Court really was like a family – with all the unwanted drama that having a family entails.
Sounds.
Echoes.
Whispers.
Small noises that filled the little corners in the vast silence of infinite corridors.
Of all the things she remembered from her infamous childhood, it were sounds that had stuck in her mind the most. The heavy grinding of raising stairs, stone against stone, as their ancient mechanism came to life giving access to the upper levels. She remembered the way footsteps would echo so clearly among the walls. always leaving them heavy with uncertainty if the hunters coming for them were just around the corner or if they were five corridors, three floors and several twists and turns away
And the Bane…
Oh, she especially remembered those. Wisps, small and slow, were silent, but the Scourge were not, and if there was a Wisp around, the Scourge and Malice were not far behind. They would claw their way against the stone walls, letting out inhuman screeches as they patrolled the corridors in packs. The only sound more prominent than that was that of a human unfortunate enough to be cornered by them. From the small nooks and crevices she could fit in at the time, she had watched it happen enough times to numb her to the sight.
She had singlehandedly contributed to death of more men than any child ought to.
There was fear, always, but it had become like a second nature – an accompanying emotion in their lives. Screams coming from those foolish enough to enter the Oldwalls unprepared, were a warning, a signal to press on with caution, but it did not stop her family from doing what they did. It didn't stop her from enjoying it. She remembered running through those corridors, up those stairs, checking which banesnare was safe and which was close to a breaking point… She had learned much in those early years of her life, things not even a kid raised on the street could learn – and through her parents' 'entrepreneurship' she had met more than a few and she could brag that none of those other eight-year-olds could successfully lure away a Scourge.
She remembered being very proud of that fact.
She was a moron.
What she knew – what she was so proud of knowing, didn't help anyone in the end. Not even herself.
And, as if reinforcing that fact, mocking her of her silly youthful exuberance and pride, her memory took a turn – for the darker times.
This time, it weren't the intruders threatening her family that died by her hand.
This time, she was the Bane in the story.
She remembered it clearly: keeping to the shadows, hunting down and eliminating the leaders of the Bastard City, of its nobility and their families – one by one. None escaped. Blotches of dust and lifeblood covered her mind's eye in vivid, horrifying impediment, trickled a river of crimson misery across the floor, the sound of open wounds and escaping organs and emptying veins a living nightmare in her memory…
The city was bleeding from the inside. She had made sure of it.
Ponirya's eyes slowly opened. She was facing the narrow windows and the pale, brightening line of dawn was like a tightrope across the horizon. Almost unwittingly, her eyes darted over to shadows in her room and she cursed in her pillow.
'...fucking reflexes...' Taking a deep breath, she unfurrowed from her spot on the bed and slowly sat up, blinking away the not-really-sleep from her eyes. Being back in Bastard city… no wonder she was remembering that particular time of her life, so of course, her mind couldn't focus on happier times no matter how much she tried to. Wrinkling her nose she felt for a dagger under her pillow. It was such a poor and uncomfortable hiding spot, but until she made some adjustments to the room it'll have to do.
Her chambers – the small room given to her, and others of Tunon's Court – once tiny barracks were now used by fatebinders instead of clerks who used to run a large and incapable merchant administration. That is to say, they counted rings, tithes and other offerings. It would be redundant to say that a lot of what went through here, ended in their pockets.
Small wonder that Tunon was so well liked among the people of the City
Cracking her neck and making her joints pop, in an attempt to release some of the pressure (it was almost like her body couldn't believe she was sleeping in an actual bed), she sluggishly looked around, her eyes immediately falling to the note left on her nightstand the previous night. Ponirya could not help but glare at the square piece of parchment.
She was expected in the Archives. No delays. No excuses.
'...better get to it...' she thought sullenly, knowing she should get on with her morning routine.
In between washing and getting dressed her eyes kept being drawn to the window and what little of the Oldwalls she could see from where she was. It was clear enough morning and she never got tired of looking at them. No one knew who created and shaped these ancient structures any more than they know who built the Spires. The recorded history of the world simply did not reach back that far. Or the records were burned. That was known to happen.
Below, she could see clearly the east side of the city slowly waking up. The front lines were a nightmare in itself, but it looked like these three years were not kind to the new capitol of Tiers either. Sinkholes remained to this day, but life was rebuilding around it, and the Court was still filled with petitioners who lost all they had during Conquest. Not that Tunon would ever return what they believe they were owed. If anyone was allowed to amass wealth, it were the Archons and their favourites.
The Bastard city stood on the northern border between Kyros' Empire and the Tiers. Built upon a natural harbour at the crossroads between realms, the city was a nexus of commerce. To the Tiers, it was the hub of all wealth. To a northerner, it was little more than a backwater trading post, but its symbolic status as a gateway to the rest of the continent made it a natural first target in Kyros' military conquest.
Tunon was so genuinely respected by the citizens (and feared), that there was no need for armed forces within the city walls. Each district was provided with a judge and nine soldiers to enforce the law, but out of respect for Tunon, most people reached their own resolutions without involving the authorities. But the fact that petitioners were still lining up meant that Tunon had yet to drain that swamp completely, and in turn, that only spoke not only how stretched his resources were since the start of the Conquest, but also how stubborn the people of the Tiers were.
Ponirya made her way down to the training grounds. Resting in bed, between four walls, a secure door and with no army in sight was an experience she had to acclimate to. The note did say 'no delays', but a quick exercise was part of every fatebinder's morning routine. How else were they expected to stay in proper shape necessary to deal with lawbreakers?
The training grounds were a refurbished ballroom (Tunon had no need for those) with an opening leading into the gardens, some of which were cleared out to make room for all the equipment archery or sigils practice required. Ponirya was surprised to find the place largely… empty. Aside from a few adults, older fatebinders she guessed, there were almost no novices to speak of. Only a handful of children. Was the recruitment in Tiers that poor, or was no one requisitioned from the North? And if so – why?
Fortunately, the first face to see but none other than her old mentor. Nunoval was keeping himself busy by training a handful of retainers. That was almost pitiful number compared to one in her youth, and she was aware that many would not live through the first two years of their life here. Surviving Court's schooling and initiation was not easier than surviving that of, say, Scarlet Chorus. Both were brutal and culled the weak, but they did so in different ways.
"Keep your spine straight and balance evenly spread between both feet! Both for attack and evasion you need to be able to move your body in a split of a moment! Alexis! Are your ears made of wet clay, boy?!"
"I'm glad to see that your drill sergeant routine is still going strong," Ponirya called out, approaching him from behind. There was no intention on her part to be stealthy and he likely had noticed her at the doors. With massive arms across his chest and incredibly bright smile, he turned to face her.
A keen, brash, and a hearty braggart with a fondness for bloodshed and thus, a perfect choice for the Fatebinder of War. Appearances were so easily deceiving. According to his peers, the jovial Nunoval dispensed fair justice, but tended toward rather exacting and uncompromising punishments at times, as she had an opportunity to witness during the times he had taken her to the Disfavored camps in her early field missions. She had seen more bloodied and mangled bodies on her trips with him than she ever did during her time under Bleden Mark. Nunoval was good with just about anything that would let him end the life of another human. The Conquest of Tiers suited his temperament.
There were good lessons all around, but it was not a memory she liked to dive into. For reasons lingering more heavily on her mind than the sheer brutality she had witnessed. Still, he was one of the few teachers she was fond of.
"Ponirya! You obnoxious brat! Finally decided to show your face, eh!" He clapped her on the shoulder and grabbed her wrist in a firm grip. Nunoval was easygoing, sociable, and rather chatty. Not something one would expect from the Fatebinder of War.
"Really? Three years later and I'm still considered a brat?" She chuckled rubbing her hand.
"That's the part you take issue with?"
"You say obnoxious, still, all I hear is relentless."
Realizing that they were becoming the centre of attention, Nunoval quickly instructed the few children present to continue with their training, and the two of them watched the novices spar and go through stances. It brought back a lot of memories. None of which needed to be dragged into the light of the day.
"Come, tell me! I'm eager to hear how the war effort down south was!" Oddly, Nunoval's voice was not as loud as he could be when taking notice of things, demanding explanations or just being himself in general. Maybe he didn't want the children to overhear and start asking questions…
Still, she wondered what would be the best way to answer that kind of question.
Those were the three years of her life that involved nothing but battles and attempts to find solutions that didn't end with blighting the land or extinguishing entire villages. She had to learn to balance between the demands of Disfavored and the voracity of Scarlet Chorus, trying to persuade the ever-inflexible Graven Ashe and outsmart the Voices of Nerat. Coupled with all that were incessant field courts and decisions, a number of which she later had come to regret, and not because it affected the war effort…
Quite the opposite…
Ponirya shrugged it all off. "Wine was so-so. If it was actually wine and not hog urine… which they filled all of the empty bottles with when no one was looking."
"Figures." His lips twisted knowingly, but then again that was to be expected. Being who he was, he knew exactly what she wasn't telling him, but that didn't mean he was going to let her evade the question fully.
"It was my first war ever, so I've got nothing to compare it to, really."
"You survived. So it either wasn't that bad as you make it out to be, or you've actually learned to stop and think through all the evidence before delivering final judgment."
"Is that coming from you? The objectively most bloody-handed person in the Court."
"Watch that tongue. I know someone would object to that."
"Huh? I could've sworn I said 'person'…"
"I spoke too soon. War didn't do so much as put a dent in your thickheaded arrogance."
"Say what you will but we won, so I suspect I did something right." She saw him roll his eyes and shake his head slightly, as if he was praying to the Overlord for patience. It was pretty much given that her elders and seniors were taking bets for years now on when her flippant attitude was going to get her killed. So far, her tongue was getting her out of trouble just as much as it was getting her into.
She should probably join the betting pool. The amount of rings she'd win…
"When did you return? Was it immediately after dooming an entire region to a perpetual storm?" Turnabout was a fair-play in the Court and so the younger fatebinder turned the questioning around.
"After wrapping up with Stalwart, yes. With the Edict going strong there was little else for me to do than pick up a few loose ends and head back. You, on the other hand, took your sweet time."
"What's there to say? I took a scenic route." Which was demonstrably true, and as Vellum Citadel has been steadily burning for almost a year now, she may have taken a long way around to return to the Court. Under his steely gaze she offered a more detailed explanation. "Chorus is never so clear-cut. I had more than just a 'few loose ends' to deal with. More territorial disputes between the two armies than you can shake your pointy stick at-..."
"All of which Rhogalus will be very happy to have in written testimony, I'm sure."
"Yes. I did notice that some unfortunate soul has left me a note about a small mountain of paperwork in my tiny corner of the scribing room. Waiting for me. Can you imagine?"
"That wouldn't be the one you never catch up with? I was looking for reports on Disfavored movements after the Edict of Fire, and couldn't find any."
"Slander and lies!" Ponirya gasped, all shades offended, and Nunoval chuckled. Ponirya's dedication to abusing the archives for her nightly reading, but less so to writing down her cases, has become horrendously comical by this point. "I've sent missives."
"I've read them. A lot of words and very little meaning behind them. Rhogalus was both furious, and secretly proud, I'm sure."
"One can't really fault the student for their teacher's methods," Ponirya hummed and studiously kept her eyes averted to the shining marble floor of the former ballroom, and further across to novices going through basic routine.
"Well since you're here, are you up for some sparring?"
"I don't know. Do you plan to drag it out? Seeing how you too are keen on those 'reports'…"
He laughed, deep, and shook his head. "I didn't mean myself, as enjoyable as whooping your ass would be-..."
He was interrupted by a snort, then a cough. "Sorry. …go on."
Nunoval shot her a mild glare under his thick, bushy eyebrows, even as she tried to throw on least a little bit of an apologetic facade.
Although… Sparring with someone who would not tear through her muscles or crack her bones in several places to make a point? Or use grievously unfair advantage through experience, power and clearly not being human anymore? Ponirya wasn't opposed to the idea, at all. She was very much tempted. And as she wasn't above avoiding her duties like that, it would be as good of an excuse not to be stuck in the records room the entire day.
"I thought you might be interested in helping a fellow fatebinder to get back on her feet." And before she could reply he called out to the older girl, gesturing for her to approach them. It was someone Ponirya hadn't seen in a long time, and certainly had not expected to be her sparring partner. Her eyes were immediately drawn to what she held in her left hand, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Iphigenia?"
Of average height and round in all the right places, with big brown eyes and curly hair, Iphigenia was a couple, or more, of years her senior. Due to her memory skills being similar to that of Rhogalus, had apprenticed with the old coot from an early age. She was never really much of a field agent, and, by the looks of her, it hadn't changed. Not that she didn't have the skill – all fatebinders (save for herself) were required to go through both martial and magical training – but Iphigenia's talents were better used elsewhere. She couldn't be over her mid to late-twenties, but there was haggard, tired look to her that aged her up. As if she was recovering from a long, but still lingering illness.
The last time she had seen the archivist apprentice was back in the Northern Empire, before she was assigned to paving the path for to the first wave of Overlord's armies that would clash with the enemy at the Gates of Judgment. A lot must have happened in the meantime.
"I've heard you've returned," her voice was reserved.
"I didn't think that would be newsworthy information."
"You took long enough that some have thought that you might have joined the resent insurrection."
"Rumor mill is still going on strong. Good to know." Ponirya didn't need to go through the list of names to know whose fault that was. 'Thank you Calio.'
"Even before the Conquest, yes." She paused, seeming to go through her choice of words carefully. "I've heard you were working closely with the Scarlet Chorus in the past three years."
"I like to think I've been impartial to the best of my abilities. Though Chorus did prove to be more of use to the Empire in the long run."
"In which way? If you don't mind me asking," Iphigenia perked up at this, her attention solely focused on the younger fatebinder. To Ponirya this felt more like an interrogation, than a simple chitchat.
"Well, the way Chorus operates is, more or less," Ponirya gestured with a wave at the average height children were usually at when they crossed to 'official' adulthood. "…you have to be this tall to die."
"That is not funny."
"No. But it is the hard truth of the matter." She glanced over to Nunoval. "I know your affinity for the Disfavored, but salting the earth isn't really going to help us when the caravans from the north are so few. We need food, and the fields won't plow themselves." She was still amazed that it was Graven Ashe who was in favor of diplomacy during the onslaught on the lands of Apex.
There was an awkward silence and Iphigenia looked to be considering something with a slight frown. She had asked this question and there was more to the reason than mere small talk. She opened her mouth, presumably to ask something else but Nunoval cut her short.
"Now that you two have reacquainted – how about that sparring match? What do you say girl?" He looked at the mage, "Are you willing to test yourself after all the training in the past spans?"
"I am not opposed to it, but…" Ponirya started, her eyes followed down to the other woman's hands and she gestured at the Iphigenia's weapon of choice. A short sword. "With that?"
"Do you believe me untrained in martial combat?" There was a hard edge to her voice. Cold, like iron. It was clear that she had insulted the woman, but she had no idea why or how.
"I'm just saying that some of us are more trained than others," Ponirya replied quietly. "This could be a fight you'll lose."
"Not unlike you're about to lose consciousness."
Ponirya blinked. That was… wholly unexpected retort coming from a usually quiet mage. But that still posed the question: Why swords? Not that mages couldn't make use of them, but Iphigenia was a master sigils caster, second only to Rhogalus. She could easily wipe the floor with her if she wasn't careful.
"That's enough!" Nunoval's gruff voice slammed onto them with all the force of a master instructor. It was as if they were trainees under him once more. "Get into the training sands, if this is to go anywhere."
They walked over to the sand covered circle, one of several that were dug as an addition to the grand chamber, and stood opposite to each other and with swords in their hands – two in Ponirya's case. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was going on. Something she had little information about, and she hated lacking tools to work with. Fortunately, a sparring match could be equally informative.
Iphigenia, for her part, looked at the younger fatebinder, who stood casually, swords pointed to the ground.
Ponirya cocked her head slightly. "Well?"
It wasn't intended as one but maybe the mage took that as taunt, and Iphigenia decided to try and surprise her with her strength. As it had been years since she had faced Ponirya in the arena, she took a couple cautious steps forward, but the other didn't react, staying relaxed.
Iphigenia charged forward, looking for any indication she'd bring up his defences, but she still hadn't reacted. Remembering Ponirya was right handed, she decided to come in from her left. She lunged and swung, waiting to feel that sword come up to parry, only it never did. Her eyes widened when she met no resistance, however, soon she'd realized Ponirya hadn't moved to block at all because she'd moved backwards.
Iphigenia tried to reverse her swing, but she'd put too much into it, she had too much momentum. She moved back to retreat, but found a sword at her throat.
She was dead. Ponirya's eyes were focusing on her with odd detachment.
Frustrated, she backed off and tried again. She came in as she had before, but she was careful not to over-commit this time. When Ponirya stepped back again as he had before, she stepped forward as well, keeping pace with her. However, this time her sword was met with resistance, her left sword had caught hers, just above the hilt; her blow came to a complete halt. She found her right sword at her throat.
Certainly dead.
Iphigenia huffed and took a couple steps back. Charging wasn't working, and she refused to use the sigils. It was time for a different approach. She decided to try a flurry of blows, growing in strength. She came in high and from her right. Ponirya knocked it aside with her left blade, bouncing it off hers and coming for her throat. Without hesitating, she re-positioned her blade, coming in horizontally from the same direction. Ponirya's left sword left her throat and knocked her blow down and past her, while her right came across just a hair in front of her front.
Disembowelled, and…
Iphigenia reversed her strike, making a diagonal attack, rising towards his chest. Ponirya's right sword was there to meet it though, its trajectory altered ever so slightly to catch her swing perfectly, while her other sword came to her throat.
"Three rounds down and back for more," Ponirya muttered.
The mage glanced down at the sword at her throat. With that second blade, she would never be able to break through the younger woman's defences. As if sensing her thoughts, Ponirya stepped back, and planted her left blade into the sand. Then she turned to face her.
She was giving her a chance. It was infuriating.
Iphigenia came in fast and strong, and Ponirya's sword was there to meet hers. She dipped her sword under hers and then reversed, coming in from the other direction, but again the younger fatebinder's sword was there, waiting. It was always waiting. Frustrated, Iphigenia pulled back her sword and thrust it at her. Ponirya swung her left foot back, turning sideways as her sword went past her, and then she brought her right and down and chopped her wrist, loosening her grip. In a split second Ponirya's sword was at her throat.
For the fifth time during a single match.
"Is this necessary?" Iphigenia asked, angry and embarrassed.
"If you intend to use it, then yes," Ponirya answered, her voice as serious as it rarely was.
"So you say. Am I to expect such blatant swindling on the field as well?"
"I'm… what now…?" Ponirya was utterly baffled. Where did this come from? If the Court was supposed to be akin to a family, then some fucked up things were going on in her absence.
"That is enough. You are skilled enough to hold out against a Chorus member-"
"-not with the swords she isn't," Ponirya let out a sing-song-like whisper from behind Nunoval only he could hear, and that earned her a reprimanding glare, and only because he was currently focusing on the mage.
"-but fatebinder Ponirya is a trained assassin. 'Blatant swindling' is part of the course."
Now, Ponirya didn't like being called an 'assassin'. For one – she wasn't an assassin in any official capacity, and she certainly didn't think of herself as one. She was just… very, very good at killing people. A bit of a longer reach, a looser leash, was the only way that worked in her favour. And two – there was no 'swindling' whatsoever involved in this match.
Why didn't Iphigenia use sigils?
"You're right, Nunoval. The massacre of Bastard city proved that much. As your long time mentor, Bleden Mark must've been proud of your accomplishments." Her eyes locked with Ponirya's, and her voice was saccharine sweet but all Ponirya could feel was rush of blood in her ears, her confusion instantly being replaced by swelling rage.
Her skill and tactics of infiltration placed her in the Bastard City ahead of the main armies and her work softened the city defences for the arrival of Kyros' forces, but she was in need of a decisive gesture that would give her allies a meaningful advantage.
So, she did what she was trained to do. And she had executed her task beautifully.
Some deaths were quiet and unnoticed, while others were gruesome beyond words. As a wave of murder overtook the city's elite, her deeds swelled in infamy. Well before the armies arrived, no one in the Bastard City felt safe in their homes – much less behind their walls. By the time Kyros' forces appeared on the horizon, the city was fearful enough to throw open the gates and welcome their new protectors.
That week of her life… it was something she had done willingly. There was no escaping the reality of the choice she had made; no going back on it; no burying it in the pits of her soul; no avoiding and running away from it for the rest of her life… but she'd be damned if she would allow another member of the Court to accuse her – not when all of them were tasked with either committing atrocities in Overlord's name or dropping dead where they stood.
"Does that mean you're yet to do something noteworthy in the Archives that would have Rhogalus be proud of you?" Ponirya's voice was quiet, flat, and full of intent to hurt. She tried hard to hold herself to a higher standard, but right now...
"I do not have your kill count, that's true. But I did hear that your recent rulings have been oddly lenient. Perhaps even in favour of the rebels. There is no proof of course, but it is enough to make one wonder if it is atonement you seek through your liberal interpretation of law?"
Ponirya stiffened defensively, her gaze dropping all warmth and her heart stuttering. Her fingers itched to reach for the wires in her bracers. Mark would have killed the woman by now. It was fortunate for Iphigenia that despite all the years, the seed of his temperament didn't manage to take hold in her.
"That is defamation, and it is too serious of a matter to be settled in a training hall. Perhaps we should go through proper channels to sort out the truth from falsehood. But regardless of the outcome, I'm sure that in your grace you will be willing to teach me the proper procedure of handling starving peasants, should you ever leave the safety of the Court's playground," Ponirya insisted as evenly as she could manage, trying her hardest to still the tremors that were still wracking her body in the wake of her fleeting temper.
A bead of sweat rolled down the mage's neck, possibly in delayed reaction to all the stress, and she shuffled back another step, struggling to regain her grasp on the situation and her role desperately.
"Enough!" Directed at both of them, Nunoval's voice roared, startling even the few other people present who have stopped to stare at the spectacle. His large, muscular form loomed over both of them, but his focus was on Iphigenia. "That braggart brat is not wrong. Accusations are being recklessly thrown around and that can easily become courtroom business. As you will be leaving for Cacophony in two days, you will have the chance to prove Ponirya wrong. In the meantime, I suggest you better see to completing any of your unfinished cases."
With a stiff motion, the archivist mage bowed and stormed away.
Ponirya could only stare after her for several silent moments. The wheels turned in her head and she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
"What was that all about?!" Turning towards Nunoval sharply, Ponirya gestured with the sword still in her hand at the figure now gone. "Why is Iphigenia even active?"
Nunoval merely shrugged off the tone of her voice in a way that dismissed this whole spectacle, looking over at large door Iphigenia disappeared through. "She's a highly skilled member of the Court. Is there any reason she shouldn't be?"
"Sixth failed pregnancy comes to mind."
He dragged his fingers across his stubble thoughtfully. "You've heard of that."
"Was it supposed to be a secret?" It wasn't a joke when she called the Court's rumor mill was one of the most potent in the Empire.
"Not really, and I'm glad for that. It would have been a mess if you'd reached for your stashed weapons."
He noticed that? She must have been careless. Or more visibly disturbed than she expected.
"Women often have trouble surviving carrying a single child to term. A failed one… several failed ones..." Sufficed to say, it was a miracle Iphigenia was still alive. "He's pushing her too much."
"At this point, I'd say it's more on her." He knew something, but he wasn't about to divulge further.
But it did make her pause. Maybe he had a point, and Ponirya simply didn't think of it. Maybe Iphigenia was trying to validate all she had gone through. Or maybe she just wanted that child to fill the part of her that the Court had bitten out.
The Court… to all who were part of it, part of Kyros' ruling structure and mechanisms, it truly did give in abundance – from perspective to opportunity and access to education knowledge, placing them all far ahead of the rest of population. But it also took – with reckless abandon, like an insatiable beast. Stripping them piece by piece, until it was too late and they were left holding fragments of themselves, wondering if it was all worth it. Living to ripe old age and retiring – very few fatebinders were successful, resilient and clever enough to reach that dream.
"I will point out that it was she who asked to be put back on active duty, and was scrutinized for the possibilities of impaired judgment before being sent on the field. With the war over, there will be need for more of us to deal with day to day disputes as Kyros' law takes hold across Tiers."
Ponirya's head snapped towards Nunoval.
"Impaired-… She's an archivist. Her work on the field – in those rare moments when archivists are in the field – involves cataloguing forbidden lore."
"And is her judgment not important for that? Deciding what is allowed and what should be purged is an insignificant task, in your opinion? I hope that is not what you're trying to say."
"And I didn't say that," because, more often than not, all the forbidden tomes ended up with them. Or shipped north to Kyros' personal library. There actually was a list among the archivists that dictated what was to be destroyed and what was to be sent to the capital of the Empire for more 'detailed examination'. "I didn't say that exactly."
Nunoval snorted or maybe it was a stifled short, gruff laugh.
"She's to be stationed with the Chorus, then?" Ponirya watched him nod. That would explain her line of questioning earlier. Disfavored burned everything they could find, but Chorus liked to keep things. Even things they shouldn't. Especially things they shouldn't. It wasn't the most glamorous of positions, but she'll adapt.
Or die. Dying was always an option in Kyros' service.
And who knows? From the looks of things, it might end up being a good thing for her.
Returning to weapon racks, Ponirya was still deep in thought. Not about Iphigenia, as she didn't think the woman truly hated her (she could smell that kind of thing, by now). It was frustration. No member of the Court had an easy life, and Iphigenia's continued relationship with Rhogalus and their attempt to have a child with their combined talents… Not that circumstances justified the slew of things she had said with full intent to hurt her – but that was some internal matter between couple of Court members that was spilling over into everyone else's business.
No, what she was more curious about was her post and why it was happening. There was probably some ongoing hunt for the Sages if the Chorus needed a fatebinder specialized in forbidden lore. None of that, however, explained her abject refusal to use her highly adept magical skills. Sure, Nerat was well known for 'eating' mages, but he wouldn't touch one of Tunon's. Not without some previously enacted and purposefully placed convoluted shenanigans that would allow him to do so.
So. Not only does her family situation appear to be rotten, but she is also about to be stationed with the Voices as well… Stopping next to the weapon stands, where the small clay bowl filled with water was, Ponirya nodded to herself. Yes, she could clearly see where all that frustration was coming from, but she still didn't think that was all there was.
Ponirya dragged the wet rag across her neck, trying to freshen up at least a little before leaving the training area. Scribing rooms and archives were stuffy enough without the smell of sweat adding to it.
"I take it you have heard of the events in Vendrien's Well?" Nunoval joined her and his voice cut through her thoughts, changing the subject as his massive frame turned about. Or, not changing it that much. Redirecting it. They were still talking about the war. He straightened a spear on the stand, muttering how said student would need reminding on how to treat weaponry. That usually meant punishment.
Poor kid.
Ponirya nodded absently. At this point, who hasn't? Like a juicy piece of delectable meat, the recent insurgence seemed to be the only thing on everyone's tongue, and she'd heard tales of it even as she was traversing back to Bastard city. One rumor, for instance, had it that as of recently, Kyros' forces have transformed the valley into a full garrison to ward off insurgents desperate to leave the Well – the once military arm of Apex, the Queen's Royal Army of Vendrien, a standing force composed of infantry contributed by the noble houses. As the Tiers peninsula was no stranger to constant infighting between the city-states, those nobles weren't just playing dress-up with shiny armor. The part about how Graven Ashe and Voices of Nerat were stuck in a rut, especially, was the one most talked about. It was also, the most likely part of the tale to be completely true.
Considering she was the one to broker peace in the first place, Ponirya wondered if the current state of conquest going absolutely nowhere will be blamed on her as well. It was one of the reasons she had taken her time, least she'd end up being sent back to clean up the mess in Apex. It was certainly enough for Iphigenia to lean into rumors of active sabotage and collusion on her part. All of which were entirely made up.
"The whole thing is a bit like asking what's behind Tunon's mask. The tale changes depending on who's telling it," she spun around slowly, her expression an image of dedicated innocence. "For example, miss Raz said she'd heard from a construction worker on second floor – the ones working on the gallery – that-"
"You'd best not finish that thought girl," he snorted, raising his large hand to stop her from completing what was probably a very convoluted, crude and untrue 'rumor', and she heard him mutter something that sounded like 'cheeky brat' under his breath. It had turned out quite a silly moment with him holding back his laugher, but the point was made.
And it had released the tension for a bit. Though the matter at hand remained, still.
The situation, as it stood now, was that the Disfavored and the Scarlet Chorus now controlled the lands – although 'control' rarely equated with 'capably running'. Which was probably the very reason why all of this was happening right now. The oathbreakers' will was not yet extinguished, not entirely, and as the Vendrien Guard's insurgency begun, the Scarlet Chorus and Disfavored descend upon the former Kingdom of Apex. Both of their main armies were spread across the Tiers, and were now redeployed to Vendrien's Well to crush the resistance.
Tiers has lost this war years ago – this was little more than the last gasp of a dying people. Although, dying people really shouldn't be causing this much of a trouble. Everyone in the realm knew something was going terribly wrong when months passed with no definitive battle.
"Things are threatening to boil over," he continued as she remained silent.
"Are they? Are they really?" One pale eyebrow arched as she leaned towards her old mentor. "It's hardly the first time Ashe and Nerat are stalling the campaign with their… disagreements on how to handle the enemy." Or handle anything else, really.
"Ponirya, I expect better than such a lackluster assessment of situation from one of Court's finest." His tone was teasing, but it was also that of probing for whatever insight she might have of the situation.
"It's less incriminating than saying that they're 'actively sabotaging each other'. That would be a serious accusation, and one no self-respecting fatebinder would dare to make," she admitted mournfully, wiping at the back of her neck with her hand. "I'm one of 'Court's finest'? Really?"
Nunoval let out a sigh as well, rolling his eyes. He shouldn't have said that.
"They've probably left enough evidence for any self-respecting fatebinder to back those 'completely fictitious accusations' up," he assured her, reaching over to clap a hand to her shoulder, and Ponirya looked back at him skeptically before nodding slowly, a real smile pulling at her lips. Most fatebinders involved in the war were keenly aware of how very much Nerat and Ashe did not get along, and of how bad idea it was to set them on the same goal with expectation to cooperate. He smoothed his beard. "Still, last time we were in the middle of the campaign. The end of it all, it should have come and gone by now."
Ponirya looked away. Somehow, an end to the war was hard to imagine. During the days of her growing up in the Northern Empire, she had repeatedly witnessed troupes and agents of the Court being in constant state of movement. The wording of Kyros' Peace was always civil and inviting, but the underlying social contract was that the Overlord was in an active state of war with all who have not accepted Kyros' Peace.
She did not know – hadn't read in her studies, even – of the time when the war machinery of Kyros' Empire rested.
And now, as disagreement and discord paralyzed the Archons, the oathbreakers were doing their best to bide their time and wait for their message of insurrection to spread across the Tiers. Well, they should be satisfied to know that it was heard, loud and clear… but not by the audience they were so keen on.
There is no possible scenario where the Overlord will allow this small chunk of land to ruin the almost complete dominion over Terratus.
With her satchel hanging over her shoulder, Ponirya made her way down the renovated corridors, now thoroughly covered with Kyros' and Tunon's – significantly smaller, she noted – insignia everywhere. It was all lavishly carved in stone or weaved in tapestries. Almost to a point of being excessive, and obnoxious. Like they all didn't already know to whom their lives belonged to.
She almost missed how the palace used to look like, three years ago when she was stalking this very same corridors for her targets among local nobility. She groaned. Iphigenia didn't bring up the memories, but she sure has made them more acute.
It was around one of the newer, recently refurbished corners and all too many stairs that the palace runner, a young boy of maybe ten-eleven years old and with an almost comically stern face (was she ever this young?), came up to her. It surprised her. She wasn't back long enough, nor has she done anything noteworthy for anyone to be looking for her just yet.
"Ponirya Metis Areia." The page didn't even bow, just exclaimed the words with exact pronunciation and uttermost purpose, and she felt chills go down her spine because the only time her full name was ever being used was for-…
"Summons from the Adjudicator."