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“Madame Snezhevna,” the guild puppet said, having knocked on Arlecchino’s door without warning, “Master is in danger.”
“What?” Arlecchino poked her head out into the hallway and quickly looked in both directions. “Is the palace under attack?”
She didn’t see anything, and certainly didn’t hear anything that sounded like a fight, but Zapolyarny Palace was massive. If their adversaries had really broken in it likely wouldn’t have been here near the guest rooms but rather—
“No,” Katheryne said, in an even voice. “Only Master is in danger.”
Arlecchino raised an eyebrow. “Only Sandrone? What happened?”
“She is in a physical altercation with a level-five threat, and has been for the past hour.”
Level-five? she thought, feeling another jolt of alarm. If she recalled correctly, that was how Sandrone classified archons and other deities. Was she fist-fighting a god?
But no, something about Katheryne’s wording was peculiar…
“And you’re not helping her fend off this danger?” Arlecchino asked.
Katheryne frowned. “Regrettably, my combat protocol states that I am not allowed to harm this particular threat. Therefore, I have come seeking assistance. Will you save Master, Madame Snezhevna?”
“Mm, you know what,” she said, letting her curiosity take the reins, “perhaps I will. Lead the way.”
She had already formed a good idea of what this was all about, and would love nothing more than to see if that idea had hit the mark. But on the off-chance that there genuinely was trouble afoot…
Extending her palm to one side, she called upon the moisture in the air to coalesce. Ribbons of ice manifested as if from nothingness, shaping themselves into a long, silvery blade that trailed mist as she followed the guild puppet down the corridor.
Katheryne took her all the way past the residential wing and out into the courtyard — an open, snowswept expanse lined with Snezhnaya’s most stubborn shrubbery. To Arlecchino the cold air was invigorating, and she couldn’t help but fill her lungs with it the moment she stepped outside.
Only for it to escape her lips a mere moment later.
“There,” Katheryne said, pointing towards the center of the courtyard where a wide-basined stone fountain stood amidst the hedges. “Please, save Master.”
“Ah, I was close,” Arlecchino said, fighting down her amusement. “Although this is nearly as good.”
There were no secrets between the Harbingers of Snezhnaya. Only open secrets. At best some things were left unspoken, but that did not mean they were unknown.
This was doubly true for affairs of love.
“Sandrone, we’re never going to manage unless you trust me…”
“…Well, I’d trust you more if you didn’t keep stepping on my foot.”
Marionette, Seventh of the Harbingers. A callous young lady who had little patience for anyone that didn’t come pre-programmed, and even then it wasn’t a sure thing. She spent most of her time holed up in her workshop trying to replicate the technological advancements of long-dead civilizations.
She was rather cute, too.
Through the Adventurer’s Guild she controlled a vast spy network that overlaid the Seven Nations, and Arlecchino sometimes came by to cross-reference Sandrone’s information with what her children had gathered out in the field.
And during those meetings she had tried, just once or twice, to get a rise out of her. Nothing downright seductive, mind you, but just a little teasing to test the waters. It had been so ineffective, however, that Arlecchino had walked away wondering if perhaps she had made a wrong assumption about her preferences.
“Just follow my lead… see, we’re doing fine…”
“…This isn’t the part I’m worried about.”
But no, it seems she had been correct. Perhaps Sandrone’s tastes were simply too… exotic, for a mere human to fulfill. It was rumored that she had a cat-and-mouse sort of thing with the goddess of her homeland, and she also had a great admiration for the Balladeer’s mother…
“Huh,” Arlecchino said, feeling a smile tug the corners of her lips. “So her type is celestial beings, is that it? How peculiar.”
“Please hurry,” Katheryne said, although there was no urgency in her tone to match the content of her words. “Their altercation is escalating.”
“Yes, yes. I’ll take care of it.”
As Arlecchino quietly approached the fountain, Sandrone and her partner were dancing slow circles around its perimeter. Each had one hand pressed against the small of each other’s backs, while their other hands were intertwined together and held out slightly to the side.
There was an awkwardness to their footwork, but it was a gentle awkwardness. Like when young lovers bumped noses during a hasty first kiss. Something born from the marriage between enthusiasm and inexperience.
Nevertheless, Sandrone had a grace to her as she traced circles with her heels, switching from one to the other. She had mentioned once that she detested the balls thrown in Fontaine, but it seemed she had learned a thing or two from them.
Her partner, who was just barely taller, led her with a cool confidence to her movements. She was graceful too, but in a different sense. Less like a daughter of nobility and more like a dove in the early light of morning, wrapped in a surreal beauty.
Arlecchino had to admit that the Tsaritsa had quite the eye for pretty—
“Now,” Columbina said, before dipping Sandrone halfway to the floor.
The other woman gasped as she was lowered, held almost entirely aloft by Columbina’s hand on her back. She extended one leg upwards, level with her body, while her hair fell freely behind her.
A beautiful execution, but what caught Arlecchino’s attention the most was the look in her eyes.
“We did it,” Sandrone said, slightly out of breath. “Huh.”
It was a warm look, so warm in fact that it was a wonder the fountain didn’t thaw out besides them. But what was really magical about it is that it was entirely earnest.
People often lied to each other. Even to loved ones, and even through simple looks.
But Columbina couldn’t see Sandrone’s face. There was no need to fake an expression for one who couldn’t perceive it. And so all that warmth, all that tenderness in her gaze…
“See what happens when you trust me?” Columbina asked, smiling.
…it was genuine.
Sandrone opened her mouth to respond, but whether her words would have been dripping with sarcasm or a heartfelt confession is something that only she would ever know, because at that moment Arlecchino decided to make her presence known.
“Working hard, I see.” She stepped out into the open, a half-smile on her lips. “Maybe this will convince Pantalone to grant you more funding.”
“Knave?” Sandrone was so startled that she nearly fell from Columbina’s grasp, but the other woman carefully brought her back up. “What are you, a voyeur? How long have you been there?”
“Only a while,” Columbina said.
“…You knew?”
Arlecchino grunted. “I suppose I should have expected as much. But never mind that. Shall I ask the Tsaritsa to bless your union?”
“Pardon?” Sandrone flashed her a dangerous look. “I don’t know what you’re going on about, but—“
“Ah, right. You are a daughter of Fontaine, after all. Shall we get Foçalors to do it, then?”
At this, Columbina wrinkled her nose. “Hmph. We don’t want that harlot at our wedding. Right, Sandrone?”
Sandrone blinked at her several times. “…our what?”
“See!” Columbina smiled broadly. “Her soul is mine and mine alone.”
Sandrone unlaced their hands. “Just what exactly do you mean by—“
“Master!” said Katheryne, stepping up beside Arlecchino. “You have been freed. Do you require medical attention?”
“No?” Sandrone tilted her head, then made an expression as if she was struck by a sudden realization. “Katheryne… did you think I was engaged in combat just now?”
“You were not?”
“Personally, I think it was quite the battle,” Arlecchino said. “A clear victory for our little dove, but Sandrone fought well. Isn’t that right?”
Sandrone gave her a flat stare. “Can you put that damn sword away? Are you trying to cut somebody?”
“My apologies.” She gave her icy blade a light tap, and it shattered into tiny crystals that fell to the floor. “After all, it seems like your heart is bleeding enough as-is.”
What followed was a bout of laughter from Columbina, an expression of concern from Katheryne on whether bandages were needed, and the loud clack of boots against tile as a red-faced Sandrone stormed her way back to her workshop.