There was only things she could do, and she did it with gusto – glare silently.
Well, here she was once more.
Alone. With Tunon.
Early morning made it seem like the day was going to be interesting, or at least productive in some way, and then it had to spiral downwards and out of control. First Iphigenia, and now... this.
She didn't have to look up to know that he was towering over her, but when she did raise her head, she was relieved to see that his presence wasn't taking up the entirety of the space. It was less oppressive and so, felt moderately bearable. Maybe because unlike the courtroom, his chosen office lacked that practical sky-high ceiling and therefore didn't allow for his full height and spread of what he was.
Simple robes, coarse and plain, dark and gray, and in such a stark contrast to the ivory mask. Shadows surrounded his form, merging with it. There was no clear way of telling where his robes ended and the shadows begun.
At least his chosen office didn't have a hole in the ground with a mass of shadows crawling out of it. It's surprising how much that pit added to the overall dread he could already induce through mere presence. Not that the Archon of Justice needed props to do his job for him. He commanded the attention of the entire room with his presence alone, holding his conversation partners hostage with his personality and knowing gaze.
She waited for him to speak, but for the longest time he stood behind the massive desk, lined with missives and reports – all stacked and neatly settled through a cataloguing system only he was familiar with.
This brought back memories. Each official audience did that to her.
The time when she first appeared before the Archon of Justice, seemed incredibly distant. She was depressed, frightened, angry and well aware of the fact that the fate of her family could easily befall her. She was eight, or maybe nine, when she joined the Court, plucked from the cell for the crimes of being born in the wrong place, on the wrong side of the border and for the crimes of her family's smuggling operations through the Oldwalls. Some would say, and did say, that she should be grateful to Tunon for her survival. Where her family faced the execution, for her shared crime would have undoubtedly led to her death.
She had defended herself, as best as a child could or maybe better than a child should. Young smugglers had to learn early what to say and how to say it. She remembered how it was a difficult job to manage, with the way he had watched her. It was… unsettling, undoing her from the seams as she scrambled to hold herself together. Did he know he was doing that? Was it on purpose? Or was he always just this intense without realizing? Was it something all Archons could do?
She had no idea… and had never gotten any clear answers from him, despite her prodding in the years to come.
Although not without suffering consequences (after all, for every criminal there was a suitable punishment), she had survived the trial, and later passed the training. Read through and learned the essence of each of the long volumes describing Kyros' world, as seen through Kyros' eyes and everyone's place in it as decreed by Kyros. She had learned to understand the intricacies and subtleties of the letter and the spirit of the law – because the two rarely went hand in hand.
That was to say – she had done extremely well at the Court Academy, first in her classes and later on in the field. As Nunoval had said earlier, 'one of Court's finest'.
None of that changed the fact that out of all the fatebinders, out of the entire Court, Ponirya had to be the one with the highest record of summons to private audience. Except maybe Calio – but the Fatebinder of Balance was there to report her extensive findings on irregularities and potential treachery, not to have her judgment repeatedly questioned. It happened so often, she should really be used to it by now. Even so, Ponirya didn't think she had done anything to deserve summons so soon upon her return.
So the real matter at hand was, what did she do to displease him this time? What happened earlier this morning in the training grounds was too trivial of a matter for an Archon to even take notice of. It was too trivial matter for even Nunoval to bother with, as he had shown. Unless he too gave in to the notion that she was somehow aiding the enemy…? Impossible! There was not enough credence in the Tiers to support that kind of drivel.
Waiting for him to speak, with hands crossed behind her back, she must have picked the same piece of lint from her slacks three times now, trying to distract herself from her surroundings and their implications, but was supremely unsuccessful, her nitpicking and fussing doing nothing but sharpening her senses. She could almost feel the Archon before her watching her, his stare heavy and unmoving and interested from beneath the ivory mask.
Her pale eyes were drawn to the gavel, held firmly in his hand, and taller than the Archon himself. After the Gates of Judgment, he had used it to wipe out half the city's population in a brutal judgment that turned half the city's districts into crime-infested rubble.
It got better. He had a whole court of people whose job was to fix what he and Kyros broke on the way south. She had to bite the inside of her cheek. This was a good time for private jokes and unaccounted grins.
"The case of," a pause, "'Runaway amphorae." A combination of the Archon's slow, methodical and inhuman voice echoing around her and ridiculous words which made out the name of the case, made Ponirya pause at first, her mind screeching to a halt.
Ah. Well…
She should've seen this coming. Such relief knowing she wasn't the one responsible for naming that particular file. And who event sent that report? Was it Althea? It had to be Althea. She was the only other fatebinder at the scene.
"Explain your choice of actions and the conclusions that led you to them."
Her mind settling comfortably into that courtroom state, Ponirya straightened her shoulders, inhaling through her nose.
"As you wish, Your Honour. While travelling through the lands of Haven I was asked, in my capacity as a fatebinder, to oversee the disentanglement of a murder incident. Further investigation provided evidence for looting, also intermingled with war profiteering. By the end of my inquiry, I have successfully brought the culprits to justice."
Another pause as he considered her words.
"That is debatable." Ivory mask scanned a parchment in his hand. From where she was standing she could see it was heavy with ink. That could only mean that Althea's writing of reports was akin to that of someone writing a novel almost.
'…for fuc-…' Still maintaining that blank stare, Ponirya allowed a tiny shrug. "May I be bold enough to presume that the report my fellow fatebinder passed on got needlessly convoluted some two-thirds down?"
His mask tilted slowly – a clear sign she got a reaction. Maybe she shouldn't be that flippant with him, but it has been going on for years – one just had to look through their correspondence over missives. Not that it was too hard acting dismissive when she was three broken kingdoms away. At times she did worry that she might finally overstep, but she also couldn't stop herself, couldn't stop buckling under the yoke placed upon her. There was little else she could do this openly, though, considering the cold iron that would be pressed against her throat the moment she truly stepped out of line.
"The way it reads, it is not merely convoluted, nor does it start two-thirds down – it is a mess of threads right from the moment you've set foot in the village."
Alright. So, there might have been a chase sequence. And a cleverly stashed body. And some catacombs being used as a vine cellar and for smuggling arms – with not just a safe down there, but a fucking vault (she'd be curious to know when they managed to build that). And maybe three or four red herrings pertaining to a local mortician and embalmer... and there was something going on with that well in the village square that she still hadn't been able to figure out...
...and then there was that creepy statue...
She blamed the lack of time to do a proper investigation.
She had to admit that he wasn't entirely wrong, but the case was more or less a tavern brawl coupled with a murder mystery. Typical wartime stuff she had seen many times by now. Life of a fatebinder wasn't all that exciting and not every case would end up being an adventurous romp.
Except for that artefact predating Kyros' Empire...
…of which she had made sure Althea knew nothing about. The girl was well-read, certainly and she wasn't belittling her fellow fatebinder, but she couldn't spot the difference between the genuine iconography from the Oldwalls and the work of a wannabe-mason-turned-painter-for-kicks.
"The underlying cause and effect, the motives and the culprits were clear cut." Her voice was clear, flat, and methodical. The one she used in the war camps or after battle when she would reach a decision, and proclaim a judgment. "The true guilty party believed herself clever and untouchable by Kayros' law. I have shown her the error in her way of thinking, and have done so in a perfectly legal manner."
Others did not argue. Others were not Archon of Justice. And the Adjudicator was, quite clearly, of a different opinion. As the parchment slowly, deliberately floated down among the paperwork on the desk, the ivory mask focused solely on her.
"It is suspect that fatebinder Althea was unable to solve the case on her own. And indeed, it seemed to have stalled to a halt until you have shown on the scene."
True, true. But there was no mystery as to why that was… almost every occupant of the establishment, besides herself and the other fatebinder, were of the Chorus (indeed, the entire village was on Chorus' grounds and technically in their property and Tunon was well aware of that), and there had clearly been a fight, if the two tied up, heavily beaten, and fitfully struggling men laid out on top of the bar were any indication. The obvious culprits were waiting for her curtsy of the gang she had lead to victory at one point.
The less obvious ones, she had to locate for herself.
"Mere coincidence. As I've previously mentioned, I was on my way back to the city when I was intercepted by the local village leader in need of legal assistance-…"
"One which he could acquire from the fatebinder already present. Or are you suggesting her skills were inadequate to solve this case on her own?"
"Not at all, Your Honour," Ponirya responded softly, trying to mellow the situation. The girl didn't do anything to deserve being thrown to the wolves. Alright, maybe one wolf. Althea needed to learn to stop writing excessively detailed reports. Those didn't help anyone. "This gang in particular was familiar with me. That made them more eager to cooperate."
"Familiarity should not factor in willingness to uphold the law." His voice echoed around the room, crashing like tidal waves during a storm, as if the very idea of such behaviour was repugnant. To him, it was.
'Yes, well... about that...' Ponirya swallowed back a sigh, her expression slipping from neutral to dry and mildly disappointed. To say that Tunon has been disconnected from the world of mortals for a long time now, would be an understatement. She was far from first to think that. "And if people were as straightforward as such, Your Honour, my job as a fatebinder would be much simpler. And also, done in half the time, I assure you. Murders don't solve themselves, you know."
Once more, his silence stretched on. With parchment no longer in his hand, Ponirya knew that he was going over the report, word by word, in his mind. He had memorized them all.
"Your choice of punishment for the committed crimes was lenient. Why?"
"The perpetrator is dead."
"And the accomplices live. Conscripted by the Chorus? An odd choice."
Kyros' laws were unforgiving, so this attitude was expected among the fatebinders. She thought she had done pretty well in this case.
"It seemed appropriate. They will serve and then die. Those who are part of the Chorus rarely live to see old age, and death may await them in the camp just as surely as it will on the battlefield."
"There is truth in your words. Although I question of what use they will be, and if the different punishment would have ultimately been of greater service." He moved from behind the massive desk and came to stand before her, now truly towering over her. Shadows he brought with him moved to coalescent around her feet and licked her ankles. Cold. Freezing. The temperature around her had to have dropped lower than on the coldest winter night in the Northern Empire. Colder than the deepest depth of the Oldwalls.
He leaned over. A shadow more terrifying than anything Mark had ever fashioned.
"Sometimes judicious application of the whip is necessary to keep everyone in line – and the scars it leaves are a continual reminder to everyone of the particular lessons that have been demonstrated."
Her eyes widened and her heartbeat speedup. The crack of a whip exploded in her ears. To this day, the sound made her whimper and curl on the inside. Her back tingled with memory of skin and flesh being stripped. It was worse when in her novice years they forced her to do it to someone else.
Why? Why go there?
Nothing in this case – not even the damned artefact, if he even knew about it – earned her this… line of questioning. Did he use it just to drag her past back to the surface and humiliate her? What would be the point to that?
Ponirya stiffened, thoughts flashing unwillingly once more to the night that she had watched her parents being dragged away by the Disfavored. The blood splattered on the smashed crates, the carts half-filed with forbidden artefacts… her own clothes and hands and face. How helpless she was that she could do nothing but run as deep and far as she could into the Oldwalls.
She couldn't allow herself to drop the mask, not even for a moment, and all that was left on a blank face that could mirror his own, was a silent glare. A hint of rage, resentment and contempt, burning right under the surface of her eyes. It was not forgotten. It was not forgiven.
He stared at her for a long, long moment, earlier curiosity regarding the case notably absent from his demeanour, and in the stretching silence, Ponirya felt her heart nearly shudder to a halt. There was death, in his blank mask, and it stared her down. It was like staring into the eye of a storm, the weight and censure of his many centuries bearing on her shoulders... but she did not bow.
All of her former fear vanished in a surge of indignation, of determined justice, and stared straight at the Archon, her gaze hard and unwavering.
She only stood taller, and squared her jaw. No. He will not sidetrack her like this! He will not drag her into whatever direction to get whatever it was he was after. She was not going to let that happen. She had survived for too long to let herself be set up like this.
If the Court taught her anything, it was how to with great effectiveness talk in circles, and talk others in circles. One would think that the Archon of Justice would be immune to machinations of his own Court rules.
"I have not broken the letter of the law, Your Honor," she insisted, holding his gaze unwaveringly; adrenaline was coursing through her and her voice was even as she spoke the only truth that mattered here. "As it is decreed by Overlord Kyros, as it is written by you – all of the conditions of article 505, paragraph 218 have been met."
But it was the truth she could've worded so much better, and Ponirya knew that. Tunon was well aware that she knew it. There was a question if he was willing to do something about it… A fatebinder's judgment, once pronounced, is final and Tunon would never completely overrule a fatebinder's decision, for doing so would undermine the rule of law and the integrity of the fatebinders. The way she went about doing things might not be to his liking, but he was unable to argue about her results.
In fact, she dared him to argue about that and continued to hold his eye until after a long, dragging minute of silence, he continued.
"Very well." The Archon of Justice pulled back, the ice-cold grip holding her body hostage lessening.
When he turned to move back to his place behind the desk she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, still shaken from the moment of very real danger that had just passed her by. No harsh words, no direct threats were exchanged, but this was surly one of more intense and near-death experiences she had had with him.
Although she had no idea what this was about (because it couldn't be this messily case), she knew was in the clear. For now.
And also, this was a private meeting. If he decides to make an example of her, it will be done in public – and be as dramatic as possible. She should really thank Kyros for instilling and demanding extravagance out of everyone. She should congratulate herself for surviving another day in Kyros' Empire.
He might saddle her with someone to oversee her cases, triple check her findings and decisions. Maybe he would have Calio become her personal shadow. Now, there was a possibility she truly dreaded, and not because of any possible scrutiny she might face on her end – she simply couldn't stand the woman.
"Though I question your choices, you have followed proper procedure. Order was established. Justice was served. Peace was preserved."
Of course it was. When had she ever done her job poorly?
"You are dismissed. Return to your duties," he said shortly, already ignoring her presence.
"As you will, Your Honour," Ponirya, barely biting down on her tongue so she would not say more, managed as she bowed and walked out the door of his office chamber, storming down the stairs to pace, with indignant fury, trying her best to force her anger down.
"You. Are. Late."
Of course Rhogalus was in the Archives. Of course he was. This was, what, her third mentor in a single day. She hadn't seen this many familiar faces in a succession since her days in the Academy.
She had hoped that she would just be able to walk over to his desk, pick up the list of reports 'suspiciously absent' from the main archive and be done with it. But no. That's not how things went in the Court. He seemed to have been waiting for her, shifting through and signing a few papers on the top of his desk, but didn't grant her his full regard, only flipping another form over.
The Fatebinder of Wisdom, (and she had a lot to say about that...) was something of a legend in the Court, with multiple commendations, wartime service, some extraordinary spy work and over forty years of work under his belt. He was a tall man with slumped shoulders and a hawkish nose, bristling grey moustache and severely trimmed hair, with eyes tired from scanning hundreds of manuscript pages. He was not to be underestimated from his aging appearance.
Still not anyone's first choice for a partner, by any stretch of the imagination.
"Couldn't be helped, really. I was otherwise engaged."
The man steepled his fingers underneath his chin, setting it on them and blinking slowly. His gaze didn't waver from hers, clearly attempting to establish dominance. "The note was clear: No delays and no excuses," he held out his hand expectantly.
"Feel free to tell the Adjudicator how he messed up your schedule," Ponirya shrugged and handed over a stack of missives she had kept from the journey back.
Rhogalus, finally looking away from his paperwork, looked up at her intensely. "And that?" He intimated slowly deliberately, flicking a meaningful look over at the bag at her side that had a loaf of bread discreetly sticking out of it.
"Food." Shaken from her silence by the sheer coolness of the man's voice, stood up a bit straighter.
"Oh? So, it's suddenly allowed in the Archives? I've must've signed the approval when I wasn't looking." Pale moustache twitched from what could be either a smirk or a sneer.
"I had a meeting with Tunon on empty stomach. Have some mercy. And besides, don't you want me to write those reports? Wouldn't you prefer of me to do so as efficiently and as quickly as possible?" As she spoke from her other satchel hanging from her hip, the one he was covertly glancing at, she pulled out the tablet she had confiscated. She had it already copied for her personal perusal, so there was no reason not to use it as leverage. Especially with someone as lore-hungry as Rhogalus.
It was wrapped in the cloth, but with hard edges sticking out from under it, for those who know what to look for, it was easy enough to guess what it was that she was holding. His eyes positively glimmered at the sight.
"Where did you find this?" He barked, scanning the stone before him with pale, frost blue eyes that cut through the candle lighting like lightning.
"In the wrong hands, obviously."
"You are aware that this counts as possessing forbidden knowledge."
"No, this counts as me doing your job, and the job of your department, and keeping said forbidden knowledge far away from masses' eyes," she informed him carefully, sidestepping any needless details, and though his eyes narrowed at her teasing tone, his gaze sharp and flickering over her face searchingly, he seemed distracted by her last remark.
"But if you don't want it," she reached for the tablet, "We all know who the true authority on the Oldwalls iconography is here. I'll just take tha-..."
Having none of that, and keeping the stone tablet out of her reach, the old man sighed, shrugging his shoulders, and placed it on his desk, instead, refolding and holding the bundle of missives she had presented him with.
This was old news between them. Many times she had sent him curious and unusual items from the front lines or battlefields that had occurred near the olden 'forbidden' structures. She had always been drawn to Oldwalls, even as she kept away from them in the years since she was incorporated into the Court. Considering her familiarity with the old civilization, Rhogalus had admitted that at one point he had toyed with the idea of taking her as his second apprentice, but since Kyros' Empire operated on the principle of 'finders-keepers' (unless the Overlord explicitly said otherwise), Bleden Mark had nipped that notion in the bud.
"Fine! You can have your meals here," he said as he ran his bony fingers across the relief surface. "Here is your list. I expect the complete book of reports for the year three of Conquest; the entirety of your deliberations and judgments for the year 430TR, in the next three days. And two nights," he added pointedly.
"Sure. Just chunk me to the deep end, why don't you," Ponirya's false smile shrunk at that and she muttered as she stalked past him to snatch the pack papers and instructions on which reports were missing.
"What was that?"
"Very gracious of you, sir!" She saluted and continued with a brisk walk, and Rhogalus, exasperated and unimpressed with her tactless insinuation, let her go with a wrinkle of hisnose and shake of his head.
Only three days and two nights? Pfft! She had obliterated towns and massacred enemy armies on a tighter schedule.
Making three left turns, she descended a slightly cracked staircase to let herself into the scribes rooms of the archives, just off the 'forbidden books' department. Both the archives, and the library, were a maze, so there was a good chance to get lost among the shelves and cubicles. Not that it was entirely Rhogalus' fault. The heavy bureaucracy of the bygone merchants era contributed a lot to the current labyrinthine state.
She would, of course, access all the necessary files and such things from the main area, but this was a little more private if she wanted to write everything down in peace. Only a few archivists were dotted about the shelves here and there, leaving her open to choose a spot against one of the walls, near a tall window allowing for some natural light, and settled her writing material down, with the intent to finish a good portion of her work. And also to turn her thoughts away from all things that had been weighing her mind down since the meeting this morning. Sitting down and setting the bag with food over to the side, far enough for her not to spill anything all over the blank parchment, she leaned back and took a deep, deep sigh.
Merciful... This was a long day, and it even wasn't midday yet. Being grilled in the most unexpectedly brutal fashion by Tunon made her thirst for a drink, but luckily, she had brought some with her – she had brought a lot. And she didn't hesitate to poor herself a cup.
Of course he'd known she had come back to Court. He knew everything about anything that occurred in this place. Any other time, she'd find it interesting how he managed to find faults in cases she had done not a span before even stepping back into the Bastard city.
This wasn't one of those situations, though.
The case itself was immaterial – it was her judgment which was called in question. As if there was some kind of internal investigation in regards to her, but that was usually Calio's department. She felt like she was being tested, but whether she had passed or not, she had no idea.
Her fingers reached for her left shoulder, where the brand hidden under the sleeves was. In addition to the two names added to her own, it effectively marked her as property of Tunon's Court, and Tunon himself. It made her heart flutter with joy to know that the damn scaring had finally started to fade away in the past years.
But... it didn't look good for her, and she was aware of that. With the way things were going, and the sheer number of summons, Ponirya was expecting that, now that she was back from the war, it wouldn't be much longer before she was moved to a street duty.
No matter which crime-riddled city in Kyros' Empire, it was already part of her job to deal with the mob and their lesser affiliates on a regular basis – sometimes to do war, and sometimes to make peace. She had thought she would have more time, though, to acclimate. Going from war crimes to street violence will take some getting used to.
The prospect itself didn't insult her, nor she wasn't against it – honestly, she expected she was going to have much more fun and far less scrutiny working with common criminals – but it did feel oddly deliberate that the Court would 'demote' the one fatebinder who opened the gates to the city during the Conquest. Especially given how almost immediately upon securing victory, Tunon had taken it for himself under a claim that since it was one of his Court that had won the city, he had the right to take it as his seat.
Even to this day neither army was allowed in for any reason other than to deliver messages or stand trial. And although he didn't have a standing army as such, soldiers loyal to the Adjudicator garrisoned the city, his standard precaution against those who might attempt to scheme. Not that he needed it. From what she had seen, the law-abiding part of the city's population was eating out of his hand, and were ready to defend it with their lives.
As pointless as that would be.
Taking another deep sigh, Ponirya resolved to finally focus on her work. It really wasn't going to write itself. Trying to focus, scooting in the chair, she started looking over the list cases. Her mind went blank. Rhogalus has truly outdone himself. Just looking over the amount, the pile reports she had to write for the formal record was outstanding.
'Would you believe it, there's more to read.' Her eyes scanned the list that just kept going. 'And even more to write. Oh goodness me…'
Looking over the list of dates and events that she has reportedly been assigned to, she realized that to some of them she wasn't directly involved in to begin with. So, it's already gone to shit.
"Ponirya, constantly fidgeting with shame will not get your reports done faster!"
Thanks to the fine acoustics of the building, Rhogalus's voice carried all the way to where she was sitting. With all the precision of an equally fine knife. Ponirya's forehead had never hit her palms so fast, her eyes clenched shut and her stomach twisting into restless knots.
"...urrgh..."
Sweat had been dripping from the loose coil of hair that drooped from behind her ear, gathering under the brim of her hair binder, and trickling down her neck. She had undone the top two laces of her uniform shirt covertly, hopeful of catching a breath of a breeze through the crack in the tall windows, and she was looking forward to dinner, where she would be able to dry off, more than she was the rest of the work day like she had been intending.
She let out a sigh, plopping her now empty cup far enough from the finished pages, and scratched under her bangs, wiping the sweat onto her trousers.
The archives of the Bastard city, as maze-like as they were, were also clean and open, panelled in wood and littered with tables, booths, and crowned by a long, shining shelves, all filled with books, manuscripts and stone tablets. Back in Northern Empire, in her younger days, the libraries were her favourite place to get lost in. The air was always clouded with the smells of ink, parchment, leather, and wax, and was charged with what she knew to be magic, the energy of the world crackling against her skin like instinct and agitation.
No matter her theoretical knowledge of magic and sigils, she could still perform not a single one of them. And just as she had little mind to spare for the things she simply couldn't do, the archiving process had more than a few hiccups along the way (she was still dwelling heavily on her and Nunoval's conversation, saying nothing of the conundrum of the summons from Tunon, which were over noting at all), which lead to her having to redo some of the reports twice. Rhogalus, who had walked by her seat several times, seemed to pick up on her distraction and covertly muttered on her lack of respect towards costly writing utensils.
But progress has been made. A good chunk was set in order in a little more than half a day, and Ponirya, with a heavy sigh and an idle motion to brush her sweat crusted hair behind one ear, leaned against the front of her desk, flipping through the latest report she had filled out herself and feeling a sense of pride in it. Short, concise, to the point, and not filled with needless clutter. It felt good, knowing she could do things efficiently by herself, with minimal help. Being self-reliant was one of the keystones of surviving the Court.
A sent wafted near her. A sent that wasn't supposed to be here. A delicious sent. And leaning to the side to get a better look at the pathways between the shelves, she caught the sight of a servant with a large covered platter heading towards where Rhogalus was.
Oh, so it's allowed and doesn't interrupt the complicated procedures of archiving work when he does it, but the rest of them can happily starve?
Her hunger awoken by the mere thought of alcohol and the smell of cooked meat, she realised she was starving and promptly reached for food. It wasn't much, but it would get her through until dinner. If Rhogalus even allowed her out, that is.
'Not that it matters,' she grinned. It's not like she couldn't sneak out once he's dead asleep.
With some pork lard spread across slice of bread in her hand, she leaned back in the wooden chair, savouring the flavour and enjoying the moment. If she was being honest with herself (and she always was), the kitchens were a fortunate but also an... impromptu stop.
On her way to the Archives she had sensed a familiar presence – much like the times as a child in the Oldwalls, when she could feel the Bane in the air, around the corner or before they manifested – and she immediately skedaddled in whichever direction was opposite of where he was, scrambling to get out of the way and all but tripping over her own feet – very undignified for someone as thoroughly trained as her. With a stroke of luck, the kitchens turned out to be the right there.
It was the only upper hand she ever had on him and he was certainly not all too happy with the prospect of it.
They've parted on poor terms... In fact, had the war not officially started that night, she doubted she would be breathing still. Or worse. She had expected worse at the time. Except...
It seemed silly now, after the war – after everything she had seen, she had done and had ordered others to do, people she could not protect from greater devastation... He was right. She was an immature child and it took a war to sober her up.
And, even after all that, she was not yet ready to face him, to deal with him in any way. Especially not after Tunon. She could handle only so much of powerful, magical, immortal bastards per fist, and as far as she was concerned – her quota was filled.
And now, spending many, many, many days (and nights) in the Archives felt like a positively delightful idea. And it wasn't altogether dull either. If she leaned out a bit from her cosy little desk, she could hear Rhogalus, humming under his breath and chuckling on occasion. As well as hear him berate various servants, novices, retainers, as well as scant few other fatebinders, working in the library and the Archives.
"...-sleep is a poor excuse. And so are you." His voice carried over.
'Ouch.' She didn't know this kid, but she knew he didn't deserve this sort of humiliation, especially in front of an audience (the Archives were never truly devoided of people). Still, that slightly vindictive part of her always found observing, and listening in to this fascinating.
His utter dismissal of novices was his way, or so she had been told. Personally, she had felt unwelcome in her new home from all sides, not just his. It grated against the temper of many a new blood. Every time she had spoken with him she felt like no less than the filth ingrained beneath his boots, so far beneath his expectations and regard that she didn't even register on his level of existence. There was just something in the way he looked on others that simply made them feel... inadequate (almost like an Archon would).
Unless one was in possession of an interesting talent, such as the case with Iphigenia was. Until then, every new kid, retainer, novice and every servant – everyone not in possession of his methodical mind – would likely keep tripping over their tongue and looking the fool Rhogalus clearly thought they were.
She couldn't reason why. It was just a feeling, and one she assumed came with the level of command and respect he garnered. It no longer made her uncomfortable, and the seniors were right when they told her it would pass with time. Honestly, no matter how she tried to excuse it... the only two people who could invoke fear in her have long since stopped being human.
In her concentrated distraction, her mind being drawn to several logical conclusions that have been plaguing her, she had all but ignored someone approaching her.
"...-Rhogalus?"
Lost as she was to her thoughts, it took him several casual calls, a repeat of a question, and finally one prod to her shoulder, to gain her attention back to reality. That also meant that her reflexes reacted before her mind had a chance to, and the poor man's finger ended up bend under unnatural angle. She blinked in confusion, looking up at the other retainer blankly, and his sheer expression of surprise, pain and sheer terror.
"Sorry, straight from the front lines," she managed with an indulgent, friendly smile and jerked a thumb over her shoulder, in the direction of what passed as Rhogalus' office. "You'll find the venerable Fatebinder of Wisdom over there. You'll probably also have to wait in line for a bit."
"Thank you, ma'am," he managed, his large, wide smile was strained and his posture eerily still. Ponirya was not blind to the way his shoulders stiffened as he walked away, and it was not only because of the large package he was carrying.
Fatebinders being fatebinders usually scared people.
But that's all part of the Court's atmosphere and charm.
A Disfavored by the looks of the robe and insignia. An earthshaker? Now that was curious. What would an earthshaker need from Court's archives? Curious, she watched him leave, briefly, before her eyes returned to scan the pages she had just completed.
It wasn't long before something else broke through her attention from behind the wall of vellum and parchment. It was borderline frustrating – she was trying to finish her work here.
"I assume this Radix's way of showing his appreciation for the information provided."
What now?
"Indeed, he does, for all the relevant information you were gracious enough to provide. It has made our cooperation with Fatebinder Ponirya much more efficient."
Wait-... what now?
Who was Rhogalus talking to?
Spinning about to get a better look, she saw it was the same man whose finger she nearly broke. He launched into his verbal report, his grin still tight and forcibly held in place. They spoke of Beastmen of the Stone Sea and dissenters, bold enough to try and hide in the still stirring caverns and canyons of newly reshaped Azure. Seemingly nothing of consequence, but it was not a coincidence that they have decided to stop and talk so close to where she could overhear them.
Well, now... If they wanted to be overheard, she was more than happy to oblige them. Getting up, she walked over to deliver what she had written. Dropping off the paperwork was the easiest part of the day thus far. As they were standing close to her and near one of the empty cubicles, she did not have to go far.
"Fatebinder Ponirya," Rhogalus intoned spotting her. She could see a smirk under those moustaches. Oh, this was done so deliberately. "Finally delivering that report?"
It took Ponirya a moment to catch on, the sheen of a box catching the light of his desk lamp and distracting her, before she twitched, working through the meaning of all this, and approached to put the creased report into his waiting hand.
"First five spans, master Rhogalus. I'll endeavour to complete the rest in the time you have generously allocated for me."
The man glanced over at Ponirya, who merely arched an eyebrow at this whole curious conversation. He might have wanted to say something more, but for a moment he seemed scared – perhaps trying to guess if she had heard them. Rhogalus, however, looked at the young earthshaker and nodded at the heavy wooden box, still sealed securely with Stone sigil. With an expression of utter innocence, Ponirya glanced back and forth between the two men, who seemed to be talking about nothing at all.
"I must be off now. Graven Ashe is moving the army and I should join my unit on the way south."
"Send my regards to your master, as well as my gratitude for hunting down those infidels."
Or, to put it plainly, two guild masters were honouring the mutually beneficial agreement and exchanging knowledge on the old world magic.
"Thank you. Farewell Master Rhogalus." With a salute, he turned and made his way back through the maze-like corridors and shelves, looking no less lost than when he first appeared.
Once the man was gone, Ponirya leaned over Rhogalu's desk, pulled the box over and unlocked it in three expert movements – just because she couldn't perform sigils, didn't mean she couldn't dismantle them. Inside were some wrapped brilliantly lilac crystals (she had no trouble guessing what those were) and three scrolls. Snatching the papers, she quickly scanned them.
"So, when did Tunon sign off and legalized bribery of court officials?"
"Seeking, and exchanging, relevant information pertaining to a case is permissible during wartime. Especially in situations where a court official is suspected in obstructing progress." He let out a quiet sigh, "You do understand, Ponirya, that covering for an indiscretion of a fellow fatebinder will be held against you as well. This wouldn't be the first time things were... overlooked."
She wasn't the one assigned to Cairn in Azure, and had only ever seen the Archon of Stone once or twice, and only from a great distance. As such, she didn't have that much contact with his subordinates. The few assaults that she was present, it was more as an assistant – not unlike what had happened with fatebinder Althea. Which usually meant that she had to gently steer events in their proper direction without offending too many people at the same time. Radix seemed to have noticed.
It wasn't funny, but all she could do is chuckle at that moment. "Does this mean my file is available for anyone to read through?"
No wonder she had trouble pinning down and predicting his behaviour. She had suspected that something was going on, but never that Radix had paid his way with Sages' books all the way to Rhogalus to get any available information on her. Clever. Prepared. All the things one should expect from a competent leader. She did admire his shrewdness, but she'll still find the time to ruin his life.
"If they ask politely enough." And pay sufficiently in tributes. Rhogalus likely went with it because no truly important information had been leaked, (so, the abbreviated version of events) and he got to make her life marginally more difficult on the front lines.
One only ever truly learns when backed into a corner.
"...horrid old man." With a sigh, she folded the papers and tossed them back. "Well, I'm glad that Radix had his fun with this unfair advantage." Her pale eyes turned icy now. "An Iron Guard and an earthshaker… he should watch his step around the Matani river. It is strange how a man can accidently drown in those currents."
As he picked up the box and headed to his office it didn't escape his notice the tenseness that had filled the very air around them. Even Rhogalus was of the opinion that Ponirya, who was hot on his heels, may have picked up one-too-many cues from her master.
"I'm more curious how you've managed to become familiar enough with Radix Ironcore for him to actively look into you?" The way he made it sound… Even his moustache twitched.
"I'm not familiar with him. We've played chess a few times while waiting for the army to do its thing." Those were some of the longest matches she had had – almost as exhausting as an actual fight. The man approached everything so seriously. "I won. Repeatedly," she dismissed, shrugging and fiddling vainly with her uniform, and he cracked a knowing smile at the flush on her cheeks, nodding ironically in mock understanding.
"I thought you weren't all that fond of the Disfavored, and their affiliates."
As Earthshakers were the magical arm of the Disfavored legion, that was very true. She wasn't fond of them at all. "I keep my personal opinions and biases out of my judgments. I'm a professional after all."
"As it should be." He was back in his chair, ready to continue with his daily routine.
"Not that many other fatebinders practice what they preach, but what can you do? Theory and field work are two very different things."
His scribing stopped for split of a second, but she caught it, and grinned privately.
'Nailed it.'
Bizarrely random events seem to bombard her from all sides, today, but now that the embarrassing episode was done and over with (and no, she was not going to get into why he wanted her to know that Radix was effectively spying on her – one thing at a time), she pulled up a chair next to his desk and straddled it, crossing her arms against the backrest. For all she cared, Rhogalus could be annoyed to Kyros' birthplace and back, and she didn't care. She needed some answers about the most immediate matter.
"What is going on with your apprentice?" She inquired and he, unsurprisingly, remained stubbornly stoic. "Because she tried to run me through with a sword."
There was a snort. "Then you were in no danger."
"I can count on one hand the number of those in the Court who pose a danger to me. That's not the point. A sword is a poor choice for someone who can rain lightning on a small unit of soldiers," she considered him with narrowed eyes.
"I believe she is looking for a new purpose in life… 'famously unfulfilled' – that's the term you're looking for." Her expression hid that well enough, but when he took a chance and sent her a sideways look she appeared casually disbelieving, like she could hear a clear untruth in his answer. Because it sounded harsh. Even for him. Was Rhogalus trying to get rid of Iphigenia? Was he tired of her?
"Could that be because you are contemplating a new apprentice? Perhaps one who can have your child?"
It was meant as a provocation. He did look up, and his pale eyes narrowed dangerously at her. This time he was about ready to rain all kinds of devastation on her, and she knew he was very well capable of it. She wasn't going to ask, or contemplate much, if the loss of so many children affected him as well. Of course it did. Just not in the way it would a regular father, in a sane, loving family, in some normal village out there, who minds his own business.
"I'd ask if that means you'd like to volunteer, but we all know your womb is barren as the Blade Grave."
And the only reason that was 'common knowledge' was because of the unwritten, but strict and brutally enforced rule that no sex was allowed before the first blood. Or the first year of blood, in some cases. Some girls bloomed early, and others late. She was neither.
'Thank you, Oldwalls.' Ponirya offered her old mentor a most blindingly cheerful smile. "Which only means that my unique talents will remain just that – unique. I'd say luck is on my side in this case."
Pushing the whole thing of insulting each other over even more frivolous matters aside, Ponirya's expression turned serious. "You're letting her stay with the Chorus. That is not a good place for a weakened mage and an overly educated lore keeper."
"She is stronger than she looks, and she'll be safe. Nerat will not try anything with her." Because Nerat's apparent respect for members of Tunon's Court was apparently impeccable – even if that respect only ran as deep as his fear of Tunon and Kyros.
"Correction – Nerat won't try anything openly." She was familiar with Rhogalus' dislike, even fear, of the Archon of Secrets. But she had spent three years running between the two Archons and solving their disputes. The only reason she was alive, was because she had freed herself from the trappings of rigid thinking some fatebinders find themselves trapped in – particularly overly-conformist 'archivists'.
"There was a need for a fatebinder to be stationed at the Cacophony now that the army is on the move again. It is she who asked for that post."
"As Nunoval told me. Still-…"
"Enough!"
So he was concerned for her. And yet…
"I'm just saying that I'm right about some things, sometimes." Most of the time.
"Perhaps the position would not be open just yet had the Vendrien's Well been properly subdued right from the start. Some say that it was your doing that had put the Archons on this path."
"This again? If Kyros cannot get the two to play nice with each other, than one lowly fatebinder stands little chance in making any kind of headway with them."
It was most certainly, absolutely not true that she was helping the rebels. She might have been a tad more lenient on them, and had made things a tad more difficult for her own side, but she was certainly not in cahoots with them. Absolutely not! So, while her actions may raise suspicion, all she had ever done was perfectly legal.
Just thinking of Iphigenia's jibes, forgiven though they may have been, sent a sour note into her wellspring of accomplishment, turning her momentarily diverted thoughts back to her former line of thinking. Namely that someone in the Court was setting her up for a fall.
Still feeling uneasy, her eyes roved Rhogalus' desk until they settled on the still covered plate of food. It didn't look like he had touched it, and it must have gotten cold by now.
"Did Iphigenia send this?"
"That is hardly any of your business," he griped, quirking his mouth to the side and letting out a gruff, aggravated sigh, and Ponirya chuckled under her breath. It looked like she did care, after a fashion.
"Master Rhogalus." Someone called from behind her, across the room, and she heard his footsteps as he approached her in a hurry. When she turned to follow Rhogalus' eyes and saw the familiar face walking with purpose towards them.
"Fatebinder Ponirya Met-" Unfortunately, the boy wasn't willing to pay attention to the chaos that were the archives and his foot caught on some of the books that were lined up against a stone pillar.
The young page didn't even get to finish her name properly as he tumbled forward, bumping into one of the smaller tables with writing supplies. The wood buckled and all atop of it shifted downwards. He scrambled to put the inkwell on its place, and Ponirya had to catch and straighten it to prevent it from tipping over onto the floor. That was one disaster averted. Someone should really sort out all the books on the floor. It was a trip hazard.
But the boy (the same one from this morning) with face slightly flushed but otherwise as stern and unperturbed as ever, refused her offered hand and just straightened himself and his tunic, before turning towards her. In his hands was a scroll of finest quality, rolled and sealed with wax imprint of Tunon's insignia.
"Summons from the-"
"I can see that." She interrupted taking the offered (and offending) scroll from the boy.
It certainly was another summon from the Adjudicator. Ponirya could do nothing but stare blankly at the sealed missive. This wasn't just another call one-on-one meeting – this was as official as it got.
Well, this was entirely unexpected. And ominous.
What did he need to tell her now that he couldn't this morning? And in the main coartroom, of all places!
"Another one? This seems excessive, even for you"
"I've returned not two days ago. I didn't have the time to do anything excessive!"
If Rhogalus noticed the emptiness of her tone, he didn't say anything.
