Devil and Candlemaker
"Everyone knows about heroes, adventurers, nobles; people that matter. No one remembers the name of those shunned, or their descendants. Especially when their crimes were severe enough to sell them to Melromarc's enemies. Don't worry, though. Master has only one directive for me: serve the Shield Hero, kill any that wish him harm." F/F romance, slavery, dark themes.
All warnings placed in chapter 1 are in place for the duration of the story. I won't bog this down by placing anything more than chapter-specific warnings here.
First Arc—Everything is political, you need only ascertain the angle
Chapter Seventeen—To brew revenge, stir the pot
8-8
Words mutter under my breath, spell casts. An illusion blots my vision. A map of the bandit camp. Red dots patrol the outer walls, seemingly unaware of Grin's green dots slipping passed. Archer and his blue dots surround the bandit camp, carefully hidden in the treetops. Zinad and his grey dots keep behind tree trunks with their familiars.
Zaan and Lyraynna remain with me, on the edge of the illusionary map. The others remain at the manor, training. Just with the twenty-seven now with me, I fear 'overkill' is an understatement.
A message blinks into vision, blurring my focus on the illusion. Ending the spell, I call up my status menu and check my messages.
Tayrend: "Lady Éclair's claim, that she was following your orders to have all loot processed, is logical. The motive to present it to you on arrival in Little Tower is likely to prove her worth and curry favour. Add her recent overt moves to train not just her party, but all under your command? It is my belief that her goal is to regain status quickly, little else."
Yes, that does seem to be the case. Akin to her goal prior to our falling out, so it fits the profile. Hmm—best to be overly cautious.
Me: "Continue to assess the situation. Keep me informed of any and all signs of trouble, heedless of source. And any Rogues with an affinity for dark are to be taken under your command. Train them to be Shadows."
Tayrend: "Consider it done."
By the time I cast Trace again, all the reds are grouped together in the centre of the camp. I didn't take a headcount, but I doubt any met an untimely end. Another message.
Grin: "We're ready for you."
I stroll up to the gate, with my Zaan and Lyraynna ever on my flanks. Zinad peeks out from behind a trunk, but neither he nor his party reveal themselves beyond that—watching our retreat, being my guess.
Gates creak open, Grin bows to me as we approach. His party has all the bandits tightly bound, looks to be a constrictor knot, and on their knees, prostrated before me.
"Mistress. They've not all regained consciousness. All loot is being loaded into the wagons as we speak, mostly edible monsters, rations, and untreated pelts. The treasury is a paltry four silvers, but they have a stock of health potions. One is an alchemist, I know not which."
"How long before we can move out?"
Grin rights himself and rubs his earlobe between forefinger and thumb. "Ten minutes, if nothing crops up."
"Wake them."
Grin, sporting his namesake, fishes out a bomb, snaps it alight, and lobs it skyward. The explosion has every last bandit in a panic, struggling against the binds they don't notice until it tightens.
"Shut it!" Grin's shouting has the confused and disoriented bandits meeping in fear. Some still struggle, but they still as their faces redden. "Our Mistress wishes a word with you lot. If she's pleased with you, you may be offered your life." My Grin bows to me once more, drawing all eyes to me, to my scar.
"I am Candlemaker." The name invokes a groundswell of fear. It would seem my reputation precedes me. "I will take anything I please, including you. Your only decision is whether my taking your life means enslavement or death."
Fans in hand, I motion to the bandits.
"Live on your knees before me, or die on your feet. Choose."
The Bandit Chief, of course, makes to stand. It's always the chiefs that defy me. He starts muttering.
An arrow pierces the chief's skull, ear to ear, filtering in forty Exp. Archer takes no chances—a stance I respect.
Chief falls. A gasp, cries of shock and horror. The others cower, many burying their face in the dirt to not appear threatening. The air ripens with fear and a sense of inevitable doom.
The two now burdened with their previous chief's corpse, with him falling atop them and all, screech in absolute terror. They swear on their honour, on their ancestors, and on their very lives to serve me faithfully now and forever—just don't kill them.
My Grin grabs the chief by both sides of the arrow and drags him off our newest acquisitions. Once freed, he grabs them by their bindings and jerks them to their feet—both women, it would seem. They're brought to me.
"You offer yourselves?" The pair nod, vigorously, repeatedly. "I accept."
Grin nods and drags the pair off towards the wagons, to load them with the slaves. They barely get ten paces before a wave of pleas washes over me. Each offers themselves, crying of their skills, of how useful they would prove, swearing to serve.
Far more efficient than working solo.
8-8
We arrive at Castle Town's drawbridge before sundown. The throng of refugees has eased, somewhat. Where once were thousands, hundreds remain; this is far from resolved. Their clothes grow filthier each time I pass, their countenance more skeletal—too many bowls, not enough stew.
Even with the monks and nuns of the Three Heroes Church serving supper, the masses are kept hungry. Why? They've the resources—a glance at their cathedral proves as much.
"Please. Let us serve the Church!" A man and his family prostrate themselves, each thinner than the last. "We'll prove the most faithful of servants, I swear!" I see.
"My Lady." A man comes alongside me, far enough to not draw the ire of my people. "Could you use a servant? I assure you, my family and I will do anything for you."
"The army looks for recruits, do they not?"
"Of course, My Lady." He bows, still keeping pace with Chandelier as we go. "Please do not think I've not tried. But the lines are too long and the bunks too few."
I see. I hold up a balled fist and my caravan comes to an immediate halt.
"Take the food at no cost." My men start offloading the food stores, offering them to any empty hand held out. In this crowd, there are none unwilling to beg. The monks and nuns give my people a curious glance. Interesting—perhaps stoking the flames is called for?
"If you've interest to serve me, report to Lute Village, just south of here. Ask for Candlemaker's stronghold." I send my lieutenant there a message, to prepare for more refugees.
Lt. Pryce: "Acknowledged. I'll station guards at each entrance immediately."
8-8
The day of the Wave has arrived. According to Naofumi, two hours remain.
My people bustle about, loading the wagons, padding vials of potions as they store them in barrels. Filolials' heads are all but buried in their troughs, gorging themselves on food and drink while they can.
Lt. Pryce, Lt. Daanz, and Lt. Ygrid offer sporadic reports of their preparations and pre-emptive evacuations. Unnecessary, perhaps, but they each agree keeping all non-combatants tucked away in whatever bunkers we can offer is a worthwhile precaution.
I rock my chair to and fro, reading about the warrior princess and the daring rescue of her prince in the ivory tower, pointing to the words as I go. Luna sits in my lap with her adorable little pink and yellow Shieldfreedonian sundress, her hands on my forearms, her little eyes glued to my dancing digit—utterly absorbed in the tale I weave.
Page turns. A picture of the boob-plate princess engaging the dragon. She reminds me of the woman in the window.
"Bad!" Luna points to the picture. "Bad dagon!"
"A very bad dragon. And Princess Luna thought so too." Did I subconsciously name her after my favourite fable? Was it a reference to getting my water from the moon? "She drew her sword, shiiiing, and fought the dragon with all her might."
As the tale winds down, my voice takes a softer tone. Luna barely seems to notice, pointing to the picture of Princess Luna as she sweeps her prince off his feet.
"And they lived happily ever after."
"Aww." Luna pats the book. "Again. Again!"
"That's the third time today." She loves hearing the tale as much as I love reading it to her.
"Peez?" Luna turns in my lap, standing to reach my face. She gives me that pleading look again. Little pink eyes begging for me to love her enough to coddle her just a little longer. "Peez mama?"
My heart couldn't deny her if I tried. I don't want to try—even as the logical part of my brain screams how I spoil her, how she isn't my child, how she'll just keep asking for one more.
"Once upon a time," I carefully settle her in my lap once more and turn back to the first page, "far, far away, was the Kingdom of Lyght. A happy place, where no one ever went hungry. A kingdom filled with laughter and song and dance. There, once lived a young warrior, named Princess Luna."
"Nuna!" Luna points to the picture of Princess Luna in her boob-plate armour. Her luscious, long green hair wafts in the wind. Bright pink eyes shine with a steel only a seasoned warrior seems capable of. She trains in her quarterstaff stance—Dancing Crane, from the look of it—with daggers sheathed on her lower back, and closed battle fans strapped to her bracers.
8-8
"Mistress." Zaan offers me a staff. A head taller than me, looks to be magic iron. I take it, curious.
Attack stat puts me at seven-eighty-four. Not the best weapon I own, but a damn sight better than my old one. SP recovery gets minor boost, agility as well. Hmm.
I give the staff a twirl, stirring the winds about me and whirring up a constant hum. Point of balance is where I'd expect, and the extra heft would certainly prove useful.
"Excellent craftsmanship. Thank you."
"The blacksmith assures me it will serve you well, Mistress." Zaan offers me a back sheath for my new staff. Lyraynna gets an exact replica. Zaan bows low, turning to see to his men. His maroon cape, bearing my crest, wafts in the afternoon breeze. Glimpses of a new leather pouch peek out, holding three health, two mana, and two skill potions. Looking around, each of my men carries the same pouch slung about their waist, just in case.
The courtyard is rife with boots clapping about. Archers check theirs and their filolials' quivers, and string their bows for combat. Rogues sort their throwing darts and sharpen their daggers, with a select few stowing their bombs and snapping their sparking rings just to be sure. Guards check theirs and their filolial's armours, to ensure it's donned correctly, and their sheathed weapons so they won't shift about and cause problems. Wagon drivers go over their lists of supplies, counting by the barrel.
"Oi." Naofumi and his party arrive, the man himself waving. "Looks like everything's about ready." I nod, not so subtly checking their gear.
"Sir Iwatani!" Without prompting, Tayrend comes running and offers Naofumi's party their already filled pouches. "For you. We've your filolials armoured and prepped. Including spare weapons." Servants lead the brushed filolials our way, their polished armours gleaming as keen as their feathers.
"And you girls were worried." Naofumi gives his party a cocked eyebrow and winning smile.
"It isn't about how willing they are to help." Raphtalia gets in his face about it, hands on hips and clearly not taking well to this slacking-off. "They're still your filolials, Master Naofumi. Take some responsibility, will you."
"You're right." Naofumi pets his swordswoman, beaming to set her at ease. She pouts, no doubt complaining about not being taken seriously. "Well. Since I'm a One Star Silver now, we should be able to pitch in for all their help, right?" Is that where he keeps disappearing to? Taking jobs? Good on him.
The girls perk up, beaming.
"That means more yummy treats, right Master?" Filo glomps her Naofumi, peering up and begging him to say yes.
8-8
We stand ready. My party members each have their own parties under their command—even Hope, though our healers are banned from joining the fray. I send Naofumi the invite to be the party leader, he accepts, his eyes widening at the expanded roster compared to last time—topping off at a hundred and four souls flying my banner.
Naofumi pets Filo's feathery head, teasing a pleased kwee from her.
"Get ready!"
Late afternoon sky snaps from blue to red, dotted with swirling vortices. Manor's courtyard is replaced with a hillside now swarming with Melromarcan soldiers.
"Everyone!" Kitamura hoists his spear to the heavens. "Follow me!" And he charges. Only his party follows, unsurprisingly.
"Men!" Her Highness's sharp tone has even me standing a little straighter.
"Hu!" Balled gauntlets rap against their breastplates. The soldiers get into formation quickly.
"We're outside of Lute Village. Candlemaker and her people will see to the defences and evacuation. I want Battalions Beta and Gamma to form an outer perimeter. Battalion Theta will scout around for any stragglers. And Battalion Alpha will accompany me as we aid the Heroes!"
"Yes, Highness!"
"For the glory of Melromarc!" Highness snaps her decorative fan towards the horizon, to Lute.
"FOR MELROARC!" The soldiers charge ahead, down the hillside like complete lunatics. Well. This should be interesting.
"Éclair! Your party will escort the wagons into Lute. Grin, Archer, and Lyraynna will accompany me. Move out!" I nudge Chandelier, staff pointing at Lute as we charge down the hillside.
"Yes, Mistress!"
Chandelier is more than happy to charge ahead, even downhill, in a dead sprint. We quickly overtake the soldiers, almost blurring passed them.
The closer we get, the more I realize how right it was to pre-emptively evacuate. Fast as Chandelier runs, buildings already burn. Goblins, skeletons, bees, zombies, locusts. The place is overrun, and it's only just beginning.
Arrows rain down on the buildings, on the streets, on the endless sea of monsters ahead. With only Archer on my flank, he's clearly not been idle in his training—that one skill cost him eighty SP, but nets us nearly seven-thousand Exp.
The monsters don't seem to care, though. The survivors trample over their fallen, their attention now focused on my group as even more rain down from the skies.
Average level is thirty. Yeah, this is going to be a long day.
I quickly dismount, staff in hand. "Chandelier! Trample!"
8-8
Staff whirrs, shattering monsters like glass. But no matter how many I mow down, more come. This is nothing like the previous waves—there's no end to them.
Lt. Pryce: "Wagons are in our compound. Defences are holding."
Me: "Good. Éclair has command, assist her in any way you can."
Lt. Pryce: "Acknowledged."
I dance through the infested streets, thrashing through monsters like it rains Exp. The little illusions almost seem to blur through the numbers as we rack up kills, no matter how conservative we are with our SP.
A crack in the distance; sounds to be coming from our compound. Eight-thousand Exp surges in at once. She's a complete and utter oaf in politics, but there's no denying she handles herself in combat.
More explosions, punctuated by yet more surges of Exp.
"Oh, I see. Someone wants to show she's the better general." Staff-tip blurs through six monsters at once, before it slips into my back sheath. A flick of my forearms, fans slip in to my grips. "Alright! Let's show them what we're made of!"
"Meteor Rain!" Archer shoots one arrow up into the sky, and it rains back down like shooting stars, carpeting the streets with arrows of light.
"Radiant Judgement!" Light explodes from Lyraynna, soothing my aches and pains even as the zombies and skeletons burst into flames just for being near her.
"Dagger Barrage!" Grin's dagger blurs into hundreds of copies, each flung into the street ahead and behind us, slashing through whatever wasn't felled.
Fifteen-thousand Exp surges in.
First Consort: "Oh? Try to keep up, Wife."
Yet more rain down, landing on their fallen and eager to succeed where they failed. I keep my back to my companions, and the compound we must guard. Closed fans hold steady against my sides—right fan to left side, and left to right. Elbows jut out, shifting wider to demark the area I intend to level.
Rupture-Stance Rondo: Planar Decapitation.
In one clean motion, fans flick open and slash outwards, their arcs not moving passed elbows' aim. There's no light, no sign save a gust of wind.
Streetlights, monsters, buildings—everything in my path collapses before me, spilling their guts and bathing the littered streets merlot. It nets twenty-two-thousand Exp and another level for each affected skill mastery. Cost nearly a hundred SP for overpowering it, though.
New Skill Feat Unlocked: Skill Overcharge.
I fish out a skill potion and gulp the bitter swill down. Potion efficacy levels up once, but it gives me less than half my spent SP back.
Empty vial stoppers and stows in my pouch as I message my party that they can overpower their skills, but to use it sparingly. Another explosion from behind me, lighting up the area with crackling bolts of blue lightning. Eight-thousand Exp surges in all the same.
Bry: "Works for spells, too. Not kind on your mana pool."
8-8
Breath is ragged as my fans rip through the wreckage, taking monsters' heads going and coming. As quickly as they fall, more monsters rain down to take their place.
It's a levelling paradise, make no mistake. But there's just no end to them and there's little left of the village, save splinters gathered into impressive mounds as they burn. Those goblins love their spellflame, even if the locusts and bees attack them for it.
First Consort: "Return to the compound. You need sustenance. My Party will relieve you."
Sigh. Little point in arguing. I let out a whistle, and Chandelier comes right for me. Lyraynna, Grin, and Archer mount up just as quickly, and they follow without a word, mowing monsters down as we go.
On our approach, the guards on the walls unleash a barrage of arrows and bow skills, nailing the monsters in our path to the cobblestone streets. Chandelier pays the welcome mat little mind as she rushes into the ajar gates and into the safety of the compound—First Consort nods to me, and she and her party head out before the gates close.
Singing is the first thing I notice; a soothing, angelic voice that sloughs off the worst of my day and robs me of my aches and pains. Hope walks toward us, singing and bearing a tray filled with bowls of stew.
Archer is quick to dismount and aid his wife. And just think, the Wave isn't even over.
8-8
I burp, uncaring how anyone will react to it just now. My tummy is now happy and full, so I turn my attention back to my people, handing Archer my empty bowl as I make my way up onto the wall.
The archers lag, their rate of fire left wanting. Another group in the courtyard stretch and work their shoulders, rearing to go.
"Archers!" I below, struggling to be heard in the chaos. "Shift change!" The ones on the walls filter down at the same speed the fresh archers make their way up, arrows already nocked and drawn. The previous shift all but collapse as they're offered bowls of stew and have their quivers refilled for them.
Between every archer is a spearman, utilizing their reach to skewer any monsters that get too close. Our swordsmen keep to the roof and spread out in the courtyard, slaying anything gets passed our defences. Effective.
Also up on the roof are the Rogues, raining down bombs and throwing darts, painting a true hellscape onto the night air.
Zaan comes to me, offering me a flagon with ale. I shake my head, so he downs it in one go.
"Casualty report."
"None, Mistress. Lady Éclair's strategy, combined with the healers' songs, has kept our losses down. With Lyraynna's Auras to bolster them? If we're careful…" I nod. That isn't the only plausible outcome, but it's what we strive for.
Scanning around, there isn't one of my men that hasn't hit the level forty cap. Hope claps twice and points to another healer, wearing an identical white robe to hers. The appointed healer starts singing, matching Hope's for one loop before my Prioress quiets and sips from her tea to soothe her no doubt aching vocal cords.
Everyone above the first cap is at least level sixty-two, with the ludicrous amounts of Exp that, even now, keeps filtering in. Hmm. How to make use of my time? I know!
Status menu calls up, filtering through to Rupture-Stance Rondo skills. Hmm. Planar Decapitation would be a mistake just now. What about Tortoise Shell Cracker? It's a sniping skill, and at mastery level two. Hmm, it costs almost thirty SP per hit, though. Well, some training should alleviate that somewhat.
Fans in hand, left held palm up to aim, right ready to strike.
One of the goblins looks like he's chanting.
Rupture-Stance Rondo: Tortoise Shell Cracker.
The burst of light shoots clear through the six locusts in the way, through the no longer chanting goblin, and through the two skeletons' breastplates behind it. They all drop, dead.
Skill Mastery +1
I take aim.
Rupture-Stance Rondo: Tortoise Shell Cracker.
Three locusts, two bees, the skeleton's skull I aimed for, and two goblins just behind it each take the concentrated beam of light. It only took twenty-five SP that time, and got its mastery bar up a quarter.
Hmm. Yes, this is a much better use of my time.
8-8
I gulp down my last mana potion, recoiling from the sickly sweetness as I stopper and stow it.
Me: "Shift change. Return to base."
First Consort: "Affirmative."
She must be exhausted if I get but a one-word answer. One last look, my Tortoise Shell Cracker hit mastery level eighteen with the absurd overuse of it. Luckily that means each use takes a mere five SP, because I'm out of skill potions.
"Mistress!" Zaan comes running. He trades my two empty mana and skill potions with fresh ones. "Fight well. We'll handle things here."
I clap my hand on his shoulder, thanking him before I mount. "Guard my people well."
"With my life, Mistress." Zaan bows low, his spear at the ready—he'll need a much nicer spear for the next Wave.
The gates creak ajar, allowing First Consort and her clearly battered party inside—each of them gulping down a health potion. They're all level forties. Yes, a Class Up is just what they need to spread their wings. What they all need.
Chandelier kwees and darts through the gate as it's closing, and we're back out in the madness, beset by monsters before the gate even slams shut. But these aren't the usual level thirties—they're each level forty now. Well, fuck me. It's about time.
Naofumi: "Get your ass here now! Boss spawned! Level forty-five! And I'm running on fumes!"
Me: "Location?"
Coordinates he sends point to the north-east where the explosions are the most intense. Alright.
"Move it!" I lead Chandelier in that direction, snapping my fans out as I go and leaving a trailed of blood in my wake. The battalions of soldiers are struggling with the level thirties, and the new spawns are not making things better.
Archer fires arrow after arrow, while Lyraynna's Aura turns the tide of battle further in their favour.
"Fall back to the last building standing!" I fling my fans, arcing them through the monsters. Those I miss, Archer snipes off and Lyraynna's Aura offers the Coup de Grace so we don't even have to stop. "Our healers will tend to you!"
8-8
Arriving in the clearing—that probably wasn't a clearing before today—I find the Heroes on their last leg. The Elite Guard aren't doing much better. They're good to have survived this long, but everyone has a limit, and they likely didn't have a break since this all started.
"Shield Prison!" The Chimera is engulfed in Noafumi's trap, struggling against the chains with enough force to blur the air around it. "Candy! The hell took you?"
"Don't call me that." I toss him a skill and mana potion, he's quick to down them both. The other Heroes, and their parties, are battered, bruised, and bloodied. It's amazing no one died, given their current states. "What's the situation?"
"It's quick. And tough. Not immune to anything, but not weak to it either. We've thrown everything we have at it, but we've already blown through all our MP and SP and regenerates as quick as we hit it."
I scan the monster. It's already back to full health—either they haven't hurt it or it doesn't much care that they have. Yeah, that sounds like a nightmare waiting to happen.
"Sorrow!" Highness comes, her armoured filtelt filolial pulling up beside Chandelier. I hand her a mana and skill potion without prompting, she doesn't continue until she's downed both. "I can freeze it in place before Naofumi drops the shield, then you and your party take the shot while it's incapacitated."
"We could do that." I nod, accepting the empty vials back from both of them and stowing them. Kitamura's in bad shape, but so are Amaki and Kawasumi. I toss each a health potion, my people toss theirs all the potions we have on hand.
"I'll overpower my sniper skill. If it's still not dead, you three finish it off."
"You got it!" Kitamura's already this uppity?
"I spoke to my party members." I dismount, fans in hand as I approach the rattling Shield Prison.
Highness starts chanting, the shields and chains are engulfed in a slow-creeping frost that turns my breath to smoke. Left fan aims, wrist up, right ready to strike. I pour all of my SP into the attack.
"Naofumi!"
The prison dissolves. The frozen Chimera roars with all four heads. I aim for the torso, unsure which head to kill—it should only have one heart.
Rupture-Stance Rondo: Tortoise Shell Cracker!
As my right fan strikes, the supercharged beam of light tears a hole clean through ice and monster, ripping through the air behind it as well—thankfully it's not in the direction of anything I can see.
Monster drops, sporting a gaping hole wide enough for my arm to fit through.
Skill Overcharge Mastery +5
Rupture-Stance Rondo: Tortoise Shell Cracker Mastery +5
Rupture-Stance Rondo Mastery +5
Rising Phoenix Mastery +5
Twin Battle Fans Mastery +5
That's a welcomed boost. I get no Exp, though, and it cost all of my SP. Sigh. Well, at least it's dead.
"She just…one-shotted the Wave Boss." That was a team effort, or did the shield and ice go unnoticed?
I wave it off. "Naofumi. It's my kill, so you divvy the drop."
"Fair. Hey, guys. What parts give the skills?"
"The," Kawasumi shakes his head, trying to work his lame tongue.
"Heads," Amaki finishes.
"Raphtalia. Cut those heads into four even parts. So we can each get a fair share."
8-8
I waste no time. The second the sky clears, I order all my people back to Castle Town, to the Hourglass. With about a hundred in line, it'll take quite some time, so I start messaging my lieutenants.
Me: "Get back to Lute. It's a complete wreck, but it's a wreck we need to defend."
Lt. Espid: "Affirmative."
Me: "Stone, wood, nails, plaster. Everything we need to rebuild, get it processed and ready for shipping to Lute. Including food stores."
Lt. Castle: "Understood. Should I send the construction workers as well?"
Me: "Yes. Éclair Seaette is in charge of reconstruction. Contact her."
Each time a new pair makes their way up to the Hourglass, I allow them to choose. I won't even pretend I know them all well enough to know what their assigned Class Up should be.
"Mistress." The first of my Shadows approach. I grab them by the forearm, meeting their gaze.
"Get back to the manor. Take a few days to relax. We'll get you sorted after." He Quick Travels before releasing my grip. The second Shadow gets the same treatment, before she too blinks back home.
8-8
Drawings lay out before me. A city—sewers, districts, architectural styles. Everything is up for my perusal and approval. Granted, this is happening in my meeting room, but isn't this for the governor to decide?
The current governor sits opposite me, as does Her Highness. I give them both little more than a raised eyebrow.
"We can't afford it," the governor admits. "The best we can hope for is to borrow from the crown, but with the next Melromarcan Wave three months away…?" It's money better invested in saving the next town.
"And therefore the costs fall to me?"
"Actually," Her Highness smiles, "the solution I've put forth is that you reclaim your birth right as Lady of the Lyght Region and governess of Lute, and he stays on as your advisor."
Hmm. Reports show that the fields were all completely upheaved. Everything will have to be replanted—but that does mean there could be a certain amount of structure, so we grow what my people would need, and surplus is sold.
"Taxes payable to the crown?"
"Thirty gold per year, payable on the first day of spring."
Same as the other taxes I have to pay. Hmm. "And I may set taxes as I please?"
"Of course."
"Ownership of the lands?"
"These are your ancestral lands. No one owns anything on them but you."
I nod. Hmm. Light Metal ore mine. Full production would be at my disposal; that's not a commonly used metal, so demand would be low, at best. But I can use it to outfit my guards, and perhaps even reduce the cost of construction? Those goblins, they used fire. So if we use stone and metal in construction, it would reduce potential damages if another such Wave strikes. And we can add escape routes built into the sewers to ensure no lives are lost?
"What do I get in return for paying taxes?"
"Political protection, military protection, a vast network via which you may trade all goods with no taxation. All goods crossing Melromarcan borders, incoming and outgoing, are regulated and taxed. There is, however, the added stipulation that during war times we request troops from your region. It would fall to you to arm, armour, and train them. However, that means that all soldiers and mages hailing from Lute are under your direct command."
Thirty gold a year for all that is good—not the best, but damn good. More skilled hands as well, but with questionable loyalties—granted, they're apt to be loyal to their homes, but given I've to build them…? "And the noble title?"
"You married Prince Auric. You are therefore Duchess…"
I nod. "No revealing my heritage until city defences are up?"
"Fair."
Hmm. Not perfect, far from it. We'd be an hour from Castle Town and the army's seat of power. I still have my manor. Taxes go up considerably, but…if I work this out, we could be one hell of a powerhouse within Melromarc—which comes with an even bigger target painted on my back.
I flit through the maps. There's a river on the eastern portion of Lyght Region that marks its border. It's a far more logical location to set up, yet the mines would be a resource in need of protection. Hmm. Decisions, decisions.
"What's this?" A funny squiggle halfway between Lute's current location and the river. I tap it, looking to the governor.
"The Ruins of Olde Lute. They're haunted, so no one's been through there since…"
"Since?" I look to Her Highness.
"The Rabier incident." My eyes narrow. "You'll have a full report on it, but suffice to say it sparked a war between Lyght Region and…key neighbouring regions." And here I was worried that other kingdoms had a hand in this. Neighbours. Rabier, Seaette, Reichnott, Oaksage, and Melromarc Regions—it isn't apt to be Highness, but it isn't impossible either.
"Very well. I accept the position as Lady and Governess of the region. However, you'll need to be screened before I accept you as advisor." The man nods, his face relaxing into a smile. Let's see if that lasts.
8-8
The manor's meeting room is utter chaos. Auric and Madeleine keep tossing ideas back and forth. First Consort and Tayrend tag-team in interrogating my would-be advisor for every detail. Reports flood my vision—a new message comes in before I finish reading the last.
As if all that isn't enough?
Zaan and the guards have been keeping the Three Heroes the hell off my property. Those make up the vast majority of reports coming in. Requests to meet, lunch dates—I'm going to emasculate that damn Kitamura, I swear.
Laughter draws my attention. Specific laughter, my Luna's. Naofumi blows a raspberry in her neck, bringing her my way. "Sorry to interrupt, but someone's been running away from her minders."
The most welcome interruption yet, by orders of magnitude. I hold my arms out for her, and the second Naofumi's close enough, she all but jumps into my awaiting embrace.
"Book." Luna pats my chest to get my attention and taps her nose. "Nuna book."
"Éclair." The room goes deathly silent as I quickly draw the city layout I want, detailing the things I want incorporated. I slip those to Lyraynna, and nod towards First Consort. "You'll be in charge of overseeing reconstruction. All major decisions are to be run by me without fail. And Naofumi. Tell the other Heroes I will meet with the four of you tomorrow for lunch. They may enter then, but alone."
I make to stand, careful to support my Luna as she wiggles and squirms in my arms. Potty break, being my guess.
"I want all of you to make proposals for your specific branches, and how we could make this work in our favour. We'll hold a meeting tomorrow morning after breakfast. But Luna really needs her nap."
"Book!" I giggle, tapping my impatient bookworm's nose.
"And her book."
8-8
"Lady Oaksage." I curtsey as yet another meeting is thrust upon me in my manor's dining hall. You'd think with everything going on, I wouldn't need yet more meetings, right? But no. Why not also deal with a dozen other responsibilities atop it. "Do forgive me for being short with you, but I'm currently swamped. Please make it brief."
I take a seat to my dining table, but don't motion for her to join me.
"Of course, Lady Candlemaker." The modestly dressed woman curtseys low; not as low as a commoner might, but lower than I've come to expect from a noble. She's gracious enough not to press to sit, standing with an erect posture that hints at noble birth. Curiously, she lays her hands on my dining table, as if needing the support just now? "I am Lady and Governess of the Oaksage Region, as you've no doubt ascertained. While we are not the most…affluent of your neighbours, I assure you we are loyal allies."
"The point, Lady Oaksage." She strikes me almost as a refugee fleeing for her life. I'm not settling for half a tale just now.
"Of course. Forgive me. What I would need, Duchess, is your military and political protection. What I offer is Magic Iron ore. With the Waves, no one's been buying, so we could offer you our full production of up to six-hundred kilograms a month, in exchange for your protection?"
Hmm. Interesting, and most useful just now. It's a complete fabrication, of course, since demand would soar. "What of your previous buyers? Competition?"
Fear flickers across her eyes. Competition, huh?
"I assure you, Lady Oaksage. What you say here will go no further. Not even via scrying." Especially now that First Consort is actually pulling her weight around here.
"Lord…Lord Rabier. He's offers Magic Iron ore to all our buyers at a price we can't compete with, especially now. It's driven us into abject poverty."
"I see." I have no issue warring with that arse. "You have mages?"
"We do! An academy, in fact. We could train any mages you desire!"
Rabier is many things, but that he's held onto his governance with all sins tallied against him, means he's clout, and that likely has to do with his apparent grip on the Magic Iron ore distribution—with higher demand, even the queen would be hard-pressed to evict him in the current climate. Hmm. If he were to hear his plan to bankrupt his competition fails, meaning he cannot purchase their region at a reduced price or, worse, lose his current immunity, he's apt to lash out. If he strikes first, none could fault us for reprisal—not even the queen. All I need to do is to…encourage him.
"Very well, Lady Oaksage. Here's what I propose. You will open a mages academy in Lute, for which you will need to provide only the masters and the lesson plans, at a going rate of a hundred silvers per student per calendar year, payable on the first day of spring. You will sell your Magic Iron ores to us at…say six silvers a kilogram?"
"Six?" Lady Oaksage's eyes widen. Yes, I'm being criminally fair, offering the going rate. Though, to be fair, she'll be accepting less than a quarter of the tuition fees the average mage academy charges, so it balances. "And you'll…?"
"Of course. You would be our sole distributor for a rather valuable resource, and providing us with well-trained mages. Ensuring your region's safety would be in my best interest, wouldn't it?"
Lady Oaksage collapses into the chair opposite me, doing all she can to not break down—out of relief, being my guess.
"Furthermore. I expect Lord Rabier to…make poor decisions where you and yours are concerned. I would ask that your family relocate to this manor for the foreseeable future. As a precautionary measure."
Lady Oaksage looks up, tearstained cheeks pulled up into a beaming smile. "Of course, My Lady. I'll make preparations at once."
Me: "Lady Oaksage and family will be staying with us for the foreseeable future. See that she's monitored around the clock, but do not hamper her movements without just cause. Assign two guards to her whilst on the grounds, and six should she leave for any reason."
Tayrend: "With pleasure. Am I to…investigate?"
Me: "Of course."
This should give me the leeway I need on Rabier. Now. The Four Heroes meeting, and finding out what Siltvelt's punishment is to be—I look forward to hearing there's little Her Highness can do.
8-8
End Chapter Seventeen
8-8
A/N: hcook10, please don't be too impressed. My muse just likes this story, and it keeps bugging me with little fun things to do with it. Add that I literally have nowhere I'm currently allowed to go with the lock-down? Meh. At leat I'm keeping entertained, and hopefully entertaining you all as well.
magnaton-sver, oh yes. Don't worry, Candlemaker needs to...arrange some things before she gets there, but she WILL get there with Siltvelt. She just needs...shall we say...practice?
Wheel0fDawn, hehehehe. You're not far off the mark. And that's what I refer to with the above comment. Adding how her people grew during this Wave? ^_^ I'm going to have fun teasing that all out just right.