Chapter Five: Test
"Since when did you bother with changing your locks?" Tartaglia greets the God of Contracts as the Archon approaches the entrance to his apartment.
The Geo Archon appraises the young Harbinger carefully, his expression thoroughly inscrutable to the impulsive Snezhnayan.
"Since you and your goons took it upon yourselves to start snooping around," Morax sniffs as he moves to walk past, he is about to say something further when he detects the metallic scent of blood in the air and freezes. "Why are you here?"
"I'm hurt sensei," the Harbinger chuckles wryly as he holds the Archon's amber gaze. "Greeting me with such suspicion when you haven't even invited me in."
"You seem to have a talent for stirring trouble," the God of Contracts informs him coolly. "I'm just treating you accordingly. So, I'll ask you again. Why are you here?"
"Aren't you going to invite me in first?"
"Your response will inform my decision," the Archon replies bluntly. Tartaglia opens his mouth to chuckle once more but is overwhelmed with a sudden coughing fit that doubles him over and leaves him wheezing badly and clutching his side.
The Lord of Geo cautiously approaches the young Harbinger and guides him into his apartment setting him down unto the nearest chair before retreating to the kitchen to fetch some medicinal herbs.
"It appears that I gave the last of my Qingxin flowers to Ganyu some days ago and have nothing to relieve your discomfort," Morax informs his guest several moments later as he returns with a kettle of steaming tea.
"I'm fine," Tartaglia informs him as he reaches for the teacup the Archon had filled with a grateful smile.
The God of War withdraws his hand as he inspects the youth closely. Although he did not seem to be in any immediate danger, it was clear from his labored breathing and the faint trails of blood lining the corners of his lips that the Eleventh Harbinger was still recovering from his most recent brush with death.
"Now, answers."
"What would you like to know?" Childe asks as he blows at his tea.
"We'll start with why you're here," Zhongli replies crossing his arms.
"Well, the condensed version is that I was poisoned a couple of days ago and was recovering in Mondstadt."
"Mondstadt?" The Archon repeats with a frown. "Why would a Mondstadter poison you?"
"Oh no, I was poisoned here in good ol' Liyue Harbor," Tartaglia corrects with a sardonic chuckle. "And to think I was starting to warm up to this place."
"I see," Morax muses. "And I take it you did not return to your post because you suspect someone in your organization?"
"The Fatui would never," Childe disagrees. "We harbingers are the Tsaritsa's chosen instruments. To our countrymen, we are Snezhnaya's pride and joy, its greatest defenders who execute her Excellency's divine mandate. Killing a harbinger would only invite unnecessary calamity."
"That's funny," the Archon hums sarcastically. "Some are of the opinion that summoning Osial would invite a similar outcome. But I digress."
"Come on, you're not still sulking about that are you?"
"No," Rex Lapis states matter-of-factly. "Just pointing out the hypocrisy in your earlier statement."
"Ah, well anyways I don't suspect it was a member of the Fatui, but I do suspect an insider. Someone working in my house to be more specific."
"Why would your staff want to kill you?" The Archon wonders arching an eyebrow.
"I suspect an assassin might have infiltrated my house posing as a worker. It's a cowardly move but quite effective."
"I see," Morax hums, stroking his chin with a contemplative frown. "However, that still doesn't explain what you're doing here. I imagine your organization provides safe houses for its members specifically for situations like this. It seems rather odd that you wouldn't take advantage of such facilities."
"Let's just say that I don't—" But before the Harbinger can finish his sentence he freezes as the memory of his conversation with the Eight Harbinger some days ago finally resurfaces. His jaw drops as a harrowing thought slowly but surely begins to creep to the fore.
"When her majesty informed me of this arrangement I did not question or protest it. I immediately accepted it. Entrusting my fate to her divine hands. I did it because I know my place. It is high time that you learned yours."
La Signora had stormed out of his office immediately after this declaration and he had foolishly returned to his lunch thinking nothing of it until now.
My symptoms. They were identical to Dottore's Compound V. Could it be…did Signora poison me?
When the Archon notices Tartaglia lost in thought, he quietly rises from his seat and excuses himself before retreating to his washroom. The Harbinger slowly lowers his cooling teacup as he replays his terse conversation with the Tsaritsa's cruel envoy.
"…I should inform you that I always come on the Tsaritsa's behalf. Always." The Fair Lady had informed him bluntly that fateful afternoon as she entered his office.
Could it be? Could her Excellency have—? No. There must have been some sort of misunderstanding. Signora's a vindictive sadist and has always enjoyed toying with me. She probably poisoned me out of spite for rejecting her. But still…I've never known her to so much as sneeze without her Grace's permission.
He had to know. He needed to hear it from the Tsaritsa herself. If the Cryo Archon desired his life, she had only to ask and he would gladly yield it by whatever method she commanded.
Still, it unsettled him that his beloved Archon had lost so much faith in him that she had taken it upon herself to arrange his marriage to her envoy without consulting or informing him. Surely, it would have made sense for the Tsaritsa to summon him to Zapolyarny Palace and issue her marriage directive directly, leaving him no opportunity to protest or refuse.
So why would she send Signora especially when she knows how much I despise her. Was this some sort of test? Tartaglia wonders running a hand slowly through his messy orange hair. Was there some hidden meaning in Signora's proposal? There's only one way to find out.
For as long as Childe had known him, Andrei the Bank Manager had always taken it upon himself to open up and lock up the Northland Bank during the weekday. Often rising well before daybreak and retiring well after midnight. So, when the Eleventh Harbinger did not find him wandering the high-ceilinged halls of the Snezhnayan bank, he instantly realizes that it must have been a Saturday morning. He had been away for so long that he had lost track of the days and hadn't realized it given the bustling streets filled with vendors and tourists taking in the sights of the Lantern Rite festival.
Releasing a deep sigh, the Harbinger heads towards his office intent on rummaging through his drawers for any signs of the ticket to Snezhnaya he had instructed Andrei to purchase for him. Halfway through he notices the odd positions of the supplies in his drawer and freezes.
Someone had rifled through his things and had wanted him to know it.
Signora. He seethes clenching his fists. Only a harbinger would dare. I'd better hurry up and find it quick. The sooner I return to Snezhnaya, the sooner I can explain myself to her Excellency.
No sooner had the thought formed in his head did he hear the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps. Tartaglia conceals himself behind his office door and listens intently as the intruder approaches his office.
"In a moment, dear," Andrei calls out from the other side of his office door. "I just need to make sure there hasn't been a break-in."
"S-shouldn't you call the millelith, Dorogoi?" The Bank Manager's wife hisses back in apparent concern. "I don't like the feel of this."
"You know, you really ought to listen to your wife Andrei," Tartaglia chuckles sheathing his hydro blades as he emerges from his hiding spot. "If you hadn't spoken, I would have cleaved you in half."
"My Lord Tartaglia!" The Bank Manager greets earnestly as he lowers his head in a reverent bow.
"Good Morning, Andrei," Tartaglia greets his subordinate pleasantly before turning to introduce himself to the older man's spouse.
"G-good morning, sir!" Andrei returns as he slowly but surely straightens up. "Y-yes sir I know but I wanted to confirm that this wasn't a false alarm. L-la Signora had us update the security seals protecting the Northland Bank and a couple of them are extremely sensitive."
"I see," Childe mutters dryly.
"So, you're the famous Eleventh Harbinger, Tartaglia?" Andrei's wife gasps. "With the way my Andrei speaks of you I was expecting someone a lot older."
"Oh, my Andrei you truly flatter me," Tartaglia chuckles awkwardly scratching the back of his head.
"Nonsense, you harbingers are the pride of Snezhnaya! You must be celebrated and revered across Teyvat. I am truly honored to have met you in person."
"Thank you, madam," the Harbinger smiles bashfully. "Honestly, I didn't know Andrei was married to such a kind and thoughtful lady. He is truly fortunate to have such a wonderful companion."
"Oh, truly Lord Tartaglia you are too kind," the Bank Manager's wife chortles flushing slightly.
"Not at all. Would you mind if steal your husband away briefly to discuss some business?" Childe asks with a disarming smile. "I promise to bring him right back."
"Of course, Lord Tartaglia," she nods beaming broadly. "Perhaps later you and your lovely fiancée could join us later this evening for dinner."
"My fiancée?!" The Harbinger repeats with a confused frown.
"Yes. Lady Baranovskaya announced your engagement a few days ago," the Bank Manager's wife replies sweetly. Beside her, Andrei stirs visibly but does not bother to silence or correct her.
"She means the Eight Harbinger, La Signora, sir."
"I see," Childe mumbles with a forced smile. "Enjoy the rest of your day. Come, Andrei, we have a lot to catch up on."
The Bank Manager follows the young Harbinger into his office, closing the door gently behind them before turning to face the unpredictable instrument of war.
"Seems a lot has happened while I've been away," Tartaglia states dryly. "Care to fill me in?"
Rage was an emotion Tartaglia rarely succumbed to. The Eleventh Harbinger could count on both hands the number of times he had ever truly surrendered to bouts of unbridled rage. While his time in the Abyss had shown him anger's many advantages, it had also exposed just how easily rage dulled and numbed a warrior's senses. As an avowed instrument of war, he was all too familiar with how fickle the tides of battle were and how fleeting a fighter's advantage could be, and how significantly anger exacerbated them. And that was reason enough to avoid succumbing to rage no matter how tempting or warranted. For after battle, Tartaglia desired control above all else.
And yet leaning on the balcony of his colleague's hotel suite overlooking the glittering harbor, Childe felt his mind tethering dangerously over the edge of rage. Forcing his eyes closed, he takes a deep steadying breath as her room door slowly but surely slides open.
"—and some caviar preferably sometime this century," the Eight Harbinger instructs the pair of inn attendants trailing her into the room.
The pair freeze when they notice Tartaglia watching them blankly from the balcony and turn to shoot his colleague identically bemused looks.
"There you are Childe," La Signora calls out to him with a flippant wave. "We've been looking all over for you."
"Celebrating, are we?" He asks arching an eyebrow.
"Do come inside, Childe," the Fair Lady says in a tone that was best suited for communicating with small children. "You'll catch your death if you keep standing out there."
When he doesn't immediately respond or acknowledge her, she turns to dismiss the inn attendants who quickly oblige, pausing briefly to close the door behind themselves.
La Signora strides calmly towards her closet where she shrugs off her coat to reveal her usual gown. Conscious of his gaze, she slowly removes her shoes, taking great pains to delay acknowledging him until he has complied with her instructions.
"Andrei tells me that there's a warrant for my arrest back home," Childe states quietly.
"I'm surprised he did not show it to you," the Tsaritsa's envoy sneers, not bothering to face him.
"He did."
"Oh, Childe. I want you to know that you brought this on yourself."
He closes the distance between them quickly and reaches out to grab her neck. She quickly steps aside to avoid his grasp and turns in time to seize his hand, twisting it behind him as she drives him into the nearest wall.
"Let go of me!" He roars thoroughly beside himself.
"Not until you've listened."
"I will not listen to your poison!" He snarls.
"Then perhaps you will listen to reason," the Eighth Harbinger states coolly as she tightens her grip around his twisted arm. "Honestly, all this anger over what?"
"You poisoned her Excellency against me!" La Signora throws her head back and cackles openly at this releasing him as he continues to squirm and kick at her.
"Do you honestly think her Majesty is swayed so easily?" The Fair Lady taunts. "As I mentioned before, your friendship with the Outlander deeply unnerved her and she began to worry that perhaps she had lost your devotion which was why Balladeer proposed a test."
"A test?" Childe repeats, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "What kind of test?"
"A test of loyalty," Signora informs him matter-of-factly. "Which you failed spectacularly might I add."
"What are you talking about?"
"The proposal was the first phase of the test. While your response was disappointing, to say the least, you performed just as poorly on the second phase."
"The second phase?" Childe repeats incredulously.
"Yes, the second phase. The test of your men's loyalty to you. When I informed your men of her Majesty's directive and informed them that one of them would have to poison you, there were so many volunteers I was thoroughly spoiled for choice," the Fair Lady explains, a cruel smile curling her lips. "Apparently, almost all of them agreed that your friendship with the Outlander was counterproductive and they were all too willing to terminate you if that was what it took to end it."
"And the third test? Or phase? I'm guessing there was a third phase," the Eleventh Harbinger sighs rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Correct," the Eighth Harbinger sneers. "The third and final phase was designed as a sort of redemption phase so to speak."
"What do you mean?" Childe asks narrowing his eyes.
"I mean your performance in the prior phases would have been null and void if you had passed the third and arguably simplest phase," Signora informs him with a condescending smirk. "Would you like to guess what this phase entailed?"
"Compound V," Tartaglia gasps his striking blue eyes suddenly wide and aghast.
"Correct again, Childe," Signora chuckles. "All you had to do when you discovered that you had been poisoned was to summon your assigned doctor to examine and treat you. I had directed him to standby with the antidote, but alas you vanished into thin air and never bothered to call on him. And somehow here you stand before me, right as rain."
The world around Tartaglia spins out of focus and it is all he can do to remain upright as his breath escapes him in quick, harsh bursts. Signora appears at his side leering over his shoulder like the viper that tempted Eve.
"You're lying," he tries at last.
But his own voice sounds hollow and unsure even to his own ears. The Fair Lady's sneer widens at this as she extends the small black box she had placed in his palm several days ago.
"My report to her Excellency is due tomorrow morning," she informs him gently reaching out to fiddle with his earring. "Shall I inform her of your abysmal performance? Or will the Vortex of Chaos finally come to heel?"