An American Geek in a Halkeginian Court

by Inner Legions

An American commits cultural appropriation against a hapless Japanese youth. Typical, just typical. WARNING: CONTAINS RAW, GRAPHIC KIPLING. May only be suitable for mature readers.

27. Wind of Fate VII

Wind of Fate, Part VII

It's said that all good things must come to an end.

After a while Jason felt a brief moment of acceleration upwards. Hardly anything, compared to the cold fog that blew against them, but different enough that he knew they were ascending.

Which meant that they were probably under Newcastle, and would soon be out of the fog and into whatever the underside dock looked like.

And once they were out of the fog, Viscount Wardes would kill him if it looked like he was making time with the nobleman's girl.

[rising][,][so almost there] he sent. [could use warmth a few times]

Louise twitched, but withdrew herself, cast a strong Warmth on him, then herself, and then a small Light. She stepped forward as the fog started to thin, and with the glowing spark of Light attending her Jason managed to track her slender form as she approached Prince Wales and the other mages.

"We've started rising, and the fog has thinned enough to move around in," she told the prince. "Does that mean we've arrived?"

"Very nearly," he replied. "The island isn't so thick, this close to the edge, so we'll be out of the tunnel soon and into the dock."

She nodded, and took her place beside her fiancé, surely the proper figure of a girl next to her betrothed. Except that she wasn't close enough to lean on him, and she used her hand to hold her wand instead of steadying herself with a supporting grasp on Jean-Jacques's arm.

They came to the upper end of the tunnel not long after, breaking free of the last of the fog from below as the Eagle entered a large cavern that had been expanded into a vast underground wharf. The sides were covered in a white moss that caught the light and seemed to amplify it. A hollow shaft with a circular ramp upwards lay at the other end of the cavern, and a small crowd stood in front of what was clearly a docking bay, one of several. None of the bays had ships docked.

Well, Wales did say that Reconquista had taken away their fleet. But if they can liberate some ships, looks like they can service them all here for a while.

At an order from the prince, the helmsman guided the Eagle to the docking bay where their receiving party awaited.

As they did so, Viscount Wardes turned to his fiancée and began speaking in gentle tones, no doubt the apology she'd anticipated.

And as the Eagle set down, Prince Wales sprang to the gangway and bounded down it, to where an old man dressed as a mage waited with a thunderous expression.

"You are late, Your Highness," he scolded. "We thought you'd finally seen reason, and then the Underbell sounded."

"You thought that Reconquista had driven me off, you mean," the prince corrected with a sharp smile. "And they did! I was plotting our way back, to try to slip through before the fleet could gather for an assault, but then we smelled sulfur on the wind!"

"Sulfur," the mage repeated. "They found someone to resupply them already-!"

"No, this was just an opportunist, seeking profit from whoever he could sell to. And we took it all, Paris! Sulfur!"

The old mage, Paris, took a deep breath, sniffing loudly, before scowling anew. "I can smell that!" he snapped. "But his Majesty ordered you, once you were driven off and our prospects were hopeless-"

"Our prospects aren't hopeless anymore!" Prince Wales corrected once more, his smile widening into a feral grin. "Reconquista only knows that we were driven off. They don't know we came back, and they don't know what we've brought with us. Let them come in the morning, if they dare! The guns of Newcastle will speak once more!"

"Your duty to the Throne of Air-"

"My duty is to defend the Crown. Here, at Newcastle."

"Hel take us all, Your Highness!" Paris shouted. "Hel take us all, and a bargain it would be if only you survive to preserve the Throne. You should not have returned!"

The smile vanished from the prince's face. "My cousin has enough Air in her blood to reestablish our Throne, if it comes to that. I am not finished with my duties here, Paris, and I will not be until it is truly hopeless."

The old mage threw up his arms in outraged defeat, but then stalked off to organize the dockworkers.

Wales turned back with a pleased smile. "Come, honored guests! My father will wish to meet with you, I am sure!"

He led them to the center of the upward-leading shaft, and Empowered the floor. The result was to Levitate them all swiftly upwards, bypassing the spiraling ramp and quickly reaching the top of the shaft, which opened up into what was probably the bottom floor of Newcastle proper.

They set off, the prince leading them at a quick pace through a series of hallways, and Jason frowned as something occurred to him. "Your Highness," he called out, "I know charcoal and saltpeter aren't hard to come by, but if quicksilver can be transmuted, why not sulfur?"

Prince Wales glanced over his shoulder, but kept going. "It can," he agreed. "But we're not much given to Earth affinities on the White Isle of Wind. We could transmute neither the quantity nor the purity needed to influence the outcome of this rebellion, and our mages are employed to better effect elsewhere."

"Oh." Note to self: Discuss air-pressure weapons with Mr. Colbert. Air elementari can probably make them more effective than paintball guns.

"Will Reconquista have also resupplied themselves with gunpowder?" Captain Wardes suddenly asked.

The prince suddenly stopped and turned around. "I don't know, Jean-Jacques," he replied with a serious expression. "The treaty ban on importing gunpowder was scrupulously enforced before the latest uprising-"

"Reconquista claims otherwise."

"I know. But we were not breaking the truce, Brimir forsake me if I lie!" Prince Wales then smiled wryly. "I could have attempted to liberate some ships before now, if we had. But we did enforce the gunpowder ban, and Reconquista made no friends among the merchants with their heavy-handed 'inspections' after they seized the ports. If this was the first ship to chance it, then Brimir willing we shall give the fleet a welcome tomorrow that they were not expecting!"

"Won't that leave less gunpowder to fight with, when you try to free some of the ports?" Louise asked, frowning.

His Highness nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. However, without our cannons, Newcastle will fall if the full fleet engages."

"Oh."

"But between them, our mages, and the Relics of Air, if they close in we'll be able to do far more damage than they expect. And if we can do enough damage to their fleet, then liberating the ports and rallying the scattered and grounded ships not yet under Reconquista control to my banner will be that much easier."

She nodded, her frown gone.

"I shouldn't like to try to conquer Newcastle in the face of cannon and Albion's Relics," Captain Wardes commented with a thin smile.

The prince smiled back. "I shouldn't either. And they don't understand what they're facing: Father has yet to employ Leiptr, although I hope to persuade him to use it this time."

"Have they not, sought to kill, King James?" Tabitha asked softly. "Simpler than battle."

"They surely have, Dame Tabitha, but they've so far failed. Just as we've failed to kill Cromwell."

The tiny azuretop nodded, and they set off once again.

Jason frowned, as he followed at the back of the group. Cromwell? First the Tudors, now a 'Cromwell' as the implied leader of a rebellious plot? Although didn't our Cromwell just have the king arrested, tried, convicted, and then executed?

Cheers and laughter came in from ahead, and then the plucked sounds of some stringed instrument. The notes resolved into a simple melody, and upon hearing them Prince Wales blanched.

"Not again," he muttered. Then, more loudly: "Ladies, you may wish to cover your ears, and perhaps we could move a little faster?"

Kirche perked up. "And what-" She started to ask.

But then a ragged group of voices interrupted her, in a game but ultimately futile attempt to follow the melody that had been set for them. "'Oh those Reconquista traitors'," they sang, "'are naught but masturbaters/They-'"

At this point Louise took Prince Wales' advice, clapped her hands over her ears, and started jogging as fast as her skirt would allow with her holding up the hem.

The one time something translates with poetic meter and rhyme, and it's filthy doggerel. Jason sighed and ran after his little mistress, wincing as the next verse accused Cromwell of self-copulation.

The singing faded into illegibility once they made it up a flight up stairs.

Except that Kirche didn't follow them up the stairs, and Tabitha stuck with her, the shorter girl looking up at her friend askance.

"Dame Tabitha?" Prince Wales asked uncertainly.

"Those fellows sounded like they'd be diverting company!" Kirche announced. "You go on and take care of that errand of yours, we're going to have some fun!"

With that the redhead turned around and headed in the direction of the noise. Tabitha looked in her direction, then back at the group, then pulled out her book and followed the sounds of partying.

"Void Above, she'll be diverted all right!" His Highness exclaimed softly. "And with two of them . . . Jean-Jacques, could I prevail upon you to chaperone them? I don't need a fight breaking out if Dame Tabitha decides she's offended by the attention."

Captain Wardes grimaced. "I take your point. Very well." With that he set off back down the stairs.

The prince stood there, staring down the stairs in the direction of the revelry, for a long moment. Then he shook his head. "What was she thinking?" he asked. "We don't have many women here, and the way she carries herself-!"

"She calls herself the Ardent, so she probably thinking off all the fun to be had," Jason commented. "And, well, she's a Zerbst."

"Yes, but she's clearly-" Wales broke off. "You mean she's Kirche von Zerbst? Sturmhart's oldest daughter? One of those Zerbsts?"

"Yes," Louise confirmed. "Those Zerbsts."

"That explains everything." The prince started laughing helplessly. "Come, let us . . . actually, let us go to my suite, before we confer with Father. We can complete the purpose of your visit, and then onward to happier matters."

---

He led them down another hallway, and finally to a room that was smaller that what Louise had back at the Academy, but was nonetheless well furnished.

Once inside, the prince immediate went to a desk in the corner of the room, and tapped the ring on a specific point on the wood. A hidden drawer popped open, and from it he retrieved a small, carved box. The box was likewise tapped by the ring, and the lid popped open, revealing a folded sheet of the highest quality paper.

Prince Wales opened the sheet, revealing a well-worn letter, one that clearly had been read many times. With a sad smile, he read it one last time. Then he folded it, kissed it, placed it in the envelope that had carried Henrietta's request to him, and sealed the envelope shut with a quietly murmured spell, the jewel on the ring imprinting its seal on it, the two letters now safely closed away together.

Then he offered the sealed envelope to Louise with a bow. "This is what my dear cousin requested of me. It has been a comfort in dark times, but I shall have no more need of it. Please deliver it to her safely."

She nodded seriously. "It shall not leave my side, I promise, until her Highness receives it."

The prince nodded. "Excellent. Tomorrow, after the battle is concluded, we shall see you home in safety." He smiled. "I'd given thought to sending the Eagle to safety before the end, but it seems I shall still have need of it for a time. Perhaps, if Brimir favors our cause, I shall bring it to Henrietta's wedding as a present."

Louise smiled. "We shall look forward to seeing you."

Prince Wales' return smile was more of a grimace. "Indeed. Now-"

"Wait a bit," Jason interrupted. "Your Highness, Louise, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I think it's time to be ruthless. That letter needs to be destroyed."

"To be-" the prince began incredulously, then adopted a thunderous expression. "How dare you suggest that!"

Shit! Okay, let's hope Louise is giving us some degree of diplomatic immunity-! "Do you really want me to say it out loud, Your Highness?"

"Perhaps you should," his little mistress put in, crossly. "Why are you trying to tamper with my mission?"

Jason looked from prince to little mistress and back again, before shrugging. "I could always be wrong, of course. But if I were betting on it, I'd put my money on that letter being a love letter from Her Highness. Want me to go over all the little hints I've seen with regard to that? We could start with how disappointed you were, Your Highness, when you got confirmation that she was marrying someone else."

He turned to Louise. "Or how sympathetic you were when Her Highness told you who she had to marry."

Prince Wales' thunderous expression gave way to a pained look. "I have . . . I suppose it was not terribly discreet, to read and then kiss her letter one final time before returning it. But you must remain silent about what you've seen and heard!"

That got a blink out of Jason, and a thoughtful frown. "Oh. It's not just affectionate? It's passionate, then? Declarations of undying love and devotion, what she wants to do with you in the future . . . did the two of you ever get to spend time alone? References to that, maybe? Salacious details that would tarnish her reputation if it ever got out?"

The prince's expression was growing thunderous again, while Louise was blushing.

"You weren't there!" she protested. "You don't know that-"

Then she blanched and shut her mouth.

Jason sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So that's a 'yes' on the spending time alone, I take it?"

"I tell you, commoner, if you ever breathe a word of this-" Prince Wales began, his voice almost seeming like an oncoming gale.

"He won't!" Louise quickly promised. "I'll make sure of it!"

"I'm not planning on talking about it. I'm trying to help you. That letter, written by a crown princess, as strongly worded as her youthful passions dictate . . . hell, if it's worded strongly enough it might even count as an engagement document." His eyes were on the prince's face as he spoke, so he caught the twitch, before it was hidden again behind outrage and fury. "Or marriage? Consummated, even?"

"You speak such damaging words, and claim you seek to help?" His Highness slowly drew his wand. "Louise, we have been friends, but I require assurance that your man will not bring down ruin upon Henrietta!"

You idiot, we pushed too far. Get back to the point! "I'm not the one who'll bring down ruin on Her Highness! But that letter will!"

The words came out in a rush, and far too loudly. But it got the prince to pause.

"Explain," he demanded.

"Reconquista attempted to infiltrate Bruxelles. Her Highness sent agents out into the city, and discovered a plot to weaken the capital. They brought down several cells of conspirators, but many more escaped, and they also found evidence that Reconquista had influence in the Palace as well."

His little mistress was now looking at Jason with an utterly shocked expression. Fortunately, the prince was also staring at him, so probably didn't notice her reaction.

"She told Louise all about it in a letter recently," and he had to suppress a smile as his little mistress blinked and relaxed (as she realized that he wasn't spilling the secret of their time as faerie and pirate), "and only some of the cells in the city itself were discovered and captured. Whatever influence Reconquista has in the palace is still there. And even if they have to curtail some of their plots while the Crown's more alert, passive spying is usually easier and safer than sabotage."

Then Jason frowned. "And when you think about it, that bandit group was powerfully motivated to come after us. Kirche toasted them pretty thoroughly the first time, and they came back. Captain Wardes, I'm sure, gave a good accounting against them when he fought through them in the streets of La Rochelle, and they still came back the third time. If Kirche hadn't finished the rest off, for all we know they'd have gotten themselves a ship and attempted piracy against us!

"That kind of determination, that disregard for casualties, all speak to a valuable prize they were trying to win. How would they know of such a prize, unless they were recruited by someone who knew that Louise was on an important mission?"

His little mistress frowned. "That's . . . Jason's correct about there being Reconquista influence in the palace in Bruxelles."

"And she said something about them having unknown magic tricks. So how secure is that letter going to be, and how damaging will it be if Reconquista gets a copy to Atma . . . dammit, I know it's not Atma Weapon, but-"

"Atma Tharoor," Louise corrected. Then, frowning even more: "You could be right about that, too. Henrietta was worried about him taking advantage of Tristain's weakness, wasn't she?" She turned to Prince Wales. "Would the letter give him an excuse to make unreasonable demands, if Reconquista gave him a copy?"

Prince Wales gritted his teeth. "We didn't vow ourselves in marriage, and I didn't despoil Henrietta. But . . . her letter could be taken as evidence otherwise, if certain passages were interpreted-"

He sagged. "It truly has been a comfort to me, after the deaths of my brothers. And I've taken some comfort, today, in the thought of my dear cousin cherishing a reminder of the memory of her affection for me. But if what you say about the presence of Reconquista is true-"

"It is," she confirmed. "I'm sorry, Your Highness."

"It's hardly the gift I would wish to give her. But you have persuaded me." Then he glared at Jason. "But this is not to be gossiped about! If you truly are a familiar to Louise-"

"He is," she interrupted quickly. "And he will be quiet about it."

"Louise holds my loyalty," Jason confirmed. "And I'm the one urging the destruction of the evidence, remember? Disarm this trap before it has a chance to harm Her Highness. Please."

"Mm." After a moment, Prince Wales transferred his glare to the envelope as he brandished his cane-wand. "Your reasoning is sound. Therefore let us see to it."

---

It was a rather subdued prince who led them to the King, afterward.

The King of Albion was an older man, hair gone entirely to gray, but his eyes – the same piercing blue as his son – were keen as they studied a map of Newcastle and the surrounding land that had been laid out on a table. Several other men, all older, some dressed as mages, stood around the table with the king, and they were in the middle of a quiet but intense discussion about lines of cannon-fire and spell-casting when the three entered the room.

Then the king looked up, and the conversation died as he and his councilors focused on the prince.

"Father, allow me to present to you Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière, and her secretary-tutor, Jason." Prince Wales then turned to Louise. "Louise, this is my father, James Tudor of Albion, Lord of Air by the grace and blessing of Brimir."

Hmm. Apparently he doesn't want to get into the whole familiar situation.

King James chuckled, although it sounded tired. "This is hardly one of Marianne's balls, my son. I doubt that formality will save us at this late date."

"No, but gunpowder might." The prince nodded to the table. "I see you're already planning how to use it to defend Newcastle."

"We must, yes, or else we shall be finished when Reconquista next attacks." James sighed. "I was almost looking forward to the end of this war. Surely Brimir's hall of rest is more peaceful."

Wales flinched. "Don't say that, Father! You'll be king for many more years, once we've put down Reconquista for good!"

"Will we, with them constantly fanning the flames of discontent?" The king frowned. "I ordered you to leave, to get your men to safety. Bringing back a forlorn hope is hardly enough reason to disobey me."

"I say otherwise," Prince Wales countered with a smile, a fey grin that looked half-mad. "Shall you have me punished for it?"

His father gave him a very level look, then sat down. "You know I cannot. You inspire my men to give their all, and I doubt I could find one willing to take the lash to you."

A low chuckle came from the king's advisers, along with murmured agreement.

"Is that not proof of my cause?"

"It's proof that there are lessons of duty that I've failed to teach you!" King James snapped. "And I've no time left to try. Very well. We shall stand or fall tomorrow, as Brimir wills."

"And when you tire, my father. My King," Prince Wales replied, "I shall be there, and the enemy fleet shall not have opportunity to press their advantage!" He paused. "You know they'll have their reserves watching the underside, to prevent any flight to safety on our part. If I seem not to be there to relieve you, once they've exhausted you they'll bring the reserves up, and that's when they'll overwhelm Newcastle, no matter how much gunpowder we have."

He stepped forward and slammed one hand on the table. "But when their reserves are committed, then I shall step up in your place! This is our chance, not merely to drive them off, but to destroy and scatter the enemy fleet!"

King James frowned, and opened his mouth to speak . . . but whatever he was about to say was drowned out as his councilors cheered.

He sat back and waited until the cheers died down. "It seems that Our course of action has been decided, then."

Prince Wales winced at the dry tone, and straightened up before bowing respectfully. "With your approval, Father. Only with your approval."

"Indeed?" But then the king smiled and shook his head. "Let it be. It is clear that this plan shall enjoy the highest morale, and that may well make the difference. In the meantime . . .

"Louise, I of course know your parents, and I was introduced to Eléonore years ago, but my son has also told me much about the misadventures the three of you would manage to get into, when you were sent off to play."

She blushed. "I . . . I must confess, Your Majesty, we tormented your son rather more often than we played with him. Her Highness found it a . . . diverting pastime."

"In fairness to my cousin, she only started after I made it clear that I wasn't a mere child like the two of you," Prince Wales said, and then smiled ruefully. "I hadn't realized that Brimir had granted her such an inventive sense of mischief."

King James chuckled. "It is the nature of little boys and girls to bedevil each other. Practice, perhaps, for when they're older. And do you not remember those times with fondness, my son?"

"They were more innocent days, yes. But they're not the days given to us now, and it does me no good to yearn for what is past." The prince bared his teeth. "Let us look not to the past, but to the future, and to victory!"

"Victory!" came the cry from the advisers, followed by a loud hurrah.

"As Brimir wills," the king agreed, then focused back on Louise. "And how are you faring, recently?"

"I-" She broke off and glanced at her familiar. "I've found my magic and discovered my element. Jason has proven very helpful in that regard."

"Oh?" King James gave him a flensing moment of scrutiny. "I would not have thought to engage a Germanian, no matter his education, as a tutor of magic."

You know, we keep getting misidentified as Germanian. And we don't look a thing like Kirche, which means something weird is going on. Probably should ask Mr. Colbert about that, next time we get the chance.

"He's not Germanian," Louise was explaining. "He's from beyond Rub' al Khali. My magic was stronger, but I still couldn't successfully cast so much as a cantrip . . . but then after he listened to how I was having trouble, he thought of some things I could try. I wasn't sure about them, but after all the failures of First Form, I was ready to try any new approach that might work. And his did."

"A foreign mage, with an exotic perspective on magic? Fascinating. Where are you from, Jason, and what title do you claim?"

He blinked, not having really expected the king to address him. "I'm from a land called Texas, a nation united with its peers – Utah and Tennessee – several lesser allies, and various client provinces in the land of North America. It's far enough away that Halkagenia isn't on any of our maps.

"But, uh, while the professors at the Tristain Academy believe that might I have undiscovered magical talents of my own, I'm not a mage as people here employ the term." He shrugged. "Louise had exhausted all the conventional approaches, so it's not too surprising that an unconventional approach worked for her."

King James frowned. "I see."

Prince Wales had had to bite his lip when Jason mentioned undiscovered magical talents – almost certainly realizing that he'd been referring to the likelihood that he had additional auxilia beyond his gift of tongues – but spoke up when the king frowned. "I wouldn't dismiss him as a mere commoner, Father. When he saw the clouds coming from beneath Albion, he offered the most intriguing theory about how the White Isle might be shielding Halkagenia from western typhoons, and I have yet to discern any flaw in it.

"And when we intercepted the merchant ship smuggling sulfur, that Louise and the others had taken passage on, he was the one who persuaded us to parley rather than simply seize the cargo, by exploiting his understanding of Fire. His insights into magic are certainly unconventional, but I think it was a canny choice that she made, to take him into her service."

Louise smiled and nodded. "I've yet to regret it, Your Majesty."

The king frowned again, this time with a bemused expression. "I shall trust your judgment, then. Now, Geoffrey relayed that you had an errand to see to here at Newcastle. Has that been taken care of?"

"It has," Prince Wales stated heavily, before she could respond.

"Well, then. When we saw the Reconquista fleet close in, it was decided that we would hold yet another banquet, so that we would at least die with full bellies on the morrow." King James grinned. "But since word of your arrival with sulfur has spread, the staff hastened to add places for you and your crew."

"A hero's welcome, again?" The prince rolled his eyes. "I don't mind playing the Valiant, but wars are not won with feasts and revelry."

"If it weren't for the sulfur, my son, I would have given you leave to return Louise and her companions to Halkagenia forthwith. But if you insist on continuing to give us hope, then we will insist on treating you as a hero."

"Return them to Halkagenia?" Prince Wales' eyes glinted. "And then find myself hit over the head and left on the continent? That ploy didn't work last time, Father, and it wouldn't have worked now, either."

"Perhaps not." King James stood up. "Gentlemen, continue to ponder our stratagems until you're satisfied. My son has a feast to endure, and I must ensure that he doesn't offend our allies by retiring early tonight."

The councilors chuckled one final time, and bent back over the map to confer as the king led his son and the rest out of the room.

---

His Royal Majesty and His Highness led Louise and Jason through more corridors, and were soon joined by a man of indeterminate age, who seemed to almost melt out of the shadows. He was short and very thin, and the clothing he was wearing, an eye-searing medley of rags and patches, should have made it impossible to hide no matter how deep the shadows.

Nonetheless, hide he had, and Jason twitched as the man suddenly appeared at no more than arms length from King James.

But then the thin man, laying eyes on Prince Wales, bent over until his head was peering at them from between his pants. "Father!" he cried in a startlingly good imitation of the prince's tones and cadences, "I have wrecked havoc upon the enemy! But alas, I too have suffered injury, and my head is now firmly lodged up between my ass-cheeks!"

His Highness scowled as his father began laughing. "Very funny," he growled, starting forward again, leading the others.

The acrobatic man started walking as well, somehow managing to keep pace with the prince despite looking backwards at him. "Valiantly, I go forward, not caring where I end up!"

"I do see where I'm going, Fool," the prince snarled.

In response, and in a truly remarkable feat of contortion, the Fool bent forward even further, seeming to excrete his head and his shoulders out between his hindquarters, and ended up with his legs in the air, walking backwards on his hands with apparent perfect ease. "Hark! A fool goes to sit at his father's right hand to feast! The world is turned upside down, for if a prince is a fool, then shall a Fool be a prince?"

Prince Wales' scowl deepened, but he said nothing further.

They came to an intersection, and the Fool, still walking backwards on his hands, turned confidently, perfectly, as if he could see exactly where he was going.

"Bravo," Jason chuckled, clapping a few times. And if this was all improv, think what he could do on Whose Line! Although he could have been thinking it all up since the word spread of His Highness's return. "Albionian isn't my native language, but that sounded-"

Prince Wales shot a glare at him, and he quickly shut up.

Then the prince saw the look his father was giving him, and flushed. "Yes, he was very clever. As he called me an idiot for returning to save Newcastle!"

"He's hardly the first," Jason observed mildly, trying hard not to chuckle. "There was Paris, then your father the King-"

"But a Fool makes a fool as he pleases," the Fool interrupted, no longer imitating Wales' voice, "and then all may laugh at fool and Fool alike."

He stopped, then bent his arms and pushed off, flipping over and twisting in the air to land on his feet, facing them. "Yet if it pleases the court to take heart in a fool, then is a Fool wise if he undoes their devotion to save a fool?"

The Fool backed up, until he was up against a door. "And how shall a Fool remain a Fool if he is wise and not foolish? So let fool be prince and prince be fool, and tonight we feast, for Fool and fool alike may be feast for the crows in coming days!"

So saying, he flung the door open, revealing a banquet hall, already half full. Only one table, at the head of the room, lacked occupants.

The Fool bowed flamboyantly. "To the feast, my King! To the feast, my fool!"

Prince Wales scowled again, but followed his father into the banquet hall.

Another bow came from the Fool. "My lady?"

Louise, smiling merrily in reaction to the show, curtsied with a shimmering fall of laughter and hurried after James and Wales.

Then the Fool gave Jason a considering look. "My . . . colleague?" he asked.

"Is it your job to speak the truths that no one else dares?"

That caused the Fool to go very still. "Perhaps. But who would be fool enough to pay heed to a Fool?"

Jason grinned. "Are you saying that King James is a fool, or that he is not?"

The Fool only laughed in reply. "Fool indeed! Go, join your lady!"

---

The banquet hall, once he was inside it, proved to have been decorated with riotous intensity. Which, if the residents had thought they were having their final meal together, did make a certain amount of sense.

Jason stopped as King James took his place at the head of the high table.

The monarch cast a spell, and then when he opened his mouth he could be heard by all. "My loyal subjects, my true and proven friends, I give you Prince Wales, the Valiant!"

A massive cheer rang through the hall as His Highness stepped forward and bowed, before taking his place at the right hand of his father. The cheering continued for a long moment, with only two tables falling quiet.

Those tables were filled with a mixed group of older men and women – indeed, they were the only women visible in the banquet hall, save Louise – and their expressions were hard, their eyes grim, their countenance unnerving.

"What's with them?" Jason asked the Fool (who had come into the hall behind him) quietly, nodding to the two grim-faced tables.

"Their holdings have been plundered by Reconquista, and their families already feast with the crows." The Fool's voice was equally quiet, and entirely lacked any mocking edge. "All that is left for them is to woo death in their turn. I do not make sport of them.

"But go!" His arm swept towards the high table. "Your place is at her side, is it not? Speaker of dangerous truths that you are?"

Jason nodded, and moved away as quickly as he could without making a lot of noise. The Fool's blend of cynicism, humor, and insight was becoming downright disturbing.

Hopefully he's the real thing, and not just a fishmalk.

He approached the table . . . and at some point while he was speaking with the Fool, Captain Wardes had appeared, and was standing next to Prince Wales.

Louise was standing next to her fiancé, but the place next to her was empty. Then she caught his eye and discreetly but emphatically jabbed at the empty place with her wand. [hurry and come][,][before you make a scene][!]

So Jason hurried, feeling extremely self-conscious. Small, private meetings were one thing, especially when Louise was there to buffer any outraged high-born sensibilities. A larger group, the feeling that everyone was staring at him and judging him . . . and he hadn't even brought along his tux, so dressing for the occasion wasn't an option!

And isn't there supposed to be some level above tuxedo and black tie for when you're rubbing elbows with a head of state in public? White tie and . . . something?

Whatever it was, of course he didn't have it. Wasn't planning on being anywhere that required it, when he'd packed for his much-needed post-degree vacation. But even the tux would have been reassuring, compared to the clothing the Academy had provided. It didn't stand out, it let him blend in as Louise's retainer (at least as much as a guy who was six-foot-four could) but it wasn't-

Something struck one of the tables behind him, and he turned his head to see that the Fool had leapt up on it, and was now dancing a jig, his motley clothing whirling in patterns that caught the eyes of everyone in the banquet hall, or nearly enough.

Taking heart in the sudden cheering and laughter, proof that no one was paying attention to him any more, Jason quickly made his over to his mistress's side.

[am i supposed to seat you][?] he asked. [do not know local formal protocol]

[we levitate our own chairs] she replied. [but not until the king sits]

And King James had not yet taken his seat. Instead, the king was chuckling at his Fool's antics, until finally the Fool paused in his dancing, a quick look to the king . . . and a fractional nod was apparently all the signal that was needed, for the Fool then flipped off the table into the middle of the hall, and began addressing the occupants in jocular tones.

"He'll keep them occupied," the king said as he sat down, "and give us time to eat before any petitions are presented."

"At this late date?" Jason asked. "Are there any meaningful requests to make?"

Then his chair moved under him, courtesy of a glaring Louise, and he fell down into the chair rather more heavily than he would have liked.

"If we were to die tomorrow, perhaps not," came the grave reply. "But word has spread that my son has a plan to lead us all to victory over Reconquista again, and some of my good friends will already be thinking how to best prosper in the peace that shall follow."

"That is not why I brought sulfur, Father," Prince Wales protested. "You know that!"

"Yes, I know that," King James agreed. "But if we fell tomorrow, I would not have to worry about self-serving petitions any longer."

"Once we've won, I'll take up as much of the burden of ruling as I can, as Richard did before he was slain." The prince smiled crookedly. "I know Geoffrey will help prepare me for my duties."

[would not the people to reward be the ones actively fighting alongside prince wales][?]

Louise shot a sideline glance at Jason, but then smiled as she looked to the head of the table. "Surely your Majesty would first wish to reward those who risk their lives alongside your son?"

The king smiled back at her. "It's not quite so simple as that, I fear. Many of the mages who've taken shelter under my banner are the heads of their families, and refused to submit to Reconquista. But those they've left behind have had no choice but to bow their heads to the rebels, since we're presently cut off from the rest of Albion."

"And they shall rally to our banner as soon as I free them from the yoke of the rebels!" Wales promised.

"And those who are first liberated shall have the best opportunity to earn Our favor, as well as the worst risk in suffering Reconquista's wrath in reprisal," his father pointed out. "As they are all well aware. Some will seek the greatest risk in the hope of the greatest rewards, but some will seek to position themselves for that reward while letting the risk fall upon others."

King James frowned sadly. "And those who have lost everything already deserve the greatest rewards I can hope to offer them, but Brimir shall have to grant such, for they seek nothing more than to fight against Reconquista until death finally reunites them with their loved ones."

Which means their holdings will be up for reassignment, once this is all over. Bloody hell. It's got to be like herding cats. Cats who who have vorpal claws and can shoot death rays from their eyes!

"If their families are under the Reconquista yoke, how can you trust them?" Louise then asked. "Wouldn't they be pressured to act against you?"

"No, Cromwell has decreed that all who held title under my father were to be put to death, to clear the way for the new order that was to come," Prince Wales told her. "So those who could escape came to support us. If we prevail, they'll return to their families and holdings, but if we fall, then at least those families will survive."

"Will possibly survive, if they can submit convincingly enough," King James corrected, then nodded to the two tables of grim-faced death-seekers. "Many have not been so fortunate, under Cromwell's rule."

"I heard that Reconquista recruits among cadet branches of the nobility," Jason said. "Nobles with enough power to be ambitious, but no real hope of inheriting?"

"They recruit anyone who will succumb to their blandishments," Prince Wales replied, sneering. "They change their promises to suit whoever listens, and they'd be sore pressed to keep them all, if the time ever comes to redeem those promises!"

"Sadly, they've not merely attracted the opportunistic," noted the king. "Rumors of Cromwell's feats, miracles performed by the power of Brimir, have swept the White Isle, and some who are truly pious have been swayed by their faith."

"You are the Lord of Air!" his son protested. "If Brimir has forsaken you, why has he not cast down your Throne?"

"Some would say that Reconquista is doing precisely that, in the name of Brimir," King James pointed out.

"Is that why you've been trying to send your son away?" Captain Wardes inquired. "To prevent the Throne of Air from falling out of the hands of the Tudors, and thereby show that Reconquista are not infallible agents of Brimir?"

"Brimir hardly needs to raise an army of fellow mortals against us!" Wales snapped. "Retribution has not been sent from the holy Void against my father or myself! Why has Cromwell not called upon the Heavenly Host, if his ambitions are Brimir-sent?"

"I've heard claim that the Left Hand of Brimir has acted to preserve Cromwell, rather than to smite his enemies," the Viscount observed.

Louise pursed her lips, looking unhappy at that thought, but didn't protest.

"He has certainly been preserved," the king agreed. "Several times, we thought him killed in battle – even taken prisoner and executed as a traitor once! – only to discover that he remained alive and well, and the one slain was nothing more than a diversion." He sighed heavily. "And that has been the pattern with Reconquista all along: Our successes have proven temporary or a mirage, with the rebels ever reappearing."

Jason blinked. [that should not be possible on an island] he sent, as Prince Wales began a protest about the theological unsoundness of Brimir operating in this fashion. [endless evasion cannot work when you can be cornered against the edge]

[but it is working] came the reply.

[that means they have a patron from the continent].[probably]

[!][probably][!]

". . . and if Cromwell is the long-awaited heir to Saint Lyzodael, why is he not a mage? Why does he bring death instead of peace? Why does the First Wand still twinkle in the night sky?" Prince Wales concluded heatedly.

"I believe that some accounts of the Great Fall say that her heir will once again need no wand, Your Highness, although those are of course condemned by the Church as a Protestant heresy." Captain Wardes shrugged. "But such heresies would surely appeal to Cromwell's supporters."

Louise gave her fiancé an uneasy look, but then turned her eyes to the head of the table. "Wouldn't it make more sense if Reconquista has a secret patron in Halkagenia? Then they'd have succor that you couldn't find on Albion."

"Little rose!" Captain Wardes protested. "You practically accuse one of the other nations of Halkagenia of waging war-!"

"I have had the same thought," King James interrupted. "And if I dislike it, I rather more dislike the thought of Cromwell as beloved of Brimir."

"Your Majesty!" the Viscount began, protestingly.

"Oh, I know not who to accuse," the king replied. "Cardinal Mazarin and the Regency Council may enjoy their power, but waging a secret war would drain Tristain's treasury without visible return, and so you need not worry: I think them an unlikely culprit.

"Likewise, there are any number of families who have a touch of the blood of Air and so could seek to claim the Throne of Air, but few of them would have the resources to support Reconquista. But that leaves the Pope, who at the very least supports the idea of a Crusade, and the Imperial Court of Germania, where the struggles for power could inspire any number of factions to indirect ploys against each other."

"You're forgetting Gallia, Father," Prince Wales said, before smirking. "Of course, directing a conspiracy might distract the court from their pleasures."

King James chuckled. "For all his ruthlessness and cunning, I don't see how Reconquista would provide him with the diversion that King Joseph is famous for demanding."

"Germania and Romalia?" Captain Wardes mused, suddenly looking less upset and rather more thoughtful, now that his nation was absolved. "There was concern recently in Bruxelles – a group of conspirators that may have been in contact with Reconquista – and it may prove helpful to focus scrutiny on Germanian and Romalian traffic. I shall recommend it to the Regency Council upon my return."

"If you discover anything of import, we would like to know as well," High Highness observed. "With a hidden patron, Reconquista will not fall until their support is exposed and defeated!"

"I-"

"Wouldn't-"

Louise and Captain Wardes both stopped.

Then the captain sighed, and looked down at his fiancée. "Yes, little rose?"

"I-" She broke off under his gaze, flushing, but then raise her chin firmly and continued. "I thought, when his Highness mentioned sending along what we learn of Reconquista . . . shouldn't we send along supplies, once Reconquista's blockade is broken? One shipment of sulfur is going to be enough to save Newcastle, so surely we could do more to help!"

"Aid can be a treacherous proposition," King James pointed out. "An army of mage-knights and soldiers from Tristain might put paid to Reconquista, but then why would they wish to give Albion back?"

"Oh, surely they'd merely demand that I marry one of their own!" his son rejoined, grimacing. "Not that I won't have to suffer through an endless stream of such proposals, once Reconquista is vanquished."

Then Prince Wales continued more thoughtfully. "But Louise is right. There are many things we might make use of, that are presently in short supply. Reconquista's heavy-handedness has driven off the merchants that might have continued to supply them, but once their fleet is ravaged and I've liberated a squadron we could escort a cargo fleet to one of our ports-"

"Have you also thought of how to pay them?" the king replied, one eyebrow raised. "Supplies are, after all, short."

Wales frowned. "If . . . if Reconquista hasn't sent the under-ice harvest away, then I could focus on those ports. And if we can hurt their fleet badly enough, then I'll be able to go down to the Twilight Isles and bring up representatives along with their harvests of deep pearls. That's two reagents that each sell well in Tristain, and if they've hunted a sea monster recently-"

The frown disappeared. "I think that will be enough to go on, along with whatever else we can liberate."

"Then before our guests leave, we shall write out a list of supplies that would be of use in putting the rebellion down," King James decreed. Then, drily: "And our loyal supporters will not be disappointed that their chance to petition tonight has been curtailed, and so can focus on the battle tomorrow."

"And we can fight by your side as well!" Louise exclaimed. "Jean-Jacques and Dame Tabitha are both very strong, and Zerbst and I can help against any troops that land!"

"Under other circumstances, little rose, that would be a commendable offer," her fiancé told her, shaking his head, "but you must ensure the success of your errand by reporting to her Highness. I think that we should return now, while the approaching evening makes it harder for Reconquista to see and intercept us."

"But-!"

"Jean-Jacques is right," Prince Wales said in agreement. "You'll have other chances to demonstrate your improving command of magic. But, you'll need a windstone harness if you want to make it across the ocean to Tristain, and raw windstones don't make for a gentle flight."

"I've managed it before," Captain Wardes replied. "Sadly, Aanval is not suited for more than two. Little rose, your retainer will need to return to the Academy when Dame Tabitha makes the journey. After the battle, no doubt. Perhaps he can make himself useful in the meantime."

Louise winced, but nodded.

"I take it you wish to leave soon?" the king inquired.

"If we may, your Majesty. If the list you spoke of could be prepared-?"

"Yes." King James stood, and the rest at the table hurried to stand with him. "If we leave the hall now, I can focus on the defense of Newcastle, and perhaps even avoid petitions until tomorrow's battle is concluded!"

---

They left the feast behind, the Fool still holding the revelers' attention, and adjourned to the planning room where His Majesty had been considering the defense of Newcastle.

The advisers who'd filled the room had all left by now, presumably to oversee the preparations for the anticipated battle. As the king entered, a sheet of paper and a quill floated off a shelf that was against one of the walls, and the paper settled to the table in front of him while the quill drifted into his hand.

Much like how Wales had used Levitate without a wand, but even more refined. King James is a master of Air.

Master or not, King James declined to use his magic to write out the list of requests, clearly preferring the graceful, flowing script that his hand proved capable of writing. It seemed proof enough that the Halkagenian printing method – the imitation something Louise and Siesta had mentioned – hadn't developed typeset.

Soon enough the king finished his list, and then handed quill and paper over to his son. Prince Wales looked over the list, nodding and underlining a few of the entries for emphasis, and then added three more lines below his father's.

Both king and prince then signed the missive. Then an envelope was Levitated over, and the letter was placed inside and sealed with the Ring of Air, still on Wales' finger.

He tugged it off once the seal was finished. "Newcastle is no longer in danger of falling, Father. You'll want this tomorrow, while you command the defense. I can take it back when I relieve you."

King James frowned, but accepted the ring and placed it on his finger. "I would not accept this, were circumstances otherwise-"

Then he broke off with a look of alarm, as his son swayed and leaned heavily on the table.

"Wales, what is-!"

"Nothing, father," the prince quickly responded, making an effort to stand up straight. "I've been relying on the Ring to sustain me, that's all."

"My son, you should not-"

"I had no choice!" Prince Wales protested. "I've been keeping Reconquista's fleet off balance with a single ship, and this afternoon we were forced to return to Newcastle with as much speed as we could muster!"

King James glared at his son. "Then once we've seen our guests off, you shall be going straight to bed, and I shall ensure that you sleep all night."

Said son flushed. "I'm not a child, Father."

"Yet you have all the indifference of a child to your own health and safety! Am I not right, Captain Wardes?"

"His foolhardiness is at least in the service of his country, and not merely in his own diversion," the Viscount replied. "But otherwise, yes, this is very familiar behavior out of a Royal Heir."

Louise stiffened at the aspersion cast upon Princess Henrietta, but said nothing.

[oh][,][come now louise].[your fiance has made clear his opinion of her highness more than once on this trip].[whats one more][?]

She shot Jason a glare in response, and he did his best to look as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

Prince Wales leaned forward again, putting his hands back on the table and breathing heavily. "I am wearier than I realized. I thought I was growing used to the demands on my endurance, but so much of it was the Ring-"

"Then you shall be well-served by it when bestow it upon you once again," the king told his son. "Until then, lean on me."

"You've carried me all my life," His Highness told his father, even as he laid an arm over the older man's shoulder's for support. "Soon, I vow, I shall the one supporting you."

"When you must," came the reply. "The strength of our Throne has not yet deserted me, and it shall be well-spent, so long as the Tudor line continues."

King James then turned to the others. "We should see you to the docks. I'm sure the harness had been prepared by now, but persuading a Gryphon to accept it-"

"Aanval is well-behaved, but it would be best if I'm the one presenting the harness to him," Captain Wardes replied. "By your leave?"

"Yes, follow us," the king replied, as he helped his son out of the room.

They went through the halls, then down a flight of stairs-

"Uh, Miss Zerbst and Dame Tabitha, are they-?"

Jason broke off quickly as Jean-Jacques gave him a narrow glare.

[why cant you remember to ask through me][?][!] his little mistress sent, as she shot her own glare at him.

[i am not used to needing to].[sorry]

"Miss Zerbst was well on her way to complete intoxication," the captain stated coldly. "But Dame Tabitha assured me that she could look after her friend."

It seemed best to not reply, and try to be as invisible as possible.

Bit of a trick when the commoner was the tallest fellow in the group.

---

The Eagle was still docked at the underside port, with Aanval in his nest and Sylphid curled up in a surprisingly small coil of dragon.

The rest of the party hurried to the griffon, but as Jason followed he noticed that the wind dragon was now blinking sleepily at them.

And perhaps it was just that he now knew that the other familiar was a sapient creature, but her expression seemed cutely hopeful. In the manner of puppies and toddlers. And wild animals can be dangerously unpredictable, but dogs and children tend to like you, if your body language is friendly and unfearing. And we've always been fond of dogs.

Not that we can let Louise know that, until we're sure she's given up on the dog comparisons.

So he approached Sylphid, almost meeting her eyes but not quite (because it was a pretty common aggression cue, and why take the chance?), blinking slowing in case that was a non-aggression cue, holding out his hand and making sure to watch for snarling teeth. "Hey there, little girl."

"Kyuu?" she trilled back, and he didn't know how he knew but that was definitely a questioning note in the dragon's utterance.

"Tabitha's looking after Kirche right now. You know how she can get."

"Kyuuuuu," Sylphid replied, and then nudged his hand with her snout.

"Alright," he agreed with a chuckle, and started to scratch away. "Show me where you like it best?"

The dragon huffed, then nuzzled his chest, closed one eye, and pushed the ridge right above the closed eye into his hand.

"Gotcha," Jason told her, scratching the indicated area. Softly at first, but then more vigorously as Tabitha's familiar looked at him pleadingly.

Soon he hit on what had to be the proper intensity, for Sylphid closed both eyes and began a rumbling purr.

"Jason?" came the strained voice of his little mistress, shortly thereafter. "What are you doing?"

He looked back behind him. Louise was halfway between Sylphid and Aanval, her eyes wide and her wand out. The others were by the Gryphon, and while their expressions weren't particularly concerned, more than one pair of eyebrows were raised.

"Dame Tabitha's been having to look after Miss Zerbst," he pointed out. "Which means her familiar's been all alone in a strange place. We don't even know if she's been fed this evening-"

"She has, aye," one of the crew interrupted. "We divided the rest of the sturgeon between the two of them."

"Oh. Thank you. And I've ridden on Sylphid, so she knows I'm not a threat."

"She's still a dragon," Prince Wales pointed out, in a tone of vaguely horrified fascination. "Wind Dragons may not be as aggressive as Fire Dragons, but they won't hesitate to feed when they're hungry."

Jason blinked, then looked back down at the dragon, her eyes closed as he scratched both eye ridges vigorously. "You wouldn't eat me, would you?"

"Kyuuuu!" Sylphid trilled in denial, lifting up her head and nuzzling him.

"Jason, even if she understood you, that wasn't a no." Louise pointed out, still in that strained voice. "She can't speak or reason, after all."

The dragon's expression shifted, and it wasn't hard to read the hurt pout.

Because even if Kirche spilled the beans to us, Tabitha hasn't been spreading it around that her familiar is more of a little sister than a pet. And it's not our secret to reveal, not even to Louise. Not unless it's an emergency, and this isn't.

Although his little mistress was clearly nervous about his safety. How to allay-?

Aha! "Tabitha's taught her a lot of hawking calls. Aren't birds of prey trained not to attack without orders?" He winked and smiled at Sylphid, then turned his head back toward Louise with a calm expression. "And besides, they said they've already fed her."

"You didn't know that-" She started.

Then Jean-Jacques interrupted her. "Come away, little rose. Your tutor's actions have turned out to be not quite as rash as they seemed, and we must make haste."

Louise grimaced, but blanked her expression and put a smile on her face before turning back to her fiancé. "Of course," she replied, approaching him and taking his arm in support as she mounted Aanval, who now sported a harness decorated with a plethora of shimmering sky-blue stones.

[be safe] she sent, as Captain Wardes mounted in front of her.

[i will try] Jason replied. [mister colbert says tabitha knows her way around a battlefield][,][and kirche will be enthusiastic enough for us all]

We should probably offer to help grind the gunpowder. Then get what sleep we can, and be a gofer during the battle. It won't just be gunpowder and shot that'll need moving, after all, and Gunga Din's role was hardly dishonorable.

The engaged couple were now firmly seated, and Aanval leapt into the air at an unseen command, a gust of wind felt by all as its wings flapped vigorously . . . and then a truly mighty gust was released as the griffon and its passenger dove down the tunnel at what seemed an impossibly fast stoop.

Jason was able to stay on his feet, leaning into the wind. But then he tumbled forwards as Sylphid trilled in distress and reared up on her hind legs in surprise, flapping her wings and creating a powerful counter-gust, one that he had not been braced for.

He scrambled to his feet as King James approached, still supporting the prince.

"We should see to the precise condition of Miss Zerbst and Dame Tabitha, and then my son must see to his bed," the king announced.

"Yes, Father," Prince Wales replied, although it was clear that he was flagging more and more. "I'm not a child. I will rest."

"Indeed you will," King James replied back. "If I didn't know how far you'd pushed yourself, I would suspect a poison as the cause of your lassitude."

"If one of my crew were a traitor, they'd have had ample opportunity to do me in before now!" the prince protested.

"Just so. And now you will rest, and the sooner you are recovered the sooner you can hope to find an excuse to visit Tristain."

Prince Wales flushed as his father smirked. "It's been confirmed that Her Highness is marrying Prince Atma. I should be avoiding Tristain, at least until the wedding."

The king winced. "I'm sorry. I know you were-"

He cut off as his son gave a sudden, surprised cry, and then crumpled, the prince's hands clutched to his stomach.

"No!" King James cried out, pulling out his wand and kneeling down next to the prince. "You said-!"

Whatever his words would have been, they were discarded in favor of casting a spell, rushing through with urgent intensity. Then he finished, and his son's breath turned dark crimson.

"It was poison!" came the despairing cry. "And I ignored the signs, because you'd been drawing on the Ring of Air for strength, and I thought-"

The king sprang to his feet, his expression thunderous as he glared at the only outsider in the room. "His crew was no threat, but you came in on a merchantman looking to profit from Reconquista!"

Jason's hands shot up, even as the few of the Eagle's crew presently on deck raced for muskets and pointed them at him.

ohshitohshitOHSHITthey'regonnakillusthinkfast-! "Antidote!" he yelped, his voice at least an octave higher than normal, his heart suddenly thumping at least twice as fast as normal, his breathing speeding up as well. "You may be low on supplies but you've got to be keeping some back for royal emergencies!"

"You think to instruct the Lord of Air in magic?!" King James snarled, drawing himself up to his full height. "I know as well as you that an assassin's poisons target the stomach first. When was it, when you shared luncheon with him on this very ship, or during the feast-?"

"I couldn't have!" Jason protested, still nearly squeaking in sudden terror. "His steward, Geoffrey, he arranged to feed us. I never had a chance to tamper with anything, and I never went near the kitchens in Newcastle! I've been with Louise and Prince Wales this whole time!"

"Convenient, that your exonerating witnesses are now flown and dying!" the king hissed, well, poisonously. "So I should now look for assassins from among those who've proven their loyalty to me throughout Reconquista's treachery and rebellion?!"

We need to get Louise to turn back around, they haven't gone far-

But that'd mean exposing her secret to Jean-Jacques.

You fool, are you prepared to die for a girl who doesn't love you?

We-

"Aha! You have no answer to that. As I thought!"

"Wait!" Jason protested. Louise is last resort, come up with something better- "Poisons target the stomach? To keep potions from saving the victims? Is that how it works?"

King James sneered. "As if you didn't already know that."

"Dammit, I'm foreign, no I didn't know that!" The panting was starting to make him dizzy. He shook his head, but it didn't help. "But food takes a while to digest, while liquids go into the blood a lot faster. And from there to all over the body!"

He flung his arm out. "My things are there, in the officer's mess. Bring them here, bring an antidote, if your son is still alive I can save him!"

"You have already earned a king-slayer's death," the king grated. "But for this sick jape of yours, I will visit you with such pain-"

"I'm not joking! I can save him!" Oh God, please let us be able to save him!

King James took in a deep breath, nose flaring. "Bring what he asked for," the furious monarch said in a voice as cold as the deepest void of space itself. "Let him earn his agony."

One of the crew hastened up the stairs, while another entered the indicated cabin, soon returning with Jason's luggage.

"Has what seems a healin' draught, yer Majesty," the sailor reported, tossing the opened bag next to Prince Wales' body. "No use now, ye don't need me tellin'."

"Do you think to buy clemency with a remedy that can no longer save him?" the king asked, still colder than liquid nitrogen.

"He's still breathing!" Jason protested. "Get that antidote here and-"

"My son will die when his breath darkens to black," King James ground out. "Then your squirming on the hook will end."

Jason glanced down: Had the crimson of the spell grown darker? Surely yes, but it wasn't black. Not quite.

Do we try the healing potion first, before the antidote? Would that even work? If this works at all, that is-

"My prince!" came the despairing wail from a distraught Geoffrey, as the thin butler leapt down the ramp from above and rushed to his master's side, pulling out a vial as he knelt down beside the collapsed blond. "They said it was an assassin's poison, and-"

His eyes alight upon the breath coming from Wales' mouth, growing fainter and ever darker. "Aaiiiiee! Too late! I'm too late!"

"No you aren't!" Jason snapped, pulling the syringe from his emergency medical kit and seizing the vial from the now-sobbing butler. Don't fumble this, don't fumble this, for once in your life don't be clumsy when it comes to delicate work-

His hands were shaking, but not quite badly enough to spill the vial as he poured it into the syringe and pushed the rod just far enough to get the air out. Then he seized the prince's unresistant arm – there's the vein, stick it right the first time, his breath is nearly gone! - and the needle was in, and he pushed the rod all the way in.

"What does this, this reverse bleeding hope to accomplish?" King James demanded.

"Blood goes all over the body, and fast," Jason replied as he pulled out the healing potion – the sovereign class healing potion that Mr. Colbert had acquired for him – and poured it into the syringe. Horribly unsanitary, to reuse a needle without extensive cleaning, but he was going to use it on the same person, and that couldn't be as bad.

Could it?

"As long as his heart beats, this should heal everything." Which would include any badness from reusing a needle, right?

And if he was right about why a poison would need to target the stomach in the first place.

A look of terrible hope had come over Geoffrey, but then the butler pointed to Wales' mouth, now empty. "Too late!" he wailed. "His heart and breath have already failed."

"Your chance is spent, then," King James growled. "And now-"

"No, dammit, he's not dead until his brain starves for air!" Jason pushed the prince over on his back, and put his hands together over a sternum no longer rising or falling.

"Ah-ah-ah-ah stayin' alive, stayin' alive/
Ah-ah-ah-ah stayin' aliiiiiiive!"

"What new mockery-!"

"Shut up, your Majesty! Geoffrey, breathe into his mouth, give him some fresh air! Whether you're a brother or whether you're a father/You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive/Feel the city breakin' and everybody shaken/And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive/Ah-ah-ah-ah stayin' alive, stayin' alive/Ah-ah-ah-ah stayin' aliiiiiiie-!"

Okay, he probably wasn't on key. The point of the song was mark the beat for a hundred compressions a minute, as the first aid course had taught him. But music critics are rarely gentle, and he was suddenly cut off as the winds descended upon him and tore him from the dying prince, slamming him against the rails of the Eagle to the accompaniment of a distressed draconic trill.

"Even my Fool knows what he must not mock," King James declared, rage rising up in his voice as he stalked towards Jason. "I shall use what's left of my son's vaporous potions to bring you back from the brink of death again and again-!"

"Wait, your Majesty!" Geoffrey cried out. "Look! My prince's breath!"

The king's head whipped back . . . and then did a double-take, astonishment clear throughout his posture.

Jason rolled over and laboriously got to his knees. The spell that had torn him away from his attempt at CPR had not been gentle, and he'd hit the rail about as hard as the club that had smacked into his side.

But he ignored all that to stare at Prince Wales' mouth. Where he could see, as could king, butler, and crew, the crimson mist issuing from a mouth that had not held breath but moments earlier.

Another breath, this time a much lighter red.

Another, pink. And then palest white, barely visible, as Prince Wales breathed the deep, even breath of exhausted slumber.

Standing up brought a groan to his lips, but Jason did his best to groan quietly as he approached the revived prince. So that is how potions work. Thank you, oh merciful Father in Heaven.

"I have not seen nor heard tale of such a frenetic ritual," Geoffrey said, with quiet joy. "Not one that was anything other than fraud or a fevered mind. But your spell bound him to live again, to breathe again-!"

"Not a spell." Kneeling next to Wales required care, but was manageable. "The mind dies swiftly without fresh air, but not immediately. A still heart can be squeezed into motion, lungs can be forced to accept new air." A hand, still trembling slightly from adrenaline overload, brushed a sternum that now rose and fell properly. He uttered a quiet chuckle. "If it doesn't break the ribs, they say, you're not pushing hard enough. But I reckoned that if it worked at all, the healing potion would fix that, too."

"You reckoned?" came the quiet voice of the king, as he also knelt down by his son. The three were swiftly joined by those of the crew who'd seen everything, some now weeping openly.

Jason looked up at the king. "Your Majesty, I'm not from around here. My people don't have healing potions, not ones that renew the body in mere moments. There was no way to know that putting the antidote and potion directly into his blood would work until we put it to the test."

"I would that my last son had not been the test." Piercing blue eyes met his, then looked away. "But you . . . this day, you've-"

"I've not yet fathered children," he replied, still quietly. "So I can't hope to imagine the pain of losing them one by one. Or the horror and despair this evening of seeming to lose your last to the treachery of . . . of whoever it was. Not me, I swear by my hope of salvation, but-"

"But someone who I ought to trust. Or-" King James turned his gaze on Sylphid, who immediately adopted a submissive pose.

"No," he decided. "Dame Tabitha's familiar would have finished the job, if it were she. The Zerbst girl drank herself to oblivion. Louise would never support Reconquista, not with her mother's rearing. And the man trusted to guard Tristain's Heir could not be Reconquista's agent, or else she would already be dead or delivered to them. It must be a traitor within."

The king shook his head as he rose. "I would not have believed it, but-" He broke off and shook his head again.

"Well, at least Prince Wales is going to get that good night's sleep that he needed," Jason said as he painfully stood back up. "Geoffrey, I'm sorry to interrupt your vigil, but if you know where some of Wales' potions were-?"

"I have a better one with me," the butler replied, pulling out another vial. "To heal my prince, if I was fortunate enough to get the antidote to him in time. Not so potent as the sovereign potion you gave up, but-"

"Eh, I was ready to cough half to death if I needed to." A quick swig, and moments later he felt better all over, the pain of the impacts against the rail fading rapidly.

"How did you happen to have so potent a remedy?" King James asked, sounding rather curious.

"I traded for it, to a professor at the Tristain Academy of Magic." Jason shrugged, then stretched to get all the stiffness out. "I think he approved of me having something for an emergency, so he might have given me a good price. I suppose I'll need to figure out something else I can trade, now, so I can restock."

"I feel confident you'll come up with something," the king replied. "Indeed, I shall see you rewarded as you deserve, both for saving my son and weathering my wrath to accomplish the deed!"

"Well, for now, I just need a bed." Then: "And let's get Dame Tabitha to bed too, and a hangover cure for Kirche if there's one available. You'll get some good use of them tomorrow." He paused. "Er, as long as the traitor doesn't get to us. Yeesh, I'm not sure I want to sleep, now."

"The traitor," King James breathed. "No, all our plans cannot be counted on. Not with a traitor among us."

"Uh, don't we kind of need to count on them anyway? Won't tomorrow's battle need everything we can throw at Reconquista?"

"Yes. We were facing certain death, until my son brought hope this day." The king straightened. "But the assassin could strike again at any time," he declared, his voice growing grimly determined. "Any loss and we will fall. All know it."

Then he looked upon the sleeping prince with a wry smile. "And this time he cannot complain that I struck him down, in my endeavors to save his life."

Jason blinked. "You're sending him away? Won't that mean the deaths of us all?"

"We were prepared for death. And a ship cannot hope to evade Reconquista's blockade tonight, but a Wind Dragon could accomplish it, by diving low before they can respond. If you are even seen in the deepening twilight."

"Sylphid. Dame Tabitha, Kirche, Prince Wales, and myself?" Can she lift that much weight?

He turned towards the Wind Dragon. Who was still in a very submissive pose, but also looked frightfully curious. "What do you think, girl? Can you fly carrying four? Including me, 'cause I'm not exactly a lightweight."

King James blinked. "Why not simply wait until her master arrives? You've no certainty that Dame Tabitha is watching through her familiar's eyes at this moment."

Sylphid huffed indignantly.

Jason chuckled. Guess it's okay to admit it now, given that His Majesty's planning to die. "Dame Tabitha had to consult a text called Familiarity of Thought. Turns out one of her familiar's auxilia gave her a self-aware mind, which means they can't share senses like masters and familiars usually do. Monkey familiars have the same problem, according to the book. Sylphid's essentially a child, not an animal." He raised his voice. "So, little girl, think you can do it?"

The dragon huffed again, then reared up and trilled proudly, the "kyuuu!" echoing across the subterranean cave that served as the underside dock.

"That . . . I think that was a yes."

The king gave him a bemused look. "If you say so."

"Eh. So that's the four of us. Are we getting another windstone harness?"

"You'll require it, for a swift journey of such length."

"Okay, the four of us. Which leaves you all, and you're not planning on surrendering, are you? Still going to ravage Reconquista's fleet as best you can?"

"We surely shall ravage them," King James breathed. "It will be the best chance for my son to reclaim his kingdom, if the traitors are weakened now. And now we need not hold back any of the gunpowder."

"Then, if it's to be no quarter, asked or given . . ." Seems like the time for some constructive geekery. And the parallel is almost perfect. "Could you have someone bring the Fool? If he's as clever with words as he seems, I've a song from my native tongue for you. But it won't translate well. Not unless a master of clever speech works on it."

"A song of no quarter?" The king raised both eyebrows, looking intrigued. He nodded to one of the crewmen. "You, go fetch the Fool."

"Aye, Yer Majesty." The man turned and started to go.

"And if people are wondering, Prince Wales died from the poison!" Jason quickly added.

The man paused and turned back around. "His Highness died?" he asked questioningly. "But-"

King James nodded. "Yes, let the traitor think he succeeded. Let Reconquista think their victory complete, that they may grow unwary and lax!"

"Aye, Yer Majesty!"

"Huh," Jason commented as the man left at a quick trot. "Hadn't thought about that part. Makes sense, though."

"Then what part did you consider?" the king asked, in a dangerously mild voice.

"That your people will fight and die all the harder if they think it's for revenge, and not just to give your son better odds when the war resumes."

Geoffrey made a strangled noise, as if the butler were doing his best to choke back a laugh. "He may well be right, Your Majesty. And now, I think that I have preparations that are best made in haste. By your leave?"

"Go," King Jame commanded. "And have someone gather the portable Relics, all of them into the Chest of State."

"By your command!" With that, the butler was off.

The king sighed heavily, looking down at his son. "I'm sending him into exile, for his own safety. And now my people shall learn what it means when their lords have done with the Great Compact."

Jason blinked. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but I'm foreign, and nobody's mentioned any compact before."

King James gave him a sharp look, but then nodded. "It ought not need mentioning. If Reconquista intended to rule well, they would respect it, as my forebears did when the Tudors claimed the Throne of Air. Instead they have whispered that they will throw it off as one of the shackles of the past, and their supporters expect to be the ones to thrive when they are free of their duties."

"So . . . it defines the rules you're to follow? A set of commandments, then? From Brimir?"

That drew a snort from the monarch. "No, the Compact is not so ancient as that. It was written when the Caledoni clansmen finally gave up their claim to the Throne of Air, and defines the rights and responsibilities of the nobility, the commoners, the harjalling, the highlander clansmen, and even the fishermen clinging to the Twilight Isles below."

The king shook his head. "Reconquista says that they will do away with the Compact in the name of Cromwell's justice, but I do not know how men will stand, in the winds that will blow when the very foundations of our laws and customs are uprooted and cast off."

Sounds kinda like the Magna Carta? Maybe? "If they're laws to protect the rights of men, then they'll find they cannot stand in those winds."

"Indeed. Hopefully the lesson will be well-learned." King James paused as the Fool bounced down the ramp and over to the ship.

"My fool of a prince!" he exclaimed. "Feast for-"

He stopped short at he saw the rising and falling of Prince Wales' chest. Then: "This is a poor jest, your Majesty. Am I not already your Fool? Think you to fool me more?"

"He was dying," Jason said. "We improvised a way to save him, but the assassin hopefully still thinks otherwise. So we're getting him out of here now, before anything else."

"Then shall he not stand with his fellow fools tomorrow?" the Fool breathed. "No? Truly we shall be a feast for the crows, then."

"As we already faced, and made peace with," the king replied. "But I would not have my loyal companions die in futility and despair."

"How shall they not, my King? Our fresh hope is dashed so suddenly-"

"By seeking revenge instead." Jason took a deep breath. "I have a song for you, but it's in my native language, which won't translate well. We're hoping that you can fool with the lyrics to give it bite in Albionian."

The Fool looked questioningly to King James, who only nodded.

"Very well, my fellow Fool. Let us see what marvel a brace of Fools can work!"

"Heh. Here you go:

"Albion's lost its champion
To God he has returned
To stand before the Tester
In the state his rank has earned
Our Valiant needs an honor guard . . ."

---

". . . NO QUARTER!
You've damn well earned your fate
Give Prince Wales our compliments
We're sorry you are late!"

The Fool was quiet for a long moment as Jason finished.

"Methinks it'd make a poor hymn to sing before our chaplain," he finally said. Then, smiling fiercely: "But I have the sense of it, and a Fool's voice shall carol one and all betimes!"

With that, the Fool exited, bouncing up the ramp much the same way as he'd bounced down it.

"And now, we must see to the security of the secret," King James stated. "You leave with a Gallian and a Germanian, and they must not report my son's survival to any who might ask."

"Right, but-" Jason looked around. "Sylphid, we need to be clear about this."

"Kyuuu?" The questioning trill was mournful.

"I know," he said gently, slowly walking up to her. "You shouldn't have to keep secrets from Tabitha. It's not fair. But this isn't your secret. It's King James' secret, and Prince Wales' secret. It's theirs to tell. Do you understand?"

"Kyuu."

"Sylphid, I'm serious about this. You have to wait until Prince Wales tells you it's okay before you can tell Tabitha."

"Kyuuu~uuuuu!"

Jason just held her gaze. Until finally, with a heavy sigh, the dragon unmistakably nodded.

"That's a good girl." He reached out and scratched the ridge of her eyes, and she nuzzled him gently until it was time to turn around and rejoin the king.

Who looked bemused once more. Before giving himself a slight shake, and then bowing to the dragon. "Thank you, Sylphid. Keeping this secret will help save my son's life."

"Kyuuu~!" And with that happier trill, she settled down to wait.

"The rapport you have with her is astonishing," King James quietly noted. "However did you develop it?"

"I'm honestly not sure," Jason admitted. "Maybe I'd have just been a really good older brother, if my parents had ever had a daughter." Then he shrugged. "Or maybe she can smell that I'm not afraid of her, since I know she's smart enough to understand that you don't eat people."

"That-"

The king broke off as two crewmen returned, towing a rather large chest that floated about a foot above the floor.

He opened it up, and then smiled fiercely. "Excellent! Now go, have a windstone harness prepared for the dragon, and then rouse our guests and bring them here."

"Aye, Yer Majesty."

As soon as they left, King James pulled a mask out the chest and applied it to his son's face. Who immediately ceased to breathe.

Jason's eyes went wide. "Your Majesty?!"

"This is the Requiem Mask, one of the Relics of Air. While its dweomer lies upon my son, he will not seem to breathe to any but a true master of Air. Apply it again to lift the dweomer from him, once Prince Wales is safe."

"Alright." So saying, he added the Requiem Mask to his luggage. "I'm assuming you're going to seal that chest with your Ring of Power? And then give it to Prince Wales?"

"Just so."

Moments later, the king had suited deed to word.

Jason waited until the ring was on Prince Wales' finger once more, and the king was straightening up. "So, this isn't meant with any disrespect, but . . . that ring wouldn't happen to be named Vilya, would it?"

King James blinked. "No, I know nothing of that name. Why?"

"Uh, just a legend of my people. I wondered if it somehow applied."

The king raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you have said you're foreign to Halkagenia. Tell me, what do you know of Brimir?"

Jason blinked. "Brimir? You all swear by him a lot, so isn't he your patron god?"

"Our patron, yes, but a mortal man, once. Who taught our ancestors the magic we know, who raised up new Lords of the Elements when the first were forsaken, and who charged us to care for the common folk. He ascended to glory long ago, in days that we can only remember in myth and scripture, and became our greatest Saint. The Relics are echoes of his power, given to our care as Lords of Air, in Tristain of Water, and so on.

"I charge you now, to see to the safety of the Chest of State, until my son is revived and can take custody of his inheritance."

"I will, Your Majesty." The weight of that command felt heavy. But after everything, he was maybe just a bit numb inside.

"I am sure of it. You have already proven a true friend to Prince Wales. But," King James paused for a moment, "there is one Relic that I cannot send with you. The White Isle itself, whose stupendous windstones at the core of the mountains do not falter, but float eternally over the western ocean and the Twilight Isles.

"The priests of the Church claim spiritual gifts as well as whatever magical talents run in their families. The two most common: To discern a true heart from one that is false, and to ponder matters of theology and justice unencumbered by distracting passions. But our scriptures record that Brimir held many more gifts, even ones over life and death itself, while he was still but a mortal man, albeit beloved of the heavens."

The king shook his head. "The tales of Cromwell's miracles are impossible to believe, but I worry that it might be that he's discovered some long-forgotten gift, granted by Brimir to those who know to seek it. With it, perhaps he can command the Relics of Air, without ever having the birthright or the ordination to do so. Perhaps he can even command the White Isle itself to aid his cause.

"I do not know: Sifting through rumors to separate truth from falsehood has proven fruitless, in what little time I've been able to devote to the effort. But urge my son to caution, that he not be caught unawares."

"Yes, Your Majesty. I will."

"Very well. And now . . . I believe our other guests are returning."

Jason looked towards the ramp. For a long moment, no one appeared.

But then Tabitha came Levitating down, with Kirche, unconscious, floating beside her. Behind the azuretop the two crewmen hurried, carrying another windstone harness between them.

They came on board the Eagle, but then looked at Sylphid and paused, shifting nervously. Which, in turn, caused the dragon to rouse and look around the cavern.

Tabitha's expression didn't shift, but Jason would have sworn that her posture became slightly annoyed. "Dress her, I-" she started, then paused. "I will dress her. My luggage, fetch. The officers mess."

The two crewmen, looking grateful, set down the harness and fled into the ship.

A gesture of her wand lowered Kirche to the deck, and then she approached her familiar, murmuring softly and reassuringly.

Sylphid trilled nervously, but then settled down as her master continued to reassure her, and once she was calm again Tabitha Levitated the windstone harness over and onto her.

Then the tiny azuretop turned back to the group. "We fly, now? To Tristain?"

"With Prince Wales dead," and oh but it was good that Tabitha was looking their way, because Sylphid managed to look remarkably guilty at the reminder of the secret she had to keep, "we need to leave, before Reconquista attacks and kills everyone here. It's not our fight, after all."

Her eyes flicked over the prince, lying on the deck and not breathing, the chest floating above the deck, and finally to King James, who nodded gravely to her.

"Very well. Come, mount."

Jason started to bend down to pick Prince Wales up, but then the prince began Levitating, courtesy of his father the king. As Tabitha was doing for Kirche. Which left the Chest of State to pull along, a task made easy by it continuing to float above the deck.

There was room for them all on Sylphid, if only barely. And the windstone harness actually helped secure the unconscious redhead and pseudo-dead blond. So it was not too long before they were ready to go.

King James bent over his son and tenderly kissed his forehead. "Go with Brimir," he murmured, his voice suddenly thick. Then he stood straight and looked them over with eyes that were suspiciously bright.

"All of you, go with Brimir's favor." With that, and a regal nod, the king hurried from the underside dock.

"'No parent should have to bury their child'," Jason quoted softly. "Alas that these evil days are his."

At that, Tabitha gave him a long look, with pressed lips. Then she turned away. "Hold fast. We go."

He barely had time to grab onto the harness before Sylphid leapt into the air and stooped down the tunnel, faster by far than Aanval had.

---

A/N: When Jason thinks of paint-ball guns, he's thinking of the toys, where the speed of the paintballs are required to remain under 300 feet per second. So he thinks getting them up higher than that would take magic.

The Lewis and Clark Expedition had airsoft rifles with a muzzle velocity of ~600 feet per second. Modern airsoft rifles can max out at about 25 to 50 feet per second slower than the speed of sound. (Which is ~1,125 feet per second, in the relevant environments.) Jason is unaware of this. In any event, we may plausibly expect Mr. Colbert to equal the performance of the airsoft guns brought along by Lewis and Clark.

About poisons: Obviously there could be fast-acting poisons. But if you want to get away before the poison takes effect, it probably needs to be slower-acting so that you aren't the obvious suspect when the poison hits. And most poisons aren't that fast-acting, either, so even with faster poisons a lot of the time there'd be time to administer the victim a magical antidote. But if the stomach can't absorb the antidote because by the time other symptoms appear the poison did its damage there first . . .

That's the logic I'm using, anyway, at least for poisons that take long enough for the assassin to try to escape undetected.

Moving on, the song No Quarter isn't the one by Led Zeppelin. It's the one by Echo's Children, and was inspired by In Enemy Hands, seventh novel of the Honor Harrington science fiction series by David M. Weber. Yes, Jason is very much a geek.

Magic Items: Requiem Mask – a Relic of Air that I made up for this fic. Magical suspended animation, because sufficiently advanced magic is indistinguishable from technology. Although there are some fun masks associated with various Legend of Zelda games, so we might see others as it pleases me.

Leiptr – a Relic that Prince Wales wanted his father to use in the upcoming battle. (King James probably won't be using it.)

Chest of State – it's not sapient, it's not homicidally protective, it's not the Luggage from Discworld. It does help went you've got a bunch of stuff to carry. Anyway, I think a local expie of the Luggage would be vicious enough that it wouldn't be willing to hang around in someone's Relic vault, so it probably wouldn't last long before someone blasted it to Pearwood splinters as a defensive measure. (Look, Pratchett was a great writer, but if he'd been a reformer he'd have been the type to remove a roadblock without knowing why it was there.)

Windstone harness – pulled this out of my ass, but the square-cube law means that flying critters like dragons and gryphons have to be using magic to stay in the air anyway, so in this fic a windstone harness takes some of the burden off the flying creature, letting them fly longer and faster. Makes for a more turbulent flight, though.

The White Isle – a Relic of Air, too massive to be all that portable. Protects the western shores of Halkagenia from most hurricanes that would otherwise form in the Western Ocean.

Vilya, Mightiest of the Three – remains on Elrond's hand, I suspect, even though it failed before he emigrated from Imladris to Valinor. So the Albionian Ring of Air is not Vilya. But hey, Halkagenia has Rings of Power, and that's even canon! Granted, I'm probably going to do more with them – a lot more – than Zero no Tsukaima did, but I am not pulling this or a certain Ruling Ring out of my ass.