior held his hands in his lap to keep from fidgeting while he questioned his life choices. This was the third time they’d planned something clothing related without thinking things all the way through. As someone who wore white all the time, Melchior hadn't considered that other people didn't. As people used to the practicality of their uniforms, the knights hadn't considered the sleeves. No one had considered that all their time and energy would be wasted on a garment no one could see rather than something Kolteruze just wouldn't want to show off. Melchior wanted to apologize, but nobles couldn't apologize to commoners. It was bad enough to be seen to panic in the face of their colossal mistake.

Kolteruze arrived looking confused then papered over his expression with a noble smile. “My lord,” he greeted.

Ilsa and company took in a breath. Kurtis had assumed that nobles dressed up for their clothing fittings and meetings with commoners. He wasn't sure why he assumed their extremely fine clothes were all for special occasions rather than their usual outfits but seeing this new young man in what was previously described as “casual” wear banished all such notions. He wore brown and gold, much like the accents on his new tunic, and abundant sleeves. It was just as fancy as the other archnobles he’d seen who weren't in uniforms.

“I see,” Ilsa mumbled. “It really is in a different class.”

“If people knew what it took, they would see them as equal,” Melchior assured her. “Your work really is just as amazing.”

“While true, it changes little,” Isolde argued.

Kolteruze looked back and forth between them. “It is incredible, isn't it?” he asked with annoyance rather than awe.

“An entirely new type of article,” Isolde assured him.

“Can I see it?”

Melchior paused mid signal. Kirk froze. “I assure you it is for outerwear. Knowing this, you must agree to model it for us,” he said.

Isolde looked amazed which stopped Kolteruze from agreeing instantly. “You are making me promise beforehand because it can be misconstrued?” Melchior glanced around shiftily. Kolteruze pinched his nose. He was deathly curious and being so close to knowing made this even worse. “Very well.”

Isolde continued to look amazed while Kirk did a second reveal. This time, he rested the bottom half on the table while holding the top up by the shoulders. “It's a knitted surcoat!” Melchior declared. “In honor of the fine and unusual service rendered during our time at the Royal Academy, and because you eschewed other compensation, I present this to you with my gratitude.”

Kolteruze stared silently for a long time. His eyes flickered over every detail. Everyone else remained quiet, watching him take it all in. Then he stepped forward, touched just the brown and gold edge of the hem, and began asking questions. Ilsa answered his technical inquiries, which surprised him at first, and explained the features all over again.

“And what kind of wool did you say this was?”

“Ivory Wettleworkt primarily,” Sebastian answered after Melchior and Kirk spent too long exchanging looks.

Kolteruze dropped the tunic and stepped back. “You can't be serious.”

“It had the nicest feel and the shepard spoke so highly of it that I was convinced. Sebastian said it's the best so it must be quite good,” Melchior explained.

“It is one of the five Royal Breeds,” Sebastian affirmed.

“Do you know what that means, my lord?” Kolteruze asked, going increasingly pale.

“Lord Biligast said that they were bred specifically to make fabric to gift the Zent. But we haven't made such gifts in a long time. Wool from Klassenberg and Jossbrenner is considered superior at the moment,” Melchior replied. “Do you think we should try to give some to Zent Eglantine?”

Isolde tipped her head in thought but Kolteruze cut off the thread of inquiry. “My lord, you say this is an expression of gratitude for my work at the Royal Academy but this far exceeds anything that could be reasonable.”

“I admit that I also just wanted to see the best knitting,” Melchior grumbled.

“I cannot accept this, Lord Melchior. Perhaps you should give it to Lord Wilfried. Why didn't you make something for yourself or, if you truly feel it must be a gift, for the Aub?” Kolteruze insisted, looking almost as pale as the surcoat.

“It would have to be too big,” Kurtis mumbled, then looked like he regretted learning to speak as every eye turned to him.

Ilsa was more than happy to elaborate. “The silver one was saying that it was luck you were young enough for such a short garment. Having seen the Aub's brother, I assume he's a tall lad as well. For an adult nobleman, I hear the surcoat would have to be ankle length. Knitting like this is too delicate. The piece would be too heavy to support itself. It’s why we normally make pieces for just the upper body.”

For a moment, Kolteruze accepted this logic. He looked back at the garment which everyone claimed was the largest reasonable size and sighed, his noble smile softening into a genuine one. Then he seemed to rethink why this meant he should receive something so special.

“Well,” Isolde cut in before Kolteruze could continue talking himself out of his gift. “You agreed to show us how it looks, did you not. Your lord desires to witness the fruits of his considerable investment… do not ask.”

Kolteruze looked like he very much wanted to ask even while following Kirk away to put on his new outfit. Once the door closed, the assembly took a moment to recover. Then Isolde began interrogating Kurtis and Ilsa about the economics of knitted clothes while Melchior fell into thought

Melchior’s considered his own desires for a knitted tunic. He knew he wouldn’t be able to make good use of one and he’d developed the idea while planning the gifts. It hadn't even occurred to him to have one made for his father at the time. It wasn't supposed to be a new trend and Sylvester didn't need more clothes. His father could acquire anything he wanted so Melchior rarely felt compelled to give him gifts.

Then again, everyone liked to get gifts and Sylvester could challenge clothing standards more easily than any one. If Melchior wanted to wear such a tunic in public, it couldn't be seen as underwear. If he wanted one as an adult, he needed to make it ok to wear something shorter than normal. It was a goal for the long term.

After less time than one might expect, Kolteruze came back in his new clothes. With two skilled attendants working together, they'd figured out how to get it on and styled quickly. The delicate knitting floated and fluttered as Kolteruze walked gracefully across the room to present himself before Melchior while failing completely to maintain a noble smile. Kolteruze was still a teenager and at this moment he exuded a shy delight that made him look even younger.

“Ah, it looks perfect. My best sweater yet!” Ilsa declared. Kolteruze blushed and grasped his wrist covered in one of the knitted cuffs. The sweater fitted him well. It was loose in a relaxed way and without being overly baggy in any dimension. The yoke and front panels hung straight while the sleeves ended perfectly at the base of his hands. If Ilsa's explanations were correct though, he could get a bit taller and wider before anything would begin to cling and then a bit more before it was unwearable.

Melchior and Ilsa exchange bright smiles. Kolteruze had complained and argued but he was clearly inseparable from his new sweater now that it was on him. It was good then that the colors coordinated well with his hair and eyes while the bright white seemed to glow thanks to the halo formed by the fuzziness of the wool.

“What do you think?” Melchior asked.

“It's very nice,” Kolteruze replied, seemingly unable to be more eloquent. “Thank you ever so much.”

“So you like it?”

“Yes.”

“You don't insist I take it back and give it to someone more deserving?” Kolteruze looked down as he shook his head.

Ilsa giggled. “Well, I see it was all worthwhile. Thank you Little Bishop and little Lord for humoring an old woman. Feel free to call on old Ilsa again if you need.”

“I will. I already have more ideas,” Melchior chirped. “Oh, speaking of. We should plan my winter fitting since you're here.”

Kurtis tore his eyes away from Kolteruze and sat up straighter. “Yes, my lord. We are preparing spring wools in shades of green and more white linens. Will we be responsible for everything this season?”

Isolde replied instead. “That is the case. However, We hope that Lord Melchior has collected enough pieces that alterations can take the place of some things. There must be a new piece created for the yearly visit of Aub Alexandria preliminary designs have begun,” she said and pulled several sheets from her work folio. Melchior was surprised that she had them ready. The last he’d seen, they were stored in his storage box for clothing designs.

Amidst this conversation, Kirk produced a chair for Kolteruze and brought him tea. Kolteruze sat down on the skirt of his tunic carefully and drank with utmost care. Then he leaned forward to look at the drawings and give input from the perspective of an attendant. By the end, the day and time for the fitting was set. Kurtis was allowed to take away some of the drawings and promised to acquire appropriate fabric samples. Kirk produced a box of blenrus-honey cookies for Ilsa and the merchants took their leave.

“I think that was productive,” Isolde said brightly once the door shut. “You should change back, Kolteruze. Your gift will need to be stored with all the others.”

The devastation was unconcealable in Kolteruze’s entire person. He tried to speak only to wheeze “my lord” with tears threatening his eyes.

“Everyone else has to wait,” Melchior noted.

“Is that not because their gifts are incomplete?” Kolteruze argued, gripping his tunic as though hands were reaching to rip it from his person at that very moment.

Isolde perked up. “Their gifts are incomplete?” she repeated.

Melchior scowled while Kolteruze blushed and slapped his hands over his mouth. “Silence is the only defense,” Melchior quoted. “We will discuss this no longer. It will be returned to you in a matter of weeks.”

“But… wh… what if I promise to keep it hidden until then?” Kolteruze begged. “I won't wear it around people.”

They stared at each other for a long time, Kolteruze with eyes glassy, Melchior with a stern look. “Very well. But if Lady Brunhilde learns of this you must represent it as your own invention and speak nothing of my involvement.”

“My lord! You would cede all credit for no reason!?” Isolde cried.

Melchior placed a hand to his cheek. “Is peace of mind not reason enough?”

“She will know I am lying,” Kolteruze said.

“That is not my concern but yours. You can always wait until the proper time to receive your gift if you feel unsure of your skills,” Melchior replied.

Kolteruze shook his head. “Verbergan shall be my banner,” he promised. Gerianne gave him a small blessing and a pat on the shoulder.

“See that you do not fail,” Melchior said.

Chapter Text

Isolde spent the rest of the morning bullying Kirk into showing her how to knit while Melchior practiced music. Somehow Kirk negotiated an exchange of embroidery expertise for knitting lessons. Isolde left for the day looking annoyed and excited all at once.

After she was gone and a delicious lunch of autumn squashes and pickled summer greens, Sheila presented a new invention. “It was something of an accident. I was creating a syrup when one of your chefs sliced his hand open while gesticulating. While we tended to him, the syrup boiled over long but did not burn. I returned to a mixture which was useless for my purpose because it solidified into a glass when cooling. I have since perfected the process of creating this effect intentionally and with various kinds of sugar,” she explained.

Lothar brought over a box lined with with waxed stencil paper. It was filled with starch powder and many golden drops of hard sugar. “The shape needs more refinement but the drops are sweet and impregnated with essences of barshoo.” A second smaller box was added to the first. In this one were eleven light blue drops. “These were made with rime honey. Its cold flavor combines with the barshoo to wake one up and keep you energized all in one tasty package.”

Gerianne and Nikolaus found themselves drawn towards the demonstration. They stared at the beautiful candies with the same wide eyes as Melchior. The only child seemingly unaffected was Kirk because he’d seen them in the kitchen before.

Melchior began to giggle then cackle. “Sheila you have exceeded my expectations. Our revenge shall be so sweet.”

“Why are we getting revenge?” Nikolaus asked.

“Because Kolteruze and the older knights were keeping their special tea all to themselves. Now Sheila has created the ultimate version of barshoo! They shall rue the days they kept their silence,” Melchior orated.

“Wait,” Gerianne said. “Are you going to hide this from them or something? It won’t be very effective revenge if you just improved one of their favorite snacks. That's basically a reward.”

Melchior paused his gloating. “That’s true. I… I do want to share it. We will just make them wait the longest,” he decided. Sebastian, who’d managed to remain next to the door in spite of his curiosity, held in a laugh. “Do you want to try it? It might make it hard to sleep.” Melchior looked at Sheila for confirmation.

“It is not as strong as a full cup of the tea as we had before. The effects do not last as long. I believe eating one before exercising would be best as you can make use of the energy,” Sheila explained.

Melchior popped a regular one in his mouth and squealed in delight. “It is just like tasting honey but it lasts for a long time!” He moved the boxes closer to Nikolaus and Gerianne, pushing the blue ones closer to Gerianne.

She reached out then paused. “Those are too special. It would not be right to waste our sisters’ hard work,” she said before taking a golden drop.

“Your sister’s work?” Nikolaus asked.

Gerianne nodded. “The Sisters of Snow.”

Dedryck and Sebastian also accepted candies. Dedryck asked about the exact dosage and side effects while he moved his around his mouth. Sheila had no good way of measuring such a thing but she explained what it did and her experiences with its heat tolerance. He also took a blue one once he’d finished his first candy. Everyone watched as his eyes grew wide and he smiled. “It’s quite bracing but in a pleasant way. I think this could wake someone from a faint though I wouldn’t want to put something so small in an unconscious person’s mouth. All you did was heat rime honey to achieve this?”

“I believe the combination is what causes the effect. Just the rime candy by itself is much more mild,” Sheila explained. Dedryck nodded. He spent the walk to the training courtyard lamenting the exclusive nature of the product now that they’d discovered a properly medicinal use.

“There must be a way to use less of it to the same effect. Or to create a potion with similar effects. The current options for reviving someone from a faint are fairly unpleasant,” he babbled. Melchior listened and wondered just how interested in medicine Dedryck was. He hadn’t spoken about it much before but no one had asked either. For the moment, he just asked leading questions and basked in the sound of Dedryck talking about a second thing for which he would string together two consecutive sentences without goading.

After more archery and more sculpting, Melchior lay awake late into the night. He tossed and turned for a while before realizing he wasn’t going to fall asleep. The drops might have less barshoo in them but it was still too much to use up with just his training session. He parted his bed curtains. Lothar lay still on the nightwatch bench, his chest rising and falling slowly. Melchior took a moment to watch. He almost never saw other people asleep. In some part of his mind, he accepted that many people would see him while he was sleeping. It still felt strange to think about himself looking so relaxed while being unable to sense anything or defend himself.

He shifted out of bed slowly and quietly. Whether Lothar was a light sleeper while in his own bed was unknown but he generally roused at the smallest noise from Melchior. HIs slippers were only a few steps away but he chose not to use them. They made a quiet sound when he walked but it was louder than stocking feet and the night was silent except for the soft breathing of Lothar. He slipped into his hidden room, making sure to open the door as little as possible since it was perpetually lit by evening sun.

As Melchior wasn’t much for hoarding and had three separate hidden rooms, this one was mostly empty. There were a few blank sheets of paper and pencils, his easel and oil paints, a few storage boxes for art he didn’t want anyone else to see, and the furniture. Melchior sat at the desk and pulled over the paper. He looked at it for a long time without formulating any ideas for what to draw. He didn’t need to plan any paintings at the moment and didn’t have a model. For a moment he considered drawing Lothar while he was asleep but reconsidered since he hadn't asked beforehand. People didn't seem to like having their vulnerable moments captured.

Instead, he attempted to write a response to Ferdinand. Without his letter, it was difficult to respond to all his questions but he needed to write the greeting first anyway. The text was easy to generate but Melchior was very quickly stymied when he tried to convert it to a magic circle. He couldn't reference how Ferdinand had done it so he had to develop a method from scratch.

Melchior hadn't fully appreciated the feat of writing an entirely…mostly coherent letter in magic circle script before. The circles needed to encode their meaning but they also needed to be inert. Slotting in sigils for Schutzaria alongside wishes for a bountiful autumn formed a perfectly usable circle for giving a blessing. It would be redundant since you only needed to chant and push mana out of your ring, but Melchior felt sure it would work. He didn't have his magic pen to try and he wanted his copies of the atrium circles for reference so he snuck into his room again.

Lothar continued to breathe evenly as he tiptoed across the room. With slow, precise movement, Melchior shuffled through his papers. The atrium circles were stored in a paper box with his drawings of the Ambassadors. This had seemed convenient before since detailing the progress of the plants was related to their research on the atrium. Now it meant there were many superfluous papers to sort through to get what he wanted.

Lothar stirred but didn't wake. Melchior was tempted to use Schlafstrum’s blessing but that felt wrong without need or Lothar's permission. He just moved even slower and left everything out rather than try to pack it away since his activities weren't actually a secret.

With the information in hand and his magic pen, Melchior tiptoed back across the room. He was also kind of thirsty, so he grabbed his pitcher and filled it. It didn't overflow this time but it was now much heavier. Opening the door to his hidden room was harder with his hands full, but he managed to prevent a strip of light from landing on Lothar's face. Only once he sat down did he realize that he didn’t have a cup. Luckily, no one was around to witness him grip the pitcher with both hands and drink from the large vessel like a toddler.

There turned out to be a trick to the atrium circles that Ferdinand hadn’t used. You could add a specific string of sigils which would make any circle inert. While it looked silly to just tack it onto the circles he knew, it did prevent them from activating. His letter would not be as elegant this way but he also didn’t think he would be able to layer three letters on top of one another. Saying anything would take up considerable space on the page and using the counter sigils would waste even more. “Uncle is truly amazing,” Melchior muttered.

The longer he spent attempting to write out the greeting the less he liked it. Without someone to read it, he wasn’t sure it was possible to parse. As it covered half the page, it couldn’t be illegible. Melchior yawned. The lines swam so he set the task aside for a while and closed his eyes.

He was unsure how long had passed when he reopened them but he felt better and his vision had stabilized. It was still disheartening to look at the task so he distracted himself by trying the circle he’d just created for giving the autumnal greeting as a blessing. It was impossible to bless one’s self so Melchior addressed his wish to Gerianne. She was always happy to be blessed even if it was superfluous. The floating circled flashed then fizzled without sending anything. It was the same the second time. The third time he cleared his mind and tried to activate the circle without a recipient. This time it flashed and became a cascade of sparkles that disappeared into the ceiling. How peculiar.

Melchior was moments from giving into despair before he remembered that he was sealed in a hidden room. His mother had described hidden rooms as their own tiny worlds attached but separate from everything else. Once sealed, many things could not enter or exit them and if destroyed, everything inside ceased to exist as far as anyone knew. He would need to leave to test whether the blessing circle really wasn’t usable for blessing people and only sent one's mana to the gods. He was still taken with the idea. Expressing one’s hopes through poetic language was nice but drawing an elaborate circle would be more fun. He was planning to bless his newly-adult retainers anyway so he began writing out his speeches and inventing appropriate circles.

At some incredibly late hour, Melchior fell asleep at his desk. He woke up to anxious but polite calls and the flashing of the hailing device. Blearily pulling himself up from the desk, he rubbed his eyes and opened the door with a yawn. Lothar and Dedryck stood before him with tight smiles. “Goddesses greetings, my lord. It is nearly second bell,” Lothar said.

“Are you feeling well?” Dedryck asked.

Melchior nodded. “I was too excited to sleep so I decided to work on magic circles,” he replied. Something flashed over Lothar’s face. Melchior stared at him, trying to place the emotion but he was too out of sorts to draw any conclusions. “It is time for breakfast then?”

“That is correct, my lord. First you must be dressed or else your female retainers will not be able to enter,” Lothar noted.

“Ah, that's true,” Melchior began to walk towards his vanity and dressing area. “Oh wait,” he cried and hurried back into his hidden room. He returned with several attempts at the greeting circle. “Can you read this?”

Melchior pressed the pages into Dedryck’s hands before continuing over to Kirk to be dressed. “My lord, you spent all night in your hidden room?” Kirk asked as he helped Melchior shrug out of his sleeping shirt and into a fresh one. Melchior shivered in the crisp morning air and rubbed his arms.

“Yes, I was trying to write a letter with magic circles. It's kind of difficult so I didn't finish but I think I can create circles to give blessings. That will make them look so fancy, don't you think?” Melchior babbled.

“It is as you say. Was there any other reason?” Kirk asked.

“No,” Melchior replied. “I just couldn't sleep because of the barshoo.” Kirk visibly relaxed. “Were you worried?”

“Ah… well. Lothar awoke to find you missing,” Kirk replied. “You left many drawings on the desk and you… you promised. So we assumed you were in your hidden room.”

Melchior twisted around to look at his retainers. Nikolaus would normally be standing guard inside his room at this time but was absent. Dedryck had been on duty the previous day. Melchior didn't pay very close attention to the guard rotation but he was sure that Dedryck didn't usually spend consecutive days at the temple. He had worried them. “I will leave a note next time,” he declared.

“It would be better to wake your attendant,” Lothar replied, his face fixed with his usual smile but still strained somehow. “It is what we are here for.”

“But you were sleeping,” Melchior argued.

“Your wellbeing comes first, my lord. Do you not trust us that you must hide away even from us?” Lothar asked. Once he realized what he said his smile turned to a look of shock. “I apologize, I misspoke… I will assist Sheila with the meal,” he said before disappearing through the servants entrance.

Melchior gazed after him with a mirror look of shock. “I don't think… that's not it at all,” he muttered.

Kirk placed a hand on his shoulder. “It is alright. He just mistook you for someone else for a moment.”

That wasn't a full explanation but Sheila arrived at that moment with breakfast so Melchior was shuffled to his chair. He ate quietly while he contemplated Lothar's action and the obvious anxiety he’d inflicted on his retinue. “I’m sorry. You do not need to stay if you have other plans,” he said to Dedryck.

Dedryck stood by the door, not having called in his replacement so he could eat. He shook his head and returned to staring vigilantly into nothing.

Just after the ringing of second bell, Zipporah and Gerianne arrived followed by one of the gate guards. They all paused just a step into the room and stared at Melchior. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“You… well. We shall return in a little while,” Zipporah said before steering Gerianne back outside.

His strange morning was only getting stranger. Melchior looked at Sheila. “You have yet to set your hair and put on your sash,” she noted. Kirk blushed and Melchior hurried to finish eating.

Once he was presentable, Zipporah and Gerianne were called back and the active guard knights began their eating rotation. Zipporah had brought her teaching materials and gifts. Melchior’s adventuring kit was complete. He was presented with a waterskin, a flint firestarter in a decorative case, a neat bundle of twine, field rations in a waxed cloth wrapper, and a magic tool with a spinny pointer. Kirk brought out Melchior's new knife while she explained. “You should also bring your flares everywhere even once you are capable of raising a Rott. This,” she held up the magic tool, “is a prototype of the positioning tool Sigsnyr is attempting to invent. At the moment it only points towards the castle bell tower. He hasn't found a good way to measure the distance yet and using the Country Foundation means the needle moves too little to be useful at this size.”

“Isn't it useful to always know where west is?” Melchior asked.

“Yes and no, not in the absence of other information. It is also southwest of here. You would need to know the degree for the radial line you are aiming for and how far away from it you are then whether you are closer or farther from the Wall than it. There is much to consider. For now, so long as you are within the Central District, it will always lead you back to the castle.”

As much as Melchior wanted to play with his new toys, they had much to do to plan the hunt. Gerianne was allowed to sit while Nikolaus stood nearby as before. Zipporah's reasons for barring classmates became clear as soon as she placed a map on the table.

“Oh look, Gerianne, it's the river we used to have to ford. We should talk Father into a bridge one day. It's not very deep but the horses didn't like it.”

“Lord Melchior, please focus here on the Nobles Forest,” Zipporah said.

“Yes of course,” he replied and sat up straighter.

“This map is usually kept at the Knights Order. I received special permission to use it for this lesson.”

“Sir Tiedemonn let you borrow one of his maps? He must really like you,” Gerianne teased.

“They are kindred spirits,” Melchior said with a sagely nod.

“Maybe he sees her as the daughter he never had,” Gerianne posited.

Zipporah took a deep breath while they giggled. She knew Melchior to be studious and a good tutor and unable to not talk during a lesson. “Yes, be sure to give your thanks when next you see him. Now, we are looking for rungorb I have markers. We must be careful not to damage the map.” She produced a handful of small keiferdeike faestones. Melchior immediately sorted them into groups by color while Gerianne lined up the groups in neat rows.

Zipporah took another deep breath. She could do this. It was one class and Melchior was a bright young lad. She was a good teacher and a better mentor. With these affirmations top of mind they began planning for their hunt.

Between the two of them, Gerianne and Melchior were thoughtful and thorough if not efficient. They selected a location based on the strength of Melchior's knights vs the relative weakness of their charges taking into account what other materials could be found. When two locations proved difficult to choose between, they selected the one with more ingredients for which they would need to use their knives before devolving into a brief discussion about whether they would make good replacements for mana-blades.

“No!” Zipporah cried, her patience finally fraying. “Knife-fighting is a skill all its own. You cannot carry around a gathering knife to Royal Academy tea parties.”

“What about a regular knife,” Gerianne asked.

“It is uncouth to be visibly armed if you are not currently working as a guard knight,” Zipporah replied.

Melchior’s eyes danced. “So I could hide it! Do you think my sleeves or my boots would be better?”

“Well, you cannot use the little shoes you like so much,” Gerianne countered.

“But I can ask Master Kurtis to add a knife pocket to my clothes!” Melchior chirped.

Zipporah was about to argue but stopped. “That wouldn't be a bad idea, actually. You would need to learn how to use it in close quarters and for throwing. In fact a couple of knives made for throwing would be discreet enough and… argg! We are getting distracted.”

“Mother said you can brew throwing knives out of faestones,” Gerianne helpfully provided.

“Rungorb!” Zipporah snapped. “The hunt for rungorb. We have selected a place and you know who is coming. What is next?”

It was back breaking work, but they finished the plan. They sipped tea next to the wooden boards detailing their future endeavors with bright smiles, for the students, and a feeling of blissful relief, for their mentor. Zipporah played with the edge of the board closest to her for a long while and thought about how much easier this normally was with her older friends.

Once recovered enough, Zipporah broke into the ongoing conversation about what would be the best possible highbeast for gathering. “I will make the appointment with the wardens. We can go for a hunt next Earthday and should go again on a morning after the Hunting Tournament but before everyone arrives for Winter Socializing.”

Melchior beamed and wiggled with excitement, then, before their very eyes, all his joy slipped away behind a noble smile. “There will not be time for me to join you. I have much to study before the school year.” He turned to Gerianne. “Be sure to collect enough for me.”

“My lord. This is important preparation for school as well. You are in your second year. You will need to harvest some of your own materials for class,” Zipporah explained. They would also have to rearrange the knights’ deployment to ensure he was still guarded.

The blood drained from his face but he kept smiling. “It is possible to purchase such things, is it not. It would not be safe for me to go into the forest and before I have a schtappe as well,” Melchior argued.

Zipporah and Gerianne exchange surprised looks. “My lord, do you believe we would allow harm to come to you?”

“Forests, by their very nature, are unpredictable. I have faith in your skills but the possibility for harm remains. The only way to ensure safety for all, is for me to remain in safe areas,” Melchior said.

“Safety for all?” Nikolaus muttered.

Gerianne placed a hand on Melchior's arm. His smile wavered then grew but never reached his eyes. “When I am stronger. We will hunt together,” she promised.

“When I am stronger,” Melchior echoed.

Zipporah looked towards the door where Dedryck still stood guard. Their eyes locked and he very subtly shook his head.

*

After everyone finished archery training and went home, Melchior and Gerianne remained in the courtyard. Sister Streita sat off to the side sipping tea and enjoying the sunset, looking for all the world like she wasn't paying attention. Melchior wasn't excited to have an audience but he had no good reason to shoo Strieta out of her own courtyard.

So he turned to Gerianne and put it out of his mind. “Ok, I have invented magic circles for blessings,” Melchior declared.

Gerianne began to clap. “Those already exist,” Dedryck interrupted.

“Really! How come I’ve never seen one!”

“It seems to be very rare. I’ve only heard of two. There is the Zent Selection circle, which we saw activate during the graduation ceremony. I also heard that the Avatar of Mestinora drew one when she bestowed the Grutrissheit on the Zent,” he explained.

“Well, I’ve invented new circles for new blessings,” Melchior corrected. Gerianne clapped again. “Thank you. So far I have only been able to send prayers to the gods but I was in my hidden room. Will you help me test them?”

“Yes of course. Oh how exciting. We are creating so many new modes of worship!” Gerianne replied.

Melchior hadn't considered that. “I suppose we are. The tea ritual is much harder than this I think.” He readied his pen then paused. “I forgot the circle.”

“Shall I retrieve your notes?” Kirk asked. Melchior nodded and he hurried back to the High Bishop's chambers.

While they waited, Melchior turned to Dedryck. “You never said whether you could read the circles.”

Dedryck heaved a sigh. “I don't even know where to begin. What are they supposed to do? I kept trying to reason it out but… I'm sorry, my lord, they will not have any effects.”

“Oh they aren't supposed to. They are the opening greetings for an autumnal letter,” Melchior said.

Dedryck paused, glanced at Fonsel, then looked back with a tired expression. “You are trying to write a letter using magic circles? No one could read that.”

“Uncle can read it. He wrote us such a letter before. This is just my response.”

“It is like a secret code. How fun,” Gerianne said.

“It certainly looks like you are trying to send secret messages. I don't think you should emulate this skill, my lord. At least, not for inter-duchy communication. There must be fewer than a hand’s worth of people in Ehrenfest who could read this and most of them are in your retinue,” Dedryck said.

Kirk returned during this speech and tried to look inconspicuous but Fonsel took the papers and began flipping through them. “Is this what you mean?” He asked, showing one page.

“Oh no. That one is for blessings,” Melchior said, reaching for it. Fonsel handed the paper over but held onto the others.

“Yes, this wouldn't be safe. You could easily hide an active circle amidst the swirls. Complacent scholars would pass it on. Looks pretty though,”

“But I want to show Uncle that we’ve gotten more skilled,” Melchior countered.

Fonsel turned it over and over while letting out a low hum. “Maybe just once.” Dedryck turned to him with a look of betrayal. “Just one reply that communicates how much he's enjoyed the idea but can't continue using it. If it's written on mundane paper, it’ll be fine.”

“Then It will have to be couriered,” Melchior noted. “It will never be approved in time.”

“You have mundane ink,” Gerianne said.

“Would that work?”

Fonsel looked at Dedryck. Dedryck sighed. “That would keep it from activating and interfering with the magic circle for sending magic letters.”

Melchior took the rest of his notes back with a bright smile. “Now it will have to be even more beautiful since it's the last one,” he decided.

“Just don't be so fastidious that you never send it,” Fonsel warned. “So let's see these blessings.”

The children nodded and moved into position. Gerianne knelt while Melchior pulled out his pen and shifted his papers to his off hand. It took a long time to finish drawing, the starry lines hovering lopsided and wavering. Once it was done, Melchior took a step back to survey his work and frowned. “It’s not as pretty in the air.”

“It's much harder to draw circles free floating. You’ll just have to practice.”

Melchior nodded and erased the lines by drawing his mana back into himself. Gerianne waited patiently, only switching knees once before she finally spoke up. “Perhaps we should see if the method works before making it beautiful.”

“Oh… yes… sorry, Gerianne. Let me just finish drawing,” Melchior said. He added the last lines to his wonky, home-made circle and began to chant. “Oh Goddess of Wind, Schutzaria, who defends the weak and lovely, we offer you our thanksgiving and pride and pray that you would offer your divine protection to Gerianne for her journey into adulthood.” The magic circle seethed as he chanted then burst into a spray of yellow and blue sparkles which shot directly at Gerianne without rising into the air first. Though not threatened with anything physical, Gerianne still lifted her shield in front of her face. The blessing passed through unimpaired and sank into her.

“It works,” Fonsel said with a note of surprise. “It's not a normal blessing though.”

“I only prayed to Schutzaria but there were blue sparkles as well,” Melchior observed.

“Those are probably from you,” Gerianne said.

“Can people give blessings from themselves? Could you pray to another person?”

“Maybe we leave blasphemy for another day,” Fonsel suggested. “Don't you want to try these others?”

Melchior nodded. Gerianne stood for the other blessings. Melchior had finished one for spring and a circle for winter. He made up a prayer on the spot for testing purposes. “Your winter blessing does not include Ewigeliebe,” Gerianne said with a frown.

“Who wants a blessing from him?” Melchior grumbled.

“He is the God of Life from which existence flows!” Gerianne replied. “Who wouldn't want his blessing?”

“Well, I already exist. I need nothing else from him,” Melchior said. “He is so mean to Geduldh and jealous of their children, us. How do you know he won’t just curse you instead.”

“We give blessings from him all the time,” Gerainne noted. “If it’s a winter blessing it should include both winter gods.”

Melchoir stopped to look pensive. “Maybe I could use a subordinate.”

“No!” Gerianne cried.

“Not even Cuococalura?”

“I understand your dislike for Ewigeliebe, Lord Melchior, but I have to agree with Gerianne. You cannot snub the God of Winter in this way,” Dedryck sighed. “It is the same as any other blessing. There’s no need to think so hard about it.”

“Thank you for your counsel,” Melchior grumbled. “I believe we proved the usefulness of the circles. We may retire.” He began walking back inside without waiting for assent. Gerianne rolled her eyes where he couldn't see her before falling into place at his shoulder.

Melchior spent his evening practicing and redesigning the circles. He still wasn’t great at making neat, well balanced designs but he was getting better at hiding that with creative circle shapes. The spring circle ended up looking like a flower, while autumn looked something like a horn of plenty. Drawing them with large expressive movements also made the subsequent lines look less shaky. Confidence seemed to be the key to making pretty looking floating circles. He had time to practice before their party so he contented himself with his progress and went to bed. Having slept so poorly the night before, It was easy to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Haldenzel’s Request

Melchior returned to the castle feeling refreshed by his time away. He wasn’t totally ready to face the complications of faction politics but he was no longer anxious that the duchy was in peril. This good feeling lasted until Haldis began relaying his schedule. Henriette had shown no miraculous enthusiasm for music while he was away, while their mother had renewed her request for him to assist. With his mood already in tatters, it was announced that the Aub wished to speak with him. It was urgent but not so urgent that he needed to be summoned from the temple.

“I guess we will visit his office today instead of studying,” Melchior declared. “Also, please summon Flautzeal if he wasn’t coming already.”

“As you wish,” Haldis said then went to do whatever he normally did with his day.

Despite his summons and their confirmation, Sylvester and company seemed surprised to see Melchior and retinue. There was no free space for them to work in the office so they were relegated to a side room once again. From what they could gather, the Aub’s office was inundated with preparations for tax season. As such, what they needed most were forms. Melchior and Flautzeal worked through a tall stack of paper. For once, their hard work didn’t disappear the moment they completed it. After half a bell of quiet diligence, Sylvester swept into the room and pulled Melchior aside.

“I need you to visit Haldenzel before your tour instead of after,” he declared. Sylvester smiled and tried to look casual as though he weren’t making a difficult request.

Melchior glanced over at his scholars. Isolde had stopped working to turn around and look engaged. He took some comfort from knowing he wasn’t alone. “Naturally, Aub Ehrenfest, the temple is honored to be of use. If you would humor the High Bishop, what has prompted this departure from form?” He would have to go next week, possibly miss his sculpting lesson, with only a few days to prepare. It was the least Sylvester could do to give him a reason. Melchior fixed a smile to his face and waited patiently.

“You High Bishops…” Sylvester muttered then sighed. “The delegation we plan to send to Gaussbuttel will leave before the first snowfall, in just a few weeks. I want to gather all our representatives. Your recommendation is, apparently, needed for the Harvest Festival in Haldenzel. The earlier that happens, the earlier our expedition leader gets here to finalize preparations.”

“So you chose Lady Nantfelda after all,” Melchior noted brightly. “I’m sure she will do well.”

“So is Haldenzel. That’s why they're being difficult,” Sylvester grumbled. He looked towards Melchior’s retainers, his eyes pausing on Zipporah’s back. She made no attempt to refute anything.

“And she couldn’t come here to oversee preparations then return?” Melchior checked.

Sylvester clicked his tongue. “Oh but even Steifebrise would struggle on such a long journey. Unless we are willing to hurry Ordoshnelli on black and gold wings, Schutzaria must lower her shield before Jungereise may give her blessing⁵².”

Stifled giggles floated over from the work table. “It is a long flight,” Melchior noted diplomatically. He also got the sense that Sylvester was calling in their taxes three weeks early as punishment. He could have just issued sterner orders or agreed to do the teleportation using Haldenzel's mana. Melchior held back a sigh. Once again, he was a pawn in the petty fighting between Aub and Count. He deserved to get at least a little something for his troubles.

“I understand the importance of my mission. I will see it done, Aub Ehrenfest.” Sylvester visibly relaxed. “Only, this will make it difficult to submit my designs before your winter preparations begin. You would not begrudge my whimsy, would you Father?”

Sylvester narrowed his eyes and glanced around trying to figure out what he meant. The tension returned to his shoulders until he realized what was being asked. “I’m not making another stupidly complicated shape!” he cried. “Keep it simple and you can make requests. Who are you even making requests for!”

“Lord Adaire and Deliroze.”

“Deliroze?”

“Dirk.”

“He wants to change his name?” Sylvester asked.

“It is a wonder it was not changed before his baptism,” Melchior replied. “Now he has a family name as well, unless you were planning to bestow ours?”

Sylvester shook his head. “He can pick what he wants. Send it along with your designs. And I mean it. No twelve pointed shapes!” He swept out of the office while shaking his head.

Melchior turned to Isolde with a smile. “That's all you wanted? You could have asked for more,” she said.

“I do not require compensation to do my duty,” Melchior replied. Isolde shook her head just like Sylvester as she turned back to her work.

Once he'd returned to his room, Melchior went into his private chamber to send an ordonnanz to the temple. Though he could have asked one of his attendants, he wanted to hear Paul and Lothar respond.

“We will see to the preparations,” said the bird. Melchior marveled at both being able to send his message without a schtappe and receiving a response from a commoner. It was amazing and he hoped everyone would appreciate the ingenuity as the technology continued to spread.

He returned to his front chamber to find it full of retainers, more than would normally be there to assist him. Isolde and Helenwig bounced excitedly while Kolteruze and Benedikt tried to look impassive. Nikolaus, who was supposed to be enjoying his day off, stood to the side looking nervous but excited. Isolde began with an extension of her previous counsel.

“There were many consolations you might have obtained. Small things, not rewards as you are loath to accept, but valuable all the same. Your letter for example, still hasn't been returned. It would be best to send a reply before winter. It might even influence the supplies you receive this year,” she said.

“Trying to influence the generosity of my distant relatives seems manipulative,” Melchior noted with a shiver.

“Yes, there is no reason not to turn such regular favor to your advantage. Do not think of it as malicious. Your sister would be even happier with her gifts knowing they benefit you more,” she argued.

Melchior glanced around. Everyone seemed to agree with this logic and Melchior had to concede that he would personally prefer to give gifts which the recipient would like. Subtle hints were always better than asking outright. Keeping his benefactors appraised of his progress would provide those hints in an elegant package. “I have begun drafting my reply to Uncle. I can finish Sister's more quickly and have it reviewed. Inventing the circles for Uncle will take more time.”

“You intend to reply in kind?” Kolteruze interjected, dropping his task to join in the conversation.

Isolde looked back and forth between them. “In kind? You are writing a letter using circles?”

Melchior sent Kolteruze to fetch the papers. Benedikt and Deliroze stopped their transcribing to huddled in too. The first papers were his attempt at the greeting. He only realized once his first spring blessing circle was revealed that Benedikt might have his blessing spoiled. He grabbed those papers quickly.

“Are those a secret?” Isolde asked.

“Only for the moment,” Melchior replied with a pointed glance at Benedikt. He was too absorbed by the confusingly inert circles to notice. Isolde raised an eyebrow but didn't pursue the topic. “These are meant to be useless. They are just the formal greeting.”

While Benedikt and Kolteruze began discussing the methods employed, Pepin stepped closer to Melchior with a sound blocker.

“My lord,” he whispered in spite of the magic. Isolde watched him as he continued. “You must travel to Haldenzel next week. Last time you mentioned the need for a noble attendant. As Zargerecht and Haldis have commitments that would make such a trip undesirable for them, not that they wouldn't perform their duties, but I was wondering if I might attend you.”

Melchior could see Isolde squeak then cough to cover the noise. Kolteruze still glanced up. He narrowed his eyes at the conspiratorial distance between master and attendant and the furtive tilt of their shoulders. Melchior saw rather than heard him cry out. “Pepin!”

Even with his back turned, Pepin seemed to feel the ire directed at him. He hurried his speech. “I would like to meet with Fridegern's intended to help finalize their engagement and see a new province. I…” Kolteruze loomed over his shoulder with a wicked smile.

Melchior released his hold on the magic tools and turned a neutral smile towards his head attendant. “Was something the matter with the circles?” he asked innocently.

“Are you truly considering leaving your head attendant behind?” Kolteruze asked.

Melchior looked towards his room where Haldis was currently working. “The service rendered by my apprentices would be sufficient for such a short trip,” Melchior replied evasively.

“Oh, it is still so far away and with so many public events, I suppose you would need more than one attendant,” Kolteruze mused while giving Pepin heavy side eye.

“Last time you said you need to bring fewer retainers not more,” Isolde provided helpfully.

Zipporah stepped forward from her guard post. “My lord, our previous limitations were due to the volume of people visiting with three Archduke Candidates. As you are alone this time, you may monopolize our guest rooms. It is enough space to bring everyone if you so desire,” she explained.

“How fortunate, my lord. Considering that you may also bring apprentices, you will be well cared for,” Kolteruze said.

Melchior smiled and looked around. He had everyone's attention now and everyone looked like they wanted to come. Isolde pinched the bridge of her nose, her noble smile sliding into a look of pity. “Unfortunately, that would make it look like you are providing aid to Haldenzel in the face of the Aub’s sanction. It has likely caused some inconvenience to have to prepare their taxes weeks early. As you often offer the assistance of your retinue, anyone would assume you are doing the same now.”

Kolteruze looked pained as he nodded in agreement. “I suppose you do not need someone to brew on your trip. And we still have projects in motion,” Benedikt conceded first. “You still have preparations for your own trip as well,” he said to Deliroze who agreed sadly.

“We all knew there was only one choice for your scholar,” Kolteruze muttered. In unison, he and Pepin stood up straighter and began to make their case. Pepin gestured for him to continue with a rueful expression. “If you are taking an apprentice, shouldn't it be the most senior one. And it will be a new environment where everything is stored in new places.”

Isolde’s eyebrows shot up but she stopped herself from smiling. “It is a simple task to search through a small amount of luggage. Are there not tasks here which require the careful tending of your most intelligent and discreet retainer. This is a good time to take stock and begin final preparations on your gifts,” Pepin replied.

“That's true. But it doesn't need to occur during my trip,” Melchior said.

Pepin looked pensive. “You are unlikely to return to the castle before beginning your tour of the duchy. As such your chambers will be sealed. Only your most trusted retainers may enter meaning that any objects not intended for Alexandria but still of a sensitive nature could easily remain hidden. You are so generous, my lord. Haldis may require assistance to manage your extensive trove of gifts. Of course you will need to designate an additional attendant whom you trust to handle such things.”

Kolteruze shook with something between indignation and indecision. Melchior trusted Pepin but Kolteruze was already the most informed about the gifts and had received his own already. He was the perfect candidate. To choose him would act as further confirmation of his lord's trust. It would be a huge honor. But he wouldn't get to go on the trip.

“Is Haldenzel being put through undue hardship?” Melchior asked.

Zipporah shook her head with a smile on her lips. “Our taxes aren't usually paid in seasonally dependent products. The inconvenience is minor and deserved.”

Melchior wanted to bring Pepin. Not only had he asked first, but they were closer friends. He also had an important reason to visit Haldenzel where his brother would hopefully be moving soon. He tried not to look guilty as he turned to Kolteruze. “It would be of great help if you would use this time to sort through the gifts, make an inventory, and finalize those which are completed.”

The devastation was well concealed but visible in the scrunch of Kolteruze’s nose and the turn of his eyes. “Yes of course, my lord. I will see it done,” he grumbled.

“Should Benedikt brew an auxiliary key for your hidden room?” Isolde asked.

“Yes, that would be good.”

“It will be good for Haldis to have a key,” Kolteruze mumbled.

“Actually, the key shall be in your care. That way anyone who wishes to break in must collect both the room key from Haldis and the hidden room key from you. We have implemented such double layered protections at the temple to great effect,” Melchior explained.

Kolteruze was very still, his cheeks heating as Pepin smiled and placed a hand on his arm. “I shall protect it with my life,” Kolteruze promised.

“I have absolute faith,” Melchior replied.

For knights there would be Zipporah, since they were visiting her home province, Dedryck, and Nikolaus. “Are you sure you want to travel to Haldenzel?” Isolde pressed. His mother and Lady Elvira were notorious in their feuding. Only having one locked in prison had granted armistice. “You might not be welcomed.”

“Any who serve Lord Melchior will be welcome in Haldenzel. No harm shall come to him. You have my word and that of my father,” Zipporah pledged.

Nikolaus regarded her with wide eyes. He just wanted to see a new place and accompany his lord and best friend. He was ready to accept some animosity for the privilege. That Zipporah would offer not just her protection but take responsibility for any mistreatment felt like too much. “You don't need to do that,” he breathed.

Zipporah stood up to her full height. “I do. The hospitality of Haldenzel has been in short supply this year. We must rectify our errors. And we will lose our reputation as Ehrenfest’s strongest knights if we cannot even defend our own family.”

“But I’m…” Nikolaus began

“My cousin,” Zipporah finished. “The son of my uncle.”

The whole room watched in silence. Anyone would say that their connection was distant. There was no need to acknowledge a connection between oneself and their cousin by marriage, especially one born of a wife so distrusted by Zipporah’s actual blood relatives. But she could if she wanted, and it seemed that she did.

Pepin walked over and took Nikolaus's hands and pulled him into the retainers room just as a tear formed in his eye. The door shut just late enough to muffle their delighted squealing. Isolde sighed at the touching scene. She exchanged a look with Deliroze. He didn't seem upset about being left behind. It was true that he had preparations to make for his own journey after all.

“Kazmiar intends to travel to Herzfeld with Gerianne, correct?” Isolde asked.

“Yes. He will assist Veremund with conducting the experiments and in talks with Lord Biligast,” Melchior replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Deliroze was present at our meeting in the summer. I believe his presence would be a benefit to Kazmiar as it was to me.”

Deliroze looked up with eyes shining and hope radiating from every fiber of his soul. Melchior, who could not deny his little brother anything, acquiesced immediately.

With no one else making a case for their inclusion, though Helenwig looked like she wanted to, they could move on to other business. Kolteruze and Benedikt couldn't go back to drafting circles because they were a part of Isolde's new scheme.

“We shall be inundated with prospective proteges in no time!” she laughed. Such began their tale of wonder and intrigue. Their day helping Ptolemaus was plenty industrious. Kirk attended the room and chatted with Ptolemaus’s attendant about the intricacies of working at the Knights Order. Benedikt drew forms and ran errands. Kolteruze worked through a new set of receipts and invoices with the assistants. Isolde and Helenwig huddled with Ptolemaus and hatched a plan.

“It is the most ingenious thing. Everyone wants what someone else has,” Isolde chirped.

“No one will fall for this. It is such an overdone contrivance,” Helenwig sighed.

Isolde looked performatively hurt. “It is used because it works. It works even when you know it is being employed. Besides it is not just a trick, you must trust me, Helenwig, by taking on the role you lend legitimacy.”

“I believe you because Sir Ptolemaus agrees but I don't see how it's true.”

“Lord Melchior,” Isolde said, rousing him from the daze brought on by their fervent discussion. “Why is it beneficial for Helenwig to masquerade as the Quartermaster’s new, potential, maybe successor.”

“Um.” There were a couple reasons he could think of but most of them were obvious. It would advertise that the position was available. There were sure to be people still unaware. Ptolemaus would get more help. Charlotte would have more agents in the Knights Order. All of those benefits would come regardless of who took on the role. There had to be something special about Helenwig. “…because she's from a neutral province?” he offered.

“How is that the conclusion you came to?” Benedikt asked, shaking his head. “My lord, that has little to do with the question.”

Isolde scowled but Melchior explained his thought process. “All those other things don't have much to do with Helenwig and Sir Ptolemaus’s problems stem from his obsolete factional ties. If a neutral noble from a province working to show themselves loyal appears to be taking the position, people might assume that it's a good position for someone who strives to prove their allegiance.”

“And that would alleviate the stigma, drawing out more people willing to give it a try. It's still a hard spot to land,” Helenwig grumbled. “You would think someone in such dire straits wouldn't be so picky. He asked me to take four extra classes this year and six next year.”

“If it's just for appearances, why take the classes?” Melchior asked.

“We have to sell it well or no one will believe it,” Isolde said while Helenwig looked off to the side. “And we can't have people thinking she was chosen for something other than her competency.”

“What if it doesn't work?” Deliroze asked. “Won't you have to go through with it and become the Quartermaster?”

Helenwig blushed. “I suppose I would, yes.”

“Do you want to be the Quartermaster?” Melchior asked. She just looked at him, seemingly caught in his gaze, then tore her eyes away.

Benedikt frowned. “Women can't take such positions. They would be unavailable during certain times, leaving the duchy unprepared for an attack.”

“Then she would forgo the possibility of that predicament,” Isolde said.

Benedikt shook his head. “Our duchy can't support barren earth⁵³. We need to grow our population,” he argued.

“Perhaps we should consider ways to preserve the earth's other uses. Monoculture is not very resilient,” Isolde countered.

“It has provided excellent results since the mountain’s were founded,” he said.

A darkness spread over the room centered on Isolde, Zipporah, and Helenwig. “Excellent for whom?”

Benedikt forged ahead. “For the God of Darkness. For the economy. For everyone.”

“Everyone… hum? Do we currently have enough people to cast more than half of them aside? Wouldn't our economy benefit from the expertise of more great minds? How can you speak for so many people who you do not understand?”

Benedikt scoffed. “What's to understand? Who wouldn't prefer to live in luxury over toil, in peaceful protection over bloody conflict, in safety?”

“You think it is safe?” Zipporah snapped. “Safe to place yourself at another's whims? To be expected to perform marital duties regardless of desire or wisdom? To be held to account for crimes even if you have no knowledge of them or means to stop them. You have no understanding of that which you speak.”

He paused, whatever he was going to say crawling back into his mouth. “I suppose that's true. I will have to reexamine.”

“Yes, reexamine,” Helenwig mumbled. “Think really hard about it.”

“It seems I will have too,” Benedikt replied and seemed to begin the inquiry at that moment, the circles forgotten.

Kolteruze and Melchior looked back and forth between the girls and Benedikt then at each other. “Perhaps, my lord,” Isolde said with a smile, “You might consider ways in which your female retainers might maintain their place and honor Entrindunge.”

“I… that would be nice. Then none of you would have to quit,” he said with a smile. The awkwardness of the previous conversation ebbed at his reply. He let out a furtive sigh. Whatever it had been about had been both complicated and important but no one made any further efforts to explain. Melchior was happy that the tension was gone and sorted Isolde's request alongside others he currently lacked the power and intellect to solve. The list was getting quite long and he didn't always remember every entry. He wondered whether he should write a new wooden board.

Eventually, talk of magic resumed. Flautzeal entered a room buzzing with excitement and discussion of circles. Kolteruze tore himself away from the group to collect the instruments while Melchior remained immersed. He was trying to argue for one style of magic circle over another. Flautzeal wondered why it could possibly matter.

“My lord, it is time for your music lessons,” he called.

The only indication that Melchior had heard him was the lifting of his shoulders. Flautzeal was delighted. Normally his lord was reluctant to begin. It was great to see him appropriately enthused for once.

As it turned out, Melchior was feeling just as ambivalent towards harspiel as usual. He just had important questions for Flautzeal.

“How do you teach a baby to play the harspiel?”

“Babies generally lack the coordination for complex instruments,” Flautzeal replied.

“I suppose she is more of a toddler. She’s four,” Melchior clarified.

“That is still too young,” Flautzeal said. “We usually begin with a simpler instrument.”

“We have a lyre.”

“That sounds like it would work well enough for learning the basic notes and chords. What difficulties is she having?” he asked.

“Well, she hates it,” Melchior said.

Flautzeal was still for a moment. “Who taught her to hate the lyre?” he asked with a measured tone and a dark look.

Melchior hadn't expected that reaction and thought better of naming names. “Well, it is the reality now. Promises were made not to resort to certain methods of motivation so long as I can ensure results. How did you learn?”

“That's difficult to say. I kind of taught myself,” Flautzeal replied. Everyone in hearing range looked shocked.

“But you come from a family of music teachers!” Melchior cried.

“Well yes…ah. I did receive formal instruction beginning a little before my sixth year. Before that, father or someone else would play for us in the nursery. There were many simple instruments left around. I would use them in my attempts to emulate my father, learning how the notes sounded and fit together through trial and error,” Flautzeal explained, a small smile spreading as he spoke. “I was so happy when father gave me my first lyre and told me it had a spirit as musical as my own and that I should help it sing everyday or it would grow despondent. I was too distraught to switch instruments. Terrified my lyre would be sad. We had to perform a ritual to let its spirit sleep before I would accept anything else.”

“That’s so adorable,” Zipporah whispered.

Flautzeal coughed and sat up straighter. With pink cheeks he tried to return to looking serious. “That is to say that children will learn music all on their own if given the chance. So, why does this little girl hate music?”

“Oh she loves to sing and listen to me play. She just hates practicing her own harp,” Melchior said.

“Well, you should switch to a different instrument, one she hasn’t learned to hate. ” Flautzeal suggested.

Melchior paled. “She must learn the harspiel. She cannot fail her debut.”

“She's four. There is still time and the fundamentals are the same. Plus it's much easier to learn harspiel at six than at four. Even if she began now, it's very possible she would be just as good if she began on a different instrument then switched. Besides…” Flautzeal looked pained to have to continue, “... there's no real reason why debuts must be performed on the harspiel. It might be the best instrument with the most pleasing sound but there are other choices.”

“Everyone uses harspiel,” Isolde said.

“As they should but… your siblings have more leeway to be original,” Flautzeal said. “And being skilled at a different instrument is better than being a total failure at music. There would be talk but not of failure.”

Melchior nodded. He wasn't sure his parents would agree to a change of instrument for the debut itself but if Henriette could learn the fundamentals on something she enjoyed, she wouldn't fall behind. “I will suggest it.”

“It will take some time but I know of several good options for someone so young. I can bring them for her to try if you like,” Flautzeal offered.

“Thank you, Flautzeal. I see a way forward now,” Melchior said with a sweet smile. Flautzeal blushed again before hiding his embarrassment with curt instructions to begin their practice.

Meteor Hammer

After lunch, Melchior sent Isolde off with a note for Florencia, detailing these new recommendations. Then he joined his knights in flying to the Order for practice.

It was another beautiful day with warm sunshine and crisp breezes. They sailed over the Nobles Forest and for the first time in quite awhile, Melchior allowed himself to look down at the nodding trees and dream about adventures.

There was a surprise waiting for them at their usual training corner. The apprentices and pre-apprentices were gathered around Sir Ptolemaus who seemed to be telling a story. Helenwig dismounted and took a moment to compose herself. Melchior watched her gather her courage before putting on a surprised smile and striding forward.

“Master, you came!” she chirped.

Ptolemaus paused and all eyes turned to Helenwig. “I said I would come to observe your skill. I hope I am not imposing, Lord Melchior.”

“Not at all!” Melchior said. “We welcome anyone who wishes to train with us. We learn something new from everyone we cross swords with.”

Ptolemaus blinked through his surprise then shot a casual glance towards Helenwig. “I see. Well, it isn't my usual practice time but I haven't had much liberty to engage in auxiliary training as of late. It would be good to stretch my legs.”

Dedryck jogged over just as they began to separate into running groups. He pulled Ptolemaus into the group with Brunschwarts and the other adult knights. “Sir Ptolemaus, I hear you are uniquely skilled with meteor hammers!” he began.

As much as Melchior wanted to hear, he was nowhere near fast enough to keep up. Instead he, Felicitus, and Agatha discussed the Hunting Tournament and what autumn snacks they hoped to enjoy before winter.

Once everyone was warm and limber, the apprentices went off to shoot archery while the pre-apprentices worked on forms. Brunschwarts went off with the archers while Helenwig stayed back to participate in sparring.

Ptolemaus stood opposite Fonsel for the first bout. The children all turned to face the ring while half-heartedly continuing their forms. “Gestrinfallen,” Ptolemaus chanted. His schtappe transformed into a long thin chain with two metal orbs at either end. He picked up loops until one end swung halfway from the ground and the other rested in a small puddle of chain. He began to spin the orb on the short half around slowly.

“Why did you pick something so weird? Do they even teach that in the Knight Course?” Fonsel complained.

“I had a lot of free time,” Ptolemaus replied. Then the clashing began.

Melchior found it hard to follow. The orbs flew through the air too fast to see, sometimes blurring into hoops charged with mana. When they clashed with Fonsel’s sword, sparks flew and he muttered curses. Meanwhile, Ptolemaus danced around with graceful movements and elegant poise. The most Melchior could gather was that he was trying to maintain their spacing. He had an advantage from far away but would find it difficult to fight if Fonsel got underfoot.

That was exactly how Fonsel won. Ptolemaus launched the long chain forward with a snap. Fonsel dodged to the side with inhuman speed then pushed forward. He brought his blade up short below Ptolemaus’s chin. The short chain was wrapped painfully tightly around his other hand at the height of his neck. Ptolemaus stepped back quickly. He was out of the ring but in a real fight he might have escaped.

The children cheered without thinking about how they weren't supposed to be watching. Dedryck didn't even scold them. He just hurried over to ask tons of questions and generally display an ignoble amount of enthusiasm. Of course he had to spar with Ptolemaus as well. Their battle was much shorter, with Dedryck winning handedly then gushing about the skill of his opponent.

“He seems really happy to fight someone new,” Gerianne noted.

“I’m glad he’s having fun,” Melchior replied.

“Do you think Sir Ptolemaus knows about a lot of rare weapons?” Felicitus asked.

“It wouldn't hurt to ask,” Melchior said.

Felicitus nodded. “What are you hoping to learn?” Gerianne asked.

“Do you think there are weapons for hand to hand combat,” he wondered.

“Then it wouldn't be hand to hand,” Agatha noted.

Felicitus frowned. “I don't mean like that. You know. Something to make your punches stronger or to let you throw glares with your punches.”

“You want to make fist glares?” Melchior asked. Felicitus nodded enthusiastically. “I think you can shoot raw mana out of your ring,” he suggested.

“Raw mana is easy to counter. You want something stronger and more precise since you will be so close to the blast,” Gerianne said. “Maybe you just need special gauntlets. The scholars are trying to recreate the magic tools Sister Streita remembers inventing during her school days. You could ask them to develop something for you.”

“I can't ask Lord Melchior's scholars to invent magic tools for me,” Felicitus cried.

“I’ll ask,” Gerianne said before continuing to practice.

Felicitus’s eyes grew wide. He turned to Melchior for confirmation. Melchior shrugged. “Sigsnyr really loves magic tools. He might do it just to prove it's possible though he might not have time for it for a while. It can't be too hard though. We could look into it ourselves.”

“You can just invent new magic tools?” Agatha asked, eyes full of surprise.

“That's how all magic tools start out,” Felicitus noted.

Agatha harrumphed. “Of course I know that. I mean, Lord Melchior can already do such work. Normally advanced scholars invent magic tools.”

“I haven't really tried yet. I can draft simple circles but mana-gauntlets might be more complex than Washen,” Melchior admitted.

“That's incredible,” Felicitus said.

Melchior beamed. “It isn't all that amazing. I began learning when I was your age and it's only first year material. I’m sure you could find something in the library.”

“I haven't been to the library yet but I hear it's amazing,” Felicitus said.

“And expensive,” Agatha added.

“It's free if you don't need sensitive materials or to check anything out,” Gerianne said.

“It's free?!” Agatha chirped. “You don't have to buy the colored tags?”

“No, you just visit the stand outside the library. Have they been charging?” Melchior asked. It would be bad if they were.

“I know that some people try to sell their tags. I thought it was to recoup the cost of them,” Agatha said.

“You just have to send a servant to wait in line,” Gerianne explained.

“And I don't need to spend a small gold for membership?” Felicitus checked.

“Is only a small silver for a two season pass,” Gerianne said. Felicitus and Agatha looked amazed. “The lifetime membership is more of a status symbol though you might get the whole fifty years out of it if you get one now.”

“I’ll have to tell Mother. We can afford to visit after all,” Agatha said happily.

Melchior smiled and offered some recommendations on books to read. They continued to be distracted by talk of books until Fonsel came by to get them back to work. Felicitus asked about the gauntlets.

“Just use a sword,” Fonsel snorted before stalking away.

“He doesn't understand,” Felicitus muttered but continued to practice his sword swings. Melchior thought he was getting pretty good, especially considering how he started out as the worst in their class.

Footnotes

52.It's a long trip to make so many times in quick succession so, unless Sylvester is willing to teleport Nantfelda, she’s staying until after their festival^

53. Women who don't have kids.^

Chapter Text

Brewing Ideas

Melchior didn’t receive a reply to his note by dinner that night and thought better of bringing it up. Flautzeal was still developing a curriculum and selecting possible instruments. His parents and Charlotte spoke more about their preparations and how they would cover Brunhilde’s absence. Melchior didn’t have much to add but he resolved not to send support stones to Brunhilde to fill this year. He had more mana now and ready access to potions. He could also donate less mana to the divine instruments and save it for rituals instead.

After talking to Haldis, he was just advised to compress less mana and brew fewer prayer charms. He’d gotten into the habit of making three or four every week. At this point, he had repeats of some deities but no plans for what to use so many prayer charms for. They didn’t take much mana to create but he knew well enough that adding a little bit of something often could accumulate rapidly. Of course, there were still the commoner protection charms and other brews to practice but not making prayer charms would save a little bit of mana. He would use the time he would normally spend on them to draft circles for his letter. Isolde promised to get Ferdinand’s letter back for him while taking her leave that night.

Haldis forced him to spend his evening working on the paintings he’d promised Charlotte. Melchior spent a little while drawing small sketches for Charlotte’s diptych. It was fun to blend the cultures of Bershmann with Ehrenfest. He referred to all the flower references that came with the lions-head peony and the botanical encyclopedia about Ehrenfest plants. Despite being enjoyable, he could only give the task a limited amount of attention before it felt too tedious to continue. Instead he read through his translation of the blenrus accounts to refresh his memory in anticipation of his trip to Haldenzel. This time there would be neither love-sick mednobles nor emergency requests to delay his work. They would be able to finish the book no doubt making for a better gift than Charlotte.

Lady Florencia still had no comments on his note when they went to assist in her office the next day. Melchior couldn’t help glancing at his painting. He didn’t feel the same acute shame as before and was more annoyed that he’d yet to create a good replacement. The black swag of fabric taunted him. No matter whether he personally preferred the painting, it would be difficult to make a case for anything that didn’t have the approval of the Zent. His only hope would be working towards his mother’s personal tastes but Florencia’s likes were a mystery even to him. He would have to ask her and if she wouldn’t say, then he would have to ask his father.

That afternoon, Isolde helped him brew the commoner protection charms. The circles were complex but after brewing Benedikt’s rejuvenation potion, nothing felt hard to process. The resulting charms glowed in their colors, the embedded circle so faint it was nearly invisible even once the charms were charged. “They just look like faestones,” Melchior complained.

“That’s kind of what they are,” Isolde said.

“But they are also decorations. Shouldn't they look fancier?”

“You could draw pictures on them or make decorative settings,” Isolde suggested.

Melchior looked down at the brooch pinning his neckerchief together. It wasn’t recommended to wear capes while working in the laboratory but Melchior wore Ferdinand’s enchanted brooch holder at all times. He thought it looked silly to just pin it on his shirt so he wore a kerchief like the scholars even though he was still using a sacrificial set of old clothes. After dreaming about his new uniforms for a moment he asked, “What if we inscribed the circles using wire like Uncle?”

Isolde looked at his accessory and sighed. “That is a very advanced skill. I’m not even sure how he managed such a thing. Do you carve channels into the faestone? Does it come out of the brewing pot like that? How do you encode such precise instructions? Normally nothing could be so detailed just from brewing.”

“Maybe it isn’t an inlay,” Sigsnyr said, appearing at their side suddenly.

Isolde and Melchior both jumped. “How are you so quiet?” she complained.

“At this point I have to try to be loud,” he replied.

“It doesn’t look like paint,” Melchior noted. “It seems like it would be easy to form the wire on top. It's the getting it into the faestone that would be the hard part.”

Sigsnyr leaned in close to examine it. His eyes turned red for a moment. “You know, it isn’t divine red. It’s really close. Too close to detect normally but this isn’t a pure Earth faestone like we thought.”

Melchior was totally distracted by his eyes. “Your eyes changed color!”

Sigsnyr looked pained. “I can use physical enhancement magic to empower my eyes with only one type of mana allowing me to see mana of that color if it is in high enough concentrations in the environment.”

“Why do you sound put-upon?” “That’s so cool!” Isolde and Melchior said in unison.

“It sounds unbelievable,” Isolde said.

“Can you teach me?” Melchior asked. “What does it look like? Can you see my mana? Can you see through solid objects?” Melchior waved a hand in front of Sigsnyr’s face.

Sigsnyr grabbed his hand. “Stop that. Also… you believe me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Melchior asked.

“Not really,” Isolde replied. “But you can do many unbelievable things so I guess I do in a way.”

Sigsnyr looked at them with an unreadable expression. “I can teach you but you won’t be able to see much until you develop mana sensing,” he explained. “It also takes a lot of mana to use physical enhancement magic, especially when starting out.” Isolde just nodded while Melchior looked sullen. “It’s just that most of what you can see in the castle are other people but for reasons I don’t understand, being able to see other people’s mana is tied to mana sensing.”

“Maybe you just believe it is,” Isolde teased.

“Maybe. You shouldn’t let my experience dictate yours, my lord. You have more mana than me and will be able to create a stronger enhancement so perhaps you will be able to see it.” Melchior’s excitement renewed but before he could ask more about enhancing his eyes, Sigsnyr directed the conversation back to the brooch holder. “It’s not that the stone is impure. I think it might be layered over something else.”

“It would be hard to power these kinds of circles with just Earth mana,” Isolde said.

“Is there a way to layer one faestone over another like clay? Or like mana-chain?” Melchior asked.

“Is mana-chain normally layered?” Isolde muttered.

“I have one recipe that is. As for doing that with faestone… I can imagine it if you carved a hollow in the faestone. It's just so perfect, without any seams. Maybe they’re hidden by the wire but maybe it really was softened somehow. You can see right through it so it has to be faestone all the way through.”

“Could be glass,” Isolde said.

“You can soften faestones if you send them a stream of mana,” Melchior offered.

Sigsnyr raised an eyebrow. “Can you now?”

“Isn’t that how you turned all those faestones into dust?” Isolde said.

Melchior looked to the side, embarrassed. “Ordonnanz are not as robust as highbeast. I do not have as precise control as I would like.”

“Why were you softening ordonnanz?” Sigsnyr asked.

“Eisenfleur wants to make them smaller so that they don't distract from her jewelry,” Isolde explained. “Lord Melchior believes he will be able to crush them into a smaller size through precise mana application and physical force.”

Sigsnyr worked very hard to contain his laughter. It was too bizarre a claim even for him. Making magic tools smaller had to be done by finding higher quality faestones that could provide the same power in a smaller package. It was possible to make ordonnanz smaller by using ridiculously high quality ingredients but for something so easily lost, it wasn’t worth it. He held back on explaining this though just in case Melchior actually managed it through sheer force of will. “I can make some smaller, homing ordonnanz and I have many more regular ones you can practice with.”

Melchior bounced in delight. “I didn’t want to destroy all of mine so thank you. Must they be homing? I don’t want to steal any messages.”

“They will be so expensive that you will definitely want them back. Not to mention, if they can, people will commandeer your special ones,” Sigsnyr said.

“I see. We should make them tiny birds. Oh and maybe we can make them look different in other ways so people know they will come back. Could we make them different colors or use different birds?” Melchior asked.

“Different birds?”

“Yes, the ordonnanz is based on a bird from eastern Yurgenschmidt. They were probably invented in Drewanchel or something. Its name is written into the circle,” Melchior explained.

Sigsynr drew an ordonnanz circle and had Melchior point out the set of sigils he was referring to. “Maybe learning the ancient language is more useful than I thought,” he mumbled. He took up the circle and walked away muttering. Isolde promised to search the library and castle book room for clues about how to recreate Ferdinand’s technique. Everyone left with new ideas but the commoner charms remained boring looking.

Melchior was chained to his easel again that night. He wasn't forced to paint the whole time but Kolteruze was left with instructions to ensure he made at least a little progress. Melchior thought his simple layering of flowers from Ehrenfest and Bershmann was uninspired but his attendants assured him it looked nice and would be appropriate for an archnoble girl. He worked through the whole pattern before calling it a night. They still needed the tablets themselves so Melchior asked Kolteruze to set up a meeting between Flautzeal and Charlotte to measure her hands.

“Please go with him to ensure he doesn't leak any more musical secrets,” Melchior ordered.

“I will ensure discretion,” Kolteruze assured him.

Flautzeal came the next day with his curriculum, written by him and approved by his uncle, and a collection of simple instruments. They were either shiny or colorfully painted and so fun looking that Melchior felt a small pang of jealousy. Why had he dutifully struggled with the tiny harp when there were so many other options available.

There was something very similar to the lyre but made for playing while it rested flat on a table. Flautzeal explained that these were best for children with especially weak arms. He also brought a collection of seven bells mounted like a tiered dessert tray but lying on its side. They came with tiny wooden hammers and gave off a delightful ding with each hit.

Melchior spent far too long playing a simple song on these bells and might have spent his entire music lesson with them had Flautzeal not pressed other instruments into his hands including a small end-blown flute called a recorder.

“What does it record?” Melchior giggled.

Flautzeal was not amused. He went on to introduce a newer version of the bell contraption that used metal plates and a variant which used wooden blocks mounted on a hollow wooden box. “The metal ones are called glockenspiel. The wooden one is a variant of a foreign instrument called a gambang. Ours was bought from a trader from Lanzenave but the country they're from is actually closer to the Goddess of Light’s gate. Well it was. It no longer exists in the same form but the musical style remains. Or so we’ve heard.”

Melchior continued to ask questions about gamelan music to eat up the time for harspiel. He didn’t actually need to distract Flautzeal. The boy was more than happy to spend their entire lesson playing the new toys especially after they roped in Melchior’s other retainers. By the end of music class, they were making real music instead of cacophony and everyone was sad to see the little percussion toys taken to be tested for poison in anticipation of Melchior’s visit.

Glockenspiel

At dinner, Melchior finally brought up the problem and presented his solution. “Henriette can learn the basics of musical theory and develop a habit of practicing with a different instrument then learn harspiel closer to the time of her debut. As it stands, I believe forcing her to learn on the little lyre will only bring greater distress.”

“I had no idea Little Sister was having such struggles,” Charlotte said mournfully. “I am impressed that you’ve worked so hard to support her tutors.”

“Yeah, you seem really invested in this,” Sylvester said. He looked back and forth between Melchior and Florencia and for once saw sparks rather than their normal affable expressions. “I feel like there’s more to this.”

Florencia gestured for a sound blocker then for her retainers to turn around. After a short delay, the rest of the Archductal family followed suit. She set down her silverware and looked Melchior directly in the eyes. “You know that she must learn harspiel and that any delays acquiring the skill bring her closer to ruin. She cannot fail her debut.”

“I know, Mother. I have faith that she will be able to apply herself once she is just a little older and better able to consider the future.”

“Yes but are you able to consider the future? This is not something to experiment with on a whim. Your plans will take years to execute. Will you see them through?” Florencia pressed.

Melchior felt his hackles rising. Of course he would keep supporting his little sister for years to come, for the rest of their lives if he was able. He didn’t understand why this topic had caused such an uproar anyway. After several deep breaths he replied, “Absolutely. If I am allowed.”

“Why wouldn’t you be allowed?” Charlotte asked. She directed this question more to her parents than to Melchior.

Sylvester shrugged. “The attendants and teachers I assigned would prefer that Melchior make less frequent visits,” Florencia explained. “I have been informed that his influence has been detrimental to her development, has made her wild and ungovernable.”

Three mouths flew open in shock. “Melchior’s so well behaved,” Sylvester muttered. “How… Why?”

“Little sister always speaks so well of your company, dear brother,” Charlotte added.

“Yes, his presence brings her great joy. He is permissive of poor behavior and always brings new and unpredictable things and ideas,” Florencia elaborated. “I have been asked in increasingly overt manners to bar him from coming or to reprimand. Now, Melchior has made a counter complaint. You see the struggle.”

Sylvester nodded while Charlotte’s lips pressed into a thin line. Melchior was shaken by these revelations. Henriette always seemed happy to see him and was learning so many things so quickly. He had no idea such complaints existed.

“For a long time, Zargercht has been able to mediate this conflict. Now it has escalated beyond that,” Florencia concluded.

“Isn’t Henriette meeting her milestones? Why do her attendants feel they have space to complain about Melchoir?” Sylvester asked.

“We have no one to replace them,” Charlotte noted.

Florencia nodded. “And they have done such exemplary work in the past,” Florencia added with a gesture towards Charlotte. “At that time they did not have to contend with older siblings' interference. I have warned them that further criticism in this vein is unwelcome but age engenders arrogance. ”

For a moment, Charlotte looked particularly severe. “I will give you one of my attendants, Mother.”

“I may accept your generosity if things do not go according to plan.” She looked at Melchior. “For now, I have spoken with them and have asked Melchior to show that his influence may be turned to align with their curriculum.”

“Why does Melchior need to prove himself to your retainers?” Sylvester scoffed. “If you think she’s doing well, that’s all that matters.”

The children nodded but Florencia sighed. “We cannot afford another disappointment. Brunhilde had worked hard to support me but her children will still be looked upon with… hope. There can be no question that my children are well raised, that one anomaly was caused by nurturing rather than blood. Once, my child was proven wholing inferior to the alternative, yet we put him forward. There is no direct competition to Charlotte save Melchior who some wish to argue is defective in other ways, lacking in ambition or mana. To establish your reign on stable ground, Charlotte, your siblings must be exemplars as well. We cannot control every tongue at all times. Thus, even those in sheltered positions must show their worth”

“Is he not already?” Charlotte snapped, her tight expression descending into a full scowl. “Does he not stand above his generation and pull them up to greater heights? Who says these things?”

“I doubt there’s one definitive source. A whole faction gains much by seeing you both replaced,” Sylvester replied. “I don’t think this means we should be so harsh on Henriette, though.”

“We must save our harshness for others,” Charlotte agreed.

Melchior shivered at her dark expression. “Sister, I do not think we should punish a whole faction for being mean to me. They may say many things but your quality is known to all.” A few wagging tongues weren’t going to take away her accomplishments.

“Still,” Sylvester said. “We can’t just do nothing. This is how it started with my mother, a lot of people being very unkind.”

“How do we protect Charlotte?” Melchior asked.

They all turned to him with small smiles. “Your resolve is admirable,” Florencia said softly. “For now, continue to excel and to teach Henriette music. I will speak with her attendants once again. You should be able to come to an accord.”

Melchior frowned. He wanted to help. Faction politics were exhausting but he would bear up if it meant alleviating his sister’s worries some. He wondered if there really wasn’t anything for it. It would be terrible for things to come to another purge in the ensuing decades. He looked at his sister. He couldn’t imagine her enacting all the cruelties of their grandmother even if she had to endure similar treatment.

“Oh, and do not send ordonnanz filled with criticism to public venues,” Florencia added.

The blood drained from his face to the amusement of Sylvester. “H…how do I know if the recipient is in a public place?” Melchior asked.

“You cannot know,” Charlotte replied.

“I see. I apologize, Mother,” Melchior said.

Florencia smiled once again. It was even brighter than normal. “All is forgiven, my dear.”

Melchior returned to his rooms to find Kolteruze and Zargerecht waiting for him. It was time to visit Henriette. Normally, this was the highlight of his week but this time he couldn't stop thinking about what was said at dinner. He’d been attended by Haldis who’d gone home right after. He hadn't been privy to the conversation anyway so it didn’t really matter.

“Do I have too little mana?” Melchior asked nervously.

Kolteruze and Zargerecht looked surprised for a half second before settling into their normal expressions. “Compared to what?” Kolteruze asked. He was tempted just to say no but perhaps Melchior was comparing himself to an impossible metric and would get the wrong idea.

“I’m not sure. It is just… apparently there has been talk about me having too little along with having no ambition,” Melchior said.

Zargerecht hummed then replied in an even voice. “If we consider your personal goals, a lack of ambition for power is not a problem. As to your mana capacity, you conduct those actions expected of one your age to satisfaction.”

Melchior didn't look totally convinced. “Would you like to test it?” Kolteruze asked. Zargerecht watched the boys mull this over. He wasn't sure what they planned to test though he was fairly certain it was mana capacity. Melchior seems more anxious than that would suggest. He shook his head. “It would take some time to set up but then you would know.”

“It would mean nothing without something to measure against,” Melchior countered. “Besides, why waste ingredients?”

“Would you explain what you mean?” Zargerecht asked. Testing mana capacity was very difficult which was why no simple test existed even though the information would be extremely valuable. The closest thing were the mock seals made to find out whether a child would have enough mana to stamp their medal and subsequently absorb their schtappe.

The boys looked surprised and a touch guilty. “It's nothing so interesting, just a method to test mana capacity by turning a large quantity of readily available faefruit into faestones,” Kolteruze said. He had very few tells but Zargerecht got the distinct impression he’d come up with this on the spot.

However, he had no proof. “That would use up a great deal of fruit, yes,” Zargerecht conceded. He wanted to press but they were going to run late if Melchior dallied any more. After sending new gifts ahead, Henriette would be beside herself with excitement until her brother arrived.

To everyone’s surprise, she wasn't waiting with baited breath for the doors to open. Instead, Henriette was sitting at the center of a circle made from the new instruments, striking them with the recorder.

“Henri!” Melchior cried and rushed forward. She glanced up at him then frowned when he pulled the flute from her hands. “That is not what that's for!” Melchior inspected the little instrument all over. Flautzeal would be devastated were this handcrafted work used to break other handcrafted works. He handed Henriette one of the felt covered hammers before taking the flat lyre and recorder away.

Once the crisis was averted, he rose from the floor and smiled as brightly as he could manage. “I see you have already endeavored to introduce Henriette to the new instruments,” he said while turning his eyes on the adults in the room and speaking loud enough to be heard over the fresh banging. Zargerecht looked pale while the rest simply returned flat smiles. “Is this the extraordinary skill which boasts of my sister’s accomplishments?”

The head attendant stepped forward. “Lord Melchior, you sent these gifts. We simply passed them on after the appropriate checks. Did you not consider how Henriette might combine their uses?”

“It did not occur to me that instruction on how to treat instruments would need to be provided by me personally. You see, I have heard that you are the very best governesses in all the duchy and that we are fortunate just to have you. Are you telling me that even you have never seen such toys? That you have no knowledge of the value of such things? Or is it that you are abundantly generous such that the protection of these things is of no concern to your situation?”

She smiled wider and looked towards Zargerecht. “How charming he is. I remember when he would hide behind our skirts when Lady Charlotte was cross with him,” she tittered. “We simply did not wish to stymie Lady Henriette’s creativity.”

Zargerecht didn't respond. He fixed his eyes forward as though he were not a part of the conversation.

Melchior bounced on his toes once. He wanted to carve a trench through the carpet and into the ivory and fill it with his rage. Instead he forced himself to stand still. “Of course we would not wish to do that. Only, I wonder if there aren't better outlets than the expensive instruments loaned to us in good faith?”

The attendant finally turned her attention to Melchior. She bowed just a little to meet his eyeline. “It is good that you are beginning to consider these things. To prevent damage and offense, this is why we have strictures, my lord. You are a smart lad. I am sure you see the value in parameters.”

So it was a lesson. He beamed and spoke in an animated voice. “Yes of course. It is good to hear the wisdom of ages. Only… I would prefer lessons not be taught at the expense of House Klavier’s instruments from exotic locals. You are most generous to risk the destruction of ageless treasures for my edification.”

Now Henriette's attendants also paled. Archnobles could not be intimidated by the name of a mednoble house but the implication that they would be held financially responsible for damages to some of the pieces of their collection was enough to cow anyone. “It is as you say,” she replied shakily. Then she stood up and attempted to save some dignity. “We were told you would bring a new music curriculum. Why don't we have a look.”

Melchior gestured in Zargerecht’s general direction before dropping down next to Henriette and joining her on the gambang.

“What are you playing?” he asked.

“You were loud,” she replied. “Why were you loud?”

“I’m sorry, Henri. I won't be loud again,” he said.

She accepted this non answer and began telling him all about the song she was creating. He listened and suggested additions. It was not a good song and Henriette changed the notes everytime she played it but Melchior chose not to complain. She looked happy to be playing an instrument.

“Which one do you like the most?” he asked after another variation of the new song.

Henriette smacked the wooden boards again. “I like this one,” she said. Melchior was a little surprised. He also liked the gambang but had expected Henriette to select bells. They were more brightly painted and oddly shaped. Then again, the sound of the gambang was somewhat ethereal and the method by which different notes were achieved on near identical wooden boards a mystery. Perhaps Henriette simply knew the impressive when she saw it.

They sat together before the little box for most of the evening. At first Melchior allowed Henriette to just tap away to her heart's content. Then he took up the little recorder and began to copy her notes. The first time she heard her notes played back to her, she brightened and immediately began playing different runs of notes. She began to make them more complex but thankfully didn’t have enough patience to wait more than five notes at a time.

“Now you follow me,” Melchior suggested. Henriette nodded enthusiastically then instantly regretted it. However her brother managed to copy five notes was a mystery when she couldn’t even figure out one note. He played the sound again and hinted at the right board by pointing the recorder tip at it. Despite being told the answer, Henriette was delighted to get it right. She was happy to play collections of notes for Melchior then copy just two notes from him.

If asked, anyone would have to admit that the sound was awful. Such a cacophony so late at night was deeply irksome and made it difficult to speak with Zargerecht about the actual lessons. The two elder attendants persevered as only those accustomed to small children could. They would begin with teaching Henriette the notes. This seven board gambang was tuned according to Yurgenschmidt music theory. It happened to be within the same octave as the glockenspiels as well so the teacher could use one of those for demonstrations. Once she understood the notes, she would be asked to follow along with her tutor.

“For the first few weeks, it is recommended for someone to play in the vicinity and only begin instruction after Henriette has decided on her own to play music,” Zargerecht explained.

“And you support such a relaxed approach?” the matron asked.

“My lady and lord have decided to attempt this method on the recommendations of the best musicians in the duchy. I am inclined to believe it will work and if not, it will do no harm,” he replied.

She maintained a calm smile. “It would waste valuable time.”

“We were beginning early as it is. Lord Melchior did not begin for a year yet and his debut was very good. Have more faith,” Zargerecht said.

It was difficult to have such faith. Melchior was an obedient child. No matter how little he liked something he would do it if told it was important. Charlotte had long been motivated by the nebulous idea of being better than Wilfried then making Rozemyne proud. Henriette required much more coaxing. Were they to begin lessons at the same age, there was every possibility that she would resist lessons long enough to ruin herself. But orders were orders and Henriette was voluntarily playing music. They were finally making a start after months of failure.

Before the Trip

Melchior reported on their progress with the instruments during his weekly tea with his mother. The bulk of the preparations for the Hunting Tournament were complete so she could once again set aside a bell just for him. She was glad to know they were making progress and that renting the instruments was not particularly expensive. Melchior was just happy to be having tea with his mother again.

The talk about his supposed lack of mana and ambition still weighed on his mind, especially during his mandated painting time later that day. He understood vaguely that it was important to have goals to work towards and that it was his job as a leader to set goals for his followers. The idea of ambition as a nebulous aspiration and personality trait was harder to grasp. Wasn’t it supposed to be just the desire for power? Why then would it be a bad thing that he didn’t particularly want more power? He didn’t need power to have friends. In fact having more power seemed to decrease your pool of potential friends which was in direct conflict with his desire to have as many friends as possible.

It was a true conundrum, one he didn’t think he would solve that Earthday evening. To help put it out of his mind, he reread his copy of Dedryck’s poems looking for one to base his painting for Lord Philomenar of Hauchletze. His lack of experience with aquatic plants and the relatively poor illustrations in the castle encyclopedias meant he had to abandon that part of the work. Instead he would illuminate the text on one panel and do a painting based on the imagery on the other. It was good that so many of the poems used nature imagery.

He felt particularly drawn to one extolling the beauty of a non-existent faetree with blue leaves and orange fruits. How he would portray the branches as particularly chiseled or the roots as powerful was as yet unknown, but he would try. On another day, he would try. On this day he would consume poetry instead of painting then go to bed and compress his mana until it exhausted him.

The next few days were full of activity, though not for Melchior. His temple and noble attendants worked to prepare for his trip to Haldenzel. Zipporah had promised accommodations for everyone so Kirk, Lothar, and Sheila were going once again. Zipporah would also handle finding an attendant for Isolde while Nikolaus would bring his temple retainers. Pepin had readily agreed to assist and be assisted by Melchior's temple attendants. Everything had been accounted for except the feelings of a certain knight.

“You are leaving me behind?” Sigsnyr wailed. “But why?!” Zipporah was not at the temple on this day so the only person Sigsnyr could cry to was his lord. He leaned over the table, pressing both hands on the wood between them.

“The request was sudden so there's no time for you to request leave,” Melchior explained.

“But you are taking Nikolaus!”

“Nikolaus is a priest. He is attending in a religious capacity.”

“So if I pledged fealty?”

“You would not have time to learn the necessary prayers nor have earned a share of tax revenue. Please know that you were not excluded out of malice,” Melchior coaxed. Sigsnyr pained expression didn't improve. “There are already so many people going.”

“But my lord,” Sigsnyr whined. “Zipporah is going.”

“You can be apart for a few days,” Gerianne scoffed.

Sigsnyr shot her a glare which she ignored. “There is yet little time for us to spend as friends. Every day is precious. Every thread is valuable.”

“What do you mean? You have the rest of your lives, right,” Melchior asked. He couldn't imagine anything coming between them when they were so close.

Sigsnyr just shook his head as he stood up straight. “It is only a couple of days, as you say. I have preparations to make for the Hunting Tournament anyway.”

“You can always exchange letters,” Gerianne teased.

Deliroze giggled from where he was quietly studying the plans for Herzfeld. “Besides, it will be much worse next year while she is away at the Royal Academy.”

A look of deep pain contorted Sigsnyr's face. “Yes, those will be dark and cold days,” he said gravely as he took up his guarding position again. He was very still for the rest of the morning.

Melchior felt awful. He hadn't even considered how Sigsnyr would react to being left behind since he hadn't been there to argue his case. That Zipporah also hadn't said anything was curious. When asked a couple of days later she broke poise to look down, her shoulders falling. “As much as I would like for him to come, I… I cannot allow Father to be alone with him,” she said cryptically.

Isolde immediately changed the subject and distracted her lord with the fruits of the previous few day's efforts. “The work in the Quartermaster's office is now running smoothly. Even with his terrible assistants, I think he should have a much easier time going forward. We have begun speaking to some medknights and layknights who are interested in more stable income. Sir Ptolemaus should have new assistants by next spring. Ones who are willing and able!”

Melchior allowed himself to be led. “Wow, Isolde. You all have done such amazing work. Why hasn't Sir Ptolemaus recruited in this way before?” he asked.

Zipporah laughed, having recovered some of her mood. “He hasn't had the time as of late. Perhaps many years ago but not recently.”

“It was all he had time for to secure supplies and process paperwork. There simply wasn't anyone he could trust with those things. Maybe there will be eventually. He hopes to rebuild the workflow properly before he retires,” Isolde explained.

Melchior was thoroughly impressed already. In just a month the aggressive application of his retainers had helped to reform an important part of the Knights Order. He hadn't considered what would happen when he needed to call back his forces so he was glad that everyone else was.

He was even more impressed as Isolde continued her report. “I have retrieved your letter from Lord Ferdinand. I had to spend all morning carefully tracing it but was allowed to take away the original in the end,” she declared proudly. Melchior and company clapped lightly while Isolde preened. “So what does it say?”

Melchior withheld a look of surprise. He hadn't even considered that Isolde wouldn't be able to read it. Dedryck seemed capable enough to read even Melchior's poor attempts and Kolteruze had helped him decipher the whole thing with ease. “It's quite long and the information is disjointed. It's also been awhile since I read it, I will have to re-translate before we can review it.”

Isolde's shoulders sank and her expression grew tense. “I see. I apologize for my lack of skill,” she said and produced several sheets of blank paper.

The letter was just as intimidating as he remembered. It helped that he already knew most of what was supposed to be written but the lines still swam. He began to wonder whether he hadn't underestimated Kolteruze’s help the first time. Still, he had nothing but time to sit in anticipation while trying to study and this was as good a task as any other so he began the work.

Melchior got as far as appreciating the elegance of the introduction before music class. He handed his work to Kirk to place on his desk while he made his way across the room to join Gerianne and Nikolaus. No amount of planning for their trip would save them from Mistress Trude.

After class, he returned to his table to find that more progress had been made on the letter. In fact, Kirk hadn't stored anything, instead taking over his lord’s position. Isolde sat nearby watching him work with a scowl.

“Kirk! You can read circle script?” Melchior asked. It was obvious that he could but asking the obvious question was all Melchior could do in his surprised state.

“Apparently so,” Isolde grumbled. “Though not quickly.”

“This is very complex and elegant. Some sentences are layered over others such that one circle has several meanings. The Atrium circles are much more straightforward.” Melchior had to nod in agreement.

After a long moment of staring at the table together, Kirk started, realizing he should have relinquished his spot to Melchior immediately, and stood up. “Oh,” Melchior chirped and sat down. “Come help, it will be faster if we work together.”

Kirk pulled another chair close and sat down. Huddled as close as they were, it was Melchior’s turn to struggle with what to do with his left arm. He settled for resting it in his sash while they worked. Isolde watched this new position form in awe. Did her lord even realize what it looked like to cuddle so closely with a commoner? There was no way he did or he wouldn't be doing it. It would be best for Zargerecht never to see this and for her to explain before he found a reason to sit thus with one of his noble friends.

Chapter Text

The letter was finally finished after lunch. Isolde stayed at the temple to read it and give suggestions on what to write back while Melchior and the knights went to practice. She was interrupted momentarily by Kirk hurrying into the room to retrieve Melchior's flute for unknown reasons. She would have asked about the flute but was distracted by Kirk's clothes.

“Are you training as well?” she asked.

Kirk paused mid stride then turned back with a pained look. “Yes, that's correct Lady Isolde. However I am not currently at leisure to answer your inquiries.”

“I understand,” Isolde replied. He began to walk again. “Just one more question,” she said and watched while he stopped and gracefully turned again. “What is the flute for?”

“Lord Flautzeal has asked Lord Melchior to join him in playing accompaniment for the whirling demonstration.”

Isolde put down her writing implements and began to struggle out of her chair. Kirk leapt over and pulled it out gently while Chet stood, arms extended, mere seconds from doing the same. “Thank you. Lead on.”

Kirk hid his annoyance as he changed his destination to the front doors. He couldn't run in the main halls so leading Isolde would slow him down even more. Thankfully she walked as quickly as her thin shoes and noble propriety would allow. Unfortunately, that was slower than Kirk could walk. It was still enough that she was out of breath by the time they reached the courtyard.

Kirk held the door for her even as she wheezed a little. He really should have waited for her to recover but he knew no one would be looking at them plus he had orders to return post haste. Indeed, everyone was too absorbed in watching all the knights from Nikolaus's age and up performing a whirl with scythes.

Melchior and Gerianne sat near Flautzeal, kicking their feet with excitement and whispering. “My lord, your flute,” Kirk said and presented the instrument with two outstretched hands. Melchior frowned then smiled when he noticed Isolde.

“Come sit, they are soon to begin,” Melchior coaxed, taking his flute and moving to stand beside Flautzeal. Isolde sat and Kirk stood behind the bench. What she assumed to be the actual whirl was just a warm up Streita had invented to get people used to the unwieldy implements. Once the dancers were finished and organized into the most pleasing but safest orientation, Flautzeal and Melchior began to play.

The whirl began with the leader, in this case Zipporah, performing an impressive spin. She knelt down alongside everyone else but instead of the usual one knee down she bent her leg in front of the other, balancing on one leg with her scythe held behind her. To Isolde it looked both uncomfortable and impossible. “Watch, watch. This is so hard,” Gerianne babbled. It didn't look hard though Isolde wasn't sure she could stand up from a full crouch on just one leg.

“I am one who offers prayers and gratitude to the gods who have created the world!” Zipporah boomed before shooting up and unfurling like a flower with a full rotation. The music left its solemn introduction and picked up into a lively rendition. Before Flautzeal even began to sing, Isolde recognized it as a common folk song, taught to nearly everyone in Ehrenfest noble and commoner for harspiel or for singing. As anyone could be expected to know it, the spectators had no recourse for Melchior and Flautzeal’s encouragements to sing and clap along.

If asked, Isolde would never admit to having fun but there was something warm and comforting in watching the dance while singing the song. A contrarian by nature, Isolde was almost never in a group of people in such total agreement. They all wished for a good harvest and for their friends to live through the harsh winter. Whether expressed in song or dance, the sentiment was identical in every heart.

The dance was also technically impressive. Even relatively sickly Archduke Candidates could dedication whirl but this scythe whirl would require a level of skill and physical fitness well beyond the average. It was so fast the scythes left silver tracers in the air as they spun around and behind the dancers. There were leaps and twirls and a section where everyone moved like a cyclone around the lead dancer, the inner circle skipping while the outer circle crouched low and held their scythes out as though ready to mow down anyone too daring.

Once it ended, with the scythes tossed high into the air before being desummoned at the peak of their arcs, everyone laughed and clapped enthusiastically. The knights huddled into little groups to chat together while Zipporah hurried over to compliment the music.”

“Wow! I cannot wait to learn. I am even more disappointed that I won't get to see the whole performance but thank you for dancing for me,” Melchior said before she could get a word out.

“The plan is for triple the number of knights. Part of me wants to see it too but the other part is excited to be a part of the whirl,” Zipporah giggled. “Ahhh! I can't wait!”

“Why were you frowning at the end?” Sigsnyr asked.

Zipporah blushed. “Well, I was trying to avoid giving a blessing. My heart was so full that it wished to send sparkles.”

“Why hold back?” Gerianne asked. “Let your worship be pure and free!”

“That would not be ideal when I am not the leader. I do not want to make things awkward for Sir Traugott.”

“I still can't believe Traugott is the whirling leader for the scythes,” Sigsnyr said with a shake of his head.

Gerianne and Melchior turned to him with confusion while Zipporah just shook her head and sighed. “He has been the most dedicated of anyone and is objectively the best. Whatever his reputation may or may not be,” she argued.

“Does he have a poor reputation?” Gerianne asked.

Sigsnyr hemmed and hawed before giving an answer. “It happened the year before I began attending school so I don't have all the details and everything was kept very quiet but some say that his exit from Lady Rozemyne’s service wasn't as amicable as some would claim.”

“Plus he was insufferable,” Zipporah added in a hushed tone. The children leaned in to hear more but she only shook her head.

“I’ll tell you,” Isolde chuckled. “He used to be incapable of taking orders. His consistent disobedience earned his fellow apprentices harsher training. But he's the son of the former Knight Commander and the nephew of the current one. What could anyone say even after he nearly got everyone killed by a ternsbefallen?”

“Isolde,” Sigsnyr chided. He glanced towards Nikolaus and Strieta. “You should also be wary of saying anything.”

“Yes, yes, Steifebrise shouldn't speak of Schutzaria⁵⁴ but this is very important information for our young lord. This concerns those closest to him,” Isolde argued.

“You just wish to gossip,” Zipporah countered.

“Everyone loves gossip,” Isolde replied. Sigsnyr and Zipporah fixed her with twin glares. “Very well, very well. I have heard your counsel. Ask after the truth if you wish to know, my lord. And for what it's worth, Sir Traugott has reinvented himself in these last few years as a guard knight to his grandfather. I think he is a perfectly fine choice to lead Lord Bonifiatus’s passion project.”

“Yes, he is,” Zipporah agreed. “All the more reason to keep such criticism to yourself.”

“Naturally,” Isolde promised. No one looked convinced but they let the topic rest.

Melchior felt the tension ebb and decided it was time to change the subject. “I wish I could see the presentations. Do you think I could fly back just for that day?” he asked.

“Then you would have to come every year. Your father certainly wouldn't let you escape,” Sigsnyr warned.

“But that could be fun,” Melchior argued. Everyone, even Flautzeal who was contentedly strumming, shook their heads. “Surely?”

“Most of the ‘preparations’ for the Hunting Tournament are about collecting information and formulating an approach for the socializing. As a precursor to Winter Socializing, anything that happens at the Hunting Tournament, good or bad, will be the talk of winter,” Isolde explained. “You cannot just swoop in for the day then leave. You would have to join the rest of your family in heavy talks about faction manipulation then perform to perfection on the day.”

“You would also redouble your mother's anxieties,” Sigsnyr said.

Melchior felt disappointed but he understood. He remembered how tightly Florencia clung to him during his only year of attendance. She would not walk anywhere without making sure he had a hand on her skirts and looked uncharacteristically strained the whole time.

“Maybe you could hide in the bushes,” Gerianne suggested. The heavy atmosphere dispersed amidst peels of laughter. Gerianne performed a look of annoyance. “What, it could work. You have that armor that changes colors.”

Melchior just laughed harder, clutching his stomach and nearly dropping his flute. Sigsnyr stopped then nearly leapt in excitement. “I don't know why what you said reminded me but there's a magic tool at the library that records life as moving pictures. We could use that!”

“That's brilliant!” Melchior chirped.

“But it doesn't record sound,” Flautzeal noted.

“We all know what the song will be,” Gerianne said.

“Knowing the song will not compare to the large orchestra and all of noble society singing together,” Flautzeal said.

“Still, it will be nice just to see the dances. There's a second one at the end right?” Melchior asked.

Zipporah nodded happily and began explaining how the shield whirl would be led by Bonifatius himself to the tune of Dame du Vents. “Oh but it requires an obscene amount of mana,” Sigsnyr said.

“How much is obscene?” Melchior asked.

Sigsnyr pulled a faestone the size of Melchior's little fist from his pouches. “About four of these for just ten minutes. I have larger ones that would be more convenient to use but obviously can't carry them with me.”

That was a lot. “You can't fill so many right before the Harvest Festival,” Gerianne noted sadly. Melchior took the offered faestone and began filling it.

“And we're flying to Haldenzel tomorrow,” Isolde added. “It would probably take me all week to fill enough and that's if I didn't do anything else,” she continued as the faestone flashed indicated it was full. She stared.

“You can't be shocked every time,” Sigsnyr teased. “Still, let's wait until you get back, then see. And, those of us staying behind can help.”

Melchior bounced with renewed excitement. “It will be nice to have a record too,” he chirped. Everyone continued to chat while Flautzeal played in the background until Streita told all the non clergy to get home for dinner. All the people dispersed with huge smiles.

The next morning, Melchior woke feeling energized. In just a few bells he would be in a totally different place and he had plans this time. He had people to see and books to copy and a whole winter mansion to explore some more.

Just as in spring, his retainers gathered to see him off. Sigsnyr was doing an admirable job of hiding his sadness while Flautzeal looked so excited one would think he was going himself.

“My lord we have created a most ingenious invention,” he said as he presented two wooden boards.

Melchior withheld his instinct to point out that these were wooden boards and this was not the time for him to review schematics. He just accepted them with a smile before beginning to examine. The secret became clear immediately, these were large wax tablets, large enough to hold an entire page of text. He would need to rest them on something but would be able to write whole drafts of letters or other documents.

“It really is brilliant! And beautiful,” Melchior replied. They were naturally perfectly finished, smooth and flat. They were also engraved with a decorative border and connected with small brass hinges. “I can use them to practice circles for my letter.”

“Yes. I saw how much paper you were using for that and felt there must be a better way,” Flautzeal explained. “It is annoying to erase but if you lay it on a towel warmer the wax will return to a liquid. I will find a better solution soon. I apologize for the poor presentation.”

“No no, Flautzeal. I love them. No need to apologize. Invention is rarely a straightforward process,” Melchior assured him. He passed the tablets to Kirk to store alongside the surprisingly large stack of luggage. For this trip, because his retainers were something between guests and employees, they needed their uniforms and clothes for semi-formal dinners. Isolde also had several gifts for acquaintanceships she wanted to nurture.

Everyone made quite the show of politely asking Melchior to carry things. He was already transporting all the commoners so adding extra luggage wasn't a hassle. There was a bit of side-eye directed at Isolde for stepping into the lionbus after Zipporah. For such a long trip, he needed a knight and was conveying Pepin for the same reasons he’d carried Gerianne. While Pepin could probably make the flight, they would have to fly slower so that he could keep up and he would likely need a potion. It would be better for him just to add to the lionbus. But Isolde was an archnoble and more than capable of flying at speed for the distance.

“I will not force you to leave but you must contribute to our locomotion,” Melchior declared.

“You have your passengers add mana?” Sigsnyr asked from where he leaned in the doorway.

“Last time it was only Gerianne but it felt like it helped,” Melchior explained. “Plus I’m carrying everyone and their things, it only seems fair.”

“It isn't as efficient,” Sigsnyr noted.

“I’m sure he can power the entire flight but if we can ease his burden then why not,” Zipporah argued.

Sigsnyr looked at her, a hint of pain coming into his expression. “Have a safe trip. May Ordoshnelli protect you and convey you.”

“Thank you for your kind wishes, we shall return soon. I’ll even bring you a new ingredient,” Zipporah promised.

Sigsnyr didn't perk up very much but he did a little. Isolde smirked at Melchior who returned only a calm smile. He was trying not to be devoured by guilt while thinking of what souvenirs he should bring back. Maybe other noble children would be just as amused by the leather bracelets as he and his father were.

After a few more goodbyes and a recounting of warnings from Dedryck, their company took off towards the North.

Northern Attitudes

The flight was even more lively this time with Isolde and Zipporah swapping gossip about Haldenzel for half the trip. At some point during a recitation of the ongoing rivalries between their knights and how that impacted furniture trends in the region, Pepin fell asleep. Thus he missed the story of how the Royal Academy students had returned home extolling the virtues of the Big Chair causing their parents and older siblings to seek out single skins large enough to cover such a chair.

“But we used many smaller skins,” Melchior noted.

Isolde giggled. “That isn't nearly as impressive. Of course people want to show off their skill.”

“We will have to find new skins to use next year. I believe they were all brought back after the school year. Aunt mentioned that the Aub was disappointed to find the chair missing during the Archdukes Conference,” Zipporah said.

“We did make it rather cozy,” Melchior agreed. “Unfortunately, the Big Chair is ugly when not covered and could not be left in the Common Room.”

Isolde cackled. “I will pass on your critiques,” she promised.

Melchior spent the next leg of the journey convincing her not to tell Sigsnyr by agreeing to all manner of ridiculous requests culminating in a question about the gifts that were still mysterious to her. He despaired, fearing that Isolde had finally found his true weakness to exploit for her victory, until Zipporah swooped in to defend him like the pure incarnation of Schutzaria.

“Tell him or don’t. Sigsnyr will recover. His lack of proper tools and free time are easy to blame for the poor workmanship after all,” Zipporah said. “Besides, there is so much to do and so little time between now and when we shall receive our gifts that it makes little difference.”

“It makes all the difference! The thread grows shorter every moment. I will discover that which is being hidden from me,” Isolde declared with fire in her eyes.

Melchior shivered in fear before recovering a smug affect. “You will never figure it out even were we to wait until next autumn,” he bluffed.

She turned a glare at him. “You forget, my lord, that things must be delivered still and that more people than ever know what is on offer.”

“You think you will pull information out of Kolteruze?” Zipporah giggled. “He would never.”

“I have yet to try. We shall see. And Verbergan whispers even in silence,” Isolde huffed.

Melchior wasn't quite as confident as Zipporah but he felt sure Kolteruze could manage for the last few weeks. Plus, he was wrapping and sealing everything away as they spoke. It would be much harder to accidentally see anything.

Everyone that had fallen asleep was awoken just as they swept over the first trees of Haldenzel's forests. Isolde gave a short lecture about how they would present themselves to avoid any misunderstandings this time around. Zipporah noted that they would be well cared for regardless of how they gave greetings but Isolde was adamant.

Thus, when they landed, Zipporah stood behind her lord with Dedryck and Nikolaus while Melchior gave the greetings. Giebe Haldenzel stepped forward and knelt with a smile. “We offer greetings on this day blessed with bounty by the fruitful days of Schutzaria the Goddess of Wind.”

“I accept your greetings with warmth and thanksgiving,” Melchior replied while offering the giebe a hand up. It surely looked silly for a tiny boy to assist a giant man but everyone withheld mirth to respect their attempts to communicate affection in the face of the circumstances. “Lord Proogalhart is here to represent the Aub. I am told you have worked together before.”

“Yes indeed. We appreciate the Aub’s generosity in sending such a skilled scholar who already understands our region,” Claudio replied. The tax official smiled calmly but the sweat beading on his brow was clear enough an indication of how nervous he was to have so many eyes on him. “I pray Ordoshineli conveyed you. We have prepared refreshments. I apologize that we are unable to provide a feast this time. All those able were called to assist with the preparations of our taxes you see.”

Melchior wanted to sigh. He wasn’t expecting a feast. He was expecting plenty of snide comments about their orders but not immediately after landing. “We are most grateful for your hospitality even such as it is, it has been a long morning. Shall we?” he replied with a gesture towards the doors of the giebes mansion.

Claudio grinned and glanced towards Zipporah with a look that said he was greatly amused then invited their guests inside. The temple attendants were guided to their rooms while the nobles followed the First Wife to a drawing room. Zipporah split off to ensue the commoners would be sent refreshments too before resuming her place. The servants kept their eyes respectfully lowered but any nobles they passed took a moment to stare at Nikolaus in his blue robes and armor. Though Gerianne had worn something similar during their trip for Spring Prayer, she was tiny as opposed to Nikolaus who already came up to the giebe’s shoulder and had a stocky build for his age. Zipporah and Fonsel placed him between them but this could only partially obscure him.

They settled in for what was secretly a filling lunch, composed of finger foods made from hearty vegetables with lots of butter, and spoke of the flight over and the weather. Melchior was grateful for the safe topics and good food. Somehow, Isolde still found something to take notes about. Eventually Nantfelda and Zipporah’s brother came in to replace Claudio who needed to assist his heir with transferring the taxes. Their conversation was more lively but a part of Melchior still wanted to escape. The commoner rituals would be the following evening so he had all afternoon and the next day to exact his plans, none of which included a night of noble socializing. So just after the new arrivals settled in but before they could progress to some difficult topic, Melchior made his move.

“I thank you ever so much for hosting us and for the lovely snacks. I hope I do not seem to be running away, only I am tired from our trip,” he said with a weak smile.

Nantfelda and the First Wife exchanged glances and shifted in their seats. “Of course not, Lord Melchior. It is only natural for one as young as yourself. Let me call a guide.”

And so he was free. Isolde was taken to Zipporah’s rooms along with the knight while Melchior and company went to a set of adjoining rooms with a parlor between them. The noble’s luggage was split, placing Pepin and Nikolaus in one room and Melchior and Dedryck in the other. The temple attendants had been placed in rooms nearer to the well with a hearth to warm their water as needed.

For the moment, Lothar and company were waiting in Melchior's rooms. Pepin moved to begin preparations only to return to the parlor looking lost. “Everything is prepared, my lord, if you would like to retire until dinner.”

“Actually, I would like to explore!” Melchior declared. He hadn't been tired last time and he wasn't this time. He’d even had a full meal and felt full of energy and not at all cranky.

“Were we to leave immediately, it would lend credence to the idea that you were running away,” Pepin warned.

“Oh that's true. I will have to stall for a bit,” Melchior conceded.

Dedryck pinched his brow. This had been a bad idea last time and it still was. He was even the lone adult knight this time around. “My lord, I must urge you not to take such risks. It is dangerous to tour an unfamiliar place where routes of escape are as limited as they are in a city underground.”

“But we had a great time last time. And it isn't dangerous here. Who would try to attack us in Haldenzel's Winter Mansion. Not Haldenzel and not anyone else,” Melchior argued.

“There is no way to know that for sure,” Dedryck replied.

“Is the risk really so great?” Nikolaus asked. “We have three archknights and the giebes daughter.”

“We have one archknight and two apprentices,” Dedryck corrected. “There's no telling what could happen.”

“Yes but it's unlikely. It's just as likely as something happening in this room,” Nikolaus said. “I know you are anxious for our lord’s safety and just in general but that's no reason not to go on this walk.”

Dedryck scowled. Melchior looked back and forth between his knights. He’d never heard Nikolaus be anything but perfectly respectful to authority figures. Now he even wore a grin as he talked back to the Head Knight. Even more shocking, Dedryck returned something other than his usual controlled expression.

“Perhaps you have grown too comfortable speaking your mind,” Dedryck grumbled, which only made Nikolaus smile brighter. “Very well. Pepin, go and find a proper guide and inform Zipporah of our impending trip.”

“I’ll wait a quarter bell before leaving,” Melchior added. He bounced with excitement and sent Nikolaus a grateful smile. All of Nikolaus's confidence crumbled as he shyly looked away while going red on the ears.

Pepin accepted his new task brightly and set out immediately only to get pushed back inside by a breathless Isolde. “Oh good you haven't left yet.”

“You knew we were planning to leave?” Melchior asked.

“You spoke of nothing but your walk around this lower mansion for weeks last spring,” Isolde said. She was followed in by Zipporah who left with Pepin to find the guide.

They spent the quarter bell relaxing and reading the newest romance from Haldenzel's presses. Melchior changed into his green light armor so that his sleeves wouldn't get in the way while adventuring then sent Sheila out on a mission. He ordered Dedryck to give her one large silver’s worth of the smallest denominations from Melchior's purse then issued his directive.

“Sheila, I would like for you to find new culinary secrets to steal, secure new ingredients, and taste that which I cannot.”

Sheila accepted the money with shaking hands as she failed to hide a dastardly smile. “Yes of course, my lord. I will see it done,” she promised then hurried to find a pouch for the coins and collect her cloak.

“You should send someone with her,” Isolde said. “It isn't safe for a single woman to walk around a strange city.”

“Didn't we just agree that the risk wasn't to much?” Melchior asked.

“This is different.”

Melchior looked at Lothar. “I think it would be best to send Kirk. In the unfortunate event that something does happen, he is best equipped to fight or run long distances in search of help,” Lothar said.

Kirk’s eyes grew wide as his cheeks pinked. “You think I could protect Sheila?” he breathed.

“What was all the training for otherwise?” Dedryck asked. “Hurry up or you will have to track her before you can do your job.” With a nod and smile from Melchior, he disappeared.

Melchior's own adventure began not long after. He wanted to see if Nord was there with his baby and visit Twila to check on her lights and see if he could heal anyone. However, their guide knew nothing of these people. They were a relatively wealthy servant from the giebe estate who kept permanent rooms in the nicest section of the lower city reserved for that purpose. All the people he knew either worked for the count or for people that worked for the count.

Unlike those who served nobles, the other kind of permanent residents couldn't afford to keep well appointed rooms. Their families left them with what supplies they could and came to visit throughout the year but, according to Twila, most weren't expected to live for very long. Thus they lived in the poorest section of the mansion, near the sewage facilities and rooms dedicated to the preparations of the dead. A place where no one went if they didn't have too.

It had been a mistake that they ended up there at all. Gerianne had an exceptional memory for places but just one wrong turn down an identical hallway to the right one was all it took to have them heading in the wrong direction with all her knowledge doing nothing to lead them out. It just got darker and darker until the gloom pressed in on them.

This time, Dedryck brought a lamp and a map complete with markings for the underground currents flowing deep below the city. “We use them for navigation through wilderness. Once you develop mana sensing, I’ll teach you,” he explained.

“Just remember that they change at least a little all the time so they should only be used as a general guide,” Zipporah added.

Melchior nodded but continued to look over the map in fascination. “Where did you get a map anyway?”

“I was allowed to look over the Entwinklen plans in anticipation of this request,” Dedryck said.

“You prepared this much for an excursion you attempted to stop from happening?” Pepin asked.

“There was never much hope of stopping it,” Isolde sighed.

Melchior found that having a map wasn't much help when everything looked the same. They had to add in their own points of interest including distinctive stains and scuff marks on the walls as well as iconic door ornaments and public spaces. Melchior found it fun to add all kinds of little pictures to the diagram, creating a key as they went.

By asking where the usual rooms for clergy were, they managed to find Nord’s rooms. The door was answered by a young woman holding a baby. She held the young toddler closer as she knelt before the strange group.

“Please don't be afraid. I believe we met your husband last year. This is the residence of Master Nord correct?” Melchior said gently.

“It is. How can we assist you, my lord?”

“Oh, I just wanted to say hello. It's unlikely I will return for at least a few years so I wanted to see him again while I could.”

She looked skeptical in the extreme but dutifully called for Nord. He hurried out of a side room, wiping his hands on a rag. “What is it, love?” he asked, seemingly not seeing the posse at his door. His wife just turned her gaze out. Nord froze then sank into an awkward kneel, “Hi… High Bishop! To what do we owe this honor?”

“I felt our previous fellowship was most edifying. Have you been well?” Melchior replied with a bright smile. The rest of his followers merely stood around with various versions of blank expressions except for their guide who looked incensed.

Nord glanced around at everyone before answering the question. “I am well. We returned early to see my brother's Starbinding but that was something of a blessing with the baby and all.” Melchior was glad that someone was benefiting. “Oh and, I guess you just met but this is my wife, Lana, and our little one.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mistress Lana,” Melchior said.

“And you as well though I’m not the mistress of anything.”

“That is what Master Nord said,” Melchior giggled. “He also said you were hunters, do you travel around with the baby?” he slowly reached out a hand towards the child in question. It stared at him appraisingly but took the hand offered. Melchior continued coo and try to get a reaction. He remembered Henriette being more talkative at this age and wondered whether she was special or this baby was quiet.

“One of us will carry her in a sling most times. Sometimes we even take her out for small hunting,” Lana explained.

“Even having a baby on her back does nothing to move Lana’s aim,” Nord bragged. Lana rolled her eyes at him. “It’s true. My lord, it's absolutely true. Lana is simply the best archer in our tribe. And the most beautiful.”

“I see Sterrat and the Supreme gods have blessed you abundantly⁵⁵,” Melchior said. He couldn't help but smile wider at the bragging so similar to how his father spoke of his mother. Nord went on to talk about the rest of their hunting tribe. A few young people were considering getting married. A few older people were insisting they still had many seasons before they needed to retire. He also insisted that his brother was only getting married because he was jealous of his nibling and wanted his own child.

Melchior listened with rapt attention, asking leading questions, and continuing his hand holding game with the baby until Isolde stepped forward to warn him that time was short. He could spend all day here talking but he wouldn't get to see anything else. “Oh that's true. I apologize for taking up so much of your time, Master Nord, Mistress Lana, little friend. May I offer a blessing?”

“We would be honored to receive a blessing,” Lana replied, cutting off Nord before he could demure.

Melchior stepped back and thought for a moment then began to chant. “O Goddess of Nurturing, Weigmilch, of the Goddess of Light's exalted twelve, O God of the Hunt, Schlageziel, of the God of Fire Leidenschaft’s exalted twelve, we offer you our joy and enduring hope and pray that you give our friends your divine protection!”

Blue and green lights danced through the air to fall over the young family. The baby babbled and reached out for the sparkles.

Lana bowed and Nord followed after a moment. “We also wish you the blessings of Schlageziel, High Bishop. May your prey fall before you,” she intoned.

“May your prey fall before you,” Zipporah replied for her lord.

“May your prey fall before you,” he repeated before beginning to walk away. Nord waved when he looked back and only went back inside after they turned the corner.

“I didn't know you had a special greeting,” Melchior said as they walked.

“It is usually only used by commoners but anyone who interacts with the hunting tribes enough will pick up a few things. For example, leaders greet each other by saying ‘the name of Schlageziel is well remembered with this one’ as a way of saying the hunting went well,” Zipporah explained.

“How fun!” Melchior chirped. “The name of Schlageziel is well remembered by this one,” he repeated in a deep voice with fake seriousness.

Zipporah laughed. “I think you would make a fine tribe leader only remember that this is only a greeting for actual tribe leaders.”

Melchior was decidedly less enthused. “I guess I don't want to give offense,” he mumbled.

“Why should you worry about offending common tribesmen?” Isolde huffed. “Say it if you want to.” Melchior thought better of it in the end. He worried that the people of Haldenzel might be offended even if they weren't tribe leaders.

Footnotes

54. Don't speak above your station or don't speak of your betters.^

55. Your spouse is great ^

Chapter Text

Ren and Twila

Their conversation carried them through the lower mansion past various wells. Zipporah talked about the unique culture of the north while Melchior and Isolde asked questions. After the third nearly empty well chamber they came to a stop. There were very few people around. Not enough to make it worth opening any stalls in these smaller common areas. After a brief discussion with their guide, they decided to go to the central courtyard with the stage. There were more people here and a small market. Melchior's large noble entourage was regarded with trembling and deference.

It was nothing like his first excursion. Whether it was the greater number of adults or the lack of festive atmosphere was unclear but Melchior felt disappointed. He couldn't find anyone selling leather jewelry or any other good souvenirs. Isolde tried to barter with a woman selling small furs but the woman was too scared to argue back so she ended up paying double the small amount she initially offered then feeling guilty all the same. The worst part was how people stared. Unlike his other visits to commoner areas, no one seemed to have anything better to do than look at him.

Eventually, it was all too much. “Let us visit Mistress Twila then return,” he declared.

Their guide looked just as pale as when he asked about Nord. Despite being well known to the poorer denizens, it seemed that the apothecary wasn’t a common name closer to the noble’s quarter. Melchior tried to give their guide a reassuring smile before flagging down a fellow child to lead the way.

The boy was smaller than Melchoir but seemed to be doing nothing in particular. “Hello,” Melchior began. Dedryck hovered close by while everyone else stayed back to avoid crowding. The boy cowered under the knight’s stare and clutched the object in his hands tighter. “I was hoping you might show me to Mistress Twila’s rooms.”

“I don’t think you want to go there,” the boy replied then flinched as Dedryck’s scowl deepened.

Melchior gave Dedryck his own scowl before turning back with a smile. “We’ve been before but we aren’t from here so don’t remember the way.”

Fear gave way to incredulity. “Why would you go there?”

Melchoir held Dedryck back with a hand. “Well we got a little lost but then made friends. Ah… the giebe promised to increase the brightness of her rooms and I'd like to check.” He heard Zipporah suck in a harsh breath.

“My lord,” she hurried over. “I did ask but I’m not certain such a thing was given priority.”

The lights definitely hadn’t been altered then. Melchior withheld his annoyance. “But the procedure was approved?” he asked instead.

“Yes, my lord, only there has been no time to carry it out,” she explained.

The boy used their distraction to slip away. Dedryck watched him leave without attempting to keep him, the scowl possibly hurrying him on. Melchior thought back to the dingy place where so many sick people lay among glowing flowers, a plant pot carried to where more light was needed. He’d found it enchanting but Twila was clear about how insufficient the flowers were for providing medical care. She couldn’t move to a brighter area because so many of her patients couldn’t walk that far. Proximity to a well was expensive and any brighter room she could afford would have to be farther from clean water.

“Do you understand the process?” Isolde asked.

Zipporah looked surprised then lowered her head. “I was taught once but do not remember,” she admitted. “Changing the overall brightness is a different process to just turning the lights on and off.”

“Well, we might not be magic tool experts but we can probably figure it out,” Isolde chirped. “And between you and Lord Melchior, we should have the proper clearance.”

They had to travel into the darker section without a new guide. Their current guide looked around with a fearful expression. Lothar looked less than comfortable but was skilled enough at hiding his emotions not to show just how much. The nobles adopted flatter than usual expressions as the smell changed from sort of dusty to dank then sordid. The ivory halls grew darker, even more so since the walls took on the gray of persistent grime.

Melchior was reminded of Herzfeld’s walls whose muted gray was washed clean every year only to return once everyone began burning fires again. Zipporah lost her blankness first, her knights scowl turning deadly grave. They’d yet to see anyone exhibiting the symptoms of starvation, an improvement over a decade earlier, but that didn’t make it easier to see her citizens huddled in filth. Compared to the halls of the other permanent denizens, there was no one responsible for cleaning. The nobles assigned to check the sewage system each year traveled outside then entered close to their destination. She wasn’t sure that any noble other than Melchior had walked here in a very long time. How embarrassing that this was what he saw.

By following the hazy memory from three seasons ago, their company arrived at Twila’s apothecary. The area around the door was cleaner than the adjoining halls and furnished with one chair and several stools. Next to the door sat a nervous young man with only one leg. Isolde found herself nauseated by the sight while Melchior stepped forward with a smile.

“Hello again, Ale!”

“Oh! High Bishop. You’ve returned? Um… this might not be a great time…” Ale’s speech was cut off by a wail and Sheila bolting out of the room with three buckets in her arms.

“She is going into labor,” was all Sheila said before carrying on down the hall.
With a nod from Melchoir, Lothar took off after her. Melchior moved to go inside but was held back. “It would not be appropriate for you to see this,” Dedryck said.

“But I could help,” Melchior argued.

“I’m not sure you could,” Ale said. “It’s really a terrible case. I fear she will need to be cut open.”

Isolde walked several steps away and faced the walk, quietly gagging.

“I can heal most injuries with magic,” Melchior explained.

“My lord, such a waste of mana…” Dedryck began.

“How would it be a waste? A citizen of Ehrenfest is in trouble.”

Another scream echoed while Dedryck heaved a sigh. Pepin dipped past everyone to enter the room. “I understand your desire to help people but it isn’t meant that you will help each individual person. That just isn’t possible and how will those you fail to help feel about being passed over?”

“Do you mean to say that I should ignore suffering in front of me because I cannot help everyone?” Melchior asked.

“No. I mean that if you attempt to help everyone with small problems you will be unable to address those problems which only an Archduke Candidate can solve,” Dedryck said.

Melchior was quiet for a long while. He flinched at each scream but didn’t attempt to flee. Ale shuffled on his stool and watched Isolde shake. Nikolaus walked over and pressed a sound-blocker into her hands but said nothing. “Then we should fix the lights,” Melchior concluded.

“At once, my lord,” Zipporah said and walked with him into the room before Dedryck could stop them.

It was much like he remembered except that there were fewer people and an area curtained off in the corner. The pale sheet glowed dimly as groans and other strange sounds issued forth. At the sound of yet another new arrival, Kirk poked his head out of the curtained area. Melchior gave him a nod to say that he should continue whatever he was doing. The harrowed looking young attendant squeezed his eyes shut before dipping back in. Melchior and Zipporah turned to the closest light. It was positioned above an old woman with milky eyes. With a bit of coaxing, the woman was resettled a little bit away with a fresh cup of water.

Without their scholar, Melchior and Zipporah had to fiddle with the light a lot. The faestone that produced light was covered by a clear frosted tube. Below this, the main body looked mostly smooth with a decorative stick one could use to adjust the brightness from totally dark to the set maximum. “The brighter it is, the more mana it uses,” Zipporah explained. “Taxes are levied partially based on mana consumption so the lights were reduced to make living in this section more affordable.”

“Will you charge Mistress Twila more if we improve these lights?” Melchior asked.

Zipporah shook her head. “Father has codified an exception for medical providers.” She tapped the light with her hand then her schtappe. At another time, Melchior would have found the spoon funny but the cries of a woman in pain made it difficult to feel mirthful. Eventually, they found a circle on the wall next to the light. Unfortunately it didn’t glow with its own brightness and was positioned in the lamp's shadow.

“Who planned this,” Melchior complained. He went to call Dedryck and his lantern only to find the knight standing silently behind them. “Can we use your lantern?” Melchior asked after a small flinch.

Dedryck pulled the previously forgotten lantern from his belt and dropped a handful of small faestones into a hopper at the top. After a plinking sound, the air around it began to glow. There was no specific source of light and no glare. It just seemed brighter in a wide radius around them. Melchior and Zipporah turned back to their task but were interrupted by Twila.

“What is that?” she snapped and rushed over with bloodied hands. Zipporah pulled Melchoir back. “Give it here,” she ordered. Dedryck just looked at her hands. “Boy with the purple hair!”

“Yes?” Pepin came around the curtain holding the plant pot. The glowing partitioned area darkened considerably.

“Switch with him,” Twila barked then hurried back to her place, speaking soft reassurances to her patient.

Pepin didn’t wait to ask, only took the lantern and handed Dedryck the plant pot before following. They heard murmuring and delighted cackling. Dedryck’s neutral face finally cracked, giving way to annoyance. “I’m sure she’s just very stressed,” Melchior said with a pat on his arm. “She was very respectful last time.”

Dedryck said nothing, only held the glowing flowers close enough to the wall for them to see the dark circle. After this it wasn't hard to figure out. Zipporah rewrote the parameters with stylo to match those in her own room allowing the lights to get three times as bright if desired. They then changed the other sconces they could access then followed Ale to change the sconces in Twila’s personal quarters/ long term observation ward. They returned to see Lothar leaving with another bucket full of bloody water.

Zipporah stopped him and Washened everything instead. Lothar blinked in surprise. “You have a moment now. What is happening?”

“I apologize, Lady Zipporah, but I have no idea. I was simply told to fetch clean water.”

“How are you heating the water?” Dedryck asked, surprising everyone. “I didn’t see a stove in there.”

“Sheila found a fire pit but the water has been cold thus far,” Lothar explained.

“And what of clean linens and towels?”

Lothar could only shake his head. Dedryck gritted his teeth but allowed the attendant to leave. “This is not how it should be done,” he muttered.

“It’s the best we can do,” Ale said from his stool. Then there was a strangled cry of an entirely new sort. Ale didn’t smile at the sound of new life. “Then it is almost over.”

“You don’t seem happy about the baby,” Melchior said.

“Ren was a kind woman. It’s a shame that we won’t be able to save her.”

“Have you even tried!” Dedryck snapped.

Ale finally flinched under this loud accusation. Melchior reached out to Dedryck again but he walked away, disappearing into the room and around the curtain. Nikolaus left Isolde and their guide to the stools they’d stolen and replaced Dedryck.

“Is Dedryck ok?”

“He was upset by our lack of facilities and the thought that the mother will die,” Ale replied.

Nikolaus paled at the frankness but didn’t complain. He glanced back at Isolde and looked all around at the grime and squalor. “I can see why he would be upset. He took the medical portion of the scholars course so he knows what things should look like,” he explained. “For a doctor to operate in a place like this…”

“We aren't doctors,” Ale corrected. “But some people cannot afford anything better.”

After a while longer they heard elevated voices before Twila stalked out of the room. She was sparkling clean and deeply annoyed.

“...not announced, in practice, for the last twenty years. What manner of barbarism are you conducting here?” Dedryck hissed.

“You think we are informed of the newest medical advancements. Who would tell us, Lord Dedryck!? Who is coming to inform poor apothecaries in the dark corners of cave mansions?” Twila spat back.

Sheila appeared with a bucket full of steaming water cutting off the argument. Twila hurried back inside, leaving Dedryck to pace and seeth. “Is everything alright?” Melchior asked.

Dedryck jumped, surprise coloring his rage. “I… my lord, I apologize. I should not have left your side,” he said while dropping to his knee.

“It was an emergency,” Melchior replied. “Is Ren ok?”

“Ren?” Dedryck asked, then thought about it. “Ah… she will live. What the quality of that life will be here is unclear.” His scowl deepened further as he looked around the squalid halls.

Melchior fidgetted in confusion and anxiety as Dedryck remained kneeling. Ale rose and hopped into the room forgetting his crutch by the door. He was replaced by Kirk who looked haunted but clean. Kirk sank onto the stool. Melchior tried to gesture to Dedryck that he could stop kneeling but it made no difference so he shuffled over to Kirk to take his hand and look into his eyes. “Are you ok?”

Kirk didn't reply. He just collapsed forward into Melchior’s chest, headless of the armor. They all just stood there quietly until Pepin appeared. He looked the least affected of anyone. After taking in the scene he went over to Isolde to inform her that everything was over. She recovered her impassivity quickly, looking for all the world like she hadn't been cowering for half a bell. Pepin used his handkerchief to wipe off a smudge from when she rested her head against the wall. She accepted his attention without protest.

“This has been very different to last time,” Melchior muttered. Kirk chuckled but everyone else just smiled weakly.

It felt strange to just leave. They had to get Dedryck to stand up and Lothar to stop hauling water. There was a barrel in the apothecary which he seemed determined to fill completely. Sheila spent some time washing the baby and chatting with Twila about local herbs and medicines. Her ability to steal culinary secrets had been constrained by the lack of people and sudden emergency. Ren also had tips to share. She busied around thanking everyone and bouncing on her toes.

“I haven't felt so good in months. To think, weeks of recovery are gone in a few flashes of light. My sister’ll lose her mind when I tell her.”

She thanked Dedryck and squeezed his arms and just generally tried to get him out of his daze. It was to no avail, he just hovered behind Melchior with a blank expression until Twila stepped forward with his lantern. She didn’t look happy to give it up but thrust it towards him all the same. “Thank you, m’lord, it was of great help.”

Dedryck didn’t move to take it. “Keep it. It consumes the mana in small faestones. They will last longer if filled first but the stones of slain creatures work as well. The empty stones can still be sold though they will be worth less.”

Twila’s age was difficult to estimate but in that moment she looked awfully young as she trembled. “I… thank you. Thank you for everything.” She glanced around at everyone else and crossed her arms. “Thank you all. It may seem to be only one life, but each one is precious.”

“We are glad we could help,” Melchior chirped. “We also altered the lights. Zipporah says the giebe will not increase your taxes either.”

“That will help a great deal. I cannot thank you enough, High Bishop. We have no way to intercede for ourselves. Your assistance is more than we could ever ask for,” Ale replied while Twila failed to hold back tears. Isolde was better able to contain herself at the sight of him but her discomfort was still evident.

It was ultimately Isolde who got everyone to say goodbye. She even led the way out of the winding passages to the central courtyard, looking more relaxed with every step. Their organization remained thoroughly incorrect during their journey back. The knights stood in their proper place but Kirk remained next to Melchior, accepting the quiet offer to hold his hand. Pepin walked with Isolde and Sheila stood beside Lothar. They were trailing at the proper distance but standing too close for propriety. There was no one who would dare complain.

Once Melchior was safely deposited in his room, Zipporah left to report alongside their guide. Everyone else found chairs to sink into while Pepin and Sheila made tea and Nikolaus guarded the door. They were quiet for a while until Melchior voiced a question. “Is childbirth alway like that?”

Sheila and Lothar traded looks but only Dedryck gave an answer. “No. That was one of the worst case scenarios and only because it was a commoner.”

“It is different for nobles?” Isolde asked, looking properly scared.

“Quite. We have medicines and potions to relieve any pain and heal injuries after the fact. Death of either the child or mother is rare even in mednobles and all but unheard of in archductal families,” Dedryck explained. “Much of the process can be circumvented by teleportation.”

“Teleportation!?” Pepin cried. Everyone stared in amazement or deep thought. “We can use teleportation for that?”

Dedryck shook his head. “It requires the Aub’s approval so most people cannot,” he said. “But the circles exist and are used for all Aub’s and their wives and occasionally their concubines. It’s likely how you were born, Lord Melchior.”

“I don't know how it normally goes but that’s an improvement right?” Melchior asked.

“It is an unimaginable privilege,” Sheila whispered. “So many children might be saved were the procedure more widespread.”

“Yes but you cannot ask the Aub to tend to every birth in the duchy. It also isn’t necessary most of the time,” Dedryck said then quailed under Sheila’s glare. “Other expensive potions are also required,” he hurried to add.

“So Lady Brunhilde will not have to suffer like that?” Melchior pressed. Dedryck shook his head.

“Are you worried for her,” Pepin asked.

“I wasn’t but now I feel like I should be,” Melchoir replied.

Pepin walked over and patted his shoulder. “The Aub’s wife will have the best doctors in the duchy. There will be plenty of light and all the necessary equipment. She will be ok.” Melchior nodded and drank his tea.

With this, most people began to move again. Melchior called Kirk over to help him draft magic circles but ended up allowing him to sit quietly a while longer. Isolde paced for a few minutes before asking permission to visit her acquaintances or find someone else to talk to. She left with promises to be back for dinner before disappearing into the mansion.

Zipporah talked her family into pushing the planned formal dinner to the next night so that Melchior and his retainers could eat together and decompress. After a hearty meal of wild game and autumn vegetables, Melchior, Nikolaus, Kirk, and Pepin retired to the second bedroom to play Karuta with Lothar attending. Zipporah and Isolde retired to her rooms and Dedryck sat in the parlor with the lights turned down. Sheila brought him a wine cup.

“I am working,” he grumbled.

“It has been watered down,” she replied. He took a sip. It wouldn’t get anyone drunk but the warmth that spread through him was much needed. They listened to the occasional peels of laughter from the children and whispering of the wind across the meadow surrounding the mansion. The tranquility was, somehow, grating on his nerves.

“Is it always like that?” he asked, himself unsure what he meant to say.

“The birth of commoners or poverty?” Sheila said.

Dedryck stared into his cup. In spring, he’d been uncomfortable in those dark tunnels but keeping his lord safe from the press of so many people was enough of a distraction. This time, being empty of all but those with no other option, he had time to look and smell the desolation. “Poverty, I suppose.”

Sheila took her time in answering. She poured him a second cup as well as one for herself before sitting down. Dedryck wasn’t usually one for enforcing status strictly. He didn’t have too since his gruff expression generally commanded respect on his behalf. At this moment he felt compelled to say something. Sheila looked into his eyes without fear and like she could see many things he worked to keep to himself. Were she posted behind him as was proper, she would not be able to see him looking so weak. Still, he held his tongue.

“Those with power use their power to draw to themselves all the light and beauty that they are able with no regard to what is left behind for those with less power. Those with no power have no ability to keep anything for themselves. Thus it is as you saw. They must live according to the generosity of the greedy. It is rarely enough.”

Dedryck set his cup down. He had never considered himself to be greedy. He didn’t fill his life with excess, taking only what his station required, though never considering whether the station of others left them with too little. “You believe their lives would be better if we took less?”

“So you recognize yourself?” Sheila tutted. “For some, the capable, I would say yes. For others, concerted effort would be required.”

He wanted to say that the lives of Haldenzel commoners were not his concern. He wanted to say that the giebe was doing what he could but the unnecessary brightness of every room of his summer estate was proof that this was untrue. Claudio would soon fly south to halls filled with people arrayed in clothes rich enough to feed a village while some in his province had only thinning rags. Then again, without his mana and that of his family, all the people in this mansion would be buried in white sand, having nowhere to shelter in the winter and nothing but barren land to hunt on. Maybe a giebe and aub could be excused but a knight? Was his occasional response to threats worth the luxuries of his life?

Sheila left him to his ruminations after finishing her cup. She disappeared into Melchior’s room to prepare it for bed. Dedryck watched her leave wondering for the first time what her life was like as a temple attendant. How much light and beauty was she allotted?

A Day of Learning

Whether everyone had recovered by that morning, everyone was able to present a chipper attitude. Zipporah brought news of a small hunt planned for Melchior’s amusement.

“It will be held in the meadow near the mansion. The danger is very small,” Zipporah assured him. It was so safe one could call it a glorified nature walk.

Melchior still demurred with a weak smile. “While I believe you, it would be best for me to remain inside. I also have a transcription to continue.” He looked around. “Would you like to go, Nikolaus?” Pepin likely wouldn’t want to spend so much time around so many knights, but Nikolaus could be spared and would enjoy a hunt.

“I would,” Nikolaus replied.

He glanced at Dedryck who nodded his assent. “Zipporah will have to remain on duty at all times though.”

“Of course. We cannot reduce our guard,” Zipporah agreed. She and Isolde then swapped glances.

After breakfast, Melchior went to see off the hunt with a blessing. Count Haldenzel looked sad not to have his daughter coming along but put on a show of welcoming Nikolaus. Lady Nantfelda and the Countess then walked Melchior back to the library where Lady Gertrude was already looking over the translation with Isolde.

“We must thank you, Lord Melchior for your work. The ability to read about our history will be most edifying,” the Countess said.

“You are most welcome. I am always happy to encounter new stories,” Melchior replied. He watched the two women take languid steps around the archives. The shelves mostly contained records and copies of the romances printed in the province along with the entrance to the vault that held the blenrus accounts among other treasures. He got the distinct sense that they wanted something from him but he couldn’t think of what.

The tension was broken by the arrival of Zipporah’s second eldest half-brother, the heir to Haldenzel. “There you are, mother,” he called. He stopped when he saw Melchior. “Oh… I offer greetings…”

“I accept your greetings. Please do not allow me to disturb your morning,” Melchior replied.

“Thank you,” the man said with a distinctly uncomfortable air. He continued over to his mother and began a short conversation about some official matter. Nantfelda continued to hover close by and make faces at Zipporah who communicated with expressions of her own.

“Are you looking forward to your trip this winter?” Melchior asked just to fill the silence. As much as he wanted to receive feedback on his translation and continue transcribing, he couldn’t engage with a scholar while the First and Second Wife were in the room.

“Why yes, Lord Melchior. It will be a wonderful adventure and provide the opportunity to show Yurgenschmidt the carefully preserved culture of Haldenzel,” she replied. She walked closer and gestured towards a pair of chairs. Once they were seated she began with a smile. “I hope your stay here has been enjoyable.”

Melchior tried to glean what was expected from her smile but found that he didn’t know Lady Nantfelda well enough to know why she was so tense. “I always enjoy my time here. The food is particularly good this season.” He wanted to reassure her that his treatment so far had been perfectly adequate. Maybe she was worried he’d been given offense again.

“That is gratifying to hear. I will pass on your praise to the chefs.” They were then joined by the Countess. Isolde broke off her conversation with Gertrude to corner Zipporah’s brother and draw him into a side conversation. Though Melchior couldn’t hear her from where he sat, he could see that the conversation tilted the heir of Haldenzel off kilter. While it was a much needed momentary distraction, Melchior was still trapped between two archnoble women with strained smiles.

He decided to fall back on one of his most reliable tools: being young and ignorant. “Has something occurred? I admit that I do not know what has brought us together,” he said sweetly.

Their eyes grew wide and the Countess broke into a chuckle. “I suppose we have created an intimidating picture. Please be at ease, Lord Melchior. We have just had so little time to speak with you,” she assured him.

Melchior didn’t feel assured. The laughter hadn’t served to release much of the tension. Nantfelda glanced at Zipporah again. “We would like to extend our thanks. Schlageziel’s bow was turned to the servants of chaos thanks to your entreaties⁵⁶. Yet the wide mortal realm does not sing for your accomplishments. One wonders whether Geduldh has been forgotten by the three seasons⁵⁷.”

“Has Dreganuhr forsaken the weavings of so many⁵⁸?” Melchior asked while fitting his most unassailable smile to his lips. He had to wonder how many people would insist on giving him credit for an event he didn’t even attend. It was more concerning that anyone thought his siblings were intentionally suppressing praise for him. “Or has Ordoshinelli visited in error⁵⁹? It was my brother Wilfried who arranged for Alexandria to visit fair Haldenzel and the generosity of Groschel, Krinberger, and Leisegang which elevated the event. Perhaps Sehweit could not have seen it but Eweigliebe and Leidenschaft both have their duties to the vast mortal realm⁶⁰.”

The women did not seem mollified. Nantfelda shifted her weight and tipped her eyebrows into a look of concern. “Lord Melchior, naturally we cannot compare to your venerated mother but we are mothers also. We cannot sit by and watch the soft cloth be trod underfoot⁶¹”

Melchior wanted to roll his eyes. Where had all this motherly concern come from all of a sudden. The facts were straightforward. The hunt was Wilfried’s event and his siblings were good to him. He didn’t even have any accomplishments to suppress yet. All his efforts were going to support his siblings and parents as best he could. There was no way for anyone to take advantage from him when he was busy giving it away.

He sighed and folded his hands in his lap. “I am told that Weigmilch does not teach guile⁶². I must wonder whether Daurleben reminds of generosity⁶³.” For this he received a pair of incredulous eyebrow raises. “Perhaps you cannot trust my own testimony but I ask that you do not spread these ideas. My siblings are good to me,” Melchior insisted.

He looked back and forth between his interrogators, trying to read from their eyes or expressions anything. There was more to see than with his own mother but he still lacked the necessary context to draw conclusions. After a longing gaze across the room at Isolde who would surely know exactly how to steer this conversation, Melchior tensed as the Countess began to speak.

“I will speak plainly. I am told you are precocious and sensitive beyond your years. You must see the benefits inherent in minimizing your accomplishments,” she said. The Countess leaned forward to meet his eye level. “You have helped us. We would like to help you.”

Even if he insisted on ceding credit for the hunt, he was still translating their history book, had taken their daughter as his guard knight, had donated mana to their ritual, and returned to erase any rumors of a grudge over their rudeness when he didn't have too. Compared to the petty fighting between Haldenzel and the Aub and his siblings professional and perfunctory relationship with the province, Melchior might have looked like he was actively courting their favor. Even without Isolde's timely advice, he could begin to see how he'd ended up subject to coaxing smiles from the giebe’s wives. It was a good thing he hadn't brought his entire retinue to help with their taxes.

“Haldenzel has already done much and continues to serve our duchy faithfully through many hardships,” he began. He didn't need anyone to warn him to think before responding. In this moment, his response felt important. “I believe we are united in our desires for peace and understanding between our families.” The women nodded. “Then let us seek together the cessation of hostilities and the healing of relationships.”

Nantfelda chuckled. “That is a dear price indeed. Dark cloaks so often tangle through no impetus but their own⁶⁴.”

“So long as we prevent shed blood and broken ties⁶⁵, it will be enough,” Melchior replied. He was happy to finally receive assent and calm smiles.

It was hard to extract himself from their fellowship but the opportunity eventually presented itself when Gertrude brought new illustrations for the Countess to show off to her guest. Melchior was able to bring up the paintings in the blenrus accounts then pretend he’d forgotten about the time sensitive nature of his task.

“My, my, and we’ve delayed you nearly all morning,” Nantfelda teased.

Footnotes

56. “You sent knights to help us with our overabundance of faebeasts but no one is giving you the credit you deserve. Are your siblings trying to suppress you?” ^

57. Melchior is the fourth child of the Aub and Gedulhd is the fourth child of the Supreme gods thus she is used to refer to him here. More people haven’t done this before because I just thought of it.^

58. “Are people still uninformed?” or “Why does everyone get this wrong?”^

59. Is someone intentionally spreading lies?^

60. It might be hard to believe or unpredictable but even enemies can work together for the greater good. Essentially, Wilfried planned this and even worked with those he hates to make it happen.^

61.“A child hurt”^

62. “Children are easily tricked” or “children have no cunning’^

63. “Can adults assume the best of people?” or “are we doomed to be paranoid as we age?”^

64. Leaders will fight just because they feel like it.^

65. Both literally means those things and also refers to serious consequences in general^

Chapter Text

Standard Rituals

It was part way to fourth bell when he escaped into the vault with Kirk. Once again he touched the walls to power the circles but this time he was able to glean some of what they did. There was something hidden here. It wasn’t clear and he would struggle to explain what he meant if he ever had to explain, but he got the feeling that it wasn’t the vault. The rich history of Haldenzel was valuable but wouldn’t need quite so much protection and suppression as was carved into the walls. Then again, Zipporah said that most of Haldenzel’s ancient treasures were weapons of some kind or another and rumored to be haunted.

“When a soul fails to find the towering stairway they become bound to the object they loved most in life,” she said with a bone chilling smile. “After hundreds of years they forget they had their own body and begin to seek a new host for their souls!”

Melchior tried to laugh at what was obviously a fake tale created to scare babies but being deep underground amidst circles for suppression made it hard to hold to his convictions. “That’s silly. We have plenty of old things in the castle and no one has ever had their soul replaced,” he argued.

Zipporah tapped her lip and walked just at the edge of the circle of light centered on the writing stand. “And how do you know? Haven’t you ever met someone who suddenly began acting strangely? Maybe speaking in archaic language or obsessing over how new and amazing everything is?” She moved suddenly, slamming her hands down on the table and getting her face close to his. “Why do you think they have a barrier around your rooms? Children are the most susceptible.”

“Ok, that’s enough playing, Zipporah,” Dedryck chided. “Lord Melhcior, there’s no such thing as ghosts. Do not be afraid.”

Zipporah continued to giggle as she took up her guarding position and Melchior sat down next to Kirk, hiding a shiver. “It’s not real my lord,” Kirk said with a smile. “We don’t have such barriers and nothing like that has happened in the temple either.”

Thus filled with quiet terror, Melchior turned his attention to transcribing. Gertrude brought down her own work and sat on the other side of the table to be ready to turn the pages. The first thing Melchior noticed was that he’d gotten faster. With all the writing he’d worked on over the year, it was good to see progress. Once a page was turned, he realized that the later pages were in increasingly better condition. Just before lunch, they arrived at their first entry where the text was still marks on a page rather than holes in the parchment. This meant that the art was also intacted.

The connected record spoke mostly of how long it took wild seedlings that had been transplanted to mature to fruit bearing age. The picture was of a type of flower that Melchior had never seen. Like most things blenrus related, it was gold. The bud began wrapped in bright green then opened into a seven pointed flower that looked for all the world like a crown viewed from an angle. He and Kirk shared smiles upon seeing it before spending several minutes just staring. Melchior called Zipporah over while he prepared to do a sketch.

“Have you seen a real one?” he asked.

Zipporah took in the art without speaking at first then answered slowly. “I have never seen a blenrus flower. No one has as far as I know. Even the buds are never seen. The fruit springs forth too quickly. I believe a few knights have attempted to camp near the trees in order to witness them but the distraction of a few minutes is all it takes to miss the moment.”

“How strange,” Melchior replied. “I wonder if the trees are shy?”

Zipporah continued to look over his shoulder until lunch time when her younger brother appeared at the bottom of the stairs to call them to the meal. During their last visit, Loweclaud had been too enamored with Sigsnyr to give the Aub’s youngest son much attention. Now he couldn’t stop stealing glances while he guided Melchior through the mansion. Melchior just smiled everytime their eyes met without saying anything that might break the tension. He still remembered Sir Ptolomaus’s warning about not accepting Loweclaud into his service.

Thankfully, the walk to the dining room was short. Count Haldenzel and the hunt had elected to take lunch outdoors rather than return to the mansion. Since Melchior wasn’t attending, the planned nature walk had been scrapped for an actual excursion. Loweclaud had been sent back just to relay this message and the count’s apologies to Melchoir. Whether Claudio was being extra formal to avoid giving offense or Loweclaud had begged for his freedom, he seemed happy to have the chance to observe their guests.

The countess, heir, and second wife were also taking lunch with them. With Zipporah standing guard and thus unable to distract her family, Melchior was nearly left without any protection from more awkward probing. Thankfully, Isolde was included as a guest and deftly turned the conversation towards the Royal Academy, using Loweclaud’s curiosity as a dam against the rest of his family’s machinations. Melchior was more than happy to talk about what first year classes were like and how to prepare for the knights course.

Preparations for the knights course turned out to be a point of contention for the people of Haldenzel. The countess was of the opinion that it was detrimental to force a path too early and thus pre-academy knight training should be focused on overall stamina and mana capacity rather than knight specific skills. Nantfelda didn’t think it was a problem to encourage a child towards a specific field so long as they were amenable to it. “That is how one ends up with two knights,” she added over the rim of her wine cup.

A pinched expression crossed the countess’s face. Melchior wondered whether the Haldenzelers teased her over her two scholar sons. They were still giant men known to be capable with hunting bows, as any son of Haldenzel would have to be, so he couldn't imagine why. “If one is happy with children who can only be knights,” she said back.

Isolde’s squeak was quiet but Melchior still heard it. Lady Nantfelda didn’t seem like she had as she smiled wider. “At least they haven’t taken an interest in attending,” she joked. Both women chuckled and seemed to put aside their feud. Melchior felt a little warmer. What would be wrong with wanting to be an attendant?

Before he could interject, Pepin appeared at his elbow to pour him more juice and pat him on the shoulder. He didn’t need to defend the attendant profession. In fact, the ladies were shooting apologetic smiles at their own attendants who showed no fear when it came to chastising their bosses.

Loweclaud looked around in some confusion, not really understanding the joke. “Is being an attendant bad?”

“No. Attendants are wonderful, intelligent, and considerate. They hold some of the most demanding jobs,” Melchior replied. Everyone hurried to agree while Loweclaud nodded and recommenced asking an unending string of questions about life at the Royal Academy.

Melchior was very happy to escape back to the vault. They were getting close enough to finishing the accounts that they might manage if they worked diligently. This left no time for more sketches or even to get overly distracted with the art. Still, Melchior wondered whether they’d been painted with magic. He took the time to attempt to Copy and Place but only some colors made the trip over. The result was very confusing since neither green nor gold were among them making for copies of just amorphous splotches of blue and purple that didn’t look anything like the subject of the paintings.

In the end, he was a little late to the central plaza, but felt it was worthwhile since the final account was about Rozemyne reviving the Spring Summoning ritual complete with a painting of her surrounded by other women singing. After Sheila and Lothar had set up the rituals and begun processing death announcements alongside the tax official, he arrived dressed in his ceremonial robes and slightly out of breath.

Nikolaus sat at a table with two chairs and a small stack of medals. Melchior joined him with a smile and they immediately began registering the new children. Most children were from hunting tribes and not afraid of having their blood drawn but one particularly clean little boy looked ready to collapse. He walked up to Melchior as though to his execution.

“It will only take a moment,” Melchior assured him with a smile. He took up his ceremonial needle and the boy's hand and had to pause. The boy shook and stared at his finger with wide eyes. “It doesn’t hurt,” Melchior assured him.

“My brother said that the disks can kill you,” the boy whispered.

Melchior shook his head. “They just sit in a box. They can’t kill you but they do allow you to get married and all the other things only citizens can do.” He wasn’t sure what all those things were. Each city and province had slightly different standards for what citizenship meant for commoners. That it allowed you to retrieve a schtappe would never be relevant to this child.

“They can’t turn you into sand?” he asked.

“I'm fairly sure they can’t,” Melchior replied.

The boy nodded then gritted his teeth. Melchior made a quick stab then squeezed a drop of blood out of the finger in his grip. Once the boy turned his finger down and stamped his medal it glowed. The task was quickly done but the boy’s questions haunted Melchior throughout the rest of the evening. Having recently had an older friend tell him a story just to scare him, he wondered whether this was the same thing. He would have to ask and hoped no one laughed at his gullibility.

Once the administrative work was done, Melchior and Nikolaus ascended the stage to begin giving blessings. First they recited the story of the gods as written in Rozemyne’s children’s bible and taught the other kids how to pray. Once everyone could go through the proper motions and say all the words he gave his blessing and the children returned to their families.

The newly starbound adults then stepped forward. Most looked blindingly happy but a couple only seemed to be waiting for the ceremony to end. Melchior tried to pick out who Nord’s brother was but Nord didn't have the most unique colors or facial features. He was left to just perform the ritual.

The people of Haldenzel weren't as amazed by the sparkles as those from other villages and mansions, but they had plenty to mutter about his small stature and adorableness. Since there was no feast or other organized celebration, they just returned to their rooms to prepare for dinner. Melchior spent his walk back sending prayers to Anwachs.

Getting out of his ceremonial robes didn’t take long but it did provide enough time to seek advice. “How can I stop being adorable?” he asked Pepin while he was dressed.

A small giggle escaped Pepin before he answered. “That is impossible my lord.”

“Surely not.”

“Allow me to turn the question back to you. How could Lady Henriette stop being adorable?” Pepin asked.

Melchior tried to imagine some point in the future when his little button drop was anything other than the cutest thing. He growled as he had to concede that such a thing would not occur even if she grew taller than him. Pepin giggled again in reply. “That is just the curse of younger siblings,” he said with a shrug before brushing an imaginary dust shumil from Melchior's shoulders.

Melchior looked at himself in the mirror. He loved his autumn outfit but he had to agree that it didn't make him look any more mature. That was a small price to pay, he decided. There would be time to come up with something that reinforced a commanding presence without being too intimidating. For now, he needed to banish chaos so he wasn't too fidgety at dinner.

A Simple Family Dinner

Melchior and his retainers were seated separately for dinner with one in the seat of honor and the others next to Loweclaud at the children’s end of the table. To avoid an awkward parade of kneeling, Melchior took care to arrive last. Nikolaus and Dedryck stood guard so that Zipporah could eat with her family. Isolde was dressed in deep gold with a pleated over dress of orange: strong colors in a less than fashionable cut. It was not what Melchior had come to expect from her fashion choices but it would be rude to give anything but compliments so he did. Zipporah looked more like herself in a resist-dyed yellow dress with the bare minimum of festoonment. Everyone else was working and so wore their uniforms but all his retainers wore their brooches. He hadn't asked them too but it was comforting to see that Zipporah was still on his side despite sitting with her family. It was not much help when he was pinned between the count and countess while she was several places down.

Count Haldenzel began their meal with a warm and booming voice. “Allow us to renew our welcome, Lord Melchior and retinue. I hope you’ve been comfortable in our little mansion.” He then introduced a local delicacy that had been elevated using Rozemyne’s cooking innovations. A thick stew made with sausage and turnips was set before everyone while Claudio continued to wax poetic about cream sauce and something called a “roo”. Melchior wished for a moment that he hadn’t brought a noble attendant so that Sheila would be able to taste everything. Now he would have to describe things after the fact.

“Thank you again, Geibe Haldenzel, for your warm hospitality. Indeed the people of Haldenzel are most generous hosts,” Melchior replied. Before anyone could begin an awkward train of conversation he presented his own. “I am looking forward to reading to the end of your history now that we’ve copied it all out.”

The giebe smiled brightly. “Ah! Lady Gertrude spoke well of your work in our archives. Making a copy of that tome has long been on our list of things to do but the blenrus accounts are better preserved than some other texts which needed more immediate care.”

“Do they have a name?” Melchior asked. There wasn't one on the cover and the book lacked a title page.

Claudio paused. “I’m not certain. We always refer to them in the same way.” He looked around at his family who gave different versions of agreement. “We will have to name them for publishing anyway.”

“You intend to publish Lord Melchior’s translation?” Isolde asked from the end of the table. It was clear that no one expected her to speak at all during the meal. Loweclaud looked terrified on her behalf.

Nantfelda was the first to recover. “We hope to share this rich history with all of Ehrenfest. Blenrus are one of our duchy’s treasures,” she said brightly.

“There are several fun stories woven between all the details of arboriculture,” Melchior offered. “I’m sure many would find them a delight.”

The Countess nodded and began to speak but was cut off by Isolde. “I agree, my lord. A wonder that they should remain hidden and unintelligible to most without your assistance and effort.”

Eyes narrowed and Melchior got the sense that the giebe was offended. Thankfully one of his sons spoke up. “How true you are, Lady Isolde. We will have to speak this winter about how to proceed with this joint venture of publishing Haldenzel's stories. As I understand a gift shall be made to Alexandria. We should also discuss how to approach them should they also hope to publish.”

“I shall inform Kazmiar to prepare for a meeting,” she replied, then gave a genuine smile and went back to eating her soup. Before the silence could stretch, Zipporah asked about that day's hunt. Claudio complimented Nikolaus on his development as a knight and insinuated that he should marry into their province.

“Father, we cannot take all of Lord Melchior's guard knights.”

“It will be a trade, a trade,” Claudio said. “We have given an excellent knight to the capital, isn't it only fair?”

Melchior resisted the urge to sink into his chair and hide under the table. If this was Claudio’s reaction to one of his children leaving, Melchior could only begin to imagine what Count Haldenzel would be like if his son joined his daughter. “Verzeichanmut⁶⁷ has already rested her pen⁶⁸. You cannot add clauses now,” Melchior chirped in what he hoped was a lighthearted fashion. The faster they escaped this topic the better.

Nantfelda chuckled while Claudio looked aggrieved. “From whom did you inherit such sharpness?” he blustered through a sip of wine. “Fine, fine, I won't attempt to take advantage. I only ask that you be a good lord.”

“Lord Melchior is most generous,” Zipporah interjected. Tight smiles turned that way again, further proving that the other children weren’t expected to contribute during this dinner unless prompted. She pressed forward without fear. “This year I shall serve as lead apprentice even. With such opportunity afforded to me, I feel my choice of lord was correct.”

Now the adults looked properly surprised. Melchior glanced at Isolde hoping someone would share his annoyance. Zipporah was an amazing knight with tons of leadership experience. How could her placement be surprising? As the shocked silence persisted he placed a hand to his cheek and affected a confused voice. “Has the Goddess of Light visited from the west⁶⁹?” The adults conducted a whole conversation through glances back and forth. It was so heated that Melchior felt bad for interrupting but continued. “When exquisite art comes into one’s possession, do they hide it away⁷⁰?”

“No, I suppose not. Congratulations, Sister,” the heir said, finally breaking the staring contest.

“Yes, congratulations, dear. All your efforts have been recognized,” the countess said. “Did something occur? I recall Sir Tiedemmon’s son being your head apprentice.”

“Oh no. Sigsnyr’s service has been exemplary… too exemplary even,” Melchior said cryptically.

“Sigsnyr is assisting with several research projects this year along with his work mapping the Royal Academy grounds and taking two courses. While he could, and has, performed the duties of the lead apprentice in addition to these things, Lord Melchior has no dearth of skilled knights that he must,” Isolde elaborated.

More expository looks were exchanged before Claudio mumbled. “Has the boy left any time to meet with Liebeskhilfe, I wonder?”

Before Melchior could say anything, Zipporah swiftly changed the subject. “Speaking of Sigsynr, he has assisted me in preparing a gift for Loweclaud.” Nantfelda narrowed her eyes at her daughter but didn’t stop her from steering the conversation. Zipporah’s attendant stepped forward with a box which she held open to present Loweclaud with a bracelet set with four faestones. Melchior worked to contain his jealousy. He knew he would have his own bracelet soon and that his box worked just as well but it wouldn’t be made with loving care by his family. At least it was likely to be prettier. Zipporah had chosen a design so understated one could call it plain. The band was of even thickness except for where it split to hold the ordonnanz.

“And what is this?” Nantfelda asked.

“It is called a roost. This version allows anyone with mana to send and receive ordonnanz as though they have a schtappe,” Melchior explained.

“And Lord Sigsnyr invented this?” the countess asked.

“He improved an existing tool invented by Hauchettze and Alexandria. That one allows for infinite repetition of messages while hiding the faestones used in its operation. He reduced its size and complexity to make it truly portable then small enough to be mounted to the wrist. It has the same drawbacks as other kinds of mana jewelry. If it dissolves, I will buy you one made of zaubertine,” Zipporah promised.

Loweclaud stared at her as though she was the Goddess of Light. “I can send birds now?!” he cried. Zipporah nodded and handed him an ordonnanz. There was already one set in the bracelet but everyone knew it was good to have more than one. “Wow! Thank you!” He obviously wanted to send a message right that moment but knew it would be rude.

“Why don’t you send a message to Nikolaus,” Melchior suggested. “Remember to say who you are before speaking your message.”

Everyone watched while Isolde and Zipporah taught Loweclaud how to send an ordonnanz then as the bird flew over to Nikolaus and said “This is Loweclaud sending my first ordo… ordonnanz!” three times. Melchior clapped lightly forcing everyone else to clap too. There was true amazement once Nikolaus sent his message back and the bird sat poised but silent on Loweclaud’s wrist.

“It doesn’t begin speaking right away?” Nantfelda observed.

Loweclaud tapped his jewelry and the bird said “Congratulations!” over and over as long as the lad was allowed to indulge his desire to hear it. Eventually he was convinced to revert the ordonnanz to a feastone and put everything away but he continued to bounce in his chair for the rest of the evening.

Claudio turned to a smiling Melchior with a serious face. “How much are the schematics?” he asked in no uncertain terms.

“Ah… As a member of my retinue, Zipporah is entitled to use them for her family's use. Wider distribution is being handled by Charlotte. You will have to speak with her,” Melchior replied.

Nantfelda and the countess passed something between their gazes. “Your knight invented this tool but your sister has control over it?” Nantfelda asked.

“Father does as well but I assumed you would prefer to speak with Charlotte,” Melchior replied. “She is the head of our faction and has graciously agreed to use her superior skill and reach to spread this trend.”

The giebe’s oldest son spoke up for the first time. “So you have no interest in building your own independent support?” he asked.

“Not at this time,” Melchior replied. The man nodded and continued eating his poached bird.

“So we must await winter to come to an agreement and spring to begin production?” Claudio sighed heavily.

For a moment, Melchior was tempted to relent and offer to negotiate with Charlotte much sooner, possibly that night, but Isolde spoke up again before he could be swayed. “Oh, but Lady Nantfelda will be visiting very soon. I am certain Lady Charlotte can make time to host our ambassador for tea.” It seemed that everyone was getting used to her speaking up because the only looks directed down the table were ones of annoyance and appreciation. Delaying Nantfelda’s trip any more would now leave her without time to negotiate while preparing for the visit to Gaussbuttel. If Claudio wish to continue being petty, it would incur real penalties for his province not imposed by the Aub but through no fault but his own

Claudio snorted a laugh and raised his cup. “It is fortunate that she will be returning with you to Ehrenfest,” he declared. It was unclear from everyone’s reaction whether this had been the plan from the start but Melchior felt like it might have been a possibility. Isolde smiled sweetly and nodded smugly.

From here, the conversation was turned to lighter topics. The count and countess discussed the possibility that the Lord of Winter appeared in their province, saying that Haldenzel was more prepared than ever this year and that it would be an exciting hunt. Two more courses of meats were presented then a dessert made from roasted fruits sandwiched between layers of streusel. It was incredibly messy to eat unless you were paying the most careful attention so Melchior didn’t have much warning before Loweclaud introduced his own topic.

“Lord Melchior, how do you select your guard knights?” He looked so innocent and curious that Melchior found it hard to be upset by the question but he managed in the end.

For the first time he felt like projecting the depth of his gravitas, little though it was. Loweclaud still tilted away from his sharp smile. “I attempt to select the best from those willing. Those with skill, agreeable personalities, and a loyalty to my ideals. At the moment, I am not in need of more.”

The room remained quiet and filled with tension. Loweclaud swallowed then clenched his fists to gather his courage. “But you will once yours begin to graduate, right?” Melchior nodded slowly. “I would like to be considered at that time.”

Melchior didn’t turn to look at anyone else though he heard the heavy way Claudio’s cup landed on the table. “I will consider it at that time,” Melchior replied. “Though I encourage you to consider the nobility of service closer to one’s home.”

Zipporah paled alongside her mother while Claudio nodded sagely. Nantfelda cleared her throat daintily. “I have heard that Lord Theodore of Kirnberger has a unique agreement with you. Perhaps something of that nature could bring benefits both to Haldenzel and to you.”

“Another thing to consider once Lord Loweclaud has become an apprentice knight in true,” Melchior said then turned a radiant smile towards Nantfelda and her son. They seemed to relax, which wasn’t his intention. Melchior began to wonder why his uncle used this method to show his displeasure.

Dinner ended with compliments on the food and wishes for a good evening and restful sleep. Melchior scurried away as fast as was polite. Leaving Isolde and Zipporah to field any further invitations to withdraw for Karuta or other leisure activities. Zipporah spent the rest of the night with her family while Isolde appeared at his door only a few minutes after him to giggle and recount the entire event they’d both just attended.

Melchior pulled out his paper and crayons to do a portrait while Kirk listened and asked questions. With nothing more to do until Melchior needed a bath, Pepin posed for his lord. It was a relaxing evening, doubly so since they weren’t awoken in the night by a massive storm.

Like Flying Downhill

The next morning, Melchior and company were treated to a hearty breakfast before reuniting with the tax official to say their final goodbyes. Dressed in his normal High Bishop robes, Melchior accepted the three chalices he’d delivered in the spring.

“I accept the vessels formally entrusted to Haldenzel and bear witness to their safe return. May you endure Ewigeliebe’s harsh judgment to witness once again the blessed melting of the snow,” Melchior intoned.

The cups were passed to Nikolaus who made a show of inspecting them before passing them off to Lothar. “May the gods hear your prayer in the depth of winter. We shall pray here for your safe return,” Giebe Haldenzel replied formally.

Once the religious leave-taking was done Melchior was then obligated to give a noble goodbye as well. As he meandered through the formalities he was struck with a sudden appreciation for the noble-adjacent nature of being clergy. A normal priest was not obligated to swap quite so many platitudes before being left in peace to finish preparing for travel.

“And Lord Melchior, we wish to show our appreciation for your gracious assistance,” Claudio continued. An attendant stepped forward with a plant in a decorative pot. “I’ve heard you are a lover of rare flowers.”

Melchior couldn't help but be excited as he watched this gift pass through the usual checks. “I should not accept, it was fire upon coals to allow me to take away my own copies of your texts, but you have struck at my flank,” he said diplomatically.

With an awkward lilt, Claudio replied, “Ah… yes, your assistance with transcription and translation was appreciated.” Melchior got the sense that he wasn't being thanked for his scholarly efforts but couldn't care in the face of a new ambassador. He caught an approving grin from the Countess as the goodbyes continued and he dodged all efforts to make concrete plans to meet over the winter.

Melchior didn't think it would be the worst thing to have tea with Giebe Haldenzel. He could be difficult but even his spat with the Aub remained on casual ground. However, he wouldn't be spending much time in Ehrenfest over the winter and he would rather spend it in the playroom.

Eventually, all the luggage, including a couple of Lady Nantfelda’s trunks, was safely stowed in the lionbus or strapped to a personal highbeast. Nikolaus would take Zipporah’s spot inside for their return trip. Sadly this didn't mean she was able to speak with her mother since she and Dedryck needed to fly in formation.

The trip back was almost just as relaxing as the journey north. Rather than fun banter and stories about a distant province. Isolde took the opportunity to prepare their reports. “How much should we say about dinner, I wonder? Do you think Giebe Haldenzel will be particularly forthcoming with the Aub?” she asked while tapping her pencil on the desk.

“I don't see a reason to withhold anything,” Melchior replied.

“What do you think, Pepin?” Isolde said.

“About dinner?” he yawned. “I don't really remember what happened. You should have asked last night.”

“What do you mean you don't remember. It happened just last night!” Isolde squawked.

“I mean precisely what I said,” Pepin replied. He rested his head against the window and watched the trees give way to meadows.

“How though. So little time has passed?”

He just shrugged and said nonchalantly, “I drank poison as a child. It ruined my memory.”

Isolde stared then tried to share her shock with Nikolaus and Melchior. “Neither of you look surprised by these revelations.”

“I was informed when it happened,” Melchior replied. “Please don't ask any more questions,” he added.

Isolde desperately wanted to ask more questions but all three boys looked completely closed off if not depressed. There was just something in the way Pepin said that he drank poison instead of that he was poisoned, as though he did it on purpose. With a direct order though, she had to return to the initial topic. “What about you, Nikolaus? What did you notice?”

After a moment of blinking in surprise he sputtered. “No one seemed likely to attack during the course of the meal and nothing was poisoned.”

“But how did people feel?” Isolde pressed.

“That's… how could anyone know that?” Nikolaus asked.

“Pepin, how do you know what people are feeling?” Isolde turned the question to him.

Pepin’s eyes were falling closed. He had to blink himself awake to answer. “You pay attention to their expressions and body language. If you examine enough people in enough situations, you get a feeling for what emotions they're experiencing.”

“I feel like we’ve seen just as many people in just as many situations and I never know what people are feeling,” Nikolaus grumbled.

“Well you're paying more attention to whether or not they are about to pull a knife than whether they're about to start crying,” Pepin replied.

“I feel like you do more than that, Pepin,” Melchior argued. “I’m pretty observant but even I can't see what you do.”

Pepin blushed. “Well, my parents also spent a lot of time explaining to me how people think. I’m nowhere near as good as my father at seeing why people are sad or as my mother at knowing what to say to make them feel better.”

“How do they know how people think?” Nikolaus asked.

“I don't know. Apparently my great-grandfather did research on it that my mother has been adding too. She talks to a lot of people, though… ah… its not a public thing,” Pepin explained.

“Who does she talk to and why?” Isolde asked.

“I can't tell you that. Not in specifics. She helps people with afflictions of the soul and mind. Naturally, no one would want anyone to know they suffer from such things. Its only rarely and by accident that I meet any of her clients.”

“And you won't name names?”

“Lord Melchior would never ask me to do that,” Pepin replied without a hint of a smile. It did not need to be said that nothing else would compel him to speak. Melchior just nodded from his seat without commenting.

Isolde frowned. “Do you know how powerful such information would be?” she asked him.

“If people feel they don’t have discretion, they won’t seek healing,” Melchior said with a shrug. “If at some point something dangerous is revealed, then Pepin will report it. Otherwise, it’s better to respect a doctor’s right to privacy.”

“But you said this was research. They are experiments. Surely that does not command those rights?” Isolde pressed.

“If our minds could understand themselves they would be too simple to understand themselves,” Pepin quoted. “Also everyone is different so a new approach is needed every time. It's still a kind of healing.”

Isolde's shoulders fell as she was forced to give up. She began to wonder just how much information Melchior was allowing to escape and how little she actually knew about her coworkers. Having made it her mission to learn as much about them as possible, it was disconcerting to find out so many new things all at once.

After the reports were complete, talk turned to more exciting things. Isolde wanted to know about the coming-of-age party. Melchior had no idea how she found out about it but he wasn't going to spill any additional information himself. After exhausting every avenue to gain or hide information, they spoke about the upcoming school year and the new uniforms everyone was getting instead. Expanding clothes were becoming a staple in households of every status by this point. Since the garments would last longer than normal, more care than ever was being put into them. There was much to discuss.

By the time they reached the temple, both Pepin and Nikolaus had fallen asleep, lulled by excited voices and ever finer minutia. Pepin rested against the window while Nikolaus rested against Pepin's shoulder. Melchior basked in how adorable they looked until Isolde woke them with a sharp declaration that they were back.

“I didn't even feel you land,” Pepin yawned as he shook Nikolaus who was much slower to wake.

“I’m getting very good at flying,” Melchior said proudly. “Thank you all for being good passengers!”

The lionbus filled with snickers as he opened the sides. Lady Nantfelda's attendant hurried over to retrieve her lady’s things only to be out maneuvered by the steady stream of gray clergy coming to help. Pat and Chet had even summoned carriages for their guests and prepared refreshments. Nantfelda was taken to a receiving room to recover from her flight and wait for her things to be stowed.

Melchior surreptitiously watched her take in the temple and its denizens. At first she watched with sharp appraisal, then surprise, which gave way to suspicion, before finally settling into comfortable acceptance. Everything was just as it would be for any other short visit to a waystop on a long journey. It was better for having attendants of skill commensurate with mednobles. She entered the temple with no expression of lingering discomfort.

Feeling himself releasing a nervousness he hadn't been aware of, Melchior told Kirk to extend an invitation to Nantfelda to come for tea and to insist there was no obligation and he would understand if she were too tired. Then he began to make his way to the High Priest’s chambers to deliver the small chalices.

“Lord Melchior,” Isolde called.

He stopped. “Is something wrong?”

She hurried over with Pepin and knelt. “We have yet to take our leave. Is there anything else required of us?”

“No, and thank you for your work. I apologize that this trip was not as exciting as the last one,” Melchior replied.

“There is no need for apologies, my lord. This was excellent fun!” Pepin chirped and Isolde nodded her agreement.

“Then may Jungeriese bless and keep you until our parting comes to an end,” Melchior intoned.

“May Jungeriese bless you as well,” Isolde replied. Then she and Pepin hurried off together. Melchior watched them go with a slowly growing seed of suspicion. Maybe they’d just grown closer because of the trip but something told him they were conspiring. He shrugged away those thoughts and returned to his room.

Isolde and Pepin wasted no time dropping their luggage at their respective homes then meeting at the library. They didn't have entry tickets but they weren't there to read anyway. Kolteruze soon arrived looking miffed. “This can't be anything pressing?”

“Don't complain after you consent to appear,” Isolde scoffed.

They made their way slowly towards the line for tickets. It was none of their first time there, going through the process but they milled around looking just the right amount of lost.

“You both have servants for this. Why are we here in person?” Kolteruze questioned. He looked around at the collection of attendants and servants. Only here were nobles obligated to wait with commoners since the commoners generally represented other nobles. No one wanted to accidentally offend an archnoble by forcing their servant out of line, preventing them from getting a ticket. Only a few children of lower status than Isolde and himself ever came in person. One of those children was frequently Adaire who Pepin was probably watching for.

Kolteruze wasn't sure where the thought came from but once it entered his mind he knew what this meeting was about. “I’m not telling you anything. I learned things while doing my job.”

Isolde pressed sound blocking tools into their hands. Kolteruze tried to ignore it when she left her hands resting atop theirs so they couldn't return them. “Don't be this way. Are we not all of the exalted twelve. What secrets can Blaunfah have from Efflorelume?”

“A great many I’m sure,” Kolteruze replied. “This is a matter of trust.”

“Hasn't Lord Melchior proven his trust in you?” Pepin asked, his eyes still scanning all around.

“And now you come to me as penitents of Chaoscipher⁷¹,” Kolteruze snapped.

Isolde squeezed his hand which he was not happy to realize made him calm down. Then, in a voice like fine silk, she asked, “What betrayal? What treachery? Are we not in agreement that our work is just and noble?”

Kolteruze had to look away from her glassy pink gaze to calm the heat in his face. “It's too late anyway,” he muttered.

“Too late to change things but not too late to know,” Isolde pressed.

“I won't tell you anything. There is no reason to toss leaves over snow⁷².”

“It's never too late for revenge,” Pepin cut in. “Or do you intend to be the only person responding in kind?” He added his gaze to Isolde's.

Kolteruze tried to back away but Isolde still gripped his hand. “What are you doing, Kolteruze?”

“I am just having something carved,” he mumbled.

“Something?” Pepin hummed. “It must be either very fine or very large though I doubt it will approach what you received.”

Kolteruze turned his face away. He was momentarily angry that Pepin could read him so well. Of course the work of half a season couldn't compare to Lord Melchior's year of scheming but he knew his lord well enough to know that he would like his gift.

“What is it? What is it?” Isolde asked.

“I’ve said too much anyway. Prepare whatever return gifts you want. Lord Melchior cannot argue against them,” Kolteruze said.

Isolde beamed and bounced on her toes. “Well Pepin, I guess you have much work to do with very little time. Fear not, I will assist.”

“So you don't plan to prepare anything yourself?” Pepin asked.

“Why would I need to?” Isolde asked.

“It would be awkward to be the only person without,” Pepin replied.

Isolde tipped her head in genuine confusion. The boys returned looks of amazement. “For someone so smart, you are so dumb." Isolde recoiled in offense. "Of course you're getting something. Lord Melchior has prepared gifts for everyone who accompanied him to the Royal Academy last year. Don't think you’ve been treated to anything less than everyone else either,” Kolteruze snapped. “Do what you want. Tell who you want. Tell them… ‘consider heartfelt offerings before richness’. Then you can't go wrong.”

With that Kolteruze pulled his hand back with a sharp tug and took a proper place in line. Isolde and Pepin hurried after him. “You cannot say that then walk away!” she cried.

Kolteruze just remained silent and looked anywhere but at his coworkers. “There must be more you can say. Something about the domain of the presents so that more appropriate recompense can be prepared,” Pepin pressed.

“Silence is our greatest defense,” Kolteruze replied, quoting his lord.

Isolde rolled her eyes then fell to scheming. “There must be something you want. We won't tell how we obtained our information. You need not worry about being found out and you can put us in your debt.”

There were things he was worried about. Mostly it was how determined Helenwig seemed to be but there were other things too. It was tempting. If Melchior never found out there would be no reason for him to lose faith. He opened his mouth then closed it again. Did he just want to project the appearance of integrity or did he wish to be a true ally to his lord? There were benefits to both approaches; far too many to discount either out of hand. In the end, the vision of Melchior looking deeply betrayed haunted him and he had to shake his head. “I will say nothing more,” he repeated.

Pepin looked into his eyes then sighed. “It was worth asking at least.”

“You are giving up?” Isolde squeaked.

“He is resolute. We won't get anymore information,” Pepin replied. Kolteruze wanted to say something to reinforce this assessment but he didn't trust himself to look at Pepin again. He could also produce a rather devastating expression of sadness. They continued to wait quietly then, took their tickets, and went their separate ways.

Footnotes

67. Goddess of records^

68. The deal is done^

69. Why do you seem so surprised ^

70. “Should I have wasted this good opportunity?” or “Would it be better to ignore something so valuable?”^

71. “You come asking me to commit treachery” or some other heavy crime.^

72. “To do something catastrophic for petty reasons” Why does it mean that? Because I said so… eh its a short version of a longer phrase. “Do not pretend at autumn and ignore the weight of winter. Hiding snow with leaves saves no one their salted pork.” Or something.^

Chapter Text

That evening, Melchior wrote the text for his letters to Alexandria on wooden boards. He learned from his last letters not to waste paper at the early stages. Even though he was confident that they included nothing objectionable, it was better to be safe. It would also be important to get them approved as quickly as possible. He wanted to send them before winter, right after the Harvest Festival.

To this end, he planned to deliver them himself when he visited the castle in the morning to give his report to Sylvester. He also prepared letters for Henriette to be delivered during the Harvest Festival. He couldn't include much of anything in them besides the barest pleasantries so it would be easier just to write them ahead of time than to send them from the road.

His quiet sighs throughout this process eventually drew the attention of Lothar. “Is something the matter, my lord?”

“No… well, I won't be able to visit Henriette during the festival and I didn't even get a chance to see her and warn her because of my trip to Haldenzel.”

“You have a few days between now and when you leave for your trip. You could return to the castle,” Lothar suggested. While that was true, it would require his apartments to be reopened which was something of a pain for his attendants. “I’m sure they are not much affected by the need to do their jobs.”

“But if I don't have to… why put everyone to the trouble.”

It is no trouble, Lothar knew he should say but he also knew it would be an inconvenience. He did not know Lord Haldis well but his care for his family and desire to be with them were easy to see. He would come if called but not calling him would make everyone, including his lord, much happier. “Can you not visit from the temple?”

Melchior’s knights wouldn't like him traveling at night but Zargerecht would be there either way. If he were going to visit the castle, his family would also want him to have dinner with them. If he was going for dinner while not in residence, he would have to observe the protocols for guests which he’d never done. Suddenly, the whole venture was beginning to sound fun. “Yes, let us plan for me to visit on Windday as usual!” he declared. The rest of the evening was spent in excited contemplation of all the novel greetings and etiquette he would get to try.

The next morning, Kazmiar sat with him before breakfast to go over his report from Haldenzel and the preliminary documents for the surveys in Herzfeld. The Aub had selected an early morning meeting so that it didn't conflict with the rest of his day and to preempt discussions with Nantfelda. This was fine with Melchior who generally rose at first bell alongside the rest of the temple but it would mean that most of his scholars would be unavailable.

“Fear not, Deliroze and I will be beside you,” Kazmiar encouraged.

It was nice to be reassured but Melchior wasn't particularly worried about this meeting. He hadn't done anything wrong nor made any huge errors in conduct. It was sure to be a calm encounter. Since he was going on temple business, Melchior dressed in his robes and brought Lothar along as his attendant. Deliroze didn't have a scholar’s uniform yet so he also wore his robes. Since it would be strange for Kazmiar to be the only one in a castle uniform, he resigned himself to following the trend.

Sebastian and Fonsel looked at them strangely but said nothing. Deliroze strutted behind his lord happily, a diptych clacking on his potion belt. This would be his first time getting to use it in an official capacity and while matching Melchior. He didn't wait to be invited into the lionbus but summoned his own sheep shaped highbeast with a smile.

“You changed animals!” Melchior chirped.

“I did. I was going to use a horse but then I remembered how wonderful the sheeps are. And look, Lord Melchior, I have decorative caps for the horns and a garland just like you!” Deliroze babbled. Melchior clapped for the new Ramgern, as it was summarily dubbed. “It's the baast!” Deliroze declared, which drew giggles from everyone.

Fonsel looked over the fluffy looking statue with its little saddle and decorations. “You know. If you add a second set of horns going backwards you would have a schafeinsam. A rare faebeast with needles for wool,” he suggested.

Deliroze's eyes shown. “No schateinsam has ever looked that cute,” Sebastian mumbled but Deliroze was too busy brainstorming horn and decoration placement with Melchior to hear.

“You will have to consider this later. We cannot leave the Aub waiting,” Kazmiar called from his horse. The boys hurried to mount up but continued chatting the entire flight.

Melchior was surprised to be greeted by Haldis who was waiting for them at the entrance. Haldis gave Kazmiar a pointed once over and Lothar a warm smile before leading their party into the castle. “How did you know we were coming?” Melchior asked while they walked through the quiet halls. It was just a bit too early still to be filled with people hurrying to their posts. Only the habitually early were haunting choice corners with picturesque views of the sunrise.

“Plans cannot be made with you without communication passing through me. Naturally, I would not forsake my duty when you have such an important task at hand,” Haldis replied.

“But it's so early,” Melchior said.

Haldis chuckled. “You always rise early, my lord. Even if you did not, only scholars expect regular schedules and even they may be summoned as needed regardless of the bell,” he said pointedly.

Melchior still thought better of summoning Isolde before second bell, right after their trip. There wasn't time for her to arrive anyway and Kazmiar and Deliroze were already there. They quickly came to the office, gathered more interested looks from the knights guarding the door, and entered the quiet office. Sylvester flinched upon seeing his son. “High Bishop,” he said with a frown.

“Aub Ehrenfest, I offer greetings on this morning blessed with bounty by the fruitful days of Schutzaria the Goddess of Wind,” Melchior replied.

“I accept your greetings. Sit.” Sylvester looked Melchior up and down again. “You wore your robes.”

“I am on official temple business,” Melchior replied brightly.

Sylvester pinched the bridge of his nose. “That has never meant coming dressed like a priest before, but I suppose there isn't any harm in it. Let's hear your report.”

Deliroze passed the written accounts to one of Sylvester's scholars while Melchior relayed his version of events. He talked about transcribing all the blenrus accounts and how much easier to read the later ones were. He spoke briefly about walking around the lower mansion which earned a dark scowl for his guard knights, neither of whom had gone on this trip.

Seeing this, he grew defensive. “Is something the matter, father?”

Sylvester met him with his own sharpening aura. “Why were you in the commoner section of a winter mansion?”

Melchior didn't like the sustained anger evident in his father’s face especially when it didn't feel justified. They had taken the necessary precautions and had even visited before. Plus part of his work involved visiting the central plaza which was in the lower mansion. He explained all this calmly, trying his best not to fidget as though guilty of something.

Sylvester tapped his desk menacingly. “Visiting the plaza using a pre-planned route is not equivalent to meandering through dark hallways where danger can hide behind every corner. Why did your knights allow this?”

“You approved of my excursion last time,” Melchior said, voice shaking and eyes wide.

“I did not,” Sylvester replied. “I was not more forceful in my chastisement because I was sure the circumstances were unique.” He leaned forward and rested his head on his fingers. “Melchior, why do you wish to endanger yourself so much and so frequently?”

Melchior felt gooseflesh break out over his skin and the need to run race up his spine. The Aub had never looked so frightening. “I… it is not so dangerous. Why would the people of Haldenzel wish to do me h…harm?”

Sylvester took several deep breaths to calm himself and relaxed, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands, before replying. “Do not do this again.”

“But…” Melchior began.

“Have I made myself clear?” Sylvester snapped, his anger flaring back once again.

Melchior didn't want to say yes. He enjoyed his adventures and there were already so few places he could go. The anxiety of his father felt incongruous with reality. He felt that if he could just explain, that his father would see that it wasn't all that dangerous.

“Melchior!” Sylvester boomed.

Melchior’s shoulders fell and he stared at the ground. “Yes, father. It will be as you say,” he whispered.

Sylvester watched the tear fall from his son’s eye and tried not to break down himself. Why did this boy persist in endangering his life so often and in new and unpredictable ways? Were the usual basic hunts and training exercises not enough. He could understand the thirst for adventure but not even Wilfried, not even Sylvester himself had been so unruly in this particular way. And why did Melchior seem so pained by the simple imperative to protect his person? He acted as though he were being asked to lock himself in his chambers and never leave. Still, he couldn't relent. Sylvester only had one son left who could accept his mantle if the need arose. He would not allow tragedy to befall Melchior too.

Locking away his complex feelings behind a serious mask, he continued their meeting. “Do you have anything else to report?”

Melchior took a moment to master himself, disguised as checking his diptych, before he spoke in a voice still weak and quiet. “Can medals be used to turn people to sand?”

As with all their meetings, the whiplash was immense. “Wha…”

“A young boy was afraid to be registered as a citizen because his older brother told him that the medals can turn people to sand. I don't think that's true, but I’ve been curious so I am taking the opportunity to ask,” Melchior explained.

Sylvester tried to blink away his amazement. “Ah… yes. There's a spell taught to Archduke Candidates for executions,” he sputtered. The look of horror on Melchior's face rivaled his prior sadness at being ordered not to risk his life. “It's very rarely used though. Commoners really needn't worry.”

“Have you…” Melchior began.

“Yes,” Sylvester said, gaze becoming heavy all over again. “And you may too, one day. It is the responsibility of an Aub to judge and to mete out judgment.”

It took Melchior longer to recover from this. The scholars would soon begin flooding the Aub's office but Sylvester didn't rush him. He sat and watched as his son reformed his view of the world. His response at the end of this pulled Sylvester in yet another new direction. “We don't even give people a choice!”

“A choice?” Sylvester asked.

“Everyone has to be registered. We don't even warn people or tell them what it means. We just take their lives and store them in boxes!” Melchior raved. He tried to think of an alternative. No medal meant no schtappe which meant you couldn't be a noble but having a pile of white disks which held the power to kill people seemed like a very bad idea. What would they do if they were stolen! What if they made a mistake during an execution?! It would not be the first time for Ehrenfest to make such a mistake and all the medals were identical! He began to hyperventilate.

Sylvester continued to feel off balance but he calmed himself much faster than the child in front of him. He couldn't help but be reminded of when Brunhilde had proposed to him. What worked on one gremlin…“Melchior, I need you to breathe in,” he commanded.

Melchior did as asked, drawing more and more air into his lungs until it became uncomfortable just like Rozemyne had done. Then he frowned at Sylvester as he awaited the order to breathe out. Sylvester just watched until he released all the air in a huff. “I cannot hold my breath forever, Father.”

Sylvester felt the urge to reach across his desk and ruffle the crop of blue hair pinning him with an ineffective scowl. Unfortunately, his desk was too wide to reach over elegantly. “But you feel better right?” Sylvester teased.

Melchior sighed and seemed to put the thought out of his mind. “I have one last question,” he said. Sylvester gestured for him to continue. “Do you have to be present to allow for teleportation births or could you give permission remotely?”

Being active so early was a pain but at least it wasn't boring. “Come again? Teleportation births? What is that?”

Melchior explained that during his visit to Haldenzel's lower mansion, his retinue had assisted in the birth of a commoner. “I only got to help fix the lights.” The mother had nearly died during the delivery leaving Melchior with anxiety for Brunhilde. To calm his fears, his knight then explained that Aub’s and their wives used teleportation magic to make the process easier. “The specifics were not explained but I have come to understand that many lives might be saved through a wider application of the process assuming it does not put undue burden on the Aub.”

Sylvester was struck dumb, unable to address the revelations that Melchior had attended a commoner birth. His scholars stared with near open mouth amazement. Even Karstedt was unnaturally still behind him. “Summon Dedryck,” Sylvester commanded.

Tea and fruit were brought for Melchior while they waited. He offered to help while he was there but Sylvester didn't take him up on it. As the scholars filed in and gave their greetings they all looked askance at the priests. Deliroze and Melchior mostly ignored them in favor of reading a book Haldis produced to keep them occupied.

They didn't need to wait for very long before Dedryck bounded into the office and knelt with an obviously forced flat expression. “You called for me, Aub Ehrenfest,” he said.

Sylvester desperately wanted to yell at him. He was Melchior’s head knight and the one responsible for his safety on this trip. That he allowed these events to occur spoke of either negligence or arrogance or worse. But Melchior was here and Melchior had frequently displayed an unwillingness to abide insults to his retainers, especially if he felt they didn't deserve them. Witnessing Melchior’s quivering lip and wet expression would make it impossible to be objective and firm. He would have to have this talk later. He gritted his teeth. “Tell me what you know about teleportation and childbirth,” Sylvester commanded.

It turned out that Dedryck didn't know much more than what he’d told Melchior. He gave a more detailed and graphic description of the process then noted that every duchy had its own specific version. “The procedure isn't actually taught at the Royal Academy. No Aub would allow student doctors to observe such a thing.”

Only once the explanation was completed did everyone realize that Melchior was still there listening. Left with much to consider about the miracle of life, he was shuffled into a sideroom while Dedryck continued his explanations. Perhaps he was forgotten again because he was left there for most of the morning. More books and blank paper slowly accumulated as time wore on. After a while, Florencia appeared and joined them at their table.

Melchior almost failed to rise since he was too distracted with his drawing to notice Haldis tapping his chair. Upon noticing her he panicked and leapt from his chair. “I offer greetings, mother!”

Florencia giggled. “I accept your greetings. What is this?” she asked, pointing to a drawing of the door of the meeting room and its surrounding decor.

“I was just drawing the view from my seat. Are you here to see Father too?”

“I am indeed. I was summoned then Ridyarda directed me here. Did your report go well?”

Melchior tried not to let his face fall. Many terrible things happened during their meeting. Florencia gave no indication whether she knew about it already or had noticed a change in her son's mood. “Our time was fruitful,” he replied. He glanced around at Joanna and Leberchet and his mother's guards and was momentarily distracted by the thought that it was late enough for him to summon Isolde without being rude. Then he remembered the order he’d received. “Mother, would you say that our lower city is dangerous?”

Florencia took time to turn over the question then dodged it completely. “What truly troubles you? Is there somewhere you wish to visit in the lower city?”

“Yes but that is not why I ask,” Melchior began. “I…Father…” Florencia held up a hand to stop him then gestured for a sound blocker. With it clutched in his palm Melchior almost began again but he noticed the gazes of both Kazmiar and Leberchet and remembered that many scholars could read lips. He held his sleeve over his mouth. “Father has forbidden me from exploding any winter mansions but they aren't very dangerous… at least their parts are not any more or less dangerous than each other for a committed assassin.”

Florencia held her smile but felt conflicted over this new show of proper circumspection and talk of such grave things. “I agree with Sylvester that the danger posed in different areas of a winter mansion is not equally distributed. If you find yourself growing bored in your rooms, you may always trouble your host to entertain you.”

Melchior scowled where no one could see it. “Is that not just as dangerous? People always use those times to ask difficult questions. And then I wouldn't learn about fun things like leather bracelets and teleportation birth,” Melchior argued.

“About what?” Florencia asked, her brain taking longer than normal to process simple words. She continued before Melchior could repeat himself. “You speak of using teleportation to assist in the trial of Entrindunge?”

“Yes. Isn't that how I was born?” Melchior asked.

It was not. Melchior’s birth had not been as difficult but Florencia remembered how awful Wilfried and Charlotte had been despite her access to all the best numbing agents. There were potions to completely erase pain and those that disconnected feelings of pain from the suffering they caused and those to transmute pain into pleasure and others that rendered one completely unconscious. Nothing would compare to simply skipping the entire process by teleporting the child out of the parent, preventing much of the stretching and tearing and incontinence and…

“It is not,” Florencia replied. She took back her magic tool and rose from her seat. “I must speak with your father. Do you plan to remain here all morning?”

“I think I have too,” Melchior said with a contemplative frown. “I was never dismissed, only told to wait.”

Florencia nodded and made to leave but the door opened first. Sylvester strode in looking deeply annoyed. He rallied upon seeing Florencia. “Oh! You're here already. That makes things easier.”

“I have heard some things this morning that will make other things much easier,” she replied.

Sylvester frowned. “You aren't upset that Erwachlerhen has only visited after Glucklitat⁷²?”

Everyone held their breath as she took her time in answering. Melchior was amazed and retroactively afraid for his mother's suffering. Had she needed to be cut open? Had there been enough light? “The Goddess of Light has fallen and risen in the sky. Today will not be as yesterday⁷³. Do not tell me you would allow Glucklitat to visit upon your wife such trials that you are positioned to prevent?”

Sylvester’s expression passed from surprised to delighted to tired. “Thank you, Florencia. I do not want to, however, the records on such things are not easily found and there is not much time.”

Florencia began to pace. “Indeed we will need to summon all the doctors and question them, sort through several different archives, and possibly write to other duchies.”

Sylvester nodded gravely. “And we don't even know it will be worthwhile.” A sharpness pricked the air. Sylvester wasn't even looking at Florencia but he still paled. “In the short term,” he hurried to add. “Of course this knowledge must be returned to Ehrenfest.”

“I will write to my brother to ask what he knows. What else do you need me to do? I believe we can afford to use one day to begin the process with sufficient vigor,” Florencia said with all the confidence that the Aub had already agreed to use his entire day to discover this secret.

“Check the castle archives. I’ll summon Bonifiatus, he must know something about this too,” Sylvester said.

“Shall I write to Sister? Perhaps she can consult the wisdom of past Aubs.” Melchior asked. All eyes snapped to him as though he’d suddenly appeared in their midst.

“Allow me to handle that as well. We ask too much of Alexandria but they are unlikely to have this knowledge or to have sought it or know it is there to be sought,” Florencia replied.

“Is there any way I can help?”

“Not yet. But we may think of something,” Sylvester assured him. The adults quickly left to complete their tasks leaving Melchior to wonder whether he was allowed to leave or not. He felt it would be better to be immediately available so he continued to wait.

The next person to interrupt Melchior's doodling was Bonifiatus. He neither knocked nor announced his presence. The door was simply flung open causing an awkward showdown between Melchior’s knights and Traugott who stepped forward to meet their sudden animosity before any of Bonifiatus’s other retainers.

“Stand down,” Bonifiatus said while shooting a disapproving look towards his slower retainers. “We did not expect to find you here, Melchior.”

Melchior rose and gave his greeting while his knights stepped back slowly. “I am awaiting further instructions from the Aub,” he declared proudly.

Bonifiatus froze and blinked silently for several seconds before giving a harrumph and sitting down. “Prepare the other room for the interviews,” he instructed his scholar before turning back to Melchior. “Have you been working hard this morning?”

“Not particularly. I gave my report then was told to wait so I was drawing,” Melchior explained. He collected a picture of several weapons and offered it. “I was thinking about new schtappe transformations for my knights. What do you think, Granduncle?”

Bonifiatus accepted the sheet and appeared to look them over. “Can you tell me what brought about all this hubbub?”

Melchior explained what he could without sharing anything he thought should be secret including what he’d witnessed in his time waiting around. Bonifiatus nodded along and asked a couple of questions. “...and now I am waiting in case someone finds something they need extra help with.”

“I see. That is diligent of you,” Bonifiatus rumbled. He placed the drawing down. “This sword lacks a hand guard. And this spear would be too front heavy with all these decorations. I do not think the faestone details would be useful.”

“I thought it would make it possible to offer mana during the pre-ditter ritual for those who can't summon Leidenschaft's spear,” Melchior explained while scribbling in an appropriately understated guard on the sleek looking sword. He frowned at the way it ruined the design but accepted that that would be better than losing a hand.

Bonifiatus paused to contemplate the possibilities that this would work. As he was not an expert in these things, he was forced to concede that it might be possible. “Tell me what happens when one of your retainers attempts it. If it can be used to enhance the strength of attacks, then I will change my own weapons to include faestones.”

Traugott chuckled silently behind his grandfather but got control of himself when Melchior looked at him quizzically. Melchior thought it best to ignore him. “Would you like me to design something for you, Granduncle?”

“I will consider whatever you send me. Remember that weapons are tools first and ornaments third,” Bonifiatus counseled.

“What are they second?”

“Weapons.”

They blinked at each other then Melchior fell into thought about this new revelation. It reminded him of the poetic passages Sister Streita wrote for the sword manuals. He wondered whether Lord Bonifiatus would be willing to pen words of wisdom alongside Dedryck and Streita. Before he could ask, Bonifiatus’s scholar returned to announce that the other waiting room was ready.

“Would you like to help with the interrogations?” Bonifiatus asked.

Melchior lit up. There was finally something he could help with “Yes!” His retainers looked like they wanted to protest but both Archduke Candidates looked so pleased that they couldn't speak up.

“Leave the tiny one here in case someone comes to summon you,” Bonifiatus ordered before leading the way on swift steps.

Melchior hurried to give instructions to Deliroze to collect any nonemergency missives and to send an ordonnanz if Melchior was called for before hurrying after clutching his notebook.

By the time Melchior arrived, a second chair had been placed for him by Bonifatius and for Kazmiar next to the other scholars. They settled in with tea and the first doctor was called.

Most of the younger doctors knew only as much as Dedryck. When asked why they never mentioned the procedure when they saw it wasn't standard practice they gave odd answers.

“It’s taboo to mention.”

“I was told it just isn't done here.”

“I passed that course on the first day. It wasn't on the test.”

Only the oldest doctor, a man around forty, had anything promising. He glanced nervously at Melchior but Bonifiatus pressed him to continue. “I attempted to suggest it for the birth of Lady Charlotte. It was just that spring that I was brought on. The other physicians warned me that anyone that broached the topic was immediately distanced, sometimes very far away.”

Bonifiatus looked grave. “So you made no attempt to speak with anyone with authority, not even when that authority changed hands?” he asked.

“I… I put it out of my mind for fear that I would speak in error,” the man admitted.

“Who gave the order?”

The doctor tried to speak then stopped. He frowned then replied hesitantly. “I cannot say, that is, I do not know. The senior Archductal physicians behaved as though it was a longstanding rule. I can say that knowledge of the specifics was isolated to women's doctors.”

“Men and women have different doctors?” Melchior asked.

“Yes. The bodies of men and women can be quite different. The knowledge needed to treat both kinds is too vast for one person to remember with sufficient specificity for optimal health outcomes,” the doctor explained. “The Archductal doctors for women fall under the authority of the highest ranking woman in the duchy, usually the First Wife.”

Melchior nodded along and took notes while Bonifiatius grew even more grave. That made them the domain of his mother then Veronica, two people who were not above inflicting this kind of pain on others. He wasn’t even surprised that they considered it worthwhile to deprive all future generations just to hurt their one rival. That his own wives had to suffer as well wouldn’t have mattered.

Bonifiatus dismissed the man. He finished the remaining interviews but it was clear that no one else knew anything about it. The only new thing they learned was that the last retired doctor who knew how to do the procedure had been purged alongside Georgina’s followers and the worst criminals of the Veronica Faction.

Once they were alone, Melchior turned to him. “We lost so much,” the little boy observed. “We have to prevent something like that from happening again.” He looked very much like he wanted to cry despite maintaining a calm expression.

“If only it were so simple,” Bonifatius conceded. “Unfortunately, we cannot perfectly control the choices of others but must answer all threats.” Thankfully, Melchior said nothing closer to criticism than this. He finished making notes then closed his little book. “Have you figured anything out from the interviews?”

He nodded and opened his book again then read off his observations. It was much the same as Bonifatius had concluded but there was an undercurrent of confusion. “This implies that the First Wives were intentionally withholding this information from their replacements and fellow wives but I don’t know why someone would do that. Why didn’t the Archdukes intervene?”

Bonifatius considered whether to explain the conflict between Lady Gabriela and his mother and how it colored everything that came after. While it might be important knowledge, Melchoir was awfully small. “When you are older, I will explain this to you. For now, we should give our report.”

With an adorable scowl and a note scribbled in the back of his notebook, Melchoir agreed. He followed his granduncle back to the Aub’s office where the many scholars were pouring over old records and drafting information requests to send to Ehrenfest’s sovereign nobles. Dedryck sat at the center of this second group correcting verbiage and offering advice on who to contact and in what order while he wrote to his own parents. Sylvester sat at his desk frowning at magic letters from Alexandria and Frenbeltag.

“They responded quickly,” Bonifatius observed.

Sylvester looked up. “Please tell me you’ve uncovered the secret and our doctors knew all along. Florencia has been reading incredibly vague and cryptic old medical reports all morning with very little to show for it.”

“The information was intentionally suppressed by your mother and grandmother,” Bonifatius replied.

“Of course it was,” Sylvester hissed, tossing the letter down. “Lest I entertain any doubts as to her viciousness.” It took him several seconds of breathing and kneading his brows to calm down. This done, he took up Frenbeltag’s letter. “She didn't even tell Constance before she left. Frenbeltag has agreed to look through their archives. They have the archives of Eisenreich as well.”

“Were they not destroyed with the castle?” Bonifiatus asked.

“Oh no, they were stolen by Lord Frenbeltag as revenge for giving him the inferior half of the duchy. He wanted the southern half of a North/South split.”

Melchior frowned. “That would give him almost all of the best arable land and saddle us with the rocky scrubland, unfit for human habitation, without the river trade routes to make up for it.”

Again, everyone was surprised that he was there. “Ah… yes, it would. You’ve been studying your geography. Good job,” Sylvester sputtered. Melchior beamed and Sylvester did another double take before continuing to explain Constance's reply. “They also stole all the temple records. So we had to make all new copies of the bible two hundred years ago. She posits that that's why our temple is so strange.”

“Is our temple strange?”

“She didn't elaborate so I can't say whether it is,” Sylvester replied. “That isn't the important part. They've agreed to look through their archives and are willing to share what they find. They've also invited us to send a delegation to make copies of historically relevant documents.”

“No doubt for a price,” Bonifiatus scoffed.

“No doubt. I’m sure we'll also be allowed to sort through them and introduce order while paying for the privilege.”

Sylvester began to put down the letter. Melchior was confused. “That's it? It's interesting information but not really what we asked for.”

The men chuckled. “Constance has a tendency to get carried away talking about the things which interest her. It isn't surprising that she wrote such a long letter to say that she doesn't know,” Bonifatius explained. “We can assume that the previous First Wife of Frenbeltag had more pressing concerns than passing on this information.”

Sylvester nodded then continued on to Alexandria’s letter. Ferdinand had access to more information on the topic. “Unfortunately, even if they find something, they can't send a magic letter because the circles might interfere with each other. We’ll have to wait for a courier, not to mention time spent negotiating a price.” he concluded.

Melchior sighed heavily. “It's so sad that they are so far away. It would be nice if we could just teleport ourselves there to ask in person.”

“We can't teleport to them, no, but there is a way to converse in real time,” Sylvester noted. Bonifatius looked reproving. “This counts as an emergency. Brunhilde could go into labor at any moment!”

“It would be too soon,” Bonifatius noted.

“But it could happen. That makes this an emergency.”

After a brief staring contest, Sylvester sighed. “No you’re right. A true emergency might arise while we are chatting and we won’t be able to receive the news.” He leaned back in his chair and adopted a serious expression and austere tone. “Yes, we will use the proper channels.”

Only a few moments after this resolution left his mouth, one of the scholars hurried over with a faestone orb flashing fiery orange-red. With a smile and shake of his head, Sylvester rose and began leading everyone through a door at the back of his office. Of his knights, only Karstedt followed him through. Bonifatius also selected his eldest knight, much to Traugott’s obvious sadness. Melchior selected Fonsel. They all traveled through a brewing room together to an inconspicuous door which Sylvester and Bonifatius entered but didn’t hold for Melchior. He had to slip through while the door was closing, leaving him without any knight. This was far from ideal but the heaviness of the atmosphere suggested that he remain quiet rather than request for Fonsel to be let in. Besides, he was with his father and granduncle who weren’t a threat.

It was a relatively small and sparse room, containing only a table, chair, and large bowl on an ornate stand. The bowl was just low enough that Melchior could see the surface of some water contained within. Bonifatius and Sylvester stood together, leaving him to steal glances from behind them.

“My lord…” Karstedt called.

Sylvester held up his hand. “You know I always struggle with this. Don't talk to me right now or I’ll end up calling the wrong duchy. I’ve been apologizing to Jossbrenner for three years.” Karstedt held his tongue but watched Melchior nervously. He never got the chance to alert Sylvester since Alexandria responded right away.

“Hi, Sylvester,” Rozemyne called brightly and waved childishly. Melchior gazed in amazement as she appeared on the smooth surface of the water. She was dressed in something he’d never seen so it had to be the real her and not his imagination.

“Who raised you like this…” “Rozemyne!”

“Oh, Grandfather. How wonderful to see you. Have you been well?” Rozemyne asked.

“You are as beautiful as ever. Of course Schutzaria continues to offer bounty. I have created new whirls! I will show you when you visit. So far I’ve conquered shields, scythes…”

“Need I remind everyone that this is an emergency channel?” Ferdinand said. Through the gap between arms, Melchior could just see his uncle's frown as he stepped into the area displayed on the water. He wanted to greet them too but held back so as not to delay the important conversation.

Sylvester spoke before Bonifatius could begin again. “Yes, about that. Brunhilde is due to commune with Entrindunge soon and we’d like to save her from agony if we can. You said you’d recovered several methods.” Rozemyne looked taken by joy and tried to strike up a conversation about the coming baby and a special kind of precipitation which supposedly preceded births. She was overruled by Ferdinand who turned the conversation back to magic.

They talked about the differences between the many options. Some duchies had magic tools: a wand and plate contraption usually. Others built whole rooms to facilitate a completely hands-free process. Still others just drew the circle on the baby’s head once it crowned. Melchior thought it might be difficult to draw on a rounded, hairy surface. “That seems like it would be really hard though,” Rozemyne noted, echoing his thoughts. “We could create a hybrid system using magic paper to temporarily [tattoo] the circle.”

“You speak in riddles,” Ferdinand muttered.

“Oh ah, to…transfer the circle?” He nodded. “To transfer the circle. Unless you would rather make the wand.”

“A magic tool seems like it would be easier than learning whatever arcane process you're suggesting.”

“It's not arcane. It's kids stuff. Wet transfer [tattoos] are fun and easy to use. I’ll have to make some and bring them to show you,” she declared. “But if you’d rather a boring old magic wand then we can prepare the circles.”

“You will want to begin collecting the materials now,” Ferdinand added. He then began listing them. At several points Karstedt or Bonifatius winched. “Of course we can try to find alternatives but it would be unwise to experiment on your Second Wife.”

“Or anyone's wife. Human experimentation is not to be taken lightly,” Rozemyne lectured.

Ferdinand rolled his eyes. “So you insist, slowing down progress with your strictures.”

“You cannot be upset that I won't let you test new medical procedures on people without first finding out if they can safely be used on animals after checking that they won't just explode.”

“I am not upset,” Ferdinand replied coolly. “Only…”

“Need I remind everyone that this is an emergency channel,” Sylvester huffed. “We’ll try to collect the materials. Can you send us both the schematics and the most basic circles in case we have to settle for doing the drawing thing.”

“And how much will this cost us?” Bonifatius added.

Ferdinand began to speak but Rozemyne cut him off. “It’s free,” she said to universal surprise. “Don't look like that, I know I’m the first to seek profit but for this… I can't ask someone to pay for this. We didn't know it was possible before you asked about it so we thank you. Consider this recompense for that information. If you get any pickery though, expect the usual.”

“Are you sure?” Ferdinand asked. “I was aware of the possibility and I believe we could also sell this to Frenbeltag as a luxury…”

“A luxury!” Rozemyne snapped. She wagged her finger in Ferdinand’s direction. “You would think that Mr. The-baby-will-be-born-on-its-own,” she said with great annoyance.

“Ferdinand?” Sylvester chuckled. “Please don't tell me you said that to a pregnant woman?” Ferdinand remained quiet. “Ferdinand.”

“Is that how you intend to treat my granddaughter?!” Bonifatius boomed. “Scoundrel!”

“Naturally, Rozemyne will have only the best if and when such a thing becomes necessary. I would have revived the method…” Ferdinand tried to argue.

“Wait… then when did this happen…” Sylvester interrupted.

Rozemyne interrupted him. “Oh, but grandfather, you’ll be so excited to know. Lenore is having a baby too! This time I get to throw a party!”

Bonifatius froze as Melchior had noticed he so often did when too happy. “Yes I see,” he said in a carefully neutral tone.

Rozemyne looked troubled. “I’m sure we can figure out a way for you to see them soon. You could come visit or we could bring them on the visit. Though I hear teleporting with a baby isn't ideal.” Her tone was gentle and consoling.

“Sylvester, I will be traveling to Alexandria within the next couple of years,” Bonifatius declared.

“Yeah sure, just wait until after the weening,” Sylvester agreed.

“Is our business concluded then?” Ferdinand asked.

“You really can't get us those circles any faster?” Sylvester asked.

“There are no kinds of ink without some amount of mana so we cannot send a magic circle via magic letter,” Ferdinand replied. “Unless you can draw it now while we display it for you, then you will have to wait.” He held up the circles in question. They were very complicated making it even more amazing than anyone could draw them on a baby currently being born.

Sylvester and Bonifatius frowned. Rozemyne suggested calling in a scholar but only Archduke Candidates and their chosen guards were allowed in this room. “I think I could draw it,” Melchior offered.

Three adults jumped while Ferdinand stared. “Melchior!” Sylvester breathed. “How did you…” He glared at the knights who held up their hands.

“I attempted to warn you,” Karstedt said.

“You let him sneak in,” Bonifatius said. “How were two adult knights out maneuvered by a child.”

“I'm pretty good at sneaking,” Melchior insisted. Bonifatius shook his head and grumbled about giving people more training.

“Hi, Melchior,” Rozemyne called.

Melchior stepped forward to gaze into the water and waved. “Sister! Uncle! I offer greetings. Are you well? How is Letizia?”

“Letizia is doing well. She speaks often of how she looks forward to seeing you at the Royal Academy,” Ferdinand replied calmly.

“Yesterday she did the most adorable thing.” Rozemyne chirped. “She tried on her full armor for the first time and ordered all her knights to try to knock her down. Can you believe she tumbled over on just the first tap.”

Melchior and Rozemyne giggled. “I will have to teach my niece how to lower her center to achieve better balance,” Melchior said sagely. Bonifatius nodded along while Sylvester and Ferdinand rolled their eyes. “Oh, if Cornelius is having a child and we are siblings. Does that make his child my cousin or my nibling?” Melchior asked.

Everyone except Ferdinand took a moment to consider. He sighed. “Rozemyne's adoption does not change your relationship to Cornelius. His children will be your second cousins, once removed. It would be appropriate to refer to them as a niece or nephew casually but formally you should use their names.”

“I see. Thank you, Uncle. Will it…”

“This is an emergency channel,” Sylvester huffed. He pulled the table over and slapped paper down in front of Melchior. “Get to work!”

Melchior grumbled then moved to sit down. Finding that he couldn't see if he sat down he chose to stand and began copying while Ferdinand and Rozemyne held up the magic circles. They had to switch to just Ferdinand holding the reference as Rozemyne and Bonifatius’s conversation grew more animated. It took several sheets and immense force of will not to be distracted by talk of delicious food and hunting exploits. Sylvester began pacing at some point, stopping occasionally to look over Melchior’s shoulder. Melchior held up each circle as he completed them. He only made two mistakes but they were both on the same circle so he only had to redraw that one once.

Rozemyne said something about inventing a tool for erasing pencils that was drowned out by Ferdinand. “I see you’ve grown skilled at copying circles. How have you progressed in your inventing?”

Melchior beamed and began to babble. “I’ve been trying to invent pretty circles for giving blessings. It means drawing lots and lots of circle script and making special shapes. It’s hard to make more organic shapes and curves that don’t at least make a regular oval. I read your whole book about brewing and the circle section at least three times and your letter. You’re even more skilled than whoever invented the atrium circles. We continue to be amazed every time we look at your letter and the castle scholars have been struggling to decipher it. I don’t think most scholars have time to study circles as in depth as you have. And to layer so much meaning is truly masterful…”

“Melchior,” Sylvester called.

“Yes, father?”

“Have you completed all the circles?” he asked with a dangerous lilt to his voice.

“I think so.”

“Very good. Then we can conclude this emergency communication?” This question was directed more to Alexandria than Melchior.

“You should also have him write down the ingredient list,” Ferdinand said. He began slowly.

“You can talk faster,” Melchior said absentmindedly. He’d practiced the shorthand enough to record Ferdinand’s normal, measured speaking pace so long as he didn’t account for his accent.

“Very well.” They went through the list quickly then Melchior read it back. Once they agreed that he had everything, they began their goodbyes.

“It was so nice to see you all. We should set up something that lets us speak like this during non emergencies,” Rozemyne said.

“The mana cost is too high,” Sylvester replied. “Otherwise everyone would have one.”

“Having low mana must be trying,” Rozemyne sighed.

Sylvester grimaced. “No one wants to hear that from you monsters.”

“Hey!” “You should have worked harder.” Rozemyne and Ferdinand replied.

“Rozemyne. Be well, granddaughter. Tell me if that man isn’t good to you. I’ll come right away,” Bonifatius said.

“He’s the best, Grandfather. Do not fear,” Rozemyne said while Ferdinand shook his head. “We shall see each other at the Interduchy Tournament, Melchior. Until then, I’ll look forward to your letters.”

“I’ll try to send lots but it takes a long time to have them approved,” Melchior replied. “And I’ll have plenty of stories to send you this year.”

Rozemyne clasped her hands together and squealed with joy. “Oh I cannot wait. You are just the best little brother. Give Charlotte my best. And Wilfried too…”

“Be well,” Ferdinand said before the water flickered and returned to being just water.

Bonifatius reached out as if to pull the image back. “How dare he,” he muttered sadly.

Melchior was raising his hand to wave and was also left staring and sad. Knowing that this existed made him want to speak to his family more often. That it was only for emergencies filled him with desolation. He didn’t want there to be more excuses to use the water mirror but he wanted to use it more often. “Should we call Frenbeltag?” If they had a reason to see them then shouldn’t they take it?

Sylvester looked conflicted. “If we still want to know what they find out, we shouldn’t tell them that we have the answer yet.”

“Don’t you want to see them?’ Melchior asked. “I haven’t gotten to meet Uncle yet either.”

Bonifatius frowned alongside his nephew. They couldn’t justify a call on such personal grounds but Melchior’s hopeful eyes and the obvious joy he took from speaking to Alexandria was hard to ignore. “It would be better that they don’t think we are still in crisis,” Bonifatius said.

“That’s true,” Sylvester agreed. He also looked at all the paper’s his son had diligently covered in magic circles for no other reason than to benefit future generations and a woman he wasn’t technically related to. It was good work, and that deserved a reward.

Frenbeltag took a little longer to reply, not being the initiator of the conversation. While they waited, Melchior translated his shorthand with Bonifatius looking over his shoulder. The old man didn’t say anything, just took note for later. When the faestone on the plinth under the bowl began to flash light blue, they all stopped and walked over.

“Greetings, Aub Ehrenfest. To what do we owe this honor?” Aub Frenbeltag began. Melchior spent the greetings looking at him. He’d sort of seen him from afar during the Interduchy Tournament and graduation but hadn’t gotten a very good look. Aub Frenbeltag stood, looking entirely relaxed, beside Constance, who’s blond hair and blue eyes made her strongly resemble Charlotte. Combined with his coppery orange hair and dark green eyes, he gave a welcoming feeling. Melchior thought he looked almost nothing like his sister though their eyes had the same calm smile permanently set. “A rare gift it is to meet with Lord Bonifatius. I regret that we were unable to meet at the tournament.”

Bonifatius held himself taller and with much more reservation than during the talk with Alexandria. “It has been quite some time, Theodwigand. Constanze, I hope Leibskihlfe still blesses you, that Ewiegliebe has not forgotten his entreaties⁷⁴.”

Constanze chuckled. “Oh Uncle, your concern is, as ever, appreciated and unnecessary. Allow us to offer our thanks for your generous gifts and apologies that we were unable to attend the festivities last spring.”

“There can be no need for apologies, Sister, we both know how great the burden of leadership can be,” Sylverster replied. “We have news concerning our earlier letter.”

What followed was a brief exchange of information and promises to meet at the Royal Academy for the relevant negotiations during winter and spring. They made no solid plans for sending scholars to collect the historical documents but Theodwigand admitted that they had never been properly organized. “I’m sure you can imagine how such a task can find itself ever second to present concerns.”

“Indeed,” Sylvester agreed. “We will continue to experiment with this process and hope that you will continue to look for answers as well.”

“We will, Aub Ehrenfest. Until Dregarnuhr, the Goddess of time weaves the threads of our fates together again,” Aub Frenbeltag began his goodbyes.

“If you might spare just a moment. Another situation as emerged since we exchanged letters this morning,” Sylvester said in the same serious tone he’d used for the whole conversation.

Constanze still saw through this. “Is this the format for your whimsy, Baby Brother?” she chided.

Sylvester took a moment to look hurt while Bonifatius stepped to the side and brought Melchior forward. Melchior had been listening to the proceedings attentively and thus had not considered how to go about meeting his uncle for the first time over a water mirror. Still, Constanze smiled warmly and gave an encouraging nod.

“I don’t believe you’ve met my youngest son yet, Theodwigand,” Sylvester said. “This is Melchior.”

Melchior steeled his resolve and allowed his mind to work into overdrive. He was of lower status so he should kneel but then his uncle wouldn’t be able to see him which could be interpreted as being rude. He also couldn’t send a blessing that far so the usual greeting wouldn’t be correct. It was not a letter so the etiquette for introduction by proxy also wouldn’t apply. All that was left was to alter the normal greeting to fit the circumstances. Melchior deepened his smile and crossed his arms. He lowered his eyes and himself only a little.

“I apologize that my blessings would be unable to reach you but I pray that this serendipitous meeting, ordained by the fruitful days of Schutzaria the Goddess of Wind, be blessed all the same,” he improvised.

“As do I, Nephew. Please rise,” Aub Frenbeltag chuckled. “Ah, that was well done. This is a complex circumstance. I hope Adamina grows just as sharp and elegant,” he praised.

Sylvester and Melchior smiled wider while Constanze’s expression grew just a little pinched. “I’m sure to be just as impressed when I meet my niece in the coming years,” Sylvester replied.

“You will, you will,” Aub Frenbeltag raved with a genuine smile. “She is a most exceptional child. I shall bring her to witness your displays myself next year. She’s taken an interest in magic tools, thanks to your gift, Melchior. She…”

“...is so excited to meet you next year,” Constanze cut in. She shot Sylvester a glare while he giggled smugly.

This battle of wills was completely missed by Melchior. He was much too excited. He had another cousin and she was also interested in brewing. “It so pains me that Dregarnuhr cannot weave with any more grace and speed⁷⁵,” he said, all but bouncing where he stood. He had another cousin, one that was younger than him and everything! He would get to be a distant elder family member and send school supplies. He just worried it would take too long to have one of the large leather backpacks created.

“It warms my heart to hear it,” Constanze replied. “Then I may rely on you to offer guidance? She will be the lone Archduke Candidate for Frenbeltag.”

“And for a couple of years yet,” Aub Frenbeltag muttered.

Without so much as glancing around for confirmation, Melchoir answered brightly, “Indeed! She may come to me or Charlotte should she require any assistance.”

Constanze and Sylvester swapped emotions. Now she smiled smugly at her younger brother while he fumed quietly. “That brings me great peace of mind, Melchior. I am sure you will be an excellent ally to have,” she praised. Melchior beamed while Sylvester hurried to end the call before any more promises could be extracted. “Adamina takes more after Theodwigand,” Constanze called just at the end. Before anyone could respond the mirror dimmed.

“What did she mean by that?” Bonifatius grumbled.

“Probably that the girl looks like her father but I’m not sure why that matters,” Sylvester said.

“That will make it easy to order her a hairpin,” Melchior muttered. He began to plan a list of everything he would send. He didn’t have the disposable income that Rozemyne did nor the brewing skills of his uncle but he could assemble something worthwhile and Adamina didn’t have nigh unlimited access to all the stationary she could ever want so it would be even easier than finding something for Letizia which he still needed to do, he realized.

While he was busy contemplating all this, he was steered back to the Aub's office. Fonsel stood beyond the door looking totally blank. He’d tried to grab his lord before Melchior got through the door but failed. Once he’d recovered from the shock, he was anxious, then terrified at what could happen and how he might be punished, then resigned. Having had plenty of time to process his emotions, he was proud to present knightly impassivity as he took over guiding his lord from the Archduke. Sylvester paid him no additional attention but Bonifatius tutted in his direction. There would be extra, grueling training in his future but likely no reduction in his pay. He wasn’t sure which would be worse.

Footnotes

72. That we received critical information only after struggle. In this case, he’s referring to a way to make childbirth easier after Flo has had all her children.^

73. Essentially, “I am not Veronica. I will not repeat her cruelty.”^

74. I hope you still don’t regret your marriage, that your husband remembers all the promises he made while you were courting.^

75. I can’t wait!^

Chapter Text

After a brief lecture on not making promises rashly or on behalf of others, and praise for his drawing skill and information gathering, Melchior was finally released from the Aub’s office in time for a late lunch. It was a true shame that his scholars would already be going home for the day when there was so much he wanted to talk about. Thankfully, Isolde was waiting at the temple with a noble smile and murderous gaze.

“My lord, I was most confused as to what I should attend to this morning,” she said mildly while stabbing her lunch with slightly more force than was necessary.

Of course there was always plenty to do at the temple. Kazmiar and Streita had to plan both for their own tours and for the various activities that would be performed at the temple in the absence of the blue clergy. The orphanage would do their pork stocking and chimney sweeping. Kazmiar had to begin compiling reports the moment he returned so he began preparing forms and filling in the previous years totals beforehand. He didn't need to be present for her to work with his attendants.

Really, Isolde would have no problem finding work to do and what she really meant was that she was sitting around, waiting with bated breath to be summoned to the castle all morning. Melchior smiled apologetically. “It was my intention to play only Ordoshnelli but I was called to the banner of Mestinora and Erwachlerhen after relaying my message. The winds beneath the black vault lay languid all that time⁷⁶.”

“Naturally, my lord, this is understood. What continues to plague me is why fair Flutrane never courted your attention⁷⁷.”

“It wasn't very interesting,” Deliroze interrupted. “We mostly sat in a side room the whole time.”

“And at no point did you seek to speak with those around? You just waited for information to come to you?” Isolde asked. “This is why I should have come.”

“I will be sure to bring you to the next meeting I have before the coming of the Goddess,” Melchior promised then waved the topic away. “More importantly, my dear cousin, Adamina Tochter Frenbeltag, will be entering the Royal Academy next year. We have gifts to prepare!”

The light returned to Isolde’s expression, all angst immediately forgotten. “Gifts you say? For a younger cousin from Frenbeltag? Most duchies keep their heirs secret until the Fellowship Gathering, if they can. How did you learn of this? Is the information credible? What did you have in mind?”

Melchior leaned in with equal excitement. “I’m not sure how much I can say about meetings held in confidence, but…” he paused both for effect and to consider how much he could say, “The source is as reliable as Verzeichanmut⁷⁸.” Isolde all but wiggled in her chair. She seemed just as delighted by the information as the appearance of sharing secrets.

“It is most fortunate that you know before your siblings. Has the Aub passed this information on to Lady Charlotte?”

“I don't think so.”

Isolde chuckled. “That's good. There has been no good way to take revenge for failing to inform you of the tradition last year. If we wait until after the party it will be just enough time to present something worthy while also sending the proper message.”

Melchior sat up straighter, breaking the conspiratorial air. “I don't want to take revenge. I’m sure it was just a mistake.” It was also quite stressful to have so little time to work with. Charlotte was already very busy, there was no reason to make her life more difficult.

“Are you sure? The look on her face will be very satisfying,” Isolde coaxed.

He took another moment to consider. It would be fun to reveal his plans casually over tea only to see her panic a little. Then again, he wasn't planning anything so elaborate as what was required for Alexandria's gifts. It wasn't a competition, yet. “I’m sure,” he said decisively. “Shall we send her a report?”

“There is very little you can say about a meeting held in confidence,” Isolde noted. Melchior deflated some. Perhaps he wouldn't get a choice whether to play this prank or not since he couldn't disclose his conversation with Frenbeltag. She fiddled with her pencil for a moment before a new smile formed on her face. “Worry not. I have a plan. You need only allow Cecelia or Eikestine to see the preparations.”

“But they only pass on information with permission,” Deliroze said.

Isolde patted his head with a patient look. “That is only if it looks suspicious. If it looks perfectly mundane, they won't even ask.”

“But then why pass on information about something that isn't important?” Deliroze asked.

“The mundane can be very important,” Isolde said. “Attendants put much time and effort into learning mundane facts: favorite teas, preferred linens, disliked scents, and so on. All information has value to someone so it should be collected and treated with care.”

Deliroze nodded and fell into contemplation while Isolde and Melchior continued to plan. Isolde agreed that it might take too long to prepare a leather backpack but questioned why it was included among the school supplies in the first place. Melchior was never going to wear it around the Royal Academy with his things inside. He had few things to transport between classes and attendants besides.

“Maybe a folio would be better. I still have papers and notes that need organizing,” Melchior argued.

Isolde contemplated this. “I enjoy mine. It helps a great deal with maintaining order but it makes my skirts heavy when placed in my pocket and gets tiring to hold.”

Never before had Melchior contemplated the pockets in other people's clothes. Now he tried to imagine Isolde standing up and whether he’d ever noticed her pockets or the bulge of objects therein. “Skirts seem very convenient,” he mumbled.

“Yes and no,” Isolde replied. “I think a satchel with a handle would be more useful for an Archduke Candidate. Her attendant could carry it for her but it could still look elegant when she needs to carry it from the door to her seat. It would also hide and protect her notes.”

The plan was set. He would send paper and ink, a fine metal pen, one of his painted diptychs, needles, a prayer charm for Mestinora, and the satchel. “Aunt implied that they would like a hair pin as well.”

“Those are generally seen as a romantic gesture,” Isolde noted. “Though, if it came from Charlotte, no one would make such assumptions.”

Melchior felt confident that Charlotte would be willing to add the hairpin to her gift or else claim it was from both of them, so he planned to design one along with the satchel. He wasn't sure whether he would want to add a painting to it. His leatherworker had produced very fine embellishments. Perhaps that would be enough.

After Melchior and Isolde completed the measurements, Kirk was sent to meet with Cole, both to order the bag and to deliver a summons to the castle for his clothes fitting. They wouldn't forget the cobblers again.

… …

At practice that evening, Sigsnyr brought empty faestones to fill for use with the moving picture magic tool. Those that felt they could fill them before the Hunting Tournament took one or two. Melchior grabbed one of the largest ones and one of the smallest ones. His knights could deliver the faestones after Melchior filled them when they swapped halfway through the Harvest Festival.

Their help turned out to be unnecessary. It was no hardship for Melchior to fill both faestones even after making his donation to the Divine Instruments. While he felt lighter after expending so much mana, it did not seem like he was in any danger of running out.

Sigsnyr cradled them, awestricken, for the entire duration of Kirk's report on his trip to the Lower City. Gale and Violet had thrust the completed order of blooming tea on him. While happy it was done, Kirk hadn't been happy to have to lug the heavy box around. Also in the box were samples of other herbal teas, including some said to have beneficial effects, all sorted into pretty paper sachets and labeled with neat script.

“Master Cole wished to send his regards,” Kirk explained while producing a leather belt pouch. “I think he’s been expecting to be summoned to the temple more often. I warned him that you actually had little need for leather goods most of the time and he could take on more commissions.”

Melchior inspected the pouch as he replied. It boasted an all over tooled pattern shaped like leaves; a good match for the potion belt “Oh, I guess we forgot to explain. I hope he’s been able to support himself. I hadn't considered that Cole might assume that having my exclusive business meant he needed to work for me exclusively. Should I come up with more things to order? Do I need to pay a salary?”

Lothar stepped forward to explain. “If you want him to work for you exclusively then it would be best to offer a salary. You may even give him rooms in the castle so that he can be available to maintain your leather goods at all times.” Melchior shook his head. He didn't need that many leather goods nor want so many that a dedicated servant was needed. “In that case, it is sufficient to place modest orders seasonally or larger orders twice a year.”

This would likely generate more objects than he could use. “Is this why people give so many gifts?” Melchior wondered aloud.

Lothar smiled and nodded. “It is important for nobles to bolster the economy and support the development of our craftspeople.”

“I’ll think of something for winter,” Melchior promised and added it to his list of things to do in the temple. He needed a small gift for Charlotte's coming of age anyway. Wilfried had gotten a writing set, a perfectly fine gift from the list of approved choices. But that was before Melchior had taken an interest in such things. This time, he would do more than pick whatever he thought was prettiest.

The next day, Melchior was so full of anticipation for his dinner at the castle that it was difficult to do his job. Without chalices to distribute, he had less to do than in the spring. As Kazmiar and Streita were leaving as well, he couldn't even visit them to take his mind off of things. Aside from meeting the soldiers, it would have been a very boring day had Kirk not reminded him of a very important problem they’d discovered in Haldenzel.

Melchior was now bad at Karuta. “You aren't bad, my lord, you just haven't maintained your prior skill or kept up with the evolution in tactics,” Kirk tried to console him.

“I lost every match to you and Nikolaus!” Melchior cried. “What if I lose to Adaire? He won't want to accept my tutelage any more! The children in the playroom won't have anything to strive for!”

The boys talk in circles with Kirk offering consolation while Melchior catastrophized until Lothar stepped in to suggest that Melchior practice between now and winter. They praised him for his brilliance before writing up a training plan in the style of Sister Streita’s workout regimes. Of course, it was most important to begin right away so Melchior's cards were brought out and placed on a rug so no one would hurt their knees.

They began with card taking drills to improve aim and relax the shoulders, then progressed to many abbreviated games where all extra cards had been removed from the reading deck. Melchior still lost every game and only took the easiest cards, much to his consternation. “It is only the first day, my lord,” Kirk encouraged. “Mammutbaum dwells in a house of sticks⁷⁹.”

“Yes, yes. And I wasted all year not gathering twigs,” Melchior said while hurrying Kirk to reset his side of the field.

The fervor was such that Melchior nearly forgot to get ready for dinner. Lothar had left Kirk in charge of dressing and preparing their lord so that he could assist Sheila with preparations for the Harvest Festival and Royal Academy. He returned to what should've been an ongoing process to find raised voices and declarations of future victory bouncing off the walls of the High Bishops chambers. Even the guard knights were focused on the games in progress. Lothar drew himself up with a smile. There would be time for lectures later, for now he needed to be the only adult in the room.

… …

Thanks to the dutiful ministrations of his attendants, Melchior was perfectly appointed for his guest appearance at the castle. He wore his favorite autumn outfit with boots rather than the cloth shoes since he would be flying and his socks were insufficient protection against the evening air. As it turned out, that consideration was unnecessary when Lothar needed to be conveyed via lionbus. A normal guest would arrive by carriage but Melchior lived at the castle and so was technically allowed to arrive by highbeast at any time. He still observed all other formalities.

Lord Norbert and Haldis met them at the main entrance to the castle. A few people were still hurrying home and watched Lothar, in his attendant uniform but no scarf, exit the lionbus with curiosity. Melchior appeared just a moment later sending them scurrying to look as though they hadn’t been nosy. Haldis stepped forward to stand behind his lord with a warm nod. They then proceeded as though he'd arrived with Melchior.

“We welcome you, Lord Melchior,” Norbert began with a carefully controlled smile. “I pray that Ordoshinelli hurried your journey.”

“The very winds of Schutzaria were at our backs,” Melchior replied with barely concealed glee. He peaked around Norbert as they exchanged the necessary pleasantries to see who would come to meet him. The Archductal family of Ehrenfest only rarely had dinner guests and Melchior was never selected to be the welcoming party but he knew it was an important part of the proceedings.

Haldis coughed lightly, reminding him to maintain his comportment. Melchior straightened up and continued. “I am not intruding?”

Norbet could not say that Melchior’s adorable antics were a waste of his time, and would not choose to if he could, but the temptation was there. “Not at all, Lord Melchior. His highness is delighted to invite you into fellowship. Won’t you follow me in, out of the cold.” He glanced around. No one in Melchior's entourage had worn any kind of outerwear. He contained the urge to shake his head. The taking of coats was an important ritual to express trust in one’s host. A look at Haldis showed that he’d forgotten to advise his lord to bring a cloak even if he didn’t need one. Well, it was no matter. Melchior wasn’t actually a guest.

As if to especially smooth over the awkwardness brought on by the lack of coats, Charlotte appeared around a corner looking amused. As the guests, Melchior and company immediately knelt and offered greetings. “I accept your greetings, dear brother,” Charlotte said while offering him a hand up. She smoothly pulled him close and hooked a hand around his elbow. “I was ever so confused to learn that you required guidance to the dining room. Are you feeling quite well?”

Melchior visibly tilted closer to his sister and smiled warmly. “Of course I still know where it is but today I am a guest! Thank you for giving welcome.”

Charlotte shook her head fondly and continued back through the castle. She wondered just what her father and brother were up to with this unnecessary pageantry. The siblings chatted about that evening's weather, Melchior’s upcoming trip, and Charlotte’s plans for the Hunting Tournament. Unlike Wilfried, she wasn’t personally participating but her knights were excited and just as dedicated to winning as Melchior’s.

“Sigsnyr is making special preparations,” Melchior bragged. “And Sir Dedryck will be participating for the first time. I think you will find we are quite motivated to put forth an exemplary effort.”

With a giggle, Charlotte passed a knowing look around at her retainers. “We shall look forward to witnessing that.” Melchior beamed while Dedryck paled and Fonsel knocked his fellow guard’s armor with a quick elbow.

They soon arrived at the dining room where Charlotte formally presented Melchior to the Archduke and First Wife as he knelt. “Lord Melchior Sohn Ehrenfest, High Bishop of Ehrenfest, and second son of Aub Ehrenfest comes to join us in fellowship after a journey blessed by Stifebrise and Ordoshinelli⁸⁰. It is with humility and honor that I welcome my dear brother.”

Sylvester was obviously holding back laughter while he motioned for Charlotte to take her seat. Melchior found himself infected by this mirth but did his best to kneel with grace and bow properly. Florencia glanced back and forth between them with a sigh. “Thank you, Aub Ehrenfest for your generous invitation.”

“My invitation? I recall getting an ordonnanz a week ago that said, in no uncertain terms, that I was to host the second son of Aub Ehrenfest for dinner on this day preceding his visit to his beloved sister.”

Melchior blushed as he was thrown off balance by this departure from form. He bowed again and smiled more brightly to hide his anxiety. “It was not at all my intention to make demands. I appreciate your great magnanimity to host me yet and still.”

Just as Sylvester looked like he would continue to drag the greetings out for his own amusement, Florencia spoke to move things along. “Indeed dear, it shows you exceptional grace and generosity of spirit to forgive Lord Melchior his small indiscretion. Her Divinity Geduldh, Goddess of Earth, has been honored this night. Shall we commence our supplications to Coucocalura?”

Whatever amusement that was lost from saving Melchior from his father’s needling was ameliorated by her compliments. Sylvester preened under his wife's gentle smile while everyone sat down. “What has inspired this demonstration?” she asked.

“I wanted to see Henriette before the Harvest Festival and thought I should appear at dinner as well. As I am currently in residence at the temple, I am a guest today!” Melchior explained.

Charlotte took a deep breath to hold back a laugh. It wasn't technically incorrect but their family never observed such strictures when family members were invited for meals. Not even for very formal occasions. Especially not for formal occasions where other events were likely being held elsewhere that needed the attention of their attendants. Melchior was observing them now simply because he wanted to try it.

Of course, Florencia had realized this as well. “And have you enjoyed the production, my dear?”

“It was fun but strange to hear all my titles listed like that. Thank you all again for humoring me,” Melchior replied.

Sylvester nodded. “Our duchy doesn't usually do the whole announcement of titles business but make sure to remember them. People are still judging you based on them.”

“Why don't we use full titles?” Charlotte asked, realizing that she'd never thought about it before.

“Oh, it takes forever and then you have to give more titles out. Just imagine all the time we would waste,” Sylvester said.

Melchior thought about his own titles. They were based on his birth and profession. The only other kind of title he’d seen was Rozemyne's “Saint of Ehrenfest”. “Do you give people titles?” Melchior asked.

“Not generally. Not in a long while.”

“I believe the last title you bestowed was, Sword of the Fluttering Drapes,” Florencia noted.

Sylvester turned bright red while Karstedt chuckled behind him. “What was that for?” Melchior asked.

“It's not important,” Sylvester wheezed.

“Bestowing a title and being bestowed with a title creates a powerful bond. The story of how the name came to be will be told long after both persons have ascended to the distant heights. Be sure to remember that if you choose to make declarations of your own,” Florencia counseled.

Charlotte and Melchior nodded together. Charlotte turned to her brother and tipped her glass in his direction. “This practice will no doubt serve you well in your travels though.”

While their parents blinked, Melchior brightened. “Oh, you're right! I don't think many Aub’s will invite me specifically but it will be good to know what to expect if they do.”

“What do you mean?” Florencia interjected. She wouldn't normally display her confusion so openly but the conversation had taken a very sharp turn in a direction she couldn't follow. “And why don't you think Aub’s will give their invitation?”

“Oh, brother wishes to visit every duchy at least once. He has already secured invitations from Gilessenmeyer and Lehmbruck for after he comes of age,” Charlotte explained.

“I hope I can convince Jossbrenner too, then I can see their cow statue on the same trip!” Melchior added.

Sylvester felt a new type of nausea replace his previous embarrassment. Preparing and sending a diplomatic delegation to every province would be a nightmare no matter how long the time scale and Melchior would certainly hope to begin before Sylvester retired as Aub. “How Sterrat speaks of the Goddess's endeavors⁸¹,” he grumbled.

Florencia set down her fork and folded her hands. “Melchior, it is good to have ambition but you must understand the scope of that which you seek. You will find it is no great struggle to secure invitations to every duchy but how will you navigate the political implications of your visits?” She looked towards Charlotte as well as she spoke. “It will say one thing to go to the winning duchies and quite another to go to those who did not give their support. You should expect to be pulled into serious talks as an ambassador of Ehrenfest, not just to be invited to dine at the Aub’s table.”

Melchior paled while Charlotte continued to eat calmly. “Naturally, Mother. But we have much time to consider these things and can expect an entirely new landscape to await us. You will be well prepared beforehand, dear brother.”

It sounded like a great deal of work and pressure. While he wouldn't mind making a few diplomatic trips, he also wanted to make casual visits too. “Not every trip needs to be so serious, right?”

“Even if you try to make it less so, I can guarantee it will end up that way. Better to go in with those expectations,” Sylvester said. Melchior noted that he looked tired just from discussing it.

“What if I went in disguise?” he asked. If he weren't an Archduke Candidate, then no one would try to ask him about national politics.

Florencia placed a hand to her cheek and tipped her head. “How could you receive permission to enter a duchy under a false name? And we could not be expected to do nothing were you accosted.” Ehrenfest would look weak if they didn't respond to any attacks on their Archduke Candidate even if he wore the guise of a beggar. And he would be well within his rights to protest any mistreatment after the fact. To do so would put the offending duchy in a very difficult position. Florencia suppressed a shiver as she imagined another duchy pulling such a stunt in Ehrenfest. No duchy would allow for such an occurrence if they could help it. No, a disguise was out of the question.

Melchior began to reassess his life goals. He still wanted as many friends as possible and to remain in Ehrenfest with his family. It was still important to help Charlotte and promote peace and prosperity in their duchy. Of course, protecting his people went without saying. But his desire to see the many landmarks and wonders of Yurgenschmidt was beginning to feel like more of a struggle than it was worth. Maybe if he were better at socializing, it wouldn't feel so daunting but the thought of increasing his training in that area held little to recommend it.

While he considered this, the conversation continued and transitioned into talks about the many visitors Ehrenfest was hosting every year. For such an out of the way place, many nobles and commoners were finding the trip worthwhile. Whether this would last once they saw all their was to see and found more consistent access to paper, was yet to be seen. There was also the question of how many out of duchy marriages they should allow and which archnobles, if any, they could give up in the name of diplomacy.

While these were important concerns, they weren't particularly interesting to Melchior compared to reorganizing his plans for future travels, so he was unprepared for the topic to shift to Torsten’s retinue. “I’m afraid do not have anyone to spare,” Melchior said once he caught the thread.

Charlotte giggled. “We are not asking you to give up your precious retainers, only asking if you have anyone you would like to recommend?”

Haldis tapped his heel but Melchior didn't need to be warned. “I will consider it carefully,” he promised. Florencia nodded signaling her approval of his noncommitment. “Is there anything in particular I should look out for?”

“Just the usual. Loyal, skilled, affable,” Sylvester said.

“Tor… Lord Torsten enjoys taking scenic flights and entomology,” Charlotte added.

Sylvester looked at his daughter like this was completely new information that he wasn't exactly happy about but Melchior brightened. “Oh, so someone who likes bugs,” he chirped. Charlotte nodded happily while Sylvester suppressed a shiver

“He doesn't plan on storing them in the castle does he?” Sylvester asked.

“Whyever wouldn't we store them at home?” Charlotte asked, sounding convincingly confused.

Sylvester did not look mollified. One day Charlotte would be Aub. Ideally, Sylvester would still be alive to see it, having taken up residence in the designated side building to live out his days in comfort. That meant the bugs would one day invade the castle. Sylvester liked Torsten more or less but he found himself questioning everything.

Thankfully, it was the end of dinner and the perfect distraction appeared. Henriette had been brought from her chambers for her monthly greeting of the Aub. She had progressed enough in her education to begin making actual greetings.

“Good evening. I pray the Wind of Schutzaria blesses you,” she said smoothly. Having learned all five of the full length seasonal greetings, the abbreviated version was easy to say if not easy to understand in her immature voice.

Sylvester still brightened while Florencia gave a nod. “We accept your blessings Henriette,” he said. “She’s doing so well,” he complimented her attendant. The woman looked appropriately proud for only a moment before she was forced to control her reaction to a horrifying development. “Melchior, you came to visit Henriette. Why don't you accompany her back to the Children's Room.”

She glanced in veiled panic at Florencia who did nothing to intervene. Charlotte looked on with a smile for appreciating baby animals as Melchior hurried out of his chair and Henriette all but danced in place, her attendants hands on her shoulders holding her still.

“Don't worry father, I will convey Lady Henriette safety to the Children's Room,” Melchior promised with a flourish. He walked over and offered Henriette his arm. “Come Henri. Thank the Aub for dismissing us.”

“Thank you,” she said while mimicking Melchior’s flourish.

They stared at each other for a long moment while holding their arms out. Before Henriette's attendant could recover enough to tell her lady what to do, Melchior relented and, bending a little to reach, took Henriette's elbow. Then he crossed his other hand over his heart and bowed his head. “Thank you for your generous hospitality,” he said before leading the party away.

The remaining Archductal family waited just until Melchior was likely out of earshot to begin giggling. Even Florencia’s shoulders shook and her usual smile glittered with genuine amusement. “I will have to explain ‘escorting’ to her,” she chuckled.

“No don't, that was impossibly adorable, better than I could have planned,” Sylvester wheezed.

Charlotte couldn't even speak, so full was she of mirth and the need to write to Rozemyne and tell her all about it.

… …

Haldis followed after Henriette and Melchior just until they met the rest of Henriette's retainers. Her knights had fallen into step with Dedryck and Fonsel but her additional attendants waited several doors away from the dining room to give the Archduke privacy during his meal. They looked just as baffled as their coworker except for Zargerecht, who had been forewarned about Sylvester’s antics.

He communicated the schedule for the evening, including when Melchior needed to leave to return to the temple in time for his nightly routine. Once everything was in order he took his leave of the siblings. Melchior paused his whispering with Henriette just long enough to accept the farewell before turning back.

“What shall we do? I hear you are learning a new song,” he asked.

After Charlotte had left for the Northern Building, Melchior's walks to and from these greetings had been completely silent and sober affairs. Even with Charlotte, they never held the excited energy that now possessed the two children. Zargerecht even handed Henriette her magic tool as she grew more and more hyper.

“I have a plan,” Henriette declared.

What is your plan?” Melchior asked.

“We can play and stack blocks and and and,” she struggled to select a third thing.

Melchior waited patiently but no revelation was forthcoming. “You want to play with blocks?” he asked. She nodded. “What about crayons?” Another nod. “And music.”

Henriette heaved a massive sigh. “No harps.”

“No harps,” Melchior replied.

Later, Zargerecht walked his lord out of the castle feeling relieved. Henriette accepted the news of her brother's extended absence calmly. She had been deeply upset when he failed to appear the previous week but having an explanation directly from his mouth made it seem likely she wouldn’t have another such breakdown. Zargerecht thought it helped that he promised to send letters. It gave Zargerecht extra peace of mind when Lothar handed over the pre-written missives so they wouldn’t have to worry about a letter not making the journey nor consider the logistics of having them delivered and approved everyday. Watching Melchior fly off into the dark stirred memories Zargerecht would rather remain dormant, but the bundle of papers in his hands were a good reminder that times were different and better now.

Footnotes

76. It was supposed to be a quick trip then the aub asked me to advise and you know how much of everyone else's time he tends to waste^

77. How come you didn't change around your retinue at all?^

78. As reliable as it could possibly be^

79. Skill is built up slowly over time^

80. short and safe^

81. you can't even begin to understand how hard the thing your asking for is^

Chapter Text

Harvest of Beets

It was the third day of his tour around the Central District and Melchior was still feeling chipper. The initial excitement from setting off had waned but each town brought its own reason to be delighted. Some were preparing for Warf tournaments while others were busy roasting animals for their feasts. But no matter what stage of the festivities they arrived during there was always music and most people would drop everything to gather around and cheer.

Melchior was buoyed up by the festive atmosphere but Gottschalk was truly amazed. “I’ve seen the villages in Haseny host celebrations but that was always from the sky, flying over. I’ve never been so close to everything. And all these people seem really happy to see you, Lord Melchior.”

“I don't think it's for me specifically, but many have expressed delight at seeing true rituals,” Melchior explained.

Though he’d said this on their first day, Melchior was beginning to think it was for himself specifically. He wasn't able to speak to other clergy about their visits to the Central District but it was difficult to imagine people cheering for their tax collectors. There was also the simple fact that everyone seemed to know who he was. Calls of Little Bishop answered his appearance wherever he went.

The people at this particular village knew his actual name and had brought light blue handkerchiefs to wave at him. Interspersed between calls of “Little Bishop” and “Lord Melchior” were even a couple of “Kirk”s. It was a strange level of intimacy to experience when most people didn't even know his job title but Melchior found it endearing.

The group continued down the central walk left for that purpose while more and more people gathered around to cheer and wave. As their procession towards the stage wasn't part of a ritual this time, he freely waved back. Meanwhile, Dedryck found himself itching for his sword. There were so many people, which wasn't new for this event, but they were more rambunctious and slightly closer than normal. It didn't help that Gottschalk didn't seem to feel that anything was wrong. Even Kirk had relaxed his posture and was nodding occasionally in the direction his name was called. Their tax official was the only other person unnerved.

Random commoners did not know the names of Archduke Candidates and certainty not of their gray attendants. Only once they’d ascended the stage and begun preparations for the various ceremonies and tax collection did it become clear that these were not random commoners. A family of four wasted no time coming forward, lugging a giant crate.

“Lord Melchior!” The man called and was wacked by his wife who was in the middle of directing their children into an attempt at proper kneeling posture. “Oh, sorry. We just had to say thank you again. I thought I’d never walk again after falling off that roof but I felt better than ever this year.”

Melchior stared at the kneeling family uncomprehendingly for a long moment before understanding and a brilliant smile bloomed on his face. “You're the man we healed in spring!”

“Yes, my lord. You generously helped my husband. We had a bumper crop of beets this year and wanted to show our gratitude,” the woman answered. Some of their friends trundled forward with a heavy crate neatly packed with dark red beets still attached to their greens. “The tops can be fried in a bit of oil and the bulbs keep for months besides.”

“I thank you ever so much. My chef will take great pleasure in finding new uses for beets this year,” Melchior replied. He had no idea what Sheila would do with so many of one thing especially when part of them had to be consumed before the end of his trip. The commoner family detected none of his lack of enthusiasm taking his declaration at face value and beginning to add more cooking suggestions before Dedryck calmly, but forcefully, began to send them away so that the official proceedings could begin.

“We just had to show our gratitude somehow. I don't know what we would have done had I been unable to work,” the man said as they began to step away.

“I’m just happy to help,” Melchior insisted, then waved goodbye as the family wandered away.

The beets were only the first gift Melchior and Kirk received from the people of this village. Somehow, by giving his dirty handkerchief to the girl that helped him onto his highbeast, he had begun yet another inescapable cycle of gift giving. It turned out that she had a little brother being baptized and took the opportunity created by escorting him to stamp his medal to deliver a tapestry.

“I know it's rather small and not as nice as your handkerchief but the mud stains wouldn't come out so I tried to make a replacement but I couldn't spin the wool fine enough so… here. I tried to make it pretty,” she explained while staring at her feet. The entire line of six children waited to see his reaction. Melchior listened and stared at the tapestry. It was only as long as his forearm and as wide as a sheet of paper but the girl had used many colors to render a stylized sunset scene fading into a starry sky. The land portion was unusually flat while the stars were very large but that was a symptom of how they had to be woven.

Kirk accepted the fabric and Gottschalk tested it for poison all while the children waited in anticipation. Once Melchior was actually able to touch it he turned back to the girl with a more genuine smile than for the beets. “I really like it,” he said and stroked the scratchy wool like it was from a Royal Breed.

He did like it. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. Perhaps it lacked the refined realistic perfection of the tapestries he was used to, but it was bright and fun and he could tell from the way it was presented that this girl had worked hard to make it with her own hand. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Pim,” she replied.

“Thank you, Pim. I think I'll hang it on my wall in the temple.”

“You live in a temple? What’s that like?” Pim asked.

“Only sometimes. Other times I live with the rest of my family at the castle. It’s nice. We have to practice music a lot but my knight instructor is also there.”

Pim’s brother’s eyes lit up. “Do they teach you how to be a knight?”

“Yes, and how to dance with weapons,” Melchior replied.

The assembled children fell to excited whispering about what kind of magical person could teach one how to dance with weapons and how weapons might dance based on their personalities. Kirk almost found himself drawn into the conversation with the need to correct misconceptions but remembered his job at the last moment. “My lord, we must complete the rituals,” he reminded.

“Oh yes,” Melchior chirped and resumed stamping medals. He only paused once to consider the power they held that he’d been instructed not to tell people about. It was, apparently, not a serious concern for anyone not planning treason, according to Lothar. Even if that were true, it was of serious concern to Melchior who regularly held fistfulls of people’s lives in his hands.

Once the administrative work was done, both the kids being baptized and their fellow children older and younger than seven gathered around to listen to the tales from the bible. Melchior had long since memorized both the official version and the simplified children's story. Almost universally, kids preferred to hear the simple version which was understandable considering that the High Bishop's bible sounded like a different language most of the time. There weren't really separate characters or dialogue so he couldn't use any of Gerianne's methods for making stories more interesting and had to settle for faking more enthusiasm than he had. The other kids were still delighted and readily took to praying at the end.

The adults were less openly enthusiastic about being Starbound but no less happy to be blessed. There was no simple version of the marriage sermon and it was really long so Melchior skipped it. After a final blessing for the new adults, he could relax.

With all his official duties complete, he returned to his seat on the stage to wait for tax negotiations to finish. It didn't usually take long but still forced him to wait while looking serene and dignified which took effort. As he discharged this sacred duty, several bolder children snuck up behind the stage.

“Psst!”

“Lord Melchior!”

“Bishop kid!”

At first, Melchior ignored them. It would be improper to acknowledge such uncouth hailing. Once it proved persistent enough he sent Kirk to speak with them.

“You cannot yell at my lord this way,” Kirk chided.

The kids looked defeated for the shortest possible moment before recovering with a new strategy. “We just want to ask if he wants to eat with us at the fun table. His table looks boring.”

Melchior's ears felt warm listening to this criticism. He would never say that eating at his own lonely table, on the rare occasion he stayed for the feast, was boring but only because he wasn't given to complaining. He glanced at Dedryck who didn't even dignify the implied question with a response. They both knew it was a ridiculous idea that the High Bishop of Ehrenfest, second son of the Archduke, would eat at the kids table at a commoner feast. Melchior managed not to hang his head.

“If you wish to offer an invitation or make a petition, you should do it at the proper place not hiding behind the stage,” Kirk continued.

“Where's the proper place?”

“Then the adults would know!”

“They said not to bother him but what do they know about kid stuff.”

Kirk ignored everything but the question. “You can kneel at the front of the stage and wait to be acknowledged.”

The kids looked towards an older boy who was obviously the ring leader amidst this pack of six to nine year olds. He thought for a moment then nodded sagely and took off running around the wooden platform. The others eventually caught up to him and joined in kneeling with both knees on the ground in front of the stage.

It was hard to hold back a laugh but Melchior pasted his noble smile onto his face and met his petitioners with due seriousness. “You have something to request?” he intoned.

Maybe it was too much gravitas because the leader quailed. He shuffled on his knees and stared at the ground in front of him. Glad for the relative dryness of the dirt compared to spring, Melchior still tried to alleviate their anxiety quickly. As he reached out to provide reassurance, a different young boy found enough courage to speak.

“Do you want to eat meat with us?” the tiny boy yelled.

Many people stiffened for many different reasons but Melchior just looked towards Dedryck again. It would be nice to stay and watch the Warf and with Melchior there neither of his knights would need to entertain the village leaders and accept drinks. If he were also surrounded by children, those same leaders wouldn't have an excuse to make petitions of their own that Melchior was not well placed to reply to.

“They can join your table,” Dedryck decided after weighing the possibilities. The children wasted no time collecting their stools and arraying themselves on the stage. Their parents looked on mostly in horror but could say nothing now that Melchior had made his invitation.

Kirk followed the boys to the large fire pits to retrieve grilled meats and vegetables for his lord. He also produced a cloth napkin wrapped around an abbreviated set of silver cutlery. Dedryck tested the food for poison he didn't expect to find under the careful scrutiny of a dozen kids.

“Wow, my dad sometimes takes a meat tax but never at a feast,” one of them observed.

“Why aren't you eating! They’ll run out of the best things!” another cried and tried to coax Kirk into going back for his own food.

Kirk held his ground and pushed the tiny child away carefully. “I will eat after. I am working right now.”

The child looked back and forth between Melchior and Kirk. “Isn't the work over?”

“I am assisting my lord with his meal,” Kirk explained.

The small child scoffed. “Only babies need help. I stopped needing help years ago.”

There was tension. It was isolated to the older children while the younger ones just nodded their agreement. Melchior felt indignation rise in his chest. He was not a baby and everyone he knew had help with their meals. Before he could protest Kirk replied with a deep sigh. “Nobles eat in a different way to commoners and their clothes are easier to stain.” He gestured towards Melchior’s sumptuous white and gold outfit. “Wouldn't you need help not to get meat juices on your sleeves if they were that long?” They were forced to agree.

Melchior made a demonstration of elegantly slicing off pieces of his food and lifting them into his mouth, his silver utensils making soft clicks on the wooden dishes. The boys began trying to emulate his grace using their small knives and fingers then devolved back to shoveling once that proved too time consuming. The whole exercise served mostly to impress upon them just how patient Melchior was with his eating. They had all cleared their plates and fallen into conversation then rambunctious competitions to see who could launch their plate the farthest by the time he put down his utensils. It wasn't possible to fully clean the bones on his plate with a knife and fork either.

“Seems like a waste,” someone murmured while another boy happily offered to clean them off.

With Melchior's meal completed and handed down, Kirk was able to begin. “Don't you need help?”

“Yeah didn't you say, all nobles need help?”

“I am not a noble and there is no one here to assist me,” Kirk replied.

“You aren't a noble! But you're so clean and you said you could read!”

“That is not what makes one a noble,” Melchior said. “Kirk has no mana.”

“What's mana?”

Melchior paused. Only once had he needed to explain what mana was. The temple orphans were taught its significance from a very young age so they had never asked. He also hadn't had time to fully explain the concept to Violet during her episode. Thinking back to her explanation, he wondered whether these commoner children would understand things better in the terms she had used.

“It's like the heat of fever that builds up very slowly over time that you can manipulate through force of will. Nobles learn to control their heat and receive schtappes which let them use it to summon useful objects,” he explained.

Gottschalk and Dedryck exchanged confused looks. Not only had no one ever described mana in this way, they had no idea where Melchior could have heard such a thing nor why he would communicate it to a bunch of commoners. The boys were also skeptical but mostly of the idea that someone could affect a fever with their thoughts.

“It's not actually a fever but it feels like one,” Melchior clarified.

“And you use your fever to make sparkles?” another asked incredulously.

“That's correct. I pray to the gods and they allow me to give blessings,” Melchior said.

“That's all it takes? A fever and a prayer?”

“And a magic ring,” Melchior said while holding up his left hand. He answered questions, explaining how magical soups stirred with magical mixing sticks became rings after they were created by melting rocks. The longer he spent talking the less he was believed.

One boy didn't share in the vocal critique of the veracity of Melchior's claims. He stood to the side looking pensive. After a lull predicated by a story about how magic fruit could be made into magic rocks, he spoke up. “So if you have this special kind of fever, you can cure it with magic fruit?”

“Well it never really goes away. It's not a real fever but something the body creates because you're alive. The older you get the more your body makes and the more you can hold.”

“So you would need more magic fruit?”

“Yes. You would just have merybs or rock-eating tree fruit or ruelles or any other fruit faebeasts like to eat and imagine forcing the fever into it,” Melchior explained. “You can also use the rocks that killing faebeasts creates.”

The boy nodded and moved to ask something else but was cut off by Dedryck. “Just be careful about storing the used fruits and rocks all together in your house. They will attract faebeasts.”

The boys looked at him like he’d appeared out of thin air having completely forgotten he was there. He returned to watching the area and ignored all of Gottschalk’s attempts to ask him what all of that was about. Melchior just smiled and allowed himself to be guided towards the spectating area to watch the Warf match. Dedryck and Gottschalk followed behind leaving Kirk to hurriedly eat his own food.

Though Kirk intended to eat quickly then take his and Melchior’s plates to be cleaned, he was waylaid by an older girl. She and her posse of smaller helpers cleared the table and surrounds of the boys’ mess and offered to help him eat if he needed it.

“I should be alright,” he assured them with a deep blush. But his plate was taken from his hands then filled with choice offerings and carried for him. The girls were not even as skilled as the youngest gray orphans but they did their best to place down his dishes carefully and bring him water when he needed it. Gaining courage from their fellows, other girls brought over their own food to sit with him and ask all about what it was like to be a servant as a few of them dreamed of leaving their small village to work in a big house. He never got a chance to see any Warf in the end.

Melchior was a huge fan of Warf who’d only recently come to terms with the reality that he would never get to play. He listened to the other boys explain the strategy and narrator the game with a bright smile and contemplated whether he could convince his knights to obtain a warf so he could experience kicking it.

Meanwhile, Gottschalk looked on in amazement. “Why don't we ever play this at the Knights Order!?”

Dedryck winced. “Don't recommend that,” he whispered with a terrified glance towards Melchior. Not only would Gottschalk never escape the hazing for trying to introduce a peasant sport, even if it gained popularity, but Melchior's knights would be on the frontlines of spreading the trend, forced to play and demonstrate the game at nausea. “We will never escape.”

“But it looks like fun,” Gottschalk argued. Dedryck stared him down until he promised to keep his opinion to himself.

Once the game ended and the taxes were sent off, Kirk was extricated from the sea of girls and sent to collect the crate of beets. At first they planned to send it with the taxes but the need to use the beet leaves quickly meant they needed to bring them along for Sheila to process. While she looked excited to receive the produce, she also noted that the freshly picked plants would keep much longer than their market counterparts that had to travel for a few days before being sold and that word could be sent to have them delivered to the temple the moment they arrived at the castle.

Besides the beets and tapestry, Melchior's crate also collected a pair of whittled birds, balls woven from grass and reeds, and several sticks said to be of high quality. Melchior was unsure how to judge the quality of a stick, a debilitating ignorance in the opinion of his young hosts, so several were provided as examples for him to follow in all further stick hunting endeavors. Only one of them had been debarked and crafted into a walking stick with a fine leather wrapped handle. The rest he thought the Hasse clergy might like if the usefulness of them was actually as varied as he’d been led to believe.

He spent that evening using his new knife to inexpertly remove the bark from a second stick, shedding wood shavings everywhere until a chair was placed outside for him. Many things were learned that day, including how difficult it was to brush wood chips out of light armor, how to cut away from oneself, and how to sharpen a mundane knife using the unglazed foot of a bowl. Kirk added a sharpening stone and strop to the lists of adventuring equipment and shopping.

The Hunting Tournament - A Noble Interlude

Between people in bright clothes and scores of vibrant tents, the edge of the Nobles Forest was a sea of brilliant colors despite the autumn chill. Servants hurried around with steaming trays for the brunch that would occur after the opening ceremonies and crates full of magic tools used in scoring the event. The crisp sylvan air was filled with both anticipation and flocks of highbeast carrying excited nobles and one very anxious archknight.

For several years, Dedryck had managed to avoid socializing at the Hunting Tournament. First, he spent the season completing his move from the Sovereignty, then he accompanied his new tiny lord, finally, he was forced to travel around for the Harvest Festival. This would be the first time that everything came together to give him free time on the day. Unlike many events hosted by the Archduke, the Hunting Tournament was open to all denizens of the Nobles Quarter and Central District as well as any visitors and early arrivals to the Winter Estates. It would still be the height of arrogance for someone of little consequence to approach the Archduke but they could partake in the food and mingle with those near their own standing.

Unfortunately for Dedryck, the informality did not give him an excuse either to skip the event or to dress casually. He would have to dress formally for the morning where the apprentices did their hunting then return to the Knights Order to eat lunch and change into his armor or other hunting attire before coming back to compete in the adult section. While the Huntsmaster dictated the uniform for official hunts, private excursions allowed for more individuality. Zipporah, for example, had spoken with great animation about her planned outfit and, if asked, Dedryck would have to admit that it looked both pretty and practical.

She’d had her tawny brown fur from the previous winter turned into a long vest. The autumn air was chill but not freezing so she was able to pair this only with a thin, white wool shirt and black riding pants. The clothing part of her kit was capped off with an ochre scarf secured with last year’s brooch and high black boots. On top of the clothing she was weighted down with a large variety of pouches, a full quiver of arrows with shiny black fletchings wrapped with green string, and a large black wood bow. Because they were competing as a team, Sigsnyr was doing his best to match in an ochre armored tunic, black light armor, black boots, and green scarf. How he could afford an armored tunic in a specialty color was anyone's guess but Dedryck predicted a reawakening of the clamor for new armor colors.

Indeed, both apprentices and adults were fawning from near and afar. The pair would have created enough of a distraction for Dedryck to blend in were he not dressed in his only formal outfit, a blue and peach surcoat embroidered in the Sovereign style with nature scenes. Such unique fashion was, apparently, also worthy of many stares. Of course, he’d considered having something made in the Ehrenfest style but he’d recently acquired an anxiety surrounding buying new luxury goods and previously had no plans to attend anything as a guest. But, Gottschalk needed to participate in the tournament and Dedryck didn’t trust either of his fellow adult knights in Melchior service to protect their lord with only the help of an apprentice. At least, not with just Gottschalk who’d been a surprisingly good sport with a good alcohol tolerance and patience for commoner feasts but lacked the focus and skill Dedryck wanted from an equal partner. Gottschalk was working hard and improving rapidly but for now Dedryck had to be the one to accompany him and that meant returning to Ehrenfest in time for the tournament.

In a last ditch effort, Dedryck also attempted to volunteer to join the field rangers who would watch over the apprentices during the hunt but Tiedemonn wouldn’t take him. “You cannot avoid socializing for the entire event,” the Huntsmaster chuckled while shooing Dedryck out of his office. Dedryck wasn’t sure whether he was more mortified by the fact that Tiedemonn saw through him so easily or that he would now have to attend the Hunting Tournament as a guest.

He still wasn’t sure as he landed beside his attendant, Leobwin, who immediately disappeared without even a promise to meet him for lunch. Dedryck knew he would be there to help him eat and change but a bit of verbal reassurance would have been nice. There was nothing for it. Leobwin never had and likely never would understand the anxiety inherent in social situations.

Dedryck began stalking around, doing his best not to look scary or to collapse under the weight of all the stares and whispers. He met his apprentices, gave polite reassurance and compliments on their various special outfits, then found a quiet corner to acclimate and mentally prepare. Aside from Zipporah and Sigsnyr, they all wore either regular light armor or regular full armor with minor adjustments and a brooch, either their white hoops or personal brooches prepared specifically for the event. It was good that they were pushing their lord’s trend but the jealous stares directed at his chest were too much to spend much time near them.

Posing with a goblet of wine, Dedryck tried to look like he was contemplating the beauty of the forest and listening to the orchestra. If he were lucky, people would take the opportunity to look at his clothes from a distance and not approach. He was not lucky.

“It’s been some time since I attended one of these,” called a warm voice. “I fear I’m underdess now.” With a furtive sigh, Dedryck turned to smile calmly at Sir Ptolemaeus. His outfit was obviously well made and reasonably expensive but it was also about a decade out of date. What a blessing that men’s fashion moved so slowly.

“Not at all,” Dedryck replied. “I think you look quite dignified.”

Ptolemaeus sputtered over his goblet. “So I am getting old,” he teased. “Dauerleben moves quiet but sure.⁸²” His neutral smile turned brighter as Dedryck blushed. He hadn’t meant to imply that at all. “Calm down, lad. I’m not offended.”

“I apologize,” Dedryck whispered.

Ptolemaeus placed a hand on his shoulder. “There’s no need to be anxious. Even if you create a scandal, people will forget soon enough.”

“Society never forgets,” Dedryck replied.

Ptolemaeus nodded sagely. “Yes and no. Ah… perhaps I should say, you’ll survive.” Whether this was actually good advice or not, Dedryck felt some of his anxiety recede. He knew from Isolde and Kazmiar’s reports that Ptolemaeus could be a dangerous interlocutor when he wanted to be. That he was instead taking the time to be reassuring filled Dedryck with warmth.

“It is as you say.” They stood together and chatted about the weather, their predictions for the rankings, and the quality of the bows carried by the competitors. Dedryck found himself feeling more and more relaxed as they covered a topic he actually knew something about. He could talk about weapons forever and Ptolemaeus seemed to know a great deal about them too.

“I see our warm up is over,” Ptolemaus muttered suddenly.

With this, Dedryck’s bubble of comfort popped. The space was then filled by Lady Elvira and a woman he’d never seen before. The woman wore a dress with outdated festoonments that had been reshaped into the modern silhouette. The sleeves had been replaced with a capelet, after the fashion Charlotte had invented, with fine lace cuffs and a second, lightweight cape peaking out. The soutache and embroidery was such excellent work that anyone could immediately understand why it had been saved. Lady Elvira was dressed after her usual fashion but wore a wider than normal sash with a decorative knot reminiscent of what her daughter, Aub Alexandria, wore for graduation. Together they would rival the young women for style and grace and walked arm in arm until Elvira passed her friend over to Ptolemaeus.

“My dear, have you met Sir Dedryck, his father is the cousin of Giebe Groschel,” Ptolemaeus said. Dedryck smiled and tipped his head and hoped desperately that he looked like he wasn't panicking. This was a totally new person and Lady Elvira who’d been maneuvering alongside Brunhilde and Florencia to pair him off for years. He had no doubts that she would pull him from his hidey corner and make him circulate.

In a voice sparkling with curiosity Ptolemaeus’s wife asked, “From the Sovereignty?” Ptolemaus nodded and did something else with his face that didn’t diminish his smile but was obviously communicating something.

“Ah, I’ve heard many good things then, Sir Dedryck. Schutzaria’s fruitful days have truly blessed me that I should make your acquaintance.”

“The Goddess of Wind is magnanimous indeed,” Dedryck replied. He turned towards Elvira and was about to attempt to pull her into the conversation, as would be polite, but his mind went blank. Would these women want to talk about the bows? Lady Elvira was a scholar and her husband was a knight but that didn’t mean she was personally interested in weapons. More likely she would want to discuss the most recent happenings in noble society which were… And what about Lady… Dedryck began to panic. He had no clue what was happening outside of Melchior's retinue and no one had actually introduced Ptolemaeus’s wife yet. Did they expect him to know her name already because of his familiarity with her husband?

After what felt like an eternity of shameful silence, but was probably only a heartbeat longer than expected, Ptolemaeus swooped in to continue introductions. “Dedryck, this is my wife, Sibylla. She has never been one for large events either.”

Dedryck could only give a weak “ah” as she playfully swatted Ptolemaeus. “Don’t say these things. Lady Elvira has been most gracious in reintroducing me around. I’ve done myself credit this time.”

“Indeed, Lady Sibylla has been the star of the Tournament thus far,” Elvira teased.

“I have. I have,” she cooed. “Thank you again, Elvira, you are always so good to us.”

Elvira smiled and caught Dedryck’s arm as he began to show signs of bolting. He swallowed. “Oh you always bring the most refreshing perspectives. I simply have to take the opportunities to see you when I can. We should have tea.”

“We should,” Sibylla said in the most noncommittal tone Dedryck had ever heard. She and her husband made their polite escape while Dedryck was still dazed by her skills in dodging social encounters.

“The whirling should begin soon. Won’t you accompany me to the viewing area, Sir Dedryck?” Elvira asked.

Dedryck would rather be shot in the leg, but he nodded and smiled. As predicted, she toured him past every clump of women that included an available maiden. She was kind enough to do most of the talking and was liberal with praise for his fine qualities.

It felt like an eternity before the whirling area came into view. A large space in the middle of the biggest clearing had been left empty for mustering the hunters, showing off their kills, and handing out awards. Slightly more space than normal was prepared so that the first ever Hunting Tournament whirling performance could take place. A score and a half of apprentices and younger knights had gathered loosely into their lines for the performance so that Benedikt, Sigsnyr, and Isolde could position the picture-recording magic tool. They were just resolving a polite disagreement about where to place the tripod when Dedryck and Elvira arrived.

Despite accompanying her this far being their excuse, she didn't release him. “So, Sir Dedryck, what do you think? I can only make recommendations, you know.”

This was false. The wife of the Knight Commander was well positioned to pressure Dedryck into marrying whomever she wanted. But if she was offering to allow him to make his own choice, he wasn't going to argue against that. Instead he took a moment to consider the girls he’d just met now that he wasn't engaged in performing for their amusement. There was just one thing that his mind fixated on. “They're all so young.”

Elvira chuckled. “My, my, having waited so long, can you complain that a new year has dawned?⁸³” Dedryck smiled nervously and tried not to shuffle around. “We did try to help you. Didn't Cornelius make overtures?”

“He did,” Dedryck admitted. He hadn't been very aggressive about it but Cornelius had passed on his mother's offers to help find Dedryck a wife. “⁸⁴I was still in my autumn, hunting for my own rafels.”

“Or had you picked up your own rafel?” she needled. Dedryck blushed. No matter how easily he predicted this turn in the conversation, he wasn't ready for it. “You are still young, hmm. Have they delayed as long as you?” He could only nod. “Well, that's fortunate.”

It was not. Perhaps he could be happy for his friend's solitude were it a simple matter for him to alleviate it. “Liebeskhilfe tends to other things,” he whispered.

“Ah…an unbindable union. I see,” Elvira replied. They watched the children finish their preparations quietly. Benedikt and Isolde eventually agreed that he would fiddle with the magic tool and feastones while she fielded questions about their activities. Sigsnyr had been drawn away to participate in a discussion about scythes. Zipporah wielded one which closely imitated the Divine Instruments’ gold and encrusted style. Traugott was trying to copy it while Sigsnyr failed to warn anyone away from the mana drain such a thing caused. “It is not impossible,” Elvira said, startling Dedryck out of his daze.

“Aubs do not often allow it and what's more, I was told it isn't done in Ehrenfest,” Dedryck replied.

Elvira patted his arm. “It didn't used to be. Certain persons wished to remove all possible competitors. Now there is nothing to fear… though, I’m sure you, of all people, are aware.”

Dedryck dearly hoped that no one would think his usual complexion was one of bloodied milk. He still found his eyes searching for the Aub. It wasn't hard to find Sylvester if he was around. He glowed with life and left a trail of smiles everywhere he went, even on the faces of his sworn enemies. At that moment he was arriving with Florencia on one arm and Brunhilde on the other in a wild break from propriety that must have been a joke since everyone around was laughing. Florencia was positively glowing like a beacon while Brunhilde could easily be taken for a normal archnoble rather than the second wife.

Dedryck was sure their guard knights were relieved. Brunhilde would no doubt prefer to be more fashionable but were anything to happen, attacks were more likely to be directed towards Florencia, who looked more important and was in a position to defend herself, and away from Brunhilde, who was quite pregnant and thus in no position to ward off physical aggression. From her smile and relaxed posture she was still ready for verbal jousts.

Elvira patted his elbow before finally letting go. “Some think that the Goddess of Light is ambivalent simply because she walks her set arch through the skies⁸⁵. But, listen to one who knows.” She leaned close to whisper in his ear, “It is not always safe to covet distant rafels simply because nearer fruit is equally out of reach.⁸⁶”

With these terrifying words, Lady Elvira melted back into the crowd, leaving Dedryck to sweat by himself. Eventually, he found Haldis and was able to hide near him to watch the festivities and dodge the parade of available bachelors Elvira casually herded in his general direction.

Footnotes

82. Old age sneaks up on you^

83. “Of course they're young, you let your whole generation pass you by.”^

84. “I was young and thought I had things in hand” or “I was sure I had more time to look for myself”^

85. “People think Florencia doesn't care about her husband's fidelity just because she wasn't active in pursuing him.” I think this is false, especially after so many years, especially after he fought his sister to protect her and their children. She's needed a second wife to support her for ages and knows what Brunhilde is due for her service but I don't think she would be so permissive of a normal affair.^

86. She's warning him that his impossible obsession with Sylvester is noticed, dangerous, and not a good replacement for an actual love affair.^

Chapter Text

Rest of the Festival

The arrival of Lord Melchior at Hasse Monastery was marked by both joy and self-satisfaction. The clergy had come to meet him and help empty his highbeast of its luggage while Melchior happily declared his most recent achievement: traveling for an entire week and a half without needing to rest for the first time.

“Congratulations, High Bishop!”

“You’ve grown so strong!”

“The wheel!”

Commendations were immediately arrested by the appearance of the spinning wheel, leaving Melchior only slightly offended to be sidelined by some carpentry. However, after a week of watching Kirk produce yarn, he had to agree that it was incredible. As an Archduke Candidate and haver of many time consuming hobbies, he couldn't take up spinning himself but spinning the big wheel was very fun. He and Kirk had gotten into a productive rhythm the one day he was free to while away a bell standing around doing nothing.

After that, he was forced to retire as a spinning wheel spinner and return to his vocation as a professional magic circle letter writer. Having the large wax tablets made it economical to practice and impossible to accidentally activate a circle. Unfortunately, he could only use one side as the other now housed a half finished relief carving of Dedryck and Gottschalk flying their highbeasts. Daily use also highlighted some flaws with the design namely that resting his hand on the wax melted it enough to smudge or erase things. He could use the same rods he employed to keep his hands away from his painting canvases but doubted other people would enjoy doing that.

The large size of the tablets had given him an idea for how to fulfill his order to Hauchletze. Large paintings were generally worth more money. Larger painted tablets would therefore be worth more. He doubted they would feel like they were worth the exorbitant amount promised but it would be a start, combined with gold paint, which he could now make with proper gold pigment instead of magic, and superior craftsmanship… it was still too little. Melchior spent an entire evening staring at the large diptych trying to find ways to add value. There was always the option of sealing lions under the wax. It might make it harder to read the indentations, but it would offset the cost once they were extracted.

He didn’t think the First Wife of Hauchletze would enjoy excavating coins, so he put the idea aside. Rozemyne might but Ferdinand was unlikely to approve of the activity. Thinking of her reminded him of how she normally used her diptych as a place to write notes about ordonnanz. She even placed them next to each other at casual events such as the Interduchy Tournament. Roosts could be very expensive but the circles didn’t take up much space. Were they to combined the roost and wax tablets into one object, it would be worth more even if it made writing less comfortable.

Eventually, he had to leave the problem unsolved to go to bed. He made a note of his critiques of the large wax tablets then headed to his bath. The first half of the Hunting Tournament marched on without any definite conclusions before he was distracted from the problem by his arrival at the midway resting point and the great fervor surrounding the spinning wheel.

The morning of his rest day at Hasse, Melchior waved goodbye to Dedryck and Gottschalk after welcoming Sebastian and Fonsel. He hadn't expected to have such a nice time traveling with Gottschalk but they’d bonded over nightly games of Karuta and animated conversation about the beautiful, agrarian vistas. That Gottschalk took particular joy in being the only apprentice allowed to attend mattered less to Melchior than that he was enthusiastic for the journey and willing to attend the commoner feasts on his and Dedryck’s behalf.

Hasse was as idyllic and diverting as always. This year, Melchior was even allowed to harvest a couple of lettuce which was just as fun as Kirk claimed. He was sure they tasted better than normal lettuce and tried to get Sebastian and Fonsel to admit it over lunch.

“The produce here is superior to what's available in the markets,” was the strongest endorsement Fonsel would give.

“How can you be certain all the lettuces don't taste just as good? Did you taste them?” Sebastian teased between bites of his third helping.

Sheila gave him a pat on the shoulder as he scowled. “The satisfaction of a job well done adds a spice only detectable to the worthy,” she intoned. Sebastian looked affronted but couldn't argue while he was still chewing.

After lunch it was time to address a problem they'd been putting off since the day before. Marthe had finished spinning the wool from spring, Dedryck brought enough miscellaneous faestones to trade for a crate of rock-eating tree fruit, and the Hasse clergy had prepared more of Melchior's favorite paper as a gift.

“Do you want to take in more animals?” Melchior asked when it was presented to him.

Thorne giggled at this while shaking his head hard enough to almost tip himself out of his bow. “No, my lord. The sheep and rudelhute are more than enough for us. We only just taught Blatt and Blume that it's ok for one of them to leave the sheep to go with us to forage. Before that, we had to sneak past them or they would try to bring the whole herd with us.”

While a fun story, it didn't explain why he was receiving gifts once again. “Oh,” Rick laughed. “You said you liked the heavy paper. We found a way to make it heavier without making it more brittle.”

“So you are giving me paper just because I said I liked it?” Melchior checked. They nodded. He wondered whether this counted as seeking advantage but was happy enough to receive free paper that it didn't matter. While only slightly thicker than the paper from the previous year, it felt three times as heavy. Paper was generally lightweight so it wasn’t hard to move but the disparity between what the mind expected to feel and the physical experience was magical. He just couldn’t stop lifting it up and giggling.

What's more, there was a lot of paper, at least fifty to a hundred sheets. Melchior felt it was too much to give away for free but Thorne insisted. “Were we to submit all of it, our paper quota would increase to a level we won't always be able to meet. It's also all experimental. We needed to test many paper formulations to find our preservative.” With this he presented their report which had been carefully copied out and formed into a thin book.

They'd done more than just isolate the plant responsible for driving off mold and rot. The report detailed every formulation they tried and the resulting paper quality. Included with the report was a box of labeled sample sheets in a myriad of pale colors and shades of tan except for a bright orange sheet which Melchior held up with unconcealable curiosity.

“Oh, ha ha, Martha wanted to try adding dyes to the paper. It seems to work but we only have a very limited range of colors.”

Melchior had powdered colors stored at the temple and could fly there and back in less than a bell. They could have so many shades of bright paper. “My lord you are not a courrier,” Sebastian reminded.

“Yes but we need to go there anyway,” Melchior argued. Fonsel and Sebastian passed a skeptical look between them. “To transport the faefruit and wool.”

“Will those things not simply be added to the carriages returning to the temple?” Fonsel asked.

Melchior and Throne shook their heads. “There won't be any space and hiring a carriage at this time of year on short notice would be frightfully expensive. Were we to wait for a more reasonable time scale, it might snow, leaving our goods stranded,” Melchior explained in his best Hartmut voice. It lacked a certain scathing quality but still conveyed a deep knowledge being oh so generously shared. Sebastian was not cowed and prepared himself to point out that Melchior was just planning on wasting expensive dyestuffs on paper experiments but had to pause. Perhaps it was precisely because he was planning to waste so much money that he didn't want to waste anymore. Or else he saw the dyestuffs as free because they'd been purchased so long ago.

As Sebastian tried to untangle the mind of a child, Fonsel looked at the plan more logically. It was already after lunch. The sun would begin setting sooner rather than later. If they were going to take a trip to Ehrenfest, they needed to do it soon. Sebastion also hadn’t spent enough time with his lord to predict that Melchior would offer to transport additional things for the Hasse clergy. Unlike Ehrenfest clergy who knew to defer, Marthe and Rick only took a few words of polite coaxing. By the time Lothar appeared and could mediate, the crates had already been selected and were being packed into the lionbus. They chatted animatedly about how nothing could be lost on the road now due to untimely showers or surprise mud puddles while Melchior basked in the joy of being useful.

“Just don't tell Lady Florencia,” Fonsel muttered to his partner as they stood out of the way.

“But won't the Aub notice us return to the city?” Sebastian asked. He had been fuming earlier about the indignity being done to his lord and his highbeast but had moved on to feeling resigned.

“Yes but he won't ask questions,” Fonsel replied. “Lady Florencia will give him a lecture though and… he probably doesn't need one for this.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at Fonsel. “He doesn't? This doesn't seem like ‘proper Archduke Candidate behavior’ to me, being a pack mule for orphans.”

“Shush, shush, shush. If you do not wish to face Lord Melchior's ire, you will learn to treat the gray clergy with more respect. While I agree with you, he’s already given his word and the word once given…”

“Must be respected. Maybe we should talk to him about using non-definitive language?” Sebastian suggested.

Fonsel sighed. “Oh he knows. He just wants to do this. It's within his power and costs nothing to anyone else so it will be impossible to talk him out of helping.”

“There’s just no need for this. It would be simpler for him to simply order things be delivered and allow others to handle it. He has more important things to do.”

“You can try to convince him to be that kind of leader but that kind of leader couldn’t be convinced to intercede personally on Herzfeld’s behalf. It’s really a question of what kind of lord you want to serve.” Fonsel concluded with a pat on Sebastian’s shoulder.

By this point, the industrious gray clergy had finished packing the lionbus so the knights summoned their own highbeasts and prepared to leave. On their flight back, Sebastian tried to consider Fonsel’s words but was distracted by a reality no one seemed to have considered. It was not a long flight between the temple and Hasse. It was not a long flight between the temple and anywhere in the Central district. Perhaps during Spring Prayer, when the carriages could not be replaced by highbeast, it was necessary to stay at various rural estates and mansions but during the Harvest Festival, there was little stopping Melchior from returning home every night. They could even skip the ritual of flying ahead to their accommodations each morning.

These thoughts had no outlet until dinner that evening when he was able to present what he felt was a fully formed plan alongside the mountains of stewed beet leaves and roasted squash . Melchior’s eyes shined and even Sheila looked interested in the possibilities. There was only one complaint. “Then I wouldn’t get to visit Hasse,” Melchior argued.

“You can visit if you want to. In fact you don’t have to wait for these festivals to come,” Fonsel replied.

Melchior froze. Never had he considered that he could travel at other times of the year. Of course Jochten had come that summer and other people sometimes visited between provinces if they had the time and family there. Helgemut had come to the capitol on very short notice. “I could visit any time,” Melchior muttered in fascination.

“That is true. It would be ideal to send word to the denizens here that they might prepare appropriately and you would need permission from your parents,” Lothar explained.

“Could I go to other places too?”

Fonsel and Sebastian paled. Protecting their lord in known locals was hard enough considering his skills in escape. Not to mention all the possible accusations of political collusion he could collect depending on where he went. Unfortunately, these were not sufficient reasons to ban him from travel entirely. They could only hope that once he learned of the increased complexity of traveling as an Archduke Candidate as opposed to the High Bishop, he would decide it was too much trouble. With a silent glance between them, Sebastian and Fonsel quietly agreed to push him to wait at least a couple of years till he had his schtappe and wasn’t so easily kidnapped.

The rest of the evening was spent in the common room watching the shrine maidens continue to experiment with the spinning wheel. Kirk basked in the attention as he explained the many features and what he’d learned so far from his own tests. Nora brought out some wool from Herzfeld and the shepherds around Hasse to perform her own tests. Through all this, Melchior sat to the side drawing the room. The shrine maidens kept moving and switching positions so he had to sketch quickly.

The collection of stick limbs surrounded by sketchy billows of soft lines had its own character but was less than legible to anyone else. When shown, Lothar offered what praise he could come up with. “It gives a lively feeling, my lord.” To which Melchior frowned. Lothar sorted away the information that Melchior was now adept at seeing half-compliments for what they were and continued to smile mildly.

Even if no one else understood, Melchior thought the sketches were helpful when he moved to make a more detailed drawing of the scene. He was able to pick his favorite moments and positions for both Kirk and the shrine maidens. They were just for his own records anyway.

By the time he was finished with his drawing, it was growing late and Marthe had a hefty hank of yarn completed. Compared to Kirk and his spindle and even Kirk and the wheel, it was truly impressive. Marthe, Nora, and clergy from the temple talked about how they would go about renting time on the wheel and the possibility and usefulness of providing yarn to the Ehrenfest orphanage. Melchior wanted to ask how the orphans obtained yarn in the first place but thought better of it. Knowing could mean he or Streita needed to intervene in a system that seemed to be working all on its own. While he was almost swayed by the mandate that he know about everything going on in the temple, the potential for new line items on their budgets squashed all resolve. It was better not to know.

Hasse’s economic possibilities had been outlined by the next morning. The temple had paid for the wheel out of its ten percent cut of the sale of the paper information alongside funds from Melchior himself. Lothar offered Hasse the option to buy Melchior and the temple out immediately as a possible option discussed with Kazmiar beforehand. They had no idea how they were expected to do that before their percentage of the proceeds were handed over.

“By order of the High Bishop, after a ten percent cut to the temple which covered your use of our facilities and twenty percent to Lord Melchior and his retinue for negotiating, a process I am told was hard work, the remaining seventy percent has been split into even portions for all clergy who were in residence at Hasse during the research period,” Lothar explained and Kirk handed out the little pouched he’d sewn for everyone’s take. Marthe shivered as the heavy pouch settled into her hands while Rick looked as though he might cry. “The proceeds from the sale of this information will be handled in the same way.”

“This is for us? We can keep it?” Nora asked.

“That is correct. The temple believes in equality but also rewarding work well done. Theft will not be tolerated. Should the presence of ready gold prove stronger than the whispers of Anhaltung, the High Priest will take over treasury duties for all gray clergy.”

Melchoir smiled as he watched the Hasse clergy sort through their silver while their temple counterparts congratulated them. Lothar allowed a few moments for celebration before coughing lightly and shooting a few well placed glances. Order returned quickly followed by all the clergy kneeling together.

“Thank you, High Bishop,” Nora spoke for the whole group. “We are grateful from the very bottom of our hearts.”

“It is all due to your diligence and dedication. I hope we can continue to serve the duchy together,” Melchior replied.

“We’ll invent the very best paper in the country!” Thorne declared drawing laughs all around.

“I look forward to more colors most of all,” Melchior said. Talks about how to handle the spinning wheel rental proceeds never finished so Kirk had to explain the proposal during their flight to the first village. The first coins would be used to pay back the temple, after that Melchior would receive a percentage unless he preferred to be repaid immediately and all the proceeds be added directly to Hasse’s funds for the upkeep of the Monastery. While large quantities of money weren’t expected to come from the venture as their primary customers were relatively poor in coin if not deprived of necessities, many trades of wool, soap, grain, and other useful items were likely. The temple would need to send less money and provisions to Hasse to cover those costs.

“They are very close to being self-sufficient actually,” Kirk concluded.

Melchior listened in awe. He had no idea how much work it took to grow and forage enough food for so many people let alone produce clothing and shoes. Where they also found time to make paper was a mystery. Thought of self-sufficiency, the power of the medals, and how to make Hauchletze’s diptych plagued him for the next week and a half, making the Harvest Festival feel like it flew by.

Unexpected Visitor

Melchior returned to the temple at the end of the Harvest Festival in high spirits. He hadn't needed to spend even a single day convalescing due to exhaustion. Dedryck, Sigsnyr, and Zipporah waited in front of Chet and Paul to welcome him home and take over for Sebastian and Fonsel. Gerianne was also there looking particularly smug about getting back first. Thanks to rushing the year before, she’d found several strategies for making her trip more efficient.

When Melchior leapt from the lionbus with a flourish, they all hurried forward mirroring his excitement. Fonsel and Sebastian meanwhile, looked only minutes from coming to blows. They gave a brief report of the trip, greeted their replacements, then flew away like twin storm clouds.

“What happened between them?” Gerianne asked.

“I’m not sure. They seemed perfectly fine yesterday,” he replied.

“I think they just got tired of hiding it,” Dedryck mused. “Have no fear, my lord, I will speak with them.”

Melchior was happy to forget. There were far more pressing concerns. Sigsnyr and Zipporah weren't wearing their uniforms. Instead they wore coordinating outfits in a rugged style. Sigsnyr even had a special yellow armored tunic. “Dedryck allowed us to wear them just for today. We thought you would like to see,” Zipporah explained.

“You both look so cool!” Melchior chirped and started circling around them. “Is this the fur from last year? And did you order a new belt from one of the competition craftsmen?” He peppered them with endless questions which they happily answered.

“We don't have our quivers but those were matching as well,” Sigsnyr said. “And it's just the regular light armor with the color changing circle added. I didn't have the mana or resources to do the whole special thing.”

“It's still incredible,” Gerianne said, while walking a circuit around them to take in the full effect of their outfits. She pinched the loose fabric at his bicep. “You get slashed here often?”

Sigsnyr stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that your other light armor also has a mend here. How did you damage your new armor so fast anyway?”

Sigsnyr just laughed nervously. “Well, you know how clumsy I can be.”

“You aren't clumsy,” Zipporah countered.

Sigsnyr gave a strange sounding cough which prompted Zipporah to narrow her eyes. “Even if it isn't carelessness, that you have such an exploitable blind spot is a problem,” Dedryck said. He swiped a hand past that side of Sigsnyr’s face causing Sigsnyr to shift away.

“Shall we proceed inside? The High Bishop's vestments are not exactly appropriate to the weather,” Sigsnyr grumbled.

“I’m ok,” Melchior insisted. “Sister recommended wearing a woolen jacket under my robes. It's so effective I don't even need to wear a cloak.” Melchior was particularly glad about not having to wear the unofficial High Bishop's cloak Rozemyne had left behind. It was as beautiful and warm as it was heavy and unwieldy.

“Still,” Sigsnyr said and shifted into position to signal that he was working and therefore not open for conversation. Zipporah followed suit and soon Melchior and his four guards approached Chet where he waited at the foot of the stairs.

“Welcome home, High Bishop. The temple has been safe and well in your absence,” Chet began.

“And so I have returned,” Melchior sighed. “Has anything important happened?”

Very little had happened. Friartack was nearly complete with his preparations to accompany the delegation to Gaussbuttel. Kazmiar’s office was ready to begin processing taxes and end-of-year reports once he returned from his trip to Herzfeld. There was a trombe subjugation that was larger than normal but still without serious casualties.

“Sister Gerianne has returned, as you know, and Brother Deliroze reports that he is on his way back. Should the need arise he can fly back on his highbeast but that will likely be unnecessary.”

“Lord Melchior,” Dedryck interrupted in a panicked tone. “It would be deeply unwise for Deliroze to attempt to fly back to the temple by himself. He currently lacks the mana to comfortably make such a journey and a reliable way of wayfinding.”

“That sounds like it wouldn't go well. If the need arises, I’ll send someone to retrieve him,” Melchior promised and Dedryck breathed a sigh of relief.

Everyone else was slated to return in time for their trip to Herzfeld. As Melchior wasn't going this time, he just needed to wait around in the temple for a few days to collect as many chalices as possible and finish his own end of year reports. Chet and Paul hung around to help so the work moved efficiently. When she arrived the following morning, Isolde was only able to look over the results and do a few example calculations to help her learn the process but everything else was done.

“There will be plenty to do once the High Priest returns,” Kirk consoled her. Her shoulders fell instead of perking up. Then she remembered that she had gossip to share and regained her energy.

“My lord, the Hunting Tournament was very exciting,” she began. She talked about how the Aub topped the adult rankings while Wilfried took a respectable fourth place. The competition was much fiercer among the apprentices with a few needing to be rescued by the rangers. She went over this information quickly then attempted to transition into a recitation of all the conversations she’d overheard and who was likely courting who.

“So who won?” Melchior interrupted after hearing several tales about his knights and others. He’d migrated towards the edge of his seat in his anticipation to find out and was slowly settling back as the talk of socializing continued. That was interesting in its own way but hard to get invested in while that question nagged him.

Isolde paused and glanced towards the door. “Well…” Isolde stuttered as her mind whirled to figure out what to say to deflect his enthusiasm. She suddenly became very interested in some imaginary dust on the table to avoid meeting his eyes. “Your knights worked very hard and showed great skill. Schlageziel was well remembered.”

“That's not what that means,” Zipporah muttered.

So they didn't win, Melchior thought. He was only mildly disappointed. Though he might be biased, he thought his current detachment of guard knights contained the most skilled apprentices for their ages especially since his older siblings best knights had come of age with and before their masters. “So long as everyone did their best, I am happy,” Melchior declared with a smile. He even turned to smile consolingly at Zipporah while she tried not to look defeated. “And your outfits were very nice,” he added.

“Thank you ever so much, my lord,” Zipporah replied.

“Oh, speaking of fashion, we all tried to wear our brooches but not all of us had hoops,” Isolde continued. Zipporah switched to eyeing him entreatingly.

Melchior lost all empathy for their plights immediately. “We will debut them all together, not at an event that I couldn't even attend.”

“Of course, of course,” Isolde agreed readily. “Then we could use them for your party?” she pushed.

“That is at the end of autumn. Not everyone will be there. Theodore is still in Kirnberger,” Melchior sighed.

“Actually…” Theodore had come early alongside the advanced party of Kirnberger attendants who were preparing the winter estate. He’d arrived in time to attend the afternoon portion of the Hunting Tournament and had taken to haunting Melchior’s knights when they appeared for training at the Knights Order. When none of them could be found, he invited himself to Kolteruze’s apartments or followed Isolde on her errands. He did spend a little time assisting the attendants working to prepare the winter estate with small tasks intermittently. There just wasn’t very much for an apprentice knight to do at a winter estate before winter and they, very politely, implied that he was getting underfoot. With his abundant free time and few close friends in the capitol, it was becoming easiest to just follow Melchior’s retainers around. He even came to join their practice at the temple that afternoon.

Melchior was used to people growing up over the three seasons he couldn't see them but Theodore had changed more than usual. He seemed to have hit a growth spurt but instead of remaining ungainly, he now moved with more grace than before and sported noticeably broader shoulders.

Before he could even speak a proper greeting, Melchior’s shock boiled over. “Wow, Theodore, you're really big now.”

Theodore blushed and wiggled around on his knee. “Ah, thank you, Lord Melchior. I’ve been training a lot,” he replied. Helenwig and Eikestine giggled which only made him more red. “Um… I pray that Dregarnuhr the Goddess of Time has blessed your weave.”

“She certainly has since our threads have been woven together once again. I’m glad you're here but I'm also confused.” Melchior replied. He pulled the deeply flushed Theodore out of his kneel but kept hold of his hands, which did not help his complexion.

“Well… Sigsnyr wrote me saying I should come as early as I could manage.”

Melchior turned a questioning eyebrow towards Sigsnyr. “Actually I said we were planning an incredible happening which he absolutely should not miss by coming after the turn of the season,” Sigsnyr defended himself. He also smirked at Theodore’s look of betrayal.

“I see you were afraid of being left out.” Melchior nodded sagely.

Theodore pulled his hands back with a huff. “It's rather difficult to ignore an archnoble summons. About as hard as convincing Giebe Kirnberger that his attendants needed an apprentice knight to escort them.”

“Truly you have struggled,” Cecilia teased.

“In any case, it’s fun to be here but this exciting happening hasn’t been explained to me. Everyone keeps saying that I should ask you, my lord,” Theodore said.

Sigsnyr clapped him on the back. “Well, now that Theodore is here we can advance the date of the gathering.”

Melchior just blinked as the hungry eyes of his retainers fell on him. His smile didn't even waver as he cocked his head in mock confusion. “How can we have the coming of age party before the autumn coming of age celebration?”

“You said either the autumn coming of age or when Theodore arrived, whichever came first,” Zipporah explained.

Theodore’s eyes grew wide then narrowed into a scowl. He’d done so much work and used the full extent of his charm, even drawing on his last vestiges of adorableness, just so a party that wasn't meant to celebrate him could happen a week or two earlier.

“I don't recall saying that,” Melchior crooned.

“But Fonsel…” Sigsnyr sputtered. “That's right. Fonsel said that. You seemed to affirm his explanation but you never said that yourself.”

“Perhaps if I had known beforehand that Theodore would arrive so early… As it stands, the preparations are already in motion. It will be wonderful to have Theodore here though,” Melchior said. The capital apprentices mutter and shuffled in discontent while Melchior grabbed Theodore by the cape and excitedly pulled him towards the archery targets. “Welcome to our temple training yard. We even have archery!” Melchior began a tour of the facilities then began asking Theodore all about the training he’d been doing to get so many muscles.

Theodore was easily distracted from his coworkers' failed scheme when asked about his training regimen. He explained how he’d taken Melchior’s feedback to heart and worked on his hand to hand combat to improve his utility in close quarters. Melchior looked at him with something like longing as he explained getting stronger and more flexible through swinging a weighted stick around. “You seem very interested in growth, Lord Melchior,” Theodore noted.

Melchior nodded enthusiastically. “Yes of course. I intend to be as huge as Granduncle.”

“A noble goal but you’ll have to actually train to accomplish that,” Streita's voice rolled over the courtyard catching the loitering children off guard. Dedryck and Streita swapped twin indulgent smiles that promised more training in spatial awareness as she swanned in.

“Sister Streita, welcome home!” Melchior called and hurried over, dragging Theodore behind him. “This is Theodore, he’s from Kirnberger. His sister defended the temple during the attack and served Rozemyne as a guard knight.”

Theodore began to kneel but Streita caught his elbows. “None of that mi’boy. I am but a humble shrine maiden.”

“Please, Dame Streita. I’ve heard nothing but praise and adoration from my friends since I arrived. Sir Dedryck insists I simply must experience your tutelage,” he replied.

“Why don't we get straight to it then,” Streita said with a fond squeeze to his elbows. Just as she was holding him up from kneeling, she could feel his readiness to reverse their grip should she attempt to show him proper deference instead. He beamed and nodded before flying away to join the line of waiting students.

“Theodore has been training in hand to hand combat. Will we ever do any grappling? Is it harder than sword fighting?” Melchior babbled as he accompanied Streita across the courtyard.

He tried to offer his arm when she seemed a little wobbly but she shooed him away. Only once he was lined up did he notice how travel-blown she looked and remembered that she hadn't been at the temple before lunch. She had to have just landed and come directly to their afternoon session. On one hand it made sense. She wore riding clothes while directing these lessons and would get them dirty all over again if she changed. Plus, her attendants needed to ready her room which was always easier when the main occupant wasn't inside.

On the other, she likely hadn't eaten yet. “Sister Streita, we can all show Theodore the warm up exercises while Lothar gathers some tea and refreshments.”

She looked ready to argue but Lothar glided over and gestured to the table which lived under the trees at the edge of the courtyard where Kirk was already wiping down the space and moving the collection of water cups aside. Flautzeal struck up one of his upbeat melodies signalling the beginning of training to drive home his lord's subtle order.

Streita gave in gracefully and moved to sit while Lothar and her attendant hurried to snake a portion of leftovers before they were taken to the orphanage. Under her careful but relaxed eye, the children, Sebastian, and Dedryck performed their running and skipping around the perimeter of the training area.

They were all strong enough now to carry on light chatter as they ran and had plenty to say about the Hunting Tournament and Harvest Festival. The most popular topic was a large blessing caused by the whirling which everyone up till now had failed to mention. Melchior squawked about listening to bells and bells of recited conversation but no one talking about a massive blessing while the others chuckled and ran away. Over her much needed cup of tea and quick lunch, she reminisced about the time not long past when it was just Nikolaus and Gerianne running around an empty courtyard by themselves. With so many apprentices it felt just like old times when she and her friends would train together.

As she finished her tea and the song changed, Strieta considered Melchior's question. Grappling was an important part of fighting. Many bouts were won and lost in a clinch. With Melchior's skills at observation and Gerianne's tenacity, they could be very good fighters at those ranges but the Royal Academy didn't test hand to hand combat. Only armed martial combat was part of the curriculum as unarmed techniques varied greatly from duchy to duchy and were often secret.

Bonifatius had tried to pass the Ehrenfest style down to various people, including Eckhart then Angelica. Unfortunately, all his best students seemed doomed to leave the duchy. He’d shared his lamentation with very few but Streita had often been there when he or his late wife were drunk enough to bare their hearts. He’d all but given up on it but here was a fresh crop of enthusiasm.

“I have heard your pleas,” she began once they were ready to begin proper lessons. “Today you shall learn to punch.”

“Ho, ho!” Melchior cheered while everyone else looked confused. Everyone knew how to throw a punch.

“Now who knows the Ehrenfest style?” Several hands rose. “Not a provincial variation, we’ll look at those later.” Only Sigsnyr’s hand remained confident. “Come demonstrate.”

She began explaining the nuances while Sigsnyr performed the basic forward punch. Dedryck watched intently, asked questions, and pointed out the differences from the Sovereign fighting style. While Melchior found it difficult to follow the thread of their conversation, he paid close attention to the movements so he could draw it later. Without being told, first Melchior than everyone else tried the punch. The smell of incorrect form distracted their instructors from their conversation allowing the lesson to move forward after some choice corrections.

That day they learned the basic punch and kick before doing a dodging circle to finish things off. “We’ll work on more sword dancing next week,” Streita assured them as they finished for the day.

Zipporah and Eikestine brightened at this reassurance while Theodore paled. “No one mentioned sword dancing,” he whispered.

“Not one for sword dancing, Lord Theodore?” Streita called from father away than one might expect someone to catch his comment.

“Oh, it's wonderful. Truly the best way to offer worship to the gods,” he replied unconvincingly.

“Don't worry, Sister Streita will only be strict with you if you aspire to join the graduation whirl,” Melchior assured him.

Theodore breathed a sigh of relief. “You’ll still need to practice with us. We're all supporting Eikestine and Zipporah's efforts to be chosen,” Sigsnyr said.

“Oh, I can do that,” Theodore replied.

“We shall see,” Streita said, then took her leave.

Theodore was happy to spend the rest of the time between practice and dinner chatting with Melchior and posing for the “fist manual”. He almost needed to be shooed away like a stray animal as he obviously angled for an invitation to dinner.

“Judith said the food at the temple is amazing,” he sulked as Dedryck walked him to the Noble’s Gate.

“It is and usually Lord Melchior is easy to wheedle but he is sensitive to his chef’s recent return from their trip. Maybe tomorrow,” Dedryck encouraged.

The next day did not bring a dinner invitation for Theodore, largely because no one reminded Melchior about it. Instead Isolde brought news of the castle slowly running out of patience for Melchior's extended stay. “When I delivered your letters for final inspections, the Archduke asked when you were planning to return,” Isolde sighed. “Then, before I could leave, Yarchteck insisted on escorting me to the castle exit so he could ask how your trip went.”

“If sister is interested she can always just ask,” Melchior mumbled.

“She will read the reports,” Isolde said with a hand wave. “This was just an attempt to find out when you shall move to the castle for the rest of the year.”

Melchior shifted around uncomfortably. His recent forays into politics made being at the castle for extended periods less than delightful. He wanted to see his family but his recent dinner had proven that dwelling at the castle wasn't necessary for that. Once he left the temple, it would be difficult to return leaving him with no escape from nosy nobles combing the halls. It wasn't uncommon for a seasonal visitor to the castle to “get lost” and discover him in some forgotten corner where he was trying to spend an afternoon outside the Northern Building. Before there was little to gain but he could now see that such chance encounters could be used politically, if not exactly how someone might manipulate them. In the temple, he could roam anywhere, relax in the indoor garden, and train without the pressure from dozens of appraising eyes. And he had work to do here.

“It will be at least a few more days. I must receive the chalices and have my ceramics lesson,” Melchior replied.

“I don't recall you waiting for all the chalices last year,” Isolde noted.

Yes, well he didn't actually need to be there to receive them. It was ideal to store them in the cabinet where the clergy preparing the Dedication Ritual could reach them, so long as it was unlocked, but the medal storage chamber was more secure and could be accessed by Kazmiar by himself. Only the High Priest or High Bishop could enter and only their most trusted attendants even knew where it was. The chalices were stored by the individual priests until Kazmiar and/or Melchior were available to retrieve them. Loss of a chalice was punishable by death so this burden was taken very seriously and usually only lasted a couple of days at most once they returned home.

With Kazmiar leaving for an extra visit to Herzfeld, Melchior wanted to be around to unburden the blue clergy. “There are special circumstances this year,” Melchior said. He and Isolde stared at each other for a long moment.

He didn't know what she gathered from his expressions but she nodded sharply. “I understand, my lord. I will continue to dodge requests for a firm date.” Melchior felt immediately more relaxed. “Unfortunately, Lady Henriette still expects to see you on Windday and Lady Florencia has made invitations for your teaparty on Earthday. While you can attend from the temple, you will need to have strong excuses for continued delays.”

“Yes I know. And if Father summons me I must go,” Melchior sighed.

Chapter Text

The Aub did not send for Melchior in the subsequent days so he was available to accept the chalices from the tired and travel-worn clergy. He was not on the best of terms with most of the blue clergy. Some were still annoyed by the new warming dormitories placing their attendants farther away, while others held old grudges related to changes in the culture of the temple that saw them falling from favored positions. None were openly hostile and not above being visibly relieved to have their chalices taken off their hands.

The extra time was well spent in Melchior's opinion. Haldis had once again taken care of Melchior's taxes. The two new shine maiden's portions were also handed over to him to manage, allowing Melchior to slip them extra food when their stores looked too low for a comfortable winter. Deliroze's things were actually managed by his new noble attendant hired by the duchy for his stay at the Winter Playroom and Royal Academy. They would remain in his service for at least the next six years of school so Melchior hoped they would get along. Sheila and his chefs worked hard to preserve his extra produce and brew vinegar and beer for use at the Royal Academy. Melchior noted that alcohol wasn’t allowed during the school year but Sheila said it was for her version of bread not for drinking. He would still need to inform Professor Ottilie that precautions would need to be made so that none of the contraband found its way out of the kitchen.

Preparations for feeding several dozen growing children turned out to be more complex than Melchior ever imagined. A large part of the campaign to get him to return to the castle ended up centering around getting Sheila to the castle to help with planning. He contemplated sending her ahead but thought better of it. Instead a roost was outfitted for her alongside a stack of magic letters and a switch magic tool which would send them to the addressee when activated while touching the parchment. Sigsnyr was amazed and delighted that the system worked and left that day brimming over with ideas for more commoner usable tools.

While also delighted and amazed by the success of the scheme, Melchior was more excited for Kirk's upcoming work. Isolde and the dormitory handyman had fully taken over paper workshop preparations from Kazmiar. While Flautzeal had initially been included, he had to be tasked with something else as he drove everyone crazy by trying to make everything absolutely perfect with no deviations from the written instructions. In his stead, Kirk was roped into giving advice and obtaining any last minute materials from the lower city.

“It will absolutely function for making paper,” was all Isolde was willing to promise but that made it easy for Melchior to have faith in her.

Because Melchior had transported a large portion of Hasse’s paper product, there was plenty of space in the carriages for them to send extra bits for Kirk to experiment with. Alongside black bark from Bershmann, they would have prepared white bark from several local species, toro from rock-eating tree fruits, and even pressed flowers for decorations. They also included an early attempt to make purple paper which was only pale lilac but a promising start all the same. Kirk was also put in charge of making sure all of this was packed and delivered safely to the castle.

It was a veritable bounty but not even Sheila’s excitement over novel herbs could rival Wil’s unbridled joy at Hasse's gift of three large blocks of clay. Only two were of the special kind created by faeplants but the third lump was different from Wil’s usual stoneware so he was excited to try it out.

“My lord, it has been an honor to teach you. I can't thank you enough for the opportunity to work with so many new materials,” Wil said with tears in his eyes as he kneaded the reddish clay.

Melchior felt excited to see him excited. “If you really like it, we could find a way to transport more to the city more regularly,” Melchior offered.

“It could become quite the commodity or even a specialty product,” Flautzeal added. “That's assuming it's any better than the usual ceramic.”

“It is!” Wil chirped. “Oh, you have no idea. It's a revolution.” They didn't get a chance to begin the lesson as Wil’s need to show off his discoveries overtook him. “Look, look, hold it. See how light it is?!”

Flautzeal snaked the offered vessel before Melchior could touch it. He was going to hand it off to a knight for testing but stopped and weighted it in his hand instead. “That's incredible,” he muttered.

“Come check all the things,” Melchior ordered with excited waves at the knights. He surveyed the collection with hungry eyes as more and more objects were brought out of the box Wil arrived with. They were all a dark gray shot through with multicolored streaks. Some pieces were coated with other glazes which completely hid the natural striations. According to Lyle’s memory, they hadn't given Wil that much clay. but it seemed that he was able to use a shockingly small amount for each piece. He’d managed to create several cups of different designs with accompanying saucers all with elegant profiles and ultra thin walls.

Sigsnyr dutifully began the process of checking for poison but was quickly distracted by the feather lightness of the teacup in his hand. Melchior patience was burning quickly as everyone but him was allowed to inspect the new things. He’d finally had enough when Will produced his favorite piece of all, a masterpiece of elegant form, glazed in a very expensive clear material. “I wasn't going to use this glaze but I couldn't help myself.” Instead of dark gray, the ceramic was a deep black making the rainbow veins appear to glow.

“Wow!” Melchior breathed. His fingers itched to grab it but Sigsnyr recoiled delaying his inspection.

“It looks like mire,” he said, voice filled with awe and mild disgust that was quickly replaced with curiosity. “How did you get the veins of color into it?”

The excitement in the room was partially dimmed by Sigsnyr’s trepidation. The other knights stepped forward to look while Lothar stayed well away. “It's kind of beautiful like this,” Gerianne whispered.

“When have you seen mire?” Fonsel scoffed.

“I went on the Spring Hunt,” Gerianne reminded him. “I shot a shumil. It turned into black goo that looks almost identical to the clay with the clear coating.” Having never seen the substance in question. Melchior was transfixed by the dark beauty of the cup.

“Could you drink out of it though?” Sigsnyr asked. Gerianne nodded to which he responded with a winch.

“It would take getting used to,” Fonsel said. “But I think it's neat.”

Sigsnyr failed to suppress a shiver as he picked it up and commenced testing. All the vessels were declared safe soon after and Melchior wasted no time touching them all over and moving them up and down while remarking about how light they felt. Of course he wanted to drink tea out of the cup and called for some to be brought out. However, Lothar’s look of squeamishness gave him pause.

“Is something wrong, Lothar?”

It took visible effort for Lothar to master himself. “No, my lord. All is well,” he lied unconvincingly. Melchior raised a questioning eyebrow. With a sigh Lothar admitted the source of his discomfort. “It is difficult having seen what becomes of that which we leave behind at the foot of the towering stairway when it is pierced by the Sword of Ewigeliebe.”

Melchior looked at the cup again. He hadn't encountered mire yet either produced from the death of faebeasts or naturally occuring. It was said to pool in certain mana rich places and once believed to be the birthplace of new faebeasts. That idea had since been disproven but the association between death and the black goo could not be severed. Only distantly did he remember that faepeople would disintegrate into mire too. Lothar had followed Ferdinand almost everywhere. It wasn’t surprising that he'd witnessed funerals up close.

“Maybe eating dishes aren't the ideal use case. I can also cover it with a different glaze,” Wil offered. He looked sad about the poor reception for his masterpiece but not discouraged.

“I think the dark gray is nice,” Sigsnyr encouraged. “Perhaps you could add the rainbow veins to something else.”

“Oh, those just appear after firing. I didn't add anything special,” Wil explained. “It doesn't follow the blending patterns either. I’m not sure what creates it.”

Melchior looked over the novel pottery and considered how to best use something people found off putting. Everything would be different if it were white with rainbow veins. It would be considered the height of elegance for its resemblance to the finest ivory. It was a true shame since the black was very beautiful. “Can you use clay as a glaze?” He wondered aloud.

“Kind of,” Wil replied. “I haven't attempted that yet since I had so little and it's gotten very expensive to use the kilns. Experimenting is difficult at the moment.”

Melchior nodded his understanding but Flautzeal had to interject. “Is it the price of wood?”

“Yes? We burn wood for our kilns.”

“Could you burn something else?” Flautzeal asked.

“I don't think so,” Wil replied. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the young noble’s ignorance. His training told him that neither was a good idea so he simply sighed. “Even if we found something else to burn, we would have to waste a bunch of it seeing how it reacts with our products.”

“Will you still be able to fire our figurines?” Lyle asked.

“Absolutely. I promised I would though I can't promise it will be very soon,” Wil said.

“It must happen before winter,” Flautzeal said flatly. “Otherwise there is no point and we will have to find another ceramicist to support.”

Melchior didn't interrupt. As much as he wanted to give Henri an army of clay animals, he probably wasn't going to distance Wil over this delay. He would be deeply disappointed though. Was it wrong to leverage just a little fear if he could manage not to scare Wil too much?

“I understand. It’s just that the pieces must be bone dry. Any water left in the clay will make them explode. Figures are dense so they can take weeks to dry out fully,” Wil explained.

“It's good then that Lord Melchior and Lyle have been making figures since our first meetings,” Flautzeal said pointedly.

Wil didn't seem to sense the implied threat that some figures needed to be fired before winter even if all of them couldn't be. “That's great. I can plan a cook for the last week of autumn. We should have time to sneak a few more in,” he replied brightly, all traces of fear gone.

“How do we know which ones are dry enough?” Lyle asked.

Wil explained how to test them by listening and taking core samples from inconspicuous places. He also offered to check for them and finish drying any they made that day. Setting them in a hot and dry place once they looked mostly done would drive out any left over water.

Once these preliminaries were complete, it was finally time to show Wil the skills they’d practiced. Lyle was far and away the best as he had the most free time. Melchior had the most figures as he worked more for volume than towards perfection. With all the lumpy animals standing in a line, it was easy to notice the incremental progress and point out bad habits forming. Melchior and Lyle both had half dry pieces so they could work on a new kind of skill that involved cutting off clay to refine their shapes. Flautzeal unfortunately had nothing to show.

“I cannot allow imperfect works to remain in the world,” he explained matter of factly. Sigsnyr, who was now stationed close by, shot him a sharp glare at the implied insult. “Naturally my lord is free to do as he likes. However, I would not present my inexpert works to him.”

Without Flautzeal needing to glance in his direction, Lyle still shrank in his seat. “Flautzeal,” Melchior said. “We are here to learn. It is only natural that our creations are not perfect.”

“As you say, my lord,” Flautzeal scoffed.

“Is your playing always perfect when you attend lessons?” Sigsnyr asked.

Flautzeal looked at him with genuine confusion. “I practice until I can play the written notation without errors before bringing anything forward for critique. One must master the very basics before seeking greater challenge and new techniques.” This time there was a pointed look cast towards Lyle and in Melchior’s general direction but not square on him.

Everyone was quiet as the smile slipped from Melchior’s face. “Lord Flautzeal, pottery is not music,” Wil chuckled. “It’s not all that serious.”

“If it is not worth taking seriously, then why do it?” Flautzeal countered.

Wil frowned. “Flautzeal,” Melchior snapped. “How much do you know about pottery?” he asked. Before Flautzeal could reply he continued. “How much do you know about making pots and sculptures out of clay? Can you judge dirt for its use as clay? I learned quite recently that even the selection of sticks requires a great depth of knowledge. So tell me, how deep is your knowledge of this topic?”

“I am learning alongside you,” Flautzeal replied.

“As you say. Perhaps then, we should defer to the expert on the subject,” Melchior said and turned to Wil with an expectant look.

Flautzeal was quiet. Wil took a moment to realise he was being asked a question then to formulate his response. A fond look filled his eyes as he explained. “I’ll not speak about music as I’m not an expert in that area, but pottery, first and foremost, is a craft of necessity. People need to move and store water and you can’t do that in a basket. We don’t always have time to reach for perfection nay, sometimes the perfect vessel is just the one that works. Sculptures are art and we can be a little more exacting.” Lyle seemed to deflate even more at this but WIl smiled and hovered a dusty hand over his shoulder without touching him. “I think these are perfect.”

Lyle, Melchior, Flautzeal, and everyone else look incredulous. Wil just beamed at them. “I’ve always wanted to teach. It brings me joy to see you all progress, even just to see you all try. I wish you had brought things too Flautzeal, I was looking forward to seeing your progress. These are perfect because they contain your spirit and personality. You worked with your own hands, left the marks of your fingers and souls in the clay. I wouldn’t want them to be any other way. Isn’t that what perfection is?” Flautzeal did not look convinced but Lyle had recovered his excitement. “Besides, you can always hide them away if you personally don’t want anyone to see. My mother has this washerwoman figure I made when I was eleven. The eyes look out sideways and the linens just look like piles of wet clay but she keeps it on her mantle like it's the greatest masterpiece. Take my advice, don’t give anything away you don’t want to look at for the next thirty-years but keep your old stuff, it’s fun to see how far you’ve come.”

Lyle and Melchior laughed and nodded. Melchior didn’t revise his plans to shower Henri in animal sculptures but he vowed not to give anyone else any of this early work. Flautzeal looked on with a frown. Perfection wasn’t a subjective measure no matter what Wil said. Art was either good or it was bad and the difference was the amount of work you put in and how closely it approximated ideal forms. On the other hand, Wil said he wanted to see his work and the advice Melchior received thanks to his army of misshapen blobs was enlightening. Flautzeal could prepare a few things to show. As long as they weren’t fired, they could be slaked down and the materials reused.

Melchior gave Flautzeal one of his leather-hard pieces so he could participate in the trimming lesson and the boys worked diligently to improve their pieces. At the end of the lesson, Wil took the black cup and gave his goodbyes with greater elegance than before, having practiced during their long separation. He popped his head back in just before the door closed to say, “Oh, and Lord Flautzeal, you don’t have to make figurines if you don’t want,” before disappearing as quickly as possible. The students swapped amused looks over their teacher’s antics and Lyle prepared to return to the orphanage.

“Master Wil forgot his crate,” Lyle noted. He bent down to pick it up to begin returning the collection of dishes to it. As he looked down into the crate, he froze. Inside was a black tube with regularly spaced holes; a flute dark and shimmering like mire. A very polite argument ensued as Melchior worked to talk Flautzeal out of running into the lower city to drag Wil back to the ceramics studio his family had nearly completed.

Leave-takings

It was agreed that the flute had to have a name but what that name would be was still up for debate. No decision was reached while Melchior remained in residence at the temple. The discussion was not forgotten, only postponed, as more important things needed attention.

Frietack and his grey attendants were heading to the castle to join the delegation before it left for Gaussbuttel. They stood in the High Bishop’s chamber while Melchior gave a short speech full of instructions and warnings left by Kazmiar and encouragement from himself. “I am certain you will all do credit to the temple of Ehrenfest,” he continued. “You were selected for your myriad talents and have nurtured them diligently.” Frietack didn’t laugh at the adorable Bishop giving high handed praise which only barely correlated to reality but it was a close thing. “As such, I am confident that some will attempt to steal you away!”

“I am loyal to Ehrenfest, High Bishop. I will not easily be prevented from returning,” he assured Melchior. He didn’t know what other temple’s were like in other duchies but he was sure they had not been remolded in the shape of Lady Rozemyne’s vision nor had their administration saved him from execution alongside his relatives.

Melchior nodded. “Some will be diligent,” he said gravely. Frietack felt warmed by the confidence that he would be worth stealing at the cost of diplomatic relations. Lothar stepped forward with a flat box. Inside, resting on soft fabric, were three necklaces with faestone pendants and a miniature, white wooden tree branch with blue flowers. Melchior began with the pendants. Each was marked with the crest of Ehrenfest. “These are protective charms. They will mark an attackers face with mana paint that’s very difficult to wash off, Sigsnyr said you need a special potion. I wanted to make the ones that return attacks but you can’t attack a noble so everyone said it would be better to use these. It will protect from one attack before needing to be recharged but that should give you time to escape.”

Frietack knelt in a daze. Melchior continued to babble about their use and purpose as he placed them over their heads but he was already overwhelmed with the implications that the High Bishop wanted to harm those that might harm them. That he had prepared protective charms to ward them. Frietack looked down at the crest adorning his chest, marking him as Ehrenfest’s and swallowed down tears. This was his duchy and his temple and they valued him.

“I’m also giving you a brooch. I give these to all my retainers. You are not my retainer but I am sending you on a mission so you can wear this if you want. It will tell other Ehrenfest noble’s that you have my personal protection, such as it is,” Melchior concluded, and pressed the ornament into Frietack’s shaking hands.

“But why?” slipped from his mouth before he could stop it.

Melchior blinked in confusion. “I don't want anything bad to happen to you and I can’t protect you from so far away.”

Frietack wanted to clarify his question but couldn’t come up with the words. He was still recovering from the affirmation that his work had enough value to preserve him even when the temple had the leeway to train someone else as a replacement. He was kept and privileged because of his usefulness as an assistant to the High Priest. The temple would have to spend time and resources to replace him were he gravely injured or taken by another duchy but being bullied by Ehrenfest noble’s wouldn’t impact his work. Why would the Aub’s son care about his treatment? Why care about the brother of criminals? There was no time to unpack this before a final shock was handed down.

Chet came forward with yet another box. “This is from the Aub. He recognizes that you will need a ring to demonstrate some rituals, thus one is being issued to you by the duchy.”

Melchior watched him take the ring and place it on his left hand and contemplated wider ring distribution. Very few priests had been given rings by their families and had to perform rituals using the Divine Instruments. With how dangerous and important those had recently been revealed to be, should they consider giving all the clergy rings? He would have to talk to Kazmiar about it. For the moment, he just needed to conclude his farewells to Frietack with a blessing from Ordoshinelli and Jungerise then meet those leaving for Herzfeld. It was going to be an efficient morning!

Frietack and his attendants left with deep bows and an oath to bring honor to Ehrenfest and her temple. Paul still hadn’t come to inform him that Gerianne and company were prepared to leave, so he moved on to another task he’d been excited for. Isolde retrieved the charms they’d brewed so long ago for his temple retainers and passed them around. “Unlike the one’s for Brother Frietack, these will return attacks so be sure to avoid conflict if possible and tell me immediately if one is discharged.” They were marked just with a white willow branch curling in a circle as he couldn’t decide on a personal crest.

As his scholars had assisted with brewing, their charms were a variety of different striations. Kirk examined his necklace and the smaller charm for his brooch with bright eyes and curiosity. He compared his to Sheila and Lothar’s while Lothar tried to get him to calm down using pointed looks. “Thank you, Lord Melchior. I’ll do my best to never need it,” he promised.

“Be sure to wear it at all times, under your clothes if you must,” Isolde added. “We do not know what could happen at the Royal Academy so you and Sheila should take extra care.”

They nodded but Sheila had questions. “How much force is needed to count as an attack? Will they trigger from damage done by objects? Burns? Cuts from my own hand?”

“It would require an amount of force great enough to leave to grave injured,” Isolde replied.

“I see. Must that force be made by another person? Can the charms sense intent?” Sheila pressed.

“You seem very worried,” Melchior noted. “Do you think you’ll encounter such violence?”

“Kitchens are dangerous places. Accidents are infrequent when it is properly managed but unavoidable with advancing of the weave. It would add to the tragedy should a mana explosion follow the heels of a serious accident. If, through my own carelessness I cut my hand, will I then be attacked by my own necklace?”

“Perhaps we should give her the non-aggressive kind,” Isolde suggested.

“We can make one that begins healing instead,” Sigsnyr offered.

Melchior’s eyes grew wide. “Why don’t we always make those?” he cried.

“In such situations it is usually better to remove the source of danger before more injuries can accumulate then tend to them,” Sigsnyr explained. “In Sheila’s case, where a charm has a very high chance of being accidentally triggered without the presence of an attacker, healing would be preferred, or perhaps an area blast that forced objects away?”

“That would simply shunt the danger off onto those around me,” Sheila said.

“If Lord Melchior values your life above theirs…” Isolde crooned. “That would be acceptable.”

Sheila recoiled and glanced worriedly at Melchior who mirrored her horror. “Healing sounds best,” he croaked.

Sheila returned hers, treating the glittering rocks with absolute caution. As Kirk looked on and continued to examine everyone's charms he noted that most people had a mix of patterns and only a few bore Melchior’s five colors. “Mine only have four colors,” he mumbled. He wasn't unhappy, just confused.

“They are all equally effective,” Isolde assured him.

“My scholars and I each made some. They bear our colors but aren't all that different otherwise. It looks like you got two from Isolde,” Melchior added.

Isolde froze but maintained her expression. Kirk blinked owlishly then glanced back and forth from his rocks to Isolde. “You can trade if you like,” Isolde offered and held out Sheila's charms.

Kirk's fingers curled around his charms slowly as he held Isolde's gaze. “I’ll keep them,” he whispered, his entire face turning bright red. Isolde moved off to continue her work as though wholly unaffected but she was just as red.

Thankfully for her, Pat arrived to announce the Herzfeld team was ready to depart so Melchior made his way to the Nobles Gate to bid farewell. Gerianne and Deliroze stood together next to their highbeasts while Kazmiar and Veremund were having a serious conversation.

“We haven't even looked at anything yet, we can't begin planning for something that's unlikely to happen,” Kazmiar said.

Veremund all but rolled his eyes. “It's clear that huge changes are needed and not just in this mansion. We should push for duchy-wide renovations and this could be the foundation for all of them!”

“Nothing is clear yet!” Kazmiar huffed. “I’m not saying you are incorrect, only getting ahead of yourself.”

Gerianne shuffled over to Melchior’s side as he approached quietly. “Should we have them fly separately?” he whispered.

“I think they're having fun actually,” she replied. They watched and listened for several minutes until Isolde stepped forward with a loud huff.

“You have a whole journey to discuss this. You are wasting our lord’s time.”

“Oh,” Kazmiar jumped. “I did not realise you had arrived, Lord Melchior. Forgive me.” He walked over and knelt, prompting their whole party to kneel. “We have many tasks ahead. All shall be conducted according to your requests.”

“Thank you all for your hard work. I know it has only just begun but I have absolutely faith in your abilities. This time we seek only information but remember our ultimate goal: to alleviate the suffering of the people of Herzfeld,” Melchior orated. He stood with a smile and looked over the assembled team proudly.

“I will bring back more stories, my lord,” Gerianne promised and began to stand up. Kazmiar coughed lightly to say that they weren't done yet but both Gerianne and Melchior were confused. They looked towards Lothar for clues. He made a fluttering gesture with his hands, mimicking the arching path of a blessing

“I normally do that just before everyone leaves,” Melchior whispered.

“It would be more proper to use it to complete the formal goodbyes,” Lothar replied.

Melchior nodded and commenced blessing. Besides offering blessings for first time meetings, nobles actually rarely gave out true blessings. He wondered where the etiquette came from and how Lothar and Kazmiar had learned. Maybe his uncle had established something during his time as High Priest. In any case, the blessing was given then Kirk passed out packs of traveling cookies and the delegation flew off to catch up with Kazmiar and Gerianne's attendants who hadn't detoured back to the temple to pick up Deliroze but continued to Herzfeld directly.

After these farewells, Melchior returned to his rooms. He knew Isolde would want to begin developing their winter socializing strategy and going over all the gossip but Melchior couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, they filled the time before his music lesson with the day’s Karuta practice.

“My lord, I know games are preferable to study but this is very important,” Isolde sighed.

Melchior continued to place his cards on the rug and waved her off. “Yes but this is also important. I cannot be worse than the other children in the playroom.”

“You do not need to win every match,” Isolde replied.

Melchior paused. “My siblings have always been the best players. Should I allow their legacy to decay?”

“When the game was new, it would be embarrassing not to be the best at something only you had access to. Now we have all had years to acquire the skill. Just being a high level player is enough,” Isolde explained.

Perhaps she was right, Melchior thought. He didn't need to be the best but he didn't like losing either. He used to play at least twice a week and kept up with strategy changes in the orphanage. Now he was no competition even for Kirk who was a casual enthusiast at best. An entire year away from the orphanage had left him without a place or reason to practice. He played with the tile in his hand while he contemplated her point. “If I can't even beat Kirk then how can I be a high level player?”

Kirk looked scandalized but didn't interrupt. “I assure you, my lord, Kirk is a prodigy in Karuta,” she sighed. She searched Melchior’s expression trying to find why he was being so obstinate. Usually he would study what was given to him. Only one other time had he shrugged off his work and that had been about the same thing. He hated politics, she concluded. That was a terrible topic to suddenly develop a distaste for. As the Aub’s advisor he needed to be better than anyone at socializing and politicking to move her initiatives forward and ferret out their enemies.

She let him play and turned her attention towards finding fun ways to convey the material. This would be the first real job for his scholars as teachers. Melchior was a smart lad who generally taught himself. He worked diligently even on things that were boring until he understood them. This would be the first time they needed to push and they absolutely couldn't fail. With the soothing timber of Lothar reciting poems in the background, she began to create a plan.

… …

As much as he wanted to just hide from noble society in the temple, Melchior had obligations and, if left unchecked, noble society was happy to come to him. At the moment, this came in the form of Theodore who attended training religiously and brought with him the latest gossip and happenings. Melchior had never spent much time around Theodore outside of their working relationship so he had no idea the knight loved to talk so much.

His other apprentices seemed well aware and had angled carefully to avoid being his training partner for too long.

“How can you focus on the fight when you won't shut up?” Cecilia raged after being thrown to the ground for the third time.

“You think I’m focused on what I’m saying?” Theodore chuckled.

Cecilia narrowed her eyes as she took his offered hand and stood up. “You just say whatever?” she asked. “Won't you spill secrets?”

Theodore chuckled. “It's nothing I haven't said seven times already. But you haven't heard it yet.”

“I would prefer to hear it another time, not while we are fighting,” she huffed and Theodore beamed. “What?”

“You want to hear about the flirtatious dueling at the Knights Order?!” he chirped.

*Not right now. I need to focus on grappling!”

“Then learn to tune him out,” Streita called.

Cecilia grumbled under her breath then called back calmly, “Shouldn't he learn to be quiet?”

“If a tactic works, why should I bar its use?” Streita replied with a grin and continued her rounds.

The two squared up to wrestle again. “So you agree they were making winter eyes at each other…” Theodore continued and Cecilia attacked him with hands full of fury.

Melchior was not advanced enough yet to spar hand to hand with other people so he, Gerianne, and Kirk were once again off to the side practicing the very basics only this time, Dedryck practiced alongside them. He claimed to want to fit in better by using the local fighting techniques but Melchior suspected he just wanted to learn new moves. Sigsnyr demonstrated patiently and corrected any mistakes he saw.

After training, Melchior returned to his rooms to draw what he’d just learned while Theodore was dragged away by the others to share his gossip and eat with them at the Knights Order.

Melchior's days continued in a similar fashion. He greeted the last stragglers and collected their chalices. Isolde grew impatient with his sculpting and Karuta so he ordered Lothar to collect the necessary reports and began calculations for the end of year reports. While not fun, it was work he understood that didn't include listening to mountains of talk about why he should be fighting his siblings for power. And Kazmiar would be happy to see that progress was being made. Between taxes, music, and knight training, Melchior was never without distraction. The only interruptions were his visit to Henri and his tea with Florencia.

Chapter Text

Baby's First Waschen

Visiting Henriette was a much simpler process when he wasn't also attending dinner as a formal guest. He met Zargerecht at the family entrance. Haldis hadn't come but he didn't normally work after dinner anyway. “Perhaps I should summon Kolteruze next time,” Melchior muttered. Zargerecht was supposed to be assisting with Henriette after all. He wouldn't want to take her favorite attendant away from her.

“Are you planning to visit in this fashion again?” Zargerecht asked.

“It's good to have a plan either way,” Melchior replied obliviously.

Zargerecht hummed his agreement then continued in a casual tone. “Hopefully next week does not require the execution of this plan.”

“Who can know,” Melchior said. He walked calmly deeper into the castle and up the dark unassuming stairway that led to the Aub’s private apartments.

“When shall we begin preparing your chambers?” Zargerecht asked while Melchior accepted the key and channeled his mana into the door. He noted that Melchior performed this task with no noticeable strain.

They couldn't linger on these steps so Melchior hurried inside then waited to watch Fonsel close the door until the magic locks re-engaged with a click and shimmer. “I cannot say yet, but I will send word with ample time to prepare,” Melchior replied.

Standing face to face for a moment, Zargerecht could see Melchior’s questioning eyebrow and knew he’d been seen through. On one hand he was proud of his charges developing shrewdness but it made his tasks increasingly difficult. “You must know that your family is anxious to have you among them.” Melchior nodded but maintained his incredulity. “Can you tell me why you delay for so long?”

Melchior looked away towards their destination. “There is much to do in the temple. I do not want to divest the High Priest of my assistants too soon and leave all my responsibilities untended.”

Zargerecht knew that any work Melchior might be asked to do could be sent to his chambers in the castle and that his useful retainers could be sent to the temple as needed since they were obligated to travel to that place anyway. Melchior did not need to stay there making it seem like he was somehow unwelcome in his own home. He would report Melchior’s words to Florencia but he questioned how complete an explanation they were.

In any case, they had arrived before the playroom doors and Melchior was waiting for him to open them. On the other side, Henriette was waiting to welcome her brother.

“Melchior!” she screeched and through all their carefully instilled etiquette to the winds, running forward and slamming into her brother's chest instead. Melchior's normal polite expression broke into a brilliant smile while Zargerecht shared a tired look with his fellow tutors and attendants.

“Hello Henri! I have returned,” Melchior giggled as he pulled her into a tight hug.

Henriette wrapped her arms around his waist and did her best to pick him up but failed completely. “You were gone forever,” she grumbled.

“Not forever. Just a few weeks. I did warn you beforehand,” Melchior replied. He tried to pull back but Henri remained firmly attached. “Did you get my letters?” She mumbled into his chest. “DId you write any replies?”

They’d decided not to courier any of her letters since he couldn’t actually reply and by the time she finished writing and having her letters approved, he would be back home. There was only one reply which her attendant brought over. Melchior shuffled further into the room and sat on the floor so that Henriette could cling to her heart's content but he could use his hands. He coaxed her into reading the note to him. It was full of long words, as all noble correspondence tended to be, but she got through it slowly. As they read, her head attendant came over and knelt nearby.

“It sounds like you had fun, Henri. Are you enjoying the crayons and clay then?” Melchior asked.

“I like the clay,” she agreed. Melchior felt confident that she also liked the crayons considering how colorful her note was. She had sculptures to show him but was unwilling to give up his lap to go retrieve them and hadn’t gotten the hang of directing her attendants to get things for her. As her attendants were waiting for any excuse to physically break the inappropriate hug apart, they did not offer.

“I like clay too. My sculpting instructor came to visit recently and taught me some new skills. Would you like to learn them?” he asked.

“Lord Melchior, Henriette was looking forward to playing music with you,” the head attendant interjected. “Weren’t you Henriette?” Henriette made a pouty face but didn’t argue. “She promised to play with you when you visited. At the moment that is the only time she wishes to play music. We play for her everyday to encourage her, as per the method introduced. So far, we have grown quite skilled.” She explained with a mix of exasperation and amusement. Melchior wondered whether she was personally enjoying the new instruments but thought better of turning the conversation in that direction.

“Well, why don’t I accompany you, Henri. After that we can read before bedtime,” Melchior suggested. Herniette just snuggled closer. “I have missed your music,” he pressed. This drew a questioning look from the little girl.

“You like harps?”

“Harps are not the only way to make music,” Melchior replied, unable to lie that he did like harps without reservations. Like her, he preferred to listen to harspiel rather than play. “I like flutes.”

The gambang was brought over alongside the recorder without delay. There was no comfortable way to play with Henriette in his lap but she was dedicated to remaining, all but screaming at any attempt to separate her. “Why don’t you sit back to back,” Zargerecht suggested. She was not enthusiastic but being able to lean back and feel Melchior was enough to calm her so they could proceed.

First Melchior played a short song on the recorder. “You aren’t as good at flutes,” Henriette observed.

Melchior controlled his urge to toot in frustration. “I don’t usually play this kind of flute,” he replied. He was generally more of a side-blown kind of kid but the only woodwind in the room was this recorder.

Henriette giggled at his annoyance and took a turn playing her own imitation of a song. Melchior praised her for improving. Desiring more praise she played her scales for him, demonstrating that she was actually getting better despite putting in very little effort. Once per week for less than a quarter bell was not enough for a prodigy but it meant that she knew what sound to expect from each plank. It did not impart any sense of rhythm though.

“Can you play these two notes?” Melchior asked, then demonstrated. It took a little time for her to locate the two lowest notes but once she did Melchior showed her a simple beat to follow. Playing just one than the other at the same tempo was trying but she got it eventually. Once she had, Melchior played another short song over her rhythm.

“Again!” Henriette shrieked after the last note.

“Was that fun?” Melchior asked over his shoulder.

Henriette began clacking another two planks which Melchior took as a cue to play something else. Choosing a song to match the selected notes was difficult but Henriette didn’t seem to care so long as they played at the same time. Her attendants meanwhile looked truly revealed the longer they played and eventually transitioned to scales and arpeggios.

Henriette’s enthusiasm still wasn’t very deep. She soon decided it would be better for just Melchior to play. He was willing to give her one song but refused any more. “I don’t know anymore,” he said and it was true. There weren’t enough notes he knew how to play on the recorder to play another song. He would have to spend ages trying out fingerings then try to remember them while playing.

“Those are all the songs?” she asked. He nodded. She fell into thought for a moment. The harspiel had over twenty songs while Melchior knew only seven or so on the flute and claimed those were all the possible songs. Certainly it would be easier to learn the flute. “I want to learn the flute.”

Everyone regarded her with surprise. “Ok,” Melchior said after he recovered. He tried to hang the instrument over directly but it was intercepted and Wachened totally distracting Henriette from the concept of music.

“Bubble!” she cried and pointed at the recorder.

“No that’s a recorder.”

“I want to make bubbles!” she declared passionately.

Melchior was at a loss. He knew neither where this declaration came from nor why she was suddenly so set on the activity. Looking at the adults, they were equally confused. “Why do you want to make bubbles?” he asked.

“I make bubbles in the bath,” Henriette explained, which did little to illuminate anything. “Zarg makes bubbles. I want to make bubbles!”

“Do you mean Waschen?” he asked.

“No, bubbles!” she insisted.

She probably meant Waschen, he concluded. Zargerecht had washed the flute then she developed a burning need to make bubbles herself. I was an open and shut case but Melchior had no good way to provide her with the necessary tools to perform Waschen. “Do we have paper?” Melchior asked.

The attendants look confused but moved to collect paper all the same. Zargerecht left to collect a basin of water and soap and some loops of string. Once he had paper in hand, Melchior retrieved his magic pen and began to draw. “Making bubbles can be hard,” he explained as he worked. “I don’t know if you could do it.”

“I can do it,” Henriette said with a pout. “I make bubbles in the bath,” she reiterated.

“Have you ever made bubbles out of the bath?” he asked. She had to pause as she had never considered how the process might change out of the bath. She shook her head. “If you want to make bubbles like Zargerecht it’s much more difficult.”

As he completed the circle, Henriette’s knight lost her relaxed mein and moved closer. “Lord Melchior? What are you doing?” she asked calmly. Fonsel remained by the door but Dedryck lowered his stance slightly and also stepped closer with narrowed eyes. Henriette’s knight recoiled slightly at his intensity. She was worried about her charge but Dedryck looked like he would bowl Henriette over to pull his lord away from her, possibly causing great injury to the small girl.

“We are making a bubble,” Melchior replied just as calmly. He was not watching the knights grow more anxious as he worked, nor did Henriette react to her knight’s warning looks or head movements. The bubble was much more interesting.

Melchior placed the paper near Henriette. Activating a paper sized Waschen took barely any mana. It would be a good first spell for anyone, he thought. He’d been very interested in magic at Henri’s age after listening to Charlotte’s stories of the amazing magic Rozemyne performed. “If you touch the paper and push your mana into it, like with your magic tool, it will make a bubble.”

Once the words were out of his mouth, Dedryck immediately switched from sizing up Henriette’s retainers to joining his fellow knight in stopping his lord. Fonsel sprung away from the door at the same time but no one was close enough to stop Henriette from touching the paper. In a moment of terror, Henriette’s knight let out a deafening bleating. Henriette abandoned the paper immediately to run behind her knight with an excited cry of “Drill!” which rapidly lost steam as she swayed dizzily. She still made it in time to see her bubble engulf the ashes that had previously been a sheet of magic paper and Melchior react much slower to the rudelhute call.

“Drill,” she repeated more cautiously but everyone was more interested in checking her for any damage.

“Lady Henriette, are you feeling ok?” her knight asked, breathlessly.

Henriette nodded as she replied, “I’m dizzy.” Otherwise she seemed more interested in returning to the sight of her first magic spell to be praised for her bubble.

Melchior rose slowly, blinking in confusion and growing concern at the circle of knights. Fonsel walked over and knelt down. “Melchior, remember what happened when you gave Henriette a blessing?” he asked calmly.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Melchior replied.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Fonsel said and gestured to the room of terrified adults.

“She wanted to make a Waschen,” Melchior argued.

“She cannot have everything she wants,” Fonsel replied. “I know that you wish to make your sister happy but there must be guidelines. That is love too.”

Melchior nodded, feeling keenly the chastisement even if he didn’t completely understand why what he did was wrong. He hadn’t passed any mana to Henri and the spell couldn’t harm anyone even if you covered your nose and mouth with the paper before activation. Zargerecht returned just as Henriette’s patience ran out. “It is time for the drill!” she yelled.

Henriette had largely given up drilling since the summer. He couldn’t help but winch as he joined her behind her knight still carrying the water and soap. Melchior also joined Henriette while they waited. They looked at her knight with expectant eyes but the woman had lost her nerve in the face of their unironic expectation that she bleat like an animal.

“Baaa!” Fonsel called. It was not the right sound for all clear and Henriette was quick to say so. “Can you teach me the right one?” he asked brightly and she obliged. They bleated back and forth until she was satisfied then he gave the call.

Henriette returned to her previous seat and looked around for the bubble making paper. “It disappears,” Melchior explained. “The spell turns the paper to ash then the water washes it away.”

“Spell?” Henriette asked.

“Yes, that was your first spell,” Medlchior explained. Zargerecht turned to his fellow adults, lips set into a sharp smile. He put the bowl of water down with a noticeable clatter before grabbing the youngest attendant and dragging her to the side but still in view of the children for an explanation.

“I missed it. Can we do it again?” she asked.

Melchior looked into her tired eyes and shook his head. “I don’t think you have enough mana to do it again,” he replied.

“I can do it!” Henriette argued.

Melchior shook his head. “You said you were dizzy. That’s a clear sign that you are low on mana. Do you feel hungry?”

Henriette considered how she felt. She got dizzy if she moved too quickly and could eat if given a snack. “Maybe.”

Her attendants winced. She didn’t look dangerously depleted but it was definitely too close for comfort. Zargerecht held his head as the recitation of the event finished. Melchior patted his sister’s hair. “It takes time to develop more mana. When you are older you will be able to do many Waschen’s in a day.”

“How many can you do?”

“I don’t know. It would take too much paper to attempt to find the limit,” Melchior replied. Henriette stared at him with awe. She was tired after one paper but had a whole stack. Could Melchior use up a whole stack of bubble papers without getting tired” There was no time to investigate as Zargerecht moved to end the visit.

Henriette was not happy about the prospect of her brother leaving. “I will come back next week,” he promised.

“Stay,” Henriette insisted.

“I cannot stay,” he said again. “I must sleep too.”

Henriette looked around. At present, there was only one crib in the room. “We can share,” she declared.

Melchior shook his head again. “I will not fit anymore. Don’t worry. I’m not going on another trip. I will return next week,” he promised.

“No more trips?”

Melchior shook his head. “No more trips. Shall I tell you a story before bed?” Henriette smiled and nodded so he told her about a little game called Warf.

Mother-Son Tea

Henri threw another minor fit about him actually leaving. By the end, Melchior was nearly crying himself. He trudged back to the temple feeling deeply despondent wondering whether he could put off going to school. No, he needed to learn more things or he would continue to fail his siblings. Not only had his absence made Henriette sad but his music curriculum wasn't producing the promised results. Had asking the music enthusiast, born from a long line of music enthusiasts, how he found the inspiration to learn music at a young age been the best way to formulate a plan? Perhaps it would be better to ask someone who struggled with harspiel. Maybe his brother would have insights.

“You can ask Lord Wilfried but we must be tactful,” Isolde suggested when he complained to her the next morning.

“He wasn't happy about the faestone jewelry,” Melchior noted, shivering as he remembered his brother's hurt expression and barely contained anger. “At least I can ask Mother about it today,” he decided.

Isolde looked over her notes. There were so many possible topics for this tea party that she didn't know where to start. She would have liked to update her lord days ago but he’d staunchly avoided the topic. At least he’d finally beaten Kirk, via Duel of Fates but still a win, and was feeling more settled in his Karuta skill so they could focus on her abbreviated list. Without Kazmiar around it was difficult to plan a new socializing curriculum. Neither Benedikt nor Flautzeal struggled with motivation or tutored problem students with any frequency, so they had little to contribute. She could trade ordonnanz with Kazmiar but that was awkward and required much coordination to ensure private discussions. It was just too insecure a channel to talk about their lord’s weakness. Magic letters would leave a record no one wanted around so Isolde decided to wait until he got back the following day.

They still need to prepare for tea with the First Wife. Spending so much time at the temple made it difficult to find out who had been invited so they couldn't work on personalizing topics. As they weren't the hosts, Melchior could not show off his new tea ceremony. He still needed practice to perform elegantly so that was for the best. In the end, they could only discuss the most likely topics to be brought up.

“How much longer do you intend to hide in the temple,” Isolde pressed. Melchior immediately became guarded. “I’m on your side. I will not share the specific date with anyone and commit you, but I need to know how long we plan to stall and what to say when your mother asks.”

Melchior huffed testily. “Why does everyone care this year?” he muttered. They didn't last year.

“You don't usually delay this long,” Isolde replied. “They must be wondering why you are staying even through your usual castle days.”

“There is more work this year so I must attend to it.”

Isolde shuffled in her seat and averted her eyes. “I think…it is reasonable to assume…given that you have been gone now for nearly three weeks, that your family… misses you.”

Melchior immediately saw Henriette's happy smile at seeing him morph into distress for him going away again. The rest of his family would never express themselves that way. They might have similar feelings but be hiding them better. In truth, he missed them too but, “We don't see each other very much even when I am at the castle, so…” what difference did it make.

“Seeing rarely and not seeing at all are very different states of being,” Isolde replied. “The difference between a drought and a flood are but a few days or rain.”

They sat quietly, though Isolde very much wanted to move the discussion forward. It was Earthday, so she was the only scholar working at the moment. It was exhausting to be the only one available to both reassure and plan an approach. She glanced towards the knights. Nikolaus had returned from his trip but he wouldn't be any help, knowing as he did, only how to be a knight. Spending so much time with Dedryck had made him more confident but not more emotionally adept. Zipporah would be more helpful but had much less patience for coddling anyone. The knights were out but she didn’t want to ask the attendants.

Kirk was working on the taxes alongside Chet and Pat. Pat and Chet were out for obvious reasons. Lothar was off preparing for Melchior’s return to the castle in case he was summoned randomly. They could send things after but commoner carriages would soon be unable to navigate the Nobles Quarter reliably and they couldn't ask one of Melchior's noble attendants to carry things for them. Melchior would need to be informed then he would dispatch a runner. Everything would be easier if they just didn't forget anything in the first place. Only Lothar could be trusted with this task so only Kirk was left but if she called him over, while it would help, he would make it harder for Isolde to focus on actually doing her job. No, better to push through on her own.

“Lady Florencia will want to discuss the upcoming feast and the recently past hunt. As an adult Lord Wilfried is expected to circulate on his own so you can expect to be with Charlotte for the feast. Lady Florencia will have topics she wants you to bring up with certain nobles. Usually this list is entrusted to your siblings but you are old enough now to be informed. As for the hunt, you were not present so you should listen more and ask questions,” Isolde pressed on.

Melchior was immediately more excited. He would finally be part of the socializing rather than just a tag along being protected. His preening at future usefulness reminded him of how little he did for the hunt but there was one thing. “The recording!” he cried. He’d given a fair chunk of mana to create it. “How could I forget!”

For Isolde, it was difficult not to scowl at the reminder of how effortlessly Melchior's retinue had been out maneuvered. “We did all the work, gathering the mana, setting it up, fielding an endless string of questions from both children and adults who behaved as though they’d never seen a magic tool in their lives…” she ranted.

Melchior reached out and patted her hand. At the touch, Isolde remembered that she was meant to be informative and stopped to take a deep breath. “I heard there was a large blessing given by Traugott's group. Was that recorded?”

Isolde nodded. “Yes, and the shield whirl at the end of the day including Lord Bonifatius being visibly annoyed that his whirl didn't produce a blessing,” she giggled. “Then the Archduke offered to have the recording safely delivered to the castle, as though we could not be responsible for it as we had been up to then, and whisked it away. We didn't even get to watch it again!”

A frown fell over Melchior’s face. He had no idea why his father would feel the need to sneakily take the recording. Melchior would happily send it over if asked. “Please send a request for it. I would at least like to see it. Can you tell me about the blessing?”

Isolde recounted the scene in vivid detail covering primarily what everyone was wearing and their reaction to the expectation that they sing. Once again, Melchior's retinue were the first to join in followed by Lady Elvira and her friends, then Charlotte, then Wilfried and finally everyone else.

“I believe Lady Elvira and Lady Charlotte were equally willing to support us but Lady Elvira was faster to recognize what was happening,” she noted. “It was most fascinating to see that, indeed, everyone in Ehrenfest knows that song. Even the servants were singing along.”

Melchior was amazed. Somehow it had seemed unlikely that commoner servants isolated in the Nobles Quarter would be able to learn a folk song sung in villages. Then again, the nobles knew it because it was a popular composition for new harspiel players and servants were often present during practice times. In that way, maybe it wasn't surprising that Traugott's whirl ended in a blessing while Bonifatius’s hadn't. Very few people knew the words to Dame du Vents and those that did barely understood them. A blessing would have to come solely from the fervency of the whirlers rather than the combined joy of all attendees.

Distracted by flowery descriptions of clothes and conversation, Isolde and Melchior didn't get very far through the list by the time they needed to leave for the tea party but he consented to ride in Isolde’s drivable shumil so he could at least read it over. There was much argument about the way this would look. Zipporah said that anyone would assume amorous feelings existed between Lord Melchior and his scholar while Isolde maintained that sharing drivable highbeasts didn't carry the same connotations.

“Lord Melchior frequently ferries commoner attendants in his highbeast. Do you assume he has amorous intentions on Kirk?”

Zipporah raised a sharp eyebrow. “No I do not think that Lord Melchior has such eyes for Kirk,” she drawled, placing special emphasis on Melchior's name. Isolde turned beet red but refused to concede the point. Melchior decided to ride with Isolde after she sold him on the benefits of having something stupid for people to ask about at the Feast Celebrating Winter.

“How much time could be wasted in asking about our non-existent dance of spring,” she cackled.

Melchior giggled along until their mirth was interrupted by Zipporah once again. “It will only be fun until they segue into talk of your actual prospects and opinions.”

“I’m eleven,” Melchior replied flatly. That had to be too soon to even begin to consider such things. He had every intention of ignoring his own romantic journey for as long as possible. It was fun to watch other people's but the flower petal filled whirlwinds surrounding his siblings did not seem like they would be pleasant from inside.

“It's never too soon to consider such an important choice, my lord,” Sebastian chimed in. “Your wives will be integral parts of the duchy.”

Melchior spent at least part of the flight after that thinking about his Uncle and Granduncle’s wives and betrotheds. Bonifatius had outlived his spouses and Melchior hadn't been able to meet them. Ferdinand's romantic history was so fraught it only hardened his resolve to be careful in his selection. Whether he was destined to similar turmoil was yet to be seen but the possibility made him consider taking a more active role early on. It wouldn't do to be unmarried when another duchy desperately needed a male Archduke Candidate for their duchy.

His resolution lasted long enough to add “find a partner” to his list of long term goals underneath “remember to ask about great-grandmother”. After that he returned to blissfully ignoring the looming reality that he would one day have to marry a girl he likely already knew. With a shiver he turned his attention back to the list of tea party topics.

… …

Melchior and company were met at the castle by Kolteruze, Haldis, and Flautzeal. Olishilde was waiting in the corner of the tea party room when they arrived. It had been almost a month since he last saw her which made it easy to notice that she’d gotten just a little taller and more refined. She was still adorable in her tiny attendant uniform. The sight served as ample evidence of how excellent an idea it was to invite her to study at the castle.

Thus given strength, Melchior floated forward to kneel before his mother. Unlike Olishilde, Lady Florencia looked largely unchanged if a little tired. He was still delighted to see her. “I offer greetings on this morning blessed with bounty by the fruitful breezes of Schutzaria the Goddess of Wind.”

Rather than the usual reply, Florencia responded with a sly glint in her eyes, shocking Melchior almost to his core. “So wonderful that Dregarnurh the Goddess of time has answered my prayers and woven the threads of our fates together once again.”

“It has not been that long,” Melchior giggled in reply. Florencia motioned for him to rise and sit. “I am happy to see you too, Mother,” he added just to make sure she knew.

There were no more outsized shows of emotion from Florencia as she skipped over all small talk. “While we await our guests, I must ask when you intend to return to the castle for the season?”

Melchior very intentionally did not heave a deep sigh. “I must await the High Priest’s return,” he replied.

“And when will he return?”

“If all goes to plan, tomorrow,” Melchior admitted. “There is still much to prepare for my long absence and we must prepare our reports for the Aub, both for taxes and the survey of Herzfeld.”

“The temple is doing a survey of Herzfeld?” Florencia asked. She looked for a moment like she wanted a cup of tea to fiddle with but they were still in the pre-tea party stage so the cup she had before had been removed to give the impression that she had just arrived ahead of her guests.

“It is not the temple itself, it was just convenient to send my scholars while they were already travelling for religious rituals and our support scholar while he was handling taxes,” he explained.

“One of the tax officials works for you?” Florencia asked. All the tax officials had faction ties and loyalties but she wasn’t aware of one professing allegiance to Melchior.

He shook his head. “It would be more accurate to say that he is doing me a favor on this trip but otherwise remains solely loyal to the duchy.” He glanced towards Isolde who nodded her agreement. “We heard there was a need for more tax officials so we encouraged him to apply as it would provide regular income while not styming his personal ambitions.”

“And this scholar’s personal ambitions are…”

“Oh, Veremund hopes to assist his brother in running their family business,” Melchoir replied cheerily. “They make leather magic tools and other enchanted leather products and parchments.”

Florencia just nodded but took note. She’d heard this name before. Its connection to leather goods was what brought the boy in question into focus. He had worked with Melchior’s retinue the past school term and had now gone to considerable effort to become a tax official between coming of age in spring and the Harvest Festival in autumn, an impressive feat even for one without their sixth year to prepare for. Was it a pity or an opportunity that the man did not wish to serve as an Archductal retainer? There were other uses for brilliant medscholars anyway.

“I shall look forward to his good work though I wonder whether it will prove too much to balance his work in taxes with such a close relationship with Herzfeld,” she mused.

Melchior frowned minutely as he tried to unravel the implications. Was his mother worried that Veremund might engage in tax fraud because he wanted to help Herzfeld now that he knew so much about their struggles? “It is easy to make mistakes when we have complicated assignments,” he replied with an air of conspiracy only missing a subtle wink.

“Just another set of eyes to prevent mistakes from being overlooked,” Florencia agreed and Melchior nodded. She felt bereft for the lack of a tea cup to set down with demonstrative click. “You should not agree so easily to allow your allies to be investigated,” she chided.

Melchior tipped his head in confusion. “But we have nothing to hide. Veremund will do only his best to be accurate with his tax work,” he assured her.

“Of that I have little doubt. However, agreeing when you have nothing to hide will only draw suspicion when you have activities you do wish to hide, not to mention that oversight creates additional opportunities for tampering,” Florencia explained.

“Why would I want to be unscrupulous?” Melchior asked. “Did we not just…”

“No,” Florencia said with no change in her calm smile. “Such activities, even on that scale, are expected. However, the dark cloak would no longer shield them⁸⁷.”

Melchior’s eyes grew wide but he didn’t reply. It was too terrifying a revelation. He’d been sure that the purge was carried out to rid Ehrenfest of a real and present threat. That it was, at least in part, merely a declaration of the change in Archductal favor made him feel ill. Were people now blithely committing those same crimes for which they derided his retainers who were only related to criminals of the same caliber. He felt his body grow warm with rage. How dare they pass such unfair judgement!

“Melchior, you must contain yourself,” Florencia called. “Our guests are soon to arrive.”

He found it difficult to care about guests. The thought of hosting some hypocritical noble, falling over themselves for the chance to gain advantage with his mother was rapidly becoming untenable. Kolteruze stepped forward with a quiet apology and pressed a faestone into his hand. “Please be calm, my lord. Lord Adaire and his mother are arriving now,” he whispered.

All the tension flew out of Melchior’s body. He didn’t even feel like he needed the faestone anymore but he filled it and slipped it into a pocket anyway. Adaire was coming! He’d missed his friend and been worried they wouldn’t get a chance to spend time together before winter. This simple delight was quickly replaced with a new anxiety. He was suddenly aware of all of his mother’s retainers. He’d only brought apprentices and Sebastian, like usual for these training sessions, but his mother brought her usual people. He hadn’t invited Adaire to the castle sooner to save him from the oppressive judgemental glances. Would they be able to have a pleasant time with the need to behave perfectly hovering over their heads? Would Adaire be scared away from being his friend after meeting his parents?

Thoughts of catastrophe handily consumed the short wait. Adaire entered and knelt with his mother looking fairly relaxed. Lady Barbara was struggling not to look terrified surrounded by so many high status people. She stole many furtive glances towards Lord Leberchet and Isolde, largely to avoid looking too long at Lady Florencia.

Once kneeling before the First Wife, she steeled her resolve and offered greetings. “We accept your greetings Lady Barbara and are most pleased to finally have this time to be together,” Florencia replied as though they had not had tea for lack of time instead of Adaire’s family's lack of standing and relevance.

“Thank you ever so much and from the bottom of our hearts for this opportunity,” Barbara replied but didn't stand.

Melchior began to feel antsy just watching them. While not technically a first meeting, Melchior had never spoken to Adaire's mother, only seen her in passing when she came to retrieve Adaire from the playroom. As the overseer of the Playroom, Lady Florencia had seen Adaire but had no reason to speak to a mednoble child, even one who was closer with her son than most. This made the greetings rather awkward. Melchior wished they would just move past them to have tea but Florencia was using this as a teaching exercise and she was always saying how important it was to establish a proper understanding of everyone's place.

Florencia, for her part, looked just as unruffled as ever. She directed her gaze towards Adaire, signalling to his mother to introduce him. “I have not yet had the time to introduce to you my youngest son. This is Adaire, he serves as an apprentice to Professor Ottilie.”

At the mention of his wife, Leberchet shuffled in his seat but was otherwise quiet. “Ah yes, my scholar speaks very well of his youngest attendant,” Florencia replied. “As does my son of his dear friend. Please, come sit.”

“Your praise honors us,” Barbara replied before beginning to rise. It took Barbara an extra moment to stand even with the gracefully offered assistance of Adaire. Melchior took a moment to be impressed and proud of how elegant Adaire had become over his year of training. He felt confident that he would soon be able to accept Adaire into his retinue without any chatter about favoritism.

Once everyone was seated and served, they waited for Florencia to introduce the first topic. After a demonstrative sip and nibble, she asked about the library. “Melchior tells me you visited the library together this year, Adaire. Have you had the opportunity to return?”

Melchior knew that Adaire spent as much time as he could manage in the library and wondered whether his mother knew and was just asking to be polite. EIther way, Adaire was happy to talk about his visits. “It has been just the most wonderful place. I was finally able to read all the first year study guides. They’re so very popular. I feel as though I needn’t have worried as we learn all of those things in the Winter Playroom.”

“It really took all year?” Melchior asked.

Adaire nodded. “I could have been more aggressive, I admit, but there are so many students studying for their first year, not just the actual first years. Also, so much of that information is foundational for understanding everything else so many commoners also want to read them.”

Florencia turned these words over several times. They’d respected Rozemyne’s desire to allow commoners access to the library largely because they assumed its isolated location would prevent most from coming. “Do many commoners use the library?” she asked. That would greatly reduce the safety of the place and possibly increase danger to the books themselves.

“Not very many, no. I’ve only met a few noble servants and children of very wealthy merchants. Oh, and I met a concubine. She knew a lot about business and wanted to learn about the new math,” Adaire replied happily. His mother shot him a soft look. His passion calmed immediately and he tried to give the floor back to Florencia. “The Archduke has so generously allowed everyone to use the books but have you been able to use the library?”

Florencia gave a small nod which Melchior knew she meant as a compliment for good comportment before replying. “Nearly all the books I need are here at the castle already but I have enjoyed some of the new publications,” she replied which was as good as saying no but she would rather not talk about why. It was also an invitation to talk about the new books.

The nobles visiting for winter would bring their new publications to turn in for Legal Deposit and to sell during Socializing if they hadn’t already sent them along with their taxes. In years past, Melchior could have read through at least a couple by now but he hadn’t been at the castle and thus only had access to those printed in the temple and Hasse workshops. He wondered for a moment whether his mother had brought them up to remind him of how long he’d lollygagged this year. In any case, Adaire had read even fewer as they hadn’t been added to the library shelves yet. Melchior used this moment to introduce the new titles he’s read so far and recommend those he thought Adaire would enjoy.

“Haldenzel has begun a new multi-volume romance about a student trying to impress their teacher who they secretly love,” he said of one. “We were also printing the first ever addition of Attendant Stories!” he excitedly spoke of another.

Adaire’s eye brightened even more at the mention of Attendant Stories. “I always wondered why we only had anthologies about knights. Oh I cannot wait!”

Melchior wanted to promise to lend his own copy but he didn’t actually have his own copy. There was one for the temple book room, one for the castle, and one for the library that he could borrow but none were his to offer. He signalled Isolde to make a note about the book. He would have to buy his own and perhaps give it as a gift to Adaire later since he didn’t really need to own one personally. Unless the stories were particularly wonderful, then he would want his own to possibly have it properly bound.

Talk of attendants led into talk of academy courses which moved into discussions about academy life which segued naturally into a question Melchior wanted to ask but worried he would have to just make a guess about. “Adaire,” he began, which drew everyone’s attention sharply to him. He ignored both his growing anticipation and the weight of so many eyes as he pulled his diptych and a sheet of paper from his belt. “Have you given any thought to the shape of your registration brooch?”

Florencia narrowed her eyes minutely before returning to her usual impassivity. Both boys missed this but Barbara saw it and tried not to grow more anxious. “Aren’t they usually round?” Adaire asked.

“They are,” Florencia replied with a pointed look at her son.

Melchior caught this look but chose to push forward. His trip to Haldenzel had been ruined to gain this privilege. He had no plans to waste it. “Generally, they are just round, but under certain circumstances, other shapes are possible.”

“In very rare instances,” Florencia amended.

Adaire looked interested but his mother’s sudden need to cough lightly gave him pause. He looked between Florencia and Melchior and tried to gather any amount of information from their identical calm smiles. There was nothing to see but Melchior had put forward the possibility while his mother disavowed it. He did want a special shape if he could have one. It would make it easier to tell apart from other faestones and he had to keep it for the rest of his life. Something more personal than a simple orb would be nice but was it worth losing favor with the First Wife?

Either without a care for the awkward position it put their mednoble guests in or in spite of it, Melchior presented his sheet of ideas. One had already been circled for Deliroze, a yellow shield, but there were many options. Melchior had written out a list of possible colors which shockingly went beyond the divine seven as well as possible shapes, some with illustrations. There was a four petal clover and a five petal flower, a droplet either smooth or faceted, a rhombus, triangle, rounded square, oval. There didn’t seem to be any limit, save one’s creativity, but written at the bottom was “no twelve pointed shapes!”.

“How fascinating,” Barbara said as she looked over her son’s shoulder. “I’ve always been happy with my circle. There are so many ways to decorate them after all,” she hinted.

Adaire and Melchior locked eyes. Melchior made a small show of glancing towards his scholar then taking a sip of tea. Adaire didn’t nod to acknowledge that he understood but only because he’d just learned that signals needed to be subtle. Instead he took his own sip of tea from what was a mostly empty cup. Melchior smiled more genuinely and Adaire put on his best show of being disappointed. “Yes, mother. It is as you say. A round brooch would be most elegant.”

It was a clumsy but admirable attempt at subterfuge. Florencia was torn between rewarding the boys for trying and saving herself from having to listen to Sylvester whine about more special shapes. At least no concrete promises had been made. She could still chastise Melchior and force him to retract his offer after their guests had gone. With a signal to Leberchect to make a note, she moved the conversation towards talk of the feast. Adaire and his parents would have to attend because of his gifting ceremony but his debut three years prior had not prepared the mednoble family for socializing as an apprentice of the First WIfe’s scholar.

“Naturally, we can be assured that you would not speak of Ewigeliebe when summer yet endures⁸⁸?” she asked concerning Adaire’s theoretical future employ in Melchior’s service.

“Naturally,” Barbara assured her.

Melchior had never been present for this kind of instruction. It seemed strange to dictate to someone’s word and deed when they weren’t a part of your retinue. He wanted to ask Isolde whether this was normal but couldn’t interrupt. For her part. Lady Barbara looked relieved to have guidance. Melchior stealthily slipped Adaire a sheet of paper and pencil to take notes for his mother. No one’s tea had been refilled in some time so once this talk was finished, it was clearly time to conclude their tea party.

Just as stealthily taking back his pencil, Melchior took stock of the situation. He and his mother would usually wait until their guests left then begin dissecting the morning's events. Usually, Melchior was happy for a few extra moments with his mother even if they included a lecture. Now he could only see that time for what it was: a valuable opportunity for both parties to collect information from one another that he was much less equipped to take advantage of. Today, he knew she would succeed in extracting an exact day for his return and possibly chide him for teaching Henri a little magic. As he couldn't hope to outwit her verbally, it would be easier to avoid the conversation altogether. He also wanted to reassure Adaire and needed to know whether he’d been frightened away. So, once his mother began insinuating that the guests should leave, Melchior calmly positioned himself as the guest of highest standing and left first.

“Thank you ever so much, Lord Adaire, Lady Barbara for spending this morning with us. And thank you, dear mother. I have had the most wonderful time. Dregarnuhr the Goddess of time has truly woven today’s threads with exceptional grace and speed.”

Florencia’s smile cracked for just a moment with surprise. “Indeed she has, my dear. I hope our threads are woven together once again with equal haste.”

Though just as surprised, Melchior’s retainers lost no time preparing themselves to leave. Kolteruze stepped forward immediately to extract his lord from his chair while Flautzeal stored away his instrument in record time. The children were out of the room before anyone could think to stop them and hastened away before they could easily be called back. Of course this wouldn't stop his mother if she were insistent on summoning him to collect his lecture but she would now have to think about how it would look to make him trudge back through the castle after leaving gracefully.

Footnotes

87. “They lost political backing” or “It was no longer beneficial for us to look the other way”^

88. “Thinking of Eweigliebe in summer” is to get ahead of oneself or to think about things before they become relevant. Flo is remaining Barbara not to make claims about Adaire’s job prospects before an official announcement.^

Chapter Text

The Art of Collaboration

“Please give us a warning,” Kolteruze whispered as they hurried along.

Flautzeal gripped his harspiel tightly. “I think we could slow down now,” he muttered as he watched his feet to keep from tripping.

They didn’t slow down until they met Haldis in the entrance hall. He was relaxing and chatting with a scholar, not having expected to see his lord for at least another quarter bell. With a smooth goodbye, he extracted himself from the nosy noble and moved to assist his lord. “You are returning to the temple now?” he asked, implying rather than voicing that Melchior was early.

“Yes, Haldis. I am ready to depart,” Melchior replied.

“And Lord Adaire?” Haldis pressed. Melchior had never before left ahead of his guests but, though he was well positioned to see them, Haldis hadn't seen the family walk by yet.

“They should be leaving shortly. Oh, I wanted to say goodbye.”

Haldis frowned. “You could walk them to the exit but people will talk,” he replied. Melchior’s favor towards Adaire was well known. Seeing him off would be flaunting their bond dangerously. Of course, it was up to Melchior whether he wanted to do so but no one would recommend it. He seemed to understand the implications or at least knew that stirring such talk at the moment wasn't a part of his political plans. He shrugged and continued towards the family entrance deep in thought.

“Flautzeal,” he said after a time. “I have some ideas for the Hauchletzte order.”

Flautzeal was so focused on cradling his harspiel that it took him a moment to reply. “Would you like something out of the ordinary?” Melchior nodded. “Ah… if your idea is complex, it might be better to visit. I can show you samples and we can have a more in-depth discussion.”

Melchior shivered. The last time he visited Klavier, he was roped into impromptu flute practice. “Will I have to play?”

“You don't want to share music?” Flautzeal responded in surprise. “Mother has created special compositions for the Death Flute.”

“We aren't calling it that,” Melchior sighed but he was interested in the new songs. Being shaped from clay, the black flute had a sound different from metal or wood. It was also a little too large and heavy for his small hands. “I always like to hear Lady Zerafina play.”

Flautzeal beamed. “Mother will be delighted to hear it. Can you hold my harspiel, Kolteruze. I would like to send an ordonnanz.”

“Do not forget the real reason for the visit is to discuss a new diptych,” Kolteruze counseled while daintily accepting the instrument.

“Thank you for reminding me,” Flautzeal said before summoning his bird and humming his introduction. “I shall soon arrive with Lord Melchior.”

Melchior froze midstep. “Flautzeal, you have not allowed for the polite preparation interval,” he whispered. How many times had he accidentally insulted House Klavier and now he was showing up unannounced.

Flautzeal waved away his fears. “It is not uncommon for customers to visit with little warning so we are always prepared to host a business discussion.”

“Really?” Melchior glanced around at everyone else to gauge their opinions.

No one looked particularly amazed by this turn of events. “Close friends frequently arrange meetings on very short notice,” Isolde explained and Haldis nodded.

“Indeed,” Kolteruze added with a grimace. “Everyone likes to just show up outside my rooms without so much as a bell of warning.”

“You say that but you always have tea and snacks ready,” Isolde countered.

“I have too,” Kolteruze muttered.

They all watched this revelation sink into Melchior's brain. Before plans for an Archduke Candidate to just appear at their homes could crystalize, Haldis stepped forward to clarify. “It is the privilege of very close friends, those whom you know it is difficult to insult who are of similar status.”

Melchior frowned. “So it is different for Archduke Candidates,” he grumbled.

“You do bring at least three others with you everywhere you go,” Isolde mused.

Melchior's shoulders fell. Friendship sounded so fun and easy when you were lower status. He couldn't imagine descending on a friend in a swirl of retainers being appreciated. Most of his friends lived with other people after all, not to mention that he was discouraged from eating anywhere but the castle or temple because of how easy it would be to poison him in another's home. “Is it truly alright then, Flautzeal. We can set a time as usual.”

Flautzeal nodded. “It would be best to get started on your order as soon as possible. You will still need to paint it after all. And, as I said, we are always prepared for guests.”

The trip to Klavier’s estate was colder than usual. Melchior hadn’t brought any of his temple attendants so he rode on his traditionally styled lion leaving him open to the elements. He was also plagued with a familiar question. Would he be happier as a normal archnoble or even just a priest? It was comforting to be surrounded by a flutter of friendly cloaks everywhere he went but the need for them was a direct result of his status. Far fewer people would have reason to do him harm were he of no consequence. Some of his retainers wouldn’t maintain their friendship but he was sure some would still visit him and maybe he could be a retainer too so they would have more in common.

The need to focus on landing pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind. He was getting much better at sliding off his lion gracefully but a full knight’s dismount was still beyond him. Something about catching the faestone after landing was still too much. As the launching balcony was paved with ivory and Melchior had promised his highbeast to only practice over grass, he employed a hybrid dismount where he landed on his feet in sync with his lion then allowed it to stalk around him protectively before catching the stone behind his back. Isolde, who’d landed first, just shook her head at the display.

Melchior didn’t get a chance to ask why she reacted that way before Lady Matilda stepped forward to offer greetings and show them inside. Having only landed at an archnoble estate before, Melchior struggled not to look around with too much curiosity but the walls were decorated with many exotic shapes he was only half-sure made music. They were also led closer to the wood and metal sculpture decorating the landing of the grand staircase. From so close, he could see that it was composed of many small blocks crafted to fit together but of incredible variety. The central plaque and surrounding blocks were just larger than a hand while the rest got smaller from there. The blocks of the outer rim were the smallest by far and branched into identifiable clumps based on material.

“After completing one’s master work project, they are invited to add to the family sculpture,” Flautzeal explained before Melchior could ask. “This is true whether one marries in or marries out. It also acts as a genealogical record”

“What about people who chose not to be craftspeople?” Melchior asked.

“They are not recorded,” Flautzeal replied without emotion. Melchior quietly contemplated being struck from his family record for failing to carve well enough and suppressed a shiver.

They soon came to a parlor Melchior hadn’t seen during their last visit since he’d followed Flautzeal to his work bench. Inside were instruments hanging on the walls as he’d come to expect. Instead of show pieces, these were mostly near identical sets of instruments in different sizes. There was also a cabinet full of woodcase magic tools; schtappe replacements and brewing sticks primarily. On a large table in the middle were polished blocks of wood and blocks of colored wax as well as two flutes on pillows. One was the black flute while the other was a more standard wooden model.

Lady Zerafina rose as they entered and offered her own greetings while Matilda and Kolteruze began to prepare refreshments.

“I accept your greetings and thank you ever so much for accommodating me,” Melchior began.

Flautzeal sat down next to his mother and brought up a single wax tablet from a shelf under the table to take notes. “We are pleased and delighted to entertain any time, Lord Melchior. May I assume that you come to speak of a new project?”

Melchior gratefully accepted a cup of tea to fidget with. He glanced towards Flautzeal whose position opposite him felt adversarial and not at all like he would help Melchior navigate the proceedings without giving offence. Having delayed his response for a little too long he pretended to find the tea distractingly tasty before replying calmly, smile fixed in place, “Yes. I must deliver the most exceptional diptych to Hauchletzte and worry my art will not elevate the piece to such lofty heights.”

“I hear much praise for your brushwork, Lord Melchior. There is no need to be so humble,” Matilda said while Zerafina just smiled politely.

“Shall we begin with your opinion on the large diptych. Paintings often accrue value based on grandeur. A larger piece may be a good place to begin,” Zerafina suggested.

With no hints from Flautzeal as to how to proceed he just began stating his thoughts as gently as possible. “I found, sometimes, that prolonged contact with the wax occurred while writing in the upper portions of the tablet. It is impressive that none of the color was transferred to my hands.” Flautzeal scribbled this down. Melchior watched until he finished writing and looked up expectantly. “The flat end of the stylus performs beautifully in small areas.”

Everyone paused as he did. It quickly became difficult not to fidget as tension descended over the room. Melchior was almost never asked to give criticism and when he was it was usually a veiled request for praise. Zerafina traded a look with Matilda then turned to Flautzeal with a smile. “My dear, have you explained this process to Lord Melchior?”

Flautzeal returned a look of confusion. “Lord Melchior has never lacked for opinion.” Melchior felt his cheeks warm. Naturally he had opinions and complaints but you couldn't just deride someone’s hard work to their face.

“Did any problems arise from touching the wax?” Zerafina asked.

“It warms enough to be more easily impressioned,” Melchior replied diplomatically.

Zerafina took the tablet from Flautzeal. For a moment, the young scholar looked devastated to be divested of his role. He mastered himself quickly but Melchior would never forget the look that flashed across his face; so pained and sad that he could not be trusted with such a small thing. “Why don’t you conduct the interview? This is a collaboration between you two after all,” Zerafina encouraged, simultaneously renewing her son’s enthusiasm.

He turned back to the table with a practiced smile. “What exactly would you like me to improve?”

It was easier to approach the conversation from this angle. Melchior began listing off his ideas rapidly. “Can we add magic circles? One to erase the wax and perhaps a roost attachment so that the entire system is self contained?” The artisans made noncommittal hums and urged him to continue. “I think the addition of a center board, split across the middle, would allow one to write in the upper section of the wax without touching the lower section and could act as a writing surface for regular paper in case one wishes to make more permanent notes or just not write over the paintings.” Once the sluice was open, more and more words flowed inexorably. Melchior shared not only the thoughts he had over his trip but new things he was thinking up on the spot. “What about moulded sides? Would that hurt one’s wrist?” By the end, he’d spoken without pause for an entire quarter bell since no one made any attempt to interrupt him.

Zerafina took notes while Flautzeal asked leading questions. When Melchior returned from his creative daze, she had a stack of six tablets tightly packed with notes. She gave them only a cursory glance before she began answering his questions. “Circle’s for erasing impressions from wax would need to be invented…” It did not take as long to answer as it did to ask and she occasionally had to consult with either Matilda, a skilled carver in her own right, or Flautzeal, mostly concerning his knowledge of Melchior and his retainers’ skills and work loads. Melchior was enraptured even as the answers only led him to more questions.

It was not unlike working with Eisenfluer except that the Blumeschimdts tended to cut in whenever the thread wove into impossible territory. He was amazed how often Zerafina had allowed him to waffle on about something that defied all logic and by how often those flights of fancy lead back to unique and actionable ideas. In the end, he was distracted away from the topic by the impressive display of memory. “You’re amazing, Lady Zerafina. I have only ever been more impressed by Uncle and that was when he showed us how to throw magic circles,” he chirped with stars in his eyes.

Zerafina blinked in surprise and only didn’t blush at the praise because she was distracted by its contents. “Throw magic circles?” she muttered.

Matilda moved the conversation along with a soft hand on Zerafina’s shoulder. They locked eyes and she smiled fondly. “Indeed, Zera is perfectly singular a creation.” Now Zerafina blushed into her teacup while Matilda continued. “ You have brought us much to consider, Lord Melchior. The inclusion of magic tools into the construction is indeed possible. We have devised a reliable process for applying the roost circles simply to any sufficiently magical wood…”

“How simply!?” Zipporah squeaked then covered her mouth with her hands. Melchior didn’t turn to look at her alongside everyone else and only acknowledged her quiet apology with a small nod.

“Are you open to sharing your process?” he asked once things settled down again.

Both Flautzeal and Matilda looked to Zerafina to answer. She made a show of considering it then replied, “We can explain it in simple terms but any particulars are still being ironed out, you see.”

Isolde asked to speak before countering. “ Lord Melchior understands the nature of innovation. The schematics for roosts are still in flux as well.”

Melchior was again tempted to bring his scholar to the tea table as the conversation grew harder to follow. Glancing at Flautzeal showed that he was also confused. He resolved to include Isolde the next time he might need to make deals but wouldn’t make the same mistake he’d made at the Blumschmidt tea again.

“You make compelling points, Lady Isolde. I am forced to concede that House Klavier is simply not in a position to spread our trade secrets to all the children of Yurgenschmidt.” Isolde didn’t frown, but she wanted to. It was one thing to be out talked by Lady Elvira, famed socialite and scholar, but by Flautzeal’s mom? Zerafina even caught the downturn in her mood in spite of her work to conceal it. “You have made many good points and represented your lord well, I should be quite intimidated in another decade when you have come into your full strength.”

Melchior wanted to laugh as much as he wanted to sigh about losing the argument. Instead of either he tipped his head gracefully to the two women and accepted defeat. “ Anything you would be willing to share is sure to be illuminating.”

Zerafina tapped her chin and winked. “Well, it isn’t difficult to carve channels for the circles then fill them using liquid mana-metal.” Isolde made a note of it begrudgingly.

From what he knew of the liquid form of mana metal used to pull chain, such a process would be anything but simple. He put the thought to the side. “So we can add a roost, and center panel, and make it big. Is there anything else to consider?”

“We should commission a custom stylus,” Flautzeal suggested. “And if you have a copy of the poem, that would inform the carving process.” He pushed yet another tablet towards Melchior who used his own stylus to carve the poem.

The Klavier’s took a moment to read over the text themselves. Matilda and Flautzeal smiled blandly but Zerafina held the tablet in shaking hands. “You seem quite moved, my dear,” Matilda cooed.

“It is just so beautiful how we find what truly matters to us after losing the trappings of station and status,” Zerafina replied. “Ah, I am reminded of a song.”

Before anyone could say more, she had the black flute in hand and was playing a melody. The notes danced from deep and slow into high fast trills creating a sensation like the song was fighting itself. The two distinct modes gave way to a tense waltz, a sound not unlike what Flautzeal liked to play during duels, before crashing back into the struggle. Melchior listened intently not just because the playing was superb but because he still struggled with the poem and how to paint it. That Zerafina had only just heard the poem for the first time, understood it immediately without assistance, then played a song about it was beyond his wildest imagination.

With the final notes just petering out, he clapped softly and offered a blessing with his ring. His retainers followed suit along with Matilda. “What must it be like to always be surrounded by such beautiful music?” he muttered wistfully.

“Oh it is a very attainable goal. We like to say that when one sings music into the world the world returns its own song,” Matilda said brightly with a significant look towards the second flute which Melchior realised had been selected just for him.

He glanced at Flautzeal who gave an encouraging smile rather than any indication on how to escape this request. Of course, Flautzeal would see no problem in turning a business negotiation into a recital. Melchior busied his hands with tea while he figured out what to do. It was impossible to follow such a performance and Lady Zerafina was sure to offer corrections again. Her advice was very helpful but there were even more witnesses this time. He glanced towards Isolde and Kolteruze and wondered what they would think of having to listen to the same song played over and over near identically.

Thankfully, forth bell rang signalling lunch time. Melchior hadn't been invited for lunch and didn't want to miss any of the last few of Sheila's meals he would get to eat for a long time. As he moved to give his apologies, Flautzeal's placid expression gave way to panic. He could not verbally plead with his lord to play the song, just one song once through, but his eyes could not be more penitent. Melchior paused. He had asked Flautzeal to help him navigate these meetings with people of a slightly different culture. Maybe the young scholar just really wanted to hear more fluting but Melchior felt it was safer to take his advice in the moment and determine intent later.

"It seems that Dregarnuhr the Goddess of Time has woven today's threads with exceptional grace and speed," he began to Flautzeal's naked horror. "I shall not keep you with an overlong composition and lament that I can't linger for pointers this afternoon." He took up the flute while Zerafina and Matilda thanked him for sharing, lamenting at being unable to discuss music more thoroughly and Flautzeal put his face back together.

The song was not as beautiful as Zerafina's but Melchior had practiced it so much that he felt confident by now. It was a short, happy ditty which Flautzeal had written to celebrate the beauty of trees. Speculations about Melchior’s visit to Pepin's house had led to a discussion about large plants of note where Pepin shared many stories about his family's beloved tree. Flautzeal had been so moved by this and the turning of the leaves that he composed and forced Melchior to learn the song.

Everyone clapped and gave blessings which Melchior struggled not to wave away while feeling warmed by the sparkles at the same time. He knew it was just the polite way to respond to a performance but it was still nice to imagine that everyone had enjoyed his playing enough to warrant the mana cost. In any case, Lady Zerafina looked genuinely delighted.

“Ah, thank you ever so much for sharing your music, Lord Melchior. My dear Flautzeal has refused to play his flute compositions for me all this time,” Zerafina said.

“I cannot play the flute well enough,” Flautzeal replied, blushing a deep red.

While Melchior contemplated how Flautzeal could write music for an instrument he didn't play, everyone made their goodbyes and the dissemination of work was finalized. Flautzeal would begin carving the large diptych while Melchior would begin planning and practicing the painting. It would be his first time painting something more than once let alone going through all of the planning stages Matilda recommended. Rather than a few sketches and a finished piece he would try doing color studies and miniature versions beforehand. He was excited to get to work but would have to wait until he returned to the castle.

For better or worse, that would be sooner than he wanted. In what felt suspiciously like retaliation for running away from tea with his mother, Melchior arrived at the temple to find a summons from the Aub. He was to return to the castle in three days.

“Does the rest of today count?” Melchior asked. “Can I stay until Leafday morning?”

Lothar smiled consolingly. He wasn't sure why his lord was avoiding the castle this year but he felt sorry for his being called back anyway. “It is a summons from the Aub. In truth you should return tomorrow to ensure no possible delays,” he began. Melchior deflated. “However, the word as written would indicate that you must appear on Fireday at the latest.”

Melchior sighed in relief. He could prepare his heart to leave on Fireday and give his attendants plenty of notice to open his chambers. There were things he needed to do at the castle anyway, like send off his letters and ask his father to make special shapes for Adaire and Deliroze. After sending Isolde off with instructions to find out what Adaire would like, secretly if she had too, much to her delight, the rest of the evening was spent drowning his sorrows in the newest publications under the evergreen branches of the lionshead peony tree and learning to punch things just right.

Closing the Temple Chambers

The next day brought the return of his scholars and Gerianne as well as a reminder from his attendants to invite Theodore for a meal. Kolteruze had also come to enjoy what would be his final opportunity to eat at the temple for the rest of the year since work, school, and Melchior’s absence would make coming for lunch impossible. Veremund was pressed into staying and Gerianne accepted the invitation to haunt Melchior’s rooms while hers were prepared. This made for a boisterous midday meal. Like any time Melchior was overzealous with his invitations, it was a little cramped but the racouse chorus of laughter at Gerianne's many tales made it all worthwhile.

“Veremund was terrified of Bijou,” she giggled.

“I was not terrified! I had an appropriate amount of caution concerning the giant faebeast everyone allowed to roam freely among the people,” he squawked.

“So you got to meet the rudelhute too?” Kolteruze asked. “What are they like? Are they actually tame?”

“I feel like you didn't believe me when I told you about them,” Melchior muttered.

Isolde chuckled. “They just sound so fantastic. It is difficult to believe.”

“I would say they are as tame as a faebeast could be. Unlike wolfpanials they don't seem to care about relative mana quantity. Instead they use smell or some other intuition,” Veremund explained.

“Bijou has just met a lot of people and can tell the good from the bad,” Melchior insisted.

Veremund didn't look convinced while Kolteruze listened with great attention. “Yes well, it's certainly worth further study especially since the rudelhute seem to understand rudimentary language and can pass instructions on to lesser animals like sheep and goats. It would be interesting to see the full range of animals they are willing to herd with.”

“They can talk to goats?!” Kolteruze chirped.

“That's what we were told but Lord Billigast likes to tell stories,” Gerianne replied.

“I hear you also like to tell stories,” Veremund said.

Gerianne brightened immediately. “Oh yes! I told Alix a story. She said I have become much more engaging.”

“Is that to say you were boring before?” Kolteruze asked.

Gerianne glared at him, not deigning to reply. “I was also permitted to write down several stories and their translations as well as Dame du Vents so we now have a Rudelhutevolk approved Yurgen translation.”

“That’s amazing,” Melchior praised and clapped. “I wonder whether it will be harder to sing since Yurgen isn't as smooth a language.”

Isolde stared wide eyed. “I think it's worth a bit of extra work to be able to understand what's being sung.” Everyone had to nod for that. “What is their written language like?”

“They don't use it anymore. So it's just wri…”

“What do you mean by ‘anymore’?” Veremund interrupted.