Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Winter Socializing has begun much sooner than usual, before everyone had arrived in the capital even. Those in the know but not invited had to work rather hard to collect information about the Autumn Coming of Age party thrown by the Aub’s youngest son, in the temple of all places. Attendees were rather tight lipped about the whole thing. No one could believe that nothing of import had happened yet that was the prevailing story. Many had to make due with analyzing the worth and nature of gifts given and refreshments.

The actual guests had other worries. For some, it was their very first visit to the temple despite long and storied lives. There was nothing to complain of about the place either in appearance or comfort. They could not be forced to give praise but realized quickly that their lack of poor opinion was praise enough. The temple’s reforms would be called a success with so many respectable women lauding them. Of course they could speak of secret depravity almost effectively hidden away but that was a commendation in and of itself. That would mean that Lord Melchior had presented a beautiful illusion if not a sparkling reality. They could also just lie but much trepidation surrounded what was normally an easy task. It was simply that Lord Melchior was incredibly adorable and good natured. Even those who knew they should twist any good deed done by Sylvester and Florencia’s son into something nefarious or at least irrelevant, felt conflicted about insulting such a delightful young man as they watched their children enjoy rich gifts and excellent treatment as retainers. In the end, many had to rely on the oldest standby: deflecting with insults about other guests.

Melchior felt none of these concerns and heard little of the gossip concerning his event. He was more worried about the unusual reactions his retainers had to the blessings and whether everyone’s efforts had been ruined by his lack of skills as a host. Even these misgivings were forgotten the next morning, erased alongside all other feelings by anticipation to open his boxes. This had to be delayed as well. Sylvester asked for a report from his own mouth so they sent Pepin first thing in the morning to wait outside the Aub’s office to deliver an invitation before Sylverster could issue a summons. No one wanted to cart all of Melchior’s new things through the castle to be ogled at and touched by random scholars and the Aub would want to see them so it was better to do everything at once. Sylvester replied that he would come after lunch, leaving Melchior with the painful imperative to spend his morning painting and planning what to say.

This gave him time to remember his betrayal by Isolde. “Why didn’t you help?” he squeaked. She had done nothing in the face of Countess Leisegang’s loud and public questioning and the subsequent calls to see the sweater.

For half a breath Isolde looked contrite then she shrugged. “What could I do? I said you asked for my advice but who respects my judgement? I’m only 14. Since I could do nothing, why not enjoy the moment?”

It was almost a good excuse. He was nearly ready to forgive. “I respect your judgement,” he grumbled. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Before the party?”

Now she grew more grave. “I had other things on my mind, my lord. I’m sorry. I just didn’t notice.”

Hearing this, he couldn’t stay angry. Everyone from Kirk to Haldis had forgotten. “At least it will make a good story,” Pepin consoled.

“Oh that’s true. And you haven’t written a story yet,” Isolde added brightly.

Melchior frowned. He hadn't. “Half our stories were withheld anyway.”

“Do you think yours would be withheld?” Pepin asked.

Melchior knew it wasn’t an insult. He wasn't even sure his retainers knew the reason so many tales had been removed from his gift and Pepin was likely to have forgotten. It still stung that he might think Melchior’s stories weren’t good enough to horde for Ehrenfest, more so because it felt true. He sighed. “I don’t feel like I have a good perspective. I wasn’t very involved in the execution of the event. Haldis or Lothar would probably be better.”

“You could ask them to relate their experience,” Isolde suggested.

Pepin shook his head. “They wouldn’t be honest,” he noted. “Attendants take pride in their lords thinking they are effortlessly capable.”

“Would you be honest with me, Pepin? I promise to still think you’re amazing,” Melchior pleaded.

“Ah… well, I have some notes from what I did and lists of tasks and such. I vaguely remember conspiring ineffectively with Isolde and… Kolteruze? but not the specifics.”

Melchior’s jaw dropped and his mind blanked. Pepin, his old friend and favorite attendant had worked against him! “Oh, you were plenty effective. If Kolteruze weren’t so loyal we might have won,” Isolde sighed.

“Is that why you convinced me to have him organize the gifts!”

Pepin scrunched up his face as he strained to remember. “No. Maybe? That likely wasn’t the only reason. I wanted to go on the trip. That it placed a co-conspirator in an advantageous position would have been a mere bonus. I was working on the vague notion that I wanted Kolteruze and Isolde to know things and my own desires in the moment. Having high level, nonspecific goals is helpful to orient moment to moment choices when you struggle to remember details.”

“You did all of that with barely any idea of the end goal. Pepin, that's terrifying. Remind me to always keep you on my team,” Isolde said. He tried to return a casual shrug but couldn’t contain a light blush.

“Pepin’s always been really smart,” Melchior said with more convincing nonchalance. “Normally he uses his powers for good though. Why did you betray me?”

Pepin beamed at his praise then grew embarrassed. “I’m not sure how it happened. Please believe me. I would never move against you if it were something serious.”

Both he and Melchior turned to Isolde. “I am just that persuasive,” she claimed only to receive twin looks of incredulity. “I really can be persuasive, you know. Ah… Pepin wanted to know why you visited him. He was worried you were planning something overly generous which he would be unable to repay; something for him since you spent the day being rather suspicious.”

“It turns out I was correct,” Pepin chirped. “Just the included paper is a bounty yet I also cannot overstate how much I appreciate your artworks. Thank you, Lord Melchior and you as well, Isolde. I will never lose a diptych again when it's so eye-catching and I can’t forget it when it's on a lanyard,” he said while pulling out the painted wooden tablets for Melchior to see. They were an absolute riot of colors though they only depicted a tea party from a top down view.

“Whoever painted this must be tall,” Melchior observed, immediately distracted from the heartfelt exchange. That’s not how any tea party had yet looked to him, being as he was so close to eye level with most tables for most of his life so far.

“Not very,” Isolde giggled but refused to elaborate.

They soon had lunch then waited patiently for the arrival of Sylvester. Melchior futsed with the day's tea service, the one made by Wil combined with silver spoons for poison demonstrations. It had proved much easier for his small hands to manipulate and he enjoyed looking at it. Unfortunately, it's one weakness, low capacity and only two cups, rendered it incapable of accommodating the sudden addition of Charlotte who entered on her father’s arm.

“I met Charlotte on the way and she asked to come along. Do you mind, Melchior?” Sylvester asked.

Charlotte was already here and Melchior could deny his sister very little even when he wanted to. Perhaps it was rude to bring a sudden addition to someone else's tea party, but Melchior was delighted. “Not even the smallest bit. Welcome, dear sister. I’m so glad you've come,” he chirped as he welcomed them in.

Between the greetings and sitting down, the too small service had been switched for Eisenfleur's silver set but not so fast that Sylvester didn't get a chance to glimpse the statues and became curious. “Melchior, what is that?”

“It is a tea set depicting the female gods cleaning the city,” Melchior explained with a controlled expression.

“Cleaning the city?” Sylvester asked.

In a feat of strength, Melchior didn’t laugh. “Yes, that’s correct,” he said as he stood to begin preparing tea. “The sculptor felt the water theme was more appropriate for a tea set than a building in the midst of being rebuilt.”

Sylvester looked after the set with squinty eyes but didn’t call it back as he was instantly distracted by Melchior slaving away while his several attendants watched nervously. “Melchior, how many attendants have I hired to serve you?”

“Four,” Melchior had to pause his work to respond. The unwieldy nature of the teapot demanded his full attention and the use of two hands, which he found embarrassing but it was better than spilling hot water.

“I believe, dear father, it is a special demonstration. I have spoken with Melchior before about the possibilities and particulars of serving tea himself. It seems he has made progress on his invention,” Charlotte offered with an encouraging smile.

Sylvester sighed even as he took in the novel service with interest. “Why do you want to serve tea, Melchior?”

This, Charlotte couldn’t speak on, so she simply selected a silver cup first, as a show of good faith. “I was inspired after watching Mother serve water. It was so elegant and felt more special than usual. I really like this tea and felt it could make for a perfectly magical experience.” Now Charlotte was confused as Sylvester and Melchior seemed to both understand this reference to the First WIfe serving plain water, an impossible event, at some point. The memory even held “implication” if Sylvester’s amused expression said anything.

“Oh, to whom would you like to deliver liquids in that fashion?” he teased.

Adorably oblivious, Melchior launched into a thorough examination of his options both at home and at school. In terms of pure status, he could serve the prince and the greater duchy Archduke Candidates but was cognizant that that might make him look too servile and would restrain himself to just his niece and Prince Hildebrand until he became close friends with more people. “Oh, maybe not his highness either,” he mumbled then continued to note that his other acquaintances might be an option as well even though they were archnobles. Sylvester breathed a relieved sigh. Charlotte had struck a good balance between interacting cordially with royalty and getting involved with them. He wasn’t sure his heart could handle another of his children upending the country. If Melchior had decided not to be too close with Hildebrand, it was for the best.

Charlotte listened intently and watched the tea flower bloom. The simple silver vessel, lacking as it did in all organic feeling, seemed to highlight the impossible nature of the flower in winter even more, the complex furls of the blossom contrasting with the fundamental shapes composing its resting place. Melchior was only just keeping his sleeves out of the refreshments but she could see how an elegant and intimate experience was in the works. “At home I have all of you!” Melchior concluded brightly. He poured the tea into the pitcher, sweetened it with honey as all those present liked sweet tea, then served tea into their cups beginning with Sylvester and ending with himself. He then carefully sliced a cake and plated it on three saucers before sitting down and taking a sip of his tea and a bite of cake.

“You must have spent a fair bit of time practicing,” Sylvester mused as he also sipped the tea. He graced the preparation with a nod. The brew was ok.

“It has been fun to learn more about the process. I have new respect for attendants everyday,” Melchior replied. He was beaming and all but wiggling in his excitement.

The Aub took this in calmly and looked around the table again. The cake was a kind he hadn’t had before. It seemed to be made from a variety of dried fruits and flavored with some floral inclusion to match the flower tea. Though, on inspection of the “flower”, it was just a bundle of whole herbs made to look like one. Clever, and a worthy addition to a tea party but the special dishes need to appreciate it plus Melchior’s insistence that the host do the pouring made it a poor trend for Sylvester himself to mimic. “Where did you find this tea?” he asked.

“There is an apothecary in the lower city who makes them. They began by drying whole flowers then began making these bundles which mimic flowers. The process is difficult. They were only able to produce a couple dozen of these and, perhaps, twice that many whole chrysanthemums,” Melchior explained.

As much as it had been helpful in the long term, Sylvester still cursed Rozemyne for forcing him to consider these sorts of details before making declarations. He could have gotten around the other problems to bring forward this new kind of tea but knowing how much would have to be invested in expanding the supply took all the fun out of things. For now, people would have to earn a tea party with Melchior to enjoy it because he already had too many new industries to juggle. Charlotte was more optimistic. Knowing Melchior, he likely hadn’t even asked about the possibility of other makers and just enjoyed having his own stock to share with his retainers. Besides, exclusivity wasn’t a bad thing. They could build fame for the tea now and work on accessibility later.

Sylvester poured the second cups himself just for the sake of trying it. Being generally more coordinated than his young son, he was naturally more graceful. Melchior barely managed to hide his indignation over his father doing effortlessly what he was training so diligently to accomplish, much to Charlotte’s amusement. “Well, we are here for a reason, are we not? You have a party to talk about,” Sylvester said as he returned to his seat.

“Yes, that’s true. Mother said it was a success, though she seemed to mean only that nothing serious had gone wrong,” Melchior began.

“A roaring success then,” Sylvester said.

“You had fun right?” Charlotte asked.

“Oh yes. It was a true delight to spend the evening with Mother and my friends. Lady Heilrun introduced a new magic stove though she said it isn’t ready for wider use yet. Supposedly it can attack people but it didn’t look that dangerous to me. Flautzeal brought both Lady Zerafina and Lady Matilda. They seemed as confused as everyone else. Apparently he invited each of them separately and without informing the other.”

“So Flautzeal was allowed to bring additional family members?” Charlotte probed.

Melchoir glanced at his scholar who sat in the corner playing a gentle tune, seemingly unhearing of the conversation about him. “He maintains that they are both his mother in spirit.”

Sylvester cackled. “I should have thought of that. Did anyone ask about water rights?”

“Water rights?” Melchior asked only to receive a nod but no explanation. “Not that I can remember.”

“And nothing about drought stones either?” Charlotte added. Melchior shook his head. “Curious, was there no serious talk?”

“Well, Mother and Countess Leisegang said something about just enjoying the night before serious talks began so I think everyone was trying to honor that.”

“It's all but unbelievable that they managed to restrain themselves. Wasn't Lady Desiderata there? Was she unpleasant?” Sylvester asked with a wrinkle in his nose.

Melchior also frowned. “She spoke with Mother briefly. It was not kind and we did not speak again.”

“Really? I heard she spoke up in defense of Countess Leisegang,” Charlotte said.

Melchior was hoping to avoid talking about his big blunder but Sylvester grasped this thread immediately and pressed. “Why would Leisegang need protecting?”

“I would not call it a defense so much as a chastisement of Kolteruze when he attempted to de-escalate.”

“What escalated?” Sylvester pressed again.

“We forgot to give Kolteruze a gift for show since he already got his gift before the party making it look like he was the only person who didn't get anything, not even cake.”

“Cake?” Sylvester asked before Charlotte could home in on the heart of the question.

This was his chance, Melchior tried to make the cake sound exciting but ultimately it was a consolation prize and they were eating one now so the mystery was gone. “Why give him his gift early?” Charlotte asked. “And what did you give him?”

The reasons weren't clear in Melchior's mind anymore. It seemed reasonable at the time. It had been a favor to someone other than Kolteruze at least. “A sweater,” was all he replied.

Both of his guests frowned lightly in contemplation. “What is that?”

“It is like a shirt or jacket that you knit.”

“Knit?”

“Using two sticks to loop yarn together to make fabric,” Melchior explained. Sylvester looked as though he couldn't begin to imagine what that meant. “It is mostly used for commoner clothes.”

“Dear brother, you gave your archattendant commoner’s clothes?” Charlotte asked.

Isolde coughed to get his attention. All three Archduke Candidates turned to look at her so she just spoke. “I see no reason to hide your ambitions from the foremost tastemakers of our duchy,” she whispered theatrically.

Sylvester raised an eyebrow while Melchior brightened. “It is more complicated than that. Allow me to explain!” He immediately launched into the complicated story of Kolteruze’s sweater beginning with the furs, detailing the saga of obtaining special wool, and ending with trying to keep anyone from seeing it. Charlotte took a turn pouring tea while they listened and Isolde took notes. She tried to keep her face neutral but as the story progressed it was clear that the only person trusted to know the full extent of things was, once again, Kirk. As much as she reassured Kolteruze that his position was unassailable, she felt, in that moment, that she understood his annoyance.

Sylvester and Charlotte naturally had questions, mostly about spinning wheels and how many crafting competitions Melchior had sponsored without anyone knowing about them. At least, this was what was asked out loud. They also passed several looks communicating their mutual amazement that he’d gone to so much effort for a gift to another boy then admitted it so easily. Could he not see how that might look? Was it time to discuss it? No, they agreed with minute nods, Charlotte shooting her father a performative look of pity since it would absolutely fall to him to explain. Of course, no matter the implications, they also needed to see the object in question.

While Kolteruze was summoned from his day off with his family, Haldis pressed Melchior to actually begin opening his gifts. Zipporah asked to come over to introduce her gift so they began with that one. “This is actually from myself and Sigsnyr. We each provided a bow; one for you and one for Gerianne. We felt you would like this one best. It was crafted for my aunt, then passed to my older brother, then to me, and now to you.”

Melchior lifted the short wooden bow with reverence and awe. Its polished wood shone dully in the light and was decorated with foliage engravings. “This was Elvira's? Don't you want to keep it?” Sylvester asked as he stared at it, growing more and more nonplussed the more impressed Melchior looked.

Zipporah chuckled softly. “My aunt went through many bows as a girl. We have ample reminders of her legacy.”

“Thank you, Zipporah. I will take very good care of it,” Melchior pledged. He ran his hands down the wood and read the included wooden board with care instructions carefully while kicking his legs under the table.

“Didn’t you two just earn new bows?” Charlotte asked. Zipporah nodded and explained that that was their inspiration. Both she and Sigsnyr owned too many bows already but could not pass up the opportunity to have one made by the Aub's bower.

Melchior paused as he came to a realization. “New bows by Father's exclusive bower was the prize for the Hunting Tournament. Did you win the Hunting Tournament?!”

“Yeah. Your knight brought magic tool arrows so I was hesitant to declare them the winners but they proved you have to hit your target for even the explosions to be effective so I let it go. I believe you still own me recipes, by the way,” Sylvester replied casually.

“You told me you all tried your best but didn't obtain results!” Melchior squeaked. “Why didn't you tell me!?”

Charlotte shot him a soft look which was still a warning to contain himself so Melchior sat back down having leapt from his chair. Zipporah looked around innocently. “We didn't want to ruin the surprise,” she said as though anyone would connect her winning the hunting tournament to her giving a bow as a gift to someone else.

“Why not give him a new bow?” Sylvester asked with more heat than the situation really called for.

Zipporah was uncowed. She placed a hand to her cheek. “He is still growing. Would it not be most efficient to wait until he is old enough to win the Hunting Tournament himself to order such a priceless treasure that he can carry it for the rest of his life?”

Melchior was excited just by the thought of competing. He would need to be in his third year and a proper apprentice but then he could claim the prize himself. Sylvester was mollified enough by his son's look of determination to get good enough at his own favorite hobby to let the matter rest. “Well, when you outgrow that one, I have more you can borrow as you get older.”

Sylvester was finally calmed by the look of pure adoration he received. “I will learn well with this one so I can take very good care of those you lend me. Thank you, Father.”

The rest of the gifts were as strange as Melchior’s retinue. There were dried flowers and honey made by bees which fed on them which was supposedly the signature product of a small region in Forst which Nikolaus had visited during Spring Prayer and the Harvest Festival, his prize for killing an errant faebeast repurposed into a gift for his lord. Next was the most hideous cloth Gerianne could find, a linen dyed an unfortunate and sloppy striped pattern then waxed for waterproofing which only heightened the clash of colors. Melchior's desire to use it for rain gear was only controlled by Charlotte noting how little he would get to use it since he never went out in the rain. Kolteruze had asked his mother to commission a small wooden statue of a happy Geduldh, eyes wide open, giant grail held invitingly aloft, from the best carvers in Leisegang. An easy task for a woman who normally runs a greater province but once she was involved in the gifting cycle, she could be personally offended by the appearance of her son being snubbed rather than just being upset on principle.

Pepin had also needed help from his parents and their entire network of friends. He was allowed to explain how he hadn't anticipated making a map of the country to be so difficult. “I felt certain, my lord, that such a thing already existed somewhere and could be easily copied.” What there were instead were descriptions of borders and the occasional rough map of different regions used for hunting. Duchies apparently didn't like random people having accurate maps of their borders.

“Such a map does exist but it's only available to Aubs and the Zent. We have one of Ehrenfest which is kept in a secure location. I can't stop someone from secretly making a map of Ehrenfest but I would confiscate it,” Sylvester explained. It simply posed too great a security risk. “It’s a good thing you have voluntarily handed this over to Melchior,” he added for good measure.

The map of Yurgenschmidt wasn't perfect according to Sylvester’s memory, but it was close enough for what it was: a decoration his son could mark as he visited the many duchies, a life goal Sylvester understood the appeal of but couldn't fully support.

Pepin smiled to acknowledge this gentle warning then renewed his wishes that the map brought Melchior joy. It did bring him joy. Melchior wanted to dart away to hang it in his private chambers but he still had guests and Charlotte was too old to invite into his inner rooms. Instead they moved on to the two art pieces: a large, uncut sheet of paper decorated with an ink painting and a diptych. Isolde watched her lord’s face carefully as her gift was unrolled and pinned to a large wooden board for viewing.

Revealed was a black and white depiction of an outdoor party though with very few figures as Isolde found trying to add too many made her smaller preparatory works muddied. Of course the larger work wouldn't have that same problem but she couldn't afford to do several large versions to find what looked nice at scale. There were other mistakes and even a spot where she had to disguise a drip. It was almost painful to look at other people looking at it. As much as she wanted to share all the reasons the finished piece wasn’t good enough, hedge their expectations, she couldn’t interject without permission and couldn’t imply that she’d given less than her very best infront of Melchior’s distinguished guests. So she could only wait anxiously for someone to give a pronouncement.

Sylvester looked distinctly unimpressed. Someone had obviously used as limited funds as possible to make an inoffensive gift which conveyed little about the relationship between giver and recipient. Charlotte was more gracious, controlling her expression and simply waiting for her brother, the actual recipient of the gift, to decide. Melchior gazed at it with rapture. He’d never considered using ink like paint. It was such a simple idea and he’d even used brushes to fix the ink part of some paintings on occasion. The effect was bold as even where ink had been diluted it was impossible to hide where it marked the bright white page. Despite the few figures, he could still feel the excitement of the event since the few which were included were placed and posed as only someone who paid close attention to people could. Every object in the scene seemed selected and represented with exacting purpose even as it represented something as uncontrollable as a garden party.

“Isolde! it’s incredible,” he praised, a burning need to make an ink painting settling under his skin and adding to his shaking excitement. “Oh, I cannot think of where to put it. It is unlike my other paintings but I want to look at it all the time. Pepin, where shall it go?” he babbled. Isolde blushed and tried to hide a happy smile while Pepin gave his recommendations. Ultimately it would be up to Kolteruze as he’d unofficially become the conservator of Melchior’s personal gallery, his chambers, and would have unpredictable ideas. “It is a good thing we summoned him,” Melchior said with a nod. He’d been reluctant to disturb his day off before but now that he was coming anyway, it would be easy to ask his opinion.

Haldis and Zargerecht took the painting away to be framed the next day. When they returned, Melchior was standing between his father and sister staring at the wooden tablets together and working valiantly not to cry. Well, Melchior was fighting back tears. Sylvester and Charlotte were simply lost in contemplation and inspection, respectively. “From Flautzeal,” Zargerecht mumbled.

“And Sigsnyr,” Haldis added before moving away back to his spot. They passed another significant look before Zargerecht continued clearing away all the packing materials. At least the expenditure of so many boxes had been repaid even if the monetary value of the return gifts could not compare to Melchior’s outlay. He was not looking forward to his lord finally seeing the collected total of his generosity but perhaps it was worth it for how happy he looked in this moment.

Melchior hadn’t wanted to be parted from his new diptych so soon after receiving it but his family wanted a closer look. It was slightly too large for his hands at the moment as Flautzeal was confident he would want to use it for a long time. Longer than he should unless they could replace it in his esteem which would be difficult as it depicted a combination of his favorite things. Unlike Isolde’s large but impersonal party scene, this was choked full of people. On one tablet were the temple orphans, their handlers, Sister Streita, Kazmiar, and a few other blues clergy, dressed for winter gathering. The children were clambering around in the snow and on the crystal trees while the adults chatted and watched over them. They were obviously not working seriously. They wouldn’t need too as on the other tablet several of Melchior’s knights and Wilfried were efficiently collecting the fruits. Below them, Sheila and the scholars huddled around a fire while she prepared a feast. The attendants and Charlotte were either engaged in setting up more tables than those pictured could reasonably transport, or herding the many children of the adults in the scene. Any child Sigsnyr knew off was tottering around or, in Henriette’s case, being hefted by Zargerecht. Olishild and her sister played with Fonsel’s tiny son under the tables and Haldis’s careful eye. In the center, surrounded by all this excitement stood Melchior offering Sylvester and Florencia a rather large parue. The figures were too small for distinguishing expressions but anyone who knew Melchior knew this tiny version must be beaming with pride and joy.

It was an impossible reality. As much as Melchior might want to surround himself thus with the people he loved, not only would their statuses make for a fraught gathering, he could never ask them all to follow him into the commoner woods before dawn to witness the icicle trees. No matter how impossible, it still filled him with an intense longing for such an adventure with everyone he loved.

Sylvester and Charlotte shared another set of looks, less mirthful and more contemplative than before. Was it wrong to depict the Archduke mingling with orphans? It was something he’d actually done but only in secret. And while no one could definitely say the child in his wife's attendant’s arms belonged to them, it was implied. Could Melchior wear this on his belt when people would ask to see it? Could anyone bear to take it away from him when he looked so besotted?

No. No, they couldn't. Sylvester gave a look that said it was Charlotte's turn since he was taking the previous talk. “It is lovely, Melchior. Don't you think it might be damaged if you wear it on your belt?” she coaxed softly. Melchior had to pull himself out of a reverie to consider her words. It might, but he had plenty of paint and the artist in his employ. It could be fixed and he wanted to take it everywhere. “Yes, but would it not be safer on your desk or shelf?”

“Do you think someone would try to steal it?” he asked.

“It’d be impressive if they managed,” Sylvester scoffed, earning a tired smile from Charlotte. “But someone could ask to see it and then walk away,” he added quickly. If they were of higher status, Melchior couldn't say no and it would be very difficult to take it back.

“I see,” Melchior said while taking the diptych by its loops and using it to replace his old one immediately. “I’ll consider that,” he promised. That would be awful though it didn't sound like something someone would actually do.

Charlotte gave the smallest shrug. She’d done her best without outright banning the object. Sylvester could be the bad guy if he really wanted too. He narrowed his eyes. While he could push, forcing Charlotte to be mean to her little brother felt somehow worse than being mean to Melchior directly.

“Is that everything?” Sylvester asked once Melchior had returned to his seat and served another round of tea. He was obviously trying to mimic Sylvester's earlier grace and failing for the stubbiness of his arms.

“I believe Mother included gifts as well,” Melchior replied. The boxes were brought over and opened simultaneously before him because they appeared to contain identical objects.

“Two cloaks?” Charlotte asked.

Sylvester snorted. “Oh yeah. How could I forget? She's spent all year embroidering them.”

Melchior was taken aback. He knew from Zipporah’s lamentations how long it could take to decorate just one cloak yet Florencia had made two. He didn't even think he needed two. Once they were removed it became clear that he did, infact, need two. One was a single layer, made for general wear indoors and in all seasons. The other was lined with his white fur, warm and fuzzy and only usable outdoors in the dead of winter lest he overheat.

“She even included bullion,” Charlotte muttered as she ran the soft wools through her hands. Indeed the cloaks were embroidered in ochre thread, difficult to see while working and even harder to read during wear, and golden bullion made from mana-wire, the leftovers from Melchior’s armor. Only a member of the Archductal family could use the duchy dye so frivolously and only an archnoble would make goldwork from mana. “Mother is taking no chances, I see.”

“A lot happened during our oldests’ second year,” Sylvester said softly. “Wear these and remember her care, Melchior. Do not allow her diligence to be in vain.”

Melchior nodded gravely. An embroidered cloak in his second year might be seen as overbearing but he couldn't feel anything but warm and solemn. Everywhere he went in the Royal Academy, he would carry this reminder from his mother to be safe. Charlotte looked over the bounty without further comment. She remembered being terrified for her siblings and for herself that year and every year since. Florencia had taught her the circles passed down and augmented by the women of their family but she’d had to make her own cloak, twice since she grew so tall and without gold work since so few scholars or artisans knew how to craft noble bullion. For a moment, it felt deeply unfair.

Once all the gifts had finally been opened and ogled and put away, Sylvester presented his own gift. “This is the recording of the blessings from the Hunting Tournament,” he announced with a grand gesture only to receive a tight smile. Melchior could not say that it wasn't really a gift when it was supposed to be his from the beginning.

“Thank you ever so much, Father. I have so anticipated being able to watch the recording done by my retainers,” he replied.

“So cheeky,” Sylvester grumbled and reached out to ruffle his hair though Melchior dodged smoothly. “Well, I have something else that's yours too. Some drawing? Karstedt showed it to me,” he waved the Knight Commander forward. Karstedt set a small sheet of parchment on the table. On it was drawn a circle surrounded by symbols of the autumnal goddesses. In the circle was an arrangement of religious motifs including Schutzaria with her shield standing before rolling hills and trees heavy with fruit. “He said it's the design for a gate?”

Karstedt shook his head but waited for Melchior to explain rather than correct Sylvester. “It is one of the six gates in the wall surrounding the Royal Academy.”

“There's a wall around the Royal Academy?” Charlotte asked.

Melchior nodded. “I am told it takes a long time to fly there, the better part of a day for most people. My knight has made it his goal to visit all six. He only has one left, the Darkness gate which he feels may be the most difficult to reach.”

Much like Wilfried, Sylvester’s eyes sparkled with the possibilities. Maybe it wasn't worth it just to see some sculpture but the journey itself would be fun. “You say there are six? Are there other drawings?”

“I can only assume so,” Melchior replied. He’d forgotten about the endeavor until recently and therefore hadn't asked to see them.

Charlotte looked at the drawing and thought back on her years at school. “Melchior’s knight” did have a habit of disappearing. It wasn't always noted immediately but as he got older and became more essential to the ditter strategy, it was felt. Everyone skipped a couple of practices so it hadn't seemed like something to worry about. Now that she knew where he was going, she was also curious. Charlotte was not the sort of person to go harrying off herself though. “Wouldn't it be nice if he took the recording magic tool and brought back a more perfect rendering?” she suggested.

Both men perked up at the idea. “It would be incredible to see the actual scale of the reliefs. Sigsnyr says they are quite large,” Melchior said.

If they were the size of the Country Gates, they would be majestic indeed. Sylvester immediately authorized taking one of the recording tools to the Royal Academy as well as the previously unsanctioned trips. Then he got an idea. “Professor Ottilie will be returning to the dormitory very soon. Surely it would be ideal for your guard knight to get this done before the school year. We wouldn't even need permission to have agents running around considering how… thorough Dunklefelger is in their preparations,” Sylvester mused. He sipped his tea and waited for Melchior to take the bait.

Unaware of the game afoot but still smart enough to ask for confirmation from those involved, Melchior turned his eyes to Zipporah. She would know better than almost anyone what Sigsnyr would want to do. She excused herself to send a message and returned swiftly with Sigsnyr’s assent. “We would be honored to have the opportunity to complete this sortie before the rest of the students arrive,” she said calmly.

“Splendid,” Sylvester said expansively. “Surely it's not too much to ask that your attendants assist Ottilie since they will be there anyway?”

For all he projected casual curiosity and hopefulness, it wasn't a question. Now that Zipporah had agreed to go, her attendant and Sigsnyr’s by extension were now promised to assist with preparing the dormitory. “Yes, naturally that would be no great burden,” she replied, pale and high pitched. Lord Meinhard was going to be deeply annoyed if she survived her aunt's wrath long enough to inform him. Melchior made a valiant effort to extract a promise that they could return with their charges but Sylvester only made vague allusions to how he would be sad if they missed the Feast Celebrating Winter before driving the conversation towards the special plans they had for the feast’s menu.

Chapter Text

Eventually Kolteruze arrived alongside most of Melchior's retinue who came on the promise that this was their one chance to see the secret gift. Some were disappointed but everyone had to admit it looked comfortable to wear. Those involved in the planning stages felt a particular sense of pride in seeing their ideas made real.

Sylvester decided quickly that he wanted one. His desire persisted even as the drawbacks were explained. It would have to be much shorter. Obtaining the best wool would have to wait until late spring or summer. From there spinning and knitting would take a season and a half. He could expect his own sweater sometime in mid autumn, just like Kolteruze, and he did. “I want a different motif. Something more exciting,” Sylvester added without specifying what constituted more exciting. Melchior figured that almost anything would be preferable to wheat.

They continued to discuss the fit and shape of the knitted tunic. Kolteruze was forced to pose while everyone used him to illustrate their points until fifth bell rang through the castle. Sylvester begrudgingly took his leave alongside Charlotte, leaving Melchior and company with the monumental task of producing a sweater worthy of the Archduke based on the most confusing criteria. It was daunting but not a problem to worry about immediately. Melchior added it to his long-term tasks list and turned his attention to a more pressing problem: the very real possibility of Zipporah and Sigsnyr’s losing control of their mana in their overwhelming anxiety.

“I’m sorry, Sigsnyr, I didn't expect this to happen. I don't know what I could have done,” Zipporah cried.

Melchior and Isolde sat together and watched the pair grasp each other's forearms for support, each mere moments from swooning and pulling the other down with them. “I’m sure your family will understand,” Pepin tried to reassure them.

“Ah! It's not just about how my uncle will feel, and he will have opinions, but now he can't help me hire attendants for my house! We didn't have much time to begin with and now he’s going away at the most critical time,” Sigsnyr wailed.

“I didn't know you were purchasing an estate,” Isolde mused casually.

Too anxious to notice the information fishing or else not inclined to withhold anything, “I’m not or at least not right now, maybe not ever, I don't know. Father wants me to inherit.”

“Sir Tiedemonn is giving Sigsnyr his third building so he can have more privacy without leaving home,” Zipporah added.

“And even just a side building needs staff and because it's ‘practice’ for running the whole house I’m to hire my own steward in the middle of an attendant shortage! Where am I going to find an unemployed attendant capable of running an estate?”

“They don’t have to be unemployed,” Isolde noted but was seemingly ignored.

“What about Pepin's brother?” Melchior asked.

“Fridegern was hired by the Archduke to serve Deliroze,” Pepin chirped brightly. “He is greatly enjoying his new role.”

Isolde made a few scribbles in her notes. “So the Huntsmaster is giving away his second side building to you and not planning on taking a third wife?” she muttered loudly.

Sigsnyr visibly cringed. “Of course he isn’t,” he huffed, then added at a whisper, “They would be too close to my age,” and shivered while glancing around at the older girls in the room.

“Oh, you don't think I could be a good mother to you?” Cecilia teased.

“Shouldn't you be returning to your lady?” Sebastian asked while Sigsnyr held back a retch and Zipporah patted his back.

Ceilia frowned while Eikestine chuckled, “There will be an official handover very soon, dear Sebastian. Then you shall be safely rid of us.”

“I didn't mean to imply…” Sebastian began but was cut off.

“I believe you all need to remember yourselves,” Zargerecht signed as he entered a room filled with children and chaos. “These are not your apartments.”

Melchior was about to speak up and say he didn't mind and was, in fact, delighted by the proceedings, but the assembly was already standing up straighter and pasting on smiles. “Apologies, my lord,” Sigsnyr said with a slight bow which was mirrored by the other knights.

“There is no need,” Melchior said sadly. “If you need assistance finding quality attendants, I’m sure we can help.”

“Indeed. Lord Meinhard has shared with me some of his preferred candidates, I’m sure he will willingly provide his lists from which we can begin our search,” Zargerecht said. Haldis and Pepin nodded their assent as well.

“You should have spoken to us to begin with,” Kolteruze said as he stepped closer to Isolde “We know everyone in the Nobles Quarter and more besides.”

Sigsnyr nearly collapsed but from relief. With so many of his coworkers willing to help, it really wouldn't be hard to staff his miniature estate. He thanked everyone and promised to do as much of the work himself as he could manage. Though he wanted to begin right away he had to prepare for his trip. Dedryck sent the pair off to get ready and fight about Zipporah casually including herself, then began clearing the room of everyone else who wasn't supposed to be there. Melchior apologized to Kolteruze for calling him on his day off but Kolteruze just gave a tired smile.

“I am always at your service, my lord, and this was a welcome respite. Mother has been redecorating my rooms.”

“But your rooms are so nice,” Isolde said.

Kolteruze heaved a sigh. “I also enjoyed my rooms as they were but I mistakenly admitted to how often I have visitors and Mother felt my rooms were inappropriate for such frequent hosting.”

“Do you really get that many guests?” Melchior asked. He wasn't quite sure what would constitute a lot of guests but thought it would be nice to have them.

“It's not entirely by choice but, yes, someone finds their way to my sitting room every week at least,” Kolteruze grumbled. “You don't even send notice,” he added with some heat in Isolde's direction.

“You are always so welcoming, I had no idea it was such an imposition,” Isolde replied sweetly.

“It wasn't when it was just you and Bertilde but now its Benedikt with brewing ideas and Sigsnyr with Zipporah for tea testing and Pepin just to say hello and Sigsnyr’s uncle because he was walking by and I happened to open the door and anyone else who knows where my rooms are located. Even Olishild has begun visiting.” Both Melchior and Isolde's eyes grew wide at this revelation. They glanced at Haldis to see how he would react to such scandalous news about his daughter.

Haldis merely huffed with a smug grin. “Of course my daughter makes a proper appointment and brings a chaperone.”

“I didn't mean to imply,” Kolteruze said quickly. “Tea with Olishild is always wonderful, she is a model guest,” he added for good measure. Haldis smiled proudly before going back to his work.

Eventually it was Kolteruze’s turn to be herded away. Pepin helped him change out of his tunic since Melchior would not allow him to walk through the castle in it back to his rooms even when he pleaded that his mother was just going to make him put it back on when he got there. No matter how adorable Countess Leisegang thought he was in his little sweater, Melchior was not willing to spark any more interest than had already infected the castle. There was little hope that Brunhilde would hear nothing but the less said about things the better. If he walked through the halls, Kolteruze would catch every eye in the castle because he was very cute in his sweater. As Melchior made preliminary plans for Sylvester, he also began to think about how to bring the most adorable kind of clothing and the most adorable person in his life together but again, these were problems for the spring.

… …

By the next morning, Sigsnyr and Zipporah were ready to leave alongside Professor Ottilie who was returning to the dormitory after the party. Melchior rose at his usual time but dressed and ate quickly so as not to miss their departure. They weren't leaving until third bell but this was his one chance to give farewell to his friends going to the Royal Academy since the usual leavetaking was reserved for families. It was also an opportunity to see more of the preparations for the school year.

Crates and boxes guarded by knights lined the hallway leading to the teleportation circle while even more boxes and the servants waited patiently in the receiving rooms. Sigsnyr and Zipporah were among Melchior’s oldest and most trusted apprentices but beside their collected guardians they looked tense and small as they waited in the temporarily well lit chamber. The adults wore placid expressions as they gave final warnings and scoldings further accentuating the children’s immaturity. Everyone paused and turned to greet Melchior as he arrived. Though he was usually relaxed in spite of attention, the cowed posture of his friends made their guardians and attendants loom more than usual.

“We offer greetings, Lord Melchior,” Geibe Haldenzel spoke on the groups behalf. “What an exciting happening has come together with the speed of Stiefebrise and the foresight of Verbergan¹.”

“Father,” Zipporah scolded softly. “Have I not told you of this pastime before?”

“Yes,” Claudio said with a nod and a heavy glance towards his fellow adults. “In the abstract and as an undertaking by someone else.” Tiedemonn and Heilrun looked only briefly sympathetic. They had endured years of the very concrete undertaking of their beloved son and heir. If anything, they looked happy he was taking someone with him rather than going alone.

“Um… I accept your greetings,” Melchior spoke up, sparing Zipporah the attention. “Though it is indeed a surprise that this is happening now, the swift launch can only be credited to the diligence of my knights and the enthusiasm of Father.” Though he wanted to support his friends, this was their own doing and he was not going to take responsibility this time, especially when no one looked particularly angry but exerted an intimidating pressure all the same.

“Ah yes, the enthusiasm of youth,” Tiedemonn teased though it was unclear whether he meant the children or the Archduke who was a few years younger than him. He placed a hand on Sigsnyr’s shoulder. “I shall remind you again, because it is important. You are correct that this gate is the most dangerous. Leave nothing of yourself behind. Keep even your footprints to a minimum. You do not want something to get a taste then decide to follow you home.”

Melchior and Zipporah’s aunt shivered together and exchanged a look that said they didn't want to know what could track someone over such a long distance. “Sir Tiedemonn, do you mean to say that you have visited this place as well?” Zipporah asked.

Tiedemonn looked wistfully towards Heilrun. “A then friend of ours wished to go on an extended hunt. Classes were finished and our ladies were replete with retainers. We did not realize we had been followed until we had almost returned. It was a fierce battle and not in a fun way. Do not make my mistakes,” he explained far too succinctly though the haunted look in Heilrun’s eyes belied questions.

“I’ll remember, Father,” Sigsnyr promised. “I won't linger.”

“We won't even camp near the gate,” Zipporah added.

Sigsnyr shot her a tired look. “I will do as I did for Geduldh's gate,” he reiterated.

Zipporah’s gaze hardened as well. “That seems like a wise plan. Then we can be in better fighting shape once we arrive.”

Sigsnyr tried to say something else but Meinhard cut him off. “We will delay the professor. I will send Sigsnyr back after the trip but I will not return until the feast. Zargerecht has kindly agreed to work in my stead, please offer him your assistance.”

“Yes, of course,” Heilrun replied then gave her son a brief pat. “Be smart.” Sigsnyr nodded.

Claudio and Zipporah had their own heartfelt farewell complete with a warm but firm handshake. He whispered something which prompted Zipporah to blush and huff with annoyance before letting go with a grin. Finally, it was Melchior’s turn to give his goodbyes.

“I can say with confidence that we all have absolute faith in your work, Professor Ottilie. Thank you for your exceptional service once again,” he began.

“You honor me, Lord Melchior. It is only what should have been done all these years,” she replied, sparking giggles through the crowd.

“It is a shame that there is no god of attendants or attendant like things. I apologize that my blessing cannot be more precise,” he said before praying to Verdraeos, Anhaltung, and Gebordnung.

“Your blessings are well selected and most appreciated,” Ottilie said. “I pray that you live well with the divine protection of the gods until Dregarnuhr, the Goddess of Time, weaves our threads together once again.”

“May our threads be woven tightly together,” Melchior replied before turning to his knights. He hadn't had much time to prepare his speech and tried not to let his nervousness show. “Sigsnyr, I know this will mark the realization of your youth's ambition but remember that this will not be the only chance. Be wise and be well. I hope to see many decades of your service. Zipporah, this will be your first journey of this specific kind but all I’ve heard of your skill and experienced of your wisdom gives me courage for your sake. I have confidence in your abilities but please also be careful.” He finished with blessings then waited for replies.

Everyone was quiet for several seconds as their eyes scrunched up in very obvious appreciation for something cute. Melchior withheld a scoff. Tiedemonn carefully patted Sigsnyr's hair. “I understand your fervor,” he whispered.

Sigsnyr cleared his throat loudly. “Thank you, my lord. I will bring back a recording and make sketches. It brings me peace to know you will support a repeated attempt should something occur.”

“Yes, thank you, Lord Melchior. I will look after him,” Zipporah promised. The two of them joined professor Ottilie on the circle alongside a few easily moved crates and were swiftly whisked away. Their attendants began instructing and assisting the servants in moving more boxes while the guardians all turned to Melchior in unison.

“Great pillars of our duchy, please don't let me detain you from your very important work,” Melchior babbled anxiously. “Good day,” he added before turning and all but running away to the tune of knowing chuckles. As he turned the corner he heard the beginnings of Count Haldenzel inviting the others to tea and was doubly happy to have escaped.

In the time between Sigsnyr and Zipporah's departure and return, Melchior's chambers were suffused with a low hum of extra anxiety. Benedikt could say little about what faebeasts Sir Tiedemonn might have been referring to while Dedryck could only apologize that the Sovereign Knights order could never respond in a timely fashion to a distress signal so far from the central building.

“I have never heard of any expeditions to the distant edges of the region either,” he noted with no small amount of curiosity and a large amount of worry. “I do not think you should have allowed your apprentice knights to travel into such a place,” he added anytime the subject came up.

To help everyone take their minds off it, Isolde planned for a brewing day. Melchior wanted to brew eccentric ordonnanz, knives, and his faestone hair accessory. After many design changes and plans, the deciding factor for the jewelry became practicality. As it would be anchored to a small piece of hair, it needed to be as light as possible without endangering strength. Putting holes in his faestones couldn't be done without brewing them as any drill small enough not to destroy them would be too fragile to endure the process. He didn’t want to brew them as that would remove the defining characteristics of his family's mana. Still, the drops were just too small so a different method was devised to hold the stones temporarily but securely.

With coils of mana wire and tiny needle-nose pliers borrowed from Kazmiar, Melchior carefully crafted tiny springs to hold the tiny teardrop seeds. These were carefully hooked to the chain which was threaded with silk buttonhole twist the same color as his hair for added strength. Despite being excited for his new jewelry, Melchior was also sad. He’d planned to create this with Sigsnyr's help but he wasn't there to see the final product. It was still nice to work with Kazmiar for a change, who was overseeing the room after a spat between Benedikt and Isolde made him lose confidence in their ability to manage things between just the two of them.

“This is excellent work, my lord. You have been very patient and that has paid off,” Kazmiar praised. He held the completed piece up to the light and watched the many reflected colors dance. Melchior basked in the praise and the lights along with everyone else in the brewing room. With shaking hands he carefully returned the piece to his belt alongside the paper packets which had wrapped and identified the faestones. As much as he desperately wanted to return to his room immediately and put it on, the day was only half done and he had an arguably more important brew left to do.

The ingredients were flexible for faestone knives. Their basic shape was brewed then, while the faestone was still malleable, pressed between carefully shaped blocks to create the edge before it hardened. It was possible to sharpen them with grinding stones but stones capable of cutting Archducal level wares were rare. “Most of the cutting power comes from the quality of the brew rather than actual sharpness,” Kazmiar explained as they pulled out Melchior’s boxes. They were significantly lighter than he remembered.

“Ah, yes, there was a requisition order,” Benedikt explained. As Melchior's brewmaster, it had been delivered to him directly.

“Why didn't you speak of this to anyone?” Isolde chided.

Benedikt blinked in confusion. “I am telling you now. It is brewing related information, so I saved it for the brewing room.”

Isolde turned red in her annoyance but before she could speak Kazmiar pulled them over and shoved sound blockers into their and Melchior's hands. “What do you mean, it is ‘brewing information’?” he asked calmly.

“It is information relating to brewing or hunting. As neither a hunt has been planned nor brewing conducted recently, this was the appropriate time to speak of the matter. Though I do admit I should have spoken when we spoke of the plan for the day,” Benedikt explained.

Isolde stared in amazement. “That's not how you organize information!” she squeaked.

“Should I use the random assignment method you prefer?” he snapped back.

“It isn't random!”

Kazmiar pinched the bridge of his nose. “Benedikt, have you considered that Lord Melchior might wish to be informed of this quickly so that he could mitigate the effects of the requisition on his stores by ordering more hunts?” Kazmiar asked.

Benedikt fell into thought. “He did not ask to brew anything he did not have the materials for,” he replied.

“Are you Sehweit? There is no way to predict that would remain true. Yet you so arrogantly presume to curate!” she said.

Benedikt’s smile finally fell off his face. “Do you presume our lord wishes to hear your endless diatribes about topics where he holds no interest? Do you expect him to sift through your sea of drivel like a common fisherman!”

“It is not drivel!”

“Children!” Kazmier snapped.

“I am not a child!” Benedikt spat back. “Why I must deign to obey one confounds reason!”

“Benedikt!” Kazmiar yelled, then looked over his shoulder at the room which had been full of people but was now empty save for Melchior's guards. Several spoiled brews smoked pitifully under hastily placed lids.

Melchior looked at each of his scholars in turn and marveled at how poorly he understood them. “Is that really how you feel?” he asked in a small voice. It was true that they’d chosen Benedikt on something near a whim without serious talks between them but he’d felt they were collaborating effectively if not becoming friends..

Benedikt's eyes flew open and he knelt. “I do not mean you, my lord. It is my privilege and honor to serve you. I am delighted to receive your orders.”

“Then what do you mean?” Isolde sneered, drawing herself up as tall as possible. Normally she was nearly a head shorter than Benedikt but with him kneeling she could tower over him.

Benedikt rudely ignored her and bowed more deeply. “Benedikt, what do you mean?” Melchior repeated.

“Your head scholar is a little girl, barely free of Weigemilch. Are we truly so lacking?” he asked with a glance at Kazmiar. Kazmiar shook his head but didn't disavow the question.

Melchior found himself cowed. He took a small step back from the intensity of their faces. “I… no, you aren't lacking,” Melchior began. Isolde seemed about to speak but held herself back. “It was a decision made when I only had Isolde, Kazmiar, and Flautzeal. She was the most involved in my work in the castle and more suited to the work than Flautzeal. Isolde manages the information, schedule, and socializing plan now. It seemed like the right choice at the time. Even Kazmiar agreed.”

“You have no problem with this?” Benedikt asked Kazmiar.

“It pains me only when doing work in the castle which is so rare as to be unimportant. Isolde does not lord her position over others so I rarely need to consider it. I recommend the title go to her to reinforce her authority which was in question where it need not be,” he said with a sharp look.

“So it only applies to me?” Benedikt asked. “I am the only one you treat this way?”

“You are constantly questioning me,” Isolde replied. “You never listen and won't take correction and try to rearrange my notes!”

“Your ‘corrections’ are unnecessary when they aren’t patently wrong,” Benedikt growled. “You have no method, always going in without a solid plan!”

“You cannot rigidly plan a tea party!”

“Young people,” Kazmiar huffed. “You are frightening Lord Melchior.”

Melchior snapped out of his anxious daze at the sound of his name and took another step back. He very much wanted to leave or for everyone to stop fighting. Nothing could require this much animosity. Had he caused this by ignoring Isolde's complaints or by not asking after Benedikt’s sooner? Would anyone want to quit?

“Apologies.” “Tell him to be less awful.” They said in unison.

“Awful?” Benedikt asked in exasperation.

“Enough,” Kazmiar said before they could begin again. “Benedikt, you seem fixated on Isolde's youth yet you keep forgetting it. If you insist you are now an adult, behave like one. Isolde, no one likes being insulted or criticized. Do not use such language towards your coworkers. You two will never agree on many things but you must sometimes agree to disagree. You cannot keep fighting as you are.” Neither looked happy but they remained quiet. “Lord Melchior, unfortunately it falls to you to resolve this,” Kazmiar sighed. “Do you wish to reevaluate your team of scholars?”

Melchior could not begin to consider a solution. After a moment of staring wide eyed he found that he was shaking and his mana was rising as if to rampage. “I would like to return to my room.”

“Of course, my lord. You two remain here and finish your tasks,” Kazmiar said before taking his tools back and escorting Melchior to his room.

Melchior spent the walk back to his chambers putting together a stress faestone and trying to calm down. It had been sometime since he donated mana so it was much harder than usual. Once he arrived in his hidden room he filled and drained his magic tool a couple of times, a shocking amount of mana to purge without feeling much difference. In fact marveling at it was as potent a distraction as his other methods of calming down. He’d been using the tool since he was a baby and had always felt it was impossibly large, too large to ever fill. Having filled it several times in one sitting, he now knew every magic tool had a limit. Still, he hadn't expected his magic tools to become so small relative to his power. Had he spent so long not using it only for it to be inadequate when he needed it? It was certainly a problem but as he considered telling his scholars he was reminded of why he was hiding in his hidden room to begin with.

The position of Head Scholar was certainly important, but it didn't feel like it fit on any one person's shoulders. His scholars were all so specialized with Isolde focused on socializing, Kazmiar temple work, Flautzeal the arts, and Benedikt magic. The only all around scholar he had was Dirk and only because he'd yet to choose a path. Organizing arbitrarily by age or status felt insufficient for anything but a perfunctory appointment for the sake of appearance but he knew people took even the least important title very seriously. He’d never considered Isolde better than his other scholars because of her position but it was clearly a point of contention.

Then again, Isolde always deferred to Kazmiar on temple matters. She even listened to Lothar who was only kind of a scholar. Kazmiar deferred to her on matters of the castle unless they asked for his advice. Though this was mostly because he lacked the time to give them his attention. It was the same for Benedikt and Flautzeal. In their area of expertise, everyone accepted their authority. Even Isolde acknowledged and accepted Benedikt's word on magical matters. It was just Benedikt who couldn't accept Isolde’s decisions around information handling. Did that make him the problem? Perhaps, but Melchior couldn't imagine Isolde taking his questions with magnanimity which would fuel conflict like straw over warm coals.

Melchior lay his head on the desk. Unfortunately, this was not the only problem plaguing his retinue. There was also the mysterious conflict between Sebastian and Fonsel. Had Dedryck really resolved it? And was Ortolf still fighting with everyone? Should he tell people to stop bothering Kolteruze?

By the time Melchior exited his hidden room, he was late for dinner so he sent word he wasn't feeling well and ate in his room. The doctor appeared quickly only to declare him healthy but annoyed before leaving just as quickly. Once the meal was cleared away, Haldis sat down at his table and asked if he would like to talk.

Melchior shook his head. “It isn't clear in my mind yet.”

“Sometimes discussion helps us find the shape of things,” Haldis offered. “Of course you need not speak if you don't want to.”

Melchior considered this, twiddled his thumbs, then spoke. “I think I have outgrown my magic tool,” he said instead of what was really bothering him.

“Outgrown your magic tool? Which magic tool²?” Haldis asked in disbelief.

“My magic tool for draining excess mana,” Melchior explained without judgement.

Haldis chuckled. “Yes, naturally. You’ve outgrown it, how?”

“I can fill it too quickly now and it didn't even feel like I drained enough mana to control my emotions.”

“You mean to say that you filled it quickly today? Had you emptied it recently?”

“The first time it was half full then I emptied it into faestones then refilled and emptied it again,” Melchior explained. Haldis nodded more in acknowledgement than understanding and shifted in his chair. “Will it be difficult to obtain a new one?”

“We will have to consult your scholars and look at the tool itself. I had mine replaced after I came of age but that was more to mitigate problems born of over use and because my family is full of skilled scholars making the acquisition inexpensive,” Haldis explained. It was certainly a problem. Melchior would absolutely need a tool he could rely on. “Thank you for alerting me, my lord. I will ensure a solution is found quickly. Until then I ask that you drain more of your mana than usual to allow for more of a buffer.” Melchior agreed easily and spent some more time before bed filling the extra support faestones they wouldn't be entrusting to Brunhilde. He continued until he felt nearly depleted without tapping into his compressed reserves. It was not enough to overcome his anxiety leaving him laying awake late into the night.

The next day was thankfully full of distractions. Chief among them was Melchior's clothes fitting. He would receive the final version of his uniforms, barring any egregious fitting errors, a few necessary bits of underwear, and his winter outfits along with anything that could be altered to still fit. This was a particularly exciting fitting as it was the first one left entirely in Melchior's hands.

The snow fall had been light thus far, so the carriages arrived safely and on time. The tea and snacks were abundant. The seating was well placed across from a large mirror but near the table of fabrics. Melchior’s spring and preliminary summer designs rested in a neat pile ready to show the tailors. The attendants looked confident and Melchior felt invincible with his families faestones dangling in his peripheral vision. Not once had he lost faith in the idea but seeing it finally realized only increased his delight. He couldn’t help posing in reflective surfaces such that his silver hair ornament and silver roost could be seen at the same time or so he could see the embroidery glittering on his new cape. Perhaps it took a little longer for him to traverse the castle in his vanity but not much.

Among the many firsts for this fitting, it was also the first time Melchior had arrived before his mother. Haldis assured him they didn’t need to wait for her to begin so they started looking over the brooches for the dormitory and planning for the next year’s class since it was unlikely to change in any meaningful way. It was difficult to resist the urge to design something specific to each person since he knew all five boys in question but Haldis insisted it would be better to honor the flower language and choose blooms representative of cooperation and camaraderie if he wasn’t going to use the exact same style as the first order. The question wasn’t settled there and then but they needed to move on to shoe fitting.

Of most interest to Melchior were the red and purple slippers designed to match his winter formal wear. Each sported small sprigs of white honeysuckle to match his brooches and matching embroidery to the fine white socks prepared to accompany them. Fitting for his boots was slightly delayed by him wiggling his feet to make the flowers dance around until Pepin tapped him on the shoulder. The boots were nice, more supple than he was used to. “We add a wool insole to our boots,” explained the cobbler, a portly man who knelt beside Cole looking more relaxed than most of the room despite coming to the castle for the very first time. “I was told you intend to pass these on. At that time the insole may be replaced for hygiene and the sole replaced for walking comfort as each person walks differently and therefore wears through their soles at a different rate.”

“I never knew that,” Melchior muttered and glanced at Deliroze who was currently wearing his old boots. “Those are very thoughtful additions,” he praised, earning only a knowing nod.

“Kurtis had your autumn orders transferred to our shop alongside your measurements but we will need to measure again as children grow quickly,” he continued. Melchior held back a frown. He was well aware of how often he needed to order new shoes. “Would you like matching shoes for every outfit again? Do you need only one set of boots?”

Pepin stepped forward to explain before Melchior could begin answering the interrogation. Intensive discussions on the topic had already taken place and a list of requirements entrusted to him. Melchior would only need blue slippers which matched his hair, boots for training, and boots for trekking through mud during Spring Prayer. He turned to Melchior just for show and was surprised that he’d thought of something else. “Are there shoes for whirling?”

The cobbler looked confused for the first time. “What is whirling?”

“A form of worship involving flowing motions and spinning,” Pepin replied.

“A dance?”

“It is much more than a dance,” Pepin insisted.

“There are no shoes specifically for dancing,” the cobbler replied.

“Ah… your grace,” Cole interrupted for the first time. Melchior looked over only to find him pale and shaking, the very specter of death hanging over his shoulder. Indeed, Cole was sure their careers as noble personnel were over if not their very lives. This was not the plan. Interrogating the High Bishop was not part of the plan nor was insulting his intelligence by explaining simple crafting principles. Bot was not supposed to talk since he hadn’t gone through Milva and Kurtis’s training exercises beyond learning how to kneel. “Please excuse our ignorance of the art. Perhaps if you do not mind explaining how your current shoe’s fail you while whirling, we can create a solution.” Bot stared at him like he’d morphed into an entirely different person but didn’t say anything else to compromise the situation.

Melchior, meanwhile, considered the problem and tried to look less intimidating without knowing how he was scaring Cole in the first place. It’s not that his shoes were bad, just hard to spin in. Switching to the cloth shoes made things more comfortable owing to their light weight, slicker soles, and flexibility. Perhaps they could be more of those things? It was just a spur of the moment idea since he had a shoe specialist in front of him. Though he was sure they were just as knowledgeable, Florencia’s cobblers never explained their craft so he hadn’t ever considered what it meant that they were experts on shoes. “I will have to discuss things with my whirling instructor. I was hoping what I wanted already existed. Perhaps in another duchy,” he muttered.

“I won’t say I can make anything you can think of considering the magnitude of your imagination, according to Kurtis, but I’ll give it my best,” Bot replied with a chuckle.

“He means that it would be our honor to assist in realising your vision,”Cole tacked on quickly. Melchior just smiled wider and nodded to them both. He hadn’t given shoes as much thought as clothes since they seemed much harder to change and embellish but it could be fun.

Just as they were moving to selecting fabrics and colors, Florencia arrived with a nervous looking Bonifatius on her arm. “Clothes do not usually create a social event,” Bonifatius was muttering.

“Oh, you will see. It is great fun. Brunhilde and I always enjoy our time,” Florencia coaxed.

“So this is not one of her important duties?” he questioned. Before Florencia could reply they were noticed.

“Greetings!” Melchior called and abandoned the wool to hurry over. “Granduncle! We did not expect you but are delighted you’re here.”

Bonifatius and Florencia immediately paused their discussion and turned to the small bundle of excitement hurtling towards them. Melchior stood carefully in one of his favorite poses and waited for comments on his sparkling person.

“Greetings, my dear. I see you found use for your faestones and is this your ordonnanz bracelet?” Florencia said. Melchior’s smile blossomed under her praise and he swiftly began explaining his creative process while leading them into the room. Florencia listened but waited closer to the door. She surveyed the room, noticing the spring wools which were more green than blue and a greater assortment of embroidery samples than she usually asked for. Melchior's chosen tailors, a company from the lower city rather than hired personnel, had all stopped their work and knelt respectfully. He’d neither forgotten the cobbler nor to bring in Florencia's head seamstress to finalize the handover. It was good work.

After noticing her pause Melchior abruptly stopped talking and looked around for what mistake he could have made. There were enough chairs, his guards weren't in an aggressive position, the craftspeople were arrayed in their corner far enough away for any knight to react to strange movements. “Mother?”

“You should continue speaking even if you feel unsure,” she chided gently. She watched with pride as Melchior blushed but didn't shift his expression. He would learn to control such things eventually but this was good progress. “Though it saddens me greatly, I fear I do not have time to commune as we are accustomed. I have accompanied Lord Bonifatius but must return. You seem to have things well in hand,” she said. She glanced towards her seamstress who gave a smile and nod to communicate that everything was well.

Melchior looked at his Granduncle then back to his mother. He was looking forward to showing her all his realized designs and the alterations made to his inherited uniforms. “I see. Thank you for offering what little time you could spare. May Gebordnung bless your endeavors.”

“Thank you, my dear. You must tell me all about things at dinner,” she said before floating out of the room.

Melchior stood rooted to the spot and clutched his new cloak. He hadn't even gotten a chance to thank her for it. “It seems you have her trust,” Bonifatius rumbled, unable to keep watching his grandnephew fight back a pout. “I was eighteen when my mother relinquished control of my clothes to my wife.” It took a moment for this to register with Melchior who immediately turned a questioning look on him. Bonifatius just chuckled and made his way to his seat. “Why don't you go and try on the first things. I will be here with the tea.”

“Oh, yes, of course, Granduncle, you must also be quite busy,” Melchior said with a smile. He allowed his attendants to steer him even while still recovering from his reeling thoughts.

Footnotes

1. That is to say, fast and with little to no warning.^

2. I like to imagine that no one in universe is ever confused by referring to the childhood mana draining device as just “magic tool” because of context or that it has a specific name in their language or that it bares a generic name because it is the proto-magic tool (the first ever refined being as it is just a fancy faestone with extra features) like “spatula” in English. That would make this a joke since Haldis is not confused by what he's referring to except that he can't believe it's possible to outgrow such an object.^

Chapter Text

Granduncle’s Pride

Bonifatius observed the repurposed uniforms with little reaction. They were exactly what he anticipated. The new brewing clothes were a fun novelty with their detachable, dark gray aprons embroidered with mixing sticks and cauldron motifs. Aprons were unusual for scholars in Ehrenfest but he knew other more intellectual duchies swore by them. The collection was exactly what one would expect if a little more colorful than usual for academy uniforms. Bonifatius was beginning to wonder why Lady Brunhilde bothered coming at all when the new uniform was shown.

“Is that not a women's collar?” he asked.

It was cut after the men's fashion with an asymmetrical front panel. The usually understated edge designs had been replaced with a band of dense embroidery in shiny black thread which continued up to and around the neck filling in the entire shape of the collar. It seemed Melchior took his council to heart about not showing his collarbones but had missed something fundamental in that warning. “I thought the method was pretty so we adapted it,” Melchior explained.

“It is not Angriff’s burden to please Kunstzeal,” Bonifatius sighed. Melchior blinked at him with obvious confusion. “As men we do not aspire to beauty.”

“Isn’t it important to look your best?” Melchior pulled at his collar. It wasn’t as tight as some of his other ones but suddenly felt far too restrictive.

Bonifatius shook his head. “We aspire to grandeur, yes, but our aim in dress is to provide stability around which the women may display their ostentatious. We must be more conservative, our innovations slow and understated.”

“Is that why you wear the same styles from history?” Melchior asked with honest curiosity. Neither Sylvester nor Ferdinand changed their styles very much even as new trends emerged. Only when intentionally matching Rozemyne had Ferdinand displayed an entirely new fashion. He’d never really contemplated why before, assuming they just had little interest in new clothing trends.

Bonifatius felt his heart stutter. His clothes were practical and incorporated those new trends which did not reduce freedom of movement. He generally avoided the over abundance of fabric which typified the day; the children believing that just using more fabric was a substitute for fine handicraft, expensive materials, and personal style. No one had ever accused him of dressing “historical”. His elders would scoff at his current dress for its excessive novelty. What could such a young whelp know of “historical” dress anyway?

Melchior took his silence for displeasure. “That is not to say it is not elegant, stately, and grand,” he added.

“Stately!?” Bonifatius sputtered. Who had ever wanted to be called stately. That was like being called “dowdy” or worse “distinguished”.

Melchior shrank into himself under the intense fall of his gaze. “I believe the uniform fits well, my lord,” Zargerecht swept in and bundled him away to change before he could say anything else devastating. He offered Lord Bonifatius an empathetic smile, momentarily grateful he had no grandchildren to judge him for his own lack of innovation in dress.

Melchior continued to show off his winter wardrobe, his smile growing increasingly forced as Bonifatius looked increasingly worried. His grandnephew was just as adorable as promised but many of his clothing choices were clearly derived from either Charlotte or Rozemyne's fashion. His old winter clothes, the ones which Florencia had ordered that had been altered for a second year of wear, were all properly blue and boyish. Anything new, which Melchior had commissioned himself, was in feminine purples and reds and incorporated elements which were popular in his sister’s clothing. There was nothing so daring as a bubble skirt and all the cuts were appropriate if a touch mature for Melchior’s age, but in nothing could the influence of either his father, brother, or granduncle be seen.

The most egregious offenders were the formal robes he intended to wear to the feasts and academy events. It used the new dyeing techniques resurrected by Rozemyne and swallowed the nervous little boy in deep purple which transitioned to red, came in two pieces, and sported an embroidered collar with flames and flowers which extended out across his tiny shoulders. The overtunic boasted enough fabric in the back to mimic the cloak he couldn’t wear with the outfit, reminiscent of a rarely seen but well remembered look of Brunhilde’s, and was even closed with decorative tapes so he could still wear his white flower brooch with rainbow stamens.

By this point, Lord Bonifatius wore a dark look while Melchior and his retinue stepped around lightly. “It reminds me of something Rozemyne once wore,” he said. Melchior’s face brightened at what he believed to be high praise. Normally, it would be, but it seemed that Florencia and Brunhilde had not done well enough to explain how and to what extent it was appropriate to emulate her.

He turned away from Melchior to glower at the boy’s retainers. Most met his gaze without flinching except for Zargerecht, who paled, and the little scholar girl who glared right back. Though that was a commendable fierceness, it absolutely wasn’t the correct reaction. “How have you been advising my grandnephew? Do none of you have the wisdom Wiegemilch grants to all³.”

The room remained silent, the commoners kneeling and hanging their heads. Bonifatius ignored them. They were merely following orders and could not be expected to understand the nuances of noble custom. No, it was the fault of Melchior's adult retainers, attendants especially. Bonifatius turned his gaze on Haldis who raised his eyebrows in question. The cheek! “You must know how this looks?! Have you abandoned your duties?!”

“My duties are to my lord,” Haldis replied.

“Then how do you justify this insult?”

Melchior looked around with confusion. He’d seen Bonifatius upbraid other people's retainers on a few occasions, anytime he felt they failed to guide their charges. The only person he hesitated to chastise was Lady Ridyarda but anyone else would be swiftly and sharply reprimanded for mistakes he witnessed. It was just that Melchior could not see what mistake his retainers had supposedly made. How could he defend them when he didn't understand why they were being attacked?

He stood in his new formal wear feeling increasingly unsettled. They were the culmination of his most recent fashion obsessions. He’d been very excited about it but his Granduncle had looked at it with derision. What's so wrong with it, he wondered anxiously.

Lord Bonifatius did not give a clear explanation. “Ordoshnelli does not fly on mild pretense⁴,” he boomed.

Zargerecht stepped forward. “Lord Bonifatius, we have found no reason to stymie the inspiration of Kunstzeal as the Goddess of Light approves her ministrations. Even fair Flutrane speaks in his favor. With all the support of the heavens, what duty have we failed to discharge⁵?”

“Do you really hate it so much?” Melchior whimpered before he could stop himself. Only with great effort did he resist physically covering his mouth like a much younger child. Bonifatius’s gaze snapped to him, the same sharp glare not lessened despite Melchior's obvious distress.

“It is not my opinion that matters. I see only the blazing sun, flowing water, and floating breezes venerated here. Some would assume you have no regard for the night and fire⁶.”

Melchior's distress morphed back into confusion. Why would anyone think he didn't respect his father and brother just because he didn't dress like them? They had no active fashion trends to emulate and neither had any particular interest in clothing beyond its utility. Wilfried always wore only exactly what was correct for the moment. While Sylvester looked more impressive, it was only because his position as Aub demanded it. Perhaps he would care more if he had more time to care but at the moment, basing his clothes on their style would mean just doing the usual thing which wasn't particularly fun.

“I respect Father and Brother but they have no fashion to follow,” Melchior argued. It was the same for Florencia whose imprint was also absent though Bonifatius didn't seem worried about that. Melchior's confusion deepened.

“Come sit,” Bonifatius ordered.

Melchior shuffled over in his finery and sank into a chair. “Following a trend means supporting the originator of that trend. If you would like to support your sisters and mother, you should encourage your female retainers to emulate them. If you take on that burden yourself, you will not be able to support the men's trends as you aught,” Bonifatius explained candidly.

“What men’s trends?” Melchior asked. The only one he knew of was attached to Ferdinand and the only clothing advice Wilfried had ever given him was to support more Ehrenfest trends and not wear women's shoes.

Bonifatius gave a heavy sigh. “You gaze too much into the flowerbeds instead of the fire⁷,” he said matter of factly. “As I said before, they are more understated. Sylvester has debuted several new soutache patterns and changed the shoulder shape of his surcoats.”

Melchior frowned in thought. He could not remember such small details of his father's clothes. “I will have to pay closer attention,” he muttered. Pepin placed his tablets down before him, reminding Melchior that his formal clothes had no pockets. “Oh did we ask for pockets? Can they be finished in time?”

Before the conversation could drift, Bonifatius cut in again. “Have you prepared anything else for the Feast Celebrating Winter?”

Melchior paled. His clothes were so expensive and had taken more than a season to finish. “Was I supposed to?”

“This will stir talk,” Bonifatius declared.

To Bonifatius's surprise this caused Melchior to relax. Everything he did seemed to stir up “talk” so Melchior wasn't all that worried. He would rather people talked about his clothes than most other things nobles at the winter feasts tried to talk to him about.

“We have prepared answers to their questions,” Haldis explained. “My lord's wardrobe aligns with his intentions.”

Bonifatius grew grave but resigned. They did not have enough alternatives to remove Melchior’s retainers over something like this, not when Melchior was usually rabid in his defense of them and currently happy with the proceedings. It was good for them to support their lord but their foolishness was dangerous. Melchior would be overshadowed by his sister and relegated to vassalage before even entering the fight. People would think him weak.

It would be up to him to provide the guidance others refused. Melchior was smart and hard working, unlike Wilfried at his age. It would be worthwhile to mold him. “Let me see your ideas for spring “ he commanded.

Melchior looked up from his notes with the first genuine smile in some time, guileless in his excitement to share. His scholar showed more trepidation, handing over a curated assortment before he glared her into submission.

The spring designs were much like the winter ones, soft and overly flora. Besides the apparent faux pas that was wearing flower decals in spring, it was altogether too feminine. “This won't do,” Bonifatius began and set about revising the looks into something more reminiscent of Sylvester and Karstedt.

… …

Lord Bonifatius could be a stubborn man, both unflinching in battle and regimented in daily life. By the time he and Melchior were finished redesigning his grandnephew’s spring wardrobe, he was exhausted. It was only three new outfits yet it felt like they had invented armor from scratch then invented the weapons to destroy it then revised the armor given new technology. The young boy had opinions, so many opinions, enough opinions to rival Elvira. He also seemed to enjoy every moment of it babbling endlessly and treating Bonifatius’s pronouncements as mere suggestions, completely unflinching in the face of theoretical criticism where he’d just been cowed by actual critique of his clothes. It was baffling. Bonifatius had been out stubborned by his unrelenting passion, conceding to many choices he would otherwise call unreasonable.

They finished a full quarter bell after fourth bell. Bonifatius was both tired and hungry but Melchior was styling his casual clothes after Bonifatius’s own close-cut style and, most impressively, ordering hidden knife pockets added to every piece in his wardrobe. It would all be worth the effort after he ordered a similar garment for himself and they spent an afternoon together in their matching outfits.

“This was well done,” Bonifatius praised as he looked over one of Melchior's new faestone knives, brewed by his scholars after his escape from their bickering. “You will need to practice throwing and fighting with them.”

“Yes, I know. My knights have added it to our curriculum. They are already planning the layout for the book as well,” Melchior babbled. “We are making one for punching at the moment. Dame Streita normally writes the advanced explanations but we were wondering whether you would be willing to write something for this one since you are the foremost expert on the Ehrenfest hand-to-hand combat style.”

“You are creating a treatise on hand-to-hand combat?” Bonifatius asked.

“Yes? I am drawing pictures to represent the movements, then Dedryck writes tutorials and Dame Streita writes poetry.”

“Poetry?”

“It can be quite flowery.”

“I am curious to see what you create,” Bonifatius said. “And to compare it to the others in my collection.”

“There are more sword manuals?” Melchior asked, his eyes shining.

“Why yes. I commissioned some in my youth so that Adelbert could study from his sickbed. I also have some older examples gifted to me by my grandfather. I will tell Traugott to lend them to you.”

Melchior bounced in his chair with excitement but before he could drive the conversation on, further delaying everyone's meal, Pepin tapped him on the shoulder. “Perhaps you should exchange, both that and other things,” he muttered. In his hands was the potion belt his lord wore nearly all the time.

Bonifatius raised his eyebrow quizzically and waited while realization dawned. “Oh, yes. Thank you, Granduncle. I will send someone to retrieve them and to bring our manuals to you,” he promised. Bonifatius gave a curt nod and heaved a sigh. Before he could begin giving farewells Melchior fished a hand into his proffered pocket putting half the room on edge.

Rather than a poisoned knife or dangerous magic tool, he produced two cloth pouches and set them on the table. From them he produced one five element faestone and one tiny fruit or seed or something. “I have been trading with our whole family. Would you be willing, Granduncle?”

It was easy for Bonifatius to say yes. His mana was of little consequence. He was more worried about the implications of Melchior having mana from two different Aubs. “Have you given your mana to anyone outside of the Archducal family?” he asked, just to be sure. Ehrenfest’s Archducal family had very few closely related archnobles but it was possible that Melchior had been taken in by someone.

“Just Nikolaus,” he replied with an absent minded touch to his hair accessory.

Traugott’s mouth fell open but he didn't say anything. He gave Nikolaus a narrow look before returning to impassivity. Bonifatius only saw Nikolaus shrink into himself but Melchior and his retinue saw it. He considered asking to trade with Traugott but even though they were related in exactly the same way as he and Nikolaus, Melchior didn't know him as well. They’d never even had tea together casually nor could he remember Traugott being invited to dinner though Lamprecht had once come with his wife alongside Karstedt. Perhaps if they became closer acquainted.

This was what he told Isolde after they finally returned to his chambers to eat and review the events. Melchior had recovered some of his enthusiasm while planning his spring wardrobe with Bonifatius, but after having time to think, he was remembering all his other worries and the new ones he’d gained that day.

Melchior liked his clothes. He’d been so proud of finally taking care of things himself and excited to show off. It was true that no one had commented on the political implications but he assumed that was because he wasn't overstepping or making any miss declarations. His mother hadn't seemed to think so but his granduncle did. Sylvester had never once commented on Melchior's clothing, only his hair which Melchior still wore in a style obviously reminiscent of Sylvester.

He touched the silver clip holding his short ponytail together. It would be impossible to represent all the distinct, or indistinct as was the case for some, styles of his family in one outfit. Would it be enough to sprinkle things in across his whole wardrobe? Would it matter which events he wore which clothes too? He would ask Isolde. But when looking towards her to begin asking, he was reminded of the argument between his scholars.

Benedikt did not like being subservient to her. Even Kazmiar was a little unhappy about the arrangement even though he'd suggested it. Flautzeal and Deliroze seemed content considering how Flautzeal deferred to her even before she gained her title and Deliroze hung on her every word. Melchior was also happy with her work.

He still didn't have much for his scholars to do so there wasn't much to coordinate but from what he noticed, there was always a scholar around when he needed one, even when Isolde had business elsewhere. Benedikt had plenty of research time and time to plan his brewing lessons. Flautzeal’s days were split between work and music class in a complicated mix. Isolde's schedule was the most confusing since it contained the bulk of his retinue’s socializing. She had something to attend most afternoons and always brought back notes and gossip.

It felt wrong to take her position away just because his older scholars felt bad about it. Then again, noble society wouldn't be kind to them about losing the post to an underaged girl. Female Archducal scholars were rare already, especially personal scholars. Isolde would be the first female head scholar in several generations. Even though Melchior felt she deserved her place, other nobles would assume his other scholars were deficient rather than that she was exemplary. And, one day, she would marry and retire. That was years away but still an important factor.

Melchior didn't realize how long he’d been staring into space until Kolteruze shook him from his daze. “It is nearly fifth bell. Sigsnyr and Zipporah will be returning soon.”

“Oh,” Melchior said flatly. There was a spark of excitement but it struggled to surface through the bog of his heavier thoughts. “We should prepare to meet them.”

“We can send someone to wait for them and summon them here after they arrive,” Kolteruze suggested.

Melchior shook his head. He’d waited anxiously long enough. “I will go myself.”

“My lord, there is no reason for you to interrupt your day for the sake of your knights,” Kolteruze sighed.

People would talk. Melchior knew that being there to send off his knights was understandable and that he was then expected to gracefully await good news. To welcome them suggested either subservience or a closeness some would call inappropriate. Melchior would argue that these were special circumstances. They had been on sortie not simply away at the conference or school. He probably still needed a better excuse.

“We would not want to lose our recording?” he tried.

Kolteruze held back a giggle at the lack of confidence. His lord was working very hard to think of an appropriate excuse. “That's true. You were not positioned to protect it last time. I would also suggest affecting more confidence when making such declarations,” Both boys looked to Zargerecht who nodded. It was a good enough excuse though they couldn't criticize the Aub’s actions.

“The Archduke may rest assured with you protecting the recording this time. He will not need to deploy his own forces,” he said. Melchior smiled and made for the door in better spirits.

Lord of Darkness

The hallway leading to the teleportation circle was once again free of boxes and poorly lit. All the waiting rooms had been shut and locked again. As many times as he’d traveled down this hallway, Melchior had never felt how forbidding it could be, nor how quiet. It was not as intimidating as approaching his distressed mother, but the dark and quiet seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something to happen.

All that happened this time was Sir Tiedemonn startling Melchior and Gerianne as he peeled himself off the wall where he’d been partially obscured by a pillar. Dedryck chuckled silently since he had both sensed the man and seen him long before they got close.

“Greetings, Lord Melchior. Are you here to collect your knights?”

Melchior calmed his racing heart quickly and returned a smile. “We are here to secure the recording and ensure its safe conveyance,” he replied. “And you? Are you here to greet Sigsnyr?”

“Wh…” Tiedemonn’s response was cut off by the swirl of black and gold sparkles which preceded the appearance of Zipporah and Sigsnyr. They stood on opposite sides of the circle separated by a crate and their luggage.

They seemed shocked to see Melchior accompanied by servants to carry their things. The magic tool was entrusted to Haldis as they left the circle to give greetings. “Dregarnuhr, the Goddess of Time, and Jungereise, the Goddess of Separation, have blessed our threads to be woven together once again,” Sigsnyr intoned with a growing smile.

“May Gluckitat bless us as Greifenchan has blessed us⁸,” Zipporah added.

The teleportation hall erupted into laughs and congratulations. “What was it like?” Gerianne asked as she hurried over to help Zipporah move her things. Help the older girl did not need.

Zipporah patted her head gently. “It was very exciting though I cannot call it fun. Flying so far so fast is exhausting, as was fighting off bahfinstrums.”

“You were attacked by multiple finstrums?!” Gerianne squeaked.

Tiedemonn shook his head. “Bahfinstrum and finstrum are different faebeasts and not related in any way despite their names. Their hooves can be turned into extremely low grade darkness faestones which would be useless if they were any other element.”

“There was a small herd grazing around the gate. I wanted to leave them be but Zipporah was afraid they would attack suddenly after sensing the mana in the recording magic tool,” Sigsnyr explained. He rattled a couple of pouches before finding the one he wanted and presenting Melchior with a dark, mottled faestone. “A shame we couldn't transport such large creatures’ parts but the feastones should have a higher mana capacity than most.”

Melchior held the stone while he and Gerianne stared at it. Unlike most faestones, the divine colors were muted by the smoky haze of abundant darkness and many hairline fractures. He could feel the stone tugging on his mana though it wasn't strong enough to drain it by force like a pure darkness faestone would. Gerianne poked it then pulled her finger back quickly. “It feels hungry. How can you just hold it?”

“The pull isn't that strong,” Melchior replied.

“I disagree but perhaps that is the difference between us,” she said with a shrug.

“Did you just come to greet us, Father?” Sigsnyr asked after breaking away from some over enthusiastic fatherly futzing.

“Yes and no. I also have a summons from the Archduke. He wants to see your recording,” Tiedemonn replied, instantly returning to a serious mein. He produced a wooden board from seemingly nowhere and handed it to Kolteruze. It was not an immediate summons thankfully. Melchior would have plenty of time to enjoy their spoils in the meantime.

“Shall we escort you home, Zipporah?” Tiedemonn asked.

“I shall be returning to the Knights Order. I thank you but there is no need.”

Tiedemonn raised an eyebrow. “You cannot escape the coming of night for very long⁹,” he warned.

“I always have tea prepared,” she said nonchalantly.

With a final glance at Sigsnyr and bow to Melchior she took her things from Gerianne and her leave. Sigsnyr left soon after with a promise to bring his drawings with him the next day. Melchior was left as they began, awkwardly waiting around with Sir Tiedemonn. The man looked more pensive than before though Melchior wasn't sure that wasn't his usual attitude reasserting itself after the excitement.

“I have some business with the knights here, please go ahead,” he said.

“May it not delay you overlong,” Melchior replied before walking away.

Though he finally felt like he could relax now that his friends had returned safe and sound, greeting them hadn't been the most effective distraction. He returned to his room and his usual seat to continue staring into the distance until dinner time compelled him to move again.

… …

The first thing Melchior wanted to do the next day was watch the recording. Unfortunately, he needed to dress and eat. Zargerecht insisted he spend the morning painting as usual while he waited for Zipporah and Sigsnyr. They had the day off so it would be rude for them to appear before third bell. Though he did admit that he wanted to watch with them he was also growing impatient and a full night of sleep had not managed to erase his anxieties as it usually did.

This made it difficult to paint. Currently being depicted was the fifth collection of objects, artfully arranged as though just discarded, that he’d done a test painting of. Some of his retainers had argued that nothing as valuable as a crown would be tossed around but it was meant to represent the sun in the poem so it had to be included. The more artistic retainers politely balked at such a literal interpretation. While Melchior agreed in his heart, he also didn't know what else to paint. Still, none of them were willing to make a solid suggestion for what the piece should be.

As Melchior was putting final touches on the still life and contemplating just embellishing text instead, Dedryck entered with a worried glint in his eyes.

“Ortolf is late, my lord.”

Melchior set down his brush and gave Dedryck his full attention. “Is he not often late?” Melchior asked.

“No, my lord. There are many things on which Ortolf needs improvement but punctuality is not one of them. I ask your permission to seek him out as he has not responded to my ordonnanz.” Melchior gave his permission easily and promised not to leave his rooms before Sebastian arrived to replace Dedryck or he returned himself. Gottschalk offered to go instead but Dedryck waved him off.

Melchior's morning continued quietly. Dedryck returned with Ortolf quickly, leaving the young knight at his post without another word. Haldis spent the morning planning their visit to the Aub to fulfill the summons. The meeting was set for the day after the Winter Coming of Age Ceremony. He also brought several other boards with requests for meetings. Melchior had no idea why most of the people who sent them wanted to talk to him and just set them aside for Isolde to sort through. The only important one, in his opinion, was from Charlotte. She wanted to plan the official handover of her retainers.

“You should write reviews for them,” Haldis suggested. “I recommend one more laudatory set to give to Lady Charlotte, and a more candid set to give to the knights themselves.”

Melchior paled. He hadn't enjoyed writing reviews the previous year. This time, he didn't know the recipients as well so it would be even more difficult to come up with something to say. “Can't I simply prepare a nice speech?” he asked.

“You have acted as their lord for the past three seasons. With that comes the responsibility to oversee their training and growth. Lady Charlotte specifically requested that you prepare. You must give an account of how you utilized their service and improved them.”

Melchior nodded as his shoulders fell. “Eikestine and Cecilia have worked hard. They were even polite in their spying,” he accepted. “I will write what I can. Can I ask Dedryck or Dame Streita to write about their training progress instead?”

“It should be Dedryck if it is not you. And do not forget Helenwig. Charlotte has requested her return as well.”

Melchior couldn't help but frown. He remembered being charged to work with Helenwig at the Royal Academy. It was Charlotte's right to change her mind but he felt sad to lose Helenwig so soon. She seemed to get along with everyone and was a good sparring partner for Nikolaus. Plus she was integral to their plans for finding a successor for Sir Ptolemaus. Would Charlotte take over the search or would they need to coordinate with Helenwig across retinues?

After this long pause to think, Melchior breathed a sigh and bid Haldis continue. The meeting was settled for the afternoon after their meeting with the Aub. Melchior noted it down in his diptych alongside a note to tell Isolde to plan their Quartermaster assistance around the loss of Helenwig. He took a moment to inspect how confident he felt in Isolde's ability to handle this. Though he would feel similarly about Kazmiar, he didn't know that Benedikt could manage things.

Doubts lingered about his competence in socializing, mostly from Isolde complaining, but also because Benedikt simply didn't socialize often or for Melchior. He never attended a tea or Gewinnen gathering to bring back news and observations. Melchior had never ordered it but he’d never ordered Isolde to attend any specific event either. She just did it as part of her work. He asked for information and trusted her to obtain it using her own methods with only the instruction “don't be mean”. Then she brought it back.

“Sebastian would also like to meet with you,” Haldis continued, breaking Melchior out of his thoughts. “He only requests that it be before you leave for the Royal Academy but I think you should not delay overlong.”

“I will have time after the viewing,” Melchior said.

Haldis shook his head. “He would like a more formal sit down, as he is your retainer, the usual lead time is not necessary but it cannot be on the same day.” That would be rather rude. They agreed on the next day for this. That would also give his scholars time to find out what Sebastian wanted to discuss. Melchior decided he would ask Benedikt to find out. It seemed like an easy way to test his skills.

He continued painting as his scholars arrived and took their seats around the table. The attendants set up a large white sheet and a selection of chairs then the recording magic tool on a high table behind the seats with a high stool. Kolteruze had been summoned early to power it as it consumed so much mana that he was the only apprentice capable of using it without backup festones. If Melchior wanted multiple viewings, he would end up having to power it himself.

The anticipation in the room continued to mount as the preparations neared completion until finally the door opened to reveal Zipporah standing alone.

“I see I arrived first,” she said smugly.

“Does it count since you… arrived before the bell?” Isolde asked, her speech cut off by the chiming of third bell. The moment the sound ended the door opened again to admit Sigsnyr. He sauntered in with a winning grin until he saw that Zipporah was already there.

“How!?”

“It matters not,” Melchior interrupted. “You are both here. We can now begin.”

Pepin hurried him into a seat while Kolteruze yawned from his perch. Everyone who wasn't seated moved to be in vision of the presentation. No one so much as glanced at the door keeping servant as she also tiptoed a couple of steps closer. They all leaned in holding their breath in anticipation only to be jumpscared by a very close up shot of Zipporah's face.

Zipporah groaned as her pre-recorded counterpart gawked into the eye of the recording magic tool before taking several large steps back at what must have been Sigsnyr's insistence. She then spent the better part of a minute positioning herself such that she could appear at just the right distance and position to look like she was holding the gate reliefs. Then the picture flashed only to return with her looking annoyed while Sigsnyr walked over to join her.

“I accidentally began recording then when I tried to turn it on I turned it off,” Sigsnyr whispered. Several giggles rippled through the crowd as the two intrepid explorers stood before the monument.

Behind them, the remnants of a skirmish were obvious. Deep furrows and scuff marks littered the area where faebeasts had charged or gone skidding across the ground. A lone bahfinstrum trotted near the gate looking lost without the rest of its herd, then curious about the humans’ proceedings. Sigsnyr and Zipporah paid it no attention while they stood with arms extended presenting the Darkness Gate.

Melchior wasn't exactly sure about his expectations but the monument was beyond them all the same. The large bovine faebeast looked tiny compared to the towering God of Darkness. He stood looking over rolling hills of sand as a flock of giant flying stingrays blotted out the skies. The God of Darkness was usually depicted with long straight hair but this one had shorter and curlier locks bound into some semblance of a braid by dozens of small chains and bands set with jewels. On a real person, they would be impossibly tiny but the large sculpture had plenty of room for decorations. More chains draped from his wrists, around his back, and to a rondel at his nape. There was something distinctly undecorative about these ones. They were thicker and lacked jewel adornments. To finish the picture, the cloak of Darkness rested low on his shoulders displaying the equally low neckline of his tunic. His long, graceful neck was ringed with a torc decorated with magic circles, the only part of the statue which wasn’t bare ivory.

“This is the only monument where the deity depicted is facing away from us,” Sigsnyr explained. “I believe those are the mythical faebeast the speisenrochen.”

“The Lord of Darkness?” Melchior asked.

“Um… yes it is. How do you know that, my lord?” Sigsnyr asked.

The recording flashed again showing the knights standing at the foot of the statue looking up. While smaller than a duchy gate, it still dwarfed human beings. Sigsnyr flew with the magic tool in a slow circle around the outer ring of the monument to show a close up of the sigils for the twelve subordinates of darkness before the view switched again to a final shot of Zipporah and Sigsnyr bowing in front of the gate then went dark.

“Lady Lauriel mentioned it once,” Melchior replied. “She said they are the executors of the Supreme God’s wrath.”

“Seems like an interesting choice for a sacred monument,” Isolde noted. “Do the other gates feature lord beasts too?”

Sigsnyr shook his head. “It’s usually a collection of relevant imagery. Schtzaria is surrounded by food and animals. The Goddess of Light holds a seal and sits on a glowing throne. That sort of thing.”

“What about Eweigliebe?” Gerianne asked, eyes sparkling.

“He doesn’t have a gate,” Benedikt sighed. “It’s the same as the Country Gates.”

“That’s not fair,” she grumbled.

They watched the whirling recordings, including the one of Eglantine which was left in the magic tool when they borrowed it, while discussing whether it was possible to alter them. Zipporah stared into the distance as she imagined the Aub seeing her embarrassing bumbling. No amount of reassurance from Melchior that his father would find it funny more than anything seemed to make her feel better. Sigsnyr promised to try though couldn’t promise success in such a short time frame. The mana requirements for using the tool were too high for casual testing while he was terrified of damaging any of the existing recordings. Zipporah took her leave, alone again, looking resigned.

Once the other superfluous retainers had been sent home or off to training, Melchior was left with all his scholars save for Kazmiar. There didn’t appear to be any special reason for them all being scheduled for his chambers at the same time. He turned to ask Isolde why she orchestrated this only to meet a pointed look. Perhaps it was self-evident that this was an opportunity for him to talk to them but he didn’t feel ready for that.

Instead, he would launch his own experiment. “Benedikt,” he called. Benedikt looked more focused than normal as he set aside his obviously performative studying. “Sebastian has asked to meet me. Can you find out what he wants to talk about?”

Isolde’s mouth opened then shut quickly. Benedikt shot her a mild glare. “Of course, my lord. When are you set to meet?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

He frowned. “That is very soon. I will do my best but more time to work is always beneficial for information gathering,” he replied. Both Isolde and Deliroze looked like they wanted to say something but remained silent.

“Unfortunately, we made our invitation this morning,” Melchior said. Benedikt’s eyes widened with something between horror and confusion. “He is my retainer so the usual waiting period is not necessary.”

“It is not only for waiting, my lord. Much work needs doing between the invitation and meeting,” he chided while putting his papers away. “I will see what information I can collect. Please excuse me for deviating from the schedule.” With that he was gone and Melchior was left wondering whether he’d made the right choice in not delaying his talk with Sebastian. Haldis recommended speaking sooner rather than later but maybe it would be better to add additional meetings to his already busy days so that there was time for proper groundwork.

“Would you like for me to look into it as well?” Isolde asked.

“Not this time,” Melchior said. He glanced at the door where Benedikt had just disappeared. “I do want to know if Ortolf is ok. He was late this morning.”

Isolde smiled and leaned in for a conspiratorial feeling. “It was all the Grochelers could speak of this morning. Supposedly his mother thought the communal hallways the proper forum for a lecture.”

“Did he do something?” Melchior struggled to hold in a scowl. It would have to be something serious for a noble mother to publicly upbraid him. Lady Florencia had never chastised him where those she didn’t trust could see or hear it.

“That I am less sure of,” Isolde admitted. “The ladies I followed into the castle turned down a different hallway. They said something about an invitation not being sent or something.”

“I wonder what the invitation could be for. Ortolf sent one for the Coming of Age Party so it must be for another event,” Melchior mused with a shrug. He looked toward Ortolf who was very obviously straining to hear their conversation. Melchior waved him over.

Upon being asked, Ortolf’s face settled into a teary grimace. “I did tell her about the invitation. Mother didn’t believe I would be invited to a party held by an Archduke Candidate until she arrived and I could show her the invitation board. I embarrassed her by not sending proof before the event so she couldn’t attend.”

“You mean she chose to gamble, not believing it was worth coming to Ehrenfest early even if you happened to be lying nor using other channels to confirm your seemingly fantastic claims,” Isolde sneered.

“It’s ok, Ortolf. I don’t blame you.” Melchior added.

Ortolf looked like he might cry so Isolde shooed him back to his post. “He is too quick to spill secrets,” she muttered while making a note to speak to his mother publicly. The word publicly was underlined three times.

Footnotes

3. Somewhere between are you stupid and “do you have no common sense”^

4. “I don't speak to hear myself talk” or “I expect a response”^

5. “This is what Melchior designed himself and it was approved by both Florencia and Brunhilde who were given authority by Sylvester to oversee Melchior's clothes. Can you accuse us of negligence after acquiring so much support?”^

6. A layered allusion to the members of the Archducal family. Florencia, Brunhilde, and Charlotte then Sylvester and Wilfried^

7. “You're too focused on women and missing the influence of other men.”^

8. Gluckitat gives boons to those who overcome trials. She’s saying they had the good fortune, from Greifenchan, to complete their task so they’re owed a boon from Gluckitat^

9. Your dad will want to talk to you and you can't avoid him forever.^

Chapter Text

Sebastian’s Worries

Benedikt returned the following morning, just before midday, with little information. “I spoke with Sebastian. He would only say that he wishes to discuss the future.”

“I see. Did anyone else have anything to add?” Melchior asked. He couldn't help comparing the sparse report to the overly detailed ramblings he was used too. A confusing urge to ask what they’d been wearing during the conversation bubbled up and was swiftly tamped down. “Did you talk to Fonsel? Is it connected to their argument?”

Benedikt blinked in surprise. He looked down at his hands which were conspicuously absent of notes. “I do not think Sir Sebastian would appreciate one talking around him about something so personal.”

Before Melchior could respond, Isolde exploded. “Why should Lord Melchior care what he thinks? He has requested a meeting, he understands what that entails. It is your job to find the information your lord asked for. If you think Sebastian’s negative opinion of your methods will affect talks adversely, then you keep them secret, you don't just neglect to obtain the information requested. You … how could you be so…” she held back her insult with what looked like great effort.

It did not make much difference in Benedikt’s response. “How dare you! Is it not enough to flaunt your ill gotten post in private, you would now undermine me before our lord!”

Melchior huddled into his chair between them, their raised voices sending spirals of panic down his spine. He tried to follow the argument but found his mind going fuzzy while his ears rang. Why were they fighting? Nothing was wrong! Nothing should be wrong. Hadn't they just been conversing calmly just a moment ago? He needed to listen to what they were saying. Kazmiar said it was his job to meditate and Pepin said he shouldn't prevent all conflict but let people fight until they said what was important. Yes, he needed to listen to what they were saying but why were they saying it so loudly and couldn't they all just sit down with some tea and calmly present their sides. Why were they fighting? Was it because he’d already failed to maintain order? What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to do? What could he do to make it stop!?

“Lord Melchior!” Haldis cried. He abandoned the lunch cart halfway into the room to hurry over and kneel in front of the stunned looking boy. Isolde and Benedikt fell silent, their bickering forgotten. Melchior's chest heaved with restrained sobs as tears quietly slid down his face. Haldis glared at the scholars, both the older pair and the younger pair who were also huddled into themselves unsure what to do and frightened.

“I’m sorry,” Melchior whispered. “I… I tried to listen. I don't know what to do? I…”

“Come with me,” Haldis said and pulled Melchior to his feet. He looked over his shoulder as they made their way through the door to the bedchamber. “I expect better behavior going forward. You are all dismissed for today.”

Without waiting for his order’s to be obeyed, they quickly made their way to Melchior’s hidden room and went inside. With a handkerchief in one hand and his magic tool in the other, Melchior continued to cry quietly. There was only the one chair so Haldis chose to kneel. “What is wrong, my lord?”

At first, Melchior said nothing, choosing instead to focus on the lack of scenery through his fake window while he filled the magic tool. Just as he’d mentioned earlier that week, it was filled completely in short order. Haldis watched it flash, ready to speak up before the distracted boy could accidentally destroy it but Melchior noticed immediately and set it down. He grabbed a good sized box from the shelf and popped it open to reveal a dozen shining, full faestones. This was, apparently, a bad thing as it only brought on more tears.

“My lord, this is not a bad thing,” Haldis cooed.

“I can't control my emotions and I can't get rid of my mana and my retinue is falling apart. I can't do anything about anything,” Melchior wept. His breath began to catch on sobs even as he closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths.

“Lord Melchior, everything is not going to fall apart,” Haldis reassured him. Melchior kept his eyes closed. “Look at me, Lord Melchior.”

He shook his head. “I can't. I can't hurt you too.”

So the mana was a much bigger problem than I originally assumed, Haldis thought. He looked through a couple more boxes but only found more full faestones and lots of drawings. The panic was beginning to mount as Melchior started to leak light blue. Though Haldis sorted through everything with the practiced speed of a first rate attendant, every faestone he found was replete with power. “Fear not, my lord,” he said with more confidence than he felt, “There are many more things in your chambers which could use some mana.”

At first Melchior resisted leaving his hidden room while he was still crying but eventually allowed himself to be led around his room to various magic tools with any amount of storage. “Add a bit of mana to this very slowly,” Haldis coaxed. They didn't want to break anything as that was liable to make Melchior even more distressed but the need to drain his power grew with each passing moment.

Zargerecht entered looking calm but shot Haldis a questioning look. “We are draining mana into the reservoir which the lights draw from. Normally we rely on the foundation but there is an option to use various magic tools stored within your rooms as well,” Haldis said. He hoped he sounded calm. With his eyes closed, Melchior couldn’t see how worried he was and he didn’t want to increase his stress by seeming like he was losing control of the situation even though they were rapidly losing control of the situation.

Zargerecht nodded his understanding and produced a mana resistance bag. Inside was a large black faestone which was enough to draw off the glow surrounding Melchior but seemingly not enough to fully contain the crisis. As it turned to dust in his hands, Melchior's eyes flew open with a whimper.

“That is what it's for, my lord. Now we shall have enough gold dust for Reunwalt,” Zargerecht said with a gentle smile as he moved the bag to collect the falling sands.. Like its own kind of magic, Melchior relaxed immediately. He dumped the powder into the sack with his first smile since all this began. “We are also always in need of hot water. Why don't we make some for downstairs.”

Melchior used the pitcher to carefully but very quickly fill his tub then a bluestone ring to heat it in the least efficient way possible. Both having something “useful” to think about and the drained mana helped him recover.

Haldis sank into the nearest chair, his own heart hammering in his chest. “Thank you Zargerecht.”

“Verbergan keeps a special roll for Weigmilch⁹,” he replied with a nod. “May I ask what brought this on.”

“Benedikt is upset that Isolde is my head scholar and feels like she’s using her position to be mean to him. Isolde thinks he's bad at socializing and information gathering and he refuses to take her advice. I think she was also calling him names but is trying to stop while he has been very critical of her work and reorganizes her notes. I'm not sure that's why they were fighting though,” Melchior explained. Before Haldis could give a proper, succinct account.

“You said you didn't know what to do but you seem to have a strong handle on the facts,” Haldis said.

“Do I? I haven't asked them about it yet. I was too excited for the viewings and my fitting and worried about Sigsnyr and Zipporah. Was I too complacent?” Melchior asked.

Neither attendant answered immediately. Melchior took their hesitation for confirmation. His shoulders sagged and he looked ready to begin crying all over again. “I would not call it complacency, Lord Melchior,” Zargerecht said quickly. “It sounds like you have had a harrowing week but said nothing of your distress. You are rather skilled at hiding your negative emotions or else they were occluded by your dissatisfaction with painting. It shames me to say that I was unaware you felt so awful.”

“It isn’t your fault, Zargerecht. I was ok, just anxious,” Melchior insisted. The large tub of water seethed and steamed as if to voice its incredulity.

Zargerecht took the bluestone water heater out of his hands and pulled the plug on the bathtub. The water would flow to the lower level where the servants could use it for their own washing. The piping hot, fresh water would be quite the luxury, Zargerecht mused. “Now that you have brought this to our attention, we will also need time to give it proper consideration. Let us have lunch and your meeting with Sebastian. It will be convenient to then convene a council of your adult retainers so that we can discuss this and anything else you are worried about.”

Melchior nodded and plastered on his usual smile. Only the redness of his eyes gave any hint he’d recently been emotional. As proud as Zargerecht wanted to be, he could only share a tired glance with Haldis. Florencia’s son would naturally be skilled at hiding his feelings. Sylvester’s would naturally have too many feelings to contain. Woe to anyone trying to help him through them.

… …

When Melchior exited his bedchambers he found that all of his apprentices had been replaced by adults. Even Pepin was gone though he would have liked to bring him to the meeting with Sebastian. He contemplated recalling Pepin all through the walk to the meeting room. They were using one in the Northern Building for added privacy.

Kazmiar was already inside puttering around, looking under and behind things. He paused to greet Melchior then continued whatever he was up too.

“He is looking for spying magic tools,” Haldis explained.

“Is that a concern?” Melchior asked. There were very few people who even had access to these rooms. He didn't think Charlotte would feel the need to place spying devices.

Kazmiar answered from across the room his voice slightly muffled as he leaned behind a cabinet storing tea cups of Archducal children past. “It would be a shame for the exuberant games of youth to be stripped of their innocence¹⁰.” When he stood back up his sleeve was coated in a light striping of dust. He also held a small faestone in a tarnished silver holder with sharp pokey bits on one side. “I do not think Lady Charlotte placed this one. Nor does it have any power left.” He dropped it into a mana-proof bag which he secreted away with a shrug. With a final sweep using his mana, he declared the room secure.

Melchior shivered as the mana ghosted over him. “Do you think it will have an old recording on it?”

Kazmiar took his seat a little behind Melchior and pulled out a wooden board. “It will depend what type it is, if it even was for listening, and whether it has degraded too much over time. I will let you know what I discover.”

With this promise the room descended into silence. After a short wait, Sebastian arrived wearing his knight uniform. He knelt, “I offer greetings on this day ordained by the harsh judgement of Ewiegliebe the God of Life and thanks for agreeing to this meeting.”

“I accept your greetings. Please do not feel gratitude. You are always welcome to speak with me, Sebastian,” Melchior replied and gestured for him to take the seat on the other side of the table. Sebastian looked confused by this invitation for a moment but otherwise wasted no time in sitting at one of the several seats. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

“May I speak freely, my lord?”

“Always.”

Sebastian gave a single chuckle. “I don't know how I never noticed. You are so casual with your retainers. Such a thing would only be allowed for one raised as a vassal.” Melchior held back a flinch at his sharp tone. “My lord, do you wish to rule?”

Immediately, a memory of Ferdinand asking the same question surfaced in Melchior's mind. Just like that time, the question seemed to carry a weight far beyond itself. “I wish to support Charlotte in taking the seat.”

Sebastian frowned and tapped the table with a knuckle. “Have you always felt thus?”

“For as long as I can remember. There was a brief period where I resolved to support Brother and Rozemyne but my ambition has remained the same fundamentally.”

“I see. It seems I’ve been bamboozled,” Sebastian sighed. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “I was asked to serve you, to see you safely enrobed in the dark cloak until either you or I ascended the towering stairway.”

“Did Lord Wilfried make this request?” Kazmiar asked. Sebastian nodded but didn't look down. “Is this your ambition?”

“I wanted to serve the Aub or else the heir. Herzfeld has struggled to maintain a strong connection with the Aub for a long time. I am the strongest knight in several generations, a boon we are unlikely to achieve again soon.”

“And you have few women so placing a female attendant would be difficult,” Melchior added. Sebastian gave another nod. Melchior stared at him. Having visited Herzfeld and met Sebastian’s family, he felt awful for tearing him away on false pretenses. “I cannot promise that either Father or Sister will accept you but I can make a recommendation,” he offered.

Everyone stiffened. Sebastian's head snapped down, his eyes full of surprise and horror. “My lord, I would not forsake the vow I made to you. I will continue to serve as I promised.”

“Even if your vow was made under false assumptions?” Melchior pressed. He didn't want to lose more retainers but he wanted to keep them against their will even less.

Sebastian took a moment to prepare his words. “You have never been false, I was blind to the truth,” he began, then wiped a hand down his face and shook his head. “It is a strange thing to say, but I find myself feeling conflicted. I want to support my province but I also wish to serve you. Perhaps I was mistaken in the beginning, but my service to you has not been a mistake. I will not break my vows so long as you will have me.”

“I will never be Aub Ehrenfest but I hope to remain worthy of your loyalty,” Melchior replied with a smile. Sebastian just stared at him for a long moment before nodding sharply.

“Do you have any more concerns?” Kazmiar asked.

“No, my heart and mind are in agreement. Though… I should apologize to Fonsel. You were correct and I was not paying attention.”

Fonsel tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Are you no longer fighting then?” Melchior asked.

“I believe we are reconciled, yes,” Sebastian said.

Melchior breathed a heavy sigh. It was only one conflict resolved and a small one but it was good that fewer of his retainers were at odds. “Then we may move on to the next problem at hand,” Kazmiar said. Sebastian looked surprised, doubly so as everyone except for Fonsel took a seat. “My lord, I was told you require counsel.”

With so many adults watching him, Melchior suddenly felt very small. “I… the scholars are having… a clattering of spears¹¹.”

“More like a chattering of lips. Isolde and Benedikt cannot pass three words between them at a respectful volume,” Kazmiar elaborated. “However, I do not think the content of their bickering is the true problem at hand.”

“It is the brooches,” Dedryck concluded with a knowing nod.

“Ah! It was curious that the intensity has increased all of a sudden. It has been an internal matter thus far,” Zargerecht replied. “This does not excuse the behavior. Perhaps it is time to address the heightened emotionality of all the children when they enter Lord Melchior's rooms.”

“They’re just comfortable there, a state our lord likes. No need to be so uptight about it,” Fonsel countered.

“They are setting a bad example. It is not how retainers should behave while working and will begin to bleed out into more public interactions,” Zargerecht said.

Fonsel and Zargerecht smiled at each other blandly. Haldis waved aside their conversation. “We can and will continue to discuss that for many years. In this moment we must consider how this escalation is affecting Lord Melchior. We also need a new emergency response to his surges in mana. They will only grow larger and more frequent before he gains his schtappe and greater maturity.”

“I believe I will have fewer outbursts going forward, not more,” Melchior interrupted. He would certainly try.

They all turned to look at him as though having forgotten he was there. “The summer of life is generally the most intense,” Haldis said with a smile. “It is an unfortunate reality which we all have endured. The next few years will feel the most tumultuous of all.”

“Take it from one who did it, I can't say how many times I flailed around in my hidden room, beset by summer storms, only to look back and realize the situation was not that serious,” Fonsel chuckled.

“That's unfortunately true,” Dedryck sighed.

“I would not say I flailed but there was a great deal of emotion.” Haldis said.

Kazmiar blushed. “It was a… rather I was beset by…”

Zargerecht cut him off with a stern shake of his head. “They only speak for themselves. I was a perfectly reasonable young man of mild temper. It is possible and worth striving for, my lord.”

“It is this country's greatest tragedy that no one yet remains who can contradict you,” Fonsel teased. “Every…”

“How could you say such a thing!” Melchior cried. His eyes grew wide then hard. Zargerecht didn't look upset by the words but that was no guarantee that he wasn't. “Do not be mean to Zargerecht.”

The mirth of the moment dissipated. “It was only a joke, my lord,” Fonsel insisted.

Melchior only scowled deeper. “Tragedy is no joking manner. Apologize.”

Fonsel sputtered for a moment before setting his face into a serious expression and turning to Zargerecht. “My words were in poor taste. I apologize, Lord Zargerecht. I will be more sensitive in the future.” Zargerecht only nodded his acknowledgment but Haldis leaned forward to get Melchior’s attention.

“I believe Fonsel was referring to his advanced age, my lord. We would not call that a tragedy would we?”

Melchoir’s thoughts stalled for a moment. If that were true then he had turned a simple joke into an insult in his haste. “I… I’m sorry Zargerecht. I think it is good that you have lived so long.”

Fonsel’s nostrils flared as he tried to restrain fresh laughter. Zargerecht just put on a warm smile. “I am inclined to agree. There is no need to further dwell on the matter. It is my official recommendation that you do not announce Lady Isolde as your head scholar.”

“I wasn’t planning to make an announcement. Was I supposed to?” Melchior asked.

Haldis raised an eyebrow. “You were not going to give her the appropriate brooch?”

“That would constitute an announcement when your retinue debut’s at the feast,”Kazmiar explained.

“I never considered that.”

“It seems like what Benedikt is actually worried about, though why he struggles to come out and say it is a mystery,” Dedryck said.

“Ah! You’re confused by a mum mouth?” Fonsel teased.

Dedryck smiled flatly. “Do I ever fail to give proper reports? This affects more than just our scholars’ pride.”

“Is it really so important? Would anyone even notice something like that just from looking at brooches?” Melchior questioned. All the anxiety he’d just shed with the resolution of Sebastian’s problems was coming back. The position of head retainer was important, this he knew, but he didn’t know why everyone seemed so grave. “Does it affect the knights and attendants’ pride as well?”

“Not as such,” Zargerecht answered but didn’t elaborate, much to Melchior’s consternation. “It is very likely that young Benedikt does not know precisely why he is so worried all of a sudden. What is obvious to Anhaltung may be obscured before mortal men¹². Such talk would also approach open criticism of Lord Melchior. The decision of how to bestow your favor is your own.”

“I wouldn’t be angry if he asked about it,” Melchior mumbled.

“The problem remains that he did not ask in a respectful way. He has been venting his dissatisfaction in a most immature manner,” Zargerecht continued. “I see no reason to reward his behavior with advancement. Kazmiar has served you dutifully for many years. He seems, to me, the obvious choice.”

Kazmair shook his head with a pained expression. “I am the High Priest and my lord, the High Bishop. Our work in the temple is crucial to the wellbeing of the duchy and cannot be compromised by distractions. In some ways it is more important than our lord’s work in the castle where his primary industry is being a child. The only reason I suggested Isolde in the first place is because of the unique nature of Lord Melchior’s retinue. She is the closest to being answerable to the task than any of the other apprentices.”

“Closest, but not fully qualified,” Fonsel huffed. “And in as few as five years she will retire, wasting all that time in training, causing instability.”

“That isn’t necessarily true,” Dedryck countered. “It is the thing in Ehrenfest to leave society almost entirely but the Sovereignty, in this at least, is more flexible. Women keep their place but fall into a more auxiliary position. They remain available and loyal through their childbearing years.”

“Well the king can afford to pay superfluous retainers,” Fonsel said.

Haldis raised an eyebrow. “I would never call a lady superfluous.”

“Well not to her face,” Fonsel returned.

“Good lords, we are leaving the topic,” Zargerecht called as though addressing a room of children. “You know my opinion, my lord. What say the rest of you?”

A pensive quiet descended. Melchior glanced around hoping to glean something from people’s expressions. He found very little except trepidation. “I know she is your friend, my lord…” Fonsel began.

“Isolde does not have friends,” Sebastion interrupted.

“I am her friend,” Melchior declared. Whether she was his was her own choice.

“As I was saying,” Fonsel said with an eye roll. “You should not allow your emotional attachments to make the decision for you. Be logical. Is a fourteen year old girl the best choice for your head scholar?”

Melchior was going to say yes, that he was happy with her work thus far but Haldis spoke up before he could. “I don’t think that is the primary concern. As Dedryck said, it is not just your scholar’s pride, my lord, which is in question. To nominate Isolde is to claim that Isolde is capable of similar work to my father and the other archducal head scholars. That is simply untrue. She is too young, unseasoned, and lacks the experience of an adult scholar’s work.”

“But my work isn’t as hard as everyone else's,” Melchior argued. “So my scholar doesn’t need to be as skilled.”

Dedryck, Sebastian, and Kazmiar all frowned as one. “Your head scholar should be able to match wits with the other archducal scholars or you will be taken advantage of,” Sebastian said. “It is only your due as an Archduke Candidate to have competent retainers to assist you.”

“There simply aren’t any unattached scholars of that caliber,” Kazmiar sighed. “Nor could we guarantee the most important thing a head scholar must be: absolutely trustworthy and loyal.”

Melchior considered this for a moment. He couldn’t think of any adult archscholars who would join his service. They had already had the chance to anyway. Those he had originally left to serve either Wilfried or Sylvester. There was, perhaps Lady Elvira but she had no reason to pledge her loyalty to him. There was little to gain aside from an official title which she didn’t seem to need to carry out her work in printing.

“Do you trust Isolde?” Zargerecht asked, cutting though his thoughts. He felt like he did but he also remembered her saying that she was “loyal” because she believed that was how a scholar should act not that she felt deep fealty to Melchior himself. Maybe she was secretly selling his secrets but it didn’t seem like it.

“Yes?”

“You should feel absolutely sure,” Haldis said. “As you are not, and even if you were, I would not recommend making such an announcement. Those who intimately know your retinue and position might understand the choice but the vast majority of people will see it as an insult to the office of head scholar as well as a declaration concerning the lack of candidates. That would expose a great weakness for the archducal family.”

Melchior hung his head. The idea of having the first female head scholar sounded cool. It would be a nice sentence to add to his biography one day. Then his descendants would find his genealogical entries amusing and want to inherit his things. For the time being he would have to settle for keeping Isolde as his head apprentice and forgo naming an official head scholar.

Longing to Embrace

The Winter Baptism preparations had gone smoothly despite Lothar missing his usual assistant. Once again, Melchior perched over the Temple's back gate to watch the procession of children. It filled his heart with great joy to see all the little kids tottering down the main street. He saw one little girl being carried on her father's shoulder and a little boy whose white and red clothes were supposed to be resist dyed but just looked pink with darker pink blotches. Most kids wore flowers in some permutation though the girls had a greater number and size of blooms in general.

There was something amazing about how tiny they all were despite being only a few years younger than himself. Had he ever been so small and clumsy? How could people still think he was adorable when such tiny bundles existed in the world?

The flight to the back door and journey to the chapel was not as panicked as before. He now knew how long to delay before leaving and charted a more efficient route. It took him past the orphanage which once again brought to mind the dearth of blessings gray clergy received. Though there was intense opposition to introducing blessings for their baptisms and coming of age, perhaps he could invent a new ritual just for them. He hadn’t managed to invent many new rituals yet nor to introduce noble society to any. As there were no pockets in his ceremonial robes yet nor time to scribble a reminder note about sorting through the archives for appropriate candidates, he whispered to Gerianne to remind him before they went to perform the ceremony.

Melchior gave a perfectly modest blessing using his own mana. Once the red and white sparkles finished falling, the new tiny people tottered away with many waves. “Thank you Little Bishop!” some attempted to yell but only managed to whisper. Melchior offered a bright smile and slight tip of his head before leaving.

After the ceremony, he had his first non-Sheila meal in the temple in quite a long time. His commoner chef’s presented a bacon wrapped squash which, while delicious and beautifully plated, lacked the complexity of flavor he was now used to. The fluffy bread was also different in a way he would never be able to pinpoint. It was still delicious when dipped into the rich, meaty soup. Ultimately he enjoyed it though not as much as Sheila’s cooking. Keeping his criticism to himself, his chefs went away with proud smiles.

After lunch was a brief meeting with Wil, where he delivered the finally finished ceramic animals. Melchior looked over the collection, comparing his work to Lyle’s and his collaboration with Flautzeal, and felt a sudden flash of competitiveness. Sure, Lyle had more time to practice and easier access to the clay but Melchior felt he could get just as good. He was already better at painting. This made the final products look hilarious with their malformed bodies and highly detailed decorations, but it was proof that Melchior had the potential to be better. He was older, he should be better. A devious plan began to form. Lyle would have less time to sculpt if he had better access to paper and paint. Would it be wrong to sabotage his ceramic career through gifts of charcoal and pencils?

This malicious feeling dissipated under the force of Lyle’s joy and praise. “We should make a figure together too. I like the one you did with Flautzeal! Think how wonderful our work would be! I can spend all winter perfecting a figure and you could paint it and it would be the most perfect of anything we’ve done!” It was hard to disagree with that or to remain upset after buying a wonky eyed effinit. Lyle tried to argue that it should be a gift alongside all the other animals he’d made to help get the numbers up for Henriette, but Melchior insisted. He suggested leaving the rest of Lyle’s figures in the orphanage. He did not speak about Henriette being unable to judge his own gifts against the superior version if no superior versions were presented.

Isolde took her new stamp home with a bright smile. It would not leave as clear an impression as a metal stamp might but she could now seal letters with her personal brand. Flautzeal attempted to look unimpressed with his work but accepted the wonky collaborative creation and the only tile he allowed to have vitrified all the same. If he displayed it prominently in his hidden room as soon as he got home, that was for no one else to know.

… …

The next day began with another morning viewing of the Darkness Gate recording. When Melchior arrived in the meeting room near the Aub’s office, he found two of his siblings sitting and chatting alongside Sylvester. Those retainer’s of his who’d missed seeing the viewing the day before were accompanying him along with Nikolaus who’d been specifically requested. With all of them and most of the rest of his family's retinues in that same room, it was a very tight fit. He settled in snuggly between Charlotte and Wilfried and spread out the paper materials.

They spent some time looking at Sigsnyr’s collection of drawings of the gates and marveling at how his drafting skills had improved over the years. There was little personality to these drawings but they were highly detailed. The only exception was Geduldh’s gate which had one extremely shaky rendering and one smoother but much less detailed sketch.

“I had to draw with my gauntlets on and very quickly before I could freeze to death,” Sigsnyr explained. Tiedemonn, who almost never directly guarded Sylvester but had made a special exception for the day, grumbled something about that being news to him. Sigsnyr blushed and continued to give highly abbreviated accounts of his adventures.

“The depiction of the gods is rather strange, don’t you think,” Charlotte noted. “The Goddess of Light’s hair is usually not depicted so, pointily.” There was really no other way to describe the triangles issuing from her head in a child’s approximation of the sun. They were textured to look like hair and each appeared to be wrapped around a jeweled hair ornament so there was no mistaking it for anything else. Somehow it didn’t clash with the crown either.

“Leidenschaft looks kind of small,” Wilfried said. Compared to the flames, trees, and weapons depicted, Leidenshaft looked shorter than he usually did. He was also narrower with his armor only accentuating his slimness and the only god with visible toes as he was wearing sandals. Only Sylvester seemed to find this as funny as Melchior.

They watched the recording. Melchior was greatly amused by so many solemn knights getting spooked by the sudden appearance of Zipporah’s giant face. Everyone silently agreed to ignore this and continued to watch quietly until the gate was unveiled. The whole room gasped except Wilfried who wracked with a full body shiver and stood halfway up before remembering himself. “Why are there so many?”

“So many what, Dear Brother?”

“So many of those… things. The cape creatures. Just one is terrifying.” Melchior and Charlotte stared at him while he failed to settle back into a regal detachment. Melchior pressed a comforting hand on his arm which he didn’t shake off immediately. With much coaxing he was convinced to say where he’d seen a speisenrochen. While “over the wall” was not terribly specific, everyone understood which wall he meant. The creature was supposed to be a mere legend. A darkness faebeast of such magnitude would cause irreparable destruction wherever it went. But if it was beyond the wall, there was very little chance of it getting inside and there for no reason to be so terrified.

Wilfried refused to speak more on the subject so they finished the recording in silence. There were some more oohs at the sheer scale of the gate once the close ups played and a few scholars leaned in to try to read the magic circles on the torc. Sigsnyr hadn't lingered over them so no one had time to glean very much. That would take repeat viewings for which none had the mana to waste.

Once the viewing was complete, the general assembly was left to debate the bahfinstrum fight and Sigsnyr’s other exploits while Sylvester, Karstedt, Melchior, and Nikolaus withdrew to the office. The room was in such pristine organization that it clearly hadn't been used yet that day. Melchior paused at his usual lecture chair but Sylvester walked past his desk to the tapestry covering the mana replenishment hall. Melchior followed dutifully, feeling relieved that no lecture was incoming.

He entered through the iridescent portal after Sylvester as he had on only a few other occasions. More often he’d performed mana replenishment with his siblings. The inner chamber was the same as always, though now lacking the insulting pouch of faestones Melchior used during the Archduke’s conference. Sylvester walked right over to his spot and knelt down. “I need to do mana replenishment. I thought you might be willing to join me.”

Melchoir smiled and hurried over to Geduhld’s red station. This was his chance to prove he could perform replenishment on his own. He knelt primly and prepared to begin chanting.

Sylvester smirked. “You aren’t curious as to why I’ve suddenly brought you to help?” he asked.

“I am sure it’s a good reason. I’m happy to help anytime, Father.”

Sylvester looked sorely tempted by the offer but ultimately shook his head and didn't begin plans for regular extraction. They began chanting together. Sylvester did not have an intentional cue for beginning so Melchior started a single word behind but he caught up quickly and melted into the feeling of unification alongside his father. The flow was strong but didn't feel dangerous. He had plenty of time to bask in the sound of Sylvester's deep, even drone. After a few repeats Sylvester sat back on his heels. “Continue,” he directed and settled in to watch.

It was not as nice alone but Melchior continued offering mana until he’d depleted his freely available reserves and had to tap into his compression. He was beginning to feel lighter by the time Sylvester called for him to stop then got up and moved to kneel next to Melchior. Taking the boy’s face in both hands, he stared into his eyes.

“Well you don't look ill. How do you feel?”

“I feel perfectly fine,” Melchior boasted. He was proud to be feeling so good even after moving so much mana. “I think I could manage offering my own mana during the Archdukes Conference next year.” Sylvester squeezed his face. “Ahh! Why?”

“You're just so squishable,” Sylvester replied. He gave into the urge for a few more squishes before dropping one hand and touching the chain of faestones with the other. Finding his own stone and Florencia's, which hung next to it, was easy. It would be harder to place the others if he tried except for the few filled with Melchior’s mana acting as place holders. The accessory was pretty and slightly more ostentatious than Rozemyne’s had been since it hung right next to the face. Strange that this would do more to reinforce their lies around Ferdinand’s gift than repetition of those lies ever had. It would also create a question in many minds about why these specific children received such favor but not the others. Maybe he should prepare something for Charlotte before she was too old to accept such familial charms.

Melchior made no move to free himself from the assault on his plum cheeks and subsequently leaned into Sylvester’s hand until it grazed his temple. They were so close. Something Sylvester rarely did since Melchior had been baptized. He wondered whether he was going to be hugged. It would be nice. He’d been working hard all year. Perhaps he’d earned one. When the hug was not immediately forthcoming, he tried to give a subtle nudge. “Were our tax reports satisfactory? We did most of them in my chambers while Kazmiar was visiting Herzfeld.”

Sylvester shook his head to dispel the sudden feeling of whiplash. Taxes? Why did Melchior care about taxes right now? “Is that why you spent so long hiding in the temple this year?” he teased receiving only an evasive look. “They were up to the usual standard and matched our own reports. I’d say you did a good job.”

Melchior recovered quickly, beaming and leaning closer. Sylvester chose that exact moment to stand up. Feeling bereft, Melchior sank back onto his heels, his posture less proper than before. “Should I give more mana?” he asked. Had he not done enough yet?

“Aren't you worried about not having enough for school? You have to lead all those rituals too, don't forget,” Sylvester called over his shoulder as he walked towards the exit. He realized a few steps from the door that he wasn't being followed. Melchior was still kneeling at his spot with a proper frown screwing up his face. Did he want to continue Mana Replenishment that much? Sure, some days it felt like a small price to pay for silence and quality time with Florencia but they didn't have time for that. “Come on now. We can't spend all day here no matter how calming it is.” Melchior stood up slowly while Sylvester continued to toss out encouragement. “My office is closed. No one can get any work done. We don't want the whole duchy stuck in the mud.¹³”

Melchior just shuffled slower. His heart felt heavy. All his hard work apparently wasn't enough to earn a hug and he was too old to throw any sort of tantrum in order to elicit soothing. Sylvester seemed more amenable to hugs at the end of the school year anyway. He could wait until then, list his accomplishments, and earn his hug. With a confusing switch from sadness to determination, Melchior began to pick up the pace.

“There we are, come on then,” Sylvester hummed, placing a hand between Melchior’s shoulder blades and pushing him forward. Just as they were about to emerge into his office, he was once again met with resistance.

“Father?”

“Yes, Melchior?”

“Should I make Isolde my head scholar?”

Sylvester blinked away his confusion and tried to engage with the question. As much as he wanted this day to be over, which required finishing his work load, which required reopening his office in a timely fashion, he rarely had time to speak privately with his son. It had to be an important question, surely. “Is that the blue one or the white one?”

“Isolde has pastel blue hair,” Melchior replied.

“Either way, you can't name an apprentice as your head scholar. You should reconsider choosing a woman since you’ll have to replace her quickly but age is the more important thing,” Sylvester replied. “Are you unhappy with Kazmiar or something?”

“Not at all. He doesn't have time for that and being the High Priest,” Melchior explained.

Sylvester raised an incredulous eyebrow. “He won't make time for something so important?”

“Can people create time?” Melchior asked. He was fairly sure it was impossible but there was a lot of magic he hadn't learned yet. “That must take a lot of mana.”

“I don't know. Ask your uncle,” Sylvester chuckled. He didn't want to laugh in Melchior's face but the expression of deep contemplation written on those tiny features was far too amusing.

“Until we have perfected the method, Kazmiar will be unable to take on the burdens of the head scholar in addition to his other work,” Melchior declared. Sylvester’s sides were aching from the effort to keep silent but Melchior noticed his manic smile and scowled. “This is a very serious problem, Father. My scholars are fighting and I cannot make anyone head scholar but no one else wants to serve me so it has to be one of them but Benedikt doesn't want to answer to Isolde and I don't know if I can trust her because she says she doesn't care about serving me just about being a good scholar and… and.”

Sylvester had to agree. It wasn't particularly funny anymore now that Melchior was crying in the Mana Replenishment Hall. It was good that he’d just drained off so much mana or else he would be leaking more than water. Sylvester reached out but Melchior flinched back. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. I’m… ok, I’ll be ok,” he insisted while searching his belt for a handkerchief.

“Melchior, if this is a tantrum it's the calmest one I’ve ever seen. Come here,” he commanded. Melchior swayed toward him, landing with a soft thud on his chest. Sylvester put a hand on one shoulder and used the other to ruffle his hair. Somehow this only brought on more tears.

“You don't need to select a head scholar so soon. It's a big decision and none of your scholars have the status to command the position outright. If that Leisegang boy was a scholar, it would have to be him but Benedikt is only Giebe Reunwalt’s second cousin or third nephew or something. In any case, your personal scholar is much more important. They're the one you tell all your secrets. They carry the poison, as they say.”

“I don't need Isolde to carry poison,” Melchior muttered into the scratchy embroidery. “Aren't all my retainers my personal retainers?”

“Kind of. At the moment. You don't have an office so you don't yet have retainers who only work in your office but don't get to accompany you. The distinction can get even more precise though. For example, Norbert is my head attendant, as a consequence of being the castle steward, but Ridyarda is my personal attendant. She actually keeps my chambers and handles personal things. If I needed someone to carry something secret, like the poison for a scheme, I would pick her over Norbert.”

“You don't trust Norbert?” Melchior asked. He suddenly felt bad for Norbert who he’d always known to work tirelessly for the Aub and his castle. It would be so sad if his lord didn't trust him.

“I do. I made him my steward after all. But it's different. It's hard to explain but you’ll understand the distinction one day,” Sylvester said with a final pat on the head. He stepped back and held Melchior by the shoulders. “Feeling better?”

Melchior nodded though he wasn't actually sure. He mostly felt very tired. Somehow crying was more draining than dedicating tons of mana.

After finally finding a handkerchief, he dabbed his eyes and tried to put on a smile. “Don't hurt yourself. It's ok to be more expressive sometimes,” Sylvester encouraged. “Ehrenfest has always been a bit more lax in that way.”

Melchior nodded but maintained his armor. That was better than collapsing into a puddle of misery. Besides, a smile was how you showed everyone you were in control of the situation, even when it was a lie.

Footnotes

9. “You learn a lot from raising someone” or “There are secrets you only learn by knowing someone from childhood”^

10. He’s referring to Melchior and Charlotte's ongoing intrigue surrounding Torsten’s gift. Any bugs she placed for use in their game could end up unintentionally catching important private information.^

11. A fight^

12. Just because we think it's obvious doesn’t mean he’s noticed.^

13. I couldn't think of a better alternative to “grinding to a halt”. Would Sylvester understand/use machinery related parlance? Does Ehrenfest have wind and water mills? Probably.^

Chapter Text

A New Lady

Between whirling class, and his meeting with Charlotte, Melchior met with his loaned knights for the last time. Cecilia and Eikestine wore sober expressions while Helenwig looked like she might cry. “... Your dedication to betterment has inspired my own knights to greater heights. It has been our privilege to train with you,” Melchior concluded his laudatory speech. Though not a perfectly formal address full of poetic allusions and euphemisms, he still didn’t feel it conveyed his emotions appropriately. But, custom dictated a formal speech for such an occasion.

“I was happy to serve you for these two seasons. I will not soon forget all I learned in your care,” Cecilia said in reply. She clutched her hands before her chest and stared into the distance with glassy eyes. “I shall ever remember your blessings and the glad times shared with everyone.”

Eikestine sighed at all the pomp. “I feel more ready to serve as a guard knight now. There was so much I hadn’t considered and would still be shamefully ignorant of had I remained in the provinces for yet another year.”

“I was very excited to serve with Lady Zipporah but I made even more friends than I expected. I think I shall miss sparring with Nikolaus. Though the dance of Blaunfah never did commence, I shall take strength from my memories,” Helenwig declared with even more passion partly to annoy Eikestine and partly because she was feeling conflicted and needed to remind herself that this was part of her life goals. She’d wanted to serve Lady Charlotte since she watched her lead the Winter Playroom and dormitory with unwavering grace and poise. It was the responsibility of all daughters of Schutzaria to protect the women of the Archducal family especially. She was taught in Klassenberg that that was the only reason there were female knights in the first place. Having taken time to serve alongside her idol, it was time to get serious about her work.

Dedryck passed out the wooden boards with their personal appraisals. “These are for your own edification. Separate recommendations will be passed to Lady Charlotte,” he explained. “You will have to consult with your lady and coordinate with Sister Streita independently if you wish to continue training with her. However, I recommend immersing yourselves in the new rhythms of Lady Charlotte’s retinue for some time first. It may prove to be a difficult transition and would only be made more difficult by continuing to have a separate training regime. You are her knights. You must conform to her modes and needs.”

“Oh, yes,” Melchior interrupted before the girls could kneel for their final goodbyes. There was something very important which could neither be written down nor tacked into a formal commendation. “Though I know you were placed in my retinue with some ulterior motives, your assistance this year has been helpful.” They had also been fairly unsuccessful as spies. There was still the principle of the matter. He put on his best impression of Ferdinand’s intimidating smile. For a moment, the light of forgiveness radiated throughout the room. “I send you back with perfectly straightforward instructions. Serve my sister with all the single minded loyalty you could not offer me. Do not allow me to hear of any treachery”

Helenwig felt so unsettled by the discordant words and expression that she was a moment later than the other’s to cross her arms and kneel. “We go forth with that promise, Lord Melchior. Thank you for your grace,” Cecilia replied for the group.

“Thank you for your grace,” Eikestine and Helenwig repeated.

Melchior relaxed and gestured for them to continue giving farewell. As the girls said their goodbyes, boldly or tentatively, as in Helenwig’s case, it settled over Melchior the finality of everything. He hadn’t been thinking of them as temporary all year but accepted them as whole heartedly as his retainers would allow. Still, he knew they weren’t meant for lifelong service. He knew but it still felt the same as when his old retainers left to serve his father and brother. Of course the Aub was more important and his brother needed retainers he could rely on as the heir apparent and it would be wrong to monopolise so many female knights when his sister needed them to serve her, but it still hurt to say goodbye.

He tried to bundle all these feelings away behind a smile, just as he’d been taught and give his full support to the knights as they moved forward with their careers.

Charlotte arrived soon after looking completely freshened up after whirling, as though the rigor of the class was not at all strenuous. Then again, she was practicing four times per week where Melchior was only attending once per week. Only his other physical training allowed him the stamina for whirling, if nothing approaching his sisters’ skills, which Charlotte was also doing. In his opinion, Charlotte was about as good as Rozemyne now, especially when performing blessing whirls where the possession of the Goddess of Light lended extra radiance and precision. Perhaps it wasn’t actually surprising that she did not look as tired as Melchior felt from their morning exertions. Was she just not showing it, or was she actually not tired? He couldn't possibly ask something like that so he resolved to look just as unaffected.

With a smile she sat at the table across from him just as she had in spring. This time, Melchior gave the introduction and recommendation. Dedryck passed his small stack of assessments, this time written on fine paper, over to Ernesta while the siblings talked. Just as quickly as the initial transfer was made, the knights were transferred back. This time, Melchior took his leave first, leaving Charlotte alone with her new retainers.

Cecilia stepped forward first again. She knelt by herself and prepared to give her vow. “Cecilia, my scholar tells me he requested more information from you,” Charlotte began just before she could speak.

Cecilia’s mouth closed and she resettled herself before answering. “Indeed, my lady. As the nature of Lord Melchior’s subterfuge has been uncovered, I was unsure what information was sought but delivered all I could,” she replied.

“It seemed rather curated,” Charlotte noted nonchalantly. Her eyes flicked up to Eikestine who stood like a statue weathered for a century, perfectly still and indistinct in expression. Helenwig looked surprised, though she was trying to hide it. “Was my brother aware of your activities?”

“It did feel that way,” Cecilia said.

“What say you, Eikestine. You were also charged with this task.”

Eikestine smiled stiffly. “Lady Isolde and Sir Dedryck remained vigilant during our entire tenure. I am certain Lord Melchior’s retinue worked as diligently as Verbergan preventing us from learning that which they did not wish us too.” And by extension, Charlotte from learning anything she shouldn’t.

Charlotte stared at them for a long time, her face giving away none of her thoughts all the while. Helenwig tried not to look guilty or unconfident even while she couldn't help looking from Charlotte to her fellow new knights to the serious scholar standing at Charlotte’s shoulder. He was doing a much poorer job of hiding his dissatisfaction. No one had instructed her to spy on things. She wasn’t sure how successful she would have been either. Maybe that explained why they’d been distanced some as of late. None of them had been permitted to stand guard within Melchior’s chambers for months now. She’d assumed it was to make the transition easier, not to keep them from spying.

The air hung heavily in the room. Even when Melchior had chastised them for disloyalty, his demeanor hadn’t come close to the oppressive force of Charlotte’s affected nonchalance. Helenwig fixed her posture seven times before anyone spoke again. “I suppose it cannot be helped if you were actively opposed,” Charlotte mused. She flipped through the recommendations for a while, asked about Dedryck’s notes, and pretended she cared what was written there. It was clear, even to Helenwig, that all the official praise in the world would matter little going forward.

Eventually they continued the ritual observances. When Helenwig’s turn came she knelt as she had so many times before and looked up. It was surprising how odd it felt to see golden hair instead of blue. Somehow she still expected it. “I have something to confess first,” she blurted out.

“What could that be?” Lady Charlotte asked.

“I have undertaken a scheme with Isolde and Sir Ptolemaus to find him a successor.”

The scholar, whose name she should learn quickly, raised an eyebrow. Lady Charlotte tipped her head to the side in a performance of confusion. “It is only a scheme? You do not intend to dedicate yourself to serving Ehrenfest as the next Quartermaster?”

Of course she knew, Helenwig thought. Then considered that if she thought it was an earnest campaign, she hadn’t heard about it from Cecila or Eikestine. Had she just gotten them in trouble. “We tired to make it seem like a genuine attempt to provoke jealousy,” she said, hoping it explained why the other might not know.

Charlotte continued to look pensive then nodded sagely. “I understand. Fear not. Though my brother may have seen you as an interim step in a greater plan, I am willing to back your efforts in true.” Helenwig tried to hold back her frown. Though glad of the support she wasn’t happy with that framing of events. Melchior and Isolde were planning for both eventualities and had expressed confidence in her ability to be a good Quartermaster if things came to that.

“I…”

“Women are not usually given positions for which the burdens of Entrindunge can cause disruptions,” the scholar interrupted.

Charlotte tutted. “You need only take a groom capable of taking on your work temporarily as the need arises. Be encouraged, I shall support your search,” Lady Charlotte declared. The scholar held his tongue but didn’t look mollified.

Helenwig tried not to feel defeated. Someone like Kolteruze would be out of the question in that case. She hadn’t met any particularly genteel knights yet. Then again spending time with Nikolaus or Dedryck were not good ways to meet people. Nikolaus was something of a pariah while Dedryck spent his training hours at the Knights Order hiding from strangers or beating Lord Wilfried into the ivory in the most terrifying duels. Ah, but she was getting distracted. She needed to clear things up.

“Lord Melchior seemed genuine in his support should the whispers of Ordoshinelli be written in Mestinora’s book¹⁴.”

Charlotte nodded again, her smile becoming pitying. “I’m sure it did. In my support you can be entirely sure.”

Helenwig almost sputtered. That wasn’t what she meant to imply. She used hedging language because it was impolite to speak authoritatively about one’s betters. She was going to speak up again to clarify but caught the look on the scholar’s face. Ah, no one was confused. This was the story they were telling her to tell. It was common in Klassenberg even for children to doctor the truth. Serving in Melchior’s retinue had made her complacent. This was what normal society was like. It was beneficial for Charlotte to seem like she had taken on this burden where her younger brother was ill equipped. That she could make reality what he could only do in jest. As a servant of Charlotte, it was her job to turn every small advantage to her lady. Hadn’t Melchior just charge her to be loyal? Still, she need only use this fiction when pressed.

Realizing she’d been kneeling silently for an awkwardly long time, Helenwig fixed her expression and deepened her bow. “Thank you, my lady. I am encouraged by your assurances. Ah… I vow to you my shield. So long as I endure beneath the towering height, you shall be secure in my protection.”

Charlotte nodded and gestured for her to rise then stood up herself. “Well, let us get on with our day. Yarchteck will speak with you about your duties. Be sure to show him the other assessments Sir Dedryck gave you. We must know where you struggle as well as where you excel.” Helenwig pulled the wooden board out of the leather pouch she’d acquired at Lord Melchior’s private showcase, and handed it over without delay.

… …

Melchior was feeling low after returning his loaned knights. In fact, everyone seemed a little sad. Flautzeal didn’t even comment on his distinctly unchipper flauting and singing. His evening spent drawing small crayon pictures of Charlotte whirling didn’t manage to lift his spirits either. It was something of a boon that his mana was so low after performing mana replenishment and donating mana to the Divine Instruments. Rather than explosive misery, there was only a dull emptiness. It also made bedtime compression easier than it had been in some time and he was once again lulled to sleep by that special kind of exhaustion.

The week before the Feast Celebrating Winter was extremely busy and stressful for the entire castle. The chefs worked extra hours to make preparations while still providing meals of appropriate quality. Servants and attendants continued redecorating for the winter season and trimming the great hall in festive red and ochre. The available musicians held a large rehearsal which Flautzeal participated in and Melchior attended to watch and listen while painting another set of tablets. This one featured an orchestra practicing complete with overly enthused songleader and tired percussionist. The percussionist's wife, a tiny lyre player with a big laugh was especially laudatory of the piece.

Since she was already there for the rehearsal, Lady Matilda delivered the large blank diptych for Hauchletze’s First Wife. Without being asked, she included a blank for Lady Florencia. It was smaller to fit her hand but still included a single bird roost into the construction. The tablets for the commission were as large as four standard sheets of parchment between its two boards. They were not attached by a disappearing hinge as there had been no time to reengineer the technique to fit differently thick slabs together.

The first tablet had a section of wax recessed across the top third. While this looked like little space, it was more area than Melchior’s tablets put together. Below this was a second recess sized to hold about five sheets of Ehrenfest paper secured with an ingenious and addictively clicky set of clips. Part of the very construction of the tablets, these clips settled flush with the body when closed.

The other side looked rather bare by comparison but that was only because it was hiding the mechanism and magic for the roost. An elevated landing board could be flipped up to catch ordonnanz. Once dismissed they would tumble forward into a holding tray. The controls were situated along the outer edge next to a long yellow strip. It was both thicker and heavier than the opposing tablet owing to the embedded faestones and metal parts.

“No coin is used for this and it has additional features. One can set the range of the tool to draw in ordonnanz while within a few hands breadth, while across, say, a large desk, and within a modest room. I have indicated in pencil where those circles reside on this panel but they can only be seen when this faestone is activated by the owner. Finally, it is ill advised to attempt to dismantle the magic tool. Doing so will damage it beyond a usable state,” Matilda explained.

“How will anyone check it for malicious inclusions?” Isolde asked. “Anyone gifted a magic tool by another duchy would have to check it thoroughly.”

Matilda gave a pensive look. “A few diagnostic pulses will reveal the nature and status of most magic tools. We have included nothing superfluous to make this process quick and conclusive.”

“Can it be fixed should the need to fully inspect it come about?” Isolde pressed.

“So long as it remains in Ehrenfest, any repairs can be conducted free of charge. However, with our seal, we of Klavier stake our reputation and in this,” she gestured to the giant diptych, “our very lives. If you do not trust us in the building, you could not trust us in the rebuilding. Even setting a guard to oversee the process would be pointless if that guard was not intimately familiar with it.”

“So it is a matter of trust.”

“Indeed.”

“And if we simply sought more knowledge?” Isolde asked airily.

Matilda chuckled briefly. “Detailed knowledge is available as previously discussed. However it will not be of much use in your efforts.”

Isolde scowled, remembering just how expensive that extensive knowledge was. “‘As lesser craftsmen could not replicate your process,’ so you said,” she grumbled.

“Indeed. One who cannot brew according to your instructions could not hope to brew according to ours. However, Flautzeal has explained the ultimate goal of your research and magic tool development. We are willing to share our research concerning the use of new and less expensive materials which still prove suitable for this kind of magic tool. This will have little adverse effect on our business while benefiting your work.”

It was obvious from Matilda's patient and doting expression that this consolation was won more by his parents’ love for Flautzeal than any amount of shrewd bargaining on his part but Flautzeal still beamed proudly. Isolde was forced to concede yet again. They could not bring ruin on their coworkers family nor say they didn't appreciate such information offered for free. She couldn't even bring herself to chastise Flautzeal for looking so openly delighted during business negotiations.

“There is one more matter,” Matilda said after the silver had changed hands. Everything pertaining to roosts was cleared away and a new pair of boxes was presented. The first was only a little larger than Melchior’s arm and contained two sticks.

Melchior picked one up to examine it. Having talked perhaps too extensively about learning how to select good sticks, he was not totally surprised to be given a set of identical smooth cylinders of fine wood. He was wondering what use Flautzeal felt they were good for. They were much too short for a walking stick or even a fake sword. He’d been meaning to begin practicing knives but a carved wooden replica would be preferable to a bare stick. Only once he’d taken both in hand and tapped them together did it click. They were some kind of instrument. Naturally, Flautzeal would focus his stick selection on their musicality.

“The sound is very satisfying,” Melchior had to concede. So was the way they bounced against each other. The experience of tapping them together was rather addicting leading easily into several attempts to clack in a stable rhythm.

Lady Matilda watched quietly while Flautzeal nearly vibrated in his seat from anticipation. “Do… do you like them?”

“I think they're quite nice. They are for making music right?” Melchior asked.

Flautzeal nodded his head enthusiastically while Matilda smiled proudly. “They are his first official instrument crafted by his own hands,” she announced.

“Oh. Oooh! Congratulations Flautzeal!” Melchior cheered with a ‘clack-clack’ for emphasis. “Vulcanift and Kunstzeal smile upon you!”

“Thank you, my lord! I was inspired by your clattering diptych and the sounds of joy it represents. The wood was carefully selected from the same stock from which we carve wooden bells, then roughly shaped with a spokeshave, refined on the lathe, and finally tuned using abrasive powder!” Flautzeal explained. “They are finished only with oil to preserve the unique character of their sound…”

“How do you tune sticks?” Isolde whispered

“Well the size of the sticks and density of the wood determines their pitch,” Flautzeal replied. “I also tuned the diptych Sigsnyr painted but the paint changed their sound so I made these for a pure experience!”

Melchior tapped the tablets hanging from his belt. He hadn't had enough bounce in his step to make them clack as of late and treated them with too much care to mindlessly tap them together like he used to. They did, somehow, sound more musical than his old sets. When compared, the tablets did sound rather muted while the sticks had a vibrant ring. “I like them a lot. My percussion skills are generally lacking but I will try to do them justice,” he promised.

“These are the second instruments, the first being a shaker, that we like to give children to develop their rhythm. Of course playing with others is the only way to learn to keep good time so the shaker remains an important tool once the sticks are introduced,” Matilda explained.

Melchior made a mental note to bring them along to his visit with Henriette. Perhaps not the same visit where he brought the animal sculptures so as not to pile on too many new things at once. The combination of sturdy sticks and delicate ceramic animals was not ideal either. He winched internally as he remembered how she'd treated the recorder before she knew what it was actually for. There was no permanent damage so Melchior would continue not mentioning it.

It was difficult to forget his guilt when presented with the second box. It was longer than the presentation box for the sticks and included a locking handle. A tremor of excitement passed through the knights and attendants who’d checked it. Melchior was given a small key ornamented with a stylized Schutzaria’s Shield. Inside, ensconced in a custom crafted velvet pillow, were the segmented pieces of a wooden flute and the tools for cleaning it.

Melchior felt joy and dread in alternating waves. “Lady Florencia commissioned this instrument on your behalf. So long as none of the airways are touched, no embellishments will affect the sound. Excessive impasto will make it harder to play though,” Matilda teased. Melchior was not an impasto heavy painter so he was not concerned. The oppressive atmosphere was concerning though. Everyone expected him to test the instrument, he just knew it.

Looking to Flautzeal for help escaping this fate was always useless so he looked to Isolde. She held his gaze then lifted an eyebrow and looked pointedly back at the Klaviers. They would be quite offended. She looked at the sticks. He’d played them before passing a judgement so there was really no excuse.

The trepidation was visible as Melchior carefully assembled his new flute, his first flute that was all his, and played a little tune. Of course the sound was excellent. It was light but clear and perfectly pitched. A true masterpiece worth passing down for generations. “It is wonderful. Thank you for your exceptional work, as always.”

With this Matilda was satisfied. The flute had already been paid for by Florencia and the sticks were a free gift so no more money needed to change hands. The Klaviers took their leave with the offer of a standing invitation to tea. “Zerafina ever longs to share music with another flute enthusiast,” Matilda said.

“Oh yes. Everyone looks forward to hearing you play. Mother has written another song for the Deathflute,” Flautzeal added.

“We are not calling it that,” Melchior insisted. Flautzeal made no promises to stop while Melchior made no promises to visit.

The Melchior Conspiracy

Having the diptych blank in hand only made Melchior feel worse about having nothing definitive to paint on it. He consumed some time decoratively labeling the various buttons and testing how gold dust paint interacted with the magic. So long as it didn’t touch any circles or faestones, it seemed to have no effect. Any that had touched something was quickly drained of its gold, leaving only shiny streaks in the shape of the painted area. This was how a not insignificant amount of mana had to be drained from the magic tool and more research into gold dust paint was planned.

Instead of commiting to a still life, Melchior focused on painting his flute and practice sword which was still bare. Planning around the use of the sword made designing for it difficult. He didn't want paint coming off on his gloves, or hands on the rare occasion he used bare hands, nor could he paint the blade since impacts would cause it to chip frequently. The flute was more forgiving. It usually didn't demand such a tight and sweaty grip. The marginal friction loss from paint wouldn't endanger his face should he lose control of it either. Since it would often be seen right next to his face, he naturally chose a rainbow and gold color scheme.

Patterned with golden droplets nestled among a spiral of overlapping flowers in a gradation beginning with blue then passing through all the colors and ending with green, the flute would “match” his brooch.

“It won't match anything else though,” Fonsel grumbled.

He was ignored, especially as the brightly colored instrument inspired Melchior to play happier songs and just generally improved his mood. Painting the complex decorations left no time for the finicky sword design but he wasn't upset when the flute was so delightful.

Perhaps it was too delightful. Melchior made the mistake of bragging about his new flute at dinner and was instructed to bring it to Brunhilde's celebration dinner. It would be her first family meal after her confinement so they were making a special event out of it. Every member of the Archducal family was invited including Bonifatius and Wilfried. So as not to inspire any arguments concerning his clothing, Melchior wore the previous year's feast outfit instead of his new one and boots instead of cloth shoes. The joy of seeing everyone could not be dampened by any nervousness associated with having to play his flute. If he were lucky, Sylvester would only wish to see the instrument.

Melchior was not particularly lucky but it was not Sylvester's fault. Instead Florencia wanted to hear that her money was well spent. As she was kept abreast of his progress, it was easy to request several of the hardest songs he knew including a new, happier arrangement of Musings on Glassy Branches based on Sigsnyr’s painting. It now had a wistful rather than unsettled quality making it appropriate for genteel gatherings. “Oh how wonderful!” Brunhilde cooed. “I have so missed music lately.”

“Just summon a musician,” Wilfried scoffed. He was seated at the end of the table as far from Brunhilde as possible. While he looked less annoyed at her inclusion than he used too, he still didn't want to sit close to her.

“Babies are delicate things,” Florencia chided. “It's important to limit visitors at the beginning.”

“You should have said, dear Brunhilde. We could have filled a lecture shumil with songs for you,” Charlotte said.

Brunhilde chuckled with a nostalgic smile. “I will remember that for next time. Thank you Charlotte. And thank you Melchior for sending me so much to distract myself. The gossip relayed by my scholars is just not the same as your reports.”

“You were sending Brunhilde reports?” Sylvester asked.

Florencia hummed affirmation. “I forwarded her mine, dear. They are full of women's fashion and a list of who arrived at the winter mansions that day. Would you like to see them?”

Sylvester shivered. “I am content with your oversight alone. My desk is awfully full this season.” The last thing he needed was to clog his desk with more useless chatter.

“We also have notes on mens’ fashion,” Melchior offered with a glance towards Bonifatius. “It does not move as quickly but I’m told there have been recent innovations in travel wear.”

“Another time,” Sylvester said then, with forced chipperness, addressed the table. “This dinner is to celebrate the new child in our family and Brunhilde's safe return from the embrace of Entrindunge. Let’s all share some good news. Something surprising, yeah.” Everyone who was not Florencia immediately went a shade paler. Of course Sylvester would ask for stories without warning anyone so they could prepare.

“If you would allow me a moment to interject, Sylvester,” Brunhilde asked and was waved on. Melchior breathed an internal sigh of relief for the extra planning time this afforded him. “I must thank you all from the very depths of my heart. Through your tireless efforts, I was afforded great comfort through a famously painful time. Please accept my thanks, Wilfried, for collecting so many materials for the new tools.”

“It wasn’t anything special,” Wilfried grumbled with a pink dusting on his cheeks. “We did so much hunting this year that we had extra stuff.”

“We did have many great endeavors this year,” Bonifatius concurred . “It is still a testament to your skill that you came away with bounty.”

“Thank you, Lord Bonifatius.”

“And Florencia. I heard you lead the efforts to rediscover this information and to brew the tools in question. I must thank you as well,” Brunhilde added. Florencia just gave her a smile and nod.

Once she finished, Sylvester raised a glass of vise. “To old knowledge, newly recovered.”

“Here, here!” “Vantole!” Bonifatius and Wilfried cheered while the women and Melchior merely lifted their glasses quietly. Though he had no wine, Melchior was delighted to join the toasts. He still shot Haldis an inquisitive glance. Haldis returned a minute shake. There would be no wine for him, yet.

There was no time to mope about it as Wilfried began to regale everyone with the extraordinary year the Knights Order had. “We operated under budget for the first time since the invasion,” he declared proudly. A record lack of damaged practice equipment plus improvements made to their supply contracts lead to a huge reduction in expenses. The spring hunts to strange locals also netted rare and valuable ingredients which Ehrenfest's scholars clamored to buy.

“How auspicious for your first official year of service,” Charlotte praised.

“Congratulations! dear brother, do people normally do a lot of damage to the training equipment?” Melchior asked.

Wilfried went slightly pink again. “It's mostly the youngest apprentices who don't know how to control their strength or how to properly use things. We think that spring class managed to teach kids how to use things better, leading to fewer accidents.”

Bonifatius dabbed his mouth with a napkin. Something in his breathing or posture made everyone turn to look at him. “I don't believe a single class would have such a pronounced impact. We stage such classes every year and had fewer of them this time. Such a reduction would only come from continuous oversight,” he mused.

Wilfried looked surprised then pensive. “If that's so, I’ll have to revise my plans for next year. Brunschwartz has spoken highly of the informal training sessions that became popular over the summer. It should be easy to keep them going.” They talked a bit more about implementing an official version of these unofficial, mixed age gatherings before circling back to discuss the changes to provisioning. When pressed, Wilfried explained the truly surprising thing was how much more grain the Knights Order was able to buy for less money.

“The Quartermaster said something about a fourth part more grain for a tenth less cost and somehow saving the economy in the process. It was a very complicated explanation. I’ve been reading through some texts about trade to get a better understanding of things. For now you’d have to ask him.”

Sylvester scrunched up his brows as he finished a bit of food. “There’s been a continual down turn in prices thanks to the new abundance from better mana distribution and Spring Summoning so it makes sense that we could buy more grain.”

Charlotte frowned at this. “I’ve been tracking grain prices in Ehrenfest city for the last two years. We haven’t seen any reduction in cost. That would greatly benefit our citizens who are experiencing rising cost of living in other areas.”

“I can’t say much about that,” Wilfried shrugged. “In anycase, we’re in talks about whether to use our excess to feed more animals or make something called Knight’s Brew?”

“Ritterbrau!” Bonifatius bellowed. “Ah, how long has it been since we sat around the mess hall singing and drinking our brew?” he chuckled, nostalgia twinkling in his eyes.

“That's what Fonbart said,” Wilfried muttered.

“Since I ordered rationing, hopefully. You think people short on grain wouldn't want to use it all up for alcohol,” Sylvester snarked.

“We all have our vices. A turn away from Ritterbrau means fewer knights inhibited by Vantole, so I cannot support its revival. However,” Florencia mused, “It is strange how far our visitors travel only to drink Dunkefelgerian vise.”

Sylvester swirled his glass of Dunkefelgerian vise thoughtfully. “You both make good points. I do think we can afford to lift the export bans for now. Perhaps we can develop our own signature fruit liquor in time,” he said with a pointed look at Melchior over his goblet.

Melchior clenched his silverware tightly. They would have to see how well the trees grew in captivity and be sure to protect the windows from further damage.

While he made several mental notes concerning parue, it was Florencia’s turn to share.

“Khune has observed the retreat of waters from many of their previously flooded mines and provinces to the south have seen a sinking of the water table. We predict that parts of both Klassenberg and Vogtwerk are experiencing something similar as well since ice melt from Haldenzel usually flows into their rivers.

“We believe the culprit is Spring Summoning so, through much discussion, we have agreed on a rotation for provinces to conduct the ritual. Our northern provinces have largely recovered from poor crop yields due to the mana shortage and are understanding of the need to preserve water access for everyone.”

Melchior felt a wavering in his emotions as he momentarily thought Spring Summoning would be stopped entirely. As he breathed a sigh of relief he almost missed the toast.

“What is surprising was Countess Haldenzel’s cooperation and help keeping negotiations moving smoothly. We were really worried people would get petty over this,” Sylvester added after swallowing.

Charlotte nodded along sagely. “Everyone needs water and Haldenzel has fought several hard years of faebeast surges. Even they should like a break if they can afford it.”

“And we can present a solution if other duchies come to us to complain,” Wilfried added.

“Should we warn Gaussbuttel?” Melchior asked.

“We will have to discuss it with them, yes,” Florencia said, gesturing for her attendant to make a note. “My only other news is somewhat frivolous. Painting salons have gained popularity with the older ladies. You created a pleasant mode of socializing, Melchior.”

Melchior's heart fluttered at this praise. “I’m happy more people are creating art!” he chirped in reply.

The conversation moved to Charlotte who lauded the progress on their Royal Academy research, expressing surprise for how smoothly everything was prepared, before detailing an agreement between Illgner, Buers, and Forst.

“There was some enmity created between Forst and Illgner through the misadventures of Liebeskhilfe¹⁵ such that Illgner uses the slower and more expensive land route to move their paper to Leisegang for water transport rather than using the connecting tributary which runs through Forst. This, in turn, has become a point of contention between the two provinces.”

“Paper transport yields no wealth for the provinces in-between. Why should anyone care?” Wilfried scoffed with the heat of someone who’d had to listen to giebes bickering without ever having this question answered.

“It's the principle of the thing or else Forst thinks they could find a way to make some money on it,” Sylvester sighed. “What's the good news, Charlotte?”

“Well, Forst, Illgner, and Buers all lack crucial resources for creating both children's magic tools and roosts. They have all made due with imports from larger provinces or Ehrenfest thus far but the additional expenses and usefulness of roosts has inspired them to make a trade agreement. Between them they can procure the necessary materials and have decided to share!” she announced.

“To cooperation!” Sylvester toasted.

After taking a sip, Brunhilde turned to Charlotte. “Is Giebe Forst not namesworn to Lady Veronica? Is this a cross faction alliance in addition to progress in reconciliation?”

“It is,” Wilfried sighed.

“Indeed. Most astute, Brunhilde. This was the agreement we needed to proliferate roosts to the Veronica faction. We are a step closer to all children in Ehrenfest having access to roosts,” Charlotte said with a small tip of her head towards Melchior.

Bonifatius watched Melchior brighten even more. He listened to him praise his siblings for their brokerage of this deal as he declared his absolute faith that they should achieve this goal on his behalf. It wasn't uncommon for Bonifatius’s instincts to swell spontaneously but that was usually in battle or crisis. Now he considered all the achievements listed so far and noticed a trend.

Melchior had visited Haldenzel and now Haldenzel was behaving better. He’d made the initial discovery concerning Entrindunge’s Tools as well as transcribing the circles. While true that Wilfried managed the requisition order, Melchior's stores had made donations there as well. The roosts apparently were invented by him too. The Archducal family had done good work this year, in his opinion, but their most “surprising” accomplishments were largely tied to Melchior. How the young man was secretly responsible for the Knights Order’s budgetary success was less clear, but Bonifatius's instincts told him the boy was somehow to blame.

“Melchior,” he called, drawing everyone’s attention, not just Melchior's. “You lent me your attendant to assist me with Brunhilde's duties.”

Melchior beamed at Haldis. “Yes. I hope Haldis has been as much of a boon to your work as he is to mine.”

Bonifatius stilled then cleared his throat. This was not the moment to freeze in the face of adorableness. “He has. I must thank you. Haldis has been indispensable as Ordoshnelli and Verfuhremeer¹⁶. Traugott has found Erwachlern’s favor in the face of the many mawed beast and it is Haldis who intercedes on his behalf¹⁷.”

“Your praise gladdens me,” Melchior replied. Haldis flashed a gracious smile from behind him. Bonifatius nodded sharply. At least he had given credit where it was due. He would have to speak with Sylvester about proper attribution another time.

“Well that leaves Melchior, doesn't it,” Sylvester called.

Melchior's smile faded into his usual polite expression to hide his surprise. He’d spent so much time listening and celebrating everyone else that he’d failed to give even a single thought to what he would share. “Don't you have news too, Father?” he tried to stall.

“Come on Melchior, we let you go last. What were you thinking about all this time?” Wilfried teased.

“I was celebrating with all of you. Giving my undivided attention and unreserved joy leaves little room for contemplation,” Melchior grumbled back.

Charlotte covered her mouth with her sleeve to giggle while Sylvester grinned and shook lightly.

Melchior smiled blankly at his plate for a long moment. Everyone kept silent though a few chuckles escaped. It had been a long year. Melchior and his retinue had done so much but it was hard to call their work an accomplishment. Every major project was either still incomplete or else personal to Melchior and his gift exchange. While he knew little about his family's work, they knew nearly everything about his own. Nothing he said would surprise them or look impressive next to their achievements.

“Why not give an update on the roosts, my lord,” Haldis whispered while he refreshed Melchior’s juice.

It was as good a topic as any, he supposed. “We have made little progress on making roosts less expensive in the short term, they are simply too complex, though several noble artisans have found ways to use less mana in their creation.”

“Doesn't that make them less expensive?” Wilfried asked.

Melchior shook his head while Florencia spoke. “Considering how much ingenuity and skill must be brought to bear to replace a mana advantage, it would not be surprising if this made roosts more expensive.”

“It depends on the materials,” Melchior admitted. He played with the ring section of his own nervously. “We have conceived of a new approach which we think will address our main concerns.”

He lifted his other hand to show off the bangle shaped ordonnanz. With a little jangle, the yellow bracelets sparkled in the warm candle light. “These are just normal ordonnanz but we think adding a switch magic tool will allow the schtappeless to send them. They can also be made homing so they automatically go to the right place. Hopefully even small children will be able to effectively call for help.”

“Don't homing ordonnanz require a roost to home too?” Charlotte asked. “Will this simply mean parents need a roost of their own?”

Melchior frowned. “I hadn't considered that. I think that function can be separated from the others though we were hoping the Watch Office could have a roost for such emergency missives.”

“I think we are overlooking a far bigger problem,” Bonifatius cut in. “How will you know where to find the small child calling for help when no one has ever met them and they cannot tell you where they are?”

“Just like Rott, flares cannot be used indoors,” Florencia noted.

“We could give all the estates numbers, paint them on every launching balcony. Then it would be easy to find people's houses,” Wilfried grumbled. “At present, one must memorize the most inscrutable map where every estate is named for the family which owns it despite some families having several members who live in their own houses!”

“Dear Brother, I believe that's a fine idea,” Charlotte coxed soothingly as Wilfried took deep calming breaths. “It would be very easy for a child to remember just the one number associated with their home.”

“Adding a beacon would not be excessive. Small children excel at finding windows,” Sylvester said. “Why don't you test it in the dormitory. Get Ottilie one of those roosts for her office. Brewing a slightly fancier ordonnanz shouldn't be hard even for first years, yeah. You can get some knights to collect the supplies, right Charlotte?”

“Of course, Father. I will see it done as soon as Melchior provides the list of necessary materials,” she replied.

“We haven't actually finished the special ordonnanz yet,” Melchior hurried to reply. Why were they making plans before the magic tool had even been invented?

Sylvester just grinned. “Oh, well there's plenty of time to brew some ordonnanz before the school year, even if you need to do several iterations,” he said smoothly, as though he was not setting what could prove to be an impossible deadline. He didn't even let Melchior raise additional concerns before launching into his announcement.

“I can't say much has happened that was a surprise. Brunhilde has recovered back to health. Winter Socializing continues apace. We’re selling a few new books this year. They aren't all for kids but be sure to share them with other duchies. Am I missing anything?” he asked Florencia.

She made a show of thinking about it and of getting an idea. “Norbert has been in high spirits lately.”

“Ah yes!” Sylvester said. “Preparations for the dormitory finished early, in spite of a certain someone withholding produce.” Sylvester tossed Melchior a raised eyebrow as if to ask why he would do such a thing. Melchior performative sipped from his cup, unperturbed. The Aub of all people should know how much food was needed for a party. Why sell food he already had only to buy more.

After another second of scrutinizing Sylvester continued. “We finished tax season early and the provisioning moved very smoothly. Norbert’s very glad not to have to plan the feast and prepare the dorms at the same time.”

“How wonderful. I can only imagine what a boon it is to have an active Dormitory Supervisor,” Charlotte said.

Everyone nodded and smiled and congratulated Sylvester. He lifted his cup for a toast but was interrupted. “Preparations are completely finished?” Melchior asked.

“That's what I said,” Sylvester replied.

Melchior glanced at Haldis as he lifted his cup. Haldis flashed a predatory smile, full-throated encouragement if there ever was any “Then additional assistance is no longer necessary?” he pressed.

Sylvester huffed. “Why would we need additional assistance for something which is done?”

Eyes flickered towards Haldis as he coughed to cover a giggle. “Then we can send Lord Meinhard and Lady Helena the good news. They shall be oh so happy of the extra time to spend with family.”

Sylvester stiffened, cup still aloft. “There are other concerns besides provisions,” he muttered. Goblets wavered before questioning looks. Sylvester relaxed. “Very well, Ottilie can handle whatever’s left to do,” he agreed.

Melchior beamed and raised his cup higher. A small nod from Florencia gave him all the warmth his juice could not impart.

After dessert was served, Haldis stepped away to ensure the message was sent that evening before the teleportation hall closed. The Archducal family continued to chat late into the night. They told Brunhilde about other things she missed while she talked about the baby and dodged all probes about its sex. Melchior was content to know it was healthy and to receive permission to send gifts. He considered whether they should set aside an animal sculpture but thought better of it. The baby wouldn’t be able to appreciate the hard work that went into them. Plus it would be best to improve his skills before allowing the figurines to escape into the wild.

Footnotes

14. “In case gossip becomes history” or “Should words become action”^

15. She’s referring to Brigitte’s failed engagement. I don't recall the text ever saying where her ex is from but for the purposes of this one bit of unimportant background drama, Forst is somehow culpable thus souring their relationship with Illgner.^

16. For communication and for cooling tempers^

17. Kind of an impolite way to say Traugott is learning to socialize. Sort of “finally that kid is learning to see the dangers of gossip.” Haldis has been teaching him.^

Chapter Text

With only a couple of days left before the feast, the dizzying energy redoubled as servants and attendants rushed around the castle. Each member of the Archducal family lent at least one attendant to the cause. This task would usually fall to Haldis but he was already committed to helping Bonifatius and Traugott in their efforts to socialize with the Liesegangs while Brunhilde focused on her newborn. Instead Kolteruze was sent leaving only Pepin to mix paint for their lord. It was a trying time for everyone.

For his part, Melchoir was in a scramble to finish all his gifts and commissions before he had to leave for the Royal Academy. He had to write letters for complete collections and assemble the rest. It helped nothing that he kept adding on more recipients but no one could argue against giving Brunhilde's child toys.

Deliroze asked to be in charge of gifts for the infant, stating that he had much experience with baby toys, having been given many as a baby by Rozemyne. He teamed up with Flautzeal who would make thin wooden boards to act as the pages for a book made especially for babies. It was also trivial for him to create a red rattle toy. So easy, in fact, that Flautzeal had to be convinced not to make it any more complex than a simple tube. He still smugly presented a tube with delicate monochromatic inlay which sounded more like glass beads in a silver bell than wood and beads.

Preparations for the baby could do nothing to save the desolate state of Letizia’s gift. Despite having no reason to make returns and even being the holder of any gift debt that might exist, Melchior still felt terrible sending everyone in her family gifts but not her.

“This tradition of school gifts is unorthodox to begin with, my lord, there is no need for you to give her anything. Indeed, some will misconstrue your generosity for interest,” Zargerecht warned.

Melchior hemmed and hawed, “But I’m sending gifts to a lot of people. Why would they assume her’s are any different?”

“Verzeichtanmut is rarely invited when Mestinora and Ordoshnelli meet¹⁷,” Zargerecht replied. “It would be best to send something unassuming, like fabric or brewing ingredients.”

As Melchior's brewing stores were still recovering from the requisition, they decided on fabric; black wool since it was always useful and the truly warm stuff was very expensive to import to warmer climes. Even if Letizia had easy access thanks to her connection to Ehrenfest, others in her retinue and extended faction might not. An ordonnanz was sent to the temple asking Lothar to acquire the wool as well as pick up the brooches for the dormitory. With the use of the kitchen communication set up, no one had to brave the blizzard and no magic letters need be wasted.

The knights and scholars were not saved from the busy atmosphere. The Aub had requested a communications set up for the dormitory; some way for all the students, both those with and those without schtappes, to send ordonnanz to Ottilie’s or her office. The children, and Benedikt, were naturally ambitious and sought to create a massive twelve bird roost for the the office, a homing beacon for Ottilie to wear, homing ordonnanz bracelets for the young students, and all-in-one ordonnanz, name pending, which could be filled, sent, and played back using only buttons on the magic tool itself.

“I like how the eyes change color for the switches,” Gerianne observed. Melchior nodded with a smile but didn't want to risk speaking. He was in charge of making a batch of ten homing bracelets and terrified that any slip in concentration would burn it. Gerianne patted him on the shoulder with an understanding smirk before finding someone else to show her creation.

Eisenfleur and Zipporah seemed to be doing nothing but standing and staring into space so she skipped over to them. “I finished. I set the switches in myself and everything,” she declared.

Setting faestone tools into other faestones was a new skill for Gerianne. It was an advanced process normally only taught to those who took the higher level classes for making magic tools. Sigsnyr had watched over the entire process and corrected several mistakes but that didn't detract from how proud Gerianne was of her accomplishment.

Eisenfleur just frowned down at her, annoyed at having her thoughts interrupted. “Good job Gerianne. You persevered through all that fiddly work. May I see your all-in-one ordonnanz?” Zipporah praised before Eisenfleur could say anything.

“It's not that fiddly,” Eisenfleur mumbled while the other two celebrated Gerianne's first complex magic tool construction. “Now you just need to do it all by yourself,” she added, instantly killing the mood.

“Of course she will later but there's no need to diminish this achievement,” Zipporah sighed. She handed Gerianne back her tool. “Besides, we were at an impasse anyway.”

“Is Eisenfleur not enough extra brain power?” Gerianne asked. To complete the Aub’s request, Melchior's retinue asked Veremund and Eisenfleur to lend their expertise and mana. As she’d already exhausted herself building the large tree shaped perch for the roost, she had joined Zipporah in trying to write simplified instructions so that others could brew all-in-one ordonnanz for their younger siblings or children.

Eisenfleur clicked her tongue. “It’s not me. Lady Zipporah insisted that the people of Ehrenfest are all simpletons.”

“That is not what I said.”

“But you insist that every step must be explained to exhaustion. We do not need to tell people how to do basic brewing. ‘Stir while providing an even stream of mana’ is the first thing anyone learns about brewing. If they can't do that, the rest of the process will be beyond them!” Eisenfleur argued.

Zipporah pressed her hands together and looked to the heavens for strength. “That isn't necessarily true. Different people have different strengths and weaknesses. In this case, a small reminder of how to create the highest quality magic tool is not misplaced. Quality matters greatly in this case.”

“Everyone knows the methods to increase quality. We can save a whole sheet of paper by cutting out these ‘tips’,” Eisenfleur argued.

“I don't know,” Gerianne interjected.

“You…” Eisenfleur took a deep breath, “You have not yet been taught. But you had an experienced scholar assist you as any young brewer would.”

“It is worth the paper to ensure people get good results. Perhaps Gerianne had help but others will only have oversight. They will have to struggle through on their own,” Zipporah explained.

“No one would leave a child to their own devices like that?” Eisenfleur said.

“Sure they would,” Isolde interrupted. “Your parents, no, your whole family treasures you and take personal interests in your health and education. That isn't true of most children. Many will have to puzzle through on their own, maybe even teach themselves how to brew from scratch. I think we should add more information, not less, and print on lesser quality paper to preserve affordability.”

Zipporah shot her a grateful smile while Eisenfleur balked. “People just let children mess with brewing equipment without training?”

“It is more a manner of not paying attention to what the child is doing in general,” Isolde replied. Eisenfleur shook her head in wordless chastisement of all the terrible parents of Ehrenfest.

While Eisenfluer took a moment to reform her worldview, Zipporah and Isolde continued writing out the instructions and materials lists. Gerianne skipped over to where Sigsnyr and Benedikt were assembling the roost while Sebastian held things up.

“Who has time to cut so many tiny screws. I’m glad she just has these but seriously, we could have used rivets,” Sigsnyr marvelled.

“Then it couldn't be taken apart. Also they are bolts,” Benedikt replied. “At least not easily. Can you grip it right here… thank you.”

Gerianne watched with wide eyed wonder as the artificial bush came into being. The bolts were indeed tiny and each join needed two along with two equally small nuts and washers. As the boys had already seen her ordonnanz when Sigsnyr helped her finish, she just sat and watched the roost take form. She was soon joined by Veremund who held his own project while awaiting praise.

“You did it?” Gerianne asked.

“Yes, I think so,” he replied and held up his creation. “At least, I made a beacon which acts as the destination for homing ordonnanz so that you can send a message even if you don't know the person on the other end. It just can't be linked to a specific person. Anyone carrying this thing will get the birds sent to them. I’m not sure whether or not that's a good thing, to bypass the safety protocols for ordonnanz in this way, but you need a specially linked ordonnanz so maybe it's fine. Ah… this feels like it's above my status, you know?”

“I’m not sure what you mean but I think it looks pretty,” Gerianne replied. Veremund had gone to the extra trouble of making the beacon a golden filigree holder so he was happy enough that someone appreciated it. Even if they didn't, he got to play with Blumeschmidt’s jewelry making tools so it would be worth it even if it looked awful.

The two continued to observe everyone else's work until a cacophony of glass scraping stone drew their attention. Melchior pressed a hand to one of his ears even as he kept stirring to finish the brew. By the time the cauldron flashed, he looked absolutely miserable. “Don't be sad, my lord. It is finished now,” Gerianne encouraged.

Melchior put on a long-suffering smile and plucked a hollow disk out of the pile. “Now we just need to resize them,” he said.

“You just brewed ten magic tools at once. You can leave the resizing to someone else,” Veremund said. The recipient of each magic tool could do it themselves even.

Melchior looked into his cauldron and shrugged, “It was only ordonnanz.”

“You get used to it,” Gerianne whispered as she patted him reassuringly on the hand.

After talking Melchior out of resizing all the ordonnanz rather than just the three he was keeping for himself, they all sat to watch the roost take form. Melchior complimented Veremund’s beacon until he turned red and Gerianne shushed him so they could appreciate the final bolts being screwed in. Veremund and Eisenfluer looked at her askant but Melchior dutifully shut his mouth and paid close attention.

The three builders took tentative steps back as the artificial golden bush settled under its own weight for the first time. When it hadn’t fallen over after a few moments they began to smile. “Ha ha!” Sigsnyr rejoiced, his eyes snapping to Zipporah then dimming before he could share his glee. She simple began clapping quietly, her encouragement taken up by the whole room immediately. Even those not involved with Melchior’s retinue paused their work for a moment to join in. Sigsnyr tried to quiet the room with a gesture. “We still need to test it.”

“Even if it doesn’t work, it will be a pretty sculpture,” someone called.

Benedikt huffed. “Of course it will work.” He took a roost-coin out of his pocket, slipped it into a tiny drawer, then closed the drawer and locked it with an equally tiny key. He sent off an ordonnanz then stared in the direction it had flown.

Everyone held their breath as they waited. They were all so anxious that several people flinched when the ordonnanz returned. It went straight for the roost, settling on a low branch, and giving a couple of happy chirps. He pulled out his schtappe and tapped it. “One,” it said in a woman’s voice Melchior was sure he recognized.

“It requires a schtappe?” he asked just as a second bird arrived.

“It’s for the Dormitory Supervisor. They will always have a schtappe,” Benedikt replied.

“Two,” the bird said.

“Their assistant’s might not,” Melchior said. Another bird arrived.

“There are fourteen perches. We would have to add a massive slew of switches to manage it without a schtappe,” Sigsnyr explained.

“Three.”

“That sounds like an excuse,” Eisenfleur scoffed. “If we need more switches we can just make more.”

“Four,” said the next bird in a different voice.

“How many birds are coming?” Gerianne asked.

“I asked Mother to send fifteen if possible,” Benedikt replied. “And we are on a tight schedule. We need something that works, not something which works perfectly.”

“Who carries around fifteen ordonnanz?” Veremund asked. Zipporah walked over to Sigsnyr and dropped a hand full into his waiting hands. He stashed them away without a witty retort.

They waited for all the birds to arrive. Several different people’s voices in varying states of annoyance counted out numbers. Number 11 asked how he would get his faestone back without giving his name before counting off. In number twelve, Benedikt’s mother said to send her all the ordonnanz they were unsure about and she would hand them back out. When they got to the fifteenth bird, it fluttered around as usual before landing on Benedikt’s outstretched arm. By then the whole brewing room had gathered around the large roost.

“What happens to the bird if you aren’t here,” someone asked.

“A roost only works in proximity to its master. It overrides the ordonnanz’s wayfinding while one is in range but otherwise only store’s existing birds.” Sigsnyr explained.

“Then it only works while Ottile is next to it?”

“That’s Professor Ottile,” Isolde said. “And yes. That does seem like a flaw in the design of this system. Will homing ordonnanz return here regardless of its mistress’s proximity?”

Sigsnyr frowned. “I don’t know. I use homing ordonnanz only very rarely for obvious reasons. If it’s still powered then I can only assume so.” He grabbed one of the new bracelets and touched it to the roost. A shimmer traveled across its surface. He held it close to the separated launching perch and flipped a switch. Rather than using the bracelet, The first bird disappeared then reappeared, empty on the perch. “Wha?”

“Do roosts normally do that?” Benedikt asked. They turned to Melchior and Gerianne, the only people present who used them regularly.

“I’ve never had a roost with more than one perch,” Melchior replied.

“In previous iterations the perch serves both as the sending and receiving place,” Isolde added.

“Your circles must be reading the storage box and receiving perches as the same sort of thing,” Eisenfluer observed. “I don’t think it's a problem with the physical object at least.”

“We forgot to attach the storage box,” Benedikt sighed.

“Let’s hope that fixes it,” Zipporah added just as every bird turned back into a faestone and fell from the tree in a clatter.

“That drains so much mana,” someone squeaked while Sigsnyr and Benedikt looked to the heavens and hung their head, respectively.

At least with Veremund’s beacon done and working as intended, they had something to tune the homing ordonnanz to and a functioning system by which the first and second years could communicate their distress. They just needed to set faestone switches into seven ordonnanz bracelets and return fifteen ordonnanz to unspecified friends of Benedikts mother. Thankfully Eisenfleur was happy to ditch technical writing for magical jewelry creation while Benedikt and Isolde could identify all the bird’s between them

… …

With the completion of the weave, the day of the Feast Celebrating Winter arrived. Pepin would be almost solely in charge of his Lord's comfort for the morning as everyone more skilled was tapped for those skills elsewhere. Halfway to second bell, Kolteruze shuffled into the changing room looking completely haggard. Being forced to awaken at first bell for several days straight was obviously wearing him down.

“This should be no different from your usual routine,” Zargerecht scoffed, looking perfectly put together despite the early hour. “Do not carry this attitude out of this room and…”

“Yes, Zargerecht, I know. I will keep perfect poise all day despite having to run from one corner of the castle to the other all morning and afternoon. I’ll not even shame our lord by grumbling about it,” Kolteruze whined.

Pepin patted his shoulder consolingly, silently thankful he was assigned to Melchior’s chambers for the day. “That is just the fate of an apprentice.”

Rather than being mollified, Kolteruze only scowled harder. “I believe it is targeted aggression. The other apprentices are handed wooden boards and told to watch the centerpieces growing. I could guard the table runners just fine. I’m very good at looking like I’m doing something important while daydreaming next to unimportant piles of tat!”

Now Zargerecht chuckled. He sat at the table, lazily preparing to review the schedule as the two boys turned to look at him. “Do you think any apprentice of mine would be insulted with such demeaning ‘work’?” Pepin held back his own chuckle. It would seem that Kolteruze was being worked so hard because he was actually capable where the other apprentices couldn't be trusted with anything too important.

“I thought we were Haldis’s apprentices,” Kolteruze grumped.

“Are you?” Zargerecht asked. Only when they disappointed him, apparently.

Pepin did a final smoothing on his uniform, checked the contents of his pockets against his everyday carry list, and found a roll of something wrapped in paper in his pockets. Upon inspection, they were some of the barshoo candies he’d been given or begged from Sheila or Kirk. However he’d acquired them, they were a tasty way to find the energy to follow Nikolaus, who was all but inexhaustible, around on various adventures. “Would you like one?”

“What is it?” Kolteruze asked. He tied on his neckerchief and tidied his hair one last time then stood up straight and assumed his usual congeniality. No hint of his cranky tiredness remained except for a slight darkening under his eyes.

“Honey drops dosed with barshoo,” Pepin read from the paper. “They make one feel more energetic and ward off sleep.”

“I know what barshoo does,” Kolteruze muttered, snapping up the package quickly but gently. “How did you get it into honey drops? What are honey drops?”

Pepin opened his mouth to explain only to come up short. From the name of the candy it was made from honey and shaped like a droplet but honey was usually liquid and these were hard like glass. How the plant essence was incorporated was even more of a mystery. Someone had to have explained it at some point but he just couldn't recall. “You would have to ask Sheila,” was all he could say.

Kolteruze popped one in his mouth and stashed another in his pocket before returning the rest. Pepin smiled at the special blue candy which was now the next in line. “I should have thought to drink some these past mornings. It probably would have helped.”

“You would be helped most by correcting your sleeping schedule,” Zargerecht chided.

Kolteruze just sat down with a dainty flip of his hair. Not exactly poor comportment but not really exactly respectful either. Zargerecht chose to let it go and began reviewing the plan for the day. Melchior's attendants had agreed on this plan the week prior. Since Haldis had a child making her debut, he needed the entire day off. Zargerecht would spend the evening with Lady Henriette leaving only Kolteruze or Pepin to accompany their lord for the whole day. With so many of Lady Brunhilde's attendants tied up helping with the baby, the rest of the Archducal family had to provide replacements. Lady Brunhilde was a very accomplished attendant who was passionate about events, happily and skillfully taking over planning the feasts the moment she had the standing to do so.

Now that her duties were redistributed, each member of the Archducal family was lending at least one of their own attendants in a show of solidarity. Between the two of them, Kolteruze was the obvious choice. Both older and an archattendant, he was more skilled and carried more prestige. Pepin was happy to be entrusted with caring for Melchior but also very nervous.

He gripped his diptych tightly as he noted down everything again. “You must ensure Lord Melchior eats breakfast. I do not anticipate him skipping meals in his excitement but it is not uncommon for children to do so. How he spends his morning is up to his own discretion. I recommend studying his notes for the feast again but only so long as that does not cause undue stress. Ensure he has a light snack before dressing in his ceremonial robes. He will have to spend part of lunch changing, leaving less time to eat which cannot be extended as he cannot delay Lady Charlotte’s socializing. Nor can he appear uncouth while lunching.

“You must step away to change into your own formal outfit during the religious observances and return before they end in order to assist Lord Melchior. We have coordinated with the feast preparation team to have a room set aside for Lord Melchior to change into his noble dress. We will not be using that room but a meeting room between the Great Hall and the Northern Building. The knights will do a discreet tour of the assigned room to see if anyone attempts anything nefarious.”

Pepin and Kolteruze shared a worried glance. This was a change from their prior plans. Though he wanted to ask why Zargerecht thought such precautions were necessary, he had to keep taking notes. “Kirk will join you in assisting Lord Melchior. Once our lord is ready, Pepin, you will assist Kirk in changing into his servant robes for the sake of speed and to reduce the number of people with knowledge of our Lord's precise whereabouts. After I have taken away the clothing and supplies, you will be released to enjoy the feast as you usually would. Do not leave the ceremonial robes or Lord Melchior’s cosmetics unattended. Are there any questions?”

“Why aren't you in charge of such a delicate transition?” Kolteruze asked, seemingly nonchalantly.

“Do you doubt Pepin's competence?” Zargerecht replied.

Kolteruze shook his head. “That doesn't enter into things. Lord Melchior has two adult attendants. Only one is unavailable, or should be. Yet the other is not taking over his duties.”

Zargerecht narrowed his eyes. “There is much work to do to ensure this transition goes smoothly that is not hooking eyes and lacing boots,” he clucked.

“Do you mean to say that the great Zargerecht is unable to do work of which Lady Ridyarda has proven herself capable?”

Pepin cringed. Zargerecht and Ridyarda were not in any sort of competition, per say, but every older attendant had long since grown tired of being compared to her. “As I said, I have other work to do,” Zargerecht reiterated.

“Work with the little one?” Kolteruze asked. He didn't wait for an answer. “For being our Lord's attendant, you spend so much time caring for someone else.”

Zargerecht heaved a tired sigh and rose from the table. “Lord Melchior cares deeply for his younger sister. He has asked that I ensure her wellbeing,” he said with finality. He strode towards the exit.

Just as he gripped the door handle Kolteruze spoke again. “Only it's curious Lady Florencia allows it,” he mused. Zargerecht merely glanced over his shoulder before leaving.

Pepin tried to recover some semblance of calm. It was much too early in the morning for one of these sparring matches. Perhaps giving Kolteruze barshoo was a mistake. “Why are you antagonizing Zargerecht? I have to spend all day with him,” he complained.

“I just don't like it. I do believe you can handle it but you shouldn't have to. Our retinue is already so small yet we're getting pulled in every direction away from our lord.”

“You just don't like that others aren't as understanding of your insomnia,” Pepin observed.

Kolteruze sputtered and blushed. “That's not the only reason. Why don't you care that so many of our coworkers are disloyal?”

“I think ‘disloyal’ is too strong a word. We all serve for different reasons. What's important is that we do our work to the highest standard,” Pepin argued.

“I think disloyal is exactly the right word in this case. I just can't prove it yet,” Kolteruze said with a dark look towards the door.

Pepin shivered and got up as well. He wasn't interested in joining another conspiracy any time soon and really didn't want to get in the middle of the ongoing friction between Zargerecht and Kolteruze. It didn't even seem to have a point from his perspective. They just took every opportunity to needle each other in the most sensitive places. Perhaps there was a more concrete reason he was forgetting but that was the kind of thing he worked hard to remember.

It was irrelevant to the current day's work so Pepin made a quick note in his new diary about the event and swifty forgot about the whole thing.

Melchior was just finishing his morning exercises when Pepin arrived. Everything had been prepared for him to “wake up” and begin the day by Zargerecht. The usual warm water for his wipe down had been replaced with cold water for religious reasons. Melchior looked at it for several seconds though his expression never changed. That was as good as a scowl for him. He wasn't smiling yet but he normally put on his smile after his hair was done.

After warming back up and snuggling into his house coat, Melchior still seemed rather quiet. The garish article hadn't elicited a tiny smirk as it usually did. “Is there something the matter, my lord?” Pepin asked.

He waited for Melchior to finish scrubbing his teeth with an expecting but understanding expression, perfectly calibrated to coax anyone into sharing their worries. “You are too perceived, Pepin,” he grumbled but went on to explain. “Henri did not like the sculptures.”

Henri? That had to be short for Henriette. So Melchior’s little sister hadn't liked some sculptures. She couldn't leave her rooms so they had to be transported to her. Was that why this had affected Melchior so much? He had to have them approved for her rooms but she ended up not liking them. Thankfully Melchior continued talking.

“I don't know why. She always liked the animal figures I made with my highbeast faestone and those weren't even as detailed. I know I’m bad at sculpting but if she could be happy with mini highbeasts she couldn't be that judgemental right?” he asked.

It all made more sense with this revelation. Of course he’d be upset if his hard work making sculptures wasn't appreciated. “I’m sure she does like them. It's probably just hard to compare a shape shifting, flying, nigh indestructible figurine with the fragile, stationary ones.”

Melchior almost started speaking a couple of times before falling silent with a quiet “I suppose”.

Pepin finished combing through the night's tangles, a much easier task now that Melchior’s hair was braided before bed. He took a moment to contemplate what hairstyle he would choose if the decision hadn't already been made. For an event with both the aub and his son present, Melchior always wanted to match his father. Though whatever the Aub’s attendants did to make his bangs burst out while the rest of his hair lay neatly was beyond mere mortals, using one of his hair clips helped immensely to sell the likeness. Pepin included a little gel to control shorter flyaways but mostly just pulled the hair back and secured it.

With the tip of the ponytail resting neatly between small shoulder blades, he could move on to the bangs. There was only one hair accessory. Somehow Pepin had forgotten this and left twin pieces of hair at the front. He contemplated redoing everything but decided in the end to have one unadorned braid and one with the chain. He pinned the chain behind Mechior’s ear for added interest and handed over a hand mirror. Melchior barely looked at himself before collecting his roost and fluttering away to have breakfast. Oh to have such confidence, Pepin sighed internally.

It was set to be a lazy day. It wouldn't do to exhaust their lord before such an important event. Pepin expected Melchior to find an excuse not to paint since Haldis wasn't around to give him significant looks but he set to the task just after breakfast. As usual, he was also running out of paint. Something always conspired to consume the paint supply. This time, either the night had been slightly drier than normal or they'd rung the cloth out too much, but the wet cloth preserving the egg paint was no longer wet and neither were half the colors. Despite all his training Pepin couldn't stop his shoulder from falling. He could already feel the aches in his arms.

“I can use oils today,” Melchior offered.

Pepin fixed his smile and shook his head. “It really is no trouble, my lord. And you will waste the paint which survived.”

Melchior raised one eyebrow before standing up and walking over to the paint mixing station. He took up the second set of mixing tools and began making his own paint. “There is no need, my lord,” Pepin tried to take over.

“There are two sets,” Melchior said dismissively as he continued carefully adding arbitrary amounts of pigment and glair then smoothing them together with a palette knife.

Once they'd both moved on to mulling, Gerianne appeared at their elbows. “Can I try?”

Pepin jumped in surprise while Melchior just turned with a more genuine smile. “I am almost finished. But I also need more red so I can show you how it's done.”

“Thank you. Then the attendants' arms will not be so shaky at the end of the day,” she said.

“Gerianne!” Pepin snapped.

Melchior's movements grew slower. “I suppose I have needed a lot of paint recently. Have you all been struggling?”

“My lord, there really is no need for concern,” Pepin sputtered the specter of Kolteruze's ire breathing down his neck. They'd been working so hard to hide the strain so as not to upset Melchior or give him a new angle to argue against completing his commissions.

“Have you been struggling?” Melchior repeated his bright blue gaze falling with its full weight, boring into his soul.

Pepin tried to hold on, to look away and recenter himself but under such intense concern and the phantom pain of hours of mulling he broke. “I’m just not all that strong. Mixing paint is not difficult but after doing so much of it, all your small muscles begin to complain.”

Melchior frowned as he recommenced mixing. “Why haven't you said anything before? We cannot find solutions if you never ask for help.”

“It is an attendant pride to appear unaffected even by difficult work,” Pepin quoted.

Gerianne giggled, undercutting his resolute declaration. Melchior likewise looked unimpressed. “I will see what can be done. I am nearly finished with all my paintings. The small time stopping magic tool was inconvenient but we could find other shapes.” They had wanted desperately for it to work but its tall and narrow construction made storing shells and paint pots messy. Pepin resigned himself to a lecture. Lord Melchior liked to paint. Making paint was therefore part of his attendants duties and should be performed with a breezy smile.

Thankfully, no further revelations were dragged out of Pepin and the rest of the morning proceeded smoothly. The kitchens sent up cheese, bread, and cured meat for a snack and Kirk to assist with the ceremonial attire. Pepin tried once again to commit the process to memory, where all the accessories went, how to make the hem hang straight and just low enough to look correct but not to drag the ground. As the longest article Melchior wore by far, it was rare he had the opportunity to practice and thus had ample time to forget. Kirk gave his corrections in a quiet and polite voice, endlessly patient. He tried to share his own mnemonics which Pepin tried to remember and made notes on. Melchior held his arms in all the most convenient positions as he watched the proceedings.

“I can make a drawing if you like,” he offered.

“That would be most helpful,” Pepin accepted immediately. Though it pained his attendant soul, there really was no space for pride which made him worse at his job. He would accept whatever assistance his lord’s patience afforded him.

Footnotes

17.“No one cares about the truth when they can just make things up.” or “Even the well intentioned will spread gossip without a rigorous check for accuracy.” Verzeichtanmut, Goddess of Records, Subordinate of Light. Loves precision and obscure units. Dislikes speculation and rounding errors.^

Chapter Text

Life during the High Bishop’s extended winter absences was a relaxing time for Lothar. This was new both because his previous lords’ work continued through the season at the same or greater intensity, and because Lothar had only just, finally, learned how to take leisure. This did not mean he didn't work. He could not be idle for very long, but the shape of that industry was almost entirely in his own hands. So long as the various rituals were ready on time and the High Bishop's chambers were maintained, Lothar was free to order his days however he saw fit. This freedom of choice had been daunting at first but now he reveled in the task of ordering his days.

He practiced harspiel each morning after joining the exercises led by Sister Streita. On some afternoons he assisted the High Priest’s attendants with their archival work and budgetary preparations, or else teaching them more about the nuanced art of administration. The more skilled they grew the less he would be called upon to assist with what was no longer his job. On other days he helped proofread new texts in the workshop, cut mimeograph stencils, mix ink, or anything else which might benefit from either raw strength or exacting attention to detail. Though not the most skilled at printing work for lack of experience, he was very good at explaining the processes to new workers and coaching older workers through new techniques. This freed Fritz and Bartz to do actual printing work, speeding things up in a roundabout fashion.

For Lothar, it was very easy to fall into a pedagogical role without noticing. Yet for all the time he spent teaching adults complex work, he took the most joy in teaching the children. Winter was the best time for him to work with the apprentices and unbaptized children and make notes on their progress. He was also the best suited to prepare their young noble for his eventual baptism and spent much time with the lad on etiquette and noble customs. The children all greeted him with smiles and swarmed him to talk about their achievements. He did his best to give each child some of his undivided attention no matter how long it delayed him in his “duties”.

When he wasn't working, he liked to chat with the older gray clergy. It was Lily's first year as the head of the orphanage. She had lived there consistently for several years and had Delia to assist her but her own desire to earn Sister Strieta’s regard shackled her with perfectionism. They had many talks over some of Sheila’s experimental spirits which ended with him and Delia assuring her she was doing well and that the orphanage was safe in her care.

It was much harder to console her over the fate of her son. “He isn't even an orphan. I’m still here,” she whined drunkenly.

“One's parents need not be dead to be an orphan, only unable to provide for them,” Lothar explained.

“I could provide for him *hiccup* if I had the chance. I have skills. I could do it. He could do it. He’s just as skilled as those common brats.”

Delia scoffed. “More skilled probably. I’ve seen the way those apprentices fawn over our charges' grace and elegance. They would pay you a fortune to raise their little terrors. A fortune I say!”

“Please be quieter,” Lothar coaxed while moving the bottle farther away from them. They always insisted on drinking as much as him even though they got drunk much more quickly.

“Please be quieter,” Lily repeated in a mocking tone. “They always want you to be quiet. Always quiet. Never seen, never heard. But ok, ok. I’ll be quiet. Just for you Lolo.”

“Do not call me that.”

“Why not Lolo. What's wrong with being a little casual?” Delia teased. She leaned over in an attempt to reach the bottle while batting her pretty eyelashes to distract him but Lothar moved it farther and refilled her cup with water. “No Lolo, not the well spirits.”

“We have had enough. We cannot spend all day and tomorrow morning indisposed,” Lothar chided.

“Indisposed. In dis posed,” Lily mocked.

Every time he sobered after their communion, he vowed never to drink with them again so it wasn't a common occurrence. More commonly they soberly discussed changes to the orphanage’s work and ways to intelligently spend their money. The younger children often talked the Plantin lehenges into running errands for them to buy sweets and trinkets but the older gray clergy had too much dignity to ask. They could make very short visits to shops near the main road while walking to and from the forest but the selection was limited and they didn't have time to linger or barter.

Instead they spent weeks and weeks planning exactly what to get and from where. Money for individual purchase or group investments was then collected and kept ready for an opportunity. Either a gray clergy would be sent on an errand into the city or Milva would visit and take an order from them. They saved her intervention for large purchases or expensive items.

It was therefore a very exciting turn of events when Lothar received what amounted to open permission to leave the temple and visit the Lower City as and when he saw fit. Lord Melchior needed black wool for a gift before he left for the Royal Academy but terrible weather made it unsafe to travel through the city, not to mention how many shops remained completely shuttered during blizzards. The High Bishop was willing to trust Lothar's judgement as to when it was best to make the trip and to “see to any other business which might arise during the High Bishop's absence according to your discretion”, the High Bishop's season-long absence, business of no specific description, Lothar's personal discretion.

Lothar tried to argue that this did not mean he had permission to leave whenever he wanted but the other gray clergy insisted the language was clear and discouraged him from seeking confirmation lest permission be retracted.

“That language doesn't matter should my lord decide my actions were excessive,” Lothar argued.

“You imagine the High Bishop will see fit to chastise you for anything?” Paul challenged. “He believes you can do no wrong and obviously trusts that you will use this allowance appropriately.”

Lothar stared at the ordonnanz which conveyed his orders in Haldis’s voice. Things had been much easier when his lord needed to be present or had to send a representative to give him orders. At least then he could ask for clarification. As things stood, they'd already exchanged several birds to finalize the details. Every additional question drained the magic tool further with no way for the gray clergy to recharge it themselves, not to mention using more of an archattendant’s valuable time. So Lothar conceded that he had some limited permission to leave the temple occasionally and the adult grays began planning.

A clear morning didn’t arrive for several days but when it did, Lothar was ready. He awoke to the strange quiet left behind by the blizzards not playing the chimney like a flute. Though obnoxious, the extra noise which floated in through the chimney was worth sleeping in a warm room every night. It was even worth sharing that room with several other men. The gray clergy were raised to be fastidious and considerate so their temporary dormitory was both clean and orderly but after so many years sleeping in his own rooms, it was somewhat disconcerting to hear so many people around at night. They each had a bed and storage chest separated from others’ things by folding divider screens with a communal bathing area in the corner. Everyone was willing to give up a bit of personal space not to have to bathe in a freezing cold chamber somewhere else. The furniture was miss matched and the space cramped but there was something nostalgic about the arrangement. It also helped that the option was always there to return to one's own room if one needed a night all to themselves.

Lothar had to visit his room to change into his commoner clothes. He also took his gray cloak issued for his personal use by the temple. It was old, likely older than him, but it was warm and he didn’t need to share or wait outside in the cold when going to greet his lord. He clutched the cloak close as he leaned against his door, his body cooling slowly in the frigid room. Lord Melchior had done this. He’d pushed and schemed and begged all to make not just his own attendants but all the temple’s gray clergies’ lives easier. And, unlike Lady Rozemyne, though they would be forever grateful to her, he gained no profit from it whatsoever. Life would certainly be harshers once he left, Lothar sighed.

The clear weather was burning so he hurried away, collecting excited looks from every fellow gray he met. He’d been entrusted with a fair sum of lions to order a spinning wheel, fresh needles, and carpentry tools. Bartz was sure that with a bit of patience and the right tools they wouldn’t have to wait for Sister Streita to summon a craftsman or go without when something only the orphans used broke. With the coins tucked into an interior pocket deep in his jacket and the slightly mismatched gloves Kirk had recently gifted him, he set off into the Lower City.

It took quite a while to wade through the snow drifts and shuffle over frozen ground but he arrived at Kurtis’s shop without injury. The door was shut without a door man to welcome in customers. Only Kurtis’s assistant waited within the receiving area.

“Master Lothar, what a rare and pleasant surprise. I hope all is well with your lord,” the man greeted warmly but leaving little room for pleasantries. He’d been stitching something but set it gently on a work table so he could give Lothar his full attention.

“I have heard no complaints. My lord simply wishes to purchase a few lengths of fine black wool.”

“Black wool? This late in the season.”

Lothar smiled apologetically. “It is to be a gift for his niece.”

All the man’s mental calculations played on his face. He wondered how such a young man had a niece, dismissed the question as one above his station, then settled in to figure out where to get an appropriate amount of black wool of noble quality on such short notice. “How long do we have to acquire it?”

Lothar counted up the days until the second years would leave. While they could send it after. Everything would get more complicated once Melchior was at the Royal Academy. Delays would also delay how quickly he could present his gifts forcing him to lose the, quite baffling, competition with Alexandria and his older siblings. “Ideally, a few days, though if it is absolutely impossible to fill the order in that time, an extension can be negotiated.” They would pay for speed but they would expect a discount in the face of delays.

The man nodded before bundling his work away more securely. “I will speak with Kurtis and we will make inquiries. If you have other business in the city, you may return later for an update.”

Lothar looked at the bench in the small customer section of the shop then outside at the rare sunlight. “I shall return after midday,” he promised before taking his leave.

He was halfway to the carpenters, picking his way slowly and carefully through the slick streets, when he realised he should have asked the tailor where to buy sewing needles. They would likely have some for sale but even if they didn’t they had to know where to acquire them. He was occupied with these thoughts all the way to Janto’s Carpentry.

It was closed, completely shuttered and locked. He stood on the stoop at something of a loss unsure whether to knock or leave. He could always speak with Ingo instead, have the man point him to yet another shop which could fill his order.

“It’s ok to knock,” called a voice which was far too close for comfort.

Lothar resisted flinching, turning slowly to face the new arrival. In a well patched coat with a strangely shaped wooden shovel, stood Pete grinning. “Well, now there is no need,” Lothar replied. He tried not to fidget under the teasing gaze, resettling his basket on his arm instead. He looked Pete up and down, the smokey smell of someone who spent too long too close to a hearth wafting from him. “Are you prepared to do business?”

It was Pete’s turn to grow anxious under scrutiny. He wiped a hand down his nape, showcasing a neatly mended underarm gusset. “If you’ll give me a moment to put the shovel away. I’ll see what I can do. Did something go wrong with your spinning wheel? It was a rather complex machine as I recall.” Pete did not unlock the front door but began leading Lothar around the block of buildings to the alley.

“I will have no way of knowing until Spring Prayer,” Lothar replied. He tried to keep up as Pete flew across the ground. They were just rounding the second corner when he slipped and nearly fell. The shovel dropped with a wet clatter onto the half cleared ivory street just as Pete’s hand grabbed onto his arms to steady him.

“Careful. Snow removal’s rather spotty this far south. Nothing like the temple paths, I’m sure,” Pete joked as he placed Lothar back on his feet. His hand lingered on Lothar's arm for an extra moment before letting go with seeming reluctance. “That's impressive.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ah… I mean. I… can walk slower,” Pete stammered before taking off at exactly the same pace as before.

Lothar followed at his own pace and they soon arrived at the back entrance. Once inside, a room warmed by a roaring fire greeted them. Wooden objects in various states of repair filled the space alongside what looked to be hundreds of tools.

“Old Janto inherited the place from his father who got it from an uncle who got it from a childless widow and so forth. Some of these projects got set down fifty years ago and abandoned. And all these tools in this room aren't ours. We replace quite a lot of handles here,” Pete babbled.

Lothar hadn't asked but he figured something in his expression betrayed his curiosity and judgement. The temple had even more furniture but it was well organized. As for the tools, “Do you sell tools as well?”

Pete beamed as he led the way to a collection of crates. “Do we ever. Sometimes a son doesn’t follow his father’s profession, some one upgrades their tack, or some such and we can buy old tools for cheap. Then we refurbish and resell them. It’s much more affordable than new tools but they’re just as good.”

After looking over the offerings, turning them over in his hands, and reading the small inscriptions or imprints, Lothar had to concede that he had no idea what he was looking for. The grey clergy, for all their industrious courage, were not craftspeople in the traditional sense. They didn’t actually know how to fix things or what was needed for such tasks yet. They needed tools to practice and practice to know what tools were needed. Though very conscious of the faith placed in him, Lothar accepted that he would have to trust Pete’s opinion on the matter.

“What tools do you recommend for a hobbyist just beginning in the craft? We need practical tools for simple repairs,” Lothar said.

Still with a bright smile, Pete fished a hammer out of a crate and tossed it into the air. He caught it with a flourish and a smirk. “Well, you have to start with a good hammer.”

Pete showed off several tools and listed their uses while Lothar took notes in his diptych. They had to pause for Pete to be amazed by the device and to praise Lothar’s small neat letters. Apparently, Pete had learned some letters from a friend whose father was a foreman in a farrier’s shop. “No one swings a hammer like a farrier but I think you could give them good competition. With a bit of training, naturally.” Lothar could only smile and nod at what he assumed was a compliment.

Eventually, they had a small collection of solid looking tools and a bag of nails. Lothar attempted to order another spinning wheel only to encounter the same problems as before. He knew nothing about spinning fiber and hadn’t been given highly specific notes this time. “I can come visit the temple to ask the spinners in question,” Pete offered.

Lothar fixed him with a narrow look. Very few commoners wanted to involve themselves with the temple. Those few that did were directly related to Lady Rozemyne’s efforts or brought in by those who were. Random citizens aimed to visit the temple only three times in their lives barring funerals. “You wish to come to the temple?” he asked.

Pete instantly looked less sure of himself. “I mean, if that’s allowed. I suppose the spinners could come here but I hear the orphans aren’t allowed much freedom of movement.”

“So your interest is in the orphans?” Lothar pressed. It had to be something.

“I’m interested in selling a spinning wheel,” Pete replied. He played with a tool on the bench and looked away, a light blush on his cheeks.

Lothar wasn’t sure he believed that but it wasn’t technically against any rules for him to visit. Considering that they had sought out his store, it seemed unlikely that he was involved in some scheme against the temple. The possibility existed that he approached Ingo with the hopes of being recommended to the temple as obfuscation. That would be an impressively subtle attack unlikely to land but didn’t that make it all the easier to hide.

Pete shuffled nervously under his gaze. There was something shifty about him but that the shiftiness was so plain to see made it feel less threatening. Lothar sighed and looked away. He was not Lord Ferdinand that he could unravel such intricate plans. He could only share his observations with Lord Kazmir and Sir Dedryck. “Very well. We appreciate your dedication to your craft.”

“Oh! Wonderful. Let me grab my things,” Pete chirped and disappeared before Lothar could say anything about summons or proper invitations. His sheer enthusiasm to tackle the work immediately meant that Lothar had to remind him to take payment for the tools and forgot how many other errands he needed to run. Pete almost forgot to lock his door. He tripped on a patch of ice he’d easily navigated before. Through their entire walk across the city he kept up a constant nervous chatter about the mundane life of a refurbishing carpenter. Perhaps it was all the time he spent with Kirk, but Lothar didn’t find the drone unpleasant.

It was not until they visited Fred’s Tailoring and Lothar changed into his new suit of clothes that Pete’s tongue stilled. The amicable conversation he was carrying on with Fred’s mother paused mid-word when Lothar exited the back room with his cloak and old clothes over his arm.

“Ha! Didn’t I say orange was the color for you. Not to bright at all, ga! You had no faith. Ain’t priest supposed to be pious and such?” Fred cried right next to his ear.

“We have faith in the gods,” Lothar sighed. He carefully refolded his new shirts, Fred’s apprentice did a passable but imperfect job, and placed them in his basket alongside his old clothes. “I believe we agreed on one large and three small silver.”

The money changed hands and all the while Pete stood in silence, watching. “Have you noticed an error?” Lothar asked after catching Pete’s gaze for the fifth time.

Pete coughed, “Oh… ah… no, not at all. Master Fred truly deserves the title.” Anyone would agree. It was a suit in the newest style, complete with a crisp white linen shirt and orange embroidered neckerchief. A tall, crip collar crowned a deep blue jacket which brought out the deep orange hue in a waistcoat Pete would otherwise have called brown. Even with the jacket, Pete could see just how narrow Lothar’s waist was, his lower sash resting just so over his hips. The sash around the shoulders was done using circles and leaves in white and light blue. Its slight narrowness highlighting a broad chest and shoulders. To top everything off, right in the center of the neckerchief rested a glittering stone of five colors on a shiny golden chain.

The tailoring was perfect. The fabric and colors were perfect. The man wearing it all was perfect and immediately covered everything up with a great grey clock. It was devastating and also for the best. Pete felt like he was taking his first breath in ages only once the most beautiful man he’d ever seen was more covered. “Needles,” he muttered as he tried in vain to resettle his coat into something presentable.

Lothar paused his farewell to Ilsa. “Did you say something?”

“You needed needles,” Pete repeated, still in something of a daze. “Do you know where to buy sewing needles, Master Fred?”

Lothar looked at him. Pete looked away with a fierce blush on his face. Many people listened to Lothar. His lord, coworkers both noble and common, and apprentices all respected him but it still filled him with warmth to have someone remember something he kept forgetting. Enough warmth that he even laughed at Fred’s terrible joke about a tailor needing to know where to buy needles to run his business.

They purchased the needles and then the two men traveled north back through the city together. They stopped buy Kurtis’s shop to buy the black wools. There were many spans of plain black and yet another black on black patterned monstrosity which his lord would delight in. Lothar bought enough for three women's dresses. They would never again make the mistake of giving a woman too little fabric. It was possible for him to carry everything but he privately acknowledged having extra hands made the walk home much more pleasant.

Lothar entered through the orphanage gate and was immediately swarmed by smiling children and nosy adults. Some took his burdens politely but urgently and disappeared to play with all the new toys while the rest bombarded him with questions about his trip or took his coat revealing his outfit once again.

Lily came forward to accept the fabric from Pete’s arms. “We thank you ever so much for assisting our Lothar,” she said with a smile Pete was coming to understand meant it was time for him to leave in the nonverbal language of the grey clergy.

“Actually, I came to discuss your requirements for a new spinning wheel. I can also teach you how to use your new tools,” Pete said quickly. He looked to Lothar for assistance but a sea of children had engulfed him entirely. It took Pete a moment to tear his eyes away.

Lily followed his eyes. Her gaze turned sharp and appraising. “I see. I will gather our spinners. Allow us to host you for a cup of tea.” She called a boy from the throng of excited children. “Lyle, please show Master Pete to the merchants’ meeting room. And make some tea. We have much to discuss.”

Pete tried to put on a congenial smile but felt strangely off kilter. He didn't realise until he was seated in an opulent room with his coat nowhere in sight that he hadn't told anyone his name. A handful of beautiful women arrived before Lothar. They sat down and were served tea by the children then began a conversation which had nothing to do with fiber arts whatsoever.

Footnotes

The conversation with Lily and Delia was altered for tone. It was making light of the reality of flower offerings. As much as I believe it is a joke a gray shrine maiden with a dark sense of humor would make, I also understand that it could be jarring given the wider tone of this work. After thinking about it, I believe that it does not distract from the scene to change it. The conversation about the fate of Lily's son is far more important and hints at what the joke makes explicit. The old text is preserved below for posterity and reference

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Preserved text: "They always want you to be quiet, except in bed, then it's all about screaming. But I'll be quiet"

Replaced with : "They always want you to be quiet. Always quiet. Never seen, never heard. But ok, ok. I’ll be quiet."

Chapter Text

Between dressing and traveling to the Great Hall, Melchior’s retainers all visited to receive their brooches long guarded so jealously to prevent “accidental” debuts. Only Dedryck was missing as he’d already received his to wear during his trip to the Sovereignty. Most people whirled in already dressed in their finery. Some, like Haldis, looked harried and disappeared as soon as they had brooch in hand and a reassurance that nothing they didn’t already know would be announced. Others seemed grateful to have been called away from whatever they’d been doing and given an excuse and opportunity to avoid entering the hall with their families. Isolde still looked suspicious when she was asked to remain while the adults and knights were freed immediately. Gerianne stayed long enough to be helped with her brooch and cloak, which was also white to match her pale formal gown and hair. Despite how easily stained she was, she still boldly partook of the snacks and tea.

Once the attendants had distributed accessories to everyone they began helping those who asked to affix them on cloaks and neckerchiefs. Kolteruze paused as he worked on Zargerecht’s shirt front. As much as he wanted to make a snide comment about him not attending any special events and therefore not really needing a brooch, he was distracted by the exquisite fabric.

“This is a very nice kerchief,” he blurted out.

“Thank you. It was a gift,” Zargerecht replied with some surprise.

“A gift from Lord Melchior?” Isolde asked. Zargerecht nodded.

Kolteruze looked more closely. It was too perfectly dyed not to have used the duchy base dye. When had Melchior managed to brew or request some without going through his attendants? It also featured a narrow frilly boarded, inclusion lace, and “Is it embroidered with magic circles?”

Now Zargerecht couldn't hold back a gentle smile. “It is. They alert the wear to the presence of ingested poisons.” The circles flared with light for a moment. “Then the wearer may activate them to neutralize the threat.”

“Why not have the poison automatically cleansed?” Kolteruze asked, turning to Melchior now that he was done affixing the brooch and had spent longer than was polite touching Zargerecht’s clothes.

“Lothar said it would be unhelpful for an attendant to be unknowingly cured of poison which they might then give to their charge. Plus, like this, you can place the cloth around someone else's neck and use it to cure them too,” Melchior explained. “I first considered a cloak but that wouldn’t be appropriate and would take too long to embroider.”

“And who did you hire to do the embroidery?” Isolde asked.

Melchior smiled and tried to project a calm he didn’t feel. There was no telling how everyone would react to a commoner sewing magic circles. “Would you need to hire another embroiderer, Isolde?”

She cocked an eye at him, affronted. “Why do you assume it is for me?”

“You asked,” Benedick quipped.

Melchior giggled hoping the question would pass without further interest. “I think I might like to hire someone. Especially if you endorse their work,” Sebastian said. Melchior tried not to cringe. Why was everyone always so curious about the things he most wanted them to ignore?

“Just get yourself a wife. No need to hire anyone,” Fonsel teased. Sebastian grimaced and commenced an argument about the difficulties of single people which Fonsel had obviously forgotten in his marital bliss. This neatly drew in everyone in the room, allowing Melchior to escape without having to reveal any more about Fred’s involvement. He felt he should find a noblewoman willing to sell her time to him in the future even though the resulting work would be slightly tainted by another’s mana. Fred’s work didn’t have that problem though a commoner's circles required more mana to activate.

“I must return to the pit soon,” Flautzeal called. As an apprentice scholar he had to stay and was anxious not to miss the orchestra tuning and other final preparations.

“Yes, of course. Everyone please gather around,” Melchior called the room to order. Everyone quieted and waited expectantly. Melchior paused to calm his nerves before forging ahead in spite of so much attention. “As previously discussed, my head apprentices, Zipporah, Isolde and Kolteruze, have received the same brooches as normal adult retainers. Those apprentices who will come of age this winter may exchange their brooches for the adult style for graduation and beyond, if you prefer it.”

The named retainers nodded as they exchanged smiles. None of the other scholars said anything. Even Benedikt just turned his brooch over and over in his hand pensively. He glanced at the third head retainer’s brooch where it remained nested in the storage box alongside all the other extras then walked over to Sigsnyr to receive help with his brooch. Though Melchior doubted that would be the end of the conflict, no one would be accidentally offended either. They could reopen the question after the school year.

… …

Soon everyone had their brooch and began dispersing once again. Fonsel hustle Deliroze away with him. The scholars had a plan for keeping him protected through the feast. They would pass him around between them or have him follow behind Melchior but for the initial stages, all of them were occupied. Isolde didn’t trust her family not to harm him so she would have to escape them first. She didn’t trust Benedikt in general and hadn’t included him in the plan. Kazmiar was performing his duties as High Priest and Flautzeal was part of the orchestra. So, Fonsel volunteered for the first watch. His wife could be relied upon to be cordial and few people would dare question an archknight for keeping his tiny coworker by his side.

Melchior, Pepin, Kazmiar, Sebastian, and Ortolf moved to the waiting room by the Grand Hall to await the beginning of the ceremonies. Their antechamber featured a window overlooking the public entrance. He watched as the many noble guests and their servants tried to empty the carriages quickly of their heavy finery and drive them away while being slowed by the need to rubberneck. Thin streams formed to allow archnoble’s through. The glittering sea parting especially wide as Lord Bonifatius landed his highbeast beside Traugott’s, their heads tipped together in conference. Why they hadn’t used the family entrance was a mystery Melchior was too distracted to contemplate. He was busy remembering his Granduncle’s words.

“Could I wear my ceremonial robes for the whole night?” he asked no one in particular.

After a prolonged silence Kazmiar replied. “That would not be appropriate.”

“Aren’t you going to wear your robes?”

“Kolteruze has invited me to use his chambers to change,” Kazmiar said. Melchior looked somewhat surprised. “The Feast Celebrating Winter is not like other baptisms. It is too formal an event.”

“Aren’t ceremonial vestments of the highest formality?” Pepin asked.

“In a manner of speaking. However, as just the High Priest, I would lack the standing to attend. As myself it would be disrespectful to wear the vestments in a non-religious setting.”

Melchior frowned. It didn’t seem fair that even the highest clergy wouldn’t be allowed to attend the feast when nearly all the nobles in the duchy were invited. Whether appointed nobles or blue clergy in true, the temple was deeply entwined with the well being of the land. They would need to hear the announcements and should have an opportunity to meet with important figures of the duchy. The temple worked very closely with the giebes and Aub, shouldn’t they get to come to this party celebrating those who contributed most.

“That doesn’t seem fair. And we are trying to reform the image of the temple,” Melchior argued.

Kazmiar sighed. “That is not a decision we can make ourselves on a whim. Consult with the Aub and perhaps next year.”

Melchior nodded and turned back towards the window. “Please cheer up, my lord. Just think, if you wear your ceremonial robes, you won’t get to wear your new outfit,” Pepin tried to console him.

The mention of his clothes only deepened Melchior’s scowl. “Perhaps that would be for the best,” he mused under his breath.

Pepin clutched his hands. His lord had been so excited about his designs. What had changed his perspective. He looked around hoping to glean some answers from everyone’s body language but there just wasn’t enough to go on. Before he could ask, the hall fell quiet and the door began to open. Melchoir shuttered whatever he was feeling behind his usual mild smile and lead Kazmiar and his guards into the hall to an explosion of whispering and cooing.

… …

“...We must all pray for the return of spring!” Sylvester orated from the stage. The many nobles raised their schtappes and rings to send sparkles through the ceiling and into the sky. Melchior offered his own mana then settled in for the announcements. It had been mostly good news since Melchior began attending the Feast Celebrating Winter. That combined with the high handed language made it easy to listen without actually gleaning any meaning. He sank into the comforting timbre of his father's voice while he continued to think about the unfair treatment of the clergy.

No one had nice things to say about his other Granduncle, the High Bishop before Rozemyne, but he felt some empathy for his situation. It must have been awful to travel all the way to the castle in the snow just to perform a few prayers before being sent back without the chance to spend meaningful time with his family. And if he’d never been baptized as a noble, he wouldn't even be allowed to claim kinship despite blood ties. It seemed just terribly unfair. He might have lacked the mana to be an archnoble but he would still have more mana than most other children. Why didn't mixed status families exist? It might be awkward in public but in private there was no need to observe strict status. Besides, arch, med, or laynoble status had more to do with job placement and marriage than anything else. Why did it have to affect whether people could be true siblings.

A burst of excited whispers pulled him out of his musings. Sylvester held up his hands to quiet the hall. “I’ll not test Fosernte’s generosity to claim any permanent favor from Geduldh and Flutrane. However, it seems Ehrenfest is once more blessed with offerings for Vantole. I look forward to tasting the revelations. May our fallow bring forth beauties.¹⁸”

“Here, here!” Came a cheer from the corner of the room. They were seconded by several others including Geibe Buers. Applause followed and even a couple of white blessings rose up. It took a while to calm the room back down. Sylvester stood with his arms outstretched for some time before he could continue.

“With the completion of the weave Entrindunge saw fit to dance for Flutrane bringing forth blessings in the days of Schutzaria.” Melchior didn't think anyone didn't know Brunhilde had had a baby but there were many surprised and delighted gasps all the same. “At that time Mestinora graced our duchy with ancient pages from her great tome. Workings to ease the burden of Entrindunge once hidden by the fly of the shuttle¹⁹. Only by the abundant generosity of our people were we able to recreate this tool. Therefore, in honor of your outpouring of support, I hereby authorize and invite all who seek the blessings of Entrindunge between now and the end of next winter into the assistance of the Supreme Gods²⁰.”

The response was not as boisterous. It was difficult to pick out any particular words but the many looks of confusion suggested that very few people knew what was being offered. Only a couple of people showed the shocked amazement Melchior felt and one of them was Bertilde. He’d asked about opening up this Archducal only magic for wider use but never received an answer. It was only for one year but maybe, if it was very successful, they could expand it and develop ways to make it more convenient. Hopefully the doctors wouldn't have to fly all over the duchy.

Melchior felt a swelling of pride as he watched his father finish off the announcements. Childbirth was dangerous and unpleasant. This would do a lot to help protect people. He caught a look passing between Haldis and his wife where they sat at the very front of the parent section and saw Florencia and Elvira lock eyes, shake their heads, then chuckle in sync.

With the room still buzzing from all of noble society having side conversations at the same time, Sylvester returned to his seat. Melchior and Kazmiar mounted the stage and with no prior deliberation called in unison “Welcome new children of Ehrenfest!” The words resounded powerfully despite their mutual confusion, signalling the orchestra to begin to play a cheerful tune, which was different from the usual one but still appropriate, while Olishild led the other children forward.

“My lord?” Kazmiar whispered under the sound of the music. The last few years Kazmiar had made all of the big announcements.

Melchior glanced sheepishly to the side. It wasn't that he'd forgotten, but his mind had been elsewhere. “Please continue to recount the stories,” he whispered.

With only a parting eyebrow, Kazmiar faced forward once again. Melchior focused on bending his knees a little so he wouldn't get woozy and catching the eyes of the approaching children. Olishild strode forward with easy confidence having walked a similar road in the summer. Some of the children behind her glanced around with curiosity while others, especially those due to be baptized, looked around anxiously. One of the laynobles was even curling in on himself in a futile attempt to hide. Olishild kept an appropriately sedated pace, allowing all the new children to be seen, not leaving any slow movers behind, leaving plenty of time for each child to lean out to look around those ahead of them and catch a glimpse of the High Bishop waiting at the end of the aisle.

Melchior received several gobsmacked expressions, enough to make him wonder whether no one had mentioned he was a child himself. The anxious laynoble’s eyes grew particularly large as they met his. Though he didn't have much straighter to stand, Melchior mimed fixing his posture and smiled warmly when the other boy did the same. He still looked stiff but that was better than looking terrified. Once the line of children sat arrayed on the stage and the ceremonies could begin.

Kazmiar relayed the usual tale with extra gravitas, holding the attention of the new children if not the rest of the crowd. Melchior wondered whether he’d been practicing with Gerianne then when Gerianne would make good on her promise to tell him a story. After Kazmiar finished with a flourish, Melchior could perform the baptisms.

The poor anxious boy was first. Having had time to relax during the stories, he approached with more confidence. His clothes were white with red accents, painted stripes and light embroidery rather than lace or applique. The wool looked smooth though rather thin. He wore no brooch, neither flowers nor cockade. Melchior had seen wealthy commoner's children better dressed for their baptisms. Naturally he made no reaction himself, lifting the mana detection tool with the provided leather and offering the end just like he always did. This the boy was ready for. He reached out and touched the detector. As with most laynobles, it took a bit of time to collect the necessary mana to shine but shine it did. The boy looked a little worse for wear as Melchor stamped his medal and the assembly clapped politely.

“Flutrane, the Goddess of Water, has granted you her divine protection. If you dedicate yourself to sincere worship of the gods you will surely receive more protections.”

Though nowhere close to the current style, the boy’s father’s clothes were much finer, suitably noble. He ascended the stage and produced a simple ring with a green faestone. “I grant this ring to you now that you have been recognized by the gods and the people as my son.”

“Th… thank you,” he stuttered then turned back to Melchior.

“May Geduldh the Goddess of Earth bless you,” Melchior intoned, releasing a small blessing. He celebrated internally, all his practice at controlling the size of his blessings was paying off.

The boy visibly steeled himself before giving his own blessing in return. He looked desperately pale afterward, like he could use a rejuvenation potion, but there was no discreet way to take one while sitting on stage. While completing the next baptisms, Melchoir wondered whether there were other methods for delivering rejuvenation. Could Sheila turn a potion into honey drops?

The several years slump in birthrates which had bottomed out with Melchior’s cohort seemed to be recovered. Once again, around ten children were making their debut, eleven to be precise. Only four needed to be baptized before the debuts.

The laynobles went first again, playing simple songs with nervous fingers, on instruments handed over without the warmth expected from one's tutor. The mednobles were better, still shaky but with obviously better skills. Each time, Melchior gave the usual perfunctory praise before calling up the next kid.

After the last mednoble, the hall grew hushed, as though only now the real performances would begin. There were only two archnobles, both girls, and everyone listened for their names with great attention.

“Wessalina,” Melchior called first. She mounted the stage to much whispering, her Ehrenfest blue hair and burnt umber eyes shining in the enhanced lights. She sang a familiar tune, one often selected for first year music class, perfectly and prettily before bouncing back to her seat with a proud smile. Not only was she better than all those who played before but also than anyone in recent memory who wasn't Charlotte or Rozemyne. Dedryck and the rest of her family quietly praised her as she sat down. Melchior couldn’t help thinking that Dedryck looked awkward and could use more practice giving praise to his little sister.

“You have done well. The gods are surely rejoicing,” Melchior intoned with more genuine feeling than ever before, even taking a moment to catch Wessalina’s eyes. Then he called the final performer.

Olishild stepped forward, her head held high amidst the slowly dying whispers. She glanced in the direction of Dedryck‘s family as she sat down then looked out over the crowd with practiced nonchalance. A familiar man brought forward her instrument. Melchior’s former music tutor, Flautzeal's uncle, sauntered up with the harspiel and the same look of absolute confidence he’d given Melchior 5 years prior.

Olishild played a new song. Well, new to noble society but not new to the clergy children. It was the recitation of the subordinates of fire, as yet unnamed, which he’d given her for her baptism. Flautzeal’s uncle had arranged a simpler version for her to play while she sang through the complicated names of the gods. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught Gerianne doing the hand motions from her seat. As much as he also wanted to do the hand motions, he kept still and listened.

“Elberg whose mountains rise up so highhh~ And Mammutbaum whose trees, like me, are reaching for the sky!” she concluded with a lively strum. Perhaps the song was not as hard but the quality of the singing was brighter and the playing more lively. Thunderous applause filled the room, led most enthusiastically by Haldis and Edeltrude. Olishild floated down the steps with a smug smile, sparing a glance for no one except her own family.

Once the cheer had died down enough to be heard over, Melchior spoke with all the projection he could muster. “You have done very well. The gods are surely rejoicing.” Olishild brightened even further before retreating to her seat with whispered, blushing thanks. Wessalina’s mouth fell open a small fraction before she remembered herself and frowned instead. Melchior’s eye was drawn to the only person lacking in cheer. They locked eyes again, for just a moment, before he smiled brightly and she looked away blushing.

Before Kazmiar could get a word in, Melchior turned to the quieting assembly with a rebellious twinkle in his eye. “On this day, Ehrenfest accepts once again the burden of Wiegmilch, Goddess of Nurturing. Henceforth it shall be our duty to guide, instruct, and protect these children as they seek the blessings of Mestinora, Goddess of Wisdom, and Dauerleben, God of Longevity. May Erwachlern guide our hand. May Jungereise recognize our efforts. Praise be to the gods!”

“Glory be to the gods!” returned the hall, followed by a few stifled guffaws and much cooing.

Kazmiar shot him more side-eye as they exited the hall. Once the main doors had shut he stopped abruptly and spun to tower over Melchoir. “My lord, I would greatly appreciate prior discussion concerning changes to our performance.”

Melchior fiddled with his sash. “Isn't the High Bishop supposed to conduct the entire ceremony themselves?” he mused without meeting Kazmiar’s eye.

“Has it been so within your lifetime?” Kazmiar shot back, a touch of anger sneaking into his voice.

“Some accommodations were made for sister,” he conceded. “Accommodations I do not need.”

Kazmiar pinched the bridge of his nose, flicking his gaze between the doors and Melchior. There was time for this discussion. “You share your sister's affliction, Lord Melchior. Please consider how it sounds for one still in the embrace of Weigmilch to claim her burdens for themselves.”

“I’m not a baby,” Melchior tutted. He was at least held in the embrace of Erwachlern. “And I am older than the newly baptized, it is my job to guide and protect them too.”

“You do not sound like it,” Kazmiar said. Melchior and the knights regarded him with surprise. He ignored this as he continued to barrel frankly ahead. “Religious ceremonies are solemn events. Having the sacred utterance given by an immature voice distracts. This is why Lord Ferdinand followed by Lord Hartmut and now myself have taken on this burden in the place of our immature High Bishops.”

“I…” Melchior stuttered, taking a step back to escape Kazmiar’s suffocating presence. He was saved from having to respond by the appearance of Zargerecht.

“There is no time for delay,” Zargerecht snapped. He glared at Kazmiar who was very obviously intimidating an Archduke Candidate in a publicly accessible area. “I’m unsure what this is about but this is not the appropriate forum.”

“It is a religious matter,” Kazmiar replied, uncowed.

“It can wait,” Zargerecht said, stepping between Kazmiar and Melchior and steering the boy away.

They left Kazmiar behind, moving as quickly as possible without actually running. Kirk waited in the prepared room next to a cart with boxes containing Melchior change of clothes. He was already wearing a servant uniform. “Greetings my lord. Lord Zargerecht, no one passed by nor entered while you were away.”

Zargerecht barely nodded in acknowledgement. “Good job, Kirk,” Melchior said instead. “Are you excited for the feast?”

“We do not have time for chatter,” Zargerecht interrupted.

Melchior wanted to argue that both he and Kirk were just standing there while he struck the appropriate poses for being dressed. It was not something which required his full attention especially considering how frequently he performed these same actions while listening to Kirk ramble. But he held his tongue so Pepin could work in boring silence.

He was stripped to his undershirt and socks then stuffed back into dark blue breeches. They were not new but matched his new pieces because they were all made to match his hair. Next was the tunic with its wrist length, bias cut sleeves. The fabric had just enough give to accommodate a tight fit and an underarm gusset for more freedom of movement. Its collar stood just tall enough to protect his neck from the scratchy embroidery of the jacket. Once the overcoat was on, Pepin fastened the hidden hooks that kept it open just the right amount to display the designs on the tunic, then slipped his sash through the holes in the back before tying it at the front. Finally, Kirk brought over the tray containing everything he wanted to stash in his pockets: a couple small rejuvenation potions, faestone knife, his new favorite diptych, a folded sheet of paper, and his pen.

Hiding the knife in his sash as Zipporah had taught him, he squirreled everything else away in his new pockets, giggling all the while. “It is good to have pockets. I can hide so many things. No one will even know.”

“The same is true for everyone else,” Zargerecht replied. “Do not forget, it is rude to hide one's hands in one’s pockets. You should not need any of the selected items over the course of the feast.”

Melchior's enthusiasm only deflated a little then rallied as he looked in the mirror. He wiggled back and forth to make his hems billow and accessories jiggle. No matter what Bonifatius said, he really did like his design, the embroidered shoulders giving way to large sleeves and faux cape all in dark blues, purples, and reds. The tunic ended at his knees while the jacket continued to about mid calf, the white socks looking even brighter against the red fabric and red shoes. The best part was how nearly everything moved when he did, his every action accented with a soft jangle and flutter and shimmer.

Pepin stepped into the frame to fix a wayward hair. He had changed during the debuts. His outfit boasted more green this year matching his eyes instead of hair and harmonizing better with the duchy ochre. It looked old enough to be handed down from Helgemut though new trim sporting some of Kolteruze's embroidery designs had replaced whatever was there before. The sleeve and bottom hems had also been augmented with simple scallops.

“You look really nice, Pepin,” Melchior chirped.

“Thank you, my lord,” Pepin replied. “I think you look really nice too.”

Melchior pulled over Kirk as well. The servant uniform wasn't designed to be flashy but it was new to Kirk and he’d set his hair carefully. Melchior thought he looked nice and began to wonder what kind of formal outfit he would wear were he attending the feast as a guest. “One day we should dress up Kirk.”

“If you would like to. It can be arranged,” Pepin agreed.

“We can discuss leisure activities another time, my lord. The gifting ceremony and announcements should be concluding soon. It is time to return to the hall for lunch,” Zargerecht pressed. By this point he’d collected all stray baubles, folded Melchior's High Bishop robes neatly, and packed everything away to take back to Melchior's chambers.

“Please give Sister my best,” Melchior said before leaving.

“Of course, my lord. She will no doubt look forward to your stories of this night,” Zargerecht said. Melchior nodded and resolved to pay close attention to everything that happened.

… …

It was a simple matter to slip back into the Great Hall and into his seat at the end of the high table. Most people were still eating and engaging in conversation while the orchestra played in the background. Whole roasted haunches of several large animals were dotted around. Golden skinned fowl floated in shimmering pools of gravy. Baskets filled with warm rolls graced every table in arms reach of every guest leaving platters of prepared vegetables huddled in their shadows. It was all what one expected of a feast with one exception. In just a couple of places sat a bulbous green orb topped with a bunch of yellow flowers which Melchior recognized as the largest blumerabi he’d ever seen.

Kirk melted into the line of servants and began preparing his plate while Melchior tried to figure out what Charlotte and Wilfried were talking about.

“...You must agree dear brother that some have taken to the opportunity much more readily than others. Does it not seem well advanced for something introduced in spring,” Charlotte was saying. She gestured broadly with the goblet in her hand causing her fur tipped capelet to slide back. To further her trend, the normal sleeves and bodice of her overdress had been replaced by a short cape of impossibly many lengths of thin wool gauze, its short nap causing a delicate halo in the mana-enhanced candle light further highlighting the many ripples. Rather than lace, all her hems were finished with stripes of fur suspiciously similar to the one Melchior had gifted her. Its silvery tuft brought out the paler tones in her hair and paired well with the warm red of her dress. Nestled in the fur around her shoulders were little silver beads like so many stars fallen on fresh snow.

Melchior wanted to give compliments but didn’t want to interrupt. “They're way easier than flowers. And less girly. It only makes sense more people would be excited about them,” Wilfried replied. He was wearing a very standard surcoat in gold with green accents. Perfectly correct for an adult man but, once again, not exciting or novel. Rather than a flora brooch of thread flowers, he’d pinned a sprig of evergreen needles under his registration faestone.

Eventually, as the conversation progressed, Melchior just had to ask, “What are you talking about?” His siblings looked surprised at his appearance but recovered quickly. Kirk presented a plate with a balanced selection of meats, vegetables, and the festive sauerkraut stuffing from a blumerabi²¹. Melchior shot him a little smile before beginning to eat.

“The fabric circle things,” Wilfried replied. “Didn't you begin that trend Melchior?”

Melchior paused to think whether he could be called starting the trend. They already existed. Helenwig seemed very familiar with them and he felt he’d seen them somewhere else too. “We included them alongside thread flowers because they would be easier to acquire, not really to begin a trend.”

“Perhaps that's why they're so popular,” Charlotte mused. Indeed, amid the river of glittering fabrics, pops of color could be seen on nearly every breast or hairdo. Archnobles and those from Ehrenfest city sported mostly flowers while those from the provinces seemed to prefer cockades. The whorls were made from a wide variety of rich fabrics, including lace, and decorated with gold, silver, precious stones, and anything else which might garner attention. The most notable cockade wearers included Olishild, who seemed to have some aversion to flowers and those from the new provinces, and Giebe Schnefitz, who wore a bright red cockade affixt around a shining golden medal with tails that rivaled his sash.

Only once the siblings began to circulate could they obtain any concrete answers about the extreme popularity.

“Well the art hasn’t made its way to our corner of the duchy but these cockades let us show off our weaving. Look, I didn’t even have to finish the edges and this white is the natural result of sun bleaching. No need for irritating chemicals. Do remember our Bessel weavers next time you need the very best linen,” one woman said, looking particularly happy to be asked. Charlotte made polite non-committal noises before she and Melchior moved off to greet more of Florencia and Charlotte’s faction.

Some people thanked Melchior for his including them in the trend even while apologizing for not attending the festivities. Most often they then moved into questions about when and with who Charlotte would be hosting similar festivities. “Oh Liebeskhilfe still has much work to do.” “May Sehwiet bless us both with revelations. .” “Elberg shall sound it from his peaks. The winds of Ordoshnelli shall fly from my very lips."²² Charlotte cycled through a few responses but refused to give anything away. Melchoir mostly followed her around, only speaking when someone tried to bring him into the conversation. It made for a relaxing start to the evening which was cruelly interrupted by the appearance of Sylvester.

The Aub offered his arm. “Father, I am escorting Sister at the moment,” Melchior complained, gripping Charlotte’s other arm possessively.

People in the vicinity chuckled while Sylvester sighed. “Yes and now it’s my turn,” he said before whisking her away, leaving Melchior adrift and without a tall companion to navigate the party. He glanced around without making eye contact, and thereby inviting conversation, with anyone. This was the first time his siblings had simply abandoned him to socialize by himself. No one had ever said he had to circulate with his siblings but they always did. As he contemplated finding Wilfried, Fonsel appeared to deposit Deliroze into his care. Melchior noted Fonsel and his wife’s matching hair pin and brooch set while they traded pleasantries. He decided it wasn’t a problem for the family of his retainers to wear matching flowers so long as they didn’t use the actual loop. It seemed unreasonable to monopolize any specific kind of flower after all.

“How the wind does whisper of Mestinora’s own²³,” Fonsel’s wife mused, while Fonsel gave her a curious look.

Melchior froze. He expected many questions but not anyone asking him how others should respond to them. Hadn’t Isolde drilled everyone on their socializing strategy? The duchy needed scholars though Melchior didn’t need more personally. “We count grain kept in all places²⁴,” he replied without confidence.

“Yes indeed. I imagine the grain wishes to become beer or at least bread²⁵,” she pressed.

“May it fill another’s cup and accept another’s butter,” he replied only to receive a chuckle. He wanted to frown but settled for looking around for assistance which wasn’t forthcoming. Had his reply been that strange? He was following the flow of metaphor, a staple tool for euphemism use.

“It is as I said,” Fonsel grunted. “You didn’t need to ask.”

“My dear you must see how certain exceptions call into question that resolution.”

“Exceptions?” Melchior asked. He was very sure he hadn’t accepted any stray scholars recently.

Fonsel’s wife smirked knowingly and gestured to her empty left wrist. On Melchior’s left wrist was his roost, made by Eisenfluer, a scholar he had been working closely with lately who was not a member of his retinue. “Oh. Well, a collaboration between friends is a different matter entirely. It is only patronage,” he explained.

She whacked Fonsel lightly on the arm. “It is as you said,” he sighed. They took their leave soon after, going to spread the word.

Footnotes

18. I won't jinx it and say the mana shortage and resulting famine is totally over forever but we can start brewing beer again. I hope you developed something new on the sly.^

19. We rediscovered technology which makes childbirth easier. Said with side eye towards those who helped Veronica and her stepmother hide that information.^

20. Because everyone helped with the requisitions, I’m offering the use of the very exclusive baby teleportation magic tool to everyone who has a baby next year. Has Sylvester considered the implementation of this… maybe. Those poor doctors.^

21. A perennial, and fictitious, version of kohlrabi with a larger inflorescence. The kraut is made from rafel, kohlrabi, and some little red berry. I can heartily recommend apple cranberry sauerkraut btw.^

22. "It hasn't been decided yet." "We shall both see very soon I hope." "Won’t it be such a joyous time, I am so looking forward to it.” ^

23. “People keep asking us about scholars” or, in context, “A significant number of people have asked us about you hiring more scholars.”^

24. “Things are valuable even when not used by me” or, in context “Tell people we need scholars but not specifically for me.”^

25. A continuation of the metaphor meant to note that people have ambitions and need a reason to chose a specific life path^

Chapter Text

Melchior took a moment to reorder his thoughts before turning to Deliroze. “Have you been enjoying yourself?”

Deliroze shuffled closer so he was better protected by Melchior’s knights. “The food was delicious and no one noticed me behind Fonsel.” He’d spoken to almost no one and had a better experience for it. “Many people speak well of your appearance,” he added.

“That’s nice, I suppose.”

Deliroze nodded. They stood still for a little while longer, unable to see very far in any direction due to their height. “Isolde said we shouldn’t stand around waiting for someone to approach us but it’s very hard to find anyone in this crowd.” Melchior was forced to agree. They tried to strike out to boldly select an interlocutor themselves but were quickly cornered.

It seemed that everyone wanted to know the gender of Brunhilde’s baby and had waited for Melchior to be alone to ask. The boys lost count of the ways Melchior told people he couldn’t say. Though he tried to convince several people he didn’t actually know, noble society was convinced he was simply withholding information and also that he had the power to get them invited to see the child despite not being allowed to see it himself. This, however, was better than the alternative.

“Aren’t you just adorable! Oh! Have we really seen the flight of flower petals²⁶?”

“Lord Melchior, allow me to congratulate you on the ripening of your rafel. Such a sweet youth so easily wins hearts”

“A lion is such a wondrous choice for a lovers’ chariot.”

After giving a rather weak excuse to shoo Giebe Glaz’s daughter, Melchoir and Deliroze found a pair of chairs near a corner. With Sebastian and Ortolf blocking them from view, they took a moment to relax and complain. “How many times must I say drivable highbeasts are not vehicles for romance!” Melchior whispered, loudly.

“It must be difficult to alter people’s perceptions of sharing a highbeast,” Deliroze replied. “It is more confusing that they believe you are planning to marry Isolde. It makes no political sense.”

“I’m only eleven, why does everyone think about such things already!”

“Well, your oldest siblings were betrothed at this age.”

Melchior’s shoulders sank. There were so many other problems to solve in the duchy on which his marriage would have no bearing. “That was different. Why has no one asked about harvest totals or the new magic tool we found?”

Deliroze could only shrug. He really had no idea what drove people’s curiosity. “People continue to ask me who my parents are even when I’ve already told them I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now and wouldn’t change anything but the same people keep asking.”

Melchior turned his full attention to Deliroze, presenting a bright smile which could only mean he was incensed. “Who keeps asking?” he asked sweetly.

“Shall I present their medals?”

“No,” Sebastian interjected. “There is nothing for it. Your parentage is a mystery and will remain of interest until it is solved.”

“Deliroze is father’s ward,” Melchior snapped.

“Meaning he was baptized under no name, his new family name notwithstanding. Changing his name has only renewed interest. It is not an insult,” Sebastian explained.

“It feels like one,” Deliroze muttered. Sebastian glared while Melchior’s expression blossomed.

“If it is no insult then it would be no trouble to find and educate those who still have questions,” Melchior argued. He popped up with renewed vigor. “Introduce me to your questioners, Deliroze.”

“This is unnecessary,” Sebastian called but Melchior had already grabbed Deliroze by the hand and dragged him back into the fray.

It proved rather difficult to hunt down Deliroze’s tormentors. They found a few and sought to engage but as soon as their quarry noticed Melchior and Deliroze approaching hand in hand, they mysteriously disappeared. While trying to corner a provincial noble from Joisontak, they happened upon Sir Ptolemaeus and his wife Sybilla conferring quietly together. They wore surprisingly trendy outfits which, like Pepin, showed signs of older pieces given new life. Ptolemaeus wore a flora brooch of peachy pink on a blush colored surcoat with botanical embroidery similar in style to Kolteruze's wheat designs but more closely related to highly decorative embroidery from the Sovereignty. Sybilla wore a more structured version of the sleeve replacing cape over a mermaid style dress. Unlike Charlotte, she had no undersleeves so her white arms peaked out as she gestured. She’d painted thin red lines down her inner arms for added interest. Melchior found his eyes drawn there all throughout their conversation.

“Sir Ptolemaeus,” Melchior greeted with unconcealed shock. Isolde had mentioned that he attended the Hunting Tournament that year but, like everyone else in the duchy, Melchior had assumed that was a fluke.

“He is just as cute as promised. But is he really too pure for this world?” whispered Sybilla at a perfectly intelligible volume, cutting off his thoughts about why the Quartermaster was suddenly making public appearances. Melchior couldn't hold back a frown. Sybilla just melted at his gruff little expression. “Oh, our daughter was just the same. She always wanted to be ‘dignified’, never adorable. I’m sorry you are so similarly afflicted with cuteness.”

Melchior shot his frown at Ptolemaeus more directly. He hadn't even introduced this woman before she started slinging insults. “Lord Melchior, this is my wife, Sybilla, a scholar by trade though she hasn't done such work in decades,” he said.

“Ah, yes, keeping an estate is not scholarly work,” she huffed.

“It is attendant's work,” Ptolemaeus replied smoothly, provoking an unamused expression from his wife. “Why is that offensive? Attendants do important and difficult work.”

“Which no one has any respect for.”

“I do” “I have respect for attendants” Melchior and Ptolemaeus said in unison. Ptolemaeus smiled and added, “and for you, my friend.”

Sybilla smiled, mollified. She knelt to begin giving a proper greeting while continuing to reply, “In truth I can barely be called a scholar for how short my career was. If anything, I suppose I am a professional doll-tailor.”

“You like to dress dolls?” Melchior asked. Sybilla nodded with a smile. “Why not dress people instead?”

“I could do, a little, when our children were younger but, you see, people tend to have opinions of their own. Dolls cannot complain nor are they judged by society for their fashion choices,” she said.

Melchior nodded sagely. The political concerns had made planning for spring more complicated. “You still take some joy in dressing me,” Ptolemaeus noted.

“True but the occasions to do so are few and far between. Do you think Kazmiar would let me dress him? He attends more things.”

“Are your friends with Kazmiar too?” Melchior asked, his eyes shining, heedless of the aborted greeting. Had their scheme to get Kazmiar and Ptolemaeus to be friends worked even better than anticipated?

“It certainly feels that way. I spend more time playing liaison between you two than discussing my own interests during his visits. If you want to make figures for his greenhouse just do it. There is no need to send me with hundreds of questions every week.”

“But I need to know what foliage is around to design appropriate outfits for the dolls,” Sybilla argued.

Ptolemaeus huffed. “This is why I say to just visit.”

Melchior was struggling to follow the conversation. He was happy Kazmiar was growing so close to the couple but everything else sounded rather fantastic. “Why would you make dolls for a greenhouse?” Melchior asked. He had a greenhouse of sorts. Maybe they should decorate it if there was a benefit to doing so.

“Ah… well. Your scholar has a few bits of replica furniture in miniature,” Ptolemaeus replied, suddenly circumspect.

This only made Melchior more curious and Sybilla annoyed. She finally stood up, having grown tired of kneeling for formalities which had long been forgotten. “Do you truly believe it should be a secret from his lord?” she huffed then leaned down to whisper. “Kazmiar has a passion for dioramas and other miniatures. The greenhouse in question has several vignettes at a one sixth scale of real life.”

Ptolemaeus paled while Melchior's eyes grew wide. Kazmiar had seemed awfully proud of his model of the indoor paper workshop which was really amazingly well made in retrospect. Was that why he was interested in the sculpture class? Why would he hide such a fascinating hobby! What had he built so far? He looked at Deliroze who looked equally curious and delighted.

“We will have to ask him about it,” Melchior declared. Ptolemaeus sighed in defeat. “Do you also make tiny things?”

“Oh no. Ptoly likes to invent weapons. The harder to use without injuring yourself the better,” Sybilla replied.

“They do not have to be hard to use,” Ptolemaeus argued.

“No but they usually are.”

Melchior found he wasn't as interested in new weapons as the dolls or dioramas. Maybe Ptolemaeus could make mini weapons for doll knights to patrol the greenhouse so he could participate in the project. He was just about to recommend it when Isolde appeared wearing the same dress she had to the coming of age party though she somehow looked less constrained.

Ptolemaeus leapt on her intrusion to distract from the previous topic. “Ah, Isolde, how fair of switch and willow²⁷. Good evening.”

“Greetings my lord, good evening, Sir Ptolemaus, and may I assume this is your lovely wife of whom I’ve heard so much,” Isolde replied.

“Indeed, this is Sybilla. A scholar of no small skill,” Ptolemaeus said. Isolde knelt while he spoke. “Sybilla, this is the young scholar I mentioned.”

Whatever Ptolemaeus had said about Isolde, it warranted an appraising look from Sybilla. Melchior felt that though she’d looked at Isolde before, she was only just now seeing her. “May I pray for a blessing in honor of this serendipitous meeting held in the warm embrace of Geduldh the Goddess of Earth.”

“Of course dear,” Sybilla replied, having completed her assessment she returned to smiling congenially.

As soon as the blessing was given Isolde rose and turned to Melchior. “My lord you have managed to find the most exclusive conversation of the evening.”

Melchior paused to process his confusion and amazement. “Have you really spoken to no one else?” he asked Sybilla and Ptolemaus. It had already been the better part of a bell.

The couple exchanged glances and peered in different directions, deep in thought. Ptolemaeus recovered first. “Well we ate. The meal was a revelation by the way. I now understand all those requests made of the mess hall. Coucocalura has been most industrious in our time. After that… we stood up to take a turn around the room and…” he looked to his wife to finish.

“Did we speak to anyone? I recall exchanging a few glances with some confused children. We stopped to chat about it and…” Sybilla fell back into thought.

“I believe you have spun around this one spot all night,” Isolde sighed, shooting Ptolemaus an unimpressed look. “Now that Lord Melchior has spoken to you though…” Isolde gestured widely, directing everyone's attention to the waiting que of people trying not to look like they were waiting to talk to Sir Ptolemaeus

Sybilla shuffled closer to her husband, her lips moved but no sound escaped. Melchior hadn’t noticed them passing a sound-blocker between them nor did he think he was supposed to notice them chatting now when he was supposed to be following Isolde's gesture. It was an impressive display of coordination concluded as quickly as it began. “I suppose we should try to spread our time more widely,” Ptolemaus mused. “We can speak to each other at home after all.”

Isolde brightened. “Well, allow me to introduce you to my friends. They are eager to meet you now that it seems safe to approach,” she said and began tugging lightly on Ptolemaus’s sleeve. He followed but kept looking back as if to make sure Sybilla was alright.

Sybilla waved him away with a few significant glances before turning back to Melchior. “You haven't even spoken to Kazmiar?” he pressed, still amazed that anyone could manage to spend so long at a feast without talking to anyone.

“Sadly no. Ptolemaeus speaks so well of him and he was just so adorable in his little blue robes. I am looking forward to it,” she cooed.

“I doubt he would enjoy being referred to as adorable,” Melchior muttered.

“And I doubt he hears it as often as you, Lord Melchior. It has a markedly different effect as one advances in age,” she replied. Melchior raised a dubious eyebrow. “Perhaps times have changed more than I anticipated. I do not socialize much, you see.”

He nodded. They would have to find a few safe people for her to speak to, though not Kazmiar. Melchior felt he should save his scholar from being insulted if he could. No matter how old he got, he doubted he would ever enjoy being cooed over like a baby. They started walking slowly through the crowd, dodging the most annoying interlocutors and seeking out someone Sybilla actually knew. This proved more difficult than anticipated since Sybilla knew very few people. They had to settle for someone Melchior knew. Zipporah regarded him with surprise but smoothly transitioned into a conversation all the same, leaving Melchior to discreetly move away.

Kazmiar found them suspiciously shortly after to take Deliroze under his paw. He hadn’t spoken with Ptolemaeus yet and retreated quickly upon the mention of miniatures. And so, Melchior was left alone to face society. As though they’d waited for this exact situation, the most obnoxious people descended upon him again to ask a new annoying question using a myriad of new phrasings. Once it all got to be too much, he took a break to eat with his knights.

“Why does everyone think you don’t like Wilfried?” Ortolf asked. He eyed the repast longingly but didn’t leave his post.

“I guess Granduncle was correct. Wearing clothes reminiscent of my sisters makes a bold statement,” Melchior grumbled. He didn’t want to think about how many people he’d just told he would be wearing his brother’s old uniforms to counter the idea that he was intentionally snubbing Wilfried, not just supporting Charlotte. No one had noted the use of his own trends either. Sure the exact content of his embroidery was hard to make out and brooches were just an offshoot of an existing idea… He suddenly felt empathy for Sylvester. Maybe he would pay closer attention to his shoulders after all.

Attempts to do so proved difficult. Brunhilde appeared during the latter portion of the feast, causing something of a rush to greet her. Sylvester was standing with her both to collect congratulations and to keep the crush of sycophants at bay. It was easier to catch a view of Florencia who’d joined Charlotte at some point. The two women were mostly surrounded by other women from their factions. Though he couldn’t hear the discussion, the look of amused annoyance on his sister's face told him she was busy returning an insult with a doubly-scathing retort. Beside her, Florencia wasn’t wearing her usual smile. Melchior stared, drinking in the rare appearance of his mother’s look of pride. She gazed up at her daughter, who was just a bit taller, like Charlotte had just single handedly defended the foundation. Occasionally, Charlotte looked back at her mother for approval and grew more animated as she found it over and over again.

Before he even thought about doing it, Melchior had finished a couple of quick sketches on his pocket paper, the stars in the ink slowly winking out as it settled. Sebastion had shifted to block the view of him without blocking his line of sight. He continued to doodle while his knights also had a snack. Then, a little before the seventh bell, he made his way around to give farewell to his family.

“May you sleep well with Schlafstrum’s blessings,” WIlfried said with a look of pure longing and exhaustion. It was the first time he would have to remain behind through the entire evening, one of the benefits of coming of age. After saying goodnight to Bonifatius, Sylvester, and Brunhilde, with a few waves to other adults he knew, he collected Charlotte from his mother. She looked almost sad to go though Melchior felt sure she was faking it. A few of his apprentice retainers slipped in behind him as they exited the hall while an additional three adult knights joined their existing guard. Even so many years later, Charlotte still squeezed his arm as they traveled across the bridge to the Northern Building, her eyes scanning the windows and their ledges.

Melchior watched as well. He hadn’t been present for the attack on his siblings but was resolved that none of them would ever be kidnapped again. They passed the barrier of the Northern Building without incident, a prayer for Schutzaria’s shield swallowed back down.

He escorted his sister all the way to the third floor landing in silence. Having spent the entire afternoon and evening talking, Melchior was in no hurry to break the contemplative quiet, not to mention that for once his escort didn't feel completely decorative. Though only a small amount, Charlotte was resting some of her weight against him.

“I pray you rest well with Schlafstrum’s blessings,” he said as they split apart.

Charlotte resettled on her own feet before turning to him with a bright smile. “I wish you the same, dear brother. Do not delay your rest over long with work. We must appear resplendent for the playroom tomorrow.”

“It is as you say. Please remember your own advice,” Melchior replied. Charlotte ruffled his hair as punishment for his cheekiness before sauntering off with her retinue.

Melchior descended back to the boy’s floor then continued on to his room. The spare guards bid them goodnight before returning to the Great Hall while Melchior and his retainers filed into his chambers.

Sebastian nudged Ortolf forward to help him sit down but Pepin waved them away. “So long as we are here, we will assist,” he said.

Kolteruze seated Isolde and Sigsnyr before attempting to disappear into the retainers room to change. “Do you need help?” Melchior called before he could slip away. His formal clothes certainly looked like it took more than one person’s help to get into them.

Similarly to Melchior, they were made in two pieces. The brown over-jacket had a golden embroidered collar of wheat stalks, canola flowers, and scythes. It was cut much closer to the body so as not to interfere with a half-length green cape with dagged edges, the complexity of which completely dwarfed Pepin's scallops while making it clear where the idea had come from. The inner tunic was also deep green. His white brooch stood out all the more against so many rich colors, allowing his outfit to advertise both his own trends and Melchior's at the same time.

“I was going to return to my rooms briefly. I will be back with plenty of time to assist you,” he replied.

“You have a uniform here, right, I’ll help,” Pepin offered. Though not far away, there was a good chance someone would attempt to waylay him in the halls to chat or even attack the youngest son of Liesegang as he moved around alone.

The two attendants disappeared leaving Melchior at something of an impasse. He needed to write out his report before he forgot everything but was kind of trapped in his chair. He didn't want to call his attendants back just to retrieve the stationary but his feet only just touched the ground while the arm rests hemmed him in. It was a comfortable distance from the table but not great if one wanted to get up without assistance while wearing formal clothes.

“The armrest aren't very convenient,” he muttered as he pondered what to do.

Isolde and Sigsnyr paused their staring into space each putting their obvious exhaustion away behind different expressions. “Oh, let me.” Sigsnyr used his ability to touch the ground to shimmy his chair back. What the movement lacked in grace it made up for in speed. He was half way to Melchior's inner door before either of the on-duty knights could take action.

“Good, he can be out of view for a while,” Isolde grumbled even as she stared at his retreating form.

Sigsnyr paused just before the door and called over his shoulder. “I’m certain Grammaratur has forsaken me momentarily²⁸.”

“Grammaratur is unrivaled in elegance²⁹. You are just distracting to look at,” Isolde scoffed. Melchior stared at her as Sigsnyr turned slowly back around.

“The God of Darkness grows in strength but Anhaltung cannot have waned so greatly³⁰.”

“Isolde, what do you mean to say?” Melchior asked, his tone falling serious.

She looked back and forth between them. “We are both blessed with vision, my lord. It is obviously unfair that he parades around like that, striking everyone stupid as he goes. Do you know how much time we girls spend at our vanities only to be outshone.”

“Do you also think bread springs forth from the earth³¹?,” Sigsnyr scoffed while blushing at the hidden praise.

Isolde turned up her nose striking Sigsnyr with a fit of indignation. The tension stretched taunt in the ensuing silence. Sigsnyr and Isolde stared each other down while Melchior frowned.

“Btwah haha!” burst from Sebastian. He’d been shaking as he stood guard by the door and finally lost the battle with himself to stay silent. “Just give a normal compliment, Isolde. Where does all this ire come from?”

Isolde scoffed and tossed her glossy hair. Melchior finally stopped glaring at her and paused to really look at Sigsnyr. It was probably for the best that he'd been too distracted by other thoughts up to this point. Though a more understated beauty, Sigsnyr really was sparkling to a distracting degree.

His hair usually shone like spun silver but against the deep maroon of his surcoat, in the waning candle lights, it looked like palest gold. Rather than a normal cloak, he’d drapped an impossibly large and fine white fur around his shoulders, a heavy cord adorned with white and silver honeysuckle crossing over his chest to his brooch to hold it in place. Melchior could easily imagine cuddling into its fluffy depth, an activity which would no doubt be enhanced by the embrace of its glittering god. Despite knowing that he was a powerful knight, his relatively small stature and narrow frame made him look especially delicate.

“I do not think even Kunstzeal could find fault, Sigsnyr. You are like a precious gem. You and Zipporah must have looked very nice together,” Melchior praised.

What was a soft blush quickly became a deep scarlet. Isolde cackled. “You see, he cannot endure sincerity.”

“Why contain yourself on his account.The touch of Brenwarme only enhances fairness,” Sebastian teased. His gaze gaining a touch of viciousness matched only by Ortolf’s obvious discomfort. Sigsnyr’s fur cape was nearly caught in the door as he slammed it shut. It was saved only by the speed with which he exited the room.

Melchior wasn't sure how to feel. It hadn't been his intention to embarrass Sigsnyr but without Pepin around to warn him, he’d been easily used for just that. It didn't help that he couldn’t figure out why someone would be embarrassed by sincere praise. It was not as though anyone had called Sigsnyr cute or adorable. Still, the results were the same. “I don't like it when you do that, Isolde,” he said flatly, any energy he might have had to pretty his language enervated by the long party.

“When I do what, my lord?” Isolde asked.

“Use me to be mean to other people,” Melchior replied. He would have noticed Sigsnyr eventually. It would be impossible not too no matter how tired one was. The only reason he’d spoken when he did was because she asked him for his opinion.

For a moment Isolde looked surprised but that artificial expression quickly dissolved. “I apologize, my lord. It's only… it really does feel unfair.” She pulled at her bodice, trying to move more of the fabric forward to stop the subtle gaping around the hooks and eyes with only temporary success.

“I think you look quite pretty this evening,” Sebastian said.

Isolde smiled weakly. “Thank you ever so much but we both know there is a deep chasm between us.” Sebastian could say nothing in reply. Isolde quickly changed the subject. “Why did you mention Zipporah, Lord Melchior?”

Though the previous topic felt anything but settled, Melchior accepted the new thread. “They wore the exact same shade of red,” he replied.

“Really?” He nodded. “I fear he will not reply, but I want to ask,” Isolde mused.

“It is curious how often it happens,” Melchior conceded.

The attendants soon returned with Kolteruze in his attending uniform. They were followed by Kirk who looked more energized than all the nobles combined. He took one look at the tea cart where Kolteruze was mechanically preparing whatever herb was last used, and started towards the inner chamber. He was stopped by the reappearance of Sigsnyr. After nearly running into the once again poised but exhausted knight he froze, eyes transfixed, then stepped back quickly as he remembered just how rude he was being.

Sigsnyr gave him a questioning look. “I would prepare our lord’s chambers for the evening ablutions,” Kirk sputtered.

“See, Kirk agrees,” Isolde whispered. Both Sigsnyr and Melchior shot her a look. “In any case. Before that, we ask that you give your report of the evening. You must have heard many interesting things.”

Kirk returned to the table alongside Sigsnyr and several wooden boards. Melchior accepted them and pulled out his pen. His doodles tumbled out of his pocket at the same time. He wondered whether that would be an ongoing problem or whether it was just a fluke. Pepin scooped them up and placed them back on the table after Melchior failed to reach them from his seat.

With so many eyes on him it took a moment for Kirk to begin. “Ah… I would not presume to know what all was important but I heard several older serving women referring to the Quartermaster as a plubrum³².”

“A rare treat. He does not appear in the castle often,” Isolde provided.

Kirk bowed his head in thanks then continued. “At one point another noted that Viscount Dandolf was asking several people why he hadn’t been purged alongside the rest of Chaoscipher’s minions.”

“How petty,” Kolteruze muttered. He placed tea in front of everyone before plopping into a seat himself.

“Wasn't his wife one of said minions?” Sigsnyr asked.

“That was the previous giebe’s second wife. Not the mother of the current Giebe Dandolf. He recently forced his father into retirement in hopes of erasing that shame from their province,” Kolteruze replied.

“That would never work,” Pepin observed.

“Anything else?”

“More than a few nobles were obsessing over Lord Melchior's ‘purity’? That was a separate thread from comments praising his appearance which was again split between those who spoke more of his clothes specifically and those who found him adorable in a holistic sense.”

“Do you know their names?” Isolde asked.

“Not most of them but I could describe them,” Kirk offered. Isolde nodded as she bounced in her chair. She gestured for him to go on. “There isn't much more. The work was quite demanding. I only focused on what people said about Lord Melchior and what I heard on my breaks in the kitchen.”

“That is alright. You did very well. This is all good information. You may go.”

Kirk beamed as he trotted off. Kolteruze watched him until the door closed. “He’s surprisingly useful,” he said.

“Who is surprised?” Melchior asked. He felt warm with pride for his friend. If even Kolteruze was impressed, he really had done well. And Melchior had kept his promise to get Kirk a place at the feast. With such stellar results, it would be easy to include him again.

Kolteruze rolled his eyes and sipped his tea. “That he has a good memory and the wherewithal to listen for gossip is not what's surprising my lord. That he collected gossip which was strategically kept from your retinue is.”

“You believe there was a deliberate campaign to spread the idea that Lord Melchior is especially pure of heart?” Isolde asked.

“Lady Sybilla mentioned that,” Melchior said. “Thinking back, she worded her compliments strangely, as though she were agreeing with an existing consensus.”

“I wonder if it has anything to do with all the talk of Ehrenfest finally being at peace?” Pepin asked.

“That would mean that Groschel, for some reason, believes it is beneficial to improve Lord Melchior's reputation in this way,” Kolteruze replied. “That doesn't seem reasonable.”

Everyone looked at Kolteruze with some confusion. “How does Groschel enter into things?” Sigsnyr asked.

Kolteruze looked incredulous as he distilled the manifold machinations of Groschel and some other Leisegangs to its foundations. “They want my cousin's child to be Aub,” he began slowly. Everyone just leaned in to hear more. He sighed. “I will explain from the start then.”

“Please do.”

“Ehrenfest faced the civil war followed almost immediately by the purge of Werkstock and its allies. Then there was the death of the previous Aub, the subsequent rise of the Former First Wife to unassailable power, the abrupt fall of the Former First Wife, the attack on the Aub's children which resulted in Lord Wilfried’s disinheritance and Lady Rozemyne's extended juerve. Only a few years later there was an attack on Sir Lamprecht’s wedding, then Ahrensbach stole one of our Archduke Candidates, then they tried to assassinate him and invaded our territory.

“Our duchy has flown from crisis to crisis and in that time the line of succession has seen much movement. Then, suddenly, the Aub finally takes a second wife, a Liesegang no less. They have an incentive to convince him to delay any official declarations concerning his heirs. In times of crisis, it makes sense to demarcate a clear line of succession as anything could happen at any time. In a time of peace, we can be more circumspect and leave space for shifts as different candidates show their worth.

“This then begs the question. Why would Groschel want to elevate Lord Melchior, whose claim to the seat would be stronger than his sisters, if what they truly want is for a Leisegang to inherit?,” Kolteruze concluded.

Pepin stared with open awe while Isolde fell into thought and Sigsnyr got up to refresh the tea. Melchior tried to consider the question but was distracted by how easily the older boy kept his sleeves out of the refreshments. “It only makes sense if you believe Lord Melchior would abdicate for just anyone,” Sigsnyr mused. “Our lord has been outspoken in his support of others taking power instead of himself. Perhaps they think that is an open invitation to pass him over. That he would happily play advisor even to one who harmed his older siblings.”

“How foolish,” Sebastian scoffed. “Do they truly believe he entirely lacks steel?”

“They don't have to believe it. They only need others to agree to back their candidate thinking they won't incur his wrath should they dispose of Lady Charlotte,” Isolde said.

Melchior felt a strange and immediate spike of anger. “I think they would find disposing of Sister to be more trouble than it's worth.” Everyone turned to look at him with wide eyes. “Do they think so little of her?”

“Will you raise the glaciers yourself³³?” Pepin asked.

“I don't think I will need to,” Melchior replied. He couldn't imagine his interference working should Charlotte’s own skills be insufficient. “Surely no one intends to begin another conflict so soon.”

“We should hope not. There will be nothing left to rule over if they do,” Kolteruze mused. Everyone grew quiet and pensive at this declaration. Ehrenfest was recovering from the mana shortage, civil war, and other conflicts but everyone knew it was because of Lady Rozemyne's miraculous appearance and interventions. Now she was gone and the state of the duchy remained precarious. “So what should we do about all this? Are we just going to make notes and leave all the work to someone else?”

“Would you move against your own family?” Isolde asked.

Kolteruze frowned. “Of course not. Please do not conflate the House or Leisegang with the faction that bears our name. Stability is good for everyone. A Leisegang archduke is all but impossible for this generation but inevitably with the fullness of the weave. We should be focusing on a candidate for Lady Charlotte.”

“Unless you are volunteering, you personally should never say that again where anyone can hear you,” Sebastian warned.

Kolteruze paled while Isolde giggled behind her tea cup. “That is a rather bold declaration. She is older than you but that has never stopped an Ehrenfest gentleman before.”

While the head apprentice attendant turned an impressive shade of red and tried to hide his face in his sleeves, the conversation mercifully moved away from his potential as a second husband. The children lamented how little time they would have in Ehrenfest over the winter. Any plans they made would have to be entrusted to the adults. None of whom had deigned to attend the impromptu strategy meeting they hadn't been informed of.

“Perhaps it is as simple as a reverse whisper campaign. We tell people I am…”

“Not pure of heart, my lord?” Isolde sighed. “That is what makes this so insidious. Were they saying bad things we could counter it with praise but they have used silk to cover a knife. We do not know what they hope to accomplish by this so we cannot counter it that way either.”

“It's alright everyone. You are just apprentices. No one expects you to wage war on experienced socialites,” Sebastian consoled.

The entire table shot him a disapproving look. “Yes they do,” Sigsnyr replied for everyone. “Even if they didn't, that is no consolation to us.”

“I just feel like this has nothing to do with Lord Melchior and might have nothing to do with other campaigns,” Pepin said.

“Our lord’s name is in mouths. Naturally it has to do with him. Whether he is the target is a different question. We will have to focus on pushing our own narrative instead of countering this one. I think we could drown them out,” Kolteruze said. “Sometimes, rather than pulling stubborn weeds, we plant beneficial things to choke them.”

“That’s a good idea. Much better than starting our own smear campaign,” Melchior said. He paused to consider all the things it would be beneficial to inform society of. “We should talk about the cooperation between the factions and remind everyone that we survived so far by working together.” This was met with silence. “Maybe we try to draw attention to interduchy politics?”

“Since we will never beat back allegations of our lord’s purity of spirit. We will just have to remind people that sweetness is not synonymous with naivete,” Sigsnyr chuckled. “Worry not my lord. We will not see you used to destroy your siblings “ Melchior nodded, holding back the urge to argue that such allegations could be countered. It was still nice to hear that everyone was willing to work on the problem together. Though he was tired and worried about all the strange talk, he felt confident that his retainers would help him fix things.

With everyone’s help, the reports and copies of them were completed and sent on their way. The wooden boards were taken from Melchior as soon as Sebastian noticed that he had somehow become the notetaker for their gathering, leaving him with little to do except elaborate on his doodles. He found it easy to draw Charlotte and Florencia’s expressions over and over as he tried to capture the feeling the live demonstrations had given him. Though that seemed increasingly impossible, especially with such rough sketches, he felt more and more strongly that he should immortalize the moment in paint.

“That’s quite lovely, Lord Melchior,” Pepin complimented as he moved around cleaning up the tea.

“It is. I think I shall paint it,” Melchior chirped. Pepin’s shoulders fell ever so slightly. “I can use oils,” Melchior promised.

“Why should you change medium?” Sebastian scoffed.

“We waste less pigment that way,” Melchoir explained. Sebastian opened his mouth to argue that it was a retainers job to do as their lord requested then closed it without speaking. He couldn't argue against being thrifty.

“Don’t you have that whole waxed cloth and wet towel system?” Sigsnyr asked. “Does that not work?”

“It helps but the egg tempera and glair solidify very quickly and can’t be reconstituted at all. Newly solidified oil can be moved with a bit more oil and takes months to dry without intervention. The tree sap paint is endlessly manipulatable so long as you have more sap but we are running out. Egg paint is just wasted,” Melchior explained. Now that he knew how hard it was on the attendants to mix so much paint everyday, he felt especially bad about this.

“And the time-stopper was too oddly shaped as I recall,” Sigsnyr mused. “Benedikt and I will look into a solution.”

“This list grows ever longer,” Isolde quipped.

Sigsnyr smiled. “Innovation never ends. We will have to discover where on academy grounds the plant is found this year. Between those things, the attendants will no longer be forced into endless toil.”

“And just when our arms were becoming worthy to paint,” Kolteruze joked. Several snickers erupted around the table while Melchior insisted he hadn't excluded the attendants on purpose and would be happy to draw their arms any day if they wanted.

Eventually, all the tea was drunk and put away and the reports couldn’t be added to. The apprentices were reluctant to file out despite the late hour but it was rather late indeed. Melchior moved to his inner chambers to prepare for bed with the help of Kolteruze and Kirk. Soft clothes for sleeping, an outfit for the following day, and all the usual cosmetics were laid out but Kirk stood sheepishly beside an empty tub.

He knelt as he apologized. “The kitchen is closed. I am unable to prepare hot water on my own,” he admitted.

Kolteruze tried and failed to hide a smirk as he moved to fill the bath using magic tools. “The well is too far for the endeavor to be reasonable anyway. Nor would we want you to burn yourself hauling boiling buckets up the service stairs.”

“It's ok, Kirk. I know you did your best. We all forgot that it requires magic tools to run a bath in the castle. Can you help me with my hair?” Melchior replied.

“Yes, of course,” Kirk replied, his smile returning. They left Kolteruze to finish and moved to the vanity. Kirk helped Melchior undress then removed the silver hair clip and faestone chain from his hair. The whole time he talked about his day as a server for the feast. “I didn't actually spend that much time moving food. At least not as much as I thought I would. People seem to need a lot of help navigating the castle. I guess that makes sense when they don't live here but I feel like some people sought me out specifically. Like, Sir Dedryck asked me to direct his mother and sister to the refreshment closet. That makes sense because he actually knows me but the other people had no reason to ask me in particular. Oh and Lady Luzia asked me how to order custom hairpins…”

“What did you tell her?” Kolteruze interrupted, somewhat sharply.

Kirk jumped. “I could not speak with authority as I’ve so rarely been present for ordering. All I could do was pass on the name of the Gilberta Company.”

“Why didn't you mention this in your earlier report?” Kolteruze asked.

“I didn't think it was important. I did not want to waste anyone's time.”

“Is it very important?” Melchior asked.

Kolteruze moved his head in an indecisive wiggle. “It would be kind to discreetly pass her proper advice on the topic. With this evening’s snow, it will be all but impossible for commoner craftsmen to visit the winter mansions. I believe Lady Lucia and her family will be returning to the Sovereignty soon as well. A convenient day may not present itself.”

“If she leaves instructions, couldn't Sir Dedryck place the order for her?” Kirk asked. “Thread flowers are also available in the Sovereignty.”

“The quality is not comparable,” Kolteruze said. “I can handle this. Thank you for informing me.”

“We can ask Haldis instead. Since he will be here,” Melchior offered.

Kolteruze shook his head with a determined smile. He’d been needing an excuse to visit the lower city. A visit to a shop which regularly did business with nobility would be ideal. He just needed an outfit and permission to leave the playroom and a day with light weather but enough snow to obscure his flight. After several seconds of silence his shoulders sank. The other boys watched with interest. “I will ask my mother to help. She has also been hoping to order a hairpin.”

Melchior made a little wet patch on his arm as he patted him consolingly. “Mother's are quite helpful.” After several more seconds of awkward silence, Kirk cleared his throat and continued recounting his evening.

Footnotes

26. “Is it true you’re courting someone?”^

27. A compliment on her comportment and headache reducing appearance think: “aren't you a sight for sore eyes” mixed with "Thank goodness you're here"^

28. surely I misheard you^

29. you heard correctly and I stand by what I said^

30. I know it's late and you're probably tired but that's no excuse for being stupid^

31. a spicy way to say “I worked hard for this”^

32. Faeplant of my invention. It blooms and fruits only once every seven years.^

33. “Will you be the one to defend her?” or “Will you make yourself the obstacle others must overcome?” has something of a violent connotation.^

Chapter Text

A New Year in the Playroom

The next morning was marked by even more blizzarding. The yearly snowball battle would have to be cancelled but this did little to dampen the spirits in Melchior's apartments. The boy himself rose later than usual, which was still in good time to have a leisurely breakfast composed largely of banquet leftovers. Sheila had composed a custardy bread pudding and covered it in crunchy bits of fried meat. Large slices of blumerahi and its flowers rounded out the meal.

“Even with a full repast for the servants of the castle there was more than enough food to set a little aside for breakfasts,” Sheila explained. It was the first time she’d been able to deliver a meal directly to Melchior since coming to work in the castle as this task was usually done by the attendants. A special exception had been made so that Melchior could praise her for the feast and ask enough questions to make him late to the playroom. His retainers allowed it as the sheer volume of information proved to contain many valuable nuggets.

The chef’s were privy to all manner of sensitive information concerning the nobility's dining habits and requirements. They also knew where all the ingredients were sourced from and how the quality differed by province. As promised so long ago, Sheila had sold at least three brand new recipes and no less than six variations on existing recipes to the Aub in the time she’d been in residence. “There were whole classes of foods the kitchens did not know how to prepare. I also learned how to handle many new things so it is more a manner of lifestyle than ignorance,” Sheila explained. Though certain the noble head chef of the castle would be deeply offended to hear such talk from a shrine maiden, no one saw any reason to defend him. It was his job to know how to cook every ingredient available in the duchy. Even those which require a knight to subjugate them, he should be able to explain the process. More interesting than this was how excited the man was to be consulted on the Entwinklen being planned for Reunwalt. “The giebe hopes to mimic the cooking school of Alexandria as well as increase the availability of the facilities used to produce the new recipes. So the head chef has been consulted for his expertise.”

“How exciting! I wonder why Benedikt never mentioned that,” Melchior babbled.

“He has not been a part of the discussions,” Shelia explained.

Rather than ask how she knew, all eyes instead turned to Sebastian who also wasn’t a part of the discussions about his home’s renovations. “I will find a way to assist Kazmiar in the planning,” he mumbled.

“I’m sure your perspective as a native would be most appreciated,” Melchior encouraged.

Once breakfast was done, Melchior filled his pockets before racing through the castle to the playroom. Other nobles politely scattered before him making for smooth navigation through the halls. He wasn’t stopped until he encountered a knot of children who were also running late. Melchior could feel third bell preparing to ring so he hurried everyone inside. Some grew privately upset as their haste proved less than necessary. Still, the lack of interlopers in the hallway made it easy for Charlotte to sweep in just as the bell tolled through the castle.

“Welcome one and all, new and returning friends to the Winter Playroom,” she called the moment the sound faded away. All conversation stopped and every eye turned to her. “The Goddess of Light shall renew her compact on the morrow. Those blessed to sit at her table, those by whom Erwachlern and Blaunfah show their delight, prove that the budding branches require fresh soils. That Ehrenfest might impress all under the brilliant vault, Erwachlern blesses our playroom with the tutelage of Lady Gretelis, known here as Professor Gretelis, alongside that of Professor Mortiz and company,” she announced. A sober looking woman stepped forward from among the teachers and tipped her head to the room.

Only half the room began clapping in reply. The rest gave some tell of their confusion before joining in half-heartedly. Charlotte held her cheek in mock confusion. “Melchior, would you kindly explain for our newest members.”

Melchior felt immediately glad that he’d been listening attentively though Zargerecht moved closer in preparation to give prompts. “Certainly dear sister. Mother, that is, the First Wife is not offended,” the proper looks of terror flew around the room this time. “This year she invited several of us to take tea with her. By socializing with those so young, she has seen that the children of Ehrenfest are inconsistent in our etiquette. Thus, she has hired for our edification Professor Gretelis to teach etiquette alongside our other offerings,” he announced smoothly. Charlotte gave him a nod of assent as proper applause was given this time.

“Professor Mortiz has also developed lessons pertaining to proper exaltation of the gods. Study well and your first years at the Royal Academy will be easy,” Charlotte concluded. “Now, let us begin the greetings.”

“There will also be assistance in learning the material for Prayers and Rituals which delayed many students last year,” Melchior said, receiving many giggles and a smirk from Charlotte. He dropped into the chair prepared for him just in time to watch the silent battle between Olishild and Wessalina conclude with Wessalina stepping towards Charlotte after a shrewd glare.

Olishild sashayed over to Melchior looking smug. “I offer greetings on this morning ordained by the harsh judgement of Eweigliebe the God of Life.”

“I accept your greetings, Olishild. Do you need to give them this morning? We have already met many times,” Melchior replied.

She looked genuinely pensive. “I forgot to ask Father about it. I think it should look more strange for me to abstain. It is also my responsibility to set a good example for those of lower status.” She looked behind her at the short queue of boys which had gathered.

“Well, it is always pleasant to converse with you. I see you have already met Lady Wessalina,” Melchior said.

Olishild smiled brighter. “Yes, how deep a shame it is that this is the only day she is able to attend the Winter Playroom. We will have to fill but a few bells with a winter’s worth of hospitality.”

Though unsure why that was so amusing, he continued, “I know you will prove an excellent ambassador for the kind and welcoming nature of Ehrenfest,” he charged.

“Naturally, Lord Melchior. Father would be so ashamed if I was not,” Olishild replied before giving farewell and moving to Charlotte's line.

Melchior watched as Wessalina moved to the end of his. It was long enough that a good half bell could be wasted. Those with friends waited together but Wessalina knew almost no one. Melchior smiled at the boy at the head of his line. “Lord Pershing, would you mind terribly allowing Lady Wessalina ahead of you?”

Pershing blushed and sputtered. He hadn't introduced himself yet but Melchior had performed his baptism. Somehow it still surprised him that his name was already known. “Um… no,” he whispered before turning to leave. The boy behind him grabbed his arm and put him back at the front.

By the time he was situated, Isolde had already traveled down the line and back again with Wessalina. She stepped forward with only a glance toward her brother revealing any nervousness, tossed her red and white cloak out so that it lay in a neat ring around her as she knelt, and sank to her knee. “May I offer a blessing in appreciation of this serendipitous meeting ordained by the harsh judgement of Ewiegliebe the God of Life?” she intoned.

“You may,” Melchior said. Years of careful training kept him from asking his burning question until the sparkles of the blessing disappeared. “That is a beautiful manner of courtesy.”

“It is the way of Sovereign knights and their apprentices,” Wessalina replied proudly.

“I've never seen you do that,” Melchior said over his shoulder.

“Not in a long while,” Dedryck replied quietly.

“Your brother tells me you intend to become a scholar of the sword.”

Wessalina brightened upon hearing her brother had mentioned her. “That is my ambition. I could not decide whether to follow mother or father so I am resolved to do both.”

“I shall look forward to witnessing your excellence,” Melchior praised. Wessalina began her farewell but before she could leave Melchior called over his shoulder once again. “Dedryck. I’m certain Lady Wessalina will have questions about her natal duchy which the other children will struggle to answer. Won't you accompany her for a little while?”

Dedryck wanted to say no and cite the need for Melchior’s guards to maintain their vigilance but the sliver of his lord's face that was visible brooked no argument. His gaze held a warning it so rarely managed. In that moment, Dedryck knew he could either be a good guard or a good brother and that Lord Melchior would judge him harshly for making the wrong choice. “Certainly, my lord,” he squeaked and broke away to escort his little sister somewhere else in the room.

Feeling proud of his successful meddling, Melchior flew through the remaining greetings. Pershing and a couple of the other boys attempted the cloak toss on their turn. None were as skilled as Wessalina but they proved that the motion did make kneeling look cooler.

The last mednoble boy was accompanied by Theodore. They knelt together using the normal method. “I offer greetings, Lord Melchor. This is my younger brother Arminius. Like his older siblings before him he aspires to knighthood but has otherwise not decided how he wishes to serve the duchy.”

Arminius shuffled nervously on his knee. It took several moments for him to look up and realize everyone was waiting for him to speak. “Oh. Ah, may I offer a blessing in appreciation of this serendipitous meeting ordained by the warm judgement of Geduldh the Goddess of Earth?”.

Theodore’s smile grew strained but the rest of him gave away none of his mortification. “You may,” Melchior replied. He tried to smile encouragingly to say that he appreciated the attempt but wasn't sure either brother noticed. “Do you take a preference more towards ranged or melee weapons?”

“I like both so far,” Arminius replied, his eyes downcast. “And I like catapults.”

“My research tells me trebuchet are the superior choice though the need for such weapons has not been great since the invention of highbeast and the subsequent switch to aerial combat.”

Arminius looked up with an awed expression. “Sister says the Lanzenavians brought a new kind of weapon which was useful against flying targets. I think there could be a use for them again.”

“Let us hope that is not so,” Theodore chided.

Arminius collapsed in on himself once again. “He means that we should hope for enduring peace. That the need for more dangerous weapons never comes,” Melchior explained.

“Oh, yes. That's probably for the best,” Arminius concluded. “They could be used for subjugations though.”

“It is possible. I’m sure you can do more research in the Royal Academy library once you begin attending. We always need new and better ways to fight trombe,” Melchior said.

Arminius smiled brightly. “I’ll do my best, Lord Melchior. I hope we can play karuta together. Theodore isn't good enough to win anymore,” he said before sauntering away. Theodore followed behind with a parting bow and a shrug.

After the newly debuted boys came the girls who’d largely greeted Charlotte first. After them other students came forward to make their case for why Melchior should hire them as a knight or scholar. The previous night's efforts to spread the word that Melchior didn't personally need more scholars seemed to have failed. He didn't want to entertain each person as they listed their accomplishments and skills. That had never been the deciding factor for choosing his retainers and most of these petitioners had failed his most important test already.

Anyone who’d ever participated in bullying Deliroze or Bertrum would never be accepted. If they couldn't manage aloof distance, at a minimum, towards people they disliked, then there was little reason to think they could feign goodwill. In these cases, he allowed Isolde to speak for him. She artfully described each person's personal failings using gentle language before encouraging them towards a different career path. The few Melchior was actually considering, he informed that he wasn't looking to expand his retinue at that time but might have several projects they could assist with if they just wanted to be a part.

With a couple of knights and scholars secured to help outfit the new students with communications technology, the final supplicant came forward. “May I assume, Lord Jochten, that you are already aware that I do not intend to take on any more retainers at this time and are therefore not here to petition me?” Melchior asked, his tiredness slowly leaking out despite his efforts to seem just as poised and confident as when he walked in that morning.

“I offer greetings on this morning held in the warm embrace of Geduldh the Goddess of Earth. I have not come to renew my request to serve you in that capacity, no,” Jochten replied.

Melchior breathed an internal sigh. “I accept your greeting. It pleases me that our second years have not abandoned the art of information gathering.”

With a beaming smile, Jochten puffed out his chest. “Of course not, Lord Melchior. We must do credit to your tutelage. As you honor us with patient guidance, we must prove ourselves worthy to receive it.” Melchior wanted to wave away this high-handed praise but managed to smile blandly instead. “As I recall. Lady Philine graduated last year. I could not claim to be capable enough to replace her as the primary liaison and purchaser of stories for Ehrenfest. However, I have collected my courage to put myself forward to oversee the dormitory library if no one else has yet been selected for the task.”

Melchior had to blink away his surprise. He’d braced himself to be deeply annoyed only to be presented with a perfectly reasonable request. “I am not sure what plans Sister has for the dormitory shelves. As the oldest, she is in charge of these things. I will have to speak with her. Are you prepared to remain in the dormitory all term?”

“Yes, Lord Melchior. My brother is already going to spend the entire year in residence. It is no great expense for me to remain also,” Jochten replied.

Some nearby eavesdroppers looked dubious of this claim and jealous for not being the ones to ask about the open post. Isolde made a show of writing a note in her diptych while trying to catch Vanessa’s eye. Jochten gazed up from his kneeling position with eyes full of hope, making himself the very picture of youthful optimism. Melchior wanted to be annoyed but he’d promised to reevaluate Jochten and knew he needed to get used to the transactional nature of most noble relationship. It did not bear consideration that he was exceptionally weak to glossy eyed children who were technically younger than him.

“If Sister is indeed amenable, then we shall try you for the year and consider at the end whether to entrust you with this task until graduation,” he concluded without the sigh that longed to escape from his heart. He was rewarded with a smile of pure delight and a faint pink blush.

“You shall not regret it, my lord,” Jochten cried before hurrying off to a different corner of the playroom to inform his older brother and clutch his magic tool.

Karuta and Other Diversions

Melchior rose calmly from his chair and vacated its surrounds with all haste. He dodged anyone that looked too interested in talking to him as he beelined for Adaire and Gerianne.

“Oh, you are finished,” Gerianne observed as she reoriented herself to make space for him.

“Yes, finally. Greetings, Adaire. I’m ever so sorry for missing your gifting ceremony.”

Adaire stood up straight and put on a proper smile. “Have no worries, Lord Melchior. I know you were there in spirit,” he replied. He touched his new registration brooch lovingly and played with his cape. “How do I look? Brother said my cape has swallowed me up but I know he must be jesting.”

“Do you not trust my opinion?” Gerianne scoffed.

“Of course I do Gerianne but I would like to collect more if I can.”

Melchior took a step back and surveyed his friend. “Flutrane’s key in green was a wise choice indeed,” he noted while stroking his chin in performative contemplation, obviously delighted at managing to deliver a custom shape to Adaire in spite of motherly resistance. “I think you look splendid, our ochre made resplendent by gracing your shoulders. Certainly worthy to be immortalized!” He produced his notebook and pencil from his pocket with a flourish.

Adaire blushed and squeaked, “Thank you, Lord Melchior. I think I am sufficiently encouraged.”

Melchior maintained his pose and expectant expression while Adaire collected himself. It took some time as every time he thought he was ready and looked back at Melchior, he met an unerring blue stare and teasing grin. It was entirely too much attention but he couldn't just run away and needed to present himself with proper poise so he looked down and began the cycle all over again. This was why nobles maintained such bland expressions. Anything more was sure to overwhelm.

“I do not think you will have time for a portrait now, my lord. Lady Charlotte will want you to assist with the Karuta tournament,” Gerianne warned.

Melchior collected his enthusiasm and put his utensils away. “That is true. I should not leave all the work to her. Next year I will have to manage the whole playroom by myself.” He looked away from Adaire, giving the younger boy time to calm himself, and found his sister in the crowd. She was chatting with the teachers and Isolde. “I should go listen.”

Adaire and Gerianne followed until about halfway when some of the other students pulled them away. Melchior continued on his own, taking a chair next to his sister where he could see her notes and hear what was happening.

Charlotte and the teachers smiled at his arrival but didn't actually need his input on anything. They’d already decided to create a rotation for the classes. Each teacher would get a different group of students each day. The groups would initially be sorted by age then reorganized by ability later on. Everyone would practice music everyday and visit the Knights Order for exercise twice per week, weather permitting.

Melchior struggled to pay attention to a class schedule he wouldn't need to follow. The adults had things well in hand. What was more interesting was whatever Felicitus had said to annoy Gerianne and leave Adaire and Agatha properly scandalized. He followed their eyes to where Zipporah and the other female knights sat hunkered over a profusion of wooden boards and parchements, their discussion just a little too heated for noble company. Gerianne then gestured to where Sigsnyr and Benedikt were playing a relaxing game of Tea Party Karuta over one of the prototype blooming tea bowls.

That Sigsnyr and Zipporah were apart so early in the day was interesting but seemingly not the topic of discussion among his friends. “Why don't you write out the tournament brackets,” Charlotte said, bringing him back into the conversation.

“Oh, of course, dear sister. Are you still brave enough to face me?” he asked.

Charlotte pushed a large wooden board towards him with more force. “If you find yourself in the final rounds, we shall see how well you have spent your year.”

Melchior happily took up his new responsibilities. He sauntered into the middle of the room, magic pen already twirling in hand, and made an announcement. “Anyone who would like to join the Karuta tournament please line up and we shall begin forming the brackets.” Most of the younger children hurried over but the older students seemed less inclined to pause their ongoing diversions. The older female knights looked up only briefly before diving back into their planning session. Wessalina and Dedryck were leading a serious conversation about what it was like to be a Sovereign noble for a few very focused students. They didn't react even a little. “The prizes as usual shall be unique desserts developed by the castle chef!” he added, hoping to draw in more people.

This got a few more players but ultimately, only half the playroom seemed excited to vie for a reward. Melchior was only slightly disappointed and chose to move forward anyway. All was well until some of the new arrivals appeared before him. “We do not know what Karuta entails but we would like to try for the prize,” Pershing declared for the group.

Olishild stepped around them to add her name. “I am looking forward to new competitors. Father never allows me to win anymore.”

“Haldis plays Karuta?” Melchior asked.

Olishild nodded. “I do not think you would enjoy playing with him though. Father uses his long arms to cheat.”

“Olishild,” Zargerecht called softly.

She stood up straighter at the implied reprimand. “Er, that is to say, Lord Kirk is a better opponent.”

“Kirk is not the lord of anything,” Zargerecht sighed but Olishild had already retreated.

Melchior turned back to the other seven year olds. “You will not be successful if this is your very first introduction to the game. Why don't we put you all together with someone who can teach you.” He raised his voice slightly, “Anyone willing to teach the new students?”

“I’ll help,” Pepin offered.

“And I’ll help Lord Pepin,” called a third year girl.

Melchior organized the new students around their new mentors then, finding the arrangement pleasing, organized the initial brackets into groups of three. “The best of each group of three shall represent their group in the elimination rounds. This way everyone will get to play more games but we can still declare an ultimate victor.”

Whether everyone agreed or not they couldn't argue with an Archduke Candidate and Charlotte was content to try Melchior's method. Melchior had filled her group with girls she knew well and liked. The rest he organized around the known best players, forcing all the clergy into different groups, his own consisting of the two boys he didn't usually like spending time with but liked forcing on his friends even less.

Beating them was both easy and satisfying even with the cacophony created by a dozen different people all reading different cards at different times. For the first round of elimination play, a single reader was selected. Despite being the best in her pod, Gerianne volunteered to read. The competition was fierce. Students from different factions who only minutes before would call each other sworn enemies began cheering for each other as the representatives of their little group.

Melchior played with exacting focus, leaving little room for niceties and none for casual play. Games were either challenging or a complete landslide. He employed every tactic he knew to reach the final championship match against Charlotte. There were some who whispered about favoritism or privilege but all who watched the struggle between the two siblings could tell they'd trained long and hard all year.

The game was strange from the onset. Rather than a neat square, Charlotte arranged her tiles in four distinct zones. “Does that make them easier to remember?” Melchior asked.

Charlotte only smiled and tossed her large curls out of her way. After the first few cards, Melchior realized that the strange placement was making it difficult for him to reach what should be his best cards. Those closest all required two or three syllables to identify. As Gerianne began to speak, Charlotte moved her hand to block whichever card was closest which also blocked the farther options. As Melchior was unwilling to injure his sister by moving too aggressively, he struggled to dodge around her to take tiles.

It was a bitter struggle. Melchior was faster to recognize the various sounds spoken as they were by a very familiar voice. He’d spent ages fighting Kirk, who seemed to have a second sense for what was coming and faster hands, and honing his reactions. No matter how often she flinched, Charlotte could not bait him into mistakes but it didn't matter when her defense was so strong.

With three cards remaining on his side, Charlotte rested her hand on her last tile. “It seems Greifchan smiled upon me this day.”

“Well met,” Melchior sighed. “It seems I still have much to learn. You have invented so many new techniques. I am in awe.”

Charlotte calmly collected the remaining cards and stacked them nicely in their storage box. “My retinue has been hard at work. I heard you have a most excellent teacher. We could not settle for anyone less.”

“Kirk is very good. He still plays in the orphanage occasionally. The strategy moves swiftly there. In fact, I can think of nowhere else one could find a better tutor,” Melchior mused. He would know if his sister was making secret visits to the temple to learn Karuta strategy. Unless she and her retainers were playing almost daily at high intensity, there was no way for them to beat the gray clergy.

“Oh? You must look farther afield, dear brother. Or perhaps you have forgotten the origins of the game,” Charlotte teased. “How Verfuhremeer forgets Wieheruhe once the river has run its course³⁴.”

“You… Sister gave you advice!” Melchior cried. “Why would she guide you against me?”

Charlotte placed her hand on his head and gave a little pat. “Oh you know how passionate Sister can be. My plans for these new strategies never entered the conversation.” She gave a final giggle before swanning away to claim her prize. Melchior, meanwhile, sat back on his heels and reexamined his life thus far.

… …

With the blizzard still raging outside, there was plenty of time for more Karuta. A more traditional set of smaller brackets, organized by skill levels, were created and winners selected. Most of the pods broke up and returned to their polite mutual ambivalence but a few groups seemed to have worked through their petty disagreements.

Melchior mostly practiced Charlotte's new tricks with his friends until Gerianne paused midgame. Her eyes glazed as though receiving a vision for Sehwiet. “The attendants will be merciless this year.”

Adaire and Melchior stared at her with deep confusion. “Gerianne, please do not speak in terrifying riddles.”

“Are attendants not always merciless?” Adaire asked.

“That is true but I was considering Lady Bertilde’s passion for hairstyling. They must have many new styles to inflict upon us,” Gerianne said. She held up the card she’d just taken which features Mestinora and her flowing mane.

Melchior had largely forgotten about the chaos which greeted him the previous year. He felt certain his knights would not make the same mistake twice but much of the motivation for rampant gathering had come from a need to escape the clutches of Bertilde and her followers.

“I am excited to watch. More of the boys have beards now too. Maybe I can practice my shaving!” Adaire observed.

At the sound of this proclamation, a distinct set of whispers started around the room. Melchior stroked his bare chin along with many other boys. There probably would be a repeat of the previous year if nothing was done. The attendants were bound to have refined their strategies too. No one would be safe but there were many people willing to volunteer. They just needed to protect those who didn't want their hair manipulated.

“I think we can create a list of volunteers,” Melchior suggested. “I can make an announcement.”

As he stood to do just that, he got a better view of the room. Everyone was engaged in something. He would have to interrupt several games of Karuta, people reading, and some tutoring sessions just to ask whether anyone wanted their hair played with. Just thinking about the sheer volume of random questions he would then need to answer to fully communicate that all hair styling was being done at the Royal Academy and not by any of his own retainers as far as he knew. It would be a nightmare during the post lunch lethargy. Better to make the announcement in the morning when people expected them and he had time to write out what he was going to say.

“The sixth years will be leaving though,” Adaire noted. “They have all the beards.”

In truth, Benedikt had the only facial hair worthy of the title but stubble could be found on other’s faces too. As a passionate scholar, he would likely prove willing to offer his face for experimentation, within reason. From him, Melchior and company went to acquire a clean piece of stationery for their list. Instead, they received a short lecture.

“You seem to be assuming Professor Ottilie will need assistance in the same way and that Lady Bertilde will work with equal vigor to secure volunteers,” he began. “Have you asked them what their intentions are for this year?”

“Not yet,” Melchior admitted.

Benedikt nodded sagely. “Groundwork is of utmost importance. Had you forged ahead with your plan, you would commit Lady Bertilde to the running of new hair experiments regardless of her own intentions. Before working on another’s behalf, it is vital to communicate with all parties.”

“I understand, I would not have made an announcement without speaking with Bertilde. I was hoping that you had a blank sheet of paper to use for the list,” Melchior reiterated.

Benedikt frowned in confusion. “While I am more than willing to give you paper according to your needs, I wonder why you asked me specifically.”

“Isolde is busy,” Gerinanne said.

“And that leads us here how?”

“Isolde always carries extra paper for taking notes. Since all the paper is provided by my chambers, she maintains that I am at liberty to request sheets whenever I want. All the papers in my pockets were folded for ease of carrying but a smooth sheet would be best for the list,” Melchior replied.

Benedikt’s eyes grew wide and flickered to Zargerecht then back. “No wonder she uses so much paper and parchment.”

“It is the same few pieces of parchment, actually. We erase it with mana-dissolver.”

“Still. This would have been good information to know in spring. I wonder where Ordoshinelli has vanished too³⁵.” Benedikt carefully collected the wooden boards and papers he was reviewing, checked that they were properly ordered, then wrapped everything in a strip of leather and tied it closed. “I will speak with Bertilde and begin the formation of this list.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your studying,” Melchior apologized.

“Worry not, my lord. My time is yours. You can leave this problem to me.”

“We should send someone people can say no too,” Adaire whispered just as Benedkit was about to set off on his new mission. The older boy paused and turned around, one eyebrow raised. “I just mean that a request from Lord Melchior’s scholar is not easily ignored.”

“You want more volunteers do you not?” Benedikt asked.

Melchior shook his head. “We are trying to save the children of Ehrenfest from unfair coercion. We really can manage ourselves with just a sheet of paper.”

“That is all Lord Melchior requested,” Zargerecht added.

Benedict unfurled his notes and produced a thin wooden board. “No need to waste paper,” he said with a smile. Melchior and company accepted the board happily while Zargerecht expressed his dissatisfaction over their heads. “Allow me to add my name,” he added, ducking his head to avoid the attendant’s scowl.

Melchior took the board over to where Bertilde was talking with several other girls. Without even a second's hesitation he stepped forward. All conversation stopped and the girls turned their eyes on him. Adaire shuffled more behind Gerianne. “Greetings Lady Bertilde. Hello everyone. I hope I haven’t interrupted,” Melchior began.

Bertilde shifted her weight and rested her chin on a fist, an intentional show of relaxation. “Not at all, Lord Melchior. It is always a pleasure.”

With a smile, Melchior launched into his proposal. “I simply wanted to ask whether you intend to continue your research into new cosmetic procedures.”

“I do. It is a true passion not easily extinguished,” she replied.

“We felt sure that was the case,” Melchior said with a gesture towards his fellows. Gerianne stood with the silent impassivity of a knight while Adaire carefully resettled his lapels. Though generally quite social, it was very intimidating to approach a cluster of older students. He wondered whether it was a consequence of being an Archduke Candidate that Melchior had no fear. “To that end, we will send up a call for volunteers. That way you will not need to seek out candidates.”

Bertilde’s expression pulled in several directions without actually changing. After a touch of surprise and incredulity she dropped her relaxed pose and leaned closer. “That is to say, we should limit our recruitment to this list?”

Melchior continued to smile just the same. “As I recall most people were willing to lend their locks and only a select few wished to abstain completely. This way we shall know who is enthusiastic and who is not.”

“I see,” Bertilde replied. She gestured for the wooden board. “Who has shown their enthusiasm so far.” The other girls leaned close then each stifled giggles and hid glances in Benedikt’s direction.

“We have only just begun. Benedikt provided the wooden board and so was poised to add his name first. It is not an indication of the depth of his passion,” Melchior hurried to say as the looks turned from amused to calculating.

“We have other ways to ascertain that. Thank you for this, Lord Melchior. Just your vote of confidence is enough. You need not flatten the ivory yourself,” Bertilde said as she moved the wooden board to the side.

Melchior sighed internally. Everyone seemed intent on stealing this work from him. Even though he knew that he personally could not ask as anyone would see that as a directive, he was perfectly capable of enlisting help from someone of lower status. “Actually, we intended to ask only the sixth years today since they would miss an announcement given tomorrow morning. I also haven’t had a chance to sign up myself,” Melchior pressed with a significant look towards the board.

With a strange reluctance, Bertilde returned the list. Melchior produced his pen and offered it and the board to the one sixth year at the table. She took both with reverence and signed underneath Benedikt, pausing to oooh over the starry ink, then returned it. Before anyone could say anything, Melchior tipped his head, spun on his heel and walked away. Bertilde blinked after him, hand lifted slightly to accept the list back, for several moments while her friends laughed.

Melchior offered the list and a promise of extra dessert to a laynoble sixth year to solicit his cohort. “There is no obligation to volunteer even for you,” Melchior promised, much to the young man’s relief. Problem thus solved, Melchior and company settled in to read one of the new books together.

Footnotes

34. Wieheruhe, Goddess of Lakes and Rivers. A saying noting how often people forget where they started once they're deep into a process.^

35. Sort of “nobody told me” with a connotation that you think the omission was intentional^

Chapter Text

With the sounding of fifth bell, the children could begin to leave. The youngest students had to wait for their parents to fly them home but the older apprentices could navigate the storm by themselves or in small groups. Those from Ehrenfest didn't even live at home in most cases, having rooms in the castle of Knights Order instead. The fifth and sixth years without younger siblings made to leave immediately.

“I come to offer farewell. We will not see one another until you arrive at the Royal Academy, so I pray that Jungereise preserve you in my absence,” Sigsnyr said. He carried a leather satchel and looked very much like he wanted to be anywhere except surrounded by children. While he spoke Benedikt and Gottschalk appeared as well.

“I will be taking Jochten home tonight. Mother has asked that I stay at our winter mansion this evening. You may find me there if you have need of me,” Gottschalk said. He looked askance at Sigsnyr who seemed to be waiting for something despite obviously wanting to leave.

Melchior paused his card game and unhooked his diptych. He’d upgraded from the year before’s fully written speeches to a short list of relevant points. Clearing his throat to make time for rereading, he then began, “My eldest apprentices. I thank you in advance for your good work preparing the dormitory. Last year, we were perhaps overzealous. I do not wish to dampen your spirits but I urge you to use more wisdom in planning and leading our endeavors this year. Please offer Sister any assistance she requires. Any conflicts may be addressed upon my arrival. May Anhaltung guide and instruct our young Erwachlern³⁶.”

“May we see the brighter path,” Sigsnyr replied. He gave Melchior a pat on the head before disappearing.

“Until Dregarnuhr, the Goddess of Time, weaves our threads together again,” Benedikt said.

Gottschalk and Jochten only bowed before departing as well.

“That was quite good, Lord Melchior. I think your speeches are improving,” Gerianne praised.

“Were they bad before?” Melchior asked.

“Not as such,” Adaire assured him.

Unconvinced, Melchior helped the others clean up the cards before saying his own goodnight. He traveled through a still busy castle on the way to his chambers. Many nobles had work to complete during the early weeks of winter, not to mention those who helped facilitate all the meetings held in the castle. He greeted Haldis on his way to collect his wife and daughter and saw Giebe Grochel lying in wait for Bertilde. No one delayed him over long so he arrived with plenty of time to dress for dinner and be lectured on his lackadaisical attitude towards his own safety.

“If this was your plan all along, there was no need to reduce your guard. You might simply have asked for an additional knight,” Dedryck grumbled.

“It was a stroke of genius in the moment,” Melchior countered. “Did you not enjoy spending the day with Lady Wessalina. She seems very nice.”

“I… That is not the problem at hand,” Dedryck replied.

Melchior raised a questioning eyebrow. “I am certain she appreciated the time spent with you.”

Dedryck looked into his lord’s eyes and found a deep stubbornness. There was nothing he could say about this to inspire even a drop of remorse. “I did not expect her to care about knowing me. We are so disparate in age.”

Melchior's smile slid from his face. It was replaced by genuine sadness. “Of course she would want to know you. You are her brother and very cool.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Dedryck said with a soft blush creeping up his cheeks. “You are too kind to say so.” His expressions momentarily free, it was easy to see Melchior switch from sincerity back into a meddling mood. “Please leave your kindness at that.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Melchior teased. “I was only going to offer to ensure your letters made it safely to the Sovereignty and Lady Wessalina.”

“My letters?” Dedryck asked. Melchior nodded. “We just saw one another. The need for a letter is far off.”

“Oh but it is best to write quickly. Otherwise a precedent of long intervals might be established to the detriment of communication,” Melchior lectured.

Dedryck took a fortifying breath. This was an unwinnable battle. For some unknowable reason, his lord had taken a personal interest in Dedryck’s relationship with his sister. It had impacted his lord's safety today but that need not be the case. He could plan around this. He could write a few letters and spend a few afternoons with a little girl. Though unconventional, this was what it meant to offer one’s life in service. Or it would be, were his lord’s offer actionable.

“My lord, do you know how difficult it is to pass objects and missives through the Royal Academy to the Sovereignty proper?”

“I assume there is a teleportation hall much like the duchies,” Melchior replied. He could send the note with a scholar to give to the guards there.

Dedryck shook his head. “It is not for common use. Though I do not know what has changed now that the Zent no longer dwells in Königeruhe³⁷, it is often easier for Sovereign parents to send packages to their home duchy to be teleported from there to the dormitories than to attempt to pass common mail through the royal teleportation hall.”

For several moments, Melchior sat frozen only to hone in on the least important of details. “The Royal Palace has a name?!”

“All castles have names,” Dedryck sighed. “That is…”

“Does Ehrenfest castle have a name?”

“Felsenstolz³⁸, though it is never used,” Zargerecht provided.

Melchior stared at the table blinking in amazement. “Still, there must be some way to move a gift between the Royal Academy and the Sovereignty,” he muttered.

“No such service exists,” Dedryck assured him.

Melchior quietly accepted this with a parting promise to provide materials for a magic letter. He continued to tumble the problem around in his head through dinner as he interrogated his family as to why no one had informed him their home had a cool name. Apparently, castle names were only really important when you owned more than one as with greater duchy aubs and their seasonal retreats and ability to move the entire government to a remote location periodically.

It still plagued him the next morning, not the castle names but the problem of the letter. There simply had to be a way to keep his promise to Dedryck and Wessalina. He made a note in his diptych to seek a solution and tried to put it out of his mind for a while so that he could think up a good speech.

Melchior made his announcement to universal confusion. The youngest students had no idea what was being discussed while the older students couldn't fathom how Bertilde had garnered official support. Not even Melchior's assurances that only those who volunteered of their own free will would be asked to participate seemed to relax anyone. Perhaps it was the calculating eye with which Bertilde surveyed the other children or the possible political ramifications of having a record of one's willingness to “assist” in this way, the list was not met with as much enthusiasm as Melchior felt was warranted.

Still, Melchior felt that he'd solved the problem from the previous year. They would just have to see what new problem having the list created. He released the children to their leisure and moved to spend time with his own friends. Before he could settle into another day of educational play, Olishild approached with a request to steal Adaire away. “Lady Charlotte asked me to oversee the playroom in her absence. She implied that Lord Adaire knew what would be expected of me and had good advice.”

“I apologize, Lady Olishild. I lack the standing for such an honored position. I cannot imagine how one such as myself could play Anhaltung in this instance,” Adaire replied quickly.

Melchior blushed as Adaire and Olishild looked to him to support their positions. “It would seem that by asking you to care for Deliroze and Bertrum, sending and receiving reports between us, and arbitrating a disagreement at your behest, that I inadvertently made you my proxy last year,” Melchior explained. “It was not my intention, though I believe you did very good work and were integral to the smooth operation of the playroom.”

Adaire once again found himself overwhelmed by praise. “I really did not do much, my lord. It is the professors who did most of the work.”

“That is false,” Gerianne interrupted. “It is because of your efforts that Deliroze was accepted by your cohort. The previous years he could only read alone in a corner when he was not at Lord Melchior’s side. You also mediated many clashes and encouraged everyone to participate in activities regardless of status and faction. Professor Mortiz spoke very highly of your ability to lead by cheerful example when I asked for a midwinter report.”

“You never told me that,” Melchior mumbled.

Gerianne shrugged. “You were told but the information did not serve to alter your opinion of Lord Adaire so you forgot.”

Adaire blushed even redder alongside Melchior who could only fix his smile more firmly to prevent himself from crumbling. “It would seem you are precisely the one to be my Anhaltung. I ask again, Lord Melchior, that you lend me your dear friend for a few bells that I might learn his secrets.”

Melchior shifted the question to Adaire. They were still just friends. Adaire wasn't in his service. He could do as he liked though such a polite request from an archnoble would be difficult to turn down. Still, Melchior could support him if he really didn't want to spend the morning with Olishild

“I would be honored to share what I know,” Adaire said and was swiftly whisked away for interrogation.

Gerianne looked after him with a scowl. “I know we had plans to play together but managing the playroom is more important,” Melchior consoled.

Gerianne flicked her gaze back to him looking thoroughly unimpressed. “I feel little at the loss of any boy’s company,” she scoffed. Melchior almost flinched at her flintiness, a deep hurt twinging his heart. Was she only spending time with him as an extension of her duty as his guard knight? Did she actually not like him? “It is just, if Lady Charlotte has selected Lady Olishild as her proxy, who can you select to match her?”

Though not forgotten, his hurt dulled at the new swell of outrage. Olishild was his attendant’s daughter whom he brought to train in his chambers. She was his friend. It was with him that she competed for most adorable little sister. Never before had he begrudged his sister something she wanted from him but this was just so underhanded.

“My lord, Lady Olishild may easily serve the both of you,” Zargerecht sighed.

“Gerbordnung answers only to the Goddess of Light. Angriff wages only Leidenshaft’s wars. Sterrat…”

“Yes, Gerianne. However, young Olishild has yet to take a master and has not been given an official position. She may give reports to whomever asks,” Zargerecht said.

“I still would have liked to be asked,” Melchior grumbled. Olishild was his friend. It would have been the polite thing to do.

“You should select someone too. Someone who only answers to you,” Sebastian suggested. “Who knows what she might have been asked to tell you.”

While Melchior didn't think any nefarious dealings were happening between Charlotte and Olishild, he agreed that he should pick someone too. Adaire had saved Deliroze and many others much pain at the hands of cruel children who knew only what the adults had told them about the factions. As Rozemyne had so passionately advocated, there was no space for factions in learning. Someone who was less stanchly Leisegang and lower status would be best but he knew few people who fit those descriptions and were also kind and social enough for the job. It went on the list.

The morning progressed very similarly to the previous one but, without time wasted in greetings, there was time for music class. Flautzeal happily conducted the blue knights’ lesson, then Melchior's flute lesson, then instruction for anyone who meandered close to him. His uncle, who would remain Charlotte’s instructor for only one more season, assisted the laynobles and youngest students who needed the most help.

The morning Karuta tournament followed after. Melchior participated to win his daily additional cake slice then officiated for the rest of the day until lunch.

During lunch, many of the older students disappeared to eat at their estates or at their friend's estates leaving those without highbeasts or mana-sensing, and all other meddlesome younger siblings, to eat in the playroom. While some politely bemoaned their enforced sojourn, Melchior took great joy from eating with so many other people. He couldn't sit next to Adaire but Loweclaud and Olishild carried on a lively conversation all the same.

After lunch it was time to see Charlotte off to the Royal Academy. Melchior all but skipped through the castle with his knights. At one time, he’d hated these partings and the season of loneliness they represented. Now that they marked only a few days of separation, it was fun to go through the ceremony of it all.

Upon reaching the teleportation halls, he found he was the first to arrive, giving him the opportunity to try a small prank. He directed Haldis to hide around the corner while he and the knights settled in behind the pillar. In the darkened hallway, it would be difficult to see them.

All the knights present, both Melchior's guards and those manning the teleporter knew instantly what his plan was and that it wouldn't work. Indeed, Sylvester and Florencia arrived arm in arm and, having spotted their son instantly, meandered in his direction.

“I see you’re pretty eager this year,” Sylvester said as they approached.

Melchior stuttered in surprise, “I did not expect you to notice me.”

“Oh, were you attempting to hide, dear?” Florencia asked.

Melchior caught himself before he could admit to it and tried to peel himself off the wall with the same grace and dignity as the Huntsmaster. “It is just always so dark in this hall.”

Sylvester grinned. “Yes, and it's bright at the Royal Academy so anyone teleporting with nefarious intentions will be blind for a bit as they arrive.”

“How do you make it so it does not affect those with good intentions?” Melchior asked.

“We can't,” Sylvester chuckled and turned to greet Charlotte before Melchior could ask for clarification. “Feeling ready for your final year?”

“Absolutely, Father,” Charlotte replied brightly. She shook both her fists with resolve. “This will be our best year yet! Right brother?”

“Absolutely!” Melchior agreed, taking a similar stance.

After a shared smile both siblings resumed their more elegant miens. “You may be without worries, Mother, Father, Ehrenfest will conduct ourselves,” she promised.

Sylvester placed a hand on her shoulder. He barely had to look down to meet her eyes anymore. “My dear, we know you will certainly try. Just remember that we can only control our own duchy.”

“And only most of the time,” Florencia added. “We know you will do well. Have a wonderful year, Charlotte.”

Charlotte took one each of her parents' hands. “I will do my best.”

“May Jungereise bless you and bring you back to us,” Sylvester intoned.

Florencia placed her free hand on Charlotte’s cheek and stared silently for a long time before speaking. “Your path has meandered and it will continue to do so. Stay constant as you always have. We will always support you no matter your path.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Charlotte stepped back onto the teleporter with Vanessa and, with a final little wave, disappeared in a poof of gold and black. “Should we have waited for Brother?” Melchior asked.

“They spoke earlier,” Sylvester assured him. He offered an arm to Florencia and prepared to leave. “You have to stand around the corner to truly hide.”

Melchior's cheeks colored but he managed not to huft in indignation. “You must have a busy rest of the day, Father.”

“Oh yes, just meeting after meeting after meeting. Speaking of, let’s go, Leberchet. I want to get this over with.”

Florencia nodded to her scholar and ignored the arm offered to her in favor of a shooing gesture. The Aub took off at a fast walk with a smile, forcing Leberchet nearly to a run to keep up. Melchior escorted his mother until their paths diverged then continued back towards the playroom. On the way he met Adaire being lead by a servant, looking grave but determined.

They attempted to clear the path for Melchior but he stopped in front of Adaire instead. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

“I believe so, I was summoned by the Aub,” Adaire replied.

Melchoir struggled to contain his surprise. He couldn't think of why his father would want to talk to a ten year old. There was no way Adaire had committed any serious crimes nor was it likely that he had amazing insights to share. Then again, Melchior knew better than most that you couldn't discount the brilliance of anyone just because of their age. If that was indeed why he was being summoned, then he certainly shouldn't be having this chat alone.

“Well, I know where Father's office is, allow me to direct you,” Melchior chirped. He turned on his heel and began leading the way before anyone could stop him. Adaire exchanged a panicked look with Haldis, who could only shrug, before he said a quiet thank you and began to follow. The trip to the Aub's office from the Playroom was long but not complex. Adaire strode along quietly beside his friend unsure whether this would count as getting Melchior’s hopes up prematurely.

“Lord Melchior, perhaps it would be best that I continue alone,” Adaire tried to argue.

Melchior didn't falter in his steps though he glanced over. “Do you know why you were summoned?” he asked rather than address Adaire’s comment directly.

“I believe it has to do with my apprenticeship,” Adaire said carefully.

“Your apprenticeship with Lord Leberchet though you are officially employed by Lord Oliswalt?”

Adaire paled and stopped walking. “How… I didn't say anything,” he assured both Haldis and himself.

Haldis tried to smile encouragingly. He placed a hand on Adaire's shoulder to calm the boy’s shivering. “Isolde found out. That is her job as a scholar, to learn about anyone who wishes to join our lord’s service.”

“There is no need to worry. I have tempered my expectations. We will remain friends regardless of what happens,” Melchior added.

Adaire only nodded then continued forward, head bowed in contemplation. Melchior shot him furtive glances all through the rest of their walk. Had he scared his friend, he wondered. Would meeting with Sylvester scare him away completely? Kirk was so terrified of his parents that he felt uncomfortable remaining friends with Melchior. For how little their relationship had changed, Melchior still remembered and felt pain keenly every time he did. Adaire had already had tea with the First Wife. Maybe it would be best for him not to meet with the Aub too.

“If you are afraid, I can intercede on your behalf. I’m certain Father will relent if asked since nothing has been stated yet,” Melchior blurted out.

Adaire stopped again, fresh horror on his face. “I cannot decline a summons.”

“Indeed, my lord, all must appear when requested,” Haldis said.

“Yes, of course. And you will attempt to. But If Father sends you away before speaking to you, that is his right as well,” Melchior mused.

“Why would he turn me away?” Adaire asked, his breathing growing shallow and fast.

Melchior reached out to steady him by the shoulders. “It would only happen if we ask him too. I doubt you could have done anything to earn his ire,” Melchior assured him. He tried to coax him by patting his arm and smiling warmly but this did little.

“My lord,” Haldis called. “Why should anyone light a candle on a full moon's night³⁹?”

Adaire lost some of his panic to confusion as Melchior and Haldis fell into euphemistic speech. “The stars are ever changing and the beasts of the land not inured to the dark⁴⁰.”

“Do you question that the cow produces cream⁴¹?”

“Of course not!” Melchior cried, affronted that Haldis would even insinuate.

“Then, as Lord Adaire seems ready to take this step, we should support his courage.”

Melchior looked back toward his friend who seemed to be piecing things together after a little time to think. He settled with a small smile as he realized that Melchior still had faith in him and had spoken up for some other reason. He still didn't know the reason and didn't have time to ask as Melchior had managed to draw him farther along during his comforting. They had reached the doors to the Aub's office and found Lady Barbara waiting patiently.

Barbara stared at Melchior without a change in expression, then proceeded to kneel and give greetings. With him standing close, she had no time to give reassurance to her son before they had to enter the Aub’s office together, but she pulled him to her side all the same.

They were kept back with yet another comment from Melchior “I see you did not bring an attendant with you,” he mused.

“Is that the usual way of things?” Lady Barbara asked.

It was for Melchior but he felt that might have more to do with him needing an attendant everywhere he went than needing one specifically for semi-official meetings. “It is ever so convenient. Please allow Haldis to assist you.”

While Haldis did not look surprised, Lady Barbara’s polite facade cracked revealing a shocked expression shot through with indigestion. “You are far too generous,” she wheezed.

Haldis moved from behind Melchior to behind Adaire. He patted him on the head and pointed him forward. “There is no need to be afraid. This is only a meeting to discuss your progress. My father and brother are very happy with your work thus far and mother is quite invested in seeing you succeed. Step forth with confidence.”

Adaire nodded and steeled himself. Haldis said a few comforting words to Bardara as well before guiding his temporary charges to the door and requesting entry. Melchior watched everything unfold with twin feelings of pride and awe. He didn't usually get to watch Haldis work, positioned as he was behind Melchior most of the time. The elegance and grace he’d always admired in his apprentice attendants seemed crude by comparison. The small party soon disappeared into the Aub’s office looking as though their prior anxiety had never existed, as though visits to the Aub were a normal part of their lives and always had been.

… …

Sylvester had been listening to Leberchet wax poetic about how great of an apprentice his granddaughter was for far too long by the time his summoned guests arrived. They were supposed to be discussing the boy, Adaire, who wished to join his son's retinue but Olishild had visited her grandparents’ house recently, giving him the ability to compare the ten and seven year olds against one another. A few sentences later and Leberchet had smoothly transitioned into a doting grandfather, Adaire entirely forgotten.

Not until the boy was walking towards him did Leberchet remember just what they were actually there to talk about. It didn't matter. Sylvester was distracted by the appearance of his son's head attendant. He’d coordinated this meeting precisely to avoid Melchior’s intervention. There was no way to look objective about retainer selection when the boy was favored so openly, but Sylvester still needed to make a decision based on solid facts. Leberchet might fail to relay those facts in the presence of Melchior's agents.

Haldis’s presence meant the jig was already up. The man would never leave his charge without a direct order. “We may as well summon him in too,” Sylvester grumbled. Ridyarda knew precisely what he meant and so Melchior was brought into the meeting with such remarkable speed that he could only have been waiting right outside the office. “I sent Ordoshnelli to an entirely different fort as I recall⁴²,” Sylvester said.

Melchior smiled back with all the bland poise Florencia had taught him. Sylvester felt it wasn't fair that he found such expressions so endearing and wished someone had warned him that fondness for his wife would make him weak to his children too. “When one meets a friend on a well beaten track, it is hard not to guess their destination⁴³.”

“A good friend knows what not to ask,” Sylvester mumbled. Then he resettled into his chair, the Aub did not, as a rule, fix his posture, and began the meeting. “Lady Barbara, it is my understanding that Lord Leberchet has been Erwachlern and Geldstromflug to your Schutzaria⁴⁴. May we speak of Anhaltung’s enduring light⁴⁵?”

Barbara also resituated herself in the way mednobles who didn't have frequent interactions with archnobles tended to do and that Sylvester sometimes found himself doing before royalty. One simply needed to settle under the weight of authority sometimes. “The breezes whisper only of the frolicking flames⁴⁶,” she eventually replied with a smile and a nod towards Leberchet. “Indeed Vulcanift’s hammer has fallen true and, I hope, quickly⁴⁷.”

There was a pause. Papers shuffled industriously. Wooden boards clattered into piles in the depths of the Aub's office. Leberchet said nothing and refused to meet anyone's eyes. Sylvester took that time to shoot his son a look as the boy tried to surreptitiously whisper to his friend. Melchior looked him right in the eyes as he passed his wooden boards over instead. Sylvester tipped his head for added emphasis. Melchior just smiled more brightly. The cheek!

“It is true that little Adaire has made great strides. Still, Archductal service demands great skill,” Leberchet blustered.

“Is it something I could not teach?” Melchior pressed.

Leberchet smiled deferentially. “Lord Melchior, I am asked to make a recommendation. I could not burden you with that which I might manage myself.”

“My impatience is no secret, Lord Leberchet. One can make allowances for speed,” Melchior replied, his smile sweetening paradoxically as his tone gained sharpness.

While it did seem like Leberchet was being cautious with his recommendation, the few words he’d spoken about Adaire before he began praising his granddaughter had been nothing but laudatory. Haldis tapped Barbara’s chair. He was standing just too far away to hide the motion but it being hidden didn't seem to be important in this case. Leberchet continued to waffle while Barbara set her shoulders and patted her son’s hand.

“You seem rather intent to see another summer of my son's service,” she said on only one breath. She flushed with embarrassment but held firm.

Leberchet glanced off to the side. “As my wife always says, the raising of an attendant is a life’s work,” he chuckled.

Sylvester felt the light of understanding dawn. Leberchet had no problems with Adaire and was too scrupulous to insult the boy directly, even to ensure an extra year with his service. Adaire really must be doing good work. That begged the question, why didn't Leberchet want to boost his own reputation by placing a student of his house in Archductal service? Perhaps he didn't need it when all of his son's were thus employed?

“I see no reason to delay,” Sylvester mused more to stir things up than to force the issue. Leberchet would have to make an actual argument at some point.

Leberchet coughed while Melchior beamed. Maybe Sylvester would press the issue if Melchior was going to be so happy about it. Then Leberchet, a grown adult man, fixed something like a pout on his face. “Well it is a sensitive time. The sprouts do not understand the driving rain. Surely you have seen how they long for the sun in its absence⁴⁸.”

Sylvester and Haldis shared a look of shock and annoyance. Sure, good help could be hard to find but not that hard. To so ruthlessly exploit Melchior's weakness for his little sister and, by extension, all small children just to delay the loss of an attendant he knew was supposed to be temporary, was madness.

The young boys were predictably taken in. Adaire looked at Melchior pleadingly, thoughts of his tiny charge all but flashing in his eyes. Though his expression didn't shift, Melchior did sigh, then nod. His posture asked how he could steal a small child's favored person when he had no immediate need for more attendants. When you are being manipulated! Sylvester screamed in his head.

“I would like to learn how to shave and Lord Melchior will not begin growing a beard anytime soon,” Adaire offered.

The Aub did not snort in indignation. He continued to passively arbitrate while the extension was negotiated. As soon Adaire's continued service was assured, Leberchet was happy to heap on the praise while Barbara was delighted to hear good things about her son. Haldis, meanwhile, kept glancing sidelong across the office at his older brother who was trying to be inconspicuous while hailing their father. Sylvester watched as Leberchet finally noticed Oliswalt, gave some kind of signal, and received a congratulatory gesture for his success in manipulating another year of service out of a mednoble child.

With this further confirmation that that entire family was cracked, Sylvester brought the meeting to a close. “It is good that we had this time to seek clarity. I would like to speak with my son for a few minutes. Please speak with the scholars if there is anything else.”

Barbara and Adaire crossed their arms and bowed together. “We thank you ever so much for the generous use of your time,” Barbara intoned before being helped up and out by Haldis.

“Is there anything I should relay, Aub Ehrenfest?” Leberchet asked.

“Only my love,” Sylvester sighed and shooed him away as well.

Once only Melchior was left, looking calm in expression but kicking his feet slowly, Sylvester set a sound blocker on the far edge of his desk. There were several things they needed to discuss.

... ...

After a delightful afternoon chat with his father, Melchior returned to the Playroom feeling refreshed. He was somewhat disappointed not to take Adaire into his retinue immediately but his friend wanted to wait until Oliswalt’s toddler could understand his sudden absence better. Melchior completely understood though he wasn't sure he agreed. He had only the vaguest of memories about the wet nurses who moved on in his earliest years and a lingering sadness from when Charlotte took her attendants with her. The only difference being the age at which the parting occurred. It seemed to him that leaving earlier rather than later was ideal. Still, Adaire had asked himself so Melchior would not force the issue. They could always have more tea parties in the interim.

The Winter Playroom after lunch was quite relaxed. With lessons complete and the storm raging, the children were allowed to be loud, well, as loud as noble children would ever get. There were several sets of Karuta and other card games going in one corner. The bookshelf was all but empty of books both informative and fun. Most curious, however, was the collection of boys and Gerianne surrounding Nikolaus as he sat at a table. The entire group was mostly silent with only the occasional comment being made, usually by Gerianne.

Melchior made his way over, managing to sneak up on the intensely focused group, and looked over Nikolaus’s shoulder. Gerianne looked up, flinched, looked from Melchior to Nikolaus, smirked, and went right back to reading. It was a relatively small, traditional book bound in pale parchment. One of several of a set, the book was an introduction to fighting forms. The text was modern if formal while the pictures were awful. Melchior privately cringed at their flatness and lack of detail. Sure one could more or less clearly see the poses but it would be impossible to identify who the model had been and what they were feeling as they moved their sword. Even the clothing was difficult to make out as the various layers of armor and cloth weren't well differentiated.

“Only the shape of the forms is important, my lord,” Fonsel teased. Nikolaus nearly jumped out of his seat while Melchior blinked in amazement. “You were radiating judgement.”

“I was not,” Melchior tried to pretend.

“We were not aware you had returned, my lord,” Nikolaus said, his chest still heaving from the sudden appearance of so many people right behind him.

Melchior smiled brightly. “That is not surprising. We did not announce it.” Nikolaus just smiled back as Haldis brought over another chair. “Are these from Lord Bonifatius”

“Yes, Grandfather invited me to lunch with him today… and to stay at his estate during the winter. He is preparing a room,” Nikolaus replied, looking very excited. “He had much praise for your manuals and would like to read them over more carefully if you do not need them for school.”

“Why would I need them for school?” Melchior asked. He watched intently as Nikolaus flipped the page. The section on swords ended giving way to a primer about staff fighting. The pictures did not improve.

“You don't intend to lend the new manuals?” Dedryck asked. He shuffled closer to look over everyone's shoulders, a small sparkle in his eyes.

Melchior shook his head. “I do not wish to be without them for an entire year and could not make the excuse that I did not have time to prepare anything else. We have selected a book from the castle book room about the history of diplomatic relations with Bosgeiz.”

Dedryck could feel his eyes glazing over just thinking about reading such a thing. He’d forgotten that most older books were all about the driest topics. People only thought it worthwhile to record the knowledge of the ages. Still, lending books detailing one’s duchy’s martial style might make it easier to counter. It was sad that possible future competition should delay the development of martial arts. He sighed and continued reading over the children's shoulders.

The young apprentice and aspiring knights spent the rest of the day reading and decoding the manuals until it was time to say farewell to the fifth years. Zipporah, Theodore, and Kolteruze, dutifully came to receive their speeches. Melchior looked over today's notes. He had to read through several other short lists as well which he then needed to put out of his mind to create a speech.

“For our sixth years, may you be both Berwarmme and Verfuhremeer⁴⁹,” Melchior began shakily. While the fifth years looked dubious of such heavy responsibilities, they continued to listen without interrupting. “Be safe in your exploring and diligent in your studies.”

Everyone waited a moment for him to continue. When no more phrases were forthcoming, Zipporah replied for the group. “We will endeavor to impress you, Lord Melchior,” she promised with a smirk. “Though I cannot promise great skill in playing Verfuhremeer, I may gain much experience this year.”

The boys all looked similarly wry as they gave their farewells. Melchior stopped Kolteruze before he could leave. “Do you know how to send letters between the Sovereignty and the Royal Academy?”

Kolteruze's surprise at the question shifted before their eyes as he pieced together where the request came from. “There are always magic letters. I assume you do not want these notes to be read by every duchy in between?” He said after a long pause.

Dedryck paled. “I… no, that would not be ideal.”

“So every duchy reads inter-duchy missives?” Melchior asked.

“No. But magic letters are different. They are usually too expensive to send for anything less than vitally important. Other duchies likely are not yet adapted to the wonders of plant paper,” Haldis explained. “As such, any magic letter is treated as though it contains an important message.”

Kolteruze nodded as he continued to contemplate how he was going to fulfill his lord’s request. Surely they couldn't just ask the Sovereignty teleportation hall. And who would deliver the letter on the other end? Could ordonnanz even travel between the Sovereignty to the Royal Academy? “It may take time, but we will find a way, my lord.” He promised before heading home. Only after arriving at the winter mansion did he consider that he should have spoken with Isolde. He sent her an ordonnanz before pretending to go to bed to satisfy his attendant then spending another bell rereading his notes for school.

Footnotes

36. A blessing for new teachers and mentors^
37. King's Rest^
38. Sorry, not sorry. Other options included translations of “Lion’s Mountain”, “Windmane” , and “Wind’s City”^
39. “Why be afraid of the Aub when he's in a good mood”^
40. The Aub, or powerful people in general, are always going to be scary ^
41. As in “the cream always rises to the top”. Haldis is asking whether Melchior doubts that Adaire can prove his competence.^
42. I intentionally tried to hide this from you^
43. “There are only so many paths to the Playroom.” I’ve decided that the one between the teleporter and the Aub's office is different from the one that leads directly to the public entrance.^
44. Geldstromflung, goddess of my invention, Goddess of trade and money more generally. Essentially, Leberchet hired and has been training your third child.^
45. Has he been a good mentor?^
46. I’ve hear only praise concerning my son's education^
47. He seems to be shaping up well. Do you think he is ready?^
48. Essentially “my grandson will be sad if Adaire left all of a sudden.”^
49. Support their passion and contain their enthusiasm^

Chapter Text

There were no announcements the following morning but Melchior was met once again by a young woman. This one happened to be annoyed rather than penitent. “You should have asked me directly, my lord, and before all the sovereign nobles returned home,” Isolde grumbled.

Though he felt apologetic, Melchior knew he wasn't supposed to apologize so he tried to move the conversation forward. “Do you have any ideas?”

Isolde struck a similar pose to Kolteruze from the evening before as she considered things. “Have you already asked Dedryck for his opinion?” Melchior nodded though he tossed another glance at Dedryck as well. Dedryck continued to stand still and imposing, hoping something would arrive to distract his lord from the entire endeavor. “If he does not know, then a standard method may not exist. We may have to blaze our own path for Ordoshnelli.”

During this conversation, Deliroze and Adaire meandered over. Adaire was going to stay to the side but Deliroze continued forward undeterred by the furtive atmosphere. “Could we ask your father?” Isolde was asking. Dedryck discounted this possibility as well. Apparently his father worked in one of the villas.

“After The Invasion, all knights from Ehrenfest, Gilessenmeyer, and Alexandria were distanced from direct service. No knight from either duchy has been allowed to work at the Royal Academy,” Dedryck explained.

“Could we befriend a knight from a different duchy?” Adaire asked before he could stop himself. Melchior welcomed the new arrivals forward with a bright smile.

“That is a good idea!”

“It would be but, unfortunately, now is not a good time politically to attempt to befriend Sovereign knights and ask them for favors,” Haldis mused.

The council was stumped. Some because they didn't understand the full assignment and others because all their ideas had come to naught. “I will send an ordonnanz once I arrive at the academy. I am certain your mother has ideas and will be invested in enabling correspondence between you,” Isolde promised. She turned to Melchior. “Have faith, my lord. You will yet be able to keep your promise. I guarantee it.”

She looked ready to take her leave when Deliroze posed a new question. “Do we have any other friends in the Sovereignty? Does it have to be a knight?”

“It does not,” Haldis replied.

All eyes turned to Dedryck. He took a half step back which did nothing to escape all the attention. “Have you any other friends in the Sovereignty?” Isolde pressed, her eyes sparkling.

“I… I know one of the professors. Professor Rüstungold,” Dedryck stammered.

Everyone frowned. “Is that a new instructor?” Fonsel asked.

“They would be, yes. Ah… they teach armor brewing for the knights and as a scholar's elective last I heard.”

“Just armor brewing?” “No wonder I’ve yet to meet them.” “Them?” several people said all at once. Dedryck shrank into himself and finished his step back. The only thing preventing him from physically running away was his duty to protect Melchior.

“Them?” Isolde repeated. He nodded. “Well if you do not know ‘them’ very well, it will be of little use…”

“I know them inti…mate…” Dedryck snapped then petered out as he heard what he was saying. Pale up until this moment, he suddenly blushed all the way down to his breastplate.

Fonsel grinned. “Oh ho! And here I thought you were determined to be forsaken by that friend of all life⁵⁰!”

“That's not what I mean!” Dedryck hissed.

“This is the Winter Playroom,” Haldis reminded before Fonsel could yell something else crass.

“Who is the friend of all life?” Melchior asked.

“See what you’ve done,” Haldis chided. “This is not the place to discuss it,” he added more kindly

Melchior nodded. He pulled out his notebook and added it to his list of things to ask when he was older. Fonsel held his tongue but continued to sport a teasing smile. Isolde’s excitement was more reserved if equally filled with mischief.

“Soooo… Dedryck. Since you know Professor Rüstungold so well. You can write us a letter of introduction.” she mused. He just stared at a bare section of carpet. “And what might one offer to smooth the way?”

“Marzipan,” he muttered, defeated.

“What was that?” Isolde asked, stepping closer to lean in performatively.

“Rüstungold likes marzipan and persipan. They always complain that it's too sweet then eat all of it anyway,” he explained, a little smile fighting to appear on his lips.

Isolde squeaked with delight, causing him to flinch back. She took out her diptych and began making impressions.

“Is armor crafting that difficult?” Melchior asked. Brewing his armor had been somewhat trying but he figured it had more to do with his own lack of experience than anything else.

Dedryck latched onto the knight-adjacent topic like a drowning man. “Only their classes have to do with brewing ‘instantly forming armor’ as it was once called but is now known simply as ‘faestone armor’. They are more passionate about creating magically imbued suits of armor manually. When we were younger, it was because they wanted to protect their older brother, who is a Sovereign knight now. They made him try on so many sets of truly hideous protective equipment. Once he graduated I had to take over testing them.”

Melchior had never seen Dedryck look so delighted about anything, even other knight related things. There was a twinge of nostalgia which brightened his entire expression. “It would seem we have a way forward,” Melchior said and began backing away from the group. “We will prepare some marzipan… what is marzipan?”

“Candy,” Dedryck replied.

Melchior was filled with even greater delight. He turned to Isolde, ”Speak with Sheila once you arrive in the dormitory. Dedryck, please prepare a letter for Professor Rüstungold,” he ordered before striding away to begin drawing while the image was fresh in his mind. Completely forgetting that Dedryck would be following him wherever he went.

“Please do not speak of this,” Dedryck whispered down at Isolde.

She visibly deflated before drawing herself back up into a proper posture. “Very well. Lady Elantra shall not hear of this from us,” she promised.

“You know Lady Elantra?” he called as the leash of duty pulled him along with Melchior.

“Everyone does,” Haldis said. Dedryck looked back and forth between his coworkers. He would just have to trust them.

Melchior meanwhile, found he was tired of Karuta and playing cards. They could spend some time reading the knight manuals but Adaire obviously, but not openly, found that boring so Melchior tried to find other things to do. He took some time to sketch for the painting he was planning of his friend and spent some extra time playing his flute while the others played their harspiels. He still had to officiate a few activities but his own lack of enthusiasm seemed to be catching.

“Is everyone tired of cake?” Melchior joked at the meager showing for the Karuta Tournament. The response was sheepish silence. “Surely not.”

Olishild stepped forward to speak for the younger students. “Of course we are always delighted to receive treats and exceedingly grateful to know the greater heights of Coucocalura’s favor. It is just…”

“We have tasted it before,” someone blurted out.

Melchior flicked an eyebrow at the person, more as a reminder not to interrupt Olishild than out of true annoyance. The boy still huddled behind his friend as though that would protect him from view. Olishild just smiled. “Those able to obtain rewards have enjoyed many rewards,” she added.

There were many ways to earn a reward. Just by following the lesson plan diligently, one was guaranteed a sweet approximately once per week. Perhaps there were too many opportunities or the necessary accomplishments were too simple but Rozemyne had wanted everyone to feel like the prizes were attainable.

Melchior was excited to have something to discuss with the teachers but before that he wanted to renew the competitive spirit. “Would you prefer some other prize?”

Some children nodded, mostly the med and archnoble children whose families could afford to purchase sugar at least for special occasions. The laynobles looked less willing to protest or else were content with desserts.

Melchior handed the wooden board used to draft brackets off to Gerianne and began rifling through his potion belt. Gerianne and Olishild exchanged frowns only for Haldis to silently chastise them. Could they be blamed, Olishild tried to project back. Lord Melchior seemed to be planning to produce prizes from whatever was currently in his pockets. What was the strangest thing was just how incredible Melchior's pockets proved to be.

“Would prayer charms or small pictures entice you?” he asked while holding a handful of glittering faestones on small golden chains and a healthy stack of small slips of paper. Plants and animals peaked out of the stack but many were blank as though he were offering to take requests.

“You are just carrying all of them?” Gerianne muttered.

Olishild tried to look cool. She could obtain charms and paper from her parents. There was no need to slobber over them just because they came from an Archduke Candidate. Melchior continued to wait for her verdict. “I suppose that more permanent items would feel more worthwhile,” she mused.

“I also have some more sets of needles and…”

“I believe that is generous enough,” Haldis interrupted while a ripple of excitement flashed through the playroom. He took the clump of prayer charms and arranged them neatly before stepping away to speak with Professor Mortiz. Children came as close as they dared to look at the drawings and add their names to the tournament. Melchior decided to play to set a good example.

As with all tournaments which did not include his older siblings, Melchior won his heat handedly. He passed his cake down to Gerianne and Adaire while he fulfilled his offer to draw doodles for other winners. The boys seemed most excited for depictions of faebeasts and animals while the girls angled for pictures of themselves with their friends. It was ultimately up to the winners but the children around them were just as excited to debate what the best choice was as if they themselves would receive the prize.

While Melchior was busy attempting to fit five people onto one small sheet of paper, Isolde walked over looking excited. She handed him a soundblocker. “My lord, may I be excused for the afternoon.” Attendance at the Winter Playroom was mandatory but getting official permission to do other things was as easy as having a parent make the request. “You see, this is the usual day we would assist Sir Ptolemaus but when I attempted to go fulfill that duty, I was told that I needed permission.”

Melchior wasn't exactly sure that was true. Then again the day seemed to change to whenever was least convenient for his clandestine activities. What was likely true was that Isolde wanted to visit the Knights Order for something other than mandatory exercise with the other children and could not convince her parents to give their permission. Unfortunately, even with Melchior's word, she couldn't visit a man's office by herself.

“Both Zipporah and Kolteruze are gone. Who will you go with?” he asked.

“I… I guess I do need an escort don't I.” She looked around. “It is inconvenient that I cannot take Helenwig anymore,” she muttered. Gerianne was also out as she was only a child and of lower status.

“Why not take Helenwig. She is still his disciple,” Melchior suggested. He penciled in some shadows to separate the girls’ hair from one another while they watched the conversation curiously. It didn't seem like any could read lips yet but that didn't stop them from quietly speculating.

Isolde considered that possibility while she watched the drawing continue. It would be convenient to take another girl and one who already knew the Quartermaster well. The next possibility was summoning her servant and a carriage which would be greatly delayed by the snow. She couldn't afford to be seen leaving alone with either Nikolaus or Ortolf either. The recently returned Helenwig, who was still an integral part of their scheme, was the best option.

“Very well. If you do not mind her hearing the information Sir Ptolemaus has promised to pass on.”

Melchior shook his head. “This way we will not need to write a report for Charlotte,” he chirped. He let go of the sound blocker and said out loud, “You may tell the professors that you have my permission to visit the Knights Order to carry out this work.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Isolde said. She took her sound blocker and went to collect Helenwig while Haldis went to relay the news.

Helenwig saw Isolde coming towards her but didn't think much of it. She continued to look over the notes for the knights course with the other third and fourth year knights until a shadow fell over her work. “Is it not time to visit the Knights Order?” Isolde asked.

The entire table regarded her with confusion. “I don’t thing the weather permits that,” Nikolaus replied.

“I do not mean for children's exercises,” she clucked. “We have commitments to the Quartermaster.”

“Commitments to the Quartermaster,” one of the boys repeated in a high pitched voice that really sounded nothing like Isolde. “What does a knight captain need with little girls?” he added with a scoff.

Isolde wouldn't have deigned to reply to such infantile provocation but Helenwig had to visibly steel herself and get into character just to inform anyone of her pretend-but-swiftly-becoming-real apprenticeship to Sir Ptolemaeus. “Lord Melchior has offered the assistance of his retinue to the Quartermaster to help with a special project. During her time with us, Lady Helenwig distinguished herself in his estimation.”

Mouths agape and eyes darting back and forth between then, the boys looked shaken by these revelations. It took everything Isolde could do not to shake her head Helenwig’s direction. This should not still be news to anyone, especially not other knight apprentices. “A girl can't be a knight captain,” one of the boys scoffed after recovering.

“Who will make food for the mess hall when you retire to have babies?” another asked.

“Such crude speculation is uncouth” Nikolaus snapped. “Do you believe that neither Lord Melchior who made the first recommendation nor Lady Charlotte who affirms it have not considered that?” The boys shut their mouths under his glare while Helenwig and Isolde regarded him with their own small amazement. “Is it just the two of you going? I know I am not normally involved but everyone who is has left already.”

“As you say, we would have to introduce you to all the processes. We really will be just fine,” Isolde assured him.

Helenwig collected her couple of wooden boards and moved to leave with Isolde. She couldn't decipher what the other girl was thinking as she surveyed the table closely. After no comment followed the inspection, Helenwig was tempted to ask but thought better of it. Isolde spoke when she wanted to, even if she shouldn't, and if she’d decided not to there would be no pushing her.

The professors allowed them to leave without questions and they soon found themselves waiting for the castle doors too open into driving winds and snow. “It will be more comfortable inside my highbeast,” Isolde offered.

At first, Helenwig wanted to protest but realized quickly that she was not dressed to ride her own highbeast. Had Isolde planned for this or was she simply providing an elegant way out of an awkward predicament? It was unclear but Helenwig didn't mind riding in another's drivable highbeasts. It was her only opportunity to use one since she'd never mastered the mental gymnastics necessary to maintain a utility and battle beast and keep them separate in her mind.

Isolde flew low to the trees for most of the trip, their nodding crowns providing some protection from the wind and greater incentive not to veer off course. After braving the open sky for a little bit they arrived very abruptly at the knights order. Helenwig didn't think Isolde would have crashed into the bell tower but she was still glad of the servant sent to hail them from one of the landing platforms. As this was also her own first winter flying using her own mana-sensing to navigate, she wasn't even upset by the near death experience. Isolde strode inside as though nothing had happened.

Sir Ptolemaeus’s office was quieter than usual with most of his workers taking advantage of the lull between tax season and provisioning the Lord of Winter hunt to take some time off. Only he and his attendant were inside with a pair of candles between them to ward off the darkness caused by the blizzard. Helenwig and Isolde moved to take one each of the three chairs prepared before the desk without prompting or greetings. As usual, they waited patiently for Ptolemaeus to finish whatever he was working on. He scribbled a few more figures on a slate then placed his work aside and looked up.

“So many chairs,” Isolde teased before he could even speak. “All the older students have already departed.”

“Well I knew you would not come alone.”

“I considered it.”

“You should not have,” Ptolemaeus sighed as he leaned back in his chair to the quiet sound of bones popping into place. “Where is your sense of self-preservation?”

Helenwig tried not to fidget as Isolde just shrugged and pulled out her gray work portfolio. This certainly wasn’t how one spoke to high ranking members of the Knights Order. “Greetings, master,” she muttered.

Ptolemaeus smiled. “Yes, greetings to you both. I know I said last week would be our last meeting for the year, however, I’ve collected some information that should be shared but have no one to share it with.”

“Did you summon us just to gossip?” Isolde asked.

“Is that a problem?” Ptolemaeus asked, one eyebrow raised to accentuate the question.

Isolde glanced at Helenwig. “Not as such. And I also have something to ask of you.” Ptolemaeus also glanced at Helenwig but said nothing. “As we will be away at the Royal Academy, we require assistance guiding Ordoshnelli.”

“I see. What path would you like her to walk?” He asked as he leaned in conspiratorially.

“I…” Helenwig interrupted. Everyone turned to look at her. “I feel like I should say that I’ve returned to Lady Charlotte’s service.” This really felt like the sort of meeting where people would divulge secrets.

Ptolemaeus leaned back in his chair and templed his fingers. “You assume I do not know that?” he asked. Helenwig couldn’t think of anything to reply. “Helenwig, are you telling me this because you believe it will change what I am willing to share?” She nodded. He shook his head. “Helenwig, you are not a scholar but it will behove you to think more like one. You should never volunteer information which you know will hamstring your information gathering. If I were so uninformed as to not know of your change of office and thus share something I wouldn’t have had I known, that is my mistake to make and your gain.”

Helenwig couldn’t help a scowl. “I do not wish to sour our relationship with dishonesty,” she argued. They were fake master and apprentice after all.

“I would be more offended that you think me so poorly informed,” Ptolemaeus chuckled. “In every interaction, you should seek to gain the most information that you can. Your interlocutors will be.”

Helenwig clutched her hands in her lap. It seemed people everywhere were just as conniving as in Klassenberg. She felt foolish for thinking that knights were more forthright. Perhaps there really was no way to escape the need for subterfuge.

Ptolemaeus smiled at her encouragingly. “You will get used to thinking not just as a knight, but as an administrator.” He leaned forward again as he pushed a wooden board covered in very dense handwriting across the desk. “And you will learn to bring paper to make it easier to remember things.”

Helenwig began reading the board and balked. Every line seemed like it would be something Lady Charlotte might want to know but there was no organization or anything else to aid with memory. Isolde began furiously taking notes in the unreadable cursive she liked to use sometimes. Helenwig, meanwhile, would just have to burn everything into her mind.

… …

By the next morning, there was no remedy for Melchior's apathy towards educational games. He made no pretext of pretending to be excited for Karuta or Blackjack. There would always be die hard fans but with permission to pursue other things, most people took it. Some chose to read for fun or chat but others took the time to study for real and ask questions of the older students while they were still around to answer them.

At least it was finally a clear day. The yearly snowball battle was quietly cancelled as all the children were instead taken to the Knights Order to exercise. As always, the knight bound were allowed to exercise on their own. Though he could keep up with his strength and flexibility exercises indoors, it had been a little too long since Melchior had run laps and the first time he had to do it in knee deep snow. By the end, even Gerianne was cross and out of breath.

Felicitus looked longingly towards the other children who seemed to be doing some low impact version of whirling. “This was a good learning experience,” Fonsel boomed. “It's better to know what it feels like to fight the ground before you have to fight in these conditions.”

“Fight the ground?”

“All I learned was why we stop hunting in the winter,” Loweclaud complained.

“We fight the Lord of Winter during the winter,” Fonsel noted. “And that's during an active blizzard every time.”

No one pointed out that such fighting was done on highbeast. Instead a renewed commitment to training spread through the assembly. Thankfully, they moved on to sword forms and footwork. The snow made moving in a nice square or line quite difficult. It also created a record of their failures.

Melchior was quite happy once it was over. He didn't dislike snow or knight training but he found he wasn't a fan of the combination. Many attendant's appeared to convey the children back to the castle but Melchior dragged his friends into his lionbus instead. Gerianne took her rightful place in the passenger seat while Adaire, Felicitus, and Fonsel sat in the back. In deference to sensitive stomachs, Melchior tried to take off smoothly and make easy turns.

“This is much nicer than the speed flying,” Felicitus noted.

“You do not like going fast?” Gerianne asked.

“I do,” Felicitus insisted. “It is different when I am in control though.”

Fonsel nodded along but didn't comment. He looked out over the trees dancing in the wind and tried to consider how exactly he would save so many children in the event of a crash. As unlikely as it was, that was nominally what he was there for; that and protecting Melchior if someone decided to attack him while their life depended on him maintaining altitude.

He was drawn back to the conversation as Melchior asked Felicitus if he was willing to assist Olishild in managing the playroom. “Sister asked her to oversee things and make reports. You would just have to assist her with talking to the other factions, mednobles, and laynobles,” he explained.

Felicitus looked out the window with a frown. “It sounds simple when you explain it, but I do not think anyone will listen to me.”

“You can only make requests anyway. You don't need to force anyone to comply,” Adaire encouraged.

Felicitus didn't look particularly encouraged. Melchior stole glances over his shoulder as the silence stretched. He considered that it would be nice to have some kind of mirror that let him see the seats behind him but didn't think it was a good idea to make alterations in midair. “If you do not wish to assist in this way, you do not have to. I can find someone else but when I considered who might be best to support an archnoble girl, I thought of you,” Melchior said.

Felicitus looked down at his hands. “I just… do not want to make a mistake.”

“Of course you will make mistakes but that is alright. You need only correct them and continue to do your best,” Melchior assured him.

“In most cases,” Gerianne added. “But you do not seem prone to those greater errors.”

“What greater errors?” Felicitus asked.

“Do not use Lord Melchior's authority to force other people to comply, do not use your position to bully others, do not lie in your reports,” Adaire explained. “That is how Mother advised me and I did ok.”

“I think I can do that,” Felicitus said brightly then paused. “Or, I don't think I will do those things. I can not do that?”

Melchior gripped his helm tighter to keep from laughing. “I think you will do well. Adaire has already advised Olishild. Would you be willing to instruct Felicitus as well?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Adaire replied.

When they landed back at the castle, Melchior crossed “find a proxy” off his list. Though it was tempting to strike finding a courier for Dedryck’s letters too, it didn't feel like they'd actually achieved that yet. He was still excited to meet Professor Rüstungold and to try marzipan. Perhaps they would have fun stories about a young Dedryck.

The rest of the day continued as usual. After a morning of perfectly normal studying and tutoring, Melchior gave up on even trying to look studious and requested his paints. He positioned himself in a corner of the playroom and began painting the noble children. Hopefully, the topic and improvement of his skills would make it a proper replacement for his painting from the previous year. He could only hope and explain to several people that while he would paint them in the position they requested, they did not need to hold still for an entire bell for him to do it.

He still needed a period of stillness from each person, a feat accomplished easily as Gerianne gathered a small audience to tell a story. It was not normal to invite people over to hear you tell a story. Most stories told by noble society took the form of gossip which relied on a certain air of exclusivity. Still, enough people were bored in the afternoon that a small audience formed on the floor in front of Gerianne.

“I imagine you all have heard many tales of love,” she began. Many people nodded excitedly. “This will not be that.” The excitement dimmed. “Instead, I bring you a tale of hate. A tale just as universal I’d wager.” The crowd was not convinced but no one left.

Gerianne pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket and her diptych stylus and began miming the act of writing. “What follows is a letter to my future self. Dear me,” she began. Her inflection changed to mark what was actually the beginning of the story. “Do not consort with Lord… it is crossed out… what shall we call him?”

“Chaosbottoms!” a boy called out, thinking it was a real question.

“Alright,” Gerianne said. She pretended to strike out whatever name she was going to use and wrote in “Lord Chaosbottoms.” There were many snickers. “Do not consort with Lord Chaosbottoms. He smells awful and does not know proper comportment. I do not like him. Should you forget in the future, refer back to this letter to remember our ire.”

Gerianne put that letter “away” and pulled out a new one. She stood up straighter and affected a slightly deeper voice. “Dear child me. Just as I was warned, Lawrence has come to visit today. This time he brought flowers and honeyed words. I attempted to be frank. I do not wish to join our houses and will not accept further enticements. I never shall I forget our resolve against him. I think I shall invite Olivia to tea more often. I cannot be forced to endure him if I already have guests.”

Several people who hadn't joined the initial group began to float closer while Gerianne switched her papers again. “Dear me, let it be known that mother is against me. She has forced upon me the company of Lord Chaosbottoms once again. She spoke even of the supreme gods finding us with the fullness of the weave. I pray Dregarnuhr, Goddess of Time, loses her shuttle long before such horrors may be visited upon me.”

Gerianne waited for the side talk to quiet before continuing. “Dear child me, I have recalled an occurrence long ago where Lawrence threw mud at me. I feel a similar kind of anger today as he has forced himself into the tea party I was enjoying with Olivia. If only there were a puddle to trip him into.”

“Dear me, today Lord Chaosbottoms tried to show me what he learned at the Knights Order. He slipped and fell into a puddle in the garden. Never have I known such mirth as before he used his filthy hands to toss silty dew on my new dress. Mother accepted an apology. I shall not.”

“Not on her dress,” one of the girls whispered while some of the boys snickered.

“How crass,” Professor Gretelis muttered.

“A letter to my past self. Dear child, I am deeply saddened. I fear I failed to heed the wisdom of Weigmilch. Too long I allowed the company of our nemesis. I thought the presence of my good friend Olivia would make those days bearable. It served only to show that schemer the softness in my heart that he might crush me. He has asked Olivia to marry him.”

“No!” squeaked a girl.

“I cannot be consoled,” Gerianne added with fake tears just prickling her eyes.

By this revelation, the majority of the playroom had been enthralled. Even Melchior found his brush stilling as he listened and watched Gerainne gesture and mime. She’d managed to approach the skill he remembered from Alix and even if she hadn’t, such skills were extremely rare in noble society. More than likely, none of the children had ever experienced such practiced storytelling. The story continued to meander between the past and present, through the intrigues of the letter writer’s attempts to break up her best friend’s engagement, to her reconciliation with the idea that Lawrence was not the worst person to ever exist all while the child version of her told funny stories about the other characters. She spoke of meeting Olivia and how exciting and wonderful she was and of the hijinks they enacted together against the long-suffering Lawrence. With everything he had to endure, it was difficult not to feel bad for the man even as the writer railed against him.

Eventually they came to a happy arrangement. “Dear me of the past. I could not have anticipated finding myself here in the home Olivia, Lawrence, and I have built together. I do hope you will not be angry with me for finding happiness with Lord Chaosbottoms but I am that, happy beyond what I ever imagined. Perhaps that is thanks more to dear Olivia, from who I shall never be parted, but it could not be called complete without our husband to tease,” Gerianne’s wistful smile broke slightly on this line but she recovered before beginning the final passage of the story.

“Dear me. Mother warned me that tomorrow Lawrence shall come to offer his hand. Mother has warned me that refusal shall not bring me any joy but I refuse to believe that such a marriage is the best I can do. I shall be honest, and we shall see how things progress from there.” Gerianne folded away her imaginary paper and bent at the waist. The audience remained quiet in anticipation. “Oh, that was the end,” Gerianne declared.

Once prompted, polite cheering and applause broke out. Gerianne gave another bend before walking off the “stage”. The audience wasted no time taking up feverish discussions about the characters.

“To think dear Olivia thought she was saving her friend,” one little girl swooned.

“Poor Lawrence, he spent all that time just trying to be nice,” whispered another boy.

It was agreed that it was a beautiful story, well performed even as some adults blustered about the topic being too mature and the use of such a crass nickname for Lord Lawrence. Still, no one said anything about the artform being unfit for society or lacking in grace. Melchior couldn't help but feel proud. He put aside his previously paused painting and began transferring his drawing to a new wooden board. The playroom looked so much more interesting with everyone gathered together for the story.

Footnotes

50. Beischmacht^

Chapter Text

Melchior was asked about the performance at dinner after he was admonished for giving in so easily to the other children's demands for new prizes. He hadn't discussed changes to the playroom with anyone before making them nor had he taken the appropriate amount of time to consider how those changes would affect things. While true that sugar was expensive, the castle budget now accounted for the pastry distribution in the playroom. The castle budget did not cover the mana and materials needed to make prayer charms and small doodles.

“Gerianne told a story about a girl writing letters to herself,” Melchior explained.

“To herself? So like a diary or something?” Sylvester asked.

“The props made it seem like a series of unconnected papers,” Melchior replied. “The main character wrote about how much she disliked a boy and liked her friend then both friends agreed to marry the boy who was actually nice but kind of awkward because of how much he liked the girl and didn't understand that she didn't like him mostly because her mother was forcing them to spend time together when she wanted to be with her friend instead.”

“Is that so,” Florencia said. “I suppose that is a slightly more appropriate topic.”

“I still haven't seen one of these performances,” Sylvester complained. He looked at Melchior expectantly.

Melchior sighed. “I will inform Gerianne that she must be ready for your summons,” he promised. Sylvester nodded happily and continued eating.

As dinner came to an end, Melchior wished his parents goodnight before they exited by separate hallways once again. It felt so strange to see it every time. His father looked like he wanted to be called back while his mother held herself with firm resolve and sent her well wishes for Brunhilde. The look Sylvester then gave her made Melchior double think pausing to add his own well wishes. His father's sad face haunted him as he continued back to his room to collect the music sticks and remove all sharp objects from his pockets.

When he arrived, Henriette was not engaged in anything yet. She remained in the middle of the room as the door opened and, with great effort, resisted the urge to cry out. “Greetings Henri,” Melchior called as he entered.

Henriette waited until he was fully inside and standing before her to kneel. “I offer greetings,” she said with pretend gravity.

“I accept your greetings,” Melchior replied. Like a signal that the farce was complete, these words caused Henriette to tip over into a giggling fit.

Melchior knelt down next to her with a smile. “That was very good, Henri.”

“Very good!” she squeaked.

“How was your day?”

What followed was a surprisingly coherent recitation of the events of the day in no particular order. “I had breakfast and lunch and dinner and we made a pretend snack and drawings of animals and numbers and read Erma’s book three times!”

“Three whole times? That's quite a lot,” Melchior noted.

Henriette frowned at being interrupted. “Not a lot. I could read it ten times.”

“Ten whole times? The same book?”

“I could!”

“I’m sure you could but why would you want to?”

“I like it.”

“Well if you like it then I suppose it's fine. Will you show me your new book?”

For the first time, Henriette didn't leap up to collect her own toy. She made a great show of calling over one of her attendants and asking for the book. Book was a rather generous descriptor actually. It was just a stiff piece of paper with two pictures and a poem. The back panel still contained “printing” information including a small crest for Ermalinde Press which was an indecipherable crayon scribble. The author was listed as Haldis.

“Haldis writes books?” Melchior muttered in shock.

“Haldis is Erma's father. He works in the castle and likes to write stories and is really tall,” Henri explained.

“Yes, I know Haldis.”

“You know Haldis!” Henri asked, amazed.

Melchior nodded emphatically. “I do and quite well. He is my attendant.”

Henri could not have looked more surprised had she tried. Melchior couldn't hold back a giggle as Henriette looked around the room as though Haldis would appear out of nowhere. “Bring Haldis and Pepin too,” she demanded.

“Did you like Pepin?” Melchior asked.

“Yes.”

“I think he enjoyed his time here too,” Melchior assured her, though he realized that he hadn't actually asked. “It will be some time before he can return. He is going to school tomorrow.”

“School?”

“Yes, school. The Royal Academy. Where we go to learn how to be proper nobles,” Melchior explained.

Henriette's face twisted up. “Trip?”

“Yes a trip, for a whole season.”

“No trips,” she commanded.

Melchior sighed, “Some trips will have to be made, Henri.”

“You said no trips after the yellow leaf trip,” she insisted.

“Yellow leaf trip,” Melchior muttered to himself. He only vaguely remembered saying he didn't have any more trips after the Harvest Festival when Henri had been especially upset about his long absence. “Yellow leaves like in autumn?”

“No trips!” she cried again. “No trips.”

Melchior got the distinct feeling that Henriette wasn't going to be happy to hear about him going to school. It felt best to say as little about it as possible. There was no point in ruining their last visit together. Rather than address the topic he pulled the sticks from his pocket with a flourish that sent several papers scattering across the floor.

Henriette was instantly distracted and picked up one paper with a picture of a plant and showed it to him. “I found it,” she declared.

“It fell out of my pocket,” Melchior explained. He handed the sticks to Zargerecht to take for poison testing and began to gather the other papers.

“What is a pocket?”

“It is like a bag which is attached to or under your clothes.” He showed her the entrance to the pocket closest to her as he stuffed his sheets back inside. She tried to put her hand in but he placed a hand over the entrance. “You cannot just reach into someone else's pockets.”

As though she’d heard nothing, she tried to move his hand and grew upset as he continued to stymie her efforts. “Noo!”

“No. You cannot reach into another’s clothing, Henri, it is rude,” Melchior explained again.

“Gimme!” she shrieked.

Melchior winced and leaned away. “Please do not yell. What would you like? Use your words, Henri.”

“Pictures,” she huffed.

“You would like to see the other pictures?” She nodded.

Melchior pulled the small stack from his pocket and showed her the ones with doodles. She still eyed the magical hole with calculation but Melchior repositioned himself so that they were facing each other, separating her from his pockets with their crossed legs.

“This is liriot and this is called just pond weed,” he said as he showed her the drawings. She was quiet while he talked but seemed more concerned with organizing the drawings into two piles based on her own arcane criteria.

Soon, the siblings were interrupted by the return of the sticks. Well, Melchior's speech was interrupted, Henriette continued to organize the drawings then take one pile and try to put them into her pockets only to realize that her clothes had not magically gained storage. She continued trying to find somewhere to secret her spoils until a melodic click distracted her.

Melchior tapped the sticks together a few more times. She reached out then pouted when he pulled back to avoid hitting her. “Mallet!”

“That is not how we make requests,” Zargerecht hummed. Henri looked up at him then huffed.

“May I have the mallets?”

“They are just sticks. I guess we could call them percussion sticks. Flautzeal didn't really say,” Melchior said as he handed them over.

“Percussion?” Henri said with a frown. “They are for harps?”

“They are an instrument, yes,” she huffed. “But they are not as complex as harspiel.” She tapped them gently. “You can hit them together just be careful of your fingers…”

The moment permission was granted, Henriette smiled and began whacking with fervor. Perhaps she drowned out the warning as her enthusiasm quickly resulted in hitting her thumb.

“Ow,” she shrieked. Her attendants shifted closer in anticipation for a tantrum which never came.

“Oh dear! Henri. Henri, are you all right?” Melchior panicked. He tried to take the sticks which she resisted. She did let him hold her hand which he took and immediately began surveying for damage. The fact that he couldn't find anything beyond a touch of redness didn't reduce his worry as Henri continued to breath strangely. She was not quite crying but it certainly felt that she might begin at any moment. Then she would hate the sticks just like she didn't particularly like the ceramic animals. They sat on many surfaces, all too tall for a child to reach, and stared in blank eyed judgement.

Henri, meanwhile, seemed to be paying far more attention to her brother's never before scene expression of deep concern. She had not yet decided whether the injury required the assistance of an attendant but his distress was fairly persuasive.

“May I see,” rumbled Zargerecht from above the siblings. Henri offered up her uninjured hand. Zargerecht knelt gracefully and took the offered hand. He looked it over seriously before declaring, “Everything seems to be in order. May I see the other?” Henriette was loath to remove it from Melchior so Zargerecht swapped the hands. “I see. It would appear that something has collided with the thumb on this side. It was not very hard. The appendage may hurt for a few moments more than intermittently if you are not careful with it,” he explained calmly.

“Ok. May I play with the sticks?” Henri asked.

“If you are careful. A repeated collision will hurt more than the first,” Zargerecht said.

She nodded seriously before turning back to Melchior and relaying a highly abbreviated version of what she’d been told. “It will be ok. I can play more.”

Melchior took a deep breath and reaffixed a calm smile. “That's great. Why don't you plan a rhythm to show me in a little bit.”

“Ok!”

While she clacked away in what was little more than pure, joyful cacophony, Melchior turned to Zargerecht. “Thank you. I did not know what to do.”

“Mn, that is not surprising. Just remember to remain calm. Children often decide how to respond based on our responses. If we do not find it worthy to panic, then only a truly serious injury will inspire contradiction.”

“That is what Mother said about emergencies. I must remain calm or other people will panic too,” Melchior noted.

“Lady Florencia is indeed wise. A leader must be clear headed at all times,” Zargerecht agreed. “Now, what instrument would you prefer?”

Melchior chose the glockenspiel, as it would be difficult to damage even with the wooden sticks. He listened to Henriette's new rhythm which, even after time to prepare, seemed to consist of hitting the sticks whenever she felt like it. Then he showed her the joy of striking at a specific, steady pace while he played a short tune. She seemed to have much more fun than when she was trying to manage the melody herself. After playing for the requisite time, Melchior put aside his instrument and took out paper to draw.

Henriette was content to keep playing with her sticks, though she insisted on snuggling into his side. This made it difficult to keep the drawing surface balanced but he couldn't dream of making her move. They sat together in front of a mirror on the floor until it was time for him to go.

“Henri, we must go to bed now,” Melchior declared and held his hands out to receive his sticks.

“No,” she giggled and hugged the sticks to her chest.

Melchior weighed his options. While they were the first instrument of Flautzeal’s make, Melchior was almost never going to play them. If Henriette grew bored of them, he could always ask for them back anyway. “Alright, you may borrow them for a while. Take good care of them.”

She smiled and clacked them together a few times then took them with her to her crib clutched in one hand while the other pulled Melchior along. “What do we say when someone gives us something?” Zargerecht prompted.

“Thank you ever so much,” Henri quoted then lifted her arm in a gesture showing she would like to be picked up. It was difficult to move her while she was still connected to Melchior but no one was going to waste her willingness to lay down. “Book!”

Melchior swapped his hands so that they were no longer reaching awkwardly over the bars. “Which book would you like to hear?” They read through her new pamphlet a couple of times before Melchior placed it down with a heaving sigh. “Henriette, it is time for me to go. I will be gone for a long time.”

She frowned. “No trips.”

“Henriette, I have to go to school.”

“No! No trips!” she yelled. She grabbed his hand with both hands and held it as tightly as she could. “No.”

“I will write letters and send gifts. And you will have your attendants and Mother and Father to play with.”

She did not seem mollified. Her eyes took on a dangerous sheen as she looked back and forth between her brother and Zargerecht. “No trips,” she repeated.

As much as Zargerecht wished he warned his charge not to talk about his impending trip, it was too late to lie about it. Henriette could have this tantrum now or the following week when her brother failed to arrive or even within a few days when Zargerecht himself failed to appear on his usual days. A selfish part of him didn't want to be present even though the rest of him knew that would be quite cruel to his coworkers.

“We shall return before you know it,” he coaxed.

The head attendant brought over Henriette's magic tool before retreating. Melchior took it and placed it close to his sister. “It is important that I go to school. If I don't I can't become a noble,” Melchior explained gently. Henriette frowned down at the tool before picking it up and flinging it. “Henri!”

“No! No trips! No trips! No school! Nooooo!” she wept.

“Henri!” Melchior tried to catch the magic tool. Then, when that failed, he tried to reach through the bars to gather his sister into a hug. “Henri, it will be ok. Everything will be ok. There is no need to scream. I am here right now. Yes, we are together. You do not need to be so sad. I will come back. I will not be gone all season. I must return for the Dedication ritual. We will see each other then so please don't cry, Henri,” Melchior babbled. It was uncomfortable to force his arms through the bars and Henriette's grip was surprisingly close to bruising.

Soon Zargerecht returned with the undamaged magic tool. He held on while pressing it to Henriette's forehead and adding his own soothing muttering. Still, Henriette kept crying and kept clinging, the existence of sleep completely forgotten.

Eventually, after half a bell of tears, she seemed to have exhausted herself. “No trips,” she repeated like a mantra.

“I must go,” Melchior repeated again. “Otherwise I will be disinherited,” he explained for what felt like the hundredth time. “But I will come back in a month and a half,” he promised.

Henriette stilled, then, for the first time said something else. “No school. No harps.”

It was Melchior's time to be struck still. He stared down at the little girl leaving ten little red divots in his arm. If he didn't go to the Royal Academy and she failed to learn the harspiel, they would both be sent to the temple to live out the rest of their lives in shame but together. It would not be the worst thing. He would still see the rest of his family occasionally and his mana would still go toward the duchy.

“It is time you retired,” Zargerecht reminded. “The God of Darkness has grown vast⁵¹.”

Still, neither sibling moved until the door to the playroom opened revealing the First Wife. The entire room save for the siblings turned and knelt. “Rise. You are still here, Melchior,” Florencia said. She walked over to the crib where Henriette ignored her and Melchior gazed up with red rimmed eyes still dripping. “What has occurred here?”

“Lady Henriette was displeased to learn that Lord Melchior will be leaving for school,” the head attendant explained.

“And how long has she been displeased?” Florencia probed.

The attendants paled. “It has been some time, my lady.”

“Melchior?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“It is very late.”

“I know. I could not leave while Sister was unwell,” he replied.

Florencia leaned down and slowly but firmly pried the children apart. Henriette groaned in protest until she was lifted out of the crib and into her mother's arms. She buried her face in Florencia’s neck and continued her crying there. “I will handle this. May Schlafstrum's blessings bring you sweet dreams.”

Melchior dragged himself from the room feeling like a used handkerchief. None of his retainers spoke as they shuffled him through the halls. Any reprimand they might have given for his behavior would never be as effective than the results of his actions. Zargerecht wondered whether he was the only one who knew this tantrum was inevitable. Henriette was simply too attached to her older brother. Being able to see him with such regularity had led to something of a dependance. It also wasn't good that she shared her favorite attendant with him. With so few nobles Florencia could trust with her children, it was no surprise that this overlap existed only that somehow, despite serving essentially three masters at once, Zargerecht had become so highly favored by them all.

The sad procession was intercepted as they were leaving the central wing by a similarly tired looking Sylvester and company. Though not tear streaked, his face showed an entire day’s worth of tense meetings. It was obvious that neither one expected to see anyone on their journey or else such unpleasant emotions would have been better hidden. Upon receiving a surprised but tired greeting from his father, Melchior said nothing, only meandering forward with a blank expression until he ran into him. Sylvester rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders. They stood together for a long while, saying nothing and feeling better together.

Leaving Ehrenfest for Another Winter

The next morning, Melchior felt like a used handkerchief someone forgot on a sideboard. He had to be woken up late for the first time in quite a long while. Haldis buzzed around with an obnoxious amount of good cheer as he dressed his lord and set his hair. The dangle of faestones flashing next to Melchior's eyes lacked its usual power to lift his mood. Even breakfast was without flavor though that might have had more to do with his personnel having finally been taken to the Royal Academy, and without him having an opportunity to give them a speech. Considering that he could barely remember the speech he gave to Flautzeal and hadn't been giving particularly good ones all week, maybe that was for the best.

“Kirk wished to relay that you can expect the paper workshop to be functioning but that no new paper can be completed so quickly,” Haldis reported.

Melchior nodded along, barely hearing his schedule for the day over the fluffy cotton in his head. It didn't actually matter. His schedule was the same it had been since the Feast Celebrating Winter. Wake up, go to the playroom, return to his rooms to prepare for dinner, eat dinner, return to his rooms to amuse himself for a bell, go to bed. Today would be no different except that playing his part in the playroom felt impossible. He lacked the enthusiasm for any of the activities but had to lead by example. His own readiness to learn or lack thereof would be reflected by the many children who looked to him to see how to behave.

With most of the older children gone, more structured classes were beginning. Melchior just had to make himself available to answer questions. He focused on the nine year olds while Gerianne worked with the first years. It was not hard work to maintain a facsimile of his usual congeniality while testing their knowledge and giving demonstrations of etiquette. Lunch still arrived without him remembering exactly what he’d been doing since breakfast.

Haldis dragged him back to his rooms this time lest he admit to a strange mood during the meal. “What plagues you, my lord?” Haldis asked while he served lunch.

Melchior ate mechanically. He wasn't even sure what was wrong, just that nothing felt worthwhile to do just then. “If I stop being an Archduke Candidate, you would lose your position,” he said.

“Most likely. Though, depending on the reason, I might be called to serve another,” Haldis replied.

Melchior glanced towards his knights. “You would likely still require protection,” Dedryck said. At least a couple of his knights would remain attached to him. Melchior nodded and said nothing else. The adults exchanged looks. The knights had informed Haldis of the previous night's happenings so he had some idea of what his lord was feeling. Ermalinde also hadn't taken well to Olishild needing to be gone every day instead of every other day or so. She had not begged her sister to give up her position though. Nor had Olishild seemed to have ever considered that her life would be improved by being disinherited. That was a weakness seemingly exclusive to Melchior and, incredibly, a four year old had managed to exploit it.

“Gerianne delivered your fabric and brooch order this morning,” Haldis announced to almost no response. “Your gift for Lady Letizia can now be completed.”

“Is there enough fabric?” Melchior asked.

“More than enough. In fact, there is too much for one gift but other opportunities may arise for exchanges,” Haldis replied.

Melchior remained quiet for the rest of the meal and subdued for the rest of the day. Without classes to force him to interact with the other children, he sat off to the side, holding a book in his lap. Though he did turn the page with regularity, it was far slower than his usual reading speed.

At the end of the day he stood before his friends to give his final set of speeches without really knowing why. Why did he insist on giving a speech to people he was going to see again in just a few days? Did those who would remain all winter really wish to hear his parting words of encouragement? Would they also cry? Probably not, he decided.

“Adaire, Deliroze, we shall see each other again very soon. I hope you are excited for your first year. I have been looking forward to your coming for some time. Ehrenfest shall be enriched by your diligence and I will be glad to have you by my side. Thank you, Adaire, for sharing your wisdom with Olishild and Felicitus. And thank you two as well for accepting this responsibility.”

A small group of additional nine year olds had followed Felicitus over so Melchior raised his voice to address them as well. “I hope you all will continue to pursue knowledge regardless of status and faction. We seek to do battle with the great scholars of other duchies, a feat which requires us to band together as a unified Ehrenfest. Study well. We, your elders, shall put forth our best effort to prepare the way.” He gave a little bow and was met with shining eyes filled with determination. “Oh, and have fun,” he added before swaning away.

The last dinner with his parents was a quiet affair. No one seemed to want to discuss the most obvious topic and all the usual advice for school had been dispensed before Charlotte left. Only once after dinner tea was set, did Sylvester speak up. “We found your notes from the feast quite helpful,” he began.

“I am glad to hear that, Father. We worked hard on them,” Melchior replied without looking up from his tea cup.

Sylvester swirled his tea awkwardly only continuing after a look from Florencia. “Melchior, you know we are proud of you, right?” Melchior just looked up, blinking steadily. “Well we are. We think you are doing a good job. There's no reason to compare yourself to Rozemyne or Ferdinand or anyone else. You are already a proper Archduke Candidate.”

“I suppose I will never compare to Sister,” Melchior replied.

Sylvester almost slapped his forehead. “That was not all I said, Melchior. I said we are happy with your progress thus far.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“You are a proper Archduke Candidate, through and through,” he pressed.

“Thank you, Father. May I be excused?” Sylvester gestured for him to do as he liked with a deep sigh. “May you sleep well with Schlafstrum's blessings,” Melchior intoned before taking his leave.

“Well, that didn't go as expected,” Sylvester groused.

“It would seem something else afflicts him this time,” Florencia mused. “It is still good to say the words. He will remember when he needs them, I think.”

“If this is what happens when they’re separated, perhaps they are too close,” Sylvester said.

“It is unusual for siblings so distant in age and of opposing sexes,” Florencia observed. “However, they have both progressed more quickly than their older siblings. We cannot discount their interactions as purely negative.”

“I guess. But if this is the result?” Sylvester pressed. “He was so happy yesterday.”

“He will be happy again. Do not worry, my dear,” Florencia assured him. “The Royal Academy has many diversions.”

… …

Melchior woke at the usual time the following morning. He did his exercises. He took a quick bath. He scrubbed his teeth while Haldis did his hair. Then, he ate breakfast. It was a morning like so many others but it carried far more weight than usual. The impatient energy of the previous year was absent but Melchior still felt the importance of the day.

He stared at himself in his uniform for a long while. It wasn't new but the alteration in both it and him made it hang differently. The new embroidery on his cape gave it extra weight and drape as well. There was time while his final things were packed away so he did a self portrait in crayon. It was the second drawing he’d done of himself in quick succession after a long time without and the only one where he wasn't smiling. But that felt accurate this time. He held his doodle of himself and Henriette next to it and thought better of sending her such a sad depiction of himself. Instead he used Copy and Place to add the doodle to the bottom of his first letter. Henriette should receive it that evening. As hollow as its claims about his excitement for school felt, he hoped it would comfort her in his absence.

Once everything was ready, Melchior added his pencil and crayons to one of the crates and sent the carts off to the teleportation hall. His walk there was full of surprises. First Gerianne met him just before the bridge. She wore her black uniform with light armor.

“Appointments are for our things. You always teleport without a knight,” she explained.

It was true that Melchior traveled with only his attendant leaving a free space for a third person but that was true of all the Archduke Candidates, all the students, as far as he knew. Still, no one pointed out that Gerianne was not a proper knight. She still needed to get to school and adding an extra teleport would be very costly to her family. If they said nothing, it was very likely no one else would either. That is, unless they encountered Lord Bonifatius.

“What dedication! Why haven't we considered this before,” he boomed.

“Usually Archduke Candidates don't have knights from their own year as second years. An older student would have to return or an adult would have to teleport back afterwards,” Traugott noted.

“But the security would be worth it?” Bonifatius mused while Dedryck nodded along.

“For a trip to the Royal Academy, Grandfather? Has the teleportation hall ever been compromised such that an extra knight is needed? There are guards on both ends already,” Traugott sighed.

Further discussion would have to wait as they had arrived at the final stretch to their destination. The hall was very full, containing his parents and their guards, Brunhilde and Wilfried in opposing corners with their guards, and now Bonifatius. There were also more crates on the teleporter than Melchior remembered sending.

“Ah, there he is,” Sylvester called.

“G…greetings everyone,” Melchior stuttered, somewhat overwhelmed by the reception.

“Maybe I should have given my goodbyes early like with Charlotte,” Wilfried muttered as he made space for his granduncle. “But since I’m here, I’ll say what I came to say.” He cleared his throat and stepped forward to rest a hand on Melchior's shoulder. “You're the man in the dormitory now. Charlotte is counting on you to socialize with the men of Yurgenschmidt. Don't let the older kids push you around but don't start any feuds either.”

“I’ll do my best. I hope your preparations for the Lord of Winter go smoothly,” Melchior replied.

“Don't you worry. We’ll be ready,” Wilfried said then stepped back. “May Leidenshaff, God of Fire, bless you,” he intoned before bowing to the Aub and making to march away awkwardly.

“Wait, Wilfried,” Melchior called after him. “I have a small favor to ask of you.”

Wilfried turned back around while the rest of the room leaned forward with interest. “If it is within my power,” Wilfried promised though he looked less sure than his words indicated.

“Would you… in my absence… be as Erwachlern and… and… there is not a god of friendship, is there?” Melchior muttered.

“There is not. Just speak plainly,” Wilfried huffed.

Melchior cleared his throat to begin again. “Dear Brother, in my absence I ask that you tread those dark stairs to the sanctum of our youth.”

Wilfried narrowed his eyes as he tried to decipher what he was sure was not a normal euphemism. “Of our youth…” he muttered. “Ah, well, it is really just your and Charlotte’s youth but I get the picture,” he mumbled. The delicate crinkle of Florencia's dress could be heard in the ensuing silence though the boys didn't seem to notice it. “I can't promise to go as often as you would but I can spare a day or two.”

“Why not? It is only a bell or so once per week,” Melchior countered.

“Melchior, do you know how long it will take to plan something like that for me?”

“Repeated endeavors require less planning each time.”

“You…” Wilfried huffed. “Do not allow the attendants to hear you say that.” He stood up straighter with a hand to his hip. “I cannot promise great frequency but I will visit.”

“Once every two weeks is not too often I suppose,” Melchior mused.

Wilfried scoffed. “Once per month and I expect returns on my generosity.”

Melchior made a scandalized face. “Is the visit not reward itself?”

Wilfried patted his head as he turned to leave again. “I accept brewing materials of all kinds,” he called over his shoulder. He bowed to Sylvester again before sauntering off.

Melchior sent a blessing chasing after him then turned to the rest of the room. Sylvester signaled to Brunhilde. She shook off a pensive attitude and came forward with a smile as her attendant presented a box. “I heard on the breezes that you might find good use for this. Please accept it with my blessings. May it smooth your way during socializing.”

“If you believe it will assist me then I am sure it will prove invaluable. Thank you, Lady Brunhilde.” He offered her blessings from Weigmilch and Verbergan before receiving one from Mestinora.

She also gave him a pat on the head. “Thank you ever so much for allowing me to come, Lady Florencia. I shall take my leave now,” she said with a final parting smile.

Melchior figured that his parents would be last so he turned towards Bonifatius next. Bonifatius looked a little caught out. “I do not have a speech or gifts to give,” he rumbled. “Be well,” he added.

Melchior took one of his massive hands in his own small ones. “Thank you for coming to see me off. Would you like a blessing, Granduncle?” They exchanged blessings then turned together to look at Sylvester and Florencia.

Sylvester glanced at Bonifatius anxiously before turning to his son. “Are you excited for your first hunt at the Academy?” he asked.

Melchior paused to contain his surprise at the strange turn then to remind himself that he wasn't going to do anything so exciting. “I… I have plenty of knights for such things, Father. Be assured that I shall remain within the school buildings.”

Half the room regarded him with shock. “Melchior, second year gathering is a rite of passage. Everyone does it.”

“One of my scholars bought all his materials,” Melchior countered.

“Everyone not wholly adverse to the outdoors goes,” Sylvester appended. “Even Rozemyne went gathering.” And she could barely walk, went unsaid.

“I believe she used the shield of Schutzaria to turn the whole endeavor into a leisurely picnic,” Florencia added. “We want you to have this experience as well. I know you are a bright boy, full of courage, and an aspiring knight. We would not restrain you from reasonable exploration at the Royal Academy.”

Melchior wanted to argue that it had nothing to do with him being afraid. He wanted to explore the grounds as much as anyone else. It just wasn't worth risking getting hurt and causing his retainers to get into trouble for it. When he had a schtappe and could better defend himself, he could begin to consider it. Before he could formulate a response, Sylvester produced a narrow wooden board marked with the fanciest version of the Aub’s seal. A ribbon dangled from gilded wax but the language was still fairly informal. “You have my permission to go gathering in your second year,” it read.

“There, now you have no excuse,” Sylvester huffed. While his son was still gawking he took a large magic tool from his scholar. “This is a reservoir magic-tool. It holds more mana than its size would usually indicate and it's not very portable but I want you to use it to maintain your reserves at a reasonable level if you need it. Ok? No explosions or passing out at tea parties with princes,” Sylvester charged with a shake of his finger.

Melchior also accepted the large faestone, about half the size of his head, with both hands. Three others were placed in the empty crate. “What about at tea parties without princes?” Melchior muttered to which he received a poke on the forehead.

“No passing out. Now, have a good year. Support Charlotte and all that,” Sylvester said with a shooing motion.

“We know you will do well, my dear,” Florencia added. “Do not get kidnapped by a greater duchy again,” she added with a squeeze on the arm.

Melchior nodded dazedly as he stepped back onto the teleporter. He placed the reservoir in the box with the others before beginning a blessing for those remaining. “O God of Warding, Chaosfliehe, of the God of Darkness’s exhalted twelve, I pray that you give them your divine protection,” he intoned. The black blessing was answered with waves and more sparkles of black and gold.

Footnotes

51. It’s really late^

Chapter Text

Back into the Fire - A Noble Interlude

Merchant vessels of all kinds had been arriving at the port for a month now. It began with those from Hauchletze. No merchant wanted to be trapped there all winter or even longer and the possibility of being delayed at the duchy gate for no reason was too great. From Quantreeb and Losrenger, captains could be more relaxed. The treaties between duchies protected them from Hauchletze's random searches and seizures. The profit potential of these smaller ports was not as strong but the bribes needed to escape with one's goods were less as well.

When fellow merchants of Ossvault began to arrive, Nyimbo’s mother, Chapanjira, decided to begin loading her ships. At eleven, Nyimbo was not very useful but she stood around with the checklist and a winning smile all the same. Her cousins and the other boys from around the port buzzed around being no help at all.

“You should stay here,” her cousin Daltiso said for the seventh time that day.

“I cannot. I must go to school,” Nyimbo replied.

“That school sounds boring and what if the gate closes forever again,” he said.

She sighed. “It was not forever and yes school is boring but it's important. I cannot become a noble if I do not finish.”

“Why would you want to be like those pale people? They're terrible and they're mean to you.”

“They saved my life. All they ask is that I do this every winter. Then I can live as I like,” Nyimbo said for the seventeenth time. “You should come see one day. Magic is cool.”

“It just makes you sick,” Daltiso huffed. “You bring all those rocks to treat it.”

They paused to check off some of the cargo. “I promised to return with gifts. Can't you just be happy for me?” Nyimbo asked. Daltiso shuffled his feet and shook his head. “The gate will reopen next year. We have a Zent now.”

“You mean they have a Zent now,” he spat.

“I was born and raised there. It is my country too.”

“This is your country. I don't see why we even humor them anymore. You know how they treated us.”

“That was Hauchletze. There are twenty-three other duchies with different politics. Ossvault isn't like that,” Nyimbo assured him. “They were good to us.”

“As good as they are to commoners, so, barbaric,” Daltiso countered. “Stay here, Nyimbo. It's fun, isn't it”

Nyimbo sighed. They would never finish this conversation. Her mother had asked him to take care of her and they’d become fast friends.They'd spent enough time together that she'd gotten to understand his personality to be kind but stubborn. She got the very real sense that he wanted to marry her one day but he didn't like poetry, which was unforgivable. Being nice in every other way did nothing to temper this failure in character nor did being passionate about breaking all ties with Yurgenschmidt. “I will return next year and we can have more fun then,” she promised. Daltiso knew Nyimbo to be long-suffering but vengeful and decided to table the discussion before she began planning some devastating prank.

By the afternoon, everything was loaded and it was time to properly say goodbye. All her mother’s family came to see them off and to ask, once again, why they would ever go back to that place that trapped them for so long. Chapanjira gave all the normal excuses. This was her business, she’d built a community, Nyimbo had school, their friends were waiting for the tastes of home to tide them over the winter.

“Tell them to come on back, we’ll feed em,” called an auntie.

“It's summer here, why suffer in that cold place?” called an uncle.

Chapanjira gave all her hugs and excuses over and over. She was a highly punctual woman who dearly wanted to leave early but she knew these people that loved her were worried. It had been over ten years she was gone, trapped impossibly far from home and she was going back there.

Nyimbo accepted the fawning and hugging from all these people she barely knew. They were kind to her and treated her as an equal but she struggled to really see them as her family. She spoke Chifundan but not with the proper accent and couldn't understand the vernacular of people her own age. They teased her about this good-naturedly but also unceasingly.

Once they were all satisfied with their final warnings and kiss filled goodbyes, the ships could finally begin to depart. As the moorings on the lead vessel were pulled up, Pilirani leapt on with his satchel swinging from his arm. He was not a particularly punctual person though he would claim to be realistic rather than unreliable.

“You are late,” Chapanjira clucked.

“You haven't left yet,” he replied and calmly settled into a seat. He patted the bench beside him.

Chapanjira rolled her eyes but sat down. “We planned to leave two hours after noon. I know you can read a sundial.”

“My cargo was here, wasn't it. Of course I know when you were scheduled to leave but have you ever left at that time?” he teased. He promptly abandoned sitting to rest his head on her lap.

“I thought you might not come,” she said, absentmindedly stroking his curly hair.

“We will never be on opposite sides of that thing again,” he said with a gesture in the general direction of their destination, the Yurgenschmidt country gate.

Nyimbo and her father, Zikomo, watched them flirt and cuddle from the other end of the deck. Pilirani was nice and tried to be paternal without being overbearing but it was hard to see him as anything but her mother's new, well old, husband. She had to be happy for her mother when they’d finally been reunited after more than a decade apart, only able to communicate by magic letters snuck through the barrier and long voyages to Lanzenave but she couldn’t be too happy seeing her own father’s sadness. No amount of boundary setting or communicating upfront could prepare the heart for losing the love of one’s life to the love of their life.

Their situation hadn’t needed to continue for such a long time, until some parties were hopelessly invested, had Lanzeneve allowed even one foreign ship to use their gate. Nyimbo had a lot of hate for the Lanzenavians, mostly for refusing to bring any Chifundan messengers through their gate but also for giving foreigners a bad name. Their recent attack certainly made it difficult for an adopted noble with dark skin. “You should go change, Mwana⁵²,” Zikomo said with a pat to her head.

Nyimbo nodded and left her father to avoid watching the love birds by himself. As much as she wanted to wear the clothes she had worn for their time in Chifundo- they were more comfortable and prettier than what was expected of Yurgenschmidt laynobles- she also didn't want to pass through the checkpoint while looking like just another Chifundan. They had made that mistake last year and it had delayed their voyage.

It was always a pain to change in the small cabins on their ship. She couldn't even get into the clothes by herself so the first mate had to squeeze in with her to assist. Most of the year, the first mate haunted her best friend's house, stealing fried potatoffels and gossiping about everyone in their community. Then, all at once, she became a reliable second in command, ensuring that their fleet was seaworthy while Chapanjira sorted out their cargo. She could also do a passable job dressing a noble.

It wasn't a long sail from the shore to the center of the lake where the country gate stood, not really enough time that she would need to change aboard ship, but Nyimbo liked to delay changing for as long as possible. She didn't want to give her cousins another reason to tease her with her drab dresses and the uptight posture they demanded. Plus, they could bring one to tears after the vibrant patterns and luscious draping of Chifundan fashion. At least the lining was beautiful. The outside was just mustard yellow for the fall season.

Nyimbo sat on a chair bolted to the deck and washed her feet with a wet towel before putting on her socks. Sandals had felt strange at first but now she missed them when she had to wear the boots and shoes typical of Yurgenschmidt fashion. She beat the dust from her wrap skirt and pulled on a shift. Once helped into her boring dress, she began to add a few bits of beaded jewelry to liven things up. It was a shame that she couldn't wear these to school where the black uniform made things even more drab. She was not on good enough terms with Ossvault’s archnobles and they did not have the standing to start trends at the Royal Academy anyway. Plus, both of the currently attending Archduke Candidates were boys who didn't understand that the beauty of beadwork was for everyone.

Nyimbo did a last shake to settle everything into place. “There, you look ready,” the first mate encouraged and shooed Nyimbo back out onto the deck so they could get back to lazing about and working, respectively.

Their lead ship quickly approached the country gate. On the Chifundan side there was an expansive wooden dock decorated with auspicious masks carved in the shape of animals and spirits. The soldiers assigned there waved to them as they passed. The way was always clear for Chapanjira and Pilirani even if ships on the other side were delayed from entering. After all, she’d secured the silver cloth that let them send out messages and he’d sailed all over the world trying to get their people home. Were it possible to cross the white desert, he likely would have.

A faestone containing Nyimbo's mana was placed on a plinth. She'd spent all winter filling stones for their ships. According to Yurgenschmidt law, these were her ships since she was the noble sponsoring the mana for teleportation. It fell to her since no one in her adoptive laynoble family had the mana for this and they couldn't trust many others this far.

She did this gladly since their lack of mana had saved her life. They’d been planning to demote to commoners once her sister took over the family. After struggling for three generations they finally produced an heir without any mana. But they were also wealthy merchants with strong ties to the Chifundan traders. In many ways it would benefit them to retire from noble society. They were content to do so until their dear friend and close trading partner came to them with a little girl whose cheeks bubbled when she cried. The last time a child in their community showed those symptoms, he died a horrible death. Chapanjira would do anything to avoid that, even give a dying laynoble house a chance to recover.

The faestone was drained completely and the gate glowed brightly. The soldiers tossed it to the nearest sailor and gave a salute like they were sailing into the afterlife. Once on the other side, they were faced with Hauchletze's duchy gate. Between the country and duchy gate were ships waiting to leave between great lattice walls that blocked anyone from sailing around the duchy gate. They waved to the admiral of their little flotilla before lazily resuming preparations to depart. Other than them, there was no decoration but the towering ivory walls.

At the duchy gate, a knight touched down on the crowded deck of one of their other ships, almost knocking someone off. He was pointed towards the lead ship where Nyimbo stood in full view, in front of a wide open landing spot, with the large wooden board every trader had to have for inspections. She maintained a noble smile though she wanted to look testy. This was an archknight of a greater duchy so she had to be polite.

She knelt. “I offer greetings on this afternoon blessed with bounty by the fruitful days of Schutzaria the Goddess of Wind.” she began. It always felt strange that the time of day changed so little even though the seasons were reversed.

“Do you have your pass?” he asked without accepting her greetings. She offered it with a bowed head. In her peripheral vision she could see Zikomo glaring at the knight. Since he looked like a citizen of Chifundo, he was taking the opportunity to act as though the caste system of Yurgenschmidt didn't apply to him. The knight snatched it from her hands and looked it over. “Ossvault,” he sneered before roughly shoving it back into her hands.

“We thank you ever so much,” Nyimbo said as he launched into the sky with a much larger gust than necessary. They were waved through while Nyimbo sank down into the bench next to her mother.

“Thank you, my sweet. I know it is hard for you but it makes things so much smoother,” she cooed and kissed her daughter’s forehead. Nyimbo suddenly felt like she wanted to go back to all those strange but kind people.

They sat quietly on the boat until they were out of earshot of the country gate then Chapanjira struck up a song. She began with a melody and phrase which everyone knew then improvised the next lines. “On my way home, I saw with my eye, a great purple sheet on a man who could fly, shame that his horse had more thoughts in its head, than the man in a sheet had rocks he could bend.”

Everyone chuckled and took up clapping and slapping out the beat while singing “oh I’m going home, I’m going home. The things that I see while I’m going home”.

Zikomo took the next verse. “On my way sailin’, I heard with my ear, the rattlin of bones a quakin’ in fear, top a horse you’d be shocked now to hear, had wings on its back and a dunce on its rear.” There was more laughter and other people took turns insulting the Hauchletze knight poetically.

After the first mate finished questioning his prowess in bed all eyes turned to Nyimbo. She'd been enjoying the music rather than thinking up her own verse and felt mild panic well up during the chorus. “O…on my way singing I said with my mouth, I really don't know what we're talking about. Archknights are scary and important to, and all that I’ve met were better than that fool?”

Some people laughed with her and some laughed in her general direction but everyone sang through the chorus giving their melodic approval. Chapanjira went again followed by Zikomo. No one else had something witty enough to add but the song could continue since Chapanjira and Zikomo could trade versus for the better part of a bell commenting on everything from the knight's haircut to his unpleasant voice to the nose hairs visible because they were sitting down.

The only person who never contributed a verse was Pilirani. He liked poetry and could sing but was so bad at coming up with words on the spot that everyone silently agreed to mercifully skip him. Nyimbo counted this as yet another reason her father was superior. Maybe he wasn't a globe trotting explorer but he was clever and lyrical.

They switched to a kinder song as they approached the second checkpoint then quieted down. Most of the ships could simply pass over the border but the lead ship had to go through the Hauchletze-Ossvault duchy gate because there was a noble on board. This time Nyimbo didn't need to present a pass. A knight from Ossvault landed on their ship along with an apprentice. Nyimbo knew this apprentice. His name was Ingomar and he was nice enough.

Their eyes met and he tipped his head. “Lady Nyimbo, welcome home,” said the adult after she gave her name. Most nobles would have their credentials sent to the castle but no one could mistake Nyimbo for anyone else. She did not just look unique by Yurgenschmidt noble standards, she looked unique by Chifundan standards too. She was one of the very few Chifundans living in Yurgenschmidt with incentive to maintain long hair when shorter styles and elaborate hair wraps were prized in their community. Since she had just been in Chifundo, it was still in a majestic poof around her head but would soon be brought to heel for school and her noble attendant’s convenience.But for the moment, she was enjoying the freedom.

The long gold earrings would remain. These she never took off except to replace them with more elaborate pieces. An archnoble had once tried to demand she hand them over only to be informed that they only worked if you punched a hole through your ears. Nyimbo had played up the gruesome nature of a process she’d been too young to remember until noble society was convinced they were some kind of penance. They did not catch on as a trend.

This was all to say that any attempt to impersonate Nyimbo would fall flat very quickly. Besides, Ingomar could vouch for her even if the gate captain didn't know her by sight. He wouldn't go out of his way or jeopardize his position to help her but in the absence of antagonism he would admit to knowing who she was.

The singing struck up again as they continued to the port. Since everyone else had departed already, Chapanjira’s group could monopolize the docks. They still needed to take turns and their pilot had to jump from ship to ship. Chapanjira generally had her lead ship wait until last. The noble portmaster liked to take his time in appearing and it was more pleasant to be at sea than standing on the fishy docks.

Once they landed, it was once again Nyimbo's job to perform the greetings. Thankfully the portmaster was also polite to a fellow laynoble from a wealthier house than his own. “I see the winds of Schutzaria, The Goddess of Wind, have blown you safely across the pure, still waters of Wieheruhe, The Goddess of Lakes.⁵³ Blessed be your voyage.”

“Blessed be your voyage Lord Laganlecht. I have returned with good tidings and bounty for us all,” Nyimbo replied. “If you would, my admiral has all the little details.” She presented Chapanjira, the real leader of their trade mission. She and Laganlecht had been doing business since before Nyimbo was alive but the day Nyimbo was baptized as a noble it was suddenly her responsibility to act as their representative. The old friends fell into business talk immediately. Chapanjira had purchased her citizenship long ago but he still treated her like a foreign dignitary. It was the only way to communicate to other nobles that she was deserving of respect.

Nyimbo followed along and listened quietly. A proper noble lady wouldn't stand around the docks yelling at sailors. They didn't really need her help anyway.

Once all the tariffs had been paid and gifts exchanged they could head home. Zikomo and the first mate would ensure everything was secured in their storehouses while Pilirani had gone ahead to announce their arrival and prepare the house. Though this mostly consisted of alerting their servants he always attempted to help draw water or something similar before being shooed away.

“I will never get used to this life of leisure,” he greeted from the doorway upon their arrival.

“There is always work to do at the port if you need enrichment,” Chapanjira replied. She took a seat near the door, allowed her sandals to be removed and her feet to be washed, then changed into slippers for the house. “Besides, you worked tirelessly for how long? Let me pamper you.” Nyimbo contained the urge to roll her eyes at their kissy reunion and strode off to her room.

The remainder of autumn passed quickly. Nyimbo split her time between her true parents and adoptive parents' homes, between studying and playing with her friends, and between practicing zither and harspiel. Her noble mother, Lady Farahild had secured study materials for the second year. She would have to learn the practical skills, like brewing, at school but this way she could pass quickly and return home early leaving little time for antagonism from other nobles.

Chapanjira made up little rhymes to help her remember over half the names of the gods. Zikomo made up silly stories about various historical figures to solidify them in her memory. Pilirani helped her drill sums and taught her different styles of math from around the world. Lord Albion spent most of his time serving the giebe but even he made time to have Nyimbo watch him brew.

“I apologize, Nyimbo, that we chose not to acquire the materials for you to practice. The second year brews are not difficult but the ingredients do not grow in our province and our variety is very different to the one taught at the Royal Academy. It will be most cost effective for you to learn there but once you have, we can brew together,” he promised.

“Thank you, Uncle. I will work hard to prepare myself to assist with our family brewing,” Nyimbo replied. She had more mana than all of her family combined so it really would be a boon. He gave her a pat on the shoulder, having learned the hard way just how easy it was to mess up her hair, before continuing to chat about the theory of brewing.

“It is so similar to cooking until it isn't. You’ve done a little bit of that so I know you’ll do fine,” he encouraged.

“How do you know that? You haven't done any cooking,” Nyimbo replied.

Albion laughed. “You are always so quick. That's true but I have watched other people when I was young. Perhaps I will try it one day?”

Now they both giggled at the thought of him slaving over a stove in a messy apron with the children of the maids getting under foot. Their chef was a good friend of Chapanjira and ruled their larder with an iron fist. She would also make you a special soup when you were sick and a special sweet to celebrate your birth season so Nyimbo was fond of her.

Nyimbo spent the most time with her adoptive sister. As young children they didn’t get on well but once Albilana had realized that Nyimbo spoke Yurgen even though she looked Chifundan, she’d welcomed her with open arms. Albilana was almost five years older but she never tired of her younger sister. She had her own studies for taking over the family business and managing their several storefronts. As a commoner, it was no trouble for her to be seen working in their stores and hosting rich clients. As she’d yet to fully step into the role, she was just as idle and pampered as her noble sister, or would be if she didn't have a burning need to be busy all the time.

This most often took the form of making Nyimbo adorable outfits and finding new ways to style her hair. Of course she also learned to play music but was happier to listen to Nyimbo play and sing while she embroidered or did administrative work. She had slightly more work this year since she’d volunteered to oversee Nyimbo's preparations for the Royal Academy. All her things were going in three iron banded chests of understated but elegant design with fancy mundane locks sourced by Pilirani.

“Anyone who tries to steal will have to work very hard at it. Still, remember to keep your money on your person at all times,” Albilana warned. “Father has prepared a noble’s tablet for you but most children will not have one nor fully understand their significance.”

Nyimbo accepted the pretty silver card and channeled her mana into it. It flashed immediately and displayed the value in her account. Her parents had given her six large gold. “So much!” she squeaked.

“We know you will not be frivolous and it is for the next five years. If you want more, you will have to earn it,” Albilana teased. Nyimbo nodded. She could not imagine spending so much money while at school where commerce was forbidden. Then again, she would have to acquire her own supplies for her classes going forward. “Now stop staring at it like you’ve never been blessed by Geldstromflung⁵⁴ and get back to folding. We still have to do your hair.”

Nyimbo’s hair was a huge undertaking. For school this year, it had been decided that she would use twists. Using many small twists, her hair could be forced to approximate that of Yurgens. Her aunt, Lady Farahild’s sister, would accompany her to the Royal Academy. While she was humble enough to learn the particulars of her niece’s care, she was not afforded any time to practice.

Lady Solafie had more mana than her sister and was supposed to inherit their house but a mednoble from their rival faction pressured her into being his third wife. They didn’t even have enough compatibility to have children but the Country Gate’s closure had weakened their house such that they could do nothing to protest the match and their allies had no incentive to help. Lady Solafie only secured permission to attend her niece because the economic strength of her house had recovered bolstering their political strength. Her husband still wasn’t going to afford her any time to visit her family and gain treacherous ideas.

So, Nyimbo finished packing her clothes and fabrics to use as gifts and bribes, and prepared to sit for three bells while Zikomo carefully parted her hair into small sections and wove in specially dyed linen fibers to add length and bulk. Other materials were more traditional but many irritated her scalp. The bone straight fiber had to be crimped with irons first for best results which Pilirani offered to do, so, three days before she was set to leave for the capitol, they were all sitting in one room with a hot stove, trying not to sweat from the awkwardness.

Zikomo worked the wide and narrow combs through her hair gently while sending significant glances at Pilirani. Nyimbo couldn’t see him but she could see Pilirani’s increasingly fervent refusals to begin. “Papa, what’s wrong?”

“Well, nothing really,” he replied. After some more eyebrow wiggling he sighed. “Why didn’t you tell us you needed materials for your studies?”

“There was no need for you to worry. I can acquire them at school,” she replied.

Pilirani clicked his tongue as he delivered the first hank of fiber. “Acquisition is no small undertaking.”

“I know, that’s why…” she stopped herself. She knew getting the right materials or near enough duplicates would be expensive and time consuming and that Lord Albion would look bad if his daughter’s commoner family did the buying for him, so she’d remain quiet. It would still be expensive but otherwise easier in every way for her if she waited until she was at school and could purchase what she needed from the knights.

“That’s why you assumed it was too much to ask?” Zikomo finished for her. “Nyimbo, Mwana, you know it is never too much.”

“Sometimes…”

“Do we not then find alternatives?” Pilirani asked.

“Yes.”

Pilirani smiled brightly at her and over her head then continued his work. “So what is your plan?” Zikomo asked.

Nyimbo detailed what she knew of the process. One could pay the knights of their duchy to acquire materials or buy materials people already had but were willing to part with. Some things were easy enough to gather even for scholars so there were multiple avenues. She just needed the things for her classes anyway. “Its very common for scholars and attendants to hire knights in this way,” she added at the end to, hopefully, erase the incredulity from Pilirani’s face.

“A trust based system requires trust. Do you trust your classmates?” Zikomo pressed.

“How is it based on trust?” Nyimbo asked. She tried to twist around to look at him but was pressed back into her chair.

“Do you know what these materials are supposed to look like? How much do they normally cost? How much do you need? How can you be sure of their quality? What alternatives do you have if people are unwilling to sell to you?” Zikomo listed off.

“How can you stop them from overcharging you?” Pilirani added.

Nyimbo hadn’t been totally confident about getting all that she needed before the first day of class but now she wondered whether it was even possible. Her classmates were only nice to her when Lord Ulstenrich wasn’t around. He was two years older and the Aub’s second son. Locked in an increasingly bitter battle for the seat with his older brother, he was trying to garner support from the Hauchletze leaning nobles who were unhappy with his older brother’s efforts for an independent Ossvault. True independence from the influence of the greater and middle duchies was impossible but their recovering trade economy was poised to out compete their neighbors thanks to years of goodwill built up through fair and equitable treatment of the marooned Chifundans. Hauchletze had once been the greatest importer and disseminator of Chifundan art, culture, and trade goods but now struggled to acquire the choicest goods since the traders with the highest status in Chifundo no longer wished to trade with them when they all lived in Ossvault having been able to afford to flee Hauchletze’s anti-foreign-commoner immigration policies that hadn’t relaxed at all once the gate was sealed.

Ulstenrich had therefore sworn to force Nyimbo to know her place and stop behaving as though her family's economic strength, which dwarfed many mednoble houses, entitled her to treatment above her commoner origins. He banned anyone from referring to her as “Lady Nyimbo” in his presence which translated to most people not using her name in the dormitory if they could get around it. It was very possible that he would try to block her from hiring knights, as that was the privilege of nobles. No noble, no matter how poor, would openly work for a commoner, no matter how wealthy. How rich commoners got magic tools was anyone’s guess.

With three bells and little else to do, Nyimbo, her father, and her mother’s husband devised some strategies for what to do. By the end, they had a working plan for how Nyimbo could become the mistress of a functioning black market to trade illegal material’s and magic tools among the student body.

Chapanjira, Farahild, and Solafie were amused as Nyimbo explained the plan during their carriage ride to the castle but were forced to counsel her against it. “Without treasure-stealing ditter on a mass scale, there simply is no reasonable use for such materials to change hands. You wouldn’t wish to play Chaoscipher for more malcontents,” Farahild said.

Once Solafie stopped giggling, she set a perfect mask of the wise elder. “I think it could work but do not think you will need quite so much coin before graduation.”

“Are you truly that worried, my love?” Chapanjira asked and took her daughter’s hand. Nyimbo tried to keep her smile and make light of things but found her lip quivering. “Oh my love, you will manage. You are my daughter after all. We always find alternatives.”

“I know, Mama, but why can’t it be easy?” Nyimbo cried.

Farahild handed her a handkerchief. “Now, now. Do not cry. We must make our greetings soon,” she said, drawing an unimpressed look from Chapanjira. “If she seems afraid for the year, they will eat her alive,” she defended herself.

Nyimbo looked at the ceiling of the carriage and fanned her eyes while Chanpanjira rubbed her back and babbled soothing words. “I know Ziko gave you good advice as well. Why don’t you tell us what you think will be reasonable ways to buy your materials.”

Nyimbo nodded. “I can try to work with knights outside my duchy or collect them myself,” she replied.

Solafie shook her head. “You do not have a weapon or know the Royal Academy woods. You cannot go by yourself,” she said. “As for other duchies, can we trust others more than our own?”

“Other duchies won't wish to offend Ossvault. I recommend those far below us or well above rather than our direct competitors,” Farahild mused. “There is just the problem of getting to know them and dodging interference from your own Archduke Candidates. Have you spoken with Lord Adalbrand? Last you said he does not dislike you. Favors you even.”

Nyimbo shook her head. “He cannot be relied upon. He only challenges his brother publicly and he graduated this year,” she replied. So long as acts against her did not occur right in front of him, he could not bring himself to care about the struggles of a mere laynoble.

The carriage began the final ascent to the castle entrance as Chapanjira squoze in her final bits of advice. “Well, spread your net widely but do not accept the assistance of schemers.”

“They are all schemers, Chapanjira,” Farahild sighed. “We are nobles.”

“Stick to those with very clear motivations,” Solafie suggested.

Chapanjira gave a final dusting flick across Nyimbo’s shoulder. “You will find friends, my love. Have you ever been able to avoid it?”

“I don't know where they all come from,” Nyimbo moaned theatrically.

“Oh, the burdens you bear,” Farahild added with a teasing tap on the nose.

Nyimbo found it easier to smile as she left the carriage and moved up the steps with her noble mother. Chapanjira and Solafie directed the servants to bring forth the trunks. A mottled group of pale and dark skinned men worked together carrying the deceptively light trunks as though they weighted a great deal.

Chapanjira followed them deeper into the castle where they would be added to the other children's luggage slated for teleportation. She slipped a couple of coins to the other servants to ensure all of the chests would make it even if Lord Ulstenrich ordered the attendants to try to keep one back. “They can be so inattentive,” she cooed to one of the many men and women who were all but ignored by the castle nobles. Were her daughter more involved in the capital, she would be worried about how easy it was to bribe people but they’d arrived mere bells before Nyimbo’s teleportation appointment, not enough time for her to be coaxed into eating anything poisoned.

With a final, restrained goodbye to her proud mother's, Nyimbo was left with her aunt Solafie to await her turn. All around her the castle was full of bustling nobles. Children of important courtiers would spend all winter attending feasts and playing in a special room set aside for them. She was glad her duchy didn't force everyone with children to come to the capital like she’d heard some others did. It would be so difficult to keep a low profile if she had to spend weeks holed up in a Winter Playroom. Even her short wait was full of noble’s blatantly rubbernecking and whispering in her direction.

She was one of two laynobles currently attending the Royal Academy from Ossvault, which meant she was among the first to teleport. The first couple of days were always loud and frantic as luggage was transported and students arrived. By the time the Archduke Candidates came, everything had to seem like it was in perfect order. It was not uncommon for lower ranked students to have their attendants or themselves impressed into service. That first year, Nyimbo had been happy to help since she was finally being useful while everyone else was working but as more students arrived, her industriousness was twisted into proof of her “poor laborer” origins.

This year, she would be less enthusiastic. She had her own work to do besides. First there was getting her and Solafie’s luggage to their room. The chests weren't actually that heavy so all four were moved at once with the help of just two porters. The young men looked deeply grateful for her lack of things before bowing respectfully and leaving. The rest of the day was spent unpacking and doing inventory of the dormitory larder and apothecary while looking appropriately noble.

By the second day at the Royal Academy, most of the dormitory was full, only the couple of archnobles and Archduke Candidate were left to teleport in the next day. Nyimbo joined the attendants in the common room in welcoming and hosting new arrivals. She’d yet to decide whether to be an attendant or a scholar and took every opportunity to try either profession. She also wanted to be around to insert herself into any plans for resource gathering.

Her chance didn't come on the second day either and the third day, her nemesis was haunting the common room, seeming just waiting for the opportunity to oust her from any hunting groups.

“Nyimbo, aren't you too young to be seeking such dangerous materials? I wasn't aware of any research you were planning this year,” he interrupted as she tried to hide behind their knights while negotiating a place with the other second year.

“Oh, Lord Ulstenrich, forgive my lack of greeting this morning. It is just for second year brewing supplies,” she replied sweetly.

He smiled viciously as he leapt from his chair and sauntered over. She artlessly stepped away as he attempted to stand close and possibly throw an arm around her shoulder. The knights said nothing but Ingomar frowned. “A little pre-apprentice like you going hunting?” he cooed. “We simply can't allow such risks.”

Nyimbo sighed internally while turning to her fellow pre-apprentice who was also planning to brave the woods with nothing but his knife. “Is it not a rite of passage, Lord Ulstenrich? Do the second years not go every year?”

“We only allow those of proven value to attempt such a thing,” he sneered and gestured lazily to the other second year. “For example, those from knight families.”

Nyimbo glanced around for any support. Ingomar had to have heard stories about what Chifundo was like and how extensively her family's trade caravans roamed. She just came back from a land of many perils. She’d seen a lion, from far away and taking a nap, but in person nonetheless. Nyimbo knew herself to be well up to this task but there was no way she could explain it nor was anyone stepping forward to assist.

With deep resignation she stepped back from the group. “I will accept the counsel of my elders. If you say it is too dangerous, I will have to source my class materials elsewhere,” she conceded with a haughtiness she didn't feel. That was better than breaking out into tears.

“Now that is wisdom, little Nyimbo. Let me know if you need help finding reputable sellers,” he replied silkily.

She knew enough about his ire to know just how expensive his reputable sources would turn out to be and how much of the proceeds from her sales would find their way into his pockets. Though not much of a miser, she could not stomach the thought of his fingers on her silvers. There would be another way, even if she had to wait for classes to properly start or roam the halls asking strangers, Ulstenrich would never hear a request from her mouth.

This turned out to be harder said than done. A mere second year could not just leave the dormitory unaccompanied. At least, Nyimbo wasn't allowed to venture into the dangerous halls and risk embarrassing her duchy by being kidnapped. She was fairly sure that the danger of kidnapping was being overblown but no one would go against their Archduke Candidate's express instructions.

Thankfully, one of the older girls took pity on her and invited her to a gathering of musicians. Nyimbo didn't even hesitate to agree and all but ran through the dorm back to her room for an instrument. Solafie only got three words into her advice to take her harspiel before Nyimbo was back out the door, bangwe zither and gourd in hand. She was only allowed to play the harspiel for classes so she wasn't going to waste the opportunity to show off her zither in unofficial settings. Since nothing could possess her to play in the dormitory, this was likely her only opportunity to play with other people.

The zither was composed of a shallow trough strung with stings of various thicknesses and connected to an ornate handle. The handle and top of the instrument were inlaid with copper, which Nyimbo polished religiously, while the trough had been carved smooth and painted a brilliant, deep blue. She called it the Tranquil Lake Zither when she wanted to sound fancy and had painstakingly etched and painted a resonating chamber to match her. No simple gourd was good enough despite all the teasing she got for being so extra about it. It was her pride and joy and would be difficult to hide as she made her way through the dormitory.

Nyimbo pulled her cloak over her shoulders and gripped the instrument close to her body. The gourd was too unwieldy to disappear among the folds of cape and skirts but it was also the more boring of the two. Thankfully, no one was interested enough to ask about it and Ulstenrich was spending the time after lunch on hunts of his own.

Music and Revenge - A Noble Interlude

The Quartet, otherwise unnamed because no one could agree and there was a only one at the Royal Academy, actually comprised six people because at any one time at least a couple of people were too busy to perform. Last year, three of those people graduated leaving Flautzeal and his comrades with a small conundrum. They could become a trio, Flautzeal was just as happy to write for three instruments as four.

“Yes of course. It's no problem at all to rewrite our entire repertoire. It isn’t as though we have a traditional collection stretching back several generations,” the flautist grumbled.

The large bass played hefted his oversized harspiel with a shake of his head. “We must also consider longevity. Sometimes it takes time to find skilled players. This group has had to train people up specifically in the past. We can't be complacent in recruiting or The Quartet will end with us.”

The flautist presented a small wooden board. “I’ve scouted a few people of the right sort. We can see how they sound today then make invitations.”

Flautzeal took the list before he’d completely processed what was said. “Do you mean to say that you’ve made your selections based on something other than musical talent?” he scoffed. The other two fixed him with looks that spoke of deep pity for his inability to reason.

“That is easy to gauge, other intangibles take much more time. We are fortunate that you’ve already done the groundwork and vetting,” the bassist praised.

Flautzeal watched his partners praise and preen, still baffled by their thought process. They were a musical ensemble, surely musical skill should overcome political strife or personal scandal. No one even paid attention to who they were except for Aub Alexandria and her only because Lord Melchior had gone out of his way to introduce them. What was more they were supposed to be preparing their instruments for the musical gathering if not playing already. Several sound-proofing bubbles had already been erected and Adalgiege had long since disappeared outside with her mallets and the boy from Lembruck who always brought a massive drum.

“We can discuss this at our usual meeting tomorrow,” Flautzeal said.

“But the musicians of Yurgenschmidt are assembled today.”

“Why don't we each try to find one person to join. Then we’ll be back up to six,” the flautist recommended while tapping the board again. “Just walk around and ask after these names. Most people here would be happy to play if you ask so don't be shy.”

Flautzeal really wouldn't know. It was his second year coming and he’d spent the last one playing most of a three bell opera with whoever was around. Though it still plagued him that they’d never finished, he now knew better than to begin something which would exceed the length of the party. “I would rather we play new compositions. You both promised to find something to add to our usual rotation.”

His partners sighed in unison. “I do not recall making a promise. I recall saying I would make a search of our archives,” replied the flautist.

“We can go over the music at our meeting,” the bassist began only to be cut off as Flautzeal’s attention snapped to something the same blue as his mother's eyes.

“Is that a bangwe?”

“Just call it a zither like anyone else.”

“There are at least 45 distinct kinds of zither. That isn't nearly precise enough. Would you just call a harspiel a zither and be done with it?” Flautzeal asked. He didn't even wait for an answer before grabbing his harspiel and walking over. The girl with the bangwe watched him approach with either trepidation or curiosity but Flautzeal was too distracted to differentiate between them. “Is that a bangwe?” he asked again.

“Um… yes. Its bangwe, actually. I… I only say because you were so close,” she mumbled.

Flautzeal repeated the sounds to himself a few times so he would remember as he leaned in to look over the instrument. It was smaller than the one in his family's collection and ringed with copper instead of gold, a struggle to maintain no doubt. The body was a pale wood while the trough was painted dark blue. “It’s very pretty. Can I play it?”

The girl clutched it closer but the older girl who accompanied her squeezed her arm. “I’m sure Lord Flautzeal won't injure it,” she coaxed.

“It's alright if you can't abide it,” Flautzeal said. He certainly understood not wanting to let anyone touch your precious instrument. “Can you play it?”

The girl flipped from slightly frightened to annoyed immediately. “Naturally.”

Oh how exciting! Flautzeal’s heart sang. He and his mother and his uncles had all made attempts at playing their bangwe and produced wonderful music but it would be so wonderful to hear someone actually trained in playing it. He hoped dearly she was actually trained.

It took an extra push from her chaperone to get the girl to follow back to the seats his quartet, momentarily a trio, had abandoned. He sat and stared at the zither expectantly as she took her time tying it to a round resonating chamber then testing the tuning. “Is that the proper tuning?” he asked after she finished. It certainly sounded strange but he couldn't make assumptions.

“Do I look like I don't know how to tune a bangwe?” she scoffed.

For the first time Flautzeal tore his eyes away from the instrument to look at the person playing it. She was a quiet collection of rich browns and high quality black wool with little ornamentation. Pale brown eyes looked out of dark brown skin so smooth it glowed in the augmented candle light. Her hair hung in tight twisted ringlets that look very much like they would spring back satisfyingly when pulled. How such a girl came to be among the nobility of Yurgenschmidt was likely a fascinating tale but Flautzeal was distracted from his curiosity by the burning need to make a correction.

“Not everyone who looks like they’re from Yurgenschmidt knows how to tune a harspiel. Aesthetics are no indication of skill,” he huffed.

The girl blinked several times before smiling brightly. “I feel I am saying that all the time, Lord Flautzeal. Well, I can do that as well. Why do you question my tuning?”

“The bangwe in my family's possession uses a different tuning. It is also in a different octave.”

“Ah, these zither are frequently made to tailor to the individual musician or by the musician themselves. There is, of course, a traditional arrangement championed by some but enforcing stricture in music is as difficult as anything else in Chifundo. I would not doubt that the craftsman made your bangwe to please a Yurgenschmidt customer if not your relative specifically.”

Flautzeal listened carefully to every word, resisting taking out something to take notes the entire time. The country gates had been closed for his entire life. This was his first time meeting a musician from another country. He would add her words alongside any transcriptions of the music, he decided.

“I see. Thank you for explaining. Will you play something for me?”

She obliged with the most adorable smile. Her singing was beautiful though the song itself felt incomplete somehow. Flautzeal didn't want to speculate, having never heard this style of music before but he struggled. It was complicated and melodic but it seemed to lack a distinct rhythm which it desperately wanted.

Almost unconsciously, he began to pluck the lowest strings on his harspiel to provide a beat which instantly salved his spirit. The girl opened her eyes briefly to nod at him then continued. Flautzeal had been too excited to remember a sound-proofing bubble. Without them, the many competing tunes could quickly turn into cacophony but anyone else who was similarly playing in the open stopped to listen.

When the impromptu duet ended, claps drifted over from all around though a few older students held magic tools conspicuously in view. “Ah, I apologize. It is difficult to get the full effect without drums,” the girl said.

“I did feel their absence but it was wonderful just the same. It is my shame that I know nothing of how to mimic the proper accompaniment.”

“There is certainly no need for shame over something like that,” she replied. “Ignorance may always be corrected so long as the will exists.”

Flautzeal couldn't help smiling brighter than was strictly polite. “I look forward to your tutelage.” The girl stared at him for a long moment before nodding shyly. Ah, he suddenly felt he wanted to play her a song. “Please allow me to repay you for your performance.”

“I would like that. Should we find one of those sound proof boxes?”

“I brought one with me,” Flautzeal declared proudly as he placed the sound-blocker on the empty chair next to them. The girl looked genuinely surprised before shuttering her expression behind a smile. Flautzeal wondered why. Such magic tools weren't particularly expensive or rare. She had to have seen apprentice scholars produce them during her time at school or in the Winter Playroom.

It was a curiosity he would never remember to follow up on. Once he began playing all of his questions slipped away beneath a melody which alternated between aching sweetness and a comical lilt, like someone working very hard to seem poised only to trip mid-stride. Once he finished he received a little clap much to his delight.

“It is funny to imagine what sort of play this would score,” she giggled. “Does it have words? I feel it is missing only equally amusing lyrics.”

It was Flautzeal turn to look away shyly. “I… I cannot write lyrics and cannot ask my usual collaborators to assist.”

Her face fell then twisted into annoyance. “You do not smith words? At all?” He shook his head. “How cowardly not to even try.”

He couldn't feel more affected had she smacked him in the face. It was difficult to keep poise when he felt so instantly upset. “Who are you to criticize me? I seek to put only music of the highest quality into the world. My skills do not lie with words so I do not occlude the Her Ladyship, Kunstzeal’s collection with drivel.”

“How can it be of highest quality if it is incomplete?” she countered.

Flautzeal stammered ineffectively, making himself even more upset by seemingly proving his poor language skills.

Then his stomach growled, a deafening sound in the preternatural quiet. The heat of the argument dissipated and Flautzeal blushed a deep red.

“Perhaps you should have a snack,” the girl suggested.

Flautzeal side eyed the refreshments in annoyance. He’d missed out on the more substantial offerings by being late. “Yes. That would be nice. All I’ve had today were trail rations. I had to miss breakfast pudding so the knights could drag me into the wilds to ‘collect my necessary ingredients’ as though scholars don't usually purchase them. I have not taken up the sword and don't want to take up the sword, why do they keep insisting… *cough* Apologies,” he muttered before rushing out of the bubble feeling deeply embarrassed.

He didn't know what possessed him to ramble so much. He was usually good at containing the urge to spill his every thought. People were so often offended by them after all. If only some people would practice the same self control. He wasn't a coward and he did try to write lyrics. They were just unfit for public presentation. Words were hard to turn into music since they so often had meanings which conflicted with their sound or otherwise prevented strings of words from making sense even when they sounded good together. “You do not smith words~” he muttered under his breath. What kind of person said such things in complete seriousness? Wordsmithing wasn't real smithing. Flautzeal had seen real smithing and it involved fire and hammers. Vulcanift would be so offended.

“For you,” Flautzeal said as he reentered his soundproof bubble and offered a plate of the best treats. The girl looked like she was planning to leave once he returned to watch over his own magic tool and instrument but she took the plate after minimal coaxing. “I have tried to write lyrics. I’m not a coward. They just aren't good.”

She nibbled on a roasted falloid, its glossy sugar syrup making her lips shiny. “Show me. Perhaps I can help.” Flautzeal narrowed his eyes. “Would you prefer to ask your usual collaborators?”

“I just wonder what you will ask in return.”

“Nothing?”

Flautzeal only felt more suspicious. He didn't think this girl from… Ossvault?... had somehow intentionally sought out a connection with him, bringing an exotic instrument just to get his attention then probing at his insecurities. But, there weren't very many explanations for a noble to offer “free” assistance. “There must be something.”

“I would never attempt to bargain with something worth so little,” she said with a roll of her eyes so hard it made her coils bounce.

He snapped off a piece of cracker with much more force than necessary. “If your ‘wordsmithing’ is so worthless what does that say about me?”

“That your skill is less than worthless,” she replied. Flautzeal wanted to scream. Why had he brought her snacks anyway. She was awful. “Do you want help or not?”

He sat his plate on the spare chair, recharged the sound-blocker, and pulled his papers from his pocket. It took a while to sort through the neatly folded but slightly crumpled sheets to find his failed attempts. She took the pages carefully and squinted at the tiny writing. “They are prayers, blessings given by my lord as parting gifts. He has a habit of giving grandiose farewell only to reunite the very next day.”

The girl giggled. “You have written a song mocking your own lord and master?”

“He made my mother cry,” Flautzeal replied with a shrug.

“And this is the sum of your revenge?” she asked with a look that seemed to agree he would be justified to do even more.

“It was a misunderstanding and he apologized and his mother ended up sponsoring the creation of a new flute in the end. I shouldn't feel so vindictive…”

“But he does other things which annoy you?”

“I just… why does he always try to avoid sharing music? He behaves as though I do not prepare him for spontaneous performances. And everytime we are given the opportunity to show off his repertoire, he looks at me as though he is offended by my praise. One should be proud of one's skill yet he behaves as though terrified other people will hear his exaltations. I just don't understand. Why practice so much and with such focus and intensity if not to express the purest version of one's soul. He could so easily learn only what is necessary and focus on painting instead. He isn't afraid to show off his paintings and he isn't even as good at painting as he is at playing harspiel and… I apologize.”

The girl had sat back in her chair, her plate held up to cover part of her face as though in protection. “No no, please continue. It seems like you need to be unburdened,” she teased.

Flautzeal slumped in his chair. “I just… the song exists now so I want to complete it.”

She nodded and placed her empty plate next to his. “I understand. As revenge, your song seems fairly tame though. With the score and lyrics taken together, it will only make people think your lord is adorable.”

“Yes,” Flautzeal replied with a cackle, an evil sparkle in his eye. “He hates nothing more.”

“Then we will have to make the non-prayer portions sound especially infantile. We can use the prayers just as they are, spreading the words unchanged will make them haunt him,” she suggested.

Flautzeal couldn't help but grin. This was the kind of deviousness he could never achieve with his own lack of poetic skill. They worked until the mana ran out in the sound-blocker and the music professors began shooing everyone out. By then they had a catchy set of lyrics all but complete.

“Thank you. It is all I wanted and more,” Flautzeal praised. “You must let me return your generosity.”

“The work was reward enough,” she replied. “And your praise is nice as well.”

Flautzeal passed their plates to a circulating servant while insisting. “Please. I would feel terrible. At least let me write you a song or something.”

“You were not going to write a song about me anyway?” she asked with a toss of her hair. Flautzeal was not going to admit it but he could already hear the primary melody. Her smile bloomed at his sheepish silence. “I really need no compensation.”

One of the professors drew closer, stepping into a sound-proof bubble full of furiously strumming students. “If there really is nothing then I will just say thank you once again and from the bottom of my heart… and… well, I was supposed to find a new member for our quartet. You seem skilled enough. Would you like to join?” Flautzeal asked. He hadn't been paying nearly enough attention to the passage of time and completely lost the opportunity to hear anyone else play. It was good that the girl could sing so well since she was the only person he could ask now.

She also looked around worriedly as the event came to a close. “I will not be spending much time at the Royal Academy, so I will not be able to play with you often. I fear I should decline.”

Flautzeal shook his head. “That's ok. We only get hired for a couple of events, usually during the socializing season. And new members have to memorize a lot of new songs, different from what we learn for class. If you were willing to practice while at home and plan to stay next year, we would be happy to have you.”

“I’d like that,” she replied. “In exchange, would you introduce me to those knights you mentioned earlier. They are willing to accompany scholars on gathering trips, yes? Would they do crest work for a laynoble from another duchy?”

Flautzeal felt his thoughts explode into an unsortable mess. Was she a laynoble? Would a laynoble have the funds to hire knights? She could just buy the supplies outright. Why did she want to hire outside knights? Were Ossvault’s knights bad? Would Zipporah and Sigsnyr take money from a laynoble for their services? Could he even ask? If they were offended would he survive their wrath? “I don't know,” he sputtered. He just didn't know enough about normal noble relations and interduchy politics to answer. “I would have to ask Isolde.”

“Isolde?”

“My lord’s head scholar. She will know what to do or who you could ask if we cannot help you.”

Flautzeal clutched his harspiel closer as more and more students began walking by or milling around. He saw Adalgiege reappear from the drum circle held outside, her hair windswept and sweat-clinging from exertion. She would want to return as quickly as possible to freshen up. “I have to go. I will send an ordonnanz,” Flautzeal promised.

“Ok, I’ll sent a note if you forget,” she promised.

“May our threads be woven tightly together,” Flautzeal called as he hurried to catch up with his cousin. He didn't hear the reply above Adalgiege’s loud recounting of her afternoon.

They returned to find the dormitory relatively peaceful. It took no time at all to find Isolde perched in the common room reading through Gewinnen theory with some other girls. He started to ask her about hiring the knights only to realize he’d forgotten something extremely important.

Footnotes

52. “Baby” If anyone knows some Chichewa terms of endearment or anything about Malawi more intimately than google, I beg for your counsel^

53. Wieheruhe The Goddess of Lakes. Goddess of my invention. The goddess of lakes and ponds and other large bodies of freshwater. Hauchletze's gate connects to ancient fantasy Maravi, a kingdom which once spanned from around current day Malawi to the eastern coast of Africa including parts of what are now Mozambique and Tanzania. Lake Malawi is fresh water so Verfuhremer would have no power there, probably^

54. Geldstromflung Goddess of Trade, the Goddess of Trade isn't named in cannon but reference is made to her. Subordinate of Water^

Chapter Text

The first thing Melchior heard upon arriving was Gerianne whispering “again” to herself. The second thing was the guards welcoming him to the Royal Academy. “Thank you,” Melchior replied with a smile. He also gave a nod to the servants preparing to move his luggage including Kirk who returned his greeting with a big smile. The other servants looked at Kirk incredulously but continued on in their work without delay.

Melchior headed to the waiting room where his retainers were all gathered. Isolde, Kolteruze, and Zipporah knelt in front. They waited only until the greetings were finished to begin giving their reports. “There has been an occurrence,” Zipporah began.

“Larger than last year?” Melchior asked. He began to lead the way into the common room.

“Not as such but it is more pressing than usual,” Kolteruze replied. “Just to get things out of the way, your list of volunteers has greatly reduced the stress levels in the dormitory. Your knights still headed efforts to ensure everyone was able to collect ingredients for their classes. Only a couple of people complained about being dragged into the woods. Though we once again have a surplus of ingredients, we have not exceeded our storage capacity this year and can merely be called well prepared.”

“Good job everyone. I see our Brenwarme and Verfuhremeer have both been diligent,” Melchior commended. Pepin pulled out a chair for him and began to serve tea while Zargerecht went to prepare his rooms.

“That being said,” Isolde sighed. “There has been an occurrence. Flautzeal attended a fellowship of music yesterday and befriended a young woman from Ossvault.”

Melchior gave a little clap. “How wonderful,” he said, though he had no idea what that had to do with him.

“He forgot to get her name,” Ortolf giggled.

Flautzeal blushed bright red. “I was distracted by her exotic instrument. However I can attest to her fine quality.”

“You would attest to the quality of a grun if it could sing well enough,” Ortolf muttered

“Thankfully for us, she is far more adorable than a grun and Kolteruze knows at least one attendant from every retinue. We managed to open a dialogue,” Isolde continued with heavy side-eye in Ortolf's direction. “She has inquired about hiring knights to assist in her second year gathering efforts.”

“From another duchy?” Melchior asked. He was fairly certain Ossvault had at least a few knights among their twenty-odd students. “From our duchy?” Wouldn't it make more sense to hire from Dunkefelger if you were going to attempt to give crest work to a higher rank anyway?

“Yes, she has promised a small gold,” Isolde explained.

“What?” Sigsnyr hissed alongside half the knights within earshot. “You could have five sixth years from a greater duchy for that.”

“She would like to come along,” Isolde said. Sigsnyr paused further argument.

Zipporah shook her head. “That still seems to be too much regardless of our feelings on escorting strange children.”

Isolde gave a conciliatory nod. “Well, yes it would be. However, we agreed that the special circumstances surrounding interduchy hunting parties, protecting those who cannot protect themselves, and the special talents of our knights warranted such compensation. She would also like to establish a strong foundation for an ongoing relationship,” Isolde detailed proudly. She was obviously feeling very good about the deal. “It is just,” she added more shyly, “Only your knights, Lord Melchior, have those special skills.” She looked specifically at Sigsnyr and Zipporah.

Melchior also looked in their direction though it was difficult with them standing so far apart. “Have you had a disagreement?” Melchior blurted out before he could stop himself.

Sigsnyr and Zipporah looked at each other then at anywhere but each other. “Well… I wouldn't call it… it’s…”

“Quite personal and will not affect our work,” Zipporah finished. “Please have no worries my lord. We will sort it out er long.” Melchior remained dubious but it was rude enough to point it out that he didn't feel right pressing the issue.

Everyone else shuffled around nervously waiting for someone to move the conversation forward. “So, is Lord Melchior expected to delay his gathering to accommodate Lady Nyimbo of Ossvault?” Gerianne huffed. Everyone regarded her with some surprise. “There is only one female second year in Ossvault. She passed Prayers and Rituals in the third week.”

Kolteruze kneaded the bridge of his nose. “Where were you yesterday? That makes things so much more embarrassing,” he sighed. “We were actually considering bringing her with us on your already scheduled gathering trip. You are planning to go, correct?”

Melchior pulled the sealed board from his pocket and sat it on the table. “I do not have a choice.”

Rather than worry, smiles and excitement traveled through the assembly. Pepin and Isolde especially beamed with pride. “Since it is an intereuchy outing anyway, why not invite Lord Leibshitz? He has been wanting to prove himself to you,” Theodore asked.

“Lord Melchior hasn't agreed yet.” “We should invite Raphaela as well then,” Zipporah and Melchior said in unison.

“You doubted that he would?” Isolde asked.

Zipporah all but rolled her eyes. “There are so many reasons to say no. Hunting together before the year even begins suggests a certain closeness. Can we trust a noble from another duchy in such a delicate situation? Can Lord Melchior be known to have accepted payment like a common knight or to have lent his knights to a laynoble for any price?”

“One small gold is not a common price,” Sigsnyr noted.

“Nor is it anyone's business what our lord chooses to do or for how much,” Flautzeal scoffed.

“Including Dunkefelger would preclude many of those worries,” Theodore noted. “Their relationship to Alexandria is a strong incentive to protect the Aub’s baby brother. A laynoble hoping to be included in such an outing would have to provide value commensurate to the other participants. Knee… yee… the girl from Ossvault is already acquainted with Lord Melchior’s personal knight so it need not be said that he invited her.”

“You are providing very strong support to a stranger,” Zipporah noted.

Theodore didn't shrink from her intensity at all. “Well, Lord Leibshitze just wants to be included and it's nice to be helpful. Plus then we can see more of the Academy than just the gathering spot.”

All eyes turned to Sigsnyr. “I said I would take you this year. Do not look so downtrodden,” he scoffed.

“Will we be going to your secret gathering locations?” Nikolaus asked excitedly.

Sigsnyr looked to Melchior who looked equally enchanted by the idea. “We will have too,” he conceded.

“Hooray!” Gerianne cried.

“Secret ingredients!” Melchior cheered.

“I will have to plan a route,” Sigsnyr sighed, “Please excuse me.”

“I will send out the invitation,” Kolteruze promised. “Pepin will help you change into your armor.”

“Are we going so soon?” Melchior asked.

“The day is young,” Flautzeal muttered in a mocking tone. Gerianne looked at him askance. “Apologies, that is what was said to me. The arrival of the first years usually marks the beginning of the consortium. The knights hope to finish all gathering before then,” he amended.

“I see. Then let us assemble the second years,” Melchior declared.

Gottschalk shook his head. “I will ensure my brother has what he needs. It would be too cumbersome to bring so many in need of defending. This is not a typical year.”

Melchior wasn't sure what a typical year was like but he accepted the counsel nonetheless. “All right. Please assist Ansgar as well.”

“As you command,” Gottachalk said and fell into step behind him.

As Melchior marched through the common room he noticed several groups of students hovering around collections of Gewinnen pieces. “I forgot about Gewinnen,” he muttered. He’d been so concerned with beating Charlotte at Karuta that he hadn't practiced the noble game in months. Besides that, he’d promised to inquire about having more boards sent to the dormitory and forgotten that as well. He sent an ordonnanz to Isolde to send a letter to the castle with a request.

His room was not ready when he arrived. In fact, he had never seen such disarray. He’d known, intellectually, that he was bringing a lot of stuff to the Royal Academy but seeing all the half empty crates strewn about was different. When everything was stored, it didn't look like much stuff but in piles all around the room, it was impossible not to be horrified by how much clothing and paper, art supplies and magic tools, and a box of fresh sticks he was sure belonged in the paper workshop he’d brought along. Where had he even acquired so many different kinds of soap? Why did he had so many dishes?

He spotted a box full of things which would one day be stored in his desk and tried to pick it up. “No,” Kolteruze snapped. He pointed towards a blank space next to which his armor faestones and fluffy cloak had been laid out. “Change.”

“There is a system,” Pepin assured him as he steered him around the mess. “Usually you would still be drinking tea downstairs and would not see things at this stage.”

“Should I bring fewer things?” Melchior asked.

“This is not a burden,” Zargerecht called from the retainers’ room/closet.

Kirk hurried back and forth hauling things into the closet. “Could you open your hidden room though?” he asked. The noble attendants all froze. Kirk flinched and glanced around. “Um, we would be ever so grateful for the opportunity to assist you in moving certain items into secure storage while you are present?” The attendants still looked mildly horrified.

“Ok,” Melchior said and hopped over the reservoirs to reach his hidden room. It was fairly empty since he’d brought all his painting supplies home with him. Kolteruze dropped what he was doing to help move magic tools and art supplies inside.

While industry continued around them, Melchior stripped out of his uniform and into his padded underwear and full suit of knight armor. Pepin also wrapped a scarf around his neck to cover the gap between his gambison and helmet. No wind would sneak into his suite on Pepin’s watch. Throughout the process, he observed carefully to see if Pepin was growing nervous.

“My lord, the effect is much reduced alongside the scale of the armor,” he giggled, noticing the attention. It was really impossible to be afraid of a knight who was a head shorter than you. Melchior smiled sheepishly but felt better knowing he wasn't the cause of any anxiety.

Once he was changed, Pepin braided up his hair before steering him around the rapidly shrinking collection of stuff still on the floor. “You are all so quick!” Melchior observed with amazement.

“This is our job,” Zargerecht replied with a hint of pride. He handed Melchior his bow and quiver and hurried him out the door.

Melchior met Gerianne and the rest of the knights back in the common room. Everyone now wore their full plate and held their helmets under their arms. Zipporah looked him over before silently nodding her approval. “Gather up everyone,” she called. Gerianne shuffled closer to Melchior while the others quieted down. “Today, Lord Melchior, Gerianne, and other second years are going to collect the ingredients necessary for their classes. We are going to guide and protect them. I will be leading any combat efforts. Sigsnyr will be in charge of wayfinding. Lord Melchior alone retains veto privilege, as is his right. Any who cannot accept this arrangement should speak now.”

There was silence. “Very good. Lord Leibshitze of Dunkefelger has agreed to join us. Lady Raphaela has not. Lady… Nyimbo has confirmed her involvement. In addition, two knights from Dunkefelger will join our guard. Lord Vinzenzael, Lord Leibshitz’s older brother, and Lord Korbinian, at Isolde’s request,” she finished with a smirk. “Are there any questions?”

“He is coming just because you asked?” Melchior raised an eyebrow at Isolde.

“No. He will assist because he thinks it will be fun. In fact, Dunkefelger has agreed out of a feeling of camaraderie. It would spoil the mood to bring up remuneration after the fact,” she warned. Melchior and Gerianne swapped grins despite her deflection. “Are we all ready then?”

“Yes,” Melchior cheered. They all clattered out of the dormitory in neat rows. Isolde was the only one not in armor as they traveled making it look a little like she was the one being escorted. As they walked, Melchior looked around at everyone's armor. Only his own was a slightly blue silver. The rest were pure silver but they had a circle with flowers on the chest instead of the usual filigree. Melchior felt warm at the sight and took a moment to change his own circle to bright white silver. He liked how it stood out against the blue. Gerianne looked on with envy. It wasn't fair how much mana it took to brew color changing armor.

“Sigsnyr,” she called out to distract herself. “Why do you wear your hair like an old woman?”

Sigsnyr bristled both at her phrasing and at how loud she was talking while the other knights smiled wryly. “I used to wear it in a braid like many knights with long hair. Then someone cut off the end as a ‘prank’. To this day they wear the terrible faestone they made out of it on their belt to taunt me,” he whispered back.

“Why didn't you say anything. We can't stand for that. Father would lodge a complaint for you,” Melchior fumed as he clutched his own braid.

Sigsnyr shook his head. “It was years ago now. I only tell you the story to warn you. It's not a common prank. At least, I don't know any girls it's happened to?” The girls just stared at him in amazement.

“Are you saying, Sigsnyr,” Isolde began with a dangerous glint in her eye, “That a knight took a length of your hair and wears it as a prized momento on them at all times?”

“It isn't like that,” he huffed.

“Are you sure?” Zipporah asked.

“As I've said. I am not ignorant of others' opinions of me, only unable to reciprocate.”

The ensuing silence dripped with curiosity but the walk to the Academy’s front entrance was not long enough to unpack such a statement. Leibshitze waited with two older students, all in full plate. He waved as the Ehrenfest group approached and knelt when Melchior stopped in front of him.

“Dregarnuhr, the Goddess of Time, has answered my prayers and allowed our threads of fate to be woven together once again, Lord Melchior. How wonderful it is to join you on the hunt.”

“Greetings Leibshitze. It is, indeed, good to see you again. Will you introduce your companions?”

“Of course. This is Vinzenzael, my older brother and Lord Korbinian a knight of some skill,” he chirped.

Vinzenzael was obviously holding in a laugh as he gave his own greeting. “May I pray for a blessing in appreciation of this serendipitous meeting ordained by the harsh judgement of Ewiegliebe the God of Life?”

“You may.”

“May our hunt be blessed with many returns,” he intoned. “My brother has lauded you most highly. I admit, I am intrigued to see what has entranced him so.”

“Lord Korbinian has been confirmed to join the Sovereign Knights Order upon graduation, my lord,” Isolde added as the young man began his own greetings. “He is a knight of considerable skill.”

Korbinian tipped his head in her direction before beginning. “May I pray for a blessing in appreciation of this serendipitous meeting held in the warm embrace of Geduldh the Goddess of Earth?”

“You may.”

“May our small commander be blessed.”

“An interesting greeting,” Vinzenzael observed.

“I forgot to say that Lord Melchior has a preference for her Ladyship Geduldh among winter gods,” Leibshitze said.

“Forgot, did you,” Vinzenzael said with a light rap on the head.

“I could not fault anyone for clinging to traditional greetings,” Melchior assured him. “It is impossible to predict such a preference in anyone.”

Vinzenzael smiled brighter. “Naturally, Lord Melchior. It simply shows a certain level of closeness to those close to you.”

Korbinian chuckled. “This is why information gathering is so important. You should talk to more women of Ehrenfest,” he teased. “Or in general.”

Before Vinzenzael could respond an older woman cleared her throat nearby. The assembly turned to see Theodore and Gerianne stood on either side of a pair of reddish-brown capes. All similarities between the women ended there. One was a perfect example of a perfectly average laynoble attendant, her hair pulled into a severe updo, a deferential glint in her eye. She stood nervously beside her young charge even as she did her best to support her. Equally nervous and much worse at hiding it, the girl was about the same height as Gerianne making the sharp contrast between them all the more apparent. Where Gerianne was pink and pale of skin and hair, the girl next to her was all dark colors in rich earthy tones. Instead of smooth and pulled into a strict tail, coils of shiny ringles bounced with every nervous twitch.

Melchior stepped back to allow the women to join the circle. The adult attendant nudged her charge forward gently but stayed put herself. “This is Lady Nyimbo of Ossvault. She has not yet selected between the scholar and attendant courses. Her parents are wealthy merchants from the south of Ossvault and Chifundo,” Gerianne introduced. The Dunkefelgerains stared in shock while most of Ehrenfest looked as though they were used to interacting with mana rich foreigners.

Nyimbo glanced around in mild confusion at all the near identically dressed people and their rainbow of colorful eyes before deciding that Melchior was the person to kneel too. “May I pray for a blessing in appreciation of this serendipitous meeting … held in the warm embrace of Geduldh the Goddess of Earth?” Korbinian nudged Vinzenzael in the ribs.

“You may.”

“May our meeting be blessed,” she intoned. She remained kneeling as she continued. “I… I thank you very much for allowing me to accompany you.”

“Gerianne and Flautzeal spoke highly of you, Lady Nyimbo. How could I not welcome a friend of my friends,” Melchior replied and offered her a hand up. She took it hesitantly and stood. “Allow me to introduce everyone. I apologize, there will be many names.” He said before beginning with the boys from Dunkefelger then transitioning to his own retinue, sharing a single fact about each person.

Nyimbo felt rather intimidated by the list but turned to begin giving blessings in status order. “You do not need to bless anyone else at this time though you may wish to make more personal greetings at a later date,” Melchior whispered before she could lower herself very far. She tried to cover her momentary dip by brushing nothing from her lower skirts.

After a brief conversation with Isolde, her aunt handed her a sheathed knife with an ornate ivory handle. “Remember your etiquette,” she whispered before taking her leave. This left Nyimbo alone with a circle of strangers. She tried to hold herself close though was somewhat hampered in her efforts by the hand Melchior had slotted around his own elbow. Though they tried to pretend they weren't, everyone kept stealing glances at her.

“Are we waiting for anyone else?” Leibshitze asked.

“No. Lady Raphaela did not wish to come,” Melchior replied.

“Any knights from Ossvault,” Korbinian clarified.

Nyimbo shook her head. “No… it is just me. Do I need to bring a knight?” She hoped desperately that she didn't. After getting so close to going gathering, it would be devastating and embarrassing to return to the dormitory empty handed.

“That isn't necessary. Dunkefelger are just easily excited,” Melchior assured her with a warm smile. It was the same warm smile she remembered receiving from across the room during highbeast creation. She wondered whether that was just his chosen default expression. Leibshitze nodded brightly while the older boys tried to look cool headed. “Now. Zipporah will be our hunt leader for today. Sigsnyr will be handling wayfinding. Please give them your careful attention and obedience and they will ensure a safe and successful hunt.”

“Ha!” the Dunkefelgerain’s cried with a stomp and fist bump to their chest plates which echoed around the empty entrance hall. Nyimbo flinched, then collected herself and nodded.

“Are there any questions before we begin?”

Leibshitze looked around sheepishly before raising his hand. “Ah… I do not mean to insinuate anything but as a man from a warm climate, and thus knowledgeable about these things, I must say, Lady Neehimbo? That you might be cold.”

Everyone looked at her again. She wore a coat between her cape and wool uniform. It was a rather light coat, though the warmest one she owned, and rested over a very fine wool dress. The cape was also quite thin and not made of wool at all. It really didn't look terribly warm. Nyimbo looked at everyone again. She was one of two people not in armor and the other wasn't going outside. Isolde, the young woman who’d negotiated Nyimbo's inclusion and hadn't allowed her to offer as much remuneration as she’d wanted, regarded her with both pain and apology. Though Nyimbo didn't hold it against her, it would have been nice to know at the negotiation stage what she was expected to bring with her and what kind of weather to expect. Looking at Isolde again, she didn't look like the kind of girl with that information.

“Will it be so dangerous that you all need armor?” Nyimbo asked.

“The armor had temperature control properties,” Gerianne explained. She produced a faestone from her pocket. “You can borrow mine.”

“Would mine be more mana efficient?” Melchior asked. He also touched his cape and looked to be seriously considering whether he could stomach lending it to someone else. No. That would be too much. Nyimbo vowed to deny it if offered and was grateful that he looked so conflicted. She didn't want to imagine what people would say should they see her bedecked in such fine fur, of another duchy’s color, studded with gold.

“She cannot wear your cloak,” Vinzenzael said. Melchior started though the comment had been directed at Leibshitze who was also holding his cloak but with a more openly pensive expression.

Zipporah pinched her chin as she observed Nyimbo carefully. “I am fairly certain, Gerianne, that that is your light armor crystal. While that would help, it is likely not enough.” She glanced at Melchior looking pained and unwilling to say it would have to be his armor. “You may assist her in donning armor in the privacy of the lionbus while we are in transit.”

Gerianne nodded sharply and tapped her breastplate at the older girl. Nyimbo clutched her knife closer to her chest and wondered whether her clothes were really so insufficient. The answer ended up being a resounding yes. The guards at the Academy entrance barely cracked the doors open when a frigid blast like nothing she’d ever felt shot straight through to her skin. She felt like she wasn't wearing anything and couldn't suppress a shiver. It had not been this cold during highbeast class the previous year.

Just one giant door creaked ponderously open while their party waited. The entire time Zipporah continued detailing the rules of the hunt, completely unaffected by the frost.

“Lord Melchior, Gerianne, Lord Leibshitze, and Lady Nyimbo. You will remain in the baby box at all times. That is the area bounded on four corners by Gottachalk, Nikolaus, Ortolf, and Theodore. Do not move beyond them. Do not walk ahead of them. Unless otherwise instructed, do not leave the baby box. If so instructed by myself or my designated spotter, do not hesitate to follow your new instructions.”

By the time the door was already open, Nyimbo found herself regretting everything. Sure she had seen lions and even hyenas but this was madness. Humans were not supposed to be in such cold environments. She was pulled ever forward by her captive hand and presented with a monstrosity. “A lion has never looked so blessed by Coucocalura,” she muttered in awe.

Melchior and Gerianne chuckled. “That is what Sister Streita said.”

“Sister Streita must be very wise.” The hide of the creature rolled back to reveal a perfect view of the world beyond. “Does it only have walls on one side?” Nyimbo asked. What would be the point of that? How much more could the majestic lion be disrespected?

“There are just windows on all sides. There is even a floor though you cannot see it,” Gerianne explained. “It is not uncommon for my lord to prioritize aesthetics even over the comfort of fathomable reality.”

Was this what these people called ‘aesthetic’? Nyimbo kept her thoughts to herself, only nodding noncommittally. With caution, she stepped forward, letting her foot fall slowly until it contacted the invisible floor. The seating arrangement boasted lots of empty space and a plush upholstered bench along one side giving her and Gerianne somewhere to work. Melchior and Nikolaus entered after. Nikolaus sat in the passenger seat while Melchior constructed a partition.

“It is hard to believe that I can see out but they cannot see in,” Nyimbo observed of the tangle of knights, mostly male, summoning their highbeasts and holding some kind of conversation that seemed to pertain to why Leibshitze couldn't ride in the lionbus. Melchior paused closing the partition and touched the ceiling. The clear walls went suddenly frosted.

“It would be too dark without any windows,” he apologized.

“Can you just let the light in without making the outside visible?” Gerianne asked.

“How would that work?” Melchior replied.

“How does any of this work!?” Gerianne huffed and gestured to the lionbus’s everything.

Nyimbo balked at her irreverent tone even though she agreed. “I am grateful for your accommodations, Lord Melchior,” she assured him. He nodded without a change in expression and finished the partition. Nyimbo stared at it for a long while, squinting and tilting her head in turns. “Couldn't he make that see through from his side,” Nyimbo asked.

Gerianne tossed the armor crystal up and down. “I doubt he has even considered the possibility,” Gerianne assured her. As if to prove her point, two blobs exited the Lionbus and joined the discussion. “Let us begin.”

Gerianne explained how to separate the faestones into one half for the chest and arms and one half for the legs and helm. Then she pulled off the pieces of her armor to show what shape they should take. It took much contourting to do by herself but she wouldn't allow Nyimbo to assist. Once laid out, the armor pieces proved to be in a dazzling array of shapes.

“Can you conjure any shape with this faestone like with a highbeast?” Nyimbo asked.

“The inclusion of Angriff and Schutzaria’s sigils constrain the possibilities to armor or shields but so long as it serves that purpose in your imagination, you can form it out of this kind of magic tool,” Gerianne explained

“These are not just a special kind of faestone?” Nyimbo asked.

“If you look very closely, you can see a magic circle floating within. That is the way to tell the difference.”

Nyimbo squinted at the rock placed in her hand. She could see many faint lines running through it in regular patterns but they were so dense that it was impossible to read. Gerianne held up her own reformed crystal. “Mine is easier to read,” she offered. It really was, Nyimbo thought. Though very small, she could actually make out some sigils even though she couldn't read them yet.

She looked back at the armor being loaned to her. “Why is this one so different?”

“It is the culmination of Sigsnyr passion and research. It is not just armor but armor that can turn any color and any armor shape,” Gerianne said expansively but not without some bitterness. “Only an Archduke Candidate could brew it, so it is not a matter for people like us.”

Nyimbo nodded and began splitting the stone in half. Though the mana drain was noticeable during the forming it was not bad. She even felt bold enough to recreate pieces she’d seen on the Kalonga’s army and the bushman hunters before completing a full suite. She carefully attached the pieces over her uniform and under her skirts according to Gerianne's instructions though the other girl refused any assistance that might involve touching her. She wasn't sure whether to be glad of consideration or offended by snootiness. It was difficult to read what motivations the other girl had.

They tried not to dally but by the time Nyimbo's armor was complete, Sigsnyr had finished explaining the route to everyone and Melchior had strung his bow. Gerianne touched the wall and poked a little hole in it with what looked like great effort. The entire artificial beast shudded. “Apologies,” she whispered before calling out. “Hoo!”

“Hoo!” Melchior called back. “Ready to go?”

“We are ready,” Gerianne assured him.

The boys returned to the Lionbus and tore down the partition while Gerianne showed Nyimbo how to use the safety belt. Very soon they lifted into the air and began following the older knights and Leibshitze.
… …

“After this long initial flight, we will each ride our individual highbeasts,” Nikolaus explained. “Being encased will save much mana on armor maintenance but it can be difficult to maneuver such a large highbeast so we must allow Lord Melchior to convey only himself. Please let us know if you feel you are running out of energy to continue. Using armor brewed by another can be very trying.”

“I will alert you if any problems arise,” Nyimbo promised.

“Have you done any gathering before?” Melchior asked cheerfully. “What are the forests like in Ossvault?”

“I could not say, your grace. I have not had the opportunity to explore any,” Nyimbo replied.

“There is no need to be so formal,” Melchior assured her. Gerianne shook her head in annoyance. That would never be true no matter how often her lord tried to tell people it was. “I have not spent much time in the woods either. But you should have nothing to fear. In case of danger we will protect you.”

“That is not quite correct,” Nikolaus said. Nyimbo stared at him with naked surprise. “In the event of danger we will prioritize Lord Melchior's safety before any others. Please remember that most dangers cannot fly. Ascending on your highbeast will protect you from most things.”

“Well, if you stay close to me, you will be safer,” Melchior huffed. Gerianne nodded and smiled at this. It was good that he was finally giving true advice. Nyimbo nodded along with her and continued to feel like this might be a mistake.

Their group soon landed in a perfectly circular and snowless patch of land. There was nothing near it to denote why it was so comparatively temperate. Nyimbo accepted Gerianne's offered hand as she stepped out of the Lionbus and looked around. She noticed immediately that it was not as cold as before though slightly more of her mana was drawn to the armor. Zipporah looked her over appraisingly before seeming to decide it was good enough.

“Let's not dally,” she ordered.

Sigsnyr nodded and stepped forward. “This is old Werstocks former gathering spot. Most of the circles still function though there is no one to be alerted by the alarms anymore,” he chuckled. “This is one of the newest in a collection of places once magically augmented and now maintained by a diligent but faceless collection of caretakers. We have no formal organization, only curiosity and good intentions. I ask only that you do not share the location of these places with others even though I am sharing them with you. For most people, your duchy gathering spot and surrounds will more than suffice.

“That having been said. Do not over harvest. Any copse or thicket one hopes to maintain should be left with at least one third of its produce to return to the environment. If you don't know what three thirds looks like, don't collect anything. Please watch where you step as well. Do not trample the delicate plants underfoot.”

Everyone looked down and tried to discern whether they were trampling anything. “Does anyone have questions?” Sigsnyr asked.

“Are you sure its ok to be here?” Vinzenzael asked.

“No,” Sigsnyr replied. “That is why we are usually discreet.”

Nikolaus nodded carefully while Melchior had produced wooden boards from somewhere and was taking notes. “Let us begin then. Mana’s burning.”

“Literally,” Gottschalk snorted.

Chapter Text

The older students showed the second years what to collect and how. Nyimbo approached the indicated bush carefully and tried to cut off a small branch like the others. Their knives seem to slip right through the woody stems with ease, leaving neat cuts right at branch nodes. With a bit of sawing and a quick snap, she was eventually able to collect a branch and place it in her satchel.

They progressed quickly through the list of ingredients. Their location had up until recently been an active gathering spot so most of the ingredients students needed could be found there. They only ran into trouble when needing to prepare for their practice proposal faestones.

“It would be good to have a variety of options for ordonnanz bases too,” Korbinian observed. Sigsnyr and Zipporah agreed so they added a possible additional stop on their planned route.

The second stop was an ancient wooden arch next to several hills dotted with crumbling ivory walls. The wood of the arch was twisted and split off into a halo of small branches almost like a tree had been coaxed into such a shape. The plant was actually a species of vine that had so successfully covered its trellis as to completely subsume it. Beyond it were the vestiges of what had once been a sprawling garden and was now just north of completely overgrown. What was left of the stone paths was only uncovered enough to walk in single file and the old water features now held enough dirt to be planters in their own right.

“What was this place?” Ortolf asked. He looked around as though incredibly unsettled by the once manicured wilderness.

Their group slowly arrived at a large clearing next to the style of columns and lintel which graced their dormitory's back entrance; only the door had completely rotted away and the building it once led to was mostly sand. “What do you think? A large garden. Crumbling walls? Close proximity to our dorm,” Sigsnyr hinted.

“Was this Eisenreich?” Melchior asked.

“Eisenreich?” Nyimbo murmured.

“The duchy which formerly contained Ehrenfest, Frenbeltag, and parts of Klassenberg. One of the original duchies,” Melchior explained. “All the really old dormitories have gardens while the newer ones don't since they were built at a time when we only visit during the winter.”

“Very good, my lord. These are the old gardens of Eisenreich dormitory. Very pretty, and full of useful materials but also fairly dangerous,” Zipporah explained.

“It's quite romantic.” “It’s Zipporah’s favorite hunting ground,” Leibshitze and Sigsnyr said at once.

Sigsnyr slowly turned to look at his best friend. Her helmet obscured most of her face but the slight pinking of her nose suggested she was blushing. “Remember to remain in the box,” Zipporah chirped and continued leading the group forward.

The second years huddled together while the older knights established a perimeter. Melchior gazed all around at the wild beauty and wondered what this place was like during the warmer months. If even the cold leafless branches held such wonder, he didn't doubt that this world in bloom would be a sight to behold.

Sigsnyr directed them to an old flower bed which once would have lined the walkway around the building. It had been mounded over with the white sand pouring from the snow covered hills beyond and was subsequently covered over with more dirt again. A patch of nearly transparent flowers, their petals appearing to be carved from ice, grew there. “These should suffice for the basis of Gerianne's proposal stone. As you can see there are not many. But they also aren't very useful except for this specific thing.”

“Pure life ingredients are quite rare in general though.” Vinzenzael noted. “We might just not know what to use them for.”

“What are you going to use the pure life element for? Making food taste better? Mixed materials make it easier to blend with other things,” Sigsnyr argued.

The second years all huddled around while Gerianne picked her flower and the older students argued for why they should get a flower too.

“They are too weak for jureves,” Zipporah noted.

Gerianne carefully selected a very open bloom and channel mana into it. The clear petals took on a multicolored sheen and eventually flashed as the entire flower became a faestone without losing shape. Melchior and Leibshitze cooed and shook with the effort not to pluck flowers of their own.

“Like the mist of a maiden’s joyful tear scattering sunlight on pure snow.” Nyimbo muttered.

Leibshitze looked up with a sparkle in his eyes “Was that poetry?”

“Ah… not quite. Not yet. Do you like poetry?” Nyimbo asked, feeling like she might like to flee from such concentrated enthusiasm.

“I don't know. I haven't read very much, other than prayers for class and mother said those aren't exactly poems so I’m not sure. But it sounded nice,” Leibshitze replied brightly.

“Thank you,” Nyimbo replied while silently deciding that perhaps, Lord Leibshitze would not become a fellow wordsmith after all.

“The library must have some books on poetry Leibshitze, so you can find out. Have you looked at their collection Lady Nyimbo?” Melchior asked.

Nyimbo shook her head. She was momentarily distracted by the older students huffing loudly in exasperation but came back to herself just in time to meet Melchior's unrelenting attention. What was it with archnobles and having very intense eyes. “I… I have not registered. I am not usually at the Royal Academy long enough to take advantage of the resources there and heard that it is not uncommon for laynobles to never register at all.”

The looks she received of pure pity from all three children felt somewhat excessive. “It is rare for a laynoble to be brought to the Archdukes Conference so most will only make use of it during their tenure at school,” Gerianne observed. She reached out and patted Nyimbo on the shoulder then moved to stand and stow her flower away in a belt pouch she hadn't already filled. It took a moment to find one but all that time Nyimbo wondered why none of them had satchels.

“Very well!” Sigsnyr snapped, finally reaching the end of his patience. He bent over and riffled through the snow around the flower bed then tossed something at Vinzenzael. “If you are so passionate then surely you are willing to cultivate the object of your passion.”

“What is one flower?!” Vinzenzael whined.

Leibshitze twiddled his fingers awkwardly. “Does he realize that Lord Sigsnyr can't actually stop him from taking one,” he whispered to Melchior.

“I am glad he is respecting Sigsnyr superior expertise on the subject. Will he manage to grow the seed?” Melchior replied.

“Not before the weave is complete,” Leibshitze giggled. He knelt and dug around in the snow for his own seed. When he rose, a little, frosted jewel rested in his hand. “I shall make an attempt, too.”

Melchior and Gerianne also collect a few seeds but Nyimbo deferred. She knew very well that Ossvault didn't have enough snow to support such a plant, beautiful though it was. Gerianne stared at one of her seeds for a moment before tossing it over what remained of the wall and onto the snow covered sand with a shrug. “May the blessings of Ewiegliebe spread,” she prayed, sparking an argument with Melchior about how anyone could wish for such a thing. Though she’d forgotten, Nyimbo was reminded about all those whispers that Ehrenfest was full of priests and religious fanatics. She was fairly certain that these children had not also been mired in a den of depravity but their interest in and knowledge of religion was obvious.

Any further argument was stilled by the appearance of a giant mint green crest lighting up the southwestern sky. “Oh no!” Melchior cried as though it were his own duchy's color on the horizon.

“It is Quandtreeb,” Korbinian sighed. “What could have happened so early into the year.”

“They are likely having trouble clearing their gathering spot,” Nyimbo mused. All eyes turned to her. “It is not so simple a task when there are so few knights in one's duchy.”

Melchior began marching back towards the more open area. He only stopped upon reaching Ortolf who was the farthest corner of the baby box. “We do not have time for dalliance. In an emergency, every moment counts.”

“It can't be much of an emergency. The knights of Quandtreeb cannot engage great foes,” Korbinian scoffed.

Melchior turned around and stared the older boy directly in the eyes. “We all have our struggles. If the knights of Quandtreeb feel out of their depth and request aid, are they not entitled to timely intervention as all students of Yurgenschmidt are? Should we abandon them to their fate simply because they are less skilled than those privileged to be born in Dunkefelger?”

The Dunkefelger boys' eyes grew wide, pensive, and affronted respectively. “Enough talk,” Zipporah commanded and began leading their party away from the delicate flowers. Once at a safe distance she ordered everyone into the air. “The baby box shall remain here. You should not be attacked at this altitude. If you are or otherwise perceive any sense of danger whatsoever, return to the dormitory immediately. Understood?”

“Yes!” Nikolaus said immediately. The other corners replied a moment later.

“Nikolaus has command,” Zipporah said. “Everyone else, with me.” Sigsnyr, Vinzenzael, and Korbinian followed after with only a couple of questioning glances back. After a moment of flight, Sigsnyr shot off ahead of the group.

“Why Nikolaus,” Ortolf complained almost as soon as they were out of enhanced earshot.

“He was quickest to respond,” Gottschalk grumbled.

“I am more concerned with why it is called the ‘baby box’,” Leibshitze said.

“Because you are still as babes lacking even the skill to defend yourselves,” Theodore teased over his shoulder.

“I can defend myself!” Leibshitze insisted. He pointed to his mana blade as proof though Theodore wasn't even looking at him.

“Should we test this claim?” Ortolf asked with a predatory grin.

“Not right now,” Nikolaus snapped. He glanced back from staring out into his corner of the horizon. “What are you doing? Keep watch!”

Gottschalk angled himself more towards the outside even though he already had a good view of his wedge. Ortolf huffed. “Just because Zipporah put you in charge doesn't mean you get to boss me around.”

“That’s exactly what that means,” Nyimbo muttered.

“What was that?” Ortolf scoffed. “Do you have a comment, Ossvault?”

“Ortolf!” Melchior snapped with a touch of genuine heat. “Lady Nyimbo is our guest, Nikolaus has command of our cluster. Keep watch and keep quiet.” Ortolf looked very much like he wanted to say something, like saying nothing was physically painful somehow, but he turned halfway to face his quadrant and kept his peace.

Melchior turned his bland smile in Nyimbo's direction. “Ah, it seems I am still young and inexperienced⁵⁵. Are you still feeling well? Hopefully this detour will not cause us to fail our collection.” His eyes flickered toward Gerianne then Leibshitze before returning.

“I don't feel strained. I think I could manage a couple more bells even,” Nyimbo replied. She assumed it was best to just ignore what had happened and tried to smile as though the flagrant irreverence of Melchior's retainers wasn't terrifying. Why had he only spoken up in her defense. Hadn't the other mednight insulted the archnoble Leibshitze?

She tried to puzzle through the elaborate web of etiquette while Leibshitze and Melchior discussed when, exactly, would be an appropriate time to prove his capabilities against one or more of Melchior's knights. Gerianne only seemed to contribute to the conversation to rile Leibshitze up while the original knight who first called them babies fought a losing battle not to laugh.

“We shall have our day. The ditter bells shall witness my victory!” Leibshitze cried after an off hand comment from Gerianne.

Melchior pretended that all the passion in the world wasn't rolling off his ‘guest’ in waves. “I am certain Gerianne will spar with you if you ask,” he mused calmly. Leibshitze agreed immediately, seemingly unaware that he'd been talked out of challenging the actual knights.

Zipporah and company return soon after. Gerianne pointed them out long before they should be visible to the naked eye as well as the contingent of Sovereign knights who were just leaving the central buildings. “Did you learn mana enhancement?” Melchior asked.

“I have dabbled,” Gerianne very obviously dissembled.

Melchior’s face twisted into the first frown Nyimbo had even seen on it. “Oooh? Dabbled only in vision work?”

“And a touch of muscle control.”

“Just a touch?”

“The barest bit. Only the very basics really.”

“I am quite impressed. That is more than I know myself.”

“More than you know of what, my lord?” Sigsnyr asked as he arrived before the others. Zipporah sailed in after looking perfectly put together followed by the Dunkefelgerains looking haggard.

“How?” Vinzenzael wheezed.

“It’s really quite impressive,” Korbinian added, only slightly less out of breath. “Are you willing to share your secrets?”

Sigsnyr and Zipporah looked at each other then at Melchior. “It is your method, Sigsnyr,” Melchior said.

“I have made it available to those who serve you,” Sigsnyr replied.

Melchior smiled wider. “Well, you see then, it is available to those who serve me.”

Vinzenzael held onto his highbeast for dear life, so he only managed to frown while Korbinian heaved a great sigh. “Perhaps one day.” He looked off into the distance, thus missing Melchior’s shock at his statement. “Shouldn't we have spoken with the Sovereign knights?”

“What business have we with the Sovereign knights?” Zipporah asked.

“We responded to a distress signal intended for them?”

Zipporah pressed a hand to her cheek and tipped her head in mock confusion. “I believe it was intended for Quandtreeb, was it not? We offered our assistance, resolved the issue, and collected thanks from Quandtreeb. How ever does the Sovereignty enter into things at all?”

Korbinian chuckled. “I suppose you are correct. Shall we continue?” he asked and looked around to assess assent.

Melchior nodded so the group gathered back together and flew to the next destination. As they flew, Melchior observed the ground they left behind. He’d wondered as they entered the ruined garden, how it wasn't a more popular place. It was more evident from above that what had looked distinctive from the ground blended easily into the landscape. Even the tell-tale white sand hills looked almost indistinguishable from the snow though the sunlight glinted off the two materials just a little bit differently. He would have to be paying very close attention and know what he was looking for.

Because he’d just been contemplating that very thing, he noticed another instance of snow disguising ivory. A lone building of similar architecture to the temple stood in a clearing, half buried. “Look, a shrine.”

Gerinane and Leibshitze followed his gesture. “Are you sure? It just looks like snow to me,” Leibshitze said.

“It kind of glows yellow,” Gerianne noted.

Melchior bristled internally. Gerianne had apparently been training her mana enhancements quite a lot without him. The yellow tint to her eye showed that she was even learning Sigsnyr’s method for directly observing mana. He would have to get his knights to teach him.

They soon arrived at a perfectly normal looking stand of trees that, upon closer inspection, was steaming faintly in the cold winter air. There were similar columns of vapor rising from other places in the surrounding woods. “We are getting close to our gathering spot,” Vinzenzael said. “If you look farther south, you can just see the circle of trees free of snow.”

“Are we looking for flackblooms?” Korbinian wondered aloud.

“Yes,” Sigsnyr said, then explained for the children. “Flackbloom usually grow only in high summer or warm climates. These thermal vents create a hot enough environment for them to grow year round. They are strong in fire and moderately rare. Perfect for a practice proposal stone.”

“These are for me?” Melchior chirped. Several of his knights nodded encouragingly. “Oh how exciting. I wonder what I shall write in it.”

“For my Goddess of Light.” “Does it matter?” Gerianne and Gottschalk spoke over each other.

“So boring!” Ortolf and Melchior replied.

“It doesn't matter. They're just for practice,” Gottschalk reiterated.

“Sometimes people give them to others either as a promise for the future or because they can offer nothing more,” Korbinian orated with a gauntlet to his chest and wistful tone.

Vinzenzael huffed. “You read too many Royal Academy Love Stories.”

Everyone landed in a relatively clear space near a steaming hole in the ground. The baby box fanned out while the older knights dispatched a few faebeasts. “How many is too many, Lord Vinzenzael?” Korbinian called across the clearing. “He is just annoyed he lacks access to the newest Ehrenfest books,” he added with a whisper and a wink.

Melchior couldn't help but giggle though he hoped Leibshitze wasn't offended. Leibshitze didn't look it. Instead he turned quietly beseeching eyes towards him. “I can lend them to you,” Melchior promised.

Leibshitze brightened immediately. “Thank you, Lord Melchior. I will read quickly so that you may share with many others.”

“Goodness. We will have to set a guard on you in the dormitory,” Vinzenzael huffed as he desummoned his sword. He came to stand with the younglings just in time to watch Zipporah return dragging a large, still twitching animal which she dropped at Nikolaus's feet. His shoulders sank but he produced a knife all the same. He then stopped and stared at the knife in his hands as though unsure where it had come from.

“Oh! Lady Nyimbo. Flautzeal gave me this knife to lend you. He was conflicted at being unable to accompany us.”

“You mean unwilling?” Gerianne snickered

“Lord Flautzeal did mention his recent foray into the wilds with some distress,” Nyimbo said. She accepted the knife with both hands then began inspecting it, testing its heft, sliding it out of its sheath a little to look at the blade. “Is this a magic tool?”

“Yes. The blade and tang were brewed then the handle and sheath were made by House Klavier’s extraordinary craftspeople,” Melchior replied.

Nyimbo took on an altogether different mein. “The make is quite good though perhaps not ‘extra-ordinary’. Well considered. Beautifully executed but not beyond expectations for such a thing. I assume the wood is not magic in itself?”

Though he’d wanted to talk up his retainer's family business he felt, suddenly, that he wasn't qualified for this conversation at all. Nyimbo looked not unlike Lady Zerafina when money was discussed. “I couldn't say anything specifically though it seems similar to what was used for a set I purchased recently. If it is not, that wood, which is superior in its mana transference to other materials, is also available on request.”

“It is quite nice but surely the convenience of mana comes with additional labor.”

“Have you been using a mundane knife, Lady Nyimbo?” Zipporah interrupted the mini advertising session.

Nyimbo put an unconscious hand to her hip where her knife rested. “Yes. Though ‘mundane’ is, perhaps, incomplete in assessment.”

“Our apologies, Lady Nyimbo,” Sigsnyr said. “We didn't notice at all. Also, I believe you misunderstand us. A mana-knife is necessary for collecting some materials and processing others. Without mana in the cut, certain materials degrade and oxidize quickly, lowering the quality of the brew. I don't think we’ve collected anything so far where it mattered greatly though.”

He looked to the other knights for confirmation. They mostly agreed that the materials gathered so far should be fine and the one or two which would benefit could be found readily in most places. Decision made and knife delivered, Nikolaus pulled out his usual hunting knife and began processing the faebeast. Nyimbo caught herself staring after him as he flicked his cape aside revealing a leather pouch decorated with beautiful art. Were all archnobles so aesthetically minded, she wondered.

Sigsnyr spent a little time explaining how the gathering would work before Zipporah organized everyone into two groups: those who would fly into the gorge with the second years and those who would remain above to keep watch. “Don't touch the squishy looking things, they are docile and also have extremely high body temperatures.”

“Can we all collect specimens this time?” Leibshitze asked.

“Oh, totally. Flackbloom grows in massive clusters,” Korbinian answered and began floating towards the hole.

Nikolaus finished his work with a decisive stab and quickly secured the spoils to his wolf before following. Gottschalk and Theodore were left to keep watch while everyone else descended. The air rapidly grew warmer on the approach and soon turned from chilly to nearly scorching. Melchior looked back at Nyimbo. He could feel his armor working harder to protect him and worried the drain might be too much for her since she was a laynoble wearing someone else's. Her helmet faced resolutely ahead and she didn't seem any more taxed than before so he decided just to keep alert.

That was an increasingly difficult task as they crossed over the cliff and found themselves in an altogether different world. Lush green ferns the height of a man nodded in the thermal wind alongside shiny feathered ropes which descended deep into the earth. Between them, clinging to the cliff walls grew flowers and shrubs in a technicolor array. Buzzing insects wove through the air on invisible currents and a host of little blobs with eight stubby legs clung to any kind of surface. Their ear-like protrusions fluttered as if in greeting while they shuffled along slowly.

“I did not expect it to be so difficult to resist touching the squishies,” Gerianne muttered. She gripped the reigns of her schnestrum and shivered from the effort.

“They are so adorable. I think I love them. Are we certain we cannot bring one home?” Melchior cried.

“As a friend whom you talked out of acquiring an equally unreasonable pet, please believe me when I say I understand your pain and still must advise against it,” Sigsnyr replied.

Leibshitze reached out just shy of touching one. When it did not attack his hand he leaned closer to look at it scrub the walls clear of lichen leaving a shiny slimy trail. “But what if it can survive in lower temperatures?”

“No,” Vinzenzael said.

“But..”

“Absolutely, not. This is not up for consideration. The last person I saw attempt to hold one almost lost a hand, the burns were so extreme.” Leibshitze's shoulders sagged pitifully.

Nyimbo didn't try to get too close to the creatures. She floated near a clump of flowers and muttered lines of poetry to herself. Melchior was reminded of his own artistic pursuits. He pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil and began sketching.

“Lord Melchior, are you carrying your crayons?” Zipporah asked.

“Yes, almost always. Do you need one,” he asked without looking up.

“No, they will melt if we delay very long.”

“I can take them up to Theodore,” Gerianne suggested. “And the diptychs too.”

“I’ll go. You are to remain in the box, remember,” Nikolaus said. He collected the already worryingly soft wax objects and disappeared over the cliff above.

“Let us find our flackbloom,” Zipporah ordered. Melchior continued doodling, keeping Gerianne's white highbeast at the edge of his vision but otherwise trusting his own highbeast not to run into anything. It took no time at all to find a huge quantity of the flowers growing along a woody vine, clinging to the near vertical walls. They were a pale blue with two large petals on either side surrounding an intricate bundle of smaller petals and flower structures.

“Ooh!” Melchior chirped and started drawing them instead.

“You know, I’ve never needed one of these before. They really do grow in incredible number and have quite the… evocative appearance,” Korbinian observed.

“You see why they are called ‘flickblooms’ then?” Vinzenzael joked.

Melchior was about to ask but recognized a certain lilt Fonsel often used when talking about things he would subsequently refuse to explain. Melchior flipped to the back of his notebook to add it to his list.

“Don't record that one, my lord. That one is stupid,” Sigsnyr called over. “Let me show you how to safely harvest these.”

Gottschalk flew closer to Vinzenzael. “Why are they called that?” he whispered.

“Because they look like a… chalice. Kind of,” Vinzenzael whispered back.

Gottschalk nodded knowingly but Melchior didn't understand at all. They looked nothing like Geduldh’s chalice or any kind of cup for that matter. Collecting them was straightforward though. Some faeplants should be dyed before collection but these should be plucked first. It was best to use mana-blocking gloves to limit how much mana the vine would try to steal. The only way to dye an attached bloom was to dye the whole plant at once which would waste a huge quantity of mana, possibly more than one had in their body for very large plants.

Melchior didn't feel anything as he collected a few flowers though Gerianne reported feeling a nibble, as she called it.

Once in hand, Melchior began dyeing his first blossom. He wanted to maintain the flower's shape but inevitably it closed back into a bud before solidifying into a faestone. It took on a darker blue color and sudden clarity before flashing full of mana. Melchior noticed Nyimbo watching him and held up his stone for her to see. They found after a moment that he wasn't alone in giving her his attention.

She curled in on herself again. “You are all staring at me,” Nyimbo said.

“We are waiting for your pronouncement,” Gerianne encouraged and Leibshitze nodded.

“Oh, I remembered to keep the words inside this time.”

Three heads tipped in unison. Was it a mannerism taught to higher rank duchies, she wondered. “Why not? They were so pretty and you like to make them,” Leibshitze asked. “One should not withhold Berwarmme’s portion⁵⁶.”

Now the other two looked at Leibshitze sidelong. The homogeneity of culture had its limits, apparently. “Well… perhaps… the dancing line of waiting drops… no maybe not. I will need more time for this one if it’s to rhyme with the first one,” she replied, her cheeks feeling warm. It felt nice to have encouragement but also carried a weight of expectations she hadn't prepared for that morning. She was ready to face wild beasts and strange flora not impromptu requests for poetic descriptions.

“Oh, are you going to write a whole verse about today?” Melchior asked, his blue eyes sparkling.

“Now I feel like I must.”

“We shall look forward to it!” Gerianne promised.

The older knights signaled for them to finish up. They were met at the top of the cliff by the spotting team who were then given a mere fraction of the time to drop into the crevasse and collect their own materials. Theodore returned with several coils of the floaty feather vines to everyone's confusion.

“It looks like something Lady Rozemyne once described as edible. We should test it!” he said brightly.

“You should not accidentally poison yourself until you have completed your classes,” Zipporah replied.

Theodore’s shoulders sank. “I’m sure it has other uses,” he mumbled.

“We look forward to your discoveries,” Melchior encouraged, giving tacit approval for Theodore to keep his vines. He beamed and hurried to stow his spoils on his saddle.

Zipporah shook her head before directing their group upward. As they broke through the trees, they were met with the light of a fading Rott to the north. Sigsnyr began explaining their next destination but was interrupted by Vinzenzael. “You are not going to assist this time?”

“The Sovereignty responds to Rott with all haste,” Zipporah answered. She gestured in the direction of the distress beacon. “Look.”

Melchior couldn't see anything but the older knights regarded the empty patch of sky with interest. “We certainly wouldn't beat them there this time,” Korbinian noted. “Are you saying that you respond only to duchy beacons because the scramble is delayed?”

It was Nikolaus who replied. “We responded because our lord requested it.”

All eyes snapped to Melchior who remained placid even under so much attention. “Nikolaus and Theodore saved an entire generation of knights last year. It seems worthwhile,” he said with a shrug. Vinzenzael uvula was visible in his amazement but he neither managed to ask for elaboration nor had it freely offered.

Sigsnyr coughed into the lingering silence before continuing his explanation. “Since we need water, I want to visit the area between Hauchletze and Drewanchel. That region has been cultivated quite a bit in many different ways so there are a lot of strange things to find. There are also quite a few shuttered villas which we should avoid. Their alarms still function and with her majesty returned to Ersterde, we would not want to make her feel uncomfortable.”

They began their flight only to be interrupted midway by another flare, this time from Lortzing. “Is it always this bad?”

“Two zikenrache⁵⁷ broods are scheduled for this year. Combined with a lack of schtappes for the second years, more difficulties are bound to occur,” Zipporah said. “We shall keep the same groups. Nikolaus, use this time to rally more support from our dormitory. We cannot fail to meet our promises nor abandon the children of Yurgenschmidt.”

With that the older students were off again. This time Gottschalk was left in charge, much to his delight and Ortolf's annoyance. Nikolaus sent a couple of ordonnanz while the children waited patiently.

“Are you all excited for Welcome Ditter?” Leibshitze asked to pass the time. Nyimbo tried the head tipping gesture to accentuate her confusion. Most gratifyingly, she didn't even have to ask for clarification. The gesture was enough even in a helmet which partially obscured her expression. “We play treasure stealing ditter to welcome the first years. It is also one of the few chances that scholars, attendants, and pre-apprentices have to participate in ditter. Does Ossvault not do something similar?”

“If I might venture to say. I think only Dunkefelger does anything of that nature,” Nyimbo replied.

“But that can't be!” Leibshitze cried, looking genuinely sad for his fellow second years. “Do you at least have the opportunity to play ditter at other times?” They shook their heads. “But … how else do you make the first years feel welcome and introduce them to Academy life?”

“Tea?” Gerianne said

“Studying,” Ortolf grumbled.

Leibshitze held a hand to his chest as though to keep his heart from flying out of it in empathetic anguish. Melchior tried to console him with a pat on the shoulder. “The older students do much to prepare the dormitory and gathering spot for the younger students, even if they do not rally for a round of treasure stealing ditter. My retainers have even ensured that we could begin our sortie almost the moment we arrived.”

“Did you just arrive this morning?” Leibshitze asked.

“Yes? Didn't you?”

“Oh no, we second years are the first to enter the dormitory. Professor Rauffen took us all gathering so we could collect our materials before the older students bald the gathering spot,” Leibshitze explained.

There was amazement all around. No one could imagine their gathering spot being so completely depleted in so little time while Leibshitze couldn't fathom a dormitory supervisor who wasn't excited to herd dozens of eleven year olds into the forest. Nyimbo was forced to explain the system in Ossvault and how the laynoble students arrived first to clean and prepare the dormitory for the students of higher status.

“What are the servants doing if not cleaning the dormitory?” Leibshitze wondered aloud, shaking his head with disappointment.

Nyimbo felt mildly annoyed on the Ossvault servants’ behalf. “We do not have many servants in Ossvault’s dormitory. It is expensive to transport and feed so many commoners when every student brings an attendant anyway. Only those with irreplaceable skills are contracted.”

The Ehrenfesters looked less horrified and more pensive. Such a strategy would save quite a lot of money though the Ehrenfest nobility would be resistant to such a change. It also sounded like all the work the servants would do was instead heaped onto the laynobles which didn't seem exactly fair. It also meant trying to transport all of their students over three days instead of six. What a logistical nightmare that would be. Inverting the arrival order would also be difficult without a more active dormitory supervisor. Something similarly out of reach for Ehrenfest at the moment.

“Wait,” Gerianne muttered, “Did your brother arrive this morning? Are we keeping him and Lord Korbinian from collecting their materials?”

Surprisingly, it was Theodore who looked the most contrite before Leibshitze assured them that wasn't the case. “I collect some things for him and he will have many opportunities to find anything he is still missing. Plus, after this, we will know a few more places to look. Respectfully and secretly, of course.”

Just as Nikolaus was putting away his ordonnanz after successfully organizing a meeting with the new rescue team, an ordonnanz from Zipporah arrived.

“This is Zipporah. We will be slightly delayed in our return. Please begin moving towards the agreed meeting point without us. We will track you by ordonnanz later.” She sounded completely calm despite the absolute cacophony of yelling and clicking in the background.

“What is happening?” Gottschalk sighed as they began moving again.

“It sounds fairly serious,” Nyimbo observed.

“It sounds exciting,” Leibshitze said. “It's a shame they do not take us with them.”

“We would not want the rescuers to need rescuing,” Theodore teased.

Leibshitze, predictably, bristled again. He then calmly informed them that the training of Dunkefelger ensured that even a second year would not become a liability. “Even if I didn't have a sword!” he assured them he would be more than able to observe the fight without endangering himself.

“You are the only one of us with a sword,” Melchior grumbled, hefting his bow with some annoyance.

“Lord Leibshitze,” Theodore said in a less jocular tone. “It is not a simple matter of your actual skill that worries us. It is that your life has been placed in our hands. You represent something to protect. As a trained knight yourself, you must know that defenders are always at a disadvantage, their attention split, their motivations known. Zipporah and Sigsnyr and your brother could not fight as well knowing you are in the vicinity of danger.”

“My brother knows my strength,” Liebshitze insisted.

Theodore shook his head in exasperation. “My sister is the greatest archer in our entire duchy. I still worry about her. I have never beaten her in a spar and I still worry about her. I could not imagine how I would feel were she a worse fighter than me.”

Leibshitze grumbled something under his breath. Gottschalk shook his head at him but didn't comment. The rest didn't seem like they heard him. “Well… be that as it may. If you are calling more knights, why not request additional assistance from Dunkefelger. Do you believe we would not be an asset towards your rescue efforts?”

“That was never in question, Leibshitze,” Melchior said. “Only, I could not request assistance simply at my whimsy.”

“Is the well being of the children of Yurgenschmidt mere whimsy, my lord?” Leibshitze asked. He began to swerve slightly in his excitement. “Are we not the Sword of the Zent. You will surely find many who share your passion in the dormitory of Dunkefelger!”

Melchior didn't feel sure that was the case. He was not, after all, the Zent or anyone related to her. It wouldn't be right for him to attempt to “wield” the knights of another duchy, at least, not without some compensation for them.

“There are sure to be plenty of bored people though. Since only the sixth years are allowed to go hunting at the moment,” Gerianne observed.

“Oh yes. It was very difficult to escape the dormitory with only Lord Korbinian in tow after I told my friends we were going gathering together. Did you experience something similar, Lady Nyimbo?”

“I was not obstructed by friendly enthusiasm, no.”

Before anyone could investigate her phrasing, Leibshitze was barreling ahead. “I’m sure we could gather volunteers to join. I can ask them if you could send an ordonnanz for me.” When he offered he was looking at the knights surrounding them and missed Melchior’s nod. He also missed Melchior release the collar of this highbeast and begin reincorporating his gauntlets into his chestplate. Once the metallic gloves flowed away like a stream into a lake, he took a bracelet from his wrist and offered it.

“You touch the red gem then red feathers to begin recording your message,” Melchior said, finally catching Leibshitze’s attention. He stared. Nyimbo imagined he looked just as amazed as she felt. She knew that Ossvault was somewhat behind on the newest technologies but, before this day, hadn't considered just how far and how impactful that chasm could be. She had no way to send a message without her aunt's assistance which was quite inconvenient since her aunt was the only person she needed to communicate with.

“Won't that just send a message back to you?” Gerianne asked.

“I haven't bound them to my roost yet. So I don't think so,” Melchior replied.

“Will it even work in the first place then?”

“Probably.”

“You might as well try,” Gerianne sighed.

Leibshitze floated closer like a boy possessed. He stared at the hoop for a long while before reaching out to take it. Then he turned it around in his hands a few times. It was entirely smooth and uniform in color except for a pale streak running through the center and a single red droplet. Leibshitze tapped it but nothing happened.

“Oh, you have to add a touch of mana,” Melchior amended.

A little bird with red eyes appeared on Leibshitze's finger, holding on for dear life in the swift breeze. He squeaked with delight. “This is Leibshitze…”

“Tap the spots to begin. If the beak is closed it isn't recording,” Gerianne said.

Leibshitze did so and squeaked again when the beak popped open. “This is Leibshitze, Lord Melchior is assembling a team of knights. I was given permission to ask whether any of our knights would like to join. Would you kindly make an announcement in the dormitory on my behalf?” He touched the eyes again, closing the beak. “How do I send it?”

“You…”

“We should listen to it first,” Gerianne warned.

The recording was impressively bad. Deafening wind obscured half the message but the opening squeal of excitement was crystal clear. The blush on Leibshitze’s face could not be seen but it was felt by all. Melchior showed him how to deactivate the magic tool by touching both eyes at once then caught the ring before it could plunge into the forest below.

“Why don't we wait until we land,” he suggested.

They did just that. It didn't take very long to arrive at the southern side of the southernmost school building. The sun beamed down from almost the center of the sky meaning they’d already been out for nearly a bell and it was just past lunch time. Melchior’s knights hadn't planned to be out past midday. They only had a couple more stops to make, none too far from the central building, and none which would require a lot of time to get what they needed. Dressing Nyimbo in armor and taking breaks for heroism had really stretched out the time.

Luckily for everyone, Kolteruze had noticed their absence and come with the relief troops with a boxed lunch for them. It was closer to a crated lunch considering how much food was necessary to feed twelve people. He sat perched in a small, clean portion of a stone table next to the huge cloth wrapped bundle and surrounded by chattering girls. Nyimbo began to question all Gerianne had said of her lord’s aesthetic values as Melchior chirped excitedly at what had to be the most hideous striped cloth anyone had ever had the misfortune to birth into the world.

They touched down and began greetings. Melchior introduced Leibshitze and Nyimbo then thanked the knights who’d answered his call. Leibshitze stepped away to send off his ordonnanz with more excitement than such an activity normally called for. Everyone began taking their helmets off. Considering how few female knights there were in Ossvault, it felt strange to see so many gathered together.

“If you are all here, then who is guarding Sister?” Melchior asked. He didn't seem serious but he also didn't sound entirely like he was joking.

“Eikestine and the boys,” the oldest girl replied. “You said that Zipporah called for aid so here we are.”

Nikolaus scratched the back of his head nervously as all eyes turned to him. “Is that how Isolde put it?”

“Lord Melchior has gone out gathering. Zipporah has asked for additional assistance to meet his goals,” Cecilia said with a wry smile.

“Zipporah is our hunt leader,” Melchior explained.

“Oooh. I see. So she was speaking for the collective. No matter. We are here and have the afternoon free,” Cecilia declared. The other girls nodded with excitement and began grilling Nikolaus on how the hunt was going thus far.

He tried to tell them it was going well in the broadest of terms but they pestered for details. “Sigsnyr burst into the knights meeting room in a tizzy and stole all his maps. We had to pry them from his grasp. He was going to take all of them, not just the one he’d used to plan for today!”

“They are his maps!” Nikolaus argued and fell into comfortable bickering with the youngest girl, subtly drawing the gaggle of knights away from Kolteruze who was thus freed to begin clearing off more of the tables.

Melchior turned back to Nyimbo with the same neutral smile he seemed to be able to maintain through all manner of calamity. “They can be rather spirited,” he apologized.

Leibshitze returned with a bird on his hand looking dejected. It had normal yellow eyes.

“You should have made it homing,” Gerianne grumbled.

Melchior was more understanding. “Maybe they just don't know it also works like a normal ordonnanz.” He coaxed the magic tool as if it were a real animal onto a ring on his left hand. It was silver instead of the gold of his noble’s ring and connected to a delicate chain then a silver cuff. The craftsmanship was incredible and renewed her appreciation for his aesthetic sensibilities.

“This is Lungtase. What manner of game is ‘rescue ditter’? We have never heard of it. How many knights are needed for a team?” said the bird one time before going silent.

Leibshitze and Nyimbo stared in amazement. Ehrenfest had created a tool that played normal ordonnanz as well. Did the wonders never cease? Melchior, meanwhile, had mysteriously gone a full shade whiter. “Leibshitze! Did you bother Lady Lungtase?”

“She is currently overseeing the dormitory. Who else could rally knights to our cause as quickly?” he asked.

While Melchior froze in horror, his face unchanging but his usual excited motion giving way to stillness, Gerianne continued pressing. “Did you just invent the name rescue ditter?”

“Nothing moves bodies like the promise of ditter.”

“Leibshitze!” Melchior cried again. It was disconcerting to know someone was falling into a panicked state without any external evidence of it and no understanding as to why. At least there was no evidence for a casual observer.

“Why is Lord Melchior distraught,” Sigsnyr asked, seemingly appearing out of thin air behind the second years. All of them flinched before turning around slowly. The entire rescue squad had returned. Korbinian and Zipporah were unwrapping the food parcel in defiance of Kolteruze’s glare while Vinzenzael supported Nikolaus in his efforts to tell the story of the day without revealing too much about their clandestine destinations. “Oh have you brought this on yourself, my lord?”

“He he,” Melchior laughed nervously. “Well, Zipporah requested more assistance and Leibshitze offered to petition his friends from Dunkefelger as well.”

Sigsnyr tipped his head in that same gesture of mock confusion. “Lord Leibshitze has friends of sufficient skill, yes? I don't see how it would be unreasonable to send such an invitation to a few knights of Dunkefelger.”

“He sent the invitation to Lady Lungtase,” Gerianne blurted out.

Sigsnyr blinked rapidly. “Are you quite close to Aub Dunkefelger’s daughter?”

Nyimbo sucked in a sharp breath of cold air, finally understanding Lord Melchior's anxiety. She joined everyone else in staring at Leibshitze. Was he really so well acquainted with not one but two different Archduke Candidates? Just who was he? Why was he on a gathering trip with the likes of her if he could claim such friendships. He didn't seem like someone who needed to pay extra-duchy knights for assistance.

“We play Gewinnen on occasion,” Leibshitze replied, still looking more confused than worried.

“Is she as good as you?” Melchior asked.

“No.”

Again everyone else looked surprised. Was that a strange thing to admit?

“So you tutor her in Gewinnen?” Gerianne asked.

“I am sure it is an excuse to socialize outside of her usual circle of other girls,” Leibshitze replied. “I think we should respond soon though. How many knights would you like?”

Sigsnyr took a visibly deep breath. “Fewer than six,” he said. “We do not want it to seem like we are asking for more strength than we can provide ourselves.”

Leibshitze nodded. “Four then.” He waited for confirmation then turned to Melchior and requested an ordonnanz even though a sixth year with a schtappe was right there to assist.

Mechanically, Melchior offered his wrist. He held the ordonnanz they'd recovered from Lady Lungtase in his hand. Apropos of nothing, it disappeared and reappeared on his finger as a bird. After a few more nods, he touched a gem on his bracelet and the beak opened.

“This is Leibshitze. Rescue ditter is something like treasure stealing ditter except the treasure is people in need of rescue. We will require only four knights.”

The bird desummoned and Melchior placed a few fingers to his forehead, covering his face while not dropping the magic tool. “We cannot say that. Providing assistance is nothing like treasure stealing ditter.”

Sigsnyr looked like he was going to disagree but stopped upon realizing he didn't know what rescue ditter even was. “Leibshitze has just invented it,” Gerianne provided.

“More people will be excited about the endeavor if it is a kind of ditter.”

“Do you need such tactics to convince four people to provide aid?” Nyimbo hazarded to ask.

“Probably not,” Leibshitze admitted. “But recruitment will be faster.”

Sigsnyr again reached for the strength giving power of a deep inhale and a long pause. “Just explain that you have created a new kind of ditter where you protect people from faebeasts and thank Lady Lungtase for her most generous assistance.”

The ordonnanz was offered with more trepidation though the little bird didn't seem affected by human reservations. Once the message was approved, Melchior made an elegant lifting motion to toss the bird into the air almost like one might launch a real bird. They all waited anxiously for the response. When it was not immediately forthcoming Sigsnyr excused himself to go assist Kolteruze with the tables.

Nyimbo followed to escape the bundle of nervous children. It would settle her spirit to be helpful so she tried to assist. She couldn't produce a broom from nowhere, but could use her hands to brush snow from the benches. After a few handfuls of snow Kolteruze appeared at her side. Nyimbo had felt comforted by his reasonable color palette and affable mein but that had suddenly been replaced by an intimidating smile. Kolteruze was neither a tall boy nor a particularly wide one but he still seemed to loom as well as any of the adult servants and attendants that occasionally chastised her for doing work below her station. “Please do not trouble yourself Lady Nyimbo. You are our guest.” He then quickly removed the snow from the space in front of her and gestured for her to sit down. She sat a little too quickly but did not want to challenge the look in his deep brown eyes.

From a leather pouch next to yet another beautifully painted and very long belt bag, Sigsnyr produced a bottle of water which he deposited before her as he strode past. Nyimbo could only watch the rest of their preparations with her hands folded in her lap. Sigsnyr effortlessly pulled over a heavy stone brazier, cleared it of snow and debris using Waschen and tipped the contents of a vial into it before adding something brick shaped. Much heat and a tiny glow emanated from the large stone dish.

“Don't touch the fire,” he warned as though anyone would be tempted to do such a thing. He cast a large cleaning spell over the now clear table, muttered to himself about wasting time with brooms, then laid out the large, ugly piece of fabric and half of the food bundles. Kolteruze neither reacted to his grumbling nor stopped him from helping. Instead he carefully removed and stored the ribbons holding the bundles closed but not opening them. That small joy he left to those enjoying the lunch

The other second years continued to watch for another ordonnanz as they made their way over to the tables. The stone was cold but the air quickly grew warm from the brazier and the children all sitting close together. Each of them unwrapped their package to a wedge of a large bread boule which had been sliced and layered with meat, kraut, a mild cheese, and minced mushrooms cooked in oil as well as a handful of nuts and dried fruit wrapped in a neat bundle with a napkin. The three others all pulled out their own containers of water and a spicy tea in Leibshitze’s case. Before taking the obligatory poison testing bite, Melchior intoned a prayer.

“O mighty King and Queen of the endless skies who doth grace us with thousands upon thousands of lives to consume, O mighty Eternal Five who rule the mortal realm, I offer thanks and prayers to thee, and do take part in the meal so graciously provided.” Gerianne joined with her own muttering while the rest of Melchior's retinue did not participate but also didn't behave as though it was a strange occurrence.

Leibshitze looked like he was going to comment on the prayer when he was interrupted by Vinzenzael who had finally extricated himself from the tangle of girls. He looked at the children then at the pile of food bundles and beamed. “We won't have to have rations,” he chirped and took a bundle before giving the next closest bench a cursory dusting and plopping down on a thin layer of snow. He got as far as unwrapping before noticing something in the brazier bowl and leaning forward for a closer look.

“Do not touch the fire,” Sigsnyr warned again.

“Why would he touch fire?” Korbinian huffed. He seemed like he was content to remain standing, waiting for the children to finish so he could eat alongside the second set of Melchior's knights who looked to be keeping watch.

“It's not fire,” Vinzenzael said around a tiny bite of his sandwich.

Korbinian went over to look. He seemed altogether quite confused by what he saw. “Is that… a garbage slime?”

“A modified garbage slime.”

“It won't eat the brazier will it?” Gerianne asked. “We do not want to damage the property of the library.”

A collective shiver ran through the Ehrenfesters at the mention of damage to the library. Even the rescue girls who were mostly talking among themselves and not paying attention, caught the wave of fear.

“It is an updated version. It only eats organic material not minerals,” Sigsnyr assured everyone.

“Is this patio part of the library?” Nyimbo asked. She glanced at the large windows above them. It wasn't clear what was beyond them but the lights were on.

“Yes. That door leads to the closed stack archive. Its predecessor was destroyed by the former King of Lanzeneve when he fled from the library and the defense of Schwartz and Weiss,” Melchior explained.

Everyone looked at the door and at Melchior with new interest. Only a few people glanced at Nyimbo. She tried not to think too much about those foreign invaders. It was strange to suddenly hear about them and from the two duchies who’d faced them directly. Thankfully, no one made any additional comments about evil people from beyond the gates nor asked whether she knew anyone from a country half the world away.

Zipporah and Sigsnyr finished eating first and gave up their positions to Korbinian and Nikolaus. Seeing that he’d given his water away, Zipporah shared her bottle with Sigsnyr. Nyimbo wasn't sure whether she should finish off the liquid in her loaned bottle or not. At first, she assumed that refined nobles wouldn't want to share or at least wouldn't share between sexes. Then they did and no one even looked at them twice. Of course, it was clear that Zipporah and Sigsnyr were much closer than the average pair of nobles. In the end, she thought it best to finish it and hoped it would not cause the need to empty her bladder anytime soon. It really would be best to use this time to relieve herself but there wasn't anywhere to do that.

When she tried to return the bottle Sigsnyr encouraged her to keep it, revealing that he was carrying more than one for this exact purpose. Nyimbo both marveled and cringed at how much preparation had gone into and proved necessary to make up for her lack of adventuring know-how.

Thankfully her incompetence was quickly forgotten thanks to the arrival of Dunkefelger’s response to their ordonnanz. It was clear what had taken so long when the curt confirmation was almost immediately followed by the arrival of the promised knights. Having followed the magic tool in its flight, the knights of Dunkefelger came right to them and leapt from their disappearing highbeasts, kicking up little clouds of snow as they landed.

Unlike the girls from Ehrenfest, the group from Dunkefelger was composed entirely of sixth year boys. It was also twice as big as requested.

The leader marched over to Melchior and knelt while the other seven hung back outside of the circle of Ehrenfest knights which formed seemingly naturally as a barrier between the newcomers and their Archduke Candidate. “May I pray for a blessing in honor of this serendipitous meeting ordained by the harsh judgement of Ewiegliebe the God of Life?” he intoned brightly.

“You may,” Melchior said without sputtering. He stood up straight and managed to exude enough confidence not to look intimidated by the much larger and older boy. Nyimbo was impressed as she, herself, felt very afraid of these new arrivals.

May our ditter be blessed,” the man said. “We received an invitation to a new kind of ditter. Of course Dunkefelger is proud to participate in establishing this new tradition alongside our friends from Ehrenfest. May our duchies continue to nurture our bond through glorious combat!”

Melchior made a show surveying everything before replying, conveniently giving himself time to think. The troops from Dunkefelger also seemed to be sizing up who they thought were their competition. “I admit that it was not my idea to christen our mission as a form of ditter. That was the brilliance of Leibshitze,” he began. The young man just beamed in Leibshitze’s direction and gave an encouraging nod. “I also recall him specifying a request for four participants.”

“We bought knights with a variety of skills that we might select those most suited to the task.”

“And we are not keeping you all from gathering your materials. I was told that the sixth years only just arrived this morning,” Melchior pressed.

“There will be plenty of time and we hope to refresh the gathering spot at least once before classes.”

“Well, if you all really don't mind. I suppose we would be glad of your help. I cannot say that I hope there is much for you to do but we are unfortunately rather confident there will be,” Melchior said. He turned to Zipporah as though for confirmation.

She stepped forward which also seemed to signal the young man to stand up. “We only recently returned from putting down an early nymph rising of zikenrache near Lortzing. It seems likely that more inexperienced and uninformed groups may disturb similar burrows. Besides that, there is the usual problem of second years growing overzealous.”

The young man nodded though he didn't look like he fully understood. “And how is the game played?”

“Oh it is not a game. We noticed a distinct delay in response to the distress flares of lower ranked duchies. My lord's heart aches for those poor children forsaken in their time of need and asks that we knights of Ehrenfest assist as we are able. As we are currently bound to protect so many inexperienced gatherers of our own, we have asked for assistance from our dormitory and, now, from our friends.”

“So it is not really like treasure-stealing ditter after all,” the young man mused. He looked at Leibshitze again, this time with less approval and more questioning.

“It is more a combination of speed ditter as the opponent is faebeasts or some other environmental hazard and bride-taking ditter as the treasure wishes to be rescued,” Leibshitze explained.

“You actually thought about this,” Gerianne muttered.

Leibshitze just smiled as though he’d only just come up with the explanation off the top of his head and was glad it made any sense at all.

“I see, well, that is an interesting proposition. How is it scored?”

“Scored?” Melchior asked.

“It isn't ditter if it isn't possible to win.”

Blanks were drawn all around. Competitive rescuing just didn't seem like a viable game. “I think it is best not to make light of others' lives,” Melchior admitted with a sigh. “The only victory to be had is against the Sword of Ewiegliebe which seeks to sever, before their time, the half-woven threads of Dregarnuhr and Wentuchte.”

Whatever response he expected, it clearly wasn't redoubled enthusiasm. “Ditter against the very gods! Do we dare?”

“Yes!” called the rest of his group and Vinzenzael for good measure.

Zipporah looked amazed and slightly defeated but recovered a confident smile quickly. “Well, please meet that challenge with all the gravity it deserves,” she instructed. The young men beat their chest plates in acknowledgement. “As the reinforcements were rallied principally by Nikolaus, he will be in charge of your efforts.” Nikolaus choked on his lunch as all eyes flew towards him. Korbinian gave him a helpful pat in the back as he coughed and wheezed. “Please offer him your support. I hope to graduate with a clear conscience, secure in the knowledge that our retinue remaining at the Royal Academy is well tended,” she added wryly.

The young man shared in her conspiratorial air. He gave a wink and a single great laugh before turning and gathering his fellows. While Melchior and the young children were shifted around to remain separate from them, they began greeting the girls from Ehrenfest and hearing their summary of the stories extracted from Nikolaus earlier.

Another flare rose up, this time bright red and partially obscured by the central building. Only a few moments later a Rott followed. The Ehrenfesters looked in that direction only briefly before continuing their activities.

“Are we to ignore the call of Klassenberg?”

“I should think they'd be rather offended to receive our assistance,” Sigsnyr mused. “Not to mention the Rott they also raised.” He pointed up at the very edge of a flock of black cloaks. “We are not needed.”

“So this is what you meant,” Korbinian murmured as he gazed into the sky. He frowned deeply. Unaware of their audience, the Sovereign knights finished assembling and flew off, having taken only a few minutes from when the flare exploded to complete their preparations. Korbinian crunched the snow under his boots. “Gebordnung could not be pleased in this way.⁵⁸”

“She so rarely is⁵⁹. But if Klassenberg calls for aid, it is sure to be serious,” another Dunkefelgerian noted, not adding that it was unlikely that calls from lesser duchies were as serious.

“It was serious when Lortzing called for aid as well yet we were able to travel all the way to their gathering spot and address most of the problem before black cloaks arrived. Does that seem reasonable to you?” Korbinian countered.

“It seems backwards,” Ortolf muttered.

Cecilia, who’d continued gazing upward for a long time, hummed in agreement. “Not backwards, just not based on probable danger. It is based on how obnoxious the response would be to a lost student.”

“Cecilia!” one of the other girls hissed in caution. “Do not speak that way.”

Cecilia only looked around as though waiting for someone to contradict her. No one did.

It didn't take much longer for the second group to finish their lunch. The moment he was finished, Nikolaus was drawn into the circle of the newly formed Rescue Ditter team. Now that they could finally huddle around their glorious leader, they wasted no time dragging him out into the snowy expanse south of the central building to try and coax the Ehrenfesters into whirling.

Those left behind watched him disappear with both empathy and amusement. Only Korbinian looked soberly on with questions behind his eyes. He absentmindedly joined in on cleaning away the evidence of their repast. Vinzenzael eyed him with confusion but didn't say anything. This time Kolteruze allowed Nyimbo to help fold up the napkins and place them back in the crate while he watched Sigsnyr put out the “fire”. From one of his many pouches, Sigsnyr produced a white glove, slipped it on, then, unceremoniously, reached his hand into the brazier.

“Sigsnyr!” Melchior cried from where he was dutifully doing nothing.

Sigsnyr froze mid movement, the still glowing slime pinched between two fingers. “Has something happened?” he asked. He looked around for any threats then back at Melchior quizzically.

“You are touching the fire!”

“Oh, yes. It only consumes organic matter. This glove is made from stone,” Sigsnyr replied with a chuckle. He shook the slime until what was left of the brickette fell out of it. Then, amidst many amazed gazes, he carefully maneuvered the fire back into its bespelled vial and closed it with an elaborate metal cork.

“Made from stone?” Nyimbo asked. She was close enough to lean in for a better look. It looked like perfectly normal fabric. “Is it thonje la chinjoka?”

“What is that?”

“Um… I think the translation would be thonje⁶⁰ of the dragon,” Nyimbo tried to explain

“I’m not certain what any of those things are,” he replied with a smile.

“Dragon refers to a class of giant aquatic faebeast,” Korbinian explained. “They are not often subjugated since they live in deep water and do not prey on people.”

“Oh. Then, perhaps, dragon is the wrong word,” Nyimbo mused. She frowned in concentration. “It is a kind of rock which breaks apart into long fluffy fibers. You can weave fabric from it which is impervious to fire and rot. The name is based on a kind of giant flying lizard which is said to live in the great eastern mountains. Supposedly they can breathe fire.”

“And thonje?”

“A type of plant and the fabric woven from its fibers.”

“How poetic. We simply call it ‘asbest’,” Sigsnyr said as he surveyed the tidied picnic area with a smile. He turned to Kokteruze who was still standing quite close after watching the fire slime handling. Nyimbo noted that neither boy had stepped back. “Thank you, Kolteruze, for bringing refreshments. Will you be returning to the dormitory?”

Kokteruze waved away his thanks. “Where else would I go?” Kolteruze snarked.

Nyimbo glanced towards Zipporah who was also watching the two boys interact but with something like calculation rather than curiosity.

“Well, you could join us,” Sigsnyr offered. He looked towards Melchior for confirmation but he was too absorbed in chatting with Leibshitze about jewelry to notice.

Kolteruze finally broke away with a chuckle. “I have all I need for classes. Thank you again for taking me flower picking, by the way. I have other business to attend to today. You will have to go on without me.” He picked up the neatly bundled pile of fabric with a grateful nod to Nyimbo before summoning a Highbeest and flying away.

Zipporah cleared her throat, drawing Sigsny's attention from Kolteruze's disappearing form as well as everyone else's. “Yes, well, it has been a long morning. I am certain you must all be feeling inspired to commune with Verdraeos⁶¹.”

Nyimbo wasn't sure about that particular euphemism but nodded alongside the other second years. She then followed Gerianne into the Central Building and all the way to the women's latrine.

Footnotes

55. As close to outright apologizing for his poorly behaved retainer as he can get. ^

56. “Better out than in,” but for displays of great passion^

57. Faebeast of my invention, well, they are magic cicadas the size of a children’s bicycle with narwhal tusks.^

58. “This isn't right.” or “This isn't fair.”^

59. Life's not fair^

60. "thonje" means "cotton" in Chichewa. They are talking about asbestos, the uses and dangers of which have been known since ancient times.^

61. Yet another way to refer to using the bathroom without explicitly mentioning it.

Chapter Text

By the time everyone had returned from inside, the rescue team was off responding to a flare in the west.

“We just have a water ingredient left,” Sigsnyr declared. “That won't be difficult to find since there are a few good options. I’m hoping the staubkrug I found last year has gone to fruit by now.”

“Oh, those things produce fruit? I’ve never seen one that wasn't putting out pollen,” Vinzenzael replied.

When an explanation was not immediately forthcoming, Melchior interrupted the older knights before they could get deep into route planning. “What is a staubkrug⁶²?”

Sigsnyr happily explained what he knew about the plant. It was considered an unusual ingredient so it wasn't covered in the introductory botany material Melchior had studied already. Rich in water, it tended to grow a very wide root network to draw mana from the ground as well as using its sweet smell and colorful fruits to draw in prey. “Anything too small will be trapped in its barrel and digested. You all should be just tall enough to escape but avoid getting in anyway,” he teased.

Melchior felt certain he was big enough to avoid being eaten by a plant until he saw the plant in question. Invisible from the air, they found it nestled under a few large and leafless deciduous trees in the middle of a perfectly circular divot of snow. Though it looked like an abandoned gathering spot, it wasn't anywhere near any defunct duchy Melchior had ever heard of. Zipporah paused at the edges and reached down to partially activate what circles remained.

“Based on my research, and my best estimation as to which area belonged to which defunct duchy, the alarm circles decay first followed by the weather barriers, then growth acceleration, ending with those circles which remove snow or mud or other elemental deposits,” Sigsnyr shared while Zipporah cleared the snow

“Mud?” Gerianne asked.

“Around the northern duchies it is more mountainous creating the possibility for rock slides and mud flows. Jossbrenner especially has been unlucky.”

Before their very eyes, the snow began to sublimate away. The resulting cold fog slowly drifted on light breezes. Their group didn't wait for it to completely clear before heading deeper into the ring of cleared snow.

“Everyone should remain alert,” Zipporah ordered.

Melchior gripped his bow tighter and pulled an arrow from his hip quiver. Gerianne held her left arm in front of her, ready to deploy her shield if needed. Nyimbo could only attempt to look and listen more closely though she remembered to stand closer to Melchior. Most of the knights summoned their favorite weapon except for Theodore who pulled out a white staff from nowhere, not even chanting a spell to transform his schtappe.

“Are you using our generous gift as a walking stick?” Sigsnyr scoffed.

Vinzenzael spared a glance at Theodore. His expression wasn't visible through his helmet but he seemed to radiate curiosity.

Theodore scoffed right back. “This is very useful as a variable length stick. It doesn't even consume mana beyond the transformation.”

“What is it besides a variable length stick.”

Theodore summoned a very thin blade which issued from the side of the staff and arched upward to form a spear in a rather roundabout way. The blade clipped a tree branch as he walked, slicing through it as though through empty air. He was forced to do a little hop to avoid it.

“It's gotten much bigger,” Melchior observed while gamely withholding a giggle.

Vinzenzael stared more fixedly at the staff as Theodore disappeared the blade and shortened the long staff to a more manageable walking stick length. “Is that a mana polearm?”

“It is!” Theodore replied brightly.

Both Vinzenzael and Leibshitze stopped in their tracks. Everyone else walked a few more steps before turning back to look at them. “Is it really?! Grandfather used to talk about Ehrenfest making those but we've never seen one and couldn't find any recipes in the library,” Leibshitze explained.

“We based it on the shield Gerianne received from Sister Streita,” Sigsnyr said with a shrug.

“Master said she worked on more mana weapons with her friends while she was in school. One of those friends was Lord Bonifatius.”

“Goddesses! Its true!” Vinzenzael muttered. “Do you have more of the recipes?”

“We don't have any,” Zipporah sighed. “Sigsnyr and Benedikt had to extrapolate from what they could extract from the shield when they altered it. That being said. Now is not an ideal time for this discussion.”

“Apologies,” Leibshitze said though his eyes sparkled with wonder as he looked back and forth between Gerianne and Theodore.

Vinzenzael bowed and began trekking again though he seemed to be watching Sigsnyr more closely than their surroundings.

They were accosted by only one faebeast as they meandered through the woods. It was dead before Melchior could even nock his arrow. He looked down at his bow and sighed. He’d been carrying it for hours and not once had he been called upon to shoot anything. The plant they were looking for wasn't even of the variety that thrashed around.

As tall as their tallest party member, Korbinian, the plant rested in an otherwise bare swath of ground. Only the occasional brown root could be seen peeking above the dirt. It boasted a ring of dark leaves and a huge cluster of large yellow balls hanging off the side of its protruding green belly. A sweet smell emanated from within the plant rather than the dangle of flowers hanging over its barrel.

“I’m amazed the liquid doesn't freeze in winter,” Gottschalk said. He leaned over and stared into the pool. “It's caught a few things recently. Anyone want an intact zantze skeleton?”

“Do not be crass,” Zipporah chided while Nyimbo cringed away from the plant.

Melchior felt both disgusted and like he dearly wanted to see a bare skeleton. He approached slowly and stood on his tiptoes to look inside. There were no bones that he could see, only a viscous yellow liquid. “It looks like honey,” he noted, choosing not to comment on the lack of bones.

“If you try to eat it it will also try to eat you,” Sigsnyr warned.

“It will fail but it isn't pleasant either way,” Vinzenzael added.

“Did you…” Korbinian mumbled while shaking his head. Vinzenzael refused to comment further.

Zipporah organized Gottschalk, Theodore, Ortolf, and Vinzenzael into a parameter while Sigsnyr led the children in gathering.

For the first time, Nyimbo felt more prepared than the other second years. When asked, only she could produce a small empty bag to collect pollen. Melchior had to empty a small pouch of tiny faestones to make space, nearly dropping one in the process. “The pollen isn't all that useful anyway,” Sigsnyr assured them. He pointed out where to cut to retrieve the yellow balls without shaking all the pollen from them. As he charged it with mana, rather than the entire ball crystalizing, a wave of green overtook the yellow. “It just makes an impossible number of minuscule green faestones. Fairly pure but not the most useful. It can help you add more water to a brew but that's basically it.”

Melchior beheld his powder reverently. “It's such a pretty color and such fine powder. It normally takes a lot of effort to grind something so smooth.”

“My lord, you cannot be considering what I think you are considering,” Gerianne sighed.

“What?” he asked flippantly. “It is difficult to find such pure green pigment.”

“Pigment?” Korbinian asked, staring at his palmful of hard won faestone dust. “You mean to use it for dyeing?”

“Do you think Kirschnereit dyes their capes that way?” Melchior mused.

“No,” Korbinian huffed. “That's not how we dye our capes so I doubt it's how they dye theirs.”

“Would that work?” Leibshitze asked.

“There is only one way to find out!” Melchior declared.

“My lord!” Gerianne cried. “We have not yet exhausted the uses for gold dust. We have no time to also explore crushed faestones.”

“Gold dust!?” Korbinian gasped.

“The unpublished research of our retinue is something to discuss at a later date,” Sigsnyr declared. “Since the staubkrug is not fruiting, we must locate something else.”

Nyimbo felt her shoulders fall. While this had been and still was an exciting adventure, she was also feeling tired. The slow drip of mana for the armor wasn't a drain she was used to supplying and their lunch had been quite filling. She was feeling more like taking a nap than harrying off to find yet another obscure vegetable.

While the older knights huddled once again over the maps, Melchior continued to examine the plant. He took a couple more pollen balls, likely for his research, then peered into the plant again with both hands braced. He looked back towards the knights then back to the plant then back at the knights.

“Are you planning a mischief?” Nyimbo whispered.

He flinched, seemingly surprised to be being observed even though someone's eyes were on him almost all the time.

“Of course not,” he whispered back. Though the glint in his pale blue eyes was the exact same as any other boys with a ridiculous thought in their head. He glanced towards the knights again.

“Lord Melchior, I must strongly urge you not to do anything unwise,” Nyimbo chided like she did all of her cousins and friends. He seemed taken aback but not upset with her tone.

Gerianne placed a hand on her shoulder. “Lord Melchior does not have many opportunities to do unwise things,” she coaxed, seemingly excited to see what would happen. Nyimbo had no idea what he could be considering and didn't want to get hurt or in trouble. “Don't worry. Leibshitze will protect you.”

Leibshitze turned at the sound of his name. He smiled when he noticed them looking at him but didn't abandon the spot he’d taken with its clear view of the map. Nyimbo had her doubts.

Melchior reached into his belt and pulled out one of the tiny faestones from earlier. “It is really tiny. And this plant does not attack people.”

“It is carnivorous,” Nyimbo reminded. Just because it was still at the moment didn't guarantee good behavior eternally.

“It likely won't do anything,” Gerianne said.

“Then there is no reason to do it,” Nyimbo pressed.

Both girls turned to Melchior. He held the faestone in his hand and sighed. “No, Lady Nyimbo's counsel is wise.” He moved to return the stone to his belt but fumbled the tiny thing. It fell to the ground with a quiet “plonk”.

They all froze but when nothing happened Melchior reached down to pick up his faestone. Nyimbo didn't even see what spooked him before she was being dragged away from the plant.

“It was consumed!” Melchior cried. “Run!”.

At the sound of his distress, several things happened quickly. Gerianne deployed a large golden barrier between their little group and the plant. The knights all turned and summoned shields, their map falling to the ground nearly forgotten. Even the scouts took a few steps closer to see what was occurring. Only Leibshitze was unable to react in time. Thankfully all that happened was the immediate and total dispersal of all the remaining pollen all at once.

The entire world was just yellow for a few moments, an eerie creaking sound coming from the direction of the plant. Then Zipporah appeared from within the cloud of pollen to tower over Melchior and his accomplices. “What did you do?” At least she didn't look worried about being eaten.

“I dropped a faestone,” Melchior admitted immediately. “At first nothing happened but when I went to pick it up something came out of the ground and pulled it under.”

“I see,” Zipporah said with obviously forced calm. “That is peculiar indeed. Yes, we will have to talk about this later. For the moment,” she looked behind her to where the pollen was slowly clearing as it stuck to all of them and everything else in the vicinity, “We should assist with gathering.”

The plant wasn't content with simply throwing its dust everywhere. It also began leaking digestive juices as its reservoir slumped lower to the ground while a tall stalk grew behind it. In a matter of minutes a profusion of flowers bloomed and died and were replaced with small green fruits. The fruits quickly ripened into tantalizing orange berries as large as a baby's fist then shriveled into small red nuggets before the whole plant lost its green hue. By the end, all that remained was a brown husk being slowly degraded by the plant’s own fluids and over a dozen small sprouts peeking out of the surrounding mud.

During the entire life cycle of the staubkrug, Sigsnyr and Korbinian never stopped moving. Every offered hand or storage object was quickly filled with flower buds, flowers, fruits of every maturity, and anything else that seemed like it could be useful. Gerianne summoned a bee shaped highbeast with a crate on its back to carry everything. It hovered over the ground looking more interested in the flowers than an inanimate object should be able to.

“That normally takes years,” Sigsnyr sighed. Like everyone else, he looked worn out by the flurry of activity. Everyone was sticky with pollen and flecked ever so lightly with plant digestive juices. Leibshitze was covered in so much pollen that he was more gold and green than blue and silver.

“Perhaps it is time we retire,” Zipporah suggested.

Nyimbo agreed easily. She was tired and had had enough excitement for the winter. Leibshitze, shockingly, looked disappointed. “We are not going to find a wind ingredient?”

“Apologies, Lord Leibshitze. We wanted to collect something special but it seems we have run out of will,” Zipporah replied.

Leibshitze looked ready to protest but Vinzenzael stopped him. “You already have all you need for your classes don't you?”

“I want to find something for my faestone stand,” Leibshitze grumbled.

Vinzenzael was taken aback though he recovered before Leibshitze noticed. “You will find something worthy soon enough. Now, if you are still so full of energy, we can spar when we return.”

Leibshitze cleared his throat. “Oh there is no need to allow me to take up any more of your time today, Brother. Indeed, now that you say, I am feeling the effects of our sortie.”

“Really!” Korbinian asked with an exaggerated inflection. “After just this casual stroll. I dare say you must need more conditioning.”

“Well… I could continue,” Leibshitze insisted with mild panic. “But we must consider our whole party.”

“How very astute, Lord Leibshitze. It is always important to consider the fitness of all when planning maneuvers.”

Leibshitze nodded soberly. He looked at Nyimbo who tried to look like she wasn't flagging. “You have all been fighting all day,” Gerianne noted, drawing attention back to the older knights. While Nyimbo wasn't used to such intense activity, she wasn't the only person who looked drawn. They were much better at hiding it but when they thought no one was paying attention or their own attention slipped, the tiredness looked like it was much deeper than would be caused by the momentary excitement of the staubkrug harvest.

They began returning to the dormitories beginning with Dunkefelger. Ehrenfest used the excuse of duchy order to convince the boys in blue but it was clear that what they really wanted was to offload their portion of ingredients. Since none of them had drivable highbeasts or even superfluous decorative elements like crates or saddlebags, Gerianne was carrying everything they couldn't transport.

The guards stationed outside Dunkefelger's dormitory didn't chuckle at the state of their party but it looked like they wanted to. Thankfully, servants from inside appeared quickly to cart away the spoils.

“I cannot imagine trying to clean everything of this pollen without Waschen,” Korbinian muttered, his hands once again covered in sticky powder despite his constant use of a handkerchief. Each time he finished swabbing the fabric was momentarily encased in water before returning to a perfectly clean and dry state.

“I can almost appreciate how excited you were about that cloth now,” Vinzenzael teased. “Perhaps I really should find an Ehrenfest girl to woo.” He shot a look Zipporah’s way only to receive absolutely nothing in return. Neither her nor Gerianne even flinched to indicate that they'd heard him speak.

Korbinian giggled and moved to make formal goodbyes to Melchior. Leibshitze joined him in kneeling even as his older brother stewed in his chafing pride. Once all three had taken a knee and removed their helmets, Vinzenzael could speak for all of them. “It is with joy and thanksgiving that we take our leave. Our excursion was both rewarding and delightful. We thank you for your generous invitation.”

“How it warms my heart to hear my own sentiments spoken to me. It was our pleasure to have you along. Oh, that Schlageziel should smile upon all our future endeavors in this way,” Melchior replied.

“How simple it would be to arrange just such a thing,” Korbinian interjected.

Melchior didn't alter his smile even a little as he placed a hand to his cheek. “Would that I were so blessed with free threads. I fear Dregarnuhr has woven with my thread quite extensively already⁶³."

Korbinian raised an eyebrow while Leibshitze looked more sly. “I dare say there could only be time for a facsimile,” he nudged.

“So long as you are not disappointed to have such poor competition,” Melchior replied. “I admit I neglected my Gewinnen last year in favor of other leisurely pursuits.”

Both Vinzenzael and Leibshitze developed twin looks of horror “Gewinnen is not a leisure activity!” Vinzenzael huffed.

“Neither is painting a profession,” Melchior replied to their confusion. “In any case, Lord Vinzenzael, Lord Korbinian, I pray that 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.”

“The gods’ protection upon you as well,” Vinzenzael replied.

Melchior smiled wider and began to mount up on his normally proportioned lion. “As the Goddess of Light rises twice, Leibshitze,” he called like an afterthought.

Nyimbo thought for a second that he was being dismissive but Leibshitze’s beaming smile showed that this particular address was a precious kind of gift. “As the Goddess rises!” he called back. He stood gazing into the sky after them until he was too small to see.

Whether to continue the pretense of going by duchy rank or because the vast majority of the rest of the materials belonged to Ehrenfest, that was the next dormitory they traveled to. When they arrived there were already boxes prepared. Kolteruze was once again waiting for them with everything they could need and Isolde.

“The blessings of Jungereise are realized in our time. Welcome home, my lord,” he greeted with a gentle smile.

“And so I have returned. How has the tem… dormitory fared in my absence?” Melchior replied.

Isolde was the one to answer. “With so many knights absent, things have been calm. Are there any additional materials we need provide for Lady Nyimbo?”

Nyimbo instinctively began shaking her head. They’d already gotten so much. Even if she realized later that she was missing something, she’d already taken too much of these people's time and was also done with being outside. Zipporah meanwhile, reached out for the list. She looked between it and the materials being emptied from the Highbeest and consulted the other knights concerning their collection efforts.

Nyimbo watched with bated breath. She dearly hoped there were no problems. “Everything seems to be in order,” Zipporah said. Nyimbo breathed a gratefully sigh. She turned to Melchior to begin giving her goodbyes.

“I thank you very much for bringing me on this excursion. Do you have a preferred currency?”

From where he was visibly resisting the urge to look through all the ingredients, Melchior turned back with a smile. “It was our pleasure to have you, Lady Nyimbo. Once you have inventoried your ingredients, please let us know if anything is missing. We did agree to ensure you would have all you needed for classes,” he replied, completely ignoring her overture to discuss compensation.

Isolde appeared at his elbow quietly. She whispered all of two words in his ear which sparked no change in expression but a bit of fidgeting. “My scholars will organize an exchange of any additional materials with your attendant.”

Did that include the money she’d agreed to pay? Nyimbo wanted to ask. Isolde’s expression also conveyed nothing definitive. Were Archduke Candidates just uncomfortable talking about money or was there some elaborate ceremony for remuneration? She didn't imagine anyone forgetting their deal so it was probably safe to drop the subject but she didn't like it.

Not wanting to leave without making it clear that she had no intention of breaking her word, she pulled from her pocket the wooden tablet she’d prepared which detailed their agreement, snapped it in half and offered the larger bit, with most of the words and the total, to Melchior. He made absolutely no move to take it while Kolteruze materialized at her elbow and whisked it over to Isolde. The scholar looked it over with more curiosity than seemed normal before making it disappear into her skirts.

“Oh,” Melchior chirped, “As we are in no hurry now that we have finished our excursion, please doff at your own convenience.”

Nyimbo felt relief for only a moment before she saw the pale faces of the surrounding retainers. “If you have a private corner, I can return it with all haste,” she hurried to offer.

“Please do not feel like you must accept such rough conditions a second time,” Melchior replied. “We shall see one another in class. And if not, there will be other opportunities.”

Those around looked like they wanted to say something but had mysteriously given up their habit of correcting their lord in public. Nyimbo looked around. She couldn't help being curious about what could have changed. There were only Melchior’s retainers, she assumed, and the door guards. Were they more worried about the door guards hearing them then they had been of Nyimbo? It was unclear. The only thing that was clear was that she was going to be wearing this armor home simply because Melchior said so.

“I shall take the very best care of it,” she promised, a belated drip of sweat sliding down her spine. Melchior smiled brighter and nodded while the others struggled to hide their horror.

The ingredients were soon apportioned including the faestones the older knights had collected during their rescue efforts. When she tried to argue that she didn't deserve any of those resources since she’d done nothing to collect them, Zipporah assured her that there was value in simply following instructions and not causing danger for those around you. “In the hunt, all value comes with rewards,” she declared.

It was unclear how she was going to truck everything back to her dormitory. Though her satchel could expand to be quite large, their final encounter with the staubkrug and other extras she got were just a little too much to transport on her caracal highbeast. It was made to be fast and adorable, not a pack animal.

“My lord, allow me to escort Lady Nyimbo back to her dormitory,” Gerianne offered.

Melchior did not agree easily. “Do you know the way?” he asked.

Gerianne avoided his gaze as she replied. “I am certain Lady Nyimbo knows where her dormitory is.” She looked at Nyimbo who could only shake her head. She had only ever traveled to her dormitory using the teleportation doors.

Gerianne ignored this to stare back at Melchior boldly. “It would be remiss of us to allow harm to come to a student in our care. What would Ossvault say?”

They would be mildly annoyed, Nyimbo speculated but didn't say. “And who will escort you back? I admit I should not like to find a new training partner so soon.”

“There is always Jochten.”

“My point remains.”

They stared each other down. “I can accompany the young ladies,” Theodore offered. “I know how to find every dormitory. Even the new ones.” He gestured towards his eyes.

Nyimbo sighed. She would just fly to the central building and walk from there if they were going to spend the rest of the day’s light hunting down Ossvault in the Royal Academy woods.

“I’m sure Lady Nyimbo would like to return home in a timely manner. There will be other opportunities to test your evolving skills,” Zipporah said. “Do you know where Ossvault Dormitory is?”

Theodore nodded with confidence. Nyimbo was still skeptical but Melchior finally agreed to allow Gerianne to act as her escort with Theodore's assistance. It was probably for the best, since her Highbeest had both good storage and wouldn't scare anyone.

They were in the air after only a few more words of parting. Melchior and company didn't wait before beginning to head inside, the doors of Ehrenfest closing before they were even out of sight. Gerianne didn’t waste any time watching her coworkers disappear. She held the reins of her bee confidently and snapped them with relish. Nyimbo felt sure that was unnecessary but couldn't begrudge the other girl her excitement.

They were quiet for a few minutes allowing Nyimbo to relax into the plush bench and just appreciate the beautiful view. “Your Highbeest is very comfortable,” Nyimbo complimented.

Gerianne turned towards her with a smile and a blush. “Thank you. I do not always take the time to visualize the seats fully but it felt worthwhile.”

“So, it is not identical every time?” Nyimbo asked. Professor Justus had been quite clear that they should fix a single immovable image in their minds. Then again, Gerianne had displayed two different creatures.

“It remains flexible. That is how I keep my utility-beast separate from my highbeast which is always my first thought and rigidly fixed in my mind.”

“Is having multiple highbeasts difficult?”

Gerinane corrected her flight path from where it had begun to veer away from Theodore’s. “Not as difficult as flying straight, apparently,” she joked. Nyimbo had never had this problem. Then again she was normally facing forward at all times not staring at her passengers. Well, she couldn't fit passengers on her little cat. “Honestly, I am usually in a different frame of mind while fighting. I do not even consider alternatives to my schneesturm when there is danger.”

They continued chatting about highbeast and what apprentice knight training was like. Gerianne did a little bragging about her speed and skill though admitted that she was only better than other pre-apprentices who didn't have the benefit of her master's teaching or were Melchior, who was not as committed by half.

“He knows and is annoyed only occasionally,” she added with a whisper then lingered after leaning close.

The flight path needed correcting yet again after that. Nyimbo felt distinctly that she might be the reason for it. Quite a few people had done things around her poorly which they were perfectly capable of doing well normally. Combined with the proximity and perpetual redness of her cheeks, Nyimbo got the distinct impression that Gerianne might have developed an interest. It could also be the cold wind or day in the winter sun. That did not explain the offer of yet another hand she didn't need to gracefully dismount a highbeast. Nyimbo didn't want to be arrogant, even in her own mind, but it was always nice to receive polite attention.

Gerianne also insisted on carrying the crate to the dormitory doors. Nyimbo reached out to take it but didn't get far as Gerianne began questioning why the guard hadn't sent a message for Nyimbo's attendant upon seeing her charge arrive weighed down by materials, knowing she wasn't capable of sending her own ordonnanz. The guard looked annoyed immediately but sent off the message anyway. Gerianne turned around triumphantly.

“I fear they will be unhappy to have exerted themselves on my behalf,” Nyimbo whispered. Most in her dormitory either kept their distance or antagonized her. She would have preferred to simply take her crate and hurried through the common rooms before anyone could ask questions.

“It's their job. It wouldn't be safe to just leave you waiting here with a bunch of faestones,* Gerianne replied with a shrug.

“I could just go inside,” Nyimbo sighed.

Gerianne looked taken aback. “And carry your own luggage?”

“Yes?”

“Is that a laynoble thing?”

The doors began to open before Nyimbo could respond. It was neither her aunt nor servants to assist with hauling. Lord Ulstenrich stepped out wearing half plate and followed by his three knights.

Nyimbo quickly shuffled to the side to allow him to pass. Gerianne moved more deliberately and was both slower and more graceful for it. She knelt softly in the snow with the crate balanced on one hip. Only just as the door finished opening had she finished the movement but that was with plenty of time to spare for Ulstenrich to pass by. He did not pass by.

“What are you doing out here?” he snapped.

Gerianne spoke up before Nyimbo could form words. “Answering you, Lord Ulstenrich, we are awaiting Lady Nyimbo's attendant.”

Ulstenrich narrowed his eyes. Gerianne didn't stare him down but she didn't bow her head either. Nyimbo tried to make herself smaller, hoping he would accept that non-answer and walk away without finding out she went around him to obtain her materials.

“Ooooh,” he said, drawing out the word to an obnoxious degree. He raked his gaze up and down the two girls. “And what might the knights of another duchy need with Nyimbo’s attendant?”

“Answering you,” Gerianne began though the tone was rapidly losing all deference. “We believe Lady Nyimbo will require assistance transporting her things.”

Ulstenrich heaved a great, annoyed sigh. “Do not make me ask a hundred questions. Why are you escorting Nyimbo at all?”

Nyimbo wasn't sure what to be more worried about: Ulstenrich antagonizing the knights of Ehrenfest the Fifth’s Archduke Candidate or Gerianne provoking Ossvault’s Archduke Candidate. She snuck a look down the hallway, hoping her aunt was at least nearby. She could see her peeking around the nearest corner waiting for the commotion to die down. Nyimbo felt abandoned even though she understood the impulse.

“We could not allow Lady Nyimbo to travel across school grounds all on her lonesome. It simply isn't safe for a young woman to be left to the mercy of the wilds.” Rather than just lacking respect, Gerianne's voice had taken on a definite sharpness.

Whether Ulstenrich understood the many layers of the reprimand for what it was, Nyimbo wasn't sure, he still seemed rather upset by it. “You may be dismissed. Nyimbo is with her own duchy now. Your assistance is no longer required.”

It was very much required, Nyimbo thought. She did not want to be alone with Ulstenrich. Theodore stood to leave but Gerianne remained where she was. She affected the most fake look of contrition Nyimbo had ever seen as she bowed her head.

“Oh Lord Ulstenrich, we beg for your magnanimity. Our lord, Lord Melchior, has instructed that we are not to abandon our charge until we have seen her safely into the hands of her attendant. We beg that you be easy with us and not ask us to ignore our lord’s orders.”

Nyimbo tried not to look amazed by Gerianne's bold faced lie. Couldn't Ulstenrich send just one ordonnanz and find out no such orders had been given? It felt like the sort of petty thing he would do. As the silence stretched, Nyimbo hazarded a glance at him. He looked pale and floundering, not at all like he was prepared to challenge Gerianne’s word.

“You serve, Lord Melchior of Ehrenfest?” he asked in a higher than normal tone.

“It is my honor to do so, yes,” Gerianne replied.

Ulstenrich coughed, cleared his throat, then coughed again. “I see… then, if those are his orders… I’m certain he has his reasons. Yes, aah… carry on then. Ossvault is honored by Lord Melchior's consideration for our student.”

“Oh, thank you ever so much. We shall pass on your kind words,” Gerianne replied with a brilliant smile.

Ulstenrich fled as though chased by wolves. Nyimbo stared at Gerianne as they both rose from the snowy ground. She smiled back smugly. “The name of Lord Melchior carries much weight,” Nyimbo muttered.

“Not usually so much,” Gerianne giggled.

Now that Ulstenrich was gone, her aunt appeared quickly. She took the crate from Gerianne, giving profuse apologies and thanks before leading the way back inside.

Gerianne twiddled her thumbs as they said goodbye. “It was a delight to gather with you. I do not anticipate our second years taking any more trips into the wilds. But… I like to take walks… around the school buildings. If you ever need an excuse to leave your dormitory or just want to see more of the halls, I… I would be glad of your company.”

Ehrenfesters were a bold people, Nyimbo had to admit. Gerianne hadn’t let the incredible redness of her face even slow her down. Nyimbo felt her own neck grow warm and was very grateful it wouldn't be noticeable. “I… I think I would like that.”

“Wonderful. I like to walk in the evenings after class. May I send you a message when I plan to go.”

“You may. I cannot promise that I will always have time but I welcome the invitation.”

Gerianne smiled shyly and clasped her hands together. “I shall send them. May the threads of our fate be woven tightly together.”

“May our threads be woven together then,” Nyimbo replied.

She followed her aunt back inside feeling a little dazed. The previous year, almost no one talked to her and they certainly hadn't invited her to musical gatherings or walking dates. It felt strange to receive so much kind attention all of a sudden. The more she thought about it though, Gerianne had offered her help during prayer class the previous year and Lord Melchior’s had been the first genuine smile she’d received at the Royal Academy. Perhaps it was just Ehrenfest.

Footnotes

62. “Dust barrel” a carnivorous faeplant known for its abundant pollen production and large reservoir of digestive juices. While they can and have eaten people in the past, people are usually too smart to climb in and smart enough to climb out before they can be digested.^

63. “I won't have time for that. I have a lot of plans already.”^

Chapter Text

Melchior sat in a meeting room feeling guilty while Sigsnyr paced before him. Zipporah stood to the side looking more amused than upset but nevertheless seemed to support the lecture in progress. Though fairly used to being lectured by his adult retainers, it was a new and particularly painful experience to be chided so soundly by his younger friends.

Thankfully, he was not alone in receiving counsel. Gerianne sat beside him while the corners of the baby box stood behind them. Only Nikolaus was spared on account of still being off rescuing the children of Yurgenschmidt.

“...It beggars belief that you should all be so inattentive. You should know by now how quickly everything explodes in proportion in proximity to our lord. It is your duty to constrain these kinds of things, to guide and instruct, and to notice the signs!” Sigsnyr leaned on the table, his hair making an effort to escape its confines thanks to his impassioned head clutching. “And Gerianne, did you egg him on?”

Gerianne twiddled her hands in her lap and said nothing. “She did not,” Melchior spoke up on her behalf. “She merely did not speak against me.”

Sigsnyr did not look convinced by this explanation. He still stared Gerianne down until she murmured apologies. “Just be more attentive next time. Consider how your actions will influence the world and ensure the ramifications are your intention.”

“I really could not have predicted Leibshitze would inconvenience Lady Lungtase,” Melchior countered.

“That was surprising,” Zipporah conceded. “It would be best in the future to ask for all the details before lending your communication devices. We should also come up with a graceful way to accept the loss of your ordonnanz bracelet.”

“We could probably sell the design to Dunkefelger,” Isolde added from where the scholars and attendants were sorting the collected spoils. “Or, if you brew more, use them as incentives for fellow schtappeless students.”

“That's something to discuss at our meeting later,” Sigsnyr said before the conversation could go off track. “I only have one more thing to ask Lord Melchior.” Melchior sat up straighter and tried not to look as guilty as he felt. His actions hadn't proven actually dangerous but he knew that they could have. He hadn't known that the carnivorous faeplant they were standing right next to was wholly incapable of moving its limbs with any great force when he’d considered feeding it. Things could have gone very poorly. Even though everything was well in the end, he still felt bad because he’d done something potentially very dangerous without knowing for sure what would happen. That was not holding himself sacred and endangered even those too far from the plant to be affected.

“Why didn't you share your plans with us?” Sigsnyr asked.

Melchior looked at him, perplexed.

“Mm, I imagine he anticipated our rejection and so hid his intentions to prevent us from preventing him from carrying them out,” Zipporah mused. Melchior couldn't help but blush.

“You thought we would stop you?” Sigsnyr asked, now the one who looked perplexed. Melchior reflected his confusion right back. “You assumed we do not want to feed faeplants enough mana to make them do strange things?”

Melchior nodded. “It's dangerous.”

The two best friends smiled identical mischievous grins. “There are ways to mitigate such risks,” Zipporah crooned.

“Especially if you are offering the mana,” Sigsnyr added.

Melchior looked back and forth between them realizing for the first time that they might not be as wise or mild mannered as he’d once assumed. He felt a spark of excitement which quickly deflated. “I would like to do more experiments, but they will have to wait until I’ve obtained my schtappe and you will have graduated by then, Sigsnyr.”

Sigsnyr sighed. “That's true, but there are also many fun plants back in Ehrenfest. We can find some things to poke once you are older.”

Melchior was released from his lectures feeling more hopeful than guilty and resolved to find plenty of fun experiments to do with his knights. The lionshead peony seeds seemed to provide a respectable and compact quantity of mana. It would be good to create a large store of the tiny faestones for future endeavors. Good thing so many grew on each cone. He knew Kolteruze had a stash of them which were likely still in the atrium. They could send for it but there wouldn't be any opportunity for Melchior to see them used. Plus, his room was already packed with tons of junk.

It didn't look like nearly so much stuff when he returned after his lecture. Only his white ingredients crates were still out. Everything else had been neatly stored away in his desk, shelves, or closet and the boxes for transporting them placed in storage. Having seen the disarray it was almost jarring to find he could walk up to anything and find exactly what he expected to be there based on his usual organization system. Zargerecht, however, would not let him touch anything.

“Staubkrug pollen?” he muttered with a frown at Melchior’s enduring dustiness which was swiftly becoming stickiness with time. “Were you drawn into a game of courage?”

“No… what is a game of courage?” Melchior asked.

Zargerecht immediately looked less judgemental though not entirely mollified. “When I was young, we would find staubkrug then dare one another to add small faestones to its bell until it inevitably exploded covering one unlucky lad with pollen much like you yourself.” Melchior’s eyes grew wide as he imagined both a young Zargerecht and him being engaging in something so frivolous and wasteful. “That is not to say that you should revive the game,” he added seriously.

Melchior touched the perfect imprint of his helmet hole which was now stamped on his face and found that he agreed. “It seems like a waste of mana,” he grumbled. The dust was so useful, why waste it on such a game where the prize was just getting sticky. Melchior wondered whether they could yet find a use for the powder still covering him. As faestone dust it hadn't been sticky. If he could convert the dust still attached to him then maybe it could be collected. He focused his mana and, considering what colors would be nice to have as pigment, focused on sending only blue mana to his face.

The tackiness quickly subsided and soon his fingers came away teal instead of yellowish. Zargerecht’s eyes grew wide and a Waschen enveloped Melchior's face before he could hold his breath. Zargerecht rubbed his back as he sputtered even while chiding him. “Faestone powders are much more volatile than their large rock counterparts. A mix of fire and water most of all. What did you hope to accomplish by covering your face in explosive powder?!”

Melchior gave a few final coughs. “I didn't know it was dangerous. I just wanted blue paint,” he growled as his throat and lungs tried to recover from the phantom feeling of drowning.

“You intended to mix it with oil?” Zargerecht scoffed. “First they keep you in filthy armor for a bell and then fail to explain the risk of faestone dusts,” he complained. “You must add a mana arrestor to them for stabilization in addition to the color fixatives you usually add.”

“You’ve made faestone paint before?” Melchior asked, awed by the entirely new sides he was seeing of his old attendant.

“It was popular for murals before mana became so scarce,” Zargerecht said and refused to elaborate, instead hurrying Melchior out of his armor and into a bath.

He was still considering how a person who was used to faestone paint could be so scandalized by gold dust paint as he made his way down to dinner. It was his first meal in the dormitory and the first time his retinue had a table all to themselves. Melchior couldn't help looking towards Charlotte where she sat poised at the head of her own long dining table, her oldest scholar and knight flanking her either side. Not all of the seats were filled since, as with most sixth year Archduke Candidates, Charlotte only had the bare minimum of apprentices still attending. Unlike Melchior and Rozemyne, she didn't employ temporary retainers either. There was plenty of space for them to share if they wanted so Melchior had to conclude that Charlotte didn't want to share.

“Did we ask?” Melchior whispered to Isolde.

“Were you hoping for a repeat of last year where we could discuss very little due to the proximity of Lord Wilfried's retainers?” she asked.

In honesty, Melchior wasn't sure. He liked sharing with Wilfried in an abstract way. It was true that they didn't interact much unless Wilfried was asking inconvenient questions, but it had been nice to see him at the other end of the table. Now there was just a subpar view of half the dining room. No matter his own feelings though, it was immediately clear that his retainers were more comfortable having their own space. It still felt like their table was a little too big with all the empty chairs at the end. With how oversized the dining room was for their current lack of population, it wasn't a problem to have empty seats, just sad in a way that was difficult to name.

“Could we get a shorter table then?” Melchior asked.

Gerianne followed his eyes to the spare seats. “We are not all here yet,” she noted. Which was true. Deliroze hadn't arrived yet and Nikolaus hadn't come down for dinner yet though the slight worry on Pepin's brow made it seem like Nikolaus wasn't just dallying.

“I think there are still too many,” Melchior pointed out. There were seven spare chairs. Even with Adaire added just for company, they would have extra space.

“You could always take on more apprentices,” Isolde mused. Melchior shot her a glare before looking around to make sure no one had heard her speak. She just giggled. “I will discuss it with Kolteruze. We can see about getting a smaller table or collection of tables if you would prefer.” While Melchior didn't like the idea of splitting his retinue among multiple tables, having a smaller one, and perhaps a more round one so he could see more of everyone, would be nice.

Just as the discussion about the empty chairs concluded, Nikolaus and the rest of the rescue team shuffled in looking haggard. Most people had finished or nearly finished their food already so they were well and truly late. They hadn't even had time to change out of their padded tunics, only doffing their armor out of respect for the heightened formality of dinner.

“How was rescue ditter,” Isolde asked the moment Nikolaus’s butt was in his seat.

He tried to glare at her but was met with such a large collection of curious faces that he had to respond. “I think we may have annoyed the Sovereign Knights order,” he sighed and began eating as though he didn't intend to elaborate.

“That sounds quite serious,” Zipporah mused. “How did we manage that?”

Nikolaus finished chewing as a shiver raced through him. “First, the knights of Dunkefelger grew bored of simply waiting for beacons so they took our group back to their gathering spot. It seems you can get permission to allow others to enter or else inform the relevant parties of false alarm preemptively. Naturally, they do not enjoy it when the alarm circles are set off multiple times in one day.”

While Nikolaus took a few more bites of dinner, everyone else fell to whispering. “Why did we travel all over campus then,” Ortolf complained from the far end of the table.

“You didn't enjoy seeing new locales?” Gottschalk asked. “Also keep your voice down. Why would we sit at a separate table if you are just going to yell to the whole room anyway?”

Ortolf sputtered indignantly but kept his mouth shut. “I’m glad we traveled to all those secret places,” Gerianne assured Sigsnyr.

“Even had I known of that option, we would still have done a tour. We don't have as many people to replenish our gathering spot as Dunkefelger and I would like to find a successor anyway.”

Nikolaus paused his shoveling to join the other young knights, minus Ortolf, in staring with stars in his eyes.

“What's the point of that when we have a gathering spot? Everything we need is there,” Ortolf huffed.

“I wouldn't have been you anyway,” Sigsnyr said with an airy gesture of his fork.

Ortolf sputtered again but was preempted by Nikolaus. “Unfortunately that wasn't all. We wouldn't normally respond to a call from Jossbrenner but Dunkefelger wanted to go and argued that it would not be an insult for them to appear like it would be were it just Ehrenfest.”

“I suppose not,” Melchior muttered. The higher ranked middle duchies could be rather hostile towards the upstart Ehrenfest. They wouldn't look kindly on their aid but a response from Dunkefelger would be much better received.

“I’m guessing that wasn't the problem,” Zipporah said.

Nikolaus shook his head and sighed heavily. “No, the problem was that we’d only just arrived and finished scouting when the Sovereign Knights arrived. I tried to order everyone to halt and report to them but the situation was looking quite dire so… we dove in.” Theodore winched and shook his head mournfully. “The Sovereign Knights didn't take well to being ignored nor to how often they'd arrived to distress calls after the situation was resolved only to hear the Ehrenfest had already responded.”

“Why would people name us instead of Dunkefelger?” Melchior asked. It seemed logical to give credit to the highest status person around after all.

“I think it was because I was in charge,” Nikolaus shot Zipporah a tired look which she didn't react to before continuing. “I couldn't think of anything else to say when asked why we were helping except that my lord willed it.”

“Are you saying that every time you respond, you tell people that Lord Melchior sent you?” Sigsnyr asked, eyes wide.

Theodore and Nikolaus both nodded. “Were we supposed to say something else?” Theodore asked.

“Yes,” Zargerecht interrupted. “Ending all such interactions with ‘Lord Melchior sends his regards’ makes it seem as though he is building support.”

“Support for what?” Melchior asked, hoping he wasn't doing something which could upend the delicate political balance back home.

Zargerecht leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “For Zent.”

Melchior couldn't stop the flat smile which immediately shuttered away his panic. “Why ever would anyone think I am looking to found a national faction?” he asked with a calm he did not feel.

“Our country waits eagerly for one who may obtain the book. You are of appropriate age to make an attempt and a wise hopeful would begin building support early,” Zargerecht explained.

“Do you want to be Zent, my lord?” Isolde asked with far too much excitement. He could see many schemes dancing through her head as she awaited his answer and looked mildly devastated as he began shaking his head. “But… how exciting would it be?”

“Foolish is what it would be. The game is too costly, the prize, too dear,” Zargerecht said before standing back up and taking Melchior’s empty plate away.

The table fell into contemplative silence, punctuated only by the soft tinkling of Nikolaus's silverware. “I wished I thought to say ‘Lord Melchior sends his regards’,” Theodore grumbled. Everyone looked at him. “It sounds cooler than what we said. What should I tell people now?”

“Should we stop intervening?” Gottschalk asked.

Nikolaus paled at this recommendation while Melchior shook his head. “No, it is good work for a good cause. The country will be stronger if more students survive,” Melchior added.

“When you speak like that, it sounds like ambition,” Isolde sighed then turned to Nikolaus. “Why are you so worried about not having to spend your potions helping strangers?”

“Sebsalrecht…”

“No title?”

“He insisted,” Nikolaus sighed. “Lord Sebsalrecht wasn't very deferential to the Sovereign Knight Captain. He may have insinuated that the Royal Academy Guard is over burdened and incapable of protecting all of the students and that Ehrenfest and Dunkefelger were happy to pick up their slack.”

Lord Meinard, who generally made an effort to seem like he wasn't listening to anything, dropped a fork. It skittered deafeningly across the ivory as Melchior's entire table and all the attendants serving it fell silent. They were not quiet for long.

“Why!”

“We can not keep consorting with those blue sheets!”

“How do you even begin to apologize for that?”

“What have I done!?” Melchior whispered. This had not been his intention at all. Granted, he hadn't considered how the Sovereignty would feel about students taking on the work they felt was being neglected. Ehrenfest certainly hadn't asked why there was such a huge delay in the Sovereignty’s response to lower rank duchy flares. Perhaps there was a legitimate reason for it which was being disrupted by their interference. But after hearing the stories of his knights occasional rescues, the delay could have gotten students killed. It was important work. Melchior could stand by that regardless of complaints levied against them. Perhaps they would just have to change their approach and exclude Dunkefelger from any future endeavors.

“I think…” Melchior began, cutting through the panicked and excited chatter. “We must consider our response carefully. We are sure to be asked again and more directly about our efforts and we must have a better response than Dunkefelger. Our actions are our own, so we must speak for ourselves.”

“First however, you should finish eating,” Zargerecht declared and began shooing away everyone who was both finished eating and intent on interrupting Nikolaus's meal. It was all too much and the other students were beginning to notice that their table was more lively than normal.

… …

Sigsnyr followed Melchior back to his chambers while Zipporah and Isolde walked back to theirs to calm down and so that Isolde could gather her notes.

“Zipporah,” her aunt said once they were all behind closed doors. There was a bit of edge to it which Zipporah knew preceded complaining.

“Aunt,” Zipporah replied with a significant glance towards Isolde and her attendant.

Her aunt turned to Isolde's hired, mednoble attendant and unceremoniously sent her away with only the flimsiest promise to tend to her lady in her stead. Once they were alone she turned back to the girls. “Girls,” she said, drawing Isolde in as well this time. “It is uncommon for a male Archduke Candidate to have any female retainers. There are places for you elsewhere.”

“Aunt,” Zipporah sighed. “Are you insinuating what I think you are insinuating?”

“There would be no shame in it.”

Isolde began to giggle. “Should we be afraid?” Zipporah’s aunt pursed her lips judgmentally. Isolde tamped down on her mirth. “Oh, you are serious. My apologies.”

“This is a serious matter. It is asking for trouble to antagonize the dark cloak. The boy has endangered all of you with his frivolous orders.”

“They are not frivolous. He hopes to save people's lives,” Zipporah countered.

“No, he gambles the lives of Ehrenfest children against those of foreigners.”

“I would not advise speaking treasonously around me,” Isolde mused. She meandered further into the room and unlocked her note cabinet.

“If you intended to tell him, tell him this as well,” Zipporah’s aunt huffed. “His arrogance endangers my family. I will not stand for it nor will my brother-in-law.”

“Aunt!” Zipporah cried.

“No, Zipporah. I am serious if he wants to garner foreign support just because he lacks said support in Ehrenfest, this is not the way to go about it.”

“He is not trying to gain support, Auntie. How many times must I tell you? He has no ambition. We support Lady Charlotte.”

“Maintaining that facade is the only wise thing your boy has done thus far,” the older woman said. “If he wants to maintain it, he should not be making such bold moves and he certainly should not be putting you in harm's way to do it.”

“Have you so little faith in my abilities?” Zipporah asked. “And in my judgement? If I could not safely intervene I would leave others to their fate.”

“You should not have to make these gambles.”

“I am a knight, Auntie.”

“A knight of Ehrenfest,” her aunt clarified.

“We knights of Ehrenfest are raised to stand between Yurgenschmidt and the Sword of Eweigleibe. This is no different,” Zipporah replied.

“It also doesn't hurt to collect good will from those lesser duchies. Ehrenfest's rise in rank earned us no friends among our peers,” Isolde added. “We have to participate on the national stage now and that means accepting more attention than a backwater lesser duchy might expect.”

Zipporah's aunt looked back and forth between the girls. “Recall what Lord Zargerecht said before. Becoming entangled with royalty is not safe. Antagonizing the royals is courting destruction. You are well positioned to escape association before catastrophe comes.”

“And to demonstrate our worth before rewards are reaped,” Isolde countered.

Zipporah's aunt shook her head as she shooed them away. “Go. Do not be late for your meeting,” she ordered.

Isolde rolled her eyes, as annoyed at being told what to do as usual. Zipporah's aunt didn't care how Isolde felt though. Ever since Isolde had briefly stayed in Zipporah's room the year prior she'd taken the girl under her paw much like she did Zipporah. This was, of course, easy to understand. For all her pride and posturing and her capabilities as a scholar, Isolde was adorably unprepared for anything more rugged than a laynoble tea party.

The girls hastened to their usual meeting room only to find Pepin waiting alone. “Lord Melchior decided to hold the meeting in the new paper workshop so I am here to direct you.”

“An interesting choice,” Zipporah murmured.

“He was impatient to see it,” Pepin said with a shrug.

Impatient was something of an understatement. Melchior was very obviously vibrating with excitement despite the cluttered state of the place. The newly christened Dormitory Paper Workshop was not in a fit state to receive such a prestigious guest. There was barely any room to stand thanks to the many crates and boxes of twigs and bark curls neatly arranged in the center of the room and the giant water trough snaking around the perimeter. Theodore's bundles of feathered vine had also made their way into the chaos somehow. Still, Melchior bounced around touching and looking at everything while Kirk expounded on the wonders of his new workshop.

“...I do not think we anticipated how many buckets of water it would take to fill this giant trough. That has been all I was able to do so far but the magic stove means we can do all our boiling and steaming in this room instead of outside in the snow. That will save a lot of time. And when the artificial stream does get going it will be much easier to process all this black bark but it is also good to see how effective the barrel method will be. So far it's just slow,” Kirk babbled.

Zipporah, Isolde, and Pepin joined the rest of the retinue standing in whatever free space was left. “We seem to be all here,” Isolde called out. Melchior and Kirk paused their tour just before Kirk could begin waxing poetic about the pump and pipes which would carry water over their heads and back to the beginning of the artificial stream. “I must say, I am proud of how our vision was realized but also worried that we failed to account for some things,” she added with a gesture towards the advanced contraptions and giant mess.

Kirk blushed while Benedikt chuckled. “Only a few things. I am not well versed in the plant paper making process but I'm certain you forgot more than a few things,” Benedikt said. He gestured vaguely toward a neat but large pile of miscellaneous tools. “To begin, there is nowhere to safely store the tools.”

“Storage in general seems to be a problem,” Melchior conceded.

“Are you missing anything else, Kirk?” Isolde asked. “Now is the time to make requests.”

The redness in Kirk's face did not abate as he looked around and consulted his wax tablets. “It would be nice to have more ink colors. We prepared a mimeograph and wax paper machine and can make more black ink with the soot collected from the dormitory chimneys. But we have very little colored ink.”

“Are you planning to print a great many things? Were you not just going to test new kinds of paper?” Benedikt asked.

“You speak as though you aren't involved,” Isolde observed.

Benedikt frowned at her. “I have, thus far, not been involved, or else these simple oversights would not have persisted, and that was when I had free time for the endeavor. Between sixth year classes, research, and information gathering, I cannot spare much more time or mana.”

“You would put your personal projects before the business of your lord?” Zargerecht snapped.

“I have approved Benedikt's research. His compendium will be of great value to everyone,” Melchior interjected. “He and Sigsnyr are also working on various magic tools of great worth.”

Zargerecht just hummed pensively while Benedikt looked confused. “My compendium?”

“Your compendium of regenerative plants,” Melchior clarified.

“I don't recall beginning such a project.”

“You should. It is all you have done for three years worth of research,” Isolde scoffed.

Benedikt spent a long moment blinking. Then he turned to Melchior with a smile. “I am not sure what Isolde has told you but, I have been developing a potion not compiling a compendium.”

“If I may,” Kolteruze interrupted. “I recall her saying that you have painstakingly tested a large variety of plants and other ingredients in your attempt to create a potion which lightly accelerates one's healing over a long time interval. You have used highly controlled experiments to establish both the viability of each ingredient for your goal and its innate properties but have not, as yet, produced even a single prototype potion.”

“Well… I haven't finished testing all the possible ingredients yet,” Benedikt replied sheepishly. “Each experiment takes a lot of time.”

“You don't need to test absolutely everything first,” Isolde said.

“You cannot approach brewing with a haphazard mind.”

“You also don't need to test every faeplant in the country,” Kolteruze sighed. “You didn’t even test our gifts.”

“I am saving those for the next step.”

“Mine kind of works,” Kolteruze said. “I'm not very good at brewing but if you were to refine my recipe, or Lady Heilrun's recipe you might have something workable already.”

“I don't know how else to explain process and the need for it,” Benedikt sighed, defeated. “I thank you all ever so much for your contributions to my research and will test them when the time is right.”

“Will you be done before the year is out?” Isolde asked.

Benedikt paused to do some calculations in his head. “It is unlikely.”

“Then you will have nothing to publish,” Isolde declared. Benedikt started to correct her but she barreled ahead. “Nothing worthy of you to publish. ‘Refine what you have. Do not chase what you hope to have,’”

“Why are you quoting this to me?”

“I am quoting last year's head scholar. Sound advice, don't you think?” Isolde asked.

The room held its breath. Benedikt didn't notice. “I am not certain why Lady Charlotte chose to pay us such an insult, but there is no need to perpetuate it.”

“It was not an insult,” Melchior snapped. “Lady Philine was simply the best. She trained with my eldest sister and my uncle. Her contributions elevated our scholarship. Your personal opinions are your own but you will not slander Lady Philine.”

Benedikt froze in surprise then turned a sharp eye on Isolde who just smiled back. “You walked me into this again,” he muttered, though with more inquisitiveness than ire. “My words were unconsidered, my lord. I will hold my opinions in future.”

“That is the least that I ask,” Melchior said. The room remained awkwardly quiet as he corrected his posture to something less obviously angry. “Now, Isolde also said that you keep extensive and well organized notes which she referred to as your compendium. If you would like to publish them, Kirk is well versed in type setting and manuscript preparation and can help you. Or, if you would prefer, Isolde can help you brew prototype potions so that you can publish what you originally planned.”

Benedikt had looked surprised many times over the course of this short conversation but this was obviously the greatest shock. Archduke Candidates didn’t usually offer such comprehensive support for their retainers’ personal projects. Archductal apprentice scholars were expected to produce great research independently from and in addition to their work. “Thank you ever so much my lord. I will act on your counsel and compile a compendium to publish for the Interduchy Tournament. Your choice to offer assistance will not be miss placed.”

“Excellent,” Isolde chirped while Melchior nodded his assent and Benedikt stood starstruck and sheepish. “Now, why don't we have Kirk give his report so that he can retire.”

“Why would Kirk retire mid meeting?” Melchior asked with a tip of the head so slight it had to be genuine.

“Well this is our nightly retainers meeting,” Isolde replied.

“Kirk is my retainer and integral to our research this year.”

Several people looked like they wanted to argue but Isolde cut in quickly again. “Alright. If that is your preference, my lord. Then he should go last." She looked down at her notes. "I sent your request for more Gewinnen boards. We await a response with the morning post. Alexandria has received your gifts and will send their returns within the next few days."

“We already sent over the gifts?” Melchior chirped.

“Yes, I finished compiling your gifts for Alexandria and delivered them. I can say with confidence that you are first," Kolteruze replied.

“It is not worth offending propriety to win this game,” Zargerecht chided.

Looking not at all chastised, Melchior beamed. “You still have some black wool and the copies of Attendant Stories from Lady Brunhilde to present during the socializing season if you wish,” Kolteruze continued.

“That was very quick work. Good job Kolteruze,” Melchior praised.

“I needed a way to relax,” Kolteruze muttered as he blushed from the praise and accompanying smile.

“Relax after what? Did you meet with the Registrar again or something?” Sigsnyr asked.

Isolde nodded while Kolteruze rolled his eyes. “Why did you need to meet the Registrar?” Melchior asked. Normally only the Aub's scholars ever needed to contact them and that was only once per year to finalize all the students’ schedules. “Did you forget to submit your class preferences?”

Kolteruze tamped down on his offense quickly but not before it was noticed. “I would never forget,” he huffed. “They were ‘unsure as to the correctness of my requests’ and ‘wished to clarify the finer details’. I thought my request was quite clear.”

“I doubt it was a question of clarity,” Pepin sighed. “Most people do not take three courses at once.”

“Plenty of people take the knight or scholar course or both in addition to their original area of study,” Melchior said.

“Most people do not request to take two years of a specialization in one,” Sigsnyr corrected.

“I've already had to study all of Chambers. I may as well gain the certifications.”

“You did not need to study all of Chambers,” Sigsnyr replied.

“How can I teach material I don't know?”

“I already know it! I didn't need you to teach it to me!”

“Children,” Zargerecht called. “Is this relevant to Lord Melchior?”

All eyes fell to Melchior who looked the opposite of bored by the exchange. “You are still tutoring Sigsnyr?” he asked.

Kolteruze coughed to clear his throat. “Apologies. I have been, yes, he agreed to help me hunt for my jureve.”

“Oh yes! I forgot about that. Did you manage to collect your autumn ingredient?”

Kolteruze gained a far away look as he replied that he had and that he would prefer never to think about it again. Apparently the Night of Schutzaria was not a good time to collect ruelles.

“It was quite exciting,” Zipporah said wistfully.

“Kolteruze is also trying to add the Traveling Companion specialization,” Pepin said to get things back on track. “Two different years of one specialization and a second specialization is very uncommon.”

Melchior had to agree this time. He was also confused by an attendant track he'd never heard of. “We do not receive many tourists so it is not done in Ehrenfest but you hope to travel widely and requested that I take a specialization,” Kolteruze explained.

“You didn't have to choose something based on my interests,” Melchior said. He stared at Kolteruze somewhat dazedly.

“You are my lord. On what other criteria would I choose?”

“Your own interests and ambitions?” Melchior suggested.

Kolteruze looked more confused than ever. Gottschalk found a spot adjacent to a wall so he could lean against it and yawn. He wasn't the only person looking fidgety. Having such a long meeting standing up was growing trying. Spending it talking about Kolteruze was further trying still. “Well, we wish Kolteruze the best of luck completing his class schedule,” Isolde said before blessedly pushing the agenda forward.

She consulted her list again. “Veremund's schnefeld has been felled. All obligations to him from last year have thus been fulfilled. Please thank Lady Charlotte for her assistance in the hunt at your convenience.”

“I will. Did Sister ask for anything in return?” Melchior asked.

This time Zipporah cut in. “She did not. We were just so galvanized after our morning hunt that it felt right to take on the task together in the afternoon. Also, Veremund is tanning a schnefeld hide for her so she has been well compensated.”

“You hunted more than one?” Sigsnyr whined.

“Three,” Zipporah bragged. “We shall have enough smoked schnefeld for the next two years, probably.”

“You could make so many bodkin from all those bones,” Kirk muttered. Most people either ignored or only lightly acknowledged this statement.

“What's a bodkin?” Melchior whispered while Zipporah and Sigsnyr fell to squabbling over the girls’ hunting party taking Veremund but not him.

“It's a kind of large needle often made from bone. We could also make bone folders. Well, not we, probably. I'm not sure how its done. Probably lots of grinding stones or knives.”

Melchior nodded along. “Flautzeal probably knows,” he whispered back.

“Lord Flautzeal did look curious about the topic.” Melchior tried to sneak a glance towards Flautzeal. The young apprentice scholar stood near Isolde and hadn't spoken yet during their meeting. He looked to be contemplating what he could sit on more than the nature of bone tools. It wasn't just him looking for somewhere to rest as their meeting dissolved into a collection of petty arguments. Ortolf and Gottschalk leaned heavily against the wall while Nikolaus was carefully and quietly shuffling a bundle of sticks to one side of their crate so that he could sit on the edge of it.

“I recall that you spent those bells with Evones so you were too busy to accompany us any way,” Zipporah huffed.

“I can pick flowers with Evones anytime,” Sigsnyr replied.

“Everyone,” Melchior called. Nikolaus dropped a stick while Pepin stopped the large bundle from toppling over loudly. Everyone else turned their attention to Melchior. “As amused as I am, I would not hold you all here too much longer. Is there anything else on our agenda, Isolde?”

“Yes, thank you, my lord. It is good you mentioned Lord Evones. Though the vein of his research has followed a different path, he has agreed to join Sigsnyr and Benedikt in their roost research.”

“We won't be able to sell roosts to Hauchletze but it will be good to have another skilled hand on the problem,” Benedikt added.

“Why couldn't we sell roosts to Hauchletze?” Isolde asked.

Benedikt looked wary of engaging with her but still replied. “Lord Evones is one of the originators of the technology. He is from Hauchletze. Why would they pay for the work of their own scholar?”

“That will be for us to figure out,” Isolde said cryptically. “In any case, since Professor Hirschur retired, he is in need of a new research space. I believe we should endeavor to provide it.”

“Attendant professors have salons rather than laboratories,” Kolteruze noted.

"Didn't Professor Justus offer his laboratory as the spiritual successor of professor Hirschur?" Benedikt asked.

"We've decided not to take him up on the offer," Sigsnyr replied.

Benedikt look amazed. "Really? But he will have access both to Lord Ferdinand's research notes and Aub Alexandria who helped invent roosts in the first place."

Sigsnyr just shrugged in response, his arms crossed and head cocked in a silent declaration of unshakable resolve.

“We will figure it out in the next few weeks,” Isolde said with a dismissive wave. Melchior wasn't sure they could so easily dismiss this problem. He knew Lord Justus was considered an eccentric man, but he didn't want his retinue to be on bad terms with him. Plus their dormitory professor didn't have her own lab anymore and they weren't like other duchies with many professors of several types or Drewanchel with its hard won permanent research space in the scholars building.They would have to look to other duchies or else turn one of their smaller tea party rooms into a publicly accessible laboratory; a much greater ask than taking over a spare training room.

Isolde forged ahead before he could press into the topic. “That is all I have on my list. We also have the Dunkelfelger problem and our timetable for paper research,” she concluded. She turned towards Nikolaus, wordlessly implying that he should speak next.

“Um… I talked about what happened earlier. I don't have any solutions yet,” Nikolaus admitted sadly.

Kirk looked around as everyone nodded. He wasn't sure what the Dunkefelger problem was but it had to be serious if it included a greater duchy. No one seemed ready to speak about the topic. “Perhaps we should ask Sister,” Melchior said.

Isolde nodded and scribbled down a few notes. “Would you like to include this in your first report back to Ehrenfest?”

Melchior shook his head. “We should be able to manage the problem without worrying Father,” he muttered.

“It will still be important for the Aub to know as it pertains to interduchy relations.”

“Then we should make a report after we've found a solution,” Melchior said.

"We shall take some time to consider it," Isolde declared, closing the topic since no one had anything else to add.

With all the noble business taken care of, attention finally turned to Kirk. He began his report by looking around at the state of his workshop. "I believe I will need more storage. Unfortunately, using this room has already reduced the dormitory's total storage space. We could not find any spare shelves and the sticks tend to fall out when the crates are staked atop each other sideways. Fortunately, other than this, we should be able to work through all the provided bark within a few weeks."

"All of this can be processed in just a few weeks?" Benedikt asked.

"More or less. It will depend on how quickly things dry and how difficult it is to make usable paper out of each plant. Some may require different kind of proportions of toro. Thankfully the information we received from Hasse's experiments provided very detailed information on the many faults possible in paper making and how they might be corrected.

"We have begun working through the volrin bark to test our systems and will know more about where our process requires improvement by this time next week," Kirk concluded.

"So it will be some time before we can expect new kinds of faepaper?"

"It will depend on the fitness of the materials, but we will have new attempts ready before the research season begins in earnest."

Benedikt nodded while trying not to look as excited as he was about new kinds of paper. Melchior shared in his enthusiasm though, as he looked around, he had no idea what sort of paper he could expect. The bark all looked inert where it rested in its crates. "What kind of wood did we receive? What are the properties of the faeplants?" he asked.

Kirk shifted a few things to uncover a very dark wooden board covered in white script. He handed it directly to Melchior, seemingly not seeing Zargerecht's waiting hand. Unlike when most people who were not his attendants attempted to hand him something, Melchior didn't hesitate to accept it. The faeplants were listed using their common names alongside short descriptions of their behavior. It they were anything like Ehrenfest faeplants, then Dancing Willow should make paper predisposed to moving around while Singing Thrush Nest might create something similar to effon paper assuming the singing was in reference to the plant rather than the bird. There was no telling what a faeplant with a tendency to teleport randomly might create nor whether and how sticky Gelatinous Slime Wood paper might be. The bark was faintly see through so it might be something similar to rinfin paper. Iron Bridgewood seemed like it would be the hardest to turn into paper but the results should be very strong. The selection was rounded out by local samples of volrin, a plant which could be found all over the country.

"It will be interesting to see how Lady Charlotte's scholars manage to make use of them," Flautzeal mused. "Once we make the paper, do we just hand them samples?"

Scratching his head, Kirk gently presented some rather devastating news. "Lady Charlotte only has two scholar's in residence this year. From the discussions I've heard around the dormitory, they will be very busy with information gathering and the ongoing research into divine protection's acquisition. I do not anticipating much assistance from that avenue."

Besides being visibly surprised by Kirk's observations and analysis, Melchior's scholar's realized slowly that they'd been had. "We will be doing all the work but ceding half the credit if not more," Benedikt grumbled. "What will Bershmman be contributing to this work?" he asked Kirk who couldn't stop himself from tipping his head in a disrespectful display of confusion. "You wouldn't know," Benedikt answered for him.

"My apologies, Lord Benedikt, but no, I do not."

"Other than providing the materials, I do not recall Sister speaking of any other involvement. We do not want them to steal our process before we can complete our trade," Melchior said. "Do they have many scholars? We will just have to ask."

"We need not just accept that Lady Charlotte will not provide more direct aid. She may have few personal scholars but she is able to mobilize the unattached scholar's of the dormitory not to mention the several students who have expressed interest in being involved in any project connected with you," Isolde said. "There is also always the option of working with Drewanchel again."

"That might allow them to ascertain how the paper is made," Flautzeal mused. "I cannot imagine how close they must be already. Having more examples will only make it easier."

"We will consider it as a last resort. There is not express need to present working magic tools in addition to new kinds of paper," Isolde said coolly. "However, it may be worth collaborating on roosts since our primary goal is wide distribution rather than great profit." The scholars nodded together while the knights yawned.

"Drewanchel has faux-schtappes, 'ranke' I believe they are called," Sigsnyr said. "I doubt they will be interested in a single use tool when they already have more comprehensive replacements."

"They take interest in everything new and ranke, as I understand it, are very expensive and unfit for use by weaker nobles," Isolde mused. "It may be worthwhile. And if not them than Immerdink or Kostenlos will take interest."

The scholars continued chatting about possible research partnerships while everyone else listened. While Melchior recognized the importance of these things, it was difficult to remain attentive as they dove deeper and deeper into the minutia. As his attention split and wandered he was able to take in just how bored and tired everyone looked. Only Kolteruze seemed energized but that just added to his unconscious show of restlessness.

"I think," he began, once again interrupting the conversation in progress. "We can leave planning for joint research in your capable hands. There is also no need to decided tonight. Today has been an exciting day. If there is nothing pressing," he paused. No one offered any topics. "Then we can retire for the night and revisit this topic once we have more concrete recommendations."

Those who weren't assigned to follow Melchior didn't hesitate to disappear the moment they were given permission. Melchior returned to his rooms at a more sedated pace. He changed for the fourth time that day, glad he'd washed earlier and could spend his fleeting night moments on something else. First, he unstrung his bow and wiped it down of any lingering pollen. Though his attendants would normally handle any and all maintenance and cleaning of his things, he wanted to take care of his bow personally. His father had promised he could borrow his beloved archery equipment so he was determined to be worthy of it. Sylvester loved archery. Melchior couldn't imagine him leaving his all important bows in the hands of others.

Besides just wanting to care for any future loans, he also wanted to make sure Henriette could make use of his equipment. He could already see how she had excitement for all things physical and knight adjacent. Of course, she would never get to be a knight if she got sent to the temple. Even if it meant they could spend more time together, she would, likely never reach her full potential were she cast out of society. He held his bow and tried to convince himself their struggles were for the best.

Before bed, Melchior wrote his second letter to his little sister in as many days. It was short and contained mostly doodles of the squishies from the heat vents but it soothed him to prepare it.

In the middle of his room, there was a partition, placed there to separate the living area from the sleeping area. He was surprised upon walking around it for the first time since his room was fully assembled to find a second, smaller bed next to his own. Apparently, the edict requiring him to have a nightwatch was still in effect and his retainers were not going to endure a mere bench for another winter.

Chapter Text

Melchior spent most of the following day calmly. Most of his knights joined him for his first morning workout of the year. Though he got the distinct impression that only he was challenged by it, it was still fun to train as a group so that he could secretly marvel at some people's flexibility or lack there of. Just after his morning wash, Isolde sent an ordonnanz detailing some possible additions to his schedule. The only thing which interested him was meeting with Lady Lauriel. Though he knew he should practice Gewinnen before he was called upon to play for socializing purposes, it was not how he wanted to spend this particular day. During breakfast, Sigsnyr and Flautzeal agreed to work on shelves for the workshop together. They were not equally happy about the prospect of spending the morning out in the woods but Flautzeal owned most of the woodworking tools, including all the milling saws, and was not ready to leave them with Sigsnyr unattended even with Zipporah watching over him.

Besides the wood collection team, Gottschalk took Ortolf with him to the gathering spot alongside Jochten and Ansgar leaving Theodore and Nikolaus to trade off guard duty. And so, after breakfast, Nikolaus and Gerianne accompanied Melchior to the paper workshop once again. Zargerecht was as much a fan of him assisting there as he had been about him assisting Veremund. However, Melchior wanted paper and he wanted it quickly and his desire for speed outweighed all arguments to the contrary. Plus he didn't need to do any hard labor yet. Kirk was not yet at the stage where he could delegate work even if he wanted to. But, since the workshop was built to accommodate both commoner and noble craftspeople, there were several time saving gadgets which Melchior could so generously fill with mana. So he contented himself with filling the "stream" with over a dozen well-trip's worth of water using a standard greenstone pitcher and powering all the switch activated contraptions.

With his artificial river now flowing, Kirk needed no additional assistance moving all the crates around to give himself more space so Melchior returned to the common room to greet the first years. It wouldn't actually be appropriate to do more for most arrivals than offer smiles and nods from across the room so he commandeered a small table and had Zargerecht set up one of his special tea services so he could practice pouring. Zargerecht took the opportunity to introduce the full selection of tools Melchior would need to be truly self-sufficient in his self-service of tea.

In addition to a teapot, serving pitcher, stirring spoon and spoon rest, tea cup, and tea towel, he also needed a greenstone pitcher, bluestone kettle, waste water jar and accompanying tripod, a water collection tray for cleansing the dishes with boiling water, and a pair of tongs to manipulate the vessels during cleansing. "You cannot use Waschen so you must use the archaic method. It would not be inappropriate for you to offer any guests the opportunity to use Waschen if that is their preference but boiling water is sufficient for otherwise clean dishes. This method is not taught at the Academy anymore, but it was once a much dreaded course," Zargerecht explained with a small smile. He was very obviously enjoying showing off his easy mastery of the tongs, their metal tips making only the smallest, most musical twinkling sounds as they gripped the tea cups.

Melchior's towel was very wet and his tiny hands were exhausted by the time he'd managed to make a cup of tea. He'd also missed a couple of arrivals treating them only to his most strained smiles and bizarre dance with the stoneware. Not even the ongoing Gewinnen tournament was enough to distract everyone away from watching him struggle. The resulting tea was just passable but the flavor was much enhanced by his sense of accomplishment.

After the last laynoble had arrived and been plied with tea by the older students, Deliroze was the first mednoble through the common room doors. Fridegern followed behind with a serene but inquisitive expression. He began to steer Deliroze towards a clear seat near the other first years but Deliroze moved towards Melchior instead. Melchior placed down the story he'd only just begun reading to greet him.

"I offer greetings on this morning held in the warm embrace of Geduhld the Goddess of Earth," Deliroze began.

"I accept your greetings and welcome you to Ersterde," Melchior replied then motioned to the empty space on the other side of his small table. Fridegern quickly provided a chair before taking his leave to prepare Deliroze's rooms. "Would you like some tea?" Melchior offered with great enthusiasm.

Deliroze looked over the table before shaking his head. "I could not accept tea made by your hands, my lord."

"Why not," Melchior asked while beginning to sanitize a new cup. "Is my tea not sufficient to your tastes?" he teased.

Deliroze looked around the common room at the many people now watching with great interest. "I'm not qualified."

Melchior held the cup over the catch-tray while the water dripped and steamed off then awkwardly placed it on a saucer with a triumphant smile. "Nonsense. You are my retainer, a fellow member of the church where all are equal, and my ... father's ward. Besides, it is just practice tea."

With nothing to do except accept the offered tea, Deliroze took the cup and saucer with a grateful nod. Practice tea was quite accurate. Deliroze still drank all of it with a smile that grew less strained as Melchior talked about life in the dormitory and what the school year would be like. He was especially interested in the progress of the paper workshop since he would be helping Kirk throughout the year. As the recounting shifted to a recitation of the meeting he'd blessedly missed, he was reminded of the job he'd been entrusted with.

"My lord," he interjected while Melchior paused to pour new cups of tea. "I have messages for you." Melchior gestured for him to continue while he focused on the brewing and pouring. Deliroze retrieved his diptych from his potion belt and began relaying his notes. "The castle has accepted your request for Gewinnen boards. They will be delivered in a couple of days after someone finds time to exhume them from storage."

"Were we not just using them this autumn?" Melchior asked.

"I believe they want to find boards which are both robust and fine enough to bring to interduchy gatherings."

"The are just for the common room," Melchior sighed.

Delirose made an annoyed face. "Isolde did not include that in her note." He took a sip of tea. The brew was better than the first cup. "We will also receive a list of questions to ask other duchies. Kazmiar says we should try to be discrete though it's also ok to lean on your youth to ask in a more guileless fashion."

"We shall be discrete," Melchior declared with an annoyed lilt.

"Oh, um... You have been asked to inquire with Lord Ferdinand as to whether he would like his childhood Gewinnen set sent to him. Aub Ehrenfest believes it is stored with the other boards."

"I can ask Letizia to ask him," Melchior mused. He fiddled with an ordonnaz bracelet while considering whether it would be alright to send her a message before the Fellowship Gathering. It had been alright to send one to Rozemyne but they had a much closer relationship. Then again, his retinue had already made contact with her retinue. It would not be strange for him to open communication himself.

Melchior bound the all-in-one ordonnaz to his roost, having remembered the Lungtase debacle, then activated it. "This is Melchior, Greetings to my beloved niece. I wonder whether you could assist me in a small matter," he said then added. "This ordonnanz returns." Hopefully she would understand that it was homing since Alexandria already made use of roosts and homing ordonnanz. Melchior paused before sending the bird to give Zargerecht the opportunity to object then tossed the bird into the air. It flapped its wings quickly before sailing off to the south. He glanced back at Zargerecht after just to be sure.

"I believe you are already aware of my opinion," Zargerecht said. "I can only assume you are content with the consequences."

Melchior worked very hard not to cringe. Somehow that was worse than just being chastised. He still felt the message couldn't be considered rude nor could any ridiculous leaps in logic not be corrected as they appeared. Neither he nor Letizia were interested in a match with each other but she had seemed amenable to projecting a sense of familial closeness. Yes it would be fine.

Deliroze finished his second cup of tea before Melchior received a response. He gazed longingly towards the table where most of the first years were gathering. "Would you like to spend some time with your cohort?" Melchior asked in what he thought was a casual tone.

Deliroze easily detected his small disappointment but felt it was important to escape their display of over-familiarity as quickly as possible. It was one thing to be able to say he was paying respect to his lord and passing on messages but if he lingered too long, it would become clear that Melchior was just hosting him for tea casually, like something close to equals. "It would be good to mingle," Deliroze replied.

Melchior accepted his cup and placed it in a previously empty basket. "I won't keep you from your friends," he said coolly just like Delia used to when he and Konrad would run off together. Deliroze wasn't sure how to feel about the vaguely fraternal subtext he now recognized where it underpinned this interaction. Were he not faced with an Archduke Candidate and his employer, he could almost mistake this for a welcome from an older sibling.

With that terrifying though, Deliroze took his leave and Melchior continued his practicing. Things moved more quickly after Zargerecht informed him he did not need to drink every cup of tea he poured. Though not happy about how much tea was wasted, Melchior wanted to be as elegant when pouring as Lady Florencia and knew such a thing took practice.

Eventually, Melchior received a response. "This is Letizia. I am willing to hear your request, dear cousin," said a perfectly normal ordonnanz. Melchior surveyed the round faestone with confused annoyance.

"Why do they keep stealing my ordonnanz?" he huffed.

"Because they can," Zargerecht replied. "There are no ramifications for ladies of a greater duchy keeping something as inconsequential as an ordonnanz."

"Could I create ramifications," Melchior grumbled. He'd worked hard brewing all those bangles and now couldn't enjoy the sound of them jangling when he only had one left. "They could have asked."

"There would be political ramifications for ladies of a greater duchy requesting jewelry from a young man," Zargerecht said.

Melchior huffed again while he considered his response. "This is Melchior. I fear I failed to properly communicate that my ordonnanz will always return to me regardless of intended recipient," he sent knowing that Letizia must know how homing ordonnanz worked.

There was not nearly so long a delay for the next message. "This is Letizia. The nomenclature 'this ordonnanz returns' was clear. I shall be adopting it."

"I do not think she intends to return your ordonnanz," Zargerecht translated. "I also disagree that the phrase 'this ordonnanz returns' will be sufficient warning for those unaccustomed to homing ordonnanz."

Melchior poured his next cup of tea with more aggression. Sure, they were just ordonnanz but they were also the culmination of his brewing training and part of a three part accessory of which he now only retained one sad part. "You can ask Benedikt to brew more for you," Nikolaus suggested.

"I suppose," Melchior conceded. It would take so long for him to get his new bangles if he ask Benedikt right before the start of classes. Plus the scholars' planning sessions would be interrupted.

Melchior sent off his proper request once he'd schooled his attitude back into neutrality. It was simply the truth that Letizia was higher ranked than himself. No matter how familial they behaved, she would always be more powerful. He couldn't make a stronger complaint than he had already. At least Letizia easily agreed to pass his inquiry to his uncle.

He rolled Letizia's regular ordonnanz around in his hand while he sipped his most recent cup of hot water, barely flavored now that he'd practiced pouring tea so many times, and considered just how inconvenient it was to carry around so many loose magic tools. It would probably be best to keep his tiny ordonnanz for emergencies or for messages to people who couldn't confiscate them on a whim. Though he had planned to use bangles for everything else it was beginning to sound like a bad idea.

His rueful musing was interrupted by the arrival of Adaire. Whose voice could be heard discussing the architecture before he turned the corner into the Common Room. "...so it still looks exactly the same as when you attended?" he was asking. Rather than reply, his attendant pushed him towards the middle of the room. Adaire looked like he was going to ignore this prompting and follow them back to his new chambers but noticed Melchior and his subtle invitation before he could leave. Unlike Deliroze, Adaire made his way across the room looking excited rather than serious. He knelt to give greeting them graciously accepted a seat.

"I feel awfully slothful leaving all the unpacking to others," he mused.

Melchior nodded his understanding. "I am sure they have a system which it is best not to disturb."

"Shouldn't I learn the system?" Adaire asked. "I am an apprentice attendant after all. I can manage my own chambers."

Zargerecht shook his head softly but didn't elaborate. Instead he showed Melchior how to elegantly discard his spent tea leaves. "You don't prefer to experience a new kind of tea service?" Melchior asked.

"I must admit to being curious. Is this your new ritual?" Adaire asked. He watched all of Melchior's movements carefully and with some confusion. "I don't think I've ever seen someone use so much hot water," he mumbled.

Melchior kept his shoulders up despite their wanting to curl in embarrassment. "In the absence of Washen, boiling water can be used for cleaning," he explained.

"I see." Adaire accepted his cup of tea and drank some without really tasting it.

"How is it?"

"The tea is not just for ritual purposes?" Adaire delayed. He looked like he didn't want to pass judgment on the tea. Now Melchior's shoulders did fall. It must be terrible if Adaire wasn't even willing to give empty praise. "I mean..."

"No, I am just practicing my brewing and pouring. I would like your honest opinion even if it is bad so that I may improve enough to display my skill before other duchies," Melchior explained.

"Oh... Well," Adaire took another sip and lingered over the flavor this time. Melchior watched his face for micro-expressions but couldn't discern the meaning behind any twitches. "I believe the water was too hot and the steeping too short. You have avoided bitterness through abbreviated brewing but could achieve deeper flavor with cooler water."

Melchior and Zargerecht looked at him with minor amazement. "I accept your counsel," Melchior said with a genuine smile. "You are most wise in the ways of tea."

Turning a light pink, Adaire held his tea cup in front on his face. "I am but a novice who has had a few more cups of tea."

"Nonsense. I tremble before your vast allotment of Erwachlern's favor." Melchior teased. "Unfortunately," he continued with a rare expression of sadness, his usual smile not yet restored to contain it, "Controlling the water temperature is very hard with my current mana control. This may be the best I can do."

Adaire shook himself out of his dazed staring to answer. "Oh... Ah, I believe you will manage. You can wait for the water to cool or add in some cool water to adjust things to."

"Really?" Melchior asked, more to Zargerecht than Adaire. He nodded but noted that it was better and more elegant to hit the right temperature "in kettle" than to fiddle with several pitchers. "I will keep practicing, but I will also keep that in mind."

The last mednoble arrived just before lunch. He received his smile and nod from Melchior just before being swept away to the dinning room. Zargerecht called Pepin over to manage the tea making tools while he followed Melchior who meandered towards the dining room, distracted by his simmering annoyance concerning the theft of his magic tools. Most of it was blown away by the delicious food. Though tempered, it carried the character of Sheila's cooking which he'd been missing and was almost identical to his retainer's meals, allowing them to discuss the fare and removing the jealous twinkle Gerianne usually had in her eye. It was difficult to be angry with his table almost full of friends. Though the table was still too large for his liking but Deliroze and Adaire helped to fill the chairs and brighten the atmosphere.

Flautzeal and Sigsnyr did not seem to find it difficult to be crumudgeony despite the good food and fine company. While Zipporah was doing a better job of hiding it, she also looked obviously exhausted.

"We are changing the design," Sigsnyr declared.

Flautzeal balked and bristled. "There is nothing wrong with my design!"

"He did not say there was anything wrong with it just that it must be changed," Zipporah mediated with the tired timbre of someone that had spent a lot of time mediating that day.

"It is the same thing," Flautzeal mumbled.

"No, it's not. And we don't need to change the design so long as you are willing to cut all the wide flat boards you need."

Flautzeal looked cowed for only a moment before recovering enough to snip. "It is not so many boards."

Sigsnyr clutched his fork in a white knuckle grip before winching and putting it down so he could cradle his hand. "We spent an entire bell sawing one log one time! I don't care whether there are three planks or three hundred planks. If each one takes two bells we need a different method."

"I imagine three hundred planks would be quite the undertaking," Nikolaus muttered. Sigsnyr and Flautzeal looked at him like he'd spit in their lunches. He held up his hands in surrender.

"Lord Melchior," Sigsnyr began with a forced smile and even more forced tone. "Might we borrow Nikolaus for the afternoon? He has spent all morning just standing around, no?"

"Guarding is not just standing around," Nikolaus argued. Sigsnyr just smiled at him then back at Melchior.

"Do you need any more assistance?" Melchior asked.

"We could use some help with hauling," Zipporah mused. "Have you finished gathering, Gottschalk?"

Gottschalk paused his eating, fork halfway to his mouth. "Well there was something we wished to look at this afternoon."

"Do you still need Ortolf?"

Gottschalk looked from Ortolf to Zipporah and back. Ortolf looked at him beseeching. "If you have need of more assistance, I could not, in good conscience keep him for myself."

"Then we thank you for your sacrifice," Zipporah replied while Ortolf stared at Gottschalk with a open look of betrayal. He was too far away to pat on the shoulder so Melchior just sent him a smile of encouragement.

After lunch, Melchior made his way to the brewing room to rectify the lack of jangle on his arm. He expected to find a few people given how many students had attended lunch in their brewing clothes. He did not expect to find Veremund and Eisenfleur at the center of a maelstrom of ingredient processing. Eisenfleur was nine of fourteen ingredients deep into what looked like Ferdinand's greater potion alternate recipe as modified for strength by Benedikt. Veremund, meanwhile, looked like he was both guarding her and inspecting offerings from various scholars and knights against a list on a wooden board so old its corners were worn away and finger shaped divots marred its edges.

"Greetings Lord Melchior. What brings you to the brewing room?" Veremund greeted.

"Greetings, Veremund. I wanted to brew some ordonnanz," Melchior replied.

"Really?" Melchior nodded. "I suppose your scholars are exceptionally busy... even the one's not actually attached," Veremund's voice petered out to little more than a low growl at the end. A glance over Melchior's head had him smiling again after clearing his throat. "Still. If it is only ordonnanz, you could employ your attendants."

"I would like to practice," Melchior replied. He looked around the very busy brewing room with some trepidation. "Is it normally like this before classes? I thought last year was a special case."

"It was but it is also always very busy. Many people hope to brew potions in anticipation of their practical classes and there are only so many stations."

Looking around, it was clear that there were more cauldrons than the space could support. Melchior wondered how things worked when their were twice as many students. For the afternoon, Melchior had a table and cauldrons moved to the training room they'd used the previous year. It was once again freezing cold and storing many raw skins but tanning operations had not yet begun. While the brewing satellite was established, Melchior hovered near Veremund, trying to understand what he was doing without interfering.

"It is no burden to explain," Veremund said.

Melchior blushed but managed not to look any more shy than that. "That is a very well loved board."

Veremund handed it over but kept the slip of paper he'd been using to make additional notes. "It is the recipe for expansion fluid. Lady Charlotte put me in charge of brewing it this year."

"That sounds like quite the honor," Melchior mused. Several people snickered.

"There are greater accolades available," Veremund rumbled. He leaned on the closest bench. "I will also note that I would have been willing to offer assistance in this way given our flagrant use of the liquid last year. Lady Charlotte need not have offered her recommendation by way of compensation."

Melchior tipped his head in confusion. If Veremund needed a recommendation, he need only ask. There was no reason for him to do a side task to earn one when his work had already been of such high quality. And, Melchior remebered, Veremund didn't want to work in the castle. "Was that a threat?" he mumbled as the thought entered his head. But why would his sister feel the need the threaten Veremund?

"Very astute, Lord Melchior," Veremund whispered as he gestured for the board back.

As much as he wanted to ask more, Zagerecht announce that his brewing annex was ready and moved him away. Melchior resolved to offer Veremund any help he could with the expansion fluid, both because it was vital for everyone's jureves and because he wasn't happy with Veremund being threatened but wasn't sure what he could do about it. He tried to find a solution while preparing the ingredients for his switches but didn't understand any part of the situation well enough.

Just before dinner, with three new bangles added to his once silent wrist, Melchior waited for his meeting with Lady Lauriel. This time there were plenty of meeting rooms available so they'd selected a small one.

"Did she say why she wished for a meeting," Kolteruze asked while they waited.

"She means to offer material goods as proof of her gratefulness," Isolde replied.

"Did you assure her that was unnecessary?" Melchior asked.

Isolde shrugged. "If she wants to be generous, why not accept?"

"She already gave me her thanks verbally last year. Was this situation not closed at that time?" Melchior sighed. As much as he enjoyed gifts, it was his duty to bless the people of Ehrenfest and therefore not something requiring excessive recompense.

"She probably..." Kolteruze began but was cut off by a look from Isolde. They sent several expressions back and forth which Melchior missed during his rumination. "Perhaps there is more to it."

"What more could there be?" Melchior asked.

Before anyone could answer, Pepin stepped in to announce Lauriel then led her and her attendant into the room. They each carried a box which was passed to Melchior's attendants and knights for testing.

"I thank you ever so much, Lord Melchoir for once again treating me with such magnanimity," she began.

"Lady Lauriel, I fear I have done nothing recently to earn your gratefulness," Melchior replied. "There certainly could be no need for rich offerings." He gestured for her to rise and offered a chair.

Lauriel accepted the seat with obvious reluctance. "It is nothing so fine. My little sister and I often collect alderbrise feathers near the wall below their nests. It is used for a few small crafts in our province. You know, pillows, quilts, and the like," she said dismissively. Kolteruze not so subtly pulled out a large feather from one box. "And quills."

It was a very pretty feather. Both large and smooth, it shown with a subtle golden hue beside the bright yellow of wind. Melchior was fairly certain from his studies that the feather wouldn't be very useful for brewing but it would make for a pretty pen should he decide to revert to quills. "Such things are rare in the city," Melchior noted. "Not to mention the territorial nature of the faebirds themselves."

This Lauriel waved away as well. "Oh alderbrise only consider the sky and their high nesting grounds their territory. They ignore anything below them and do not feel strongly about their shed like they do about their fallen. One can easily fill a pillow with a year's casual exploring."

Theodore paused his testing of the down. Melchior also looked towards the box while Lauriel cringed. If it took a year to fill a pillow than it must have taken a couple of months to fill the box. "There is more down outside," Pepin said quietly.

Melchior levied a questioning eye. "Nothing so fine indeed."

Lauriel sat stone still, her head lowered. She tried and failed to begin speaking several times, giving Melchior a moment to consider the situation again. With such elaborate preparation and such a large quantity of stuff, it seemed likely that Lauriel hadn't intended this meeting for the dormitory. What mednoble would waste so much space on a sack of feathers Melchior couldn't make good use of during his stay. Coupled with his general unapproachability in the Winter Playroom, it seemed likely that she'd been forced to delay this display. Why would she want to make such a gesture around so many people? "You had help collecting all this?" he asked, lacking anything else to say.

"Oh, yes, my little sister was most diligent in her support," Lady Lauriel replied quickly with a rehearsed stiffness. "I must admit to being inferior to her in work ethic." Something in her manner drew attention to the empty space beside her. That answered the question of why she wanted this meeting to happen in the Playroom. It should have made it easier for the sisters to approach together.

Melchior tried to smile gently. Without her little sister there to deflect and reflect praise back at Lady Lauriel, her speech sounded far more self-deprecating than was likely intended. "I am certain she would say you were both equally diligent and also that your wisdom and guidance was crucial to the work," he offered. It would be the only thing the little girl could say given the circumstances. Lauriel nodded softly and fell back into holding herself very rigid. "Lady Lauriel, it seems to me that you and your sister have gone to great efforts to procure a fine gift. You claim it is an expression of your thanks but I must say, I am dubious of this claim. I do not wish to waste your hard work, but I also can't accept recompense for doing my duty as High Bishop. A single blessing, no matter how impactful, is simply what I owe my people."

Lady Lauriel was not the only person who looked panicked by this declaration. Unlike those who disliked the possible future impacts on their lord's time and mana, Lauriel stared at her boxes like taking them back would perpetuate a curse on her bloodline.

"Lady Lauriel. Please tell me your request," Melchior pressed. He didn't like how anxious she seemed and wasn't sure how to alleviate it beyond finishing their interaction quickly.

Lauriel remained quiet for a long while, her eyes full of racing thoughts. Melchior relaxed back into his chair to wait. He accepted the feather Kolteruze handed him and played with it for a bit. With its wide vanes it caught the wind very easily, making it fun to flutter around and try to resist the wind resistance without twisting the feather.

"I..." Lauriel began, interrupting Melchior's distraction. He placed the feather down between them and folded his hands to keep from fidgeting. Lauriel regarded the feather on the table like it had been symbolically rejected, the glossiness of tears springing to her eyes. "Last year, Lady Gerianne most generously taught me the prayer to Schlafstrum. My family has since learned it in support."

"Are you still so forsaken by Schlafstrum that you need make such frequent supplication?"

Lauriel looked taken aback. "Oh, no. Not me. I have met only restful nights since your blessing."

"It is common to have some bad dreams over the course of a year," Melchior noted though he kept his look of incredulity to himself.

"Compared to visitations by the Lord of Darkness, even the deepest conjurings of my own mind are refreshing."

Melchior felt a shiver run down his spine. He did not like to think about what manner of dreams Lady Lauriel had been having before. She had seemed very distressed when Gerianne wasn't around to offer her reprieve from them, but Melchior hadn't considered that her desperation might be anything more than several days lack of good sleep caused by stress from classes. "May I assume you hope to make a request on behalf of your little sister who is afflicted as you once were?"

Lauriel nearly crumpled with relief. She bowed her head as she replied. "Yes, we were together when a speisenrochen came near the wall. We both heard its cry."

"And that is what causes the nightmares?" Melchior asked. She nodded. "And yet," he glanced toward the feather again, "you continue to go collecting near the wall?"

"Yes," she replied with some confusion. Melchior mirrored her confusion right back at her instead of the exasperated horror he was feeling. Who would return to a place where they had been cursed! "Oh, yes. It is exceedingly rare for such a thing to occur. Most collectors will go their entire life without even experiencing a rumbling. We have a song about it. 'If you feel a rumble, the beast is near, flee, flee small child, flee'," she sang in an upbeat tone. "It is so rare a thing that I thought it was just a fun song my whole childhood but... Well. You cannot be double cursed!"

"As in, one who has been cured cannot be reafflicted?" Melchior asked.

Lauriel considered his question deeply. "I do not know. I would have to ask great-grandmother if there are any records of anyone encountering the dark cry more than once or, for that matter, ever being definitely cured. It only ever happens once in a few generations any way."

"Were you alone other than your sister?" Melchior asked. He couldn't imagine a noble lady frolicking into the wilderness all by herself.

"Yes?" she replied "The commoner servants cannot spend much time near the wall without becoming ill from the radiant mana pressure. It is a wonderful way to escape from one's minder," she said conspiratorially.

Melchior could not relate. His minders were all nobles themselves. This also explained why alderbrise down had never enjoyed commercial success. If only noble's could collect it but it wasn't good for performing magic, then it might as well be useless. Thankfully, it also meant that there were no other cursed individuals suffering without the ability to pray for relief.

"I do not know why your prayer was successful where our family's and Lady Gerianne's have only temporarily alleviated... our struggles, but... Both the expense of sedatives and the mana burden of constant treatments have strained our resources. I fear deeply that my sister may fail to arrive at the Royal Academy," Laureil said, her tears finally breaking free. "I come to you as myself, not a representative of my house, that is why I can offer so little as recompense. I... I know it is beyond me to make such a request but I must. Please cure my sister!" she wept. "If this is not enough then we will find more to offer."

Melchior suddenly felt terrible for making himself so unapproachable in the Winter Playroom. He also didn't know why his blessing worked better than other people's but now they would have to wait until mid-winter to find out, all while a little girl suffered from terrifying nightmares. "I will do what I can," Melchior promised. "I cannot promise permanent healing but I can promise to try. If, in the unfortunate event we are unable to recreate your success, your sister may be welcomed to the house of the gods to receive more timely intervention."

Lauriel's face traveled through many emotions ending with horror. "I... I do not want her to be disinherited. She is a good girl. Worthy to obtain her schtappe."

Melchior held up his hands. "I do not mean that she needs to swear fealty. I am offering to host her as a guest if other arrangements cannot be made. You do not have close kin in Ehrenfest, do you?" Both she and Isolde shook their heads. "As the High Bishop, this is the most I can offer. This curse may be dispelled therefore the afflicted should be preserved. If we gain greater understanding along the way, then that is good too."

Lady Lauriel sat up straight for the first time. She thrust her chest forward and set a scowl to her face. "My sister is not an experiment."

"That is not what Lord Melchior has implied," Isolde snapped before Melchior could begin apologizing. Lauriel bravely held her posture and glared right back. "In the event one is privileged to visit the temple for healing, naturally notes will be made and stored concerning the method of treatment such that any future persons so afflicted may find more efficient care. Lehde is not the only land which touches the wall. Your family is not the only one which shall be visited by this tragedy. Lord Melchior has agreed to alleviate this drain on your house while preserving your precious sister's life. Would you prefer the usual course of events?"

Lauriel looked pale by the end of this speech but her bravery was not bluster. She held her resolve. "I thank you for your most gracious assistance, sure in the knowledge that my dear little sister shall be safe in your care and treated with all the dignity she deserves."

"Your faith is well placed," Melchior promised.

Lauriel and her attendant bowed low again. "Your generosity astounds once again, Lord Melchior. We will place our trust in you." With this, they took their leave.

Melchior looked at the feathers and heaved a deep sigh. He hadn't stopped to consider how making himself unavailable would complicate these kind of requests. It would be much more difficult now to provide even temporary relief.

"We can ask Kazmiar to perform the blessings in your absence. It may simply be a matter of how much mana is poured into the blessing," Isolde suggested.

Melchior nodded without looking up. He wasn't happy with how Isolde had handled things but he also didn't disagree with her this time. It would have taken him longer to explain not to mention how hard it was to face an irate older sibling just trying to protect her little sister.

"You did well, Lord Melchior. It did not take you very long to notice the underlying motivations," Kolteruze praised

"Was this some kind of test?"

"No," Isolde said. "Just a good opportunity for practice."

"I would prefer to be informed of your analysis in the future," Melchior grumbled.

"We..." Isolde began.

Zargerecht spoke up instead. "My lord, there will be many times when you must conduct diplomacy without our support. Consider the Archdukes Archive where you have already conducted such business. You must be sensitive and savvy in your own right so we must, at certain times, allow you to navigate situations without our strict guidance."

"And," Isolde interjected. "We would not allow you to make any serious errors. We have our signals for just that purpose."

"I understand," Melchior sighed. He wasn't happy about it. It did not feel good to flounder through important conversations but if Zargerecht and Isolde were in agreement, it was likely for the best.

"That being said," Zargerecht said in his lecturing voice. "It would serve you well to understand the value of your own time and mana. It is your responsibility to perform state mandated ceremonies. You are not a free flowing font of divine intersession available to all and sundry..."

Melchior picked up his new quill and settled in for his lecture. As he did not agree with this new training method he also didn't agree that giving more personal blessings was a "grave imposition on his prestige" nor that offering to house one young mednoble would cause the temple to be "filled with diseased penitents".

"Should we just allow her to waste away for lack of rest?" Melchior grumbled.

"Do not be crass," Zargerecht chided. "That is not what I am saying. I am warning you to be more judicious."

Melchior wasn't sure how that was different from what he said but he also knew that asking questions only prolonged these speeches. Eventually, they had to pause for dinner. If Melchior asked Zargerecht to deliver his gifts to his room rather than the apprentices, it was not out of spite but out of a deep need to have a moment with his own thoughts.

Chapter Text

Melchior shuffled his way to dinner feeling drawn from his emotional ordeal. He was not the only one. The wood collection team all walked with noticeably drooping shoulders and slow steps. Not even the tutting of adult attendants had a lasting effect.

"I now know why Ivory was invented," Nikolaus grumbled. He winced as he lifted his spoon. "Sawing is the work of Ewigeliebe."

"We usually have machines for this kind of work," Flautzeal replied. "But we have all the planks we need now. So long as we don't make any mistakes."

They groaned at the word mistake. "Half a bell of sawing unusable," Ortolf huffed.

"Whose fault was that?" Sigsnyr snapped.

"I was moving the saw. It was Nikolaus who wasn't sawing correctly," Ortolf replied.

"Gentlemen," Zipporah sighed. "The work is done. Let us leave it alone."

"I assume the furniture construction is going well?" Isolde asked.

"Oh yes," Flautzeal replied with genuine brightness. "I had to redesign the shelves but the drying cabinet has to have solid sides so we are moving forward with my original plans."

"Drying cabinet?"

"Well yes. The limited sunlight and cold air make drying paper outside nearly impossible so an artificial method is necessary. We are making a larger version of your drying box. It will even require brewing a frame using the brewing forge," Flautzeal declared.

Melchior tried to imagine a larger version of his box but was caught on one main issue. "The frame won't fit in the brewing forge we have," he noted. Even his small box's rails were too long on most dimensions. "The brewing forge is very small."

"We can use a modular construction," Flautzeal declared with a wave.

"Do you know how to design modular magic tools?" Benedikt asked as he arrived and sat down.

Flautzeal wasn't able to answer as at that moment Professor Ottilie rose from her small table and raised her hands to call for quiet. Though not everyone was looking at her, enough people saw to begin a round of shushing. "Welcome, students new and returning. Today we gather all together for the first time so I will take this opportunity to inform and remind.

"Though our dormitory superficially resembles Ehrenfest Castle, we are at the Royal Academy. A different standard of behavior is expected here than in the Winter Playroom. Each of you is as an ambassador of Ehrenfest. In some cases, your words and actions will be the only experience those from other duchies have with ours. Be certain you represent us well and do not forget that the state of our internal politics is neither other duchy's concern nor will it be taken into account when assessing your actions towards one another. We must present a united front before the rest of the country. Petty grievances may be addressed back home.

"Now, as to our daily life here. Meals are at second, fourth, and sixth bells. Do not be late. The kitchen will not accommodate untimely requests. Girls are not allowed on the second floor nor boys on the third. Do not get lost as mistakes will not be tolerated. Do not force me to post guards on the stairwell," Ottilie punctuated this announcement with a glare as whispers erupted about the lack of stair guards compared to every year prior. Ottilie ignored the chatter as she gestured for Adaire who had moved nearby during her speech. He held up a yellow ring as she continued. "These are self-sending ordonnanz. These particular ones are also homing and bound to me though self-sending ordnonnaz need not be homing in general. They are being provided to the first years due to the generosity of Lord Melchior. Consider this before you make replacement a necessity. Adaire will distribute and explain their use during your consortium. Remember that you need not use them only during an emergency. There will be many things you need to communicate with me as your dormitory supervisor. These will allow you to do so remotely at times when your attendants are unavailable. You should still use due consideration before consulting me. Do not bother me with requests you can handle yourselves."

With this Professor Ottilie sat back down and Adaire returned to his seat which was not at Melchior's table. Melchior was more distracted by this than the whispering about his gift of ordonnanz or the new name they'd acquired. Charlotte rose next, promptly ending all side talk.

"This evening we shall reconvene the Ehrenfest Academic Consortium. The groups will once again be split into first years, second years, and the three professions. As the only member of the Archduke Candidate course, I will not be competing this year." A wave of muttering swept through the room but quickly died off. "I expect the competition will, nevertheless, be just as fierce as in years past. There shall be rewards for the group which completes their classes the fastest and for the highest grades. The prize this year will once again be the recipe for a unique sweet."

"Well, that's useless," Flautzeal breathed. Melchior raised an eyebrow at him but he didn't elaborate.

"The classes have been changing rapidly over the last few years so the Archduke has earmarked funds to purchases study guides for each class. Please remember that even those who have passed their exams may still attend classes to continue their learning or retake tests to improve their grade. Any addition information will be judged at the end of the year as usual.

"Finally, after the fellowship gathering, we will have meetings based on status so that the older students may pass on wisdom unique to status. Are there any questions?" Charlotte's retainers ask a couple of questions so that Charlotte could reiterate her previous points but no one else raised their hands.

Melchior mulled over the largely identical information from the year before and the new things and wondered why he hadn't been asked to do any of the announcements. The energy in the room also wasn't as electric as the year before. Was it because he had experienced this already? Charlotte quickly finished answering the fake questions and sat down marking the beginning of the feast. Melchior was glad of his view of the dinning room now. He could easily watch the other students while he considered the changes made and the reactions to them.

He was pulled from his musings by the conversation at his own table. ".... no one here knows what it was like before the Better Grades Committee," Sigsnyr was saying. "And everyone is better prepared thanks to all the studying from last year."

"And there are enough new desserts that having another one isn't terribly useful," Isolde added.

"I still think its good," Flautzeal said defensively. "I just would rather study with people I actually like."

"You don't like the scholars?" Melchior asked.

It took Flautzeal several attempts to stutter out, "I wouldn't say that." Melchior just stared at him and blinked a couple times. "It is just... the scholars are quite proud of their own work."

"We can be an arrogant lot," Benedikt conceded with a smile. Flautzeal blushed and refused to say anything else even as Isolde needled him with questions about who he would rather be studying with.

The strategy meeting for the second years was very short. Having studied intensively over the summer, no one was very far behind. "If we all do well on the practice tests, we won't need to spend much time studying," Melchior said.

"Even if we don't get perfect scores, I don't think anyone will need everything reexplained to them," Gerianne added. Jochten and Ansgar nodded their agreement. "Although, I don't think we finished all the practicals."

Jochten sank a little lower in his seat, doing his best to disappear. "I've been practicing brewing at home a little. Its still difficult but after a few seasons of mana compression, I don't feel as tired after," Ansgar said.

All eyes turned to Jochten. He looked anywhere but at the rest of the table. "Did you practice defense?" Melchior pressed.

"Well... kind of."'

They would need to practice self-defense, Melchior decided. Jochten watched him make a note of it looking devastated. "Is there anything else. Anything you feel you can't pass on the first day?"

"Other than brewing, I feel pretty confident," Ansgar reiterated. "Then again, no one can pass brewing in one day."

Melchior pause his wax doodling. "What do you mean 'no one can pass brewing on the first day'?"

"There is too much brewing to do in one class period," Gerianne said. "Were you planning to do four very different brews all in one bell?"

"I hadn't considered it yet," Melchior replied and took a moment to think about it. Four different brews in one bell would be quite the undertaking. Then again, they were very easy brews. "I think I could do it with a time-saving circle," he mused. Ansgar looked at him with wide eyes.

"You would need the professors permission to even attempt," Zargerecht interjected.

"They would probably give permission," Melchior muttered. He didn't see a reason not to when the students brought their own materials anyway. "Do we know who the professor is? Should I send a letter or wait for Orientation?"

"You actually intend to try?" Jochten asked. Melchior nodded. "How incredible!" he cried but thankfully kept further compliment to himself.

"It can't be that difficult.".

"This will certainly be amazing to watch," Ansgar murmured. "Oh, I must also offer you sincere thanks for helping me acquire my materials."

"There's really no need. I believe Gottschalk was going with Jochten anyway."

"Yeah, but because of your instructions I did not need to reimburse the knights for their assistance."

"Do you usually need to reimburse the knights?" Melchior asked. This was the first he was hearing about the knights being paid for their work.

"Er... Sometimes," Jochten said. "Brother said that occasionally some of the scholars will hire the knights to collect something specific but they haven't needed as much help the last couple of years."

"Because my knights have been taking everyone gathering for free," Melchior supplied.

"Yes."

"Was that a significant portion of their income?" He hadn't meant to prevent the apprentice knights from earning money. They certainly wouldn't be happy with the loss even if the scholars and attendants benefited from their enforced generosity.

"Not anymore," Jochten said. "Starting a few years ago, the knights get a small stipend from the Archduke to help offset the lost income. It was instituted by Lady Rozemyne."

"Sister anticipated even this," Melchior muttered, amazed that a problem he hadn't even considered had already been solved so long ago.

From there, the conversation descended into frivolity. The second years were finished planning for their studies the following day but didn't want to be the first group to get up, especially when so little time had passed. Only after discussing adding a section to the bookshelves which displayed the new books from that year, did the other groups begin to look like they were also winding down. The knights broke up first, sparking everyone but the scholars to also disperse for the evening.

Melchior wished Jochten and Ansgar goodnight, then waited for his scholars to finish. About half of the rest of his retinue was also loitering so that they could all begin moving to a meeting room together.

Pepin went to open the door for everyone. With smooth motions he turned the handle and began pushing the door in. After only a handspan he froze and paled.

"Pepin?," Melchior called and almost stepped forward but was held back by Gerianne's hand on his shoulder. Zipporah stepped around and peaked through the gap in the door.

"Oh, our apologies. We didn't realize this room was taken," she said calmly while discreetly peeling Pepin's hand from the door handle.

One of Charlotte's knights popped his head out. "That's understandable," he replied and moved to flip the placard which usually informed outsiders that a room was occupied. "It was my mistake."

"Is that Melchior?" Charlotte's voice called from inside. "Call him in, call him in," she added with a cheerful tone.

Now Melchior was also feeling a bit wane from surprise. He glanced towards Isolde, hoping she knew what Charlotte could possibly want to talk about. "If you don't bring everyone, it will be easier to escape," was all she could offer.

Melchior steeled himself and, with only Zargerecht, Isolde, and a couple of knights, entered the meeting room full of his sister's retinue and Charlotte perched at the end of the table surrounded by notes.

"Good evening, Dear Brother, I was hoping we could speak tomorrow but since you're here I thought we could discuss a couple of things."

"I have a few moments," Melchior conceded. "What did you want to talk about, sister?"

Charlotte shuffled her wooden boards around, selecting a few to reference. "You already sent off your gifts?" she asked without looking up.

"To Alexandria, yes. I am waiting to properly meet Cousin Adamina."

Charlotte shook her head affectionately. "You will have to tell me of all your scholars have learned from Verbergan." Melchior smirked but committed to nothing. He certainly wasn't going to admit that it wasn't his scholars but his attendants who were so sneaky. Charlotte raised an eyebrow but didn't press. "More importantly, it would seem that the Royal Academy Guard, bereft of that skill which Sehweit so often boasts, only prepared embers to forestall glaciers. What a wonder then that Forsernte has blessed us with a crop of enthusiasm and compassion as provisions against the harsh judgement of Ewigeliebe the God of Life⁶⁴," she read from a wooden board.

Melchior couldn't hold back a cringe. "It would seem many leaves have been cast over much snow.⁶⁵ I fear we will have to make an apology"

"Why would we apologize?" she asked, gamely smirking through her own pallor. It looked like she had a headache coming on.

Melchior glanced around quickly. Charlotte's retainers looked a mix of confused and anxious so he wasn't alone. "We insulted the Royal Academy Guard."

"Did we?" Charlotte asked more to Isolde than to Melchior himself. Isolde didn't give away anything about what she felt. "I was told that Nikolaus not only did not espouse those ideas but also openly chastised Lord Sebsalrecht for speaking. He said, quoting from Helenwig, 'Sebsalrecht...' no title '...it is not our place to offer unsolicited assistance to the Sovereign Knights Order',"

Helenwig nodded along. "He was quite bold."

"Bold indeed except that after speaking he refused to elaborate any further, forcing Helenwig to accept the knight captain's dismissal in his stead before bodily dragging him away," Charlotte finished.

Melchior and company stood in silence for several moments just to process. What could one say to that. It was simultaneously better and worse than the version of events they already knew. "Perhaps an apology would not be the best course of action at this time."

"Perhaps not for that reason but we seem to have annoyed the Royal Academy Guard either way," Charlotte sighed. "What possessed you to send your knights off to play Verdraeos?"

"It has been observed that the beacons of lower ranked duchies are often ignored for some time while the greater duchies receive immediate assistance upon raising their duchy flairs," Melchior explained. "This leaves those least able to defend themselves defenseless in the face of danger."

Charlotte placed her pen back in its ink stand and folded her hands. "This I understand. I do not understand how this has inspired our interference."

"Our knights are capable of handling many of the small situations which overwhelm duchies with fewer and weaker knights."

"I'm certain they are."

The siblings stared at one another. Charlotte tipped her head in question. "It seemed good to me to assist our fellow students," Melchior added.

"Why?"

"So that they do not perish?"

"Dear Brother, I am asking what you hoped to gain by doing this? Are you hoping to garner support from these small duchies? Do you wish to gather a national faction? New subordinates for Ehrenfest? To reduce their animosity towards us or to collect favors?" Charlotte pressed. Melchior shook his head at each suggestion. "Melchior, are you telling me you've chosen to encroach on the authority of the Sovereign Knights Order for nothing?"

"Not for nothing," Melchior argued. "I do not want people to die for lack of assistance that should be readily available."

"It is readily available."

Melchior huffed. "It is not, not equally."

"It is equally available. When we raise a flair, the Royal Academy Guard sends our Dormitory Supervisor an ordonannz. Professor Ottilie always responds that it is an emergency which she can do honestly as all Ehrenfest students are taught to only use our flairs as we would Rott, for serious emergencies. It is not our fault if lesser duchies dally in their response or use their flairs irresponsibly, straining the limited resources of the Royal Academy Guard and necessitating more checks, nor is it our responsibility to interfere with rescue operations. It is not our place to offer unsolicited assistance to the Sovereign Knights Order." Charlotte concluded with the serious expression she reserved for those rare moments when she felt a grave error needed correcting.

As frightened as Melchior felt facing such pressure directed at himself for the first time, he wanted to hold his ground. Maybe he hadn't gone into the endeavor seeking benefits for himself, it was clear that they existed. It also wasn't true that the response was equal. "Sister," he began quietly. "I've seen it with my own eyes. The muster for a call from Klassenberg was near instant beginning even before a subsequent Rott could be raised or confirmation concerning the nature of the situation could be communicated."

"That does not change our responsibility," Charlotte countered. "Nor will criticizing the Zent be the solution when we are questioned." She leaned forward, fingers steepled like Sylvester was want to do. "What are we to say when asked why we have involved ourselves. No one will believe our purposes are purely altruistic."

Melchior couldn't respond. He really hadn't had any motivations beyond offering help to those who needed it using the resources at his disposal. He even told his knights to only intervene according to their skill and resources, a topic which he knew so little about that they could easily claim an inability. Though, as he thought about it more, most knights had too much pride to admit to even genuine weakness let alone a fake lack of skill to save a few potions. Perhaps he should check again whether it was a strain on them.

"Do you have anything to add, Isolde? You are my brothers head apprentice scholar. You must have some analysis."

Now Isolde frowned. "I can only repeat what my lord has already said. Our reasons are our own. We cannot allow Dunkefelger to speak for us. As we have yet to be consulted, we have time to ready a proper response irregardless of our initial motivations."

Charlotte seemed to regard her brother with new eyes. Having only said half of that, it was all Melchior could do not to give anything away with his smile. Isolde was making him sound much smarter than he had been but she would be mad if he contradicted her and ruined her efforts to support him.

"That's true," Charlotte said. She leaned back, looking altogether less stressed. "So far all that's been said is that you noticed the delay and wanted to intercede but not why," She touched a few notes on the table. "I believe we can salvage this."

Melchior felt a tension he hadn't noticed slip from his frame. It was replaced by a new anxiety while he waited for her to continue.

Charlotte didn't speak immediately. Instead she looked at her two scholars. One was her year while the other was a fourth year. Neither spoke up when prompted. Charlotte turned her eyes on Isolde again. Rather than respond, Isolde tapped the diptych on her hip making the smallest click. That was their signal that he should speak because she wouldn't or couldn't. "I..." he began, praying to Grammaratur something worthwhile would come to him mid-speech. He did his best to ignore every eye in the room finding him at the same time. "I believe we could claim a genuine desire to assist. Or, I could. You could then say that you allowed it for more political reasons."

"You want to use your relative youth to claim ignorance?" Charlotte asked.

"Kazmiar said I could afford a few strategic bumbles." Charlotte frowned again though she seemed to be seriously considering it.

"May I be permitted to speak?" Zipporah asked.

Melchior gestured her forward but she waited for Charlotte to also give her permission. "Thank you. Given the history of our activities, beginning as they did while Lord Melchior was a first year, a childish desire for heroism feels appropriate."

"And why wouldn't his older siblings or retainers offer him guidance?" Charlotte pressed.

Zipporah remained calm as she replied. "Well, he chose not to inform you and we found it to be good training." Now everyone was staring at Zipporah. She held herself still under the scrutiny. "As I recall, the Aub himself only found out at the Interduchy Tournament after receiving thanks for our efforts. As I recall, Lord Melchior was not instructed to stop only to inform the Aub of his activities in the future. So we began keeping a record but otherwise haven't altered our 'training plan'."

"So the life and death struggles of others are mere training?" Charlotte asked.

"Perhaps that is how it began," Isolde interjected, "but we found that with the unique circumstances this year, we needed to take things more seriously, thus our request for assistance from Dunkefelger."

"And Rescue Ditter?"

"That was a fabrication of Dunkefelger's making. We have never seen it as a game," Melchior said. He set his shoulders bravely before continuing. "I believe our work is good, the right thing to do. I do not think we should stop until the Royal Academy Guard can be relied upon to defend all students adequately."

After finishing, he waited, eyes locked resolutely with his sisters. She fidgeted. He shifted his weight. She pursed her lips. He held his expression.

"We cannot continue to so freely criticize the Sovereignty. Ehrenfest is in a precarious position. We must remain disciplined even in private. That being said, your suggestions dovetail nicely with my own ideas. We must distance our position from Dunkefelger's statement. As you say, our reasons are our own and from the reports, we have communicated our position to them multiple times. I do not think you should deploy a strategic bumble in this case. We can more easily claim to have been seeking a kind of training experience which Ehrenfest sees as particularly valuable considering our history. It does not seem to be true that we needed their assistance so we need not portray ourselves as too weak for our own endeavors. However, we are friendly so anyone might expect us to invite them to join us."

Melchior was in awe. It was amazed that Charlotte had considered so many things already; things he'd forgotten about. "We really have needed to rescue ourselves many times," he muttered. It seemed like such an elegant solution but, "Are we going to place all blame on our allies after they came to help us?"

"Yes," Charlotte replied. "It is their mistake." Melchior wanted to argue that it was Ehrenfest which had placed them in that position to begin with but held back. His knights had been doing this for a whole school season before ever invoking the Sovereignty's ire. It was after just one day of including Dunkefelger that they were suddenly in trouble. "Dunkefelger is highly favored. They will not suffer any great injury."

"Are we..." Helenwig began then paused under the sudden and intense scrutiny. "Are we looking at the whole picture. Master always says 'consider everything' which isn't really possible but its still good to try. I only began helping this year but my older friends, Zipporah's friends that is, have also been responding to distress beacons when able and I nor they have ever encountered the Royal Academy Guard. I didn't even know we might be inconveniencing them until today, after Jossbrenner, who we normally wouldn't go to so as not to give offense. Could we claim not to have know everyone has been calling the Sovereign knights specifically?"

"Zipporah did say something similar when Korbinian asked."

"'We responded to Lindenthal and received their thanks. Where do the Sovereign knights enter into it?' or something," Gottschalk provided.

"They wouldn't need to ask for confirmation if the signal was known to be specifically for them," Charlotte's older scholar added, looking happy to have contributed something.

"But Cecilia..."

"Yes, Cecilia did speak in error," Charlotte interrupted. "But, if anyone could truly believe such a thing, it is Ehrenfest. Twice in living memory, we have been attacked by dark fae and had to fend for ourselves. Professor Hirschur was more likely to encourage us to find creative solutions than to rush to our aid. That Schutzaria's children trust only in her wind and turn not their faces to the warmth of the sun nor the majesty of the great black vault. Who could claim we shun a generous portion?⁶⁶" Charlotte's face, normally so gentle and composed wore a dark look, as though she were remembering something painful.

"Sister, you believe the Royal Academy Guard would leave students to their fate?"

She looked at him and for a moment Melchior could see her six colors and felt a touch of sadness that was not his own. "My dear brother. Do you send your knights out merely to witness Verdraeos at his work or to stand before the Sword of Death which seeks to sever before their time, the barely spun threads of Yurgen children?"

Melchior didn't need to answer. Everyone knew the truth. Most were too young to have experienced the many harrowing events to which they referred but those who weren't there had heard stories. In those stories, the Sovereign Knights Order did not feature strongly or positively.

So their planning took a different turn. They would, of course, apologize if someone wanted to claim injury but only then. It was no longer the naive whimsy of a young boy which drove them, but a sense of solidarity with their old peers and a bone deep knowledge that help was unlikely to ever come for their students. Naturally, they were not going to speak this criticism, assuming they even felt hurt by the lack of assistance. They had killed two ternsbefallen, all by themselves, with almost no casualties.

By the end, Melchior was almost convinced that every time he'd previously referred to the "delay" in response, he was diplomatically not saying the "abandonment" of lesser duchies' children. They would continue to be diplomatic, but if pressed they could almost honestly admit that they didn't realize everyone was expecting the Royal Academy Guard to save them and were just responding to distress signals.

"Shall I write the report to Father?" Charlotte asked after everything had been hammered out.

"We will write our own," Isolde replied while Melchior tried not to panic. He had promised to send his report after speaking with Charlotte and solving the problem. He'd just been hoping to do it after everything was settled or even at the end of the year as a footnote. But they had what felt like a solid plan so perhaps it would be ok.

"Very good. Then I will direct Father to refer to your letter for more information. Please also inform Professor Ottilie. She will be consulted at some point."

"We will see it done," Melchior promised.

"Oh, and since we as a duchy feel so strongly about this, it will be important that all our knights participate. Let me know if you have trouble motivating them."

"Of course, Sister. Thank you for your help," he said before shuffling along to his own meeting room. It was good to have a way forward even if it was a much bolder stance than he felt the situation called for. Then again, a bold stance could be enough to avoid critique. How could you argue about implied insults when the supposedly insulting party was claiming an even greater injury which they were kindly not complaining about. No, he just needed a way to convince those who were not his knights or Zipporah's friends to join their cause.

When they arrived, almost everyone was sitting down except for Kirk who stood at the end of the table giving a report. Everyone rose as Melchior entered. He gestured for them to sit back down before taking his seat at the end of the table. "What did we miss?" They'd only missed another conversation about the paper workshop's storage systems making it easy to move on to yelling at Nikolaus.

"Every word, Nikolaus. Do I not always say, 'tell me every word anyone said'. I should not be hearing so many new things from strangers!" Isolde squawked.

"My apologies," Nikolaus muttered. He hung his head in a truly pitiful display of contrition. "I was so nervous that I didn't remember much after the fact."

"I want to know everything you do remember and I want to know it immediately!"

"It was just so embarrassing. I just panicked and couldn't say anything. Helenwig had to drag me away." Nikolaus cried.

Melchior tried to speak up and offer some comfort but Isolde barreled ahead. "Then you can just tell me but you tell me first and you tell me everything! Even if all you can remember from your stress induced fugue if the color of everyone's shoes!"

"They were all just silver sabatons!"

While Isolde did not look happy to receive the information she'd just asked for, she still wrote it down. The rest of the meeting was far less eventful, covering mostly upcoming research as well as relaying the plan they'd decided with Charlotte. Several people looked amazed, Kirk most of all, but none of them could say that they didn't harbor similar sentiments.

"I hope Her Majesty doesn't see this as an insult as well," Melchior said.

"How could anyone be offended by having their actions accurately represented?" Benedikt asked. "I also don't anticipate anyone asking about this so long as we don't introduce the topic."

"Not everyone lives their lives in perfect accordance with their words," Zargerecht replied while everyone else stared in disbelief. "They do not like to be reminded."

Benedikt looked pensive as he nodded, as though just learning something new about the world. "Should we actively avoid the topic then?"

"Probably. We have been warned before not to attempt to face extreme threats. Professor Hirschur said we set a bad example by killing the ternisbefallen," Sigsnyr said. "It might not be seen favorably for us to encourage other students to begin responding to distress beacons only to get into trouble themselves."

"And some will, to prove they are our betters," Zipporah added.

"Ok, so we don't bring it up unless someone else asks?"

"Not even the first time they ask," Isolde replied. "Now, we need to decide how to convince the rest of the knights in the dormitory to join our efforts."

"Weren't we just saying we shouldn't encourage other students to follow our example?"

"We do not want to encourage other duchies but we need it to look like our duchy takes this very seriously and has decided to help our fellow students out of a genuine sense of duty," Melchior explained. "I'm not sure how to do that though."

"Simply give the order," Zargerecht said.

Melchior shook his head. "I don't want anyone to endanger themselves or to attempt to help when they lack the skills. Also it can be potion intensive. We would have to replace them."

"We cannot brew potions for the entire dormitory," Isolde reminded.

"Didn't Lord Wilfried do that last year?" Nikolaus asked.

Melchior's eyes sparkled but Isolde cut him off. "That was for ditter, a relatively small quantity of potions, and easily tracked. Were you to freely provide reimbursement for potions used, there would be a sudden influx of unverifiable heroism." Melchior looked incredulous but half the room nodded along. They would have to ask people to contribute out of the kindness of their heart.

"What about a larger potion co-op?" Nikolaus suggested.

Sigsnyr cringed. "Who could keep track of that? We have an incentive to support all our members according to there need but no one will want to gather more than everyone else only to receive half as many potions."

"Have you been getting half as many potions?" Zipporah asked.

"I can brew my own and don't tend to go through as many."

"How does that work when you have less mana than the other knights and brew as much as a scholar?" Benedikt asked.

"I'm more efficient."

"You can't be that efficient," Gottschalk mumbled.

"Can I join this year?" Pepin interjected.

"You have to brew or gather." Pepin's shoulders sank.

"Maybe you could start a garden for some of the easy to cultivate ingredients," Melchior suggested.

"We don't have any atrium in the dormitory," Kolteruze said with a yawn. The yawn spread through the room

"I will prepare a speech," Melchior said. "We can consider ways to keep our students well stocked going forward."

The meeting broke up soon after. Kolteruze promised to get the brooches for the boys of the dormitory handed out, refusing any assistance. Then they all went off to bed.

Once back in his room, freshly washed and cozy in his house coat, Melchior contemplated his nightly letter to Henriette. Unlike the day prior, he didn't have anything magical to include. She likely wouldn't want to hear about him making tea and she was still too young to introduce to interduchy politics. He wrote his report for the Aub first then a note to Kazmiar about Lauriel's sister then returned to the blank half-sheet.

"I must advise, my lord, that you keep your frequency of letters the same as they have been if not less," Zargerecht said, interrupting Melchior from his thoughts. "A letter before you left then after you arrived are reasonable but daily correspondence will incur an incredible cost."

"You don't think the cost is worth it?" Melchior asked.

"You will disrupt her schedule and cause undue stress should there be any gaps. It would be wiser to plan weekly missives. Then you can write at any time during the week to ensure regularity and give time for replies."

Melchior didn't want to agree but he also didn't want to raise his sister's expectations only to left her down. Plus, without their paper workshop up and working, he would have to use his limited stores of paper. They looked abundant but would have to last the whole winter and into spring since paper was still a seasonal product. Even with the dormitory workshop, they were still limited by how many sticks they already had. It would be too embarrassing to send his knights out just to gather sticks because he used up all his paper writing letters to someone who couldn't even read. Finding a winter wood appropriate for paper might be worthwhile though. He started a list, adding the "magic painting sap" and "winter paper sticks". If his retinue ever got bored, they would have plenty of things to work on.

Footnotes

64. You don't have enough knights so it's a good thing that students from Dunkefelger and Ehrenfest are willing to pick up your slack^

65. things are even worse than I was led to believe^

66. If we rely on ourselves instead of asking greater powers for help, that's just us acting in accordance with our experiences^

Chapter Text

For a Drop, Return a Flood

With the next rising of the Goddess of Light came the true beginning of the Ehrenfest Academic Consortium. Flautzeal and Sigsnyr spent breakfast continuing their discussion about the merits of variously shaped mortises and pegs. Flautzeal wanted to use square pegs while Sigsnyr preferred round dowels. By this stage in their creative journey, Flautzeal had grown comfortable to put up a real fight against the older archnoble.

Melchior allowed their talk to fade into a soothing background hum while he turned to Kolteruze. "Do you happen to know which professor is teaching the second year brewing class."

Kolteruze looked only a little surprised to be asked such a specific question but answered calmly. "I do not but I can make inquiries. Might I ask why or at least by when you would like to know?"

"As soon as possible. I would like to ask for a special allowance," Melchior replied.

Kolteruze nodded and took a final drink of his tea. "If you write a note, I can deliver it as soon as I know who to deliver it to."

Melchior thanked his attendant and made a note to write the note after breakfast. It only took a few minutes once he'd sat down in the common room. By the time he was done, they were all ready to take their practice tests. They were slightly altered versions of their tests from summer. Within a bell, they had completed them and found that everyone could answer perfectly at least eight out of every ten questions in every subject. Melchior was annoyed to have gotten a less than perfect score in history. He'd mixed up two of the kings but only in one question and not the other.

"You can catch that just by reading back through your test," Gerianne assured him. He allowed himself to be assured since he wanted to do something else with his day as much as any of the other second years. Having answered all the other questions correctly, it felt justifiable to move on to training for the practicals. They moved to the tanning room where there was both plenty of space and a brewing station. Ansgar worked on upgrading his ordonnanz with switches while Jochten faced down Nikolaus with one of the physical shields the dormitory kept in storage presumably from when the self-defense course had been taught before.

Melchior and Gerianne were left with little to do. Gerianne fiddled with her shield bracelet absentmindedly while Melchior started to sketch her.

"My lord," she began.

"Yes, Gerianne?" Melchior asked without looking up.

She was quiet for a moment before taking a deep breath. "You promised at our autumn meeting to bless my shield once it was in a usable form."

Now Melchior paused his scribbling. "I guess I did. Is there any particular blessing you would like?"

"Well, I have been attempting to obtain the blessing of Ewigeliebe through my own prayers." Melchior looked up while Gerianne looked anywhere but at him.

"And why would you want his blessing?"

"Well, he defends Geduhld quite effectively."

"Are hiding and defending the same things?" Melchior mused.

Gerianne twiddled her thumbs. "Hiding is a type of defense but a covering of ice can serve as effective protection."

Melchior couldn't help but frown at her logic. It made sense but he still didn't like the idea of relying on a shield blessed by that god. "Perhaps it hasn't worked because Ewigeliebe isn't the god of ice and snow," Melchior attempted to persuade her.

She frowned as well as she regarded her shield carefully. "That's true. Maybe I should be praying for him to protect life or something," she mumbled.

"Or, you could pray to Schneeahst," Melchior countered.

Gerianne huffed but took off her bracelet and proceeded to pray quietly. Her hands glowed with white light which flashed then swirled up into the ceiling. A moment later, while the children were still staring at the magic tool in shock, a sprinkling of white fell on it leaving pale flecks and flashes in the silver metal.

"I think that worked!" he whispered excitedly while she continued to examine the tool all over. Zargerecht also came closer to see what all the lights were about. When Gerianne summoned the shield, the energy portion was now a glittering blueish-white instead of the previous yellow. Tapping on it no longer forced one back with wind.

A huge smile spread over Gerianne's face. "It's so beautiful," she muttered reverently. "Glory to Schneeahst, God of Snow!" A blessing flew from her ring as she wiggled around with delight.

Melchior was also happy with this outcome and tried not to feel jealous. He still felt a little jealous. "Well, I suppose you don't need my help then."

Gerianne paused her preening to turn back to him, her eyes blazing. "Of course I still need your blessing my lord! Besides you promised and you do not break your promises."

He tried not to, at least. Being a boy of his word meant he needed to think of a blessing. Now that the shield had seemingly lost its wind properties, it didn't seem right to ask Schutzaria to enhance it. He was also feeling somewhat mischievous due to his own lack of magical weapon. The gods power were not all equally applicable to a shield but something unexpectedly fun could come from calling on a nonsensical choice. Only, would the gods be offended to be called upon just for a prank? Liebeskhilfe was likely to delight in being part of such a thing but Melchior wasn't cruel enough to draw the attention of a deity Gerianne was dogged in her disavowal of. It had to be someone plausible but not cool.

Melchior kept his giggle to himself. "It would be best to avoid danger all together don't you think?" Gerianne narrowed her eyes at him. "O Goddess of Advice, Anhaltung, who reveals and instructs, I pray that you bless this magic tool to seek paths through the chaos and protect her holder through wise choices." Remembering all the warnings he'd been given about not overtaking possession of a magic tool, he offered what felt like only one divine instrument faestone's worth of pure light mana. The bracelet glowed with golden power. A tiny pillar of light rose up then broke into sparkles which rained down adding golden flashes beside the white ones.

Gerianne gaped. "Anhaltung?" she whined.

"Should I take it back?" Melchior teased.

"I don't think that's possible, my lord," Zargerecht said. "I also think that is an admirable choice though I am unsure how advice would be communicated through the shield."

"Dame Angelica's sword speaks with Lord Ferdinand's voice," Gerianne noted. She poked her bracelet and held her ear to it. They all waited while she listened. She shrugged. "Perhaps it is a miracle only Lady Rozemyne could conjure."

When Gerianne summoned her shield now, it had a golden boarder at the edges which clashed ever so subtly with the ice. Gerianne still gave a proper thank you through only slightly gritted teeth. "I shall treasure it always and remember your words when I must employ it's power."

"May it serve you well," Melchior replied smoothly.

Gerianne left Melchior to his doodling while she went to test her shield with Nikolaus and Jochten. By lunch time, Jochten could at least hold his shield up and hide behind it so long as no one asked him to move at the same time and Nikolaus was only standing close by looking menacing but not actually attacking. If Nikolaus got anymore aggressive, Jochten had to duck his head behind his shield leaving him very open to anyone stepping to the side and stabbing him around his guard. Still, it was progress.

Some people hurried through lunch as quickly as possible while others seemed to be stalling. Kolteruze was also eating slowly though not because he wanted to avoid his fellow attendants or the jealous glares of the knights. The attendants hadn't stolen anyone so there was no need for the knights to be so hostile such that the attendants had to spend their morning quietly huddled over their notes. Really it was the scholars who should be dreading the afternoon. Their table seemed to explode into an argument every eighth-bell. That didn't seem like an environment conducive to learning.

It was almost a relief to receive a summons to the Registrar just after lunch. Though he was sure they must be tired of hearing from him by now, his lord had asked a question which only they could answer within the time frame he needed the answer. So, it was his job to send a request for yet another meeting. The response this time was just as fast as with their previous dealings. He informed Professor Ottilie of his errand and accepted some papers she wanted passed along before leaving.

With the students mostly hidden away in their dormitories, the central building was fairly quiet. There were a few other students, mostly scholars on their way to the laboratories, and a few teachers. He noticed a servant here or there as well. Things only grew more deserted as he approached the administrative offices. Most students wouldn't ever need to go here during their entire school career and the teachers had largely finished whatever business they might have long before the day before school was going to begin.

There was only one guard in front of the door, a different guard to the ones he'd encountered on days prior. He greeted the guard, gave his name, and explained that he'd been summoned.

"I was informed," the woman replied before turning to open the door for him. "Kolteruze of Ehrenfest," she announced then closed the door behind him.

Kolteruze felt he should be used to this room by now but it was difficult to acclimate to such imposing grandeur. It was the subtlety, he decided. The way the windows stretched from the floor to the vaulted ceiling opposite bookshelves just as high and filled with hundreds of black tomes containing hundreds of years worth of school records. Well, they weren't all full yet, he knew from asking, but they were all nearly identical which had to be an extraordinary undertaking for generations of craftsmen. Besides the architecture, there were the neatly arrayed desks with partitions, the statues of Verzeichanmut⁶⁷ and Erwachlern hidden in sconces. None of it was gilded or ostentatious yet it remained impossibly large, towering over petitioners and workers alike.

Of course, there was also the registrar himself sitting poised behind his large desk in his gold trimmed scholar robes of pitch black. "Oh, hello, Kolteruze. We were beginning to miss your daily visits."

"Greetings Professor Leobwin. I hope I haven't disturbed you."

"Only as much as a leaf on a pond. Come sit. Will you have tea this time?" Kolteruze sat but begged off of the tea. "That is a shame. We will have to find a proper time to take tea."

"You wish to have tea with me, Professor?"

"Well, you have been such fine company these last few days," Leobwin replied.

Kolteruze tried not to feel panicked but it was difficult when obscure faculty were planning tea parties with you. "I will look forward to it, though Dregarnuhr, the Goddess of Time, has not afforded me much thread for my own weaving⁶⁸."

"Or have you thrown the shuttle with too much enthusiasm⁶⁹?" Leobwin mused. "In any case, it is only a couple of bells, none of which we have to spare today. What brings you to our far flung refuge?"

Kolteruze passed over the boards from Ottilie then brought out his lord's note. "My lord hopes to inquire with the professor of his introductory brewing class whether he might attempt all his brews in one day."

Leobwin took the note with a touch of surprise which transformed into a wry smile as he read. "I see, like master, like servant indeed," he chuckled. "I could pass this on though he may find it easier to contact Justus directly."

"I see. That being the case, it is often preferable to go through the proper channels."

"Only if you would like an official record of this request."

Kolteruze stared a the note resting between them. There was no particular reason to fear an official record unless his lord failed in his attempt. Then again, Melchior had the attention of more than one member of the Royal Family. Hadn't Kolteruze just turned in an official refusal for his own invitation to the Sovereignty? Too many documents with the same names on them would be less than idea. They didn't want to make Ehrenfest look like a duchy of complainers. He reached out and took back the note. "Thank you for your wise counsel once again."

"Of course. Anytime."

They rose together and Leobwin walked him to the doors. "May the gods bless and keep you until our threads are woven together once again," Kolteruze said politely.

"Indeed, Until the Goddess of Light rises," Leobwin teased.

Kolteruze hurried away before his blush could set in properly. He passed through the scholars building without being waylaid and dropped the note into the mail slot at Justus's laboratory before heading back to the dormitory. Before he'd left the Scholars Building, he received an ordonnanz from Letizia's attendant asking him to come pick up the gifts from Alexandria. He wasn't quite sure why she sounded so harried and tired. She wasn't even being forced to play into the needless secrecy and games between the Ehrenfest siblings this time. It only became clear once he arrived and was, rather surprisingly, brought in through the main teleportation door. The entrance hall was plainly decorated with only a few banners, wall scrolls, and a sitting area with a few books on the table.

"Am I supposed to be allowed in your dormitory?"

Adelheid smiled welcomingly, seemingly recovered from her momentary lapse in composure over ordonnanz. "Yes of course. In order to facilitate more efficient collection of transcripts and promote greater tranquility in the library, Alexandria will be allowing selected representatives from each duchy to enter this front area using special brooches."

Kolteruze marveled. "That doesn't seem secure."

"There is an additional barrier to enter the dormitory proper," Adelheid explained. They stopped in front of a large, curving desk which was a near replica of the one in the Ehrenfest Public Library. On top of and beside the desk were several boxes, letters, and packages. It was far more than Kolteruze could carry on his own and enough to occupy a knight and attendant for a long time with checking it over. The only saving grace was that some of the boxes, those with yellow ties instead of blue, were for Charlotte. Kolteruze still needed to transport them.

He sent off a message to Kirk to gather a couple of porters and a cart. Perhaps it was more proper to asked Pepin or his own attendant but it was both faster and more discreet to task Kirk with organizing his fellow commoners. Annoyed as Kolteruze was to admit that. Instead he told himself that they needed to get use out of the expensive roost bracelet they'd outfitted Kirk with. What was it for if not this? After that, he also contacted Zipporah and asked her to come assist. They probably didn't need a knight to travel four doors down, but it would be better to have assistance than to not have assistance if something happened. Plus he would need a knight to help check everything anyway.

"I'll arrive soon with assistance," Zipporah replied professionally. Less professionally, the sound of Eikestine screeching "He's stealing another one," was fairly clear in the background. The knights were really too boisterous.

With that sorted, Kolteruze turned to the more immediate problem of moving everything the distance between the desk and the door. "Lady Adelheid, might I trouble Alexandria for a cart?"

She looked up from whatever she was scribbling on the desk. "Oh, we have additional guests brooches," she assured him.

"These guest brooches need not be linked to any one person?"

"No, however they may only be used in conjunction with an assigned brooch, the holder of which is held accountable for the actions of all admitted under their name."

Kolteruze still wasn't convinced the security risks were worth the added convenience but it did seem very convenient to have a receiving area with direct access to the main building that wasn't also the primary entertaining hall. And the visitor brooches weren't all that different to the regular kind. Maybe they wouldn't make it easier for a rival duchy to launch an attack. But if several worked together they could easily deploy a half dozen to a dozen insurgents to block access to the central building. Then again, a greater duchy's scholar had probably considered these things and didn't need a foreign attendant to warn them. So, Kolteruze just nodded politely, gave an empty platitude and waited for help to arrive.

When Zipporah appeared by herself with just the handful of porters, Kolteruze realized his mistake. It would still be just the two of them who could enter Alexandria's dormitory. At least their were carts. He took one and began pulling it inside. Kirk followed, and before Kolteruze could warn him that he wouldn't be able to enter, he passed right through the teleportation door, stopping just in time to not run into Kolteruze who'd frozen where he stoods. He hadn't considered it before, that on the rare occasion he needed the assistance of commoner servants to move something through the Royal Academy, they could enter the dormitory. They could be trained to wield weapons. Theodore certainly wouldn't shut up how surprisingly skilled the grey clergy were despite their lack of mana.

Still, Kolteruze wasn't here to plan an attack on their closest ally, he was here to collect far too many gifts and the porters made filling the carts quick and painless. While they worked he gazed towards the far exit into the dormitory proper. Could a commoner pass through that barrier as well? They would never know because Ehrenfest would never be rude enough to try and even if they did, Alexandria might just keep any trespassers. Melchior would be so sad to lose Kirk in that way.

Zipporah and Kolteruze returned their visitor brooches before taking their leave. "I dearly hope you enjoy the games. It would be just splended to host a cross-duchy tournament of Reversi or Go," Adelheid said with her farewell. Kolteruze didn't get a chance to ask what she meant before he had to hurry to catch up to everyone.

Zipporah loved being a knight. She enjoyed the physicality of practice and the adrenaline of a good spar and the rush of a good hunt most of all. She did not particularly enjoy being a guard though. Hours of hyper-vigilant standing was not her idea of fun. Still, it was an important part of the work and she was not going to shame herself and her family by being incompetent.

Even standing still could be a workout, though. Tamper testing was just mind numbing drudgery laced with heart-stopping anxiety. People she cared about could be hurt if she failed, either directly or by association, not to mention that allowing her lord to be injured would crush her own sense of pride. Yes, she could rationalize and remind herself of the importance of doing a good job. If only she ever actually found something that hadn't been planted by either Zargerecht or Dedryck as a test. She would prefer something non-lethal but anything would be nice so that it didn't feel like they were guarding against a mirage. Nothing was ever trapped or poisoned and this set of gifts was shaping up to be just as safe as everything else. Not to mention just how much stuff there was.

Bless Lord Ferdinand. Her opinion of him continued to rise as she looked over his letter and the mana proof pouch it came with. Kolteruze had to look over the magic circle on the front and to spend far too much time waxing poetic about how beautiful the note was. Sure, the additional page delicately glued to the top and the strange wax seal which wrapped around the bottom edge was quite cool. That the magic circles perfectly framed the seal was a nice touch, but letters were destined to be read then stuffed into a closet if they were saved at all. The words they carried were far more important. The magic circle gave no hints as to what the small black faestone and mana-proof pouch were for so she could only check them over then set them aside.

That was the last easy thing. Aub Alexandria had sent a large sheaf of paper. At least a third of the sheets, chosen at random, had to be tested. Then the bound notebook and books were next. Once everything and its packaging was deemed safe, it had to be rewrapped as nearly to the original as possible and all these packages were composed of large sheets of paper folded very carefully.

"What is wrong with wood!" Zipporah grumbled.

"The paper is a good advertisement," Kolteruze replied. He held up one of Melchior's new books. "If you need help with refolding, this book has instructions for them and... animal sculptures." Zipporah just shoved the half closed origami at Kolteruze and moved on to more tests.

As though the paper was not enough, there was a blessedly wooden box containing ink, tree sap, and a few strange implements. There were brushes of a style Zipporah had never seen and a rod of strangely twisted faestone. It contained no circle but was obviously shaped intentionally and with great skill. Testing it with mana did nothing but prove it was not rigged to explode. She put it back in its box and carried on.

The final letter for Melchior expressed Letizia's gratefulness and promises to make proper returns this year. It came with the payment for Alexandria's order and confirmed that the returned gold had been taken care of. Though ashamed to have given up on creating a diptych which was both appropriate for a mednoble and worth three large gold, Melchior had indeed given up and chosen to simply refund part of the promised price. So Alexandria and Ehrenfest had traded a hair-raising amount of gold back and forth. At least the shumil painting was well received and envied by all who saw it, according to Letizia.

The real questions was why they'd been given a giant chunk of wood with arcane markings and two giant sacks of white and black pebbles, perfectly shaped into mounded disks. At least her lord was appropriately amazed by the bounty. It was evening by the time they could finally be delivered meaning that the common room was full of students who were tired of studying but unwilling to look undiligent by giving up too soon.

"Why did they send us so much stuff?" Melchior asked as several of the packages were presented to him at the big chair. He'd been sitting all the way back, kicking his feet and drawing the base for a painting of the common room. Now he shuffled to the very edge to gaze at the collection of new games and read his letters. "Oh, Sister says she heard we were blessed with so much thread as to find tangles and hopes that some might be used to evaluate her new inventions," he summarized.

The students tried not to look like they were listening in, except for Adaire who walked right over and began touching things. "Look, Lord Melchior, this Reversi set has round tiles!"

"That will be much nicer," Melchior agreed. "I think Gerianne will like this one. It is based on telling stories." He held up a book whose cover was decorated with a picture of a shumil lounging on a pile of gold. The accompanying set of glass, polyhedral dice glittered in their velvet case.

"I wonder who would tell Aub Alexandria such a thing?" Zargerecht mused. He looked the least excited of anyone about the new toys, probably because he had the least free time of anyone in the dormitory, possible in all of Ehrenfest.

Melchior went back to reading his letter. "She says we could alternate these new games with Gewinnen for more variety. The one called Go in particular is good for learning strategy."

Isolde hummed. "Perhaps she interpreted our note pertaining to the Gewinnen boards being prepared for the dormitory to mean we are without diversions," she mused.

"You mean your missive asking whether Lord Ferdinand would like his Gewinnen board back?" Kolteruze sighed. Isolde just shrugged. "Did you add unnecessary details?"

"What constitutes unnecessary?" she asked innocently.

Everyone stared at her except for Melchior who was too distracted by his letters to really care. "Oh she was very happy to receive the books and included translation recommendations for the Klassenberg mining records." Now the focus shifted back to Melchior and the implication that Aub Alexandria had read through both the original and the translation in the time since she'd received them. "The rest is praise for the books," Melchior concluded and set the letter aside. The rest of the gifts were wisely taken to his room unopened while the games were added to the dormitory library. No one was allowed to borrow them yet so as not to distract from studying.

Zipporah returned to the knights' table feeling exhausted. It did not help that she was now surrounded by people who could be uncritically excited to play with all the pebbles she'd laboriously poison tested and thus not focused on the material they needed help with. But Zipporah was a knight and a leader and she was not in the mood to be ignored.

What About Second Fellowship - Ensemble

As such, a small rewards shall be granted to each duchy who, under their own power, slays their portion of nymphs. Naturally, Heilschmertz need not be troubled for so small a thing as a friendly competition⁷⁰."

The students oohed and ahhed and whispered among themselves about winning glory or something else just as silly. It seemed that Aub Alexandria was correct, the students would rush to assist the Knights Order if given the barest dram of motivation. No one had even said definitively what the prize would be and they were still clamoring to engage in drudgery.

"It is, of course, understood that Angriff does not apportion strength equally to all. Therefore, each shall be measured according to their allotment. For lesser duchies, a reward shall be granted for twenty confirmed subjugation. Middle duchies with the exception of Gilessenmeyer and Ehrenfest, need present fifty subjugations. They along with the greater duchies with the exception of Dunkefelger should strive for one hundred..."

Gilessenmeyer accepted this with calm grace. Meanwhile, Ehrenfest, uncouth as they so often were, fell to wide-eyed wonder. It took all my strength not to smile at their deserved misfortune. Ehrenfest's knights were not so strong as Gilessenmeyer's even though both faced dangerous lord beasts as adults. There were also only a third as many knights compared to Gilessenmeyer. They would not have been given so high a quota had they not dared to claim they could make up for the weakness of the Royal Academy Guard. This was only the beginning of their penance. They would be well and truly embarrassed at the end of the year when they failed to earn a reward. "As the twenty-three year repeat winners of the Interduchy Tournamant, we are confident that two hundred zikenrache should be within he capabilities of Dunkefelger." It had been only one-fifty at the last meeting, Grausfeld observed. Dunkefelger had truly annoyed the Captain of the Royal Academy Guard. If only they looked chastised in the least. Being heaped with such an incredible burden was apparently cause for minor celebration and awed delight. Naturally the artless, barbarians would see this as an honor being bestowed. It was a true wonder that Dunkefelger produced any adults of elegance, least of all one as exceptional as Lady Magdalena. Perhaps that is why she worked so hard to escape and now raised her son with more grace.

The rest of the announcements were the same as they always were. Grausfeld allowed his mind to wander away, leaving only an eye on his lord in case he was needed. That was really the only way to survive as an attendant in direct service, doomed to stand for hours in the same spot awaiting orders. That spot changed soon enough. Prince Hildebrand led his retinue out of the auditorium to the small hall and plopped less than elegantly in to his chair. They would have to speak about that later. Grausfeld was not going to embarrass his lord by giving a correction publicly, unlike some people, and they had no new signals which communicated that the prince had made a social faux pa. They had signals for almost everything else though. Prince Hildebrand had grown somewhat obsessed with in-retinue signals since he began studying guides from the attendant track. Grausfeld was certain his lord could neither remember all of them nor notice some of the more subtle ones but he had personally taken the time to commit them all to memory. Hopefully this would make up for the fact that Prince Hildebrand had rejected a prompting scholar for the first time. While Grausfeld could agree that seeing a grown man hiding under a table was the height of comedy, he also couldn't deny the usefulness and ease with which prompts could be communicated. Now he would have to attempt to whisper discreetly in the prince's ear if he indicated that he needed help.

The duchy representatives soon began arriving. As usually, the lowest rank duchies had managed to sneak out the rear doors to arrive quickly without needing to give way to their betters. Whether Archduke Candidate or archnoble, they shuffled in looking stressed already except for Losrenger who, unlike his elder half-sister, seemed to have off loaded the burden of having emotions to his guard knight who was valiantly trying to be curious enough for both of them. After them, the greater duchies began to arrive. Lindenthal seemed to have only just missed their opportunity to enter and could now be seen waiting behind Letizia and Klassenberg as they each were announced. Both girls offered small smiles to the prince as they made their way to their seats. He acknowledged them with a flex of his fingers even though he shouldn't. Grausfeld made another mental note for their debrief.

Someone must have stopped in the middle of the hallway, allowing Lindenthal to enter. They dipped their head in thanks before hurrying forward. Just as he was wondering who had broken protocol, naturally Charlotte of Ehrenfest filled half the doorway with her ridiculous curls. At least her towering bulk wasn't being weighed down by a tiny blue barnacle so she could traverse the room with some dignity. Perhaps he'd been disinherited for his lack of manners. Grausfeld could only dream.

Prince Hildebrand shifted in his chair. From his position, Grausfeld couldn't see his lord's face but his shoulders looked tense for some reason. They didn't relax as he tipped his head at his cousins nor as Drewanchel flocked in and conducted a silent battle over who would get to sit in the seats which were slightly more forward and their attendants stealthily moved their tables just a little father apart. Lehmbruck had to wait for the names of all the Drewancheler's to be announced and did so awkwardly in the doorway then had to step back to allow Frenbeltag in. Grausfeld was relieved to have only begun attending this event as an adult. It was much easier to enjoy the bumbling when he had no memories of his own struggles marring the experience.

Near the very end of the arrivals, Grausfeld's hopes were dashed. The last scion of Ehrenfest was not disinherited only late. It was likely only a matter of time when he did such disrespectful things as appear separately from his sister, forcing the announcing scholar to actually place names to faces rather than simply introducing the list of names for each duchy. He didn't even look apologetic as he bounced across the floor. That was truly the only way to describe it when he was covered in so many poorly attached accessories. From the flowers on his shoes to the, actually rather impressive considering it was not his normal hair texture, single drill curl hanging from his high ponytail, everything on him shook with each step. He was also as colorful as it was possible to be while still technically wearing black, sporting yellow, blue, and red in garish combination. What an insult when the prince was wearing more muted tones. Oh, and there was even bits of gold flashing from his cape when even the prince would only wear silver.

At least, the obnoxious Kolteruze had been replaced with a different attendant. One far nicer to look at and with more grace and poise. Grausfeld felt a pang of sympathy for the lad as he was forced by his idiot of a master to move the Ehrenfest siblings' tables closer together so that he could draw his more composed sister into a deranged facsimile of close familial affection. Grausfeld had to look away.

Thankfully, things were underway swiftly. Alexandria came forward. Letizia gave her greeting and Prince Hildebrand returned it with compliments on her previous year's academic performance. It was a touch too impersonal for betrothed, in his opinion, but Lady Letizia exhibited more grace than the year before, proof that she was maturing into a fine lady despite being raised by former Ehrenfesters. With a good-natured quip about keeping her vigilance and Prince Hildebrand in second place, she was off back to her table.

Dunkefelger was not so relaxed. Lady Lungtase bowed her head a second time after giving her greeting. "Dunkefelger basks in the warm rays of the Goddess of Light upon our embers⁷¹. Thus does the Rod of Erwachlern sing with fiercer melody⁷². I must, on behalf of my knight, offer true contrition. The play of those bound under Weigmilch's pure light has no place in so serious a matter as the shepherding of youths⁷³."

Just as we'd advised, Prince Hildebrand delayed his response for a pregnant moment, conveniently giving himself time to adjust his response considering Dunkefelger's enthusiasm for what was supposed to be a punishment. Lungtase kept her eyes lowered while Raufereg copied her but stole glances around the room.

After switching his weight from one armrest to the other, Prince Hildebrand replied, "I see. How simply it is to forget the mountains and their foundations when enjoying the meadows of youth⁷⁴. Certainly, I can expect no repetition?"

"Sebsalrecht has felt keenly the guidance of Erwachlern," Lungtase replied. Grausfeld was skeptical as the boy in question was still allowed to accompany his lady to the fellowship gathering. At least he was contemplating the floor convincingly enough.

"Of this I have no doubts. The embers of Dunkefelger are known to survive summer's storms. As Sebsalrecht has shown only a great willingness to be of service, might we rely on him to author an account of his experiences, such that others might learn from his example. The Professor of Writing has already volunteered to advise on the piece." Now the young knight went pale as his lady agreed readily and promised to provide him with any materials he might need for his apology letter.

Klassenberg and Drewanchel were quite boring by comparison even though there was a new third year boy from Klassenberg who might be a good candidate for the prince's social group. He was a mere archnoble, adopted for political purposes, but greater duchy archnobles were known to be better even than the archdukes of lesser duchies. It was an option.

Finally, it was time for Ehrenfest to kneel and receive the second helping of their hubris's deserts. From the story told to the prince, Ehrenfest has been in charge of the whole insulting debacle and deserved an even harsher reprimand. It wouldn't be beyond the Royal Academy Steward's rights to demand the young knight in question be removed from his post. Of course, Prince Hildebrand was still young and compassionate, so something slightly less severe had been decided on.

Ehrenfest arrived. Lady Charlotte knelt gracefully. Lord Melchior tossed his cape in the style of a Sovereign noble even though both sides were the same color and would do no symbolic color changing as the inner lining flashed and was then covered by the exterior fabric. Neither looked appropriately contrite.

"It is our great honor that Dregarnuhr, the Goddess of Time saw fit to weave our threads together once again," Lord Melchior intoned, his eyes carefully directed at Prince Hildebrand's chin.

Grausfeld looked at Charlotte to see if she was as offended at being spoken over as she should be and was surprised to see her looking as serene as before. Had they planned this? Why plan to have the younger make the most generic greeting possible in this scenario? If he was going to speak, it only made sense that he should attempt to call upon the prior years intimacy. Grausfeld couldn't even feel good about witnessing such stupidity. Not even Kolteruze deserved a lord so dense.

Prince Hildebrand laughed very softly, destroying whatever intimidating image he'd previously succeeded in projecting. Instead of serious, he sounded amused and slightly confused when he spoke. "Indeed. Her Majesty once again welcomes the children of Ehrenfest into her care that they might become nobles fit to serve Yurgenschmidt."

This was a disaster. It was one thing for Ehrenfest to give a highly generic greeting but there was no reason for the prince to do so. They'd spent so long drilling all the duchy specific greetings and conversion starters and so quickly was Prince Hildebrand deviating. He was supposed to be grilling Ehrenfest on their defamatory words and activities not giggling with them. Grausfeld leaned forward to give prompting only to almost get hit in the face as he was waved away.

"May the future be bright," Lord Melchior answered, completing the technically correct greetings for the fellowship gathering. It was the first exchange taught but it was almost never used as the fellowship gathering was too good an opportunity for information gathering to waste on empty phrases. Yet here was Ehrenfest, bowing a final time and leaving without another word, completely avoiding their comeuppance, while the Prince stared after them dumbly.

Grausfeld was so surprised he missed the opportunity to intervene in the equally disastrous greetings between Hauchletze and Prince Hildebrand. Creating a bond of friendship between his home duchy and his lord would be harder than ever now and it was all the fault of Lord Melchior of Ehrenfest.

Footnotes

67. Goddess of records/truth - goddess of my invention. Like Mestinora she records information, unlike Mestinora she only records raw facts. Subordinate of Light^

68. I don't have a lot of free time, personally^

69. Have you taken on too much^

70. Don't endanger yourselves for something so unimportant^

71. We're honored by Her Majesty's faith in our young knights^

72. So we are extra sorry for our mistake^

73. Being related was no excuse to behave that way, or Sebsalrecht should have shown more respect to his cousin given the setting^

74. Young people often forget themselves while having fun^