After a long day's work—much longer than she'd intended, one that had taken her well into the night going over new equipment lineups with Cam—Winter reentered her room in the hostel. To her great surprise, Ilia was already there.
Well, she wasn't all there. She appeared to have fallen asleep in a chair in the office. A small cup was in her lap, cradled between her fingers.
Winter realized that Ilia had been waiting for her.
It was not the first time Winter had noticed something different about her assistant. It had been a week since their train ride, and in that time, Ilia had started having trouble looking straight at her. Ilia could speak normally as long as she faced away; when Winter was in her line of sight, her voice drifted and wandered.
Winter would sometimes catch Ilia looking at her when she thought Winter wasn't looking, like Winter was a puzzle Ilia couldn't quite crack.
At least it wasn't affecting the quality of Ilia's work. She was guarding Winter's schedule as jealously as ever—better, even—and she was even starting to take initiative in certain tasks.
Bringing Winter drinks in the evening seemed to be one of the tasks she'd set herself. She was consistent with it, now. Winter found herself expecting it... and welcoming it. Relishing it.
She almost regretted the time that she'd spent out working this evening. She'd have rathered Ilia give her the drink in person. Especially since Ilia did not look comfortable sitting asleep in the chair like that.
A strange sensation stole over Winter's heart. She had to fix this.
Raising her hand gently, Winter created a small set of glyphs that spun almost silently beneath Ilia's chair. Very smoothly, they slid Ilia's chair across the floor until it rested in a corner. Ilia seemed to sense it; she relaxed against the wall. Already she looked far more comfortable to Winter's eyes.
Better.
Winter stepped just close enough to reach for the drink that Ilia had prepared. As she did, to her embarrassment, her hand brushed against Ilia's.
Ilia was ice cold, so much that Winter gasped. She worried for a moment that the touch and the gasp might wake Ilia, but Ilia didn't stir. Too exhausted from work, if Winter had to guess.
She stepped away with the drink and set it aside on the desk. She had more important things to worry about. Winter remembered how she never saw Ilia without a heavy coat when she was outside. Even inside she always wore extra layers. She could now see why: Ilia by nature ran cold. When she was asleep, doubly so. Winter needed to take care of that.
The thought struck Winter as very odd, but also right.
Proceeding through the office into her bedroom, Winter retrieved her pillow and spare blanket. She had a much more important use in mind for them.
In a few moments she had bundled up Ilia to where she looked much cozier. Ilia shifted in her sleep and made almost a sigh.
After a moment of looking at her handiwork and being satisfied, Winter picked the cup back up and took a sip. Hot cocoa- though not hot anymore—semi-sweet, almost bitter. Just how Winter liked it.
Ilia always knew, or at least she always remembered.
Winter found herself content to just look, just watch for a few minutes more. Not much was happening, but it held her attention all the same. Only when she had drained the cocoa did she retire to her room for the night.
The night of the gala had come at last.
Weiss wasn't sure she was ready for this. It would be like going into a battle, one she wasn't prepared for. Oh, she'd done her due diligence, sure. She'd prepared her outfit, Myrtenaster included. She'd rehearsed several things to say on a variety of "polite society" topics. She'd watched enough tournament footage to have talking points for any team she might come across.
She'd even reached back into her memory, fortified by some videos, as to all the proper etiquette for how the upper class acted in a setting like this.
So why did she feel so nervous?
She thought she knew part of it: it had been so very long since she'd been to such a gala. For months now, almost a year, she'd been in far more humble settings with far less formality and vastly less money… not to mention a fraction of the judgement. In these circles, they judged everything: appearance, manners, etiquette, conversation skills... If you could name it, they were grading you on it. They even graded your list of things they graded you on.
She'd be putting on a performance, and while Weiss didn't mind performing, it wasn't her idea of a good time.
Even so, that shouldn't have been making her this nervous.
No, the rest had to be the circumstances. She was attending as Huber's plus-one. What was he expecting from her?
Maybe she was to be proof that his investment in the Schnees was paying off… but SDR was nowhere near as profitable as the other Dust companies that would be represented. Cinder Fall herself was supposed to be in attendance, and if Fall Dust was a whale, SDR was a minnow. SDR's entire revenues would have been a rounding error to Fall Dust's accountants.
Huber had said that all the attendees at the gala were close to the Atlas Council. Weiss wasn't sure she qualified there, either. Winter, maybe. Weiss, no. SDR wasn't tight enough to the Council to qualify, either.
Was Weiss just an accessory for Huber, then? Just something for him to parade around for his own vanity? It felt that way, and Weiss did not appreciate it.
"Old blood and new money"- that was what was going to be at this gala. Weiss supposed she qualified by virtue of old blood. Given that said blood would do her no good once she got there, the thought did not encourage her.
By arrangement, she was to meet him at the Huber estate, and then proceed in his company to wherever the gala was being held. As there was no subway station anywhere near the Huber estate- what need did the Hubers have for public transportation?- Weiss ended up having to use her semblance to quickly traverse the distance from the closest subway station.
It was an extravagant use of Aura, but she wasn't going into a combat scenario. Not a combat scenario that Aura would help her with, anyway.
Arriving at the Huber estate was like going back in time. At once, she felt like both a native and a stranger. The Huber estate, in its size, scope, and grandeur, was much like Schnee Manor had been. It had similar large statues and decorations, carefully manicured lawns and gardens, and other showcases of wealth and power. It was even as equally lacking in personality, all sterile whites that made it seem frozen-over.
In a way, it felt like a homecoming, like Weiss was coming back to a setting that had been her own for almost her whole life. At the same time, it felt like the strangest, most alien thing she'd ever seen.
Recency bias is a powerful thing.
She wondered, with her lesser means, if this would ever be her normal again. She didn't think so. Did that make her an interloper here? An intruder? She was only there by the grace of Friedrich Huber, with no assurances that grace would recur. She didn't know if that was a good thing or not.
She had grown used to knocking on doors, but the gate at the entrance to Huber's estate had no obvious means to do so. She was spared from having to puzzle this out by a voice that came from a hidden speaker nearby.
"Good evening, Miss Schnee," it said.
The gate opened on its own. Weiss understood the invitation and followed it in.
Even just the distance from the gate to the front of the Manor seemed designed to make her feel small. It was a long enough drive that 30 cars could have fit front to back with room to spare. And why not? Thirty guests would have been a small number for the Hubers to entertain at once. More importantly, it wasted space. On the Rock of Atlas, where acreage was fixed and at a premium, frittering away so much land was a boast of one's largess.
She traversed the distance with her head fixed forward, not allowing herself to be distracted by the many decorations and shows of wealth. No, her eyes were only for the front door, elaborately carved out of wood. She remembered having a conversation with her history tutor about it. When the Hubers had first established themselves, there was very little wood in Solitas, and imports were cripplingly expensive. Only the very richest could afford it.
The Huber front doors would have fit five Weisses stacked atop each other with room to spare.
At least she could knock on these—but once again she didn't have the opportunity. They, too, opened on their own.
"Good evening, Miss Schnee," said the same voice that had opened the front gates. The stocky man holding the door was in a household uniform so starched it was a wonder he could move. "Master Friedrich will be with you shortly."
Even as he spoke, Weiss heard something behind her, a quiet sound that didn't match the feeling of mass that went with it. She turned to see an absurdly large car sliding into place in front of the manor's entryway. Its drive was very quiet, since it had no wheels, suspended instead on Gravity Dust that gave it a characteristic purple under-glow.
It was as long as three normal cars and probably weighed as much as five.
Weiss' feeling of alienation was growing with every display of ostentation she met. She knew it would only get worse. No rich person throwing a party was going to pass up the chance to be as glitzy as possible. How was she going to survive when even this much was making her gag?
"You look dashing, Miss Schnee," said Huber's voice from behind her.
She turned and gave him a neat curtsy. "I appreciate your compliments as much as your hospitality," she said with all due grace.
"Well, it's not my hospitality you'll be imposing on," said Huber as he walked for the car; Weiss fell into place at his side. "It'll be old Pat Brandaris'. He's hosting tonight."
"Charming," said Weiss. The Brandarises were another old-money family. Unlike the Hubers, they had changed their family name to color theming in the aftermath of the Great War—the brandaris snail was the source of royal purple dye in the old days—but in a way that emphasized their self-importance and that only the educated would recognize.
It had never bothered Weiss before. Now it was another irritant.
They entered the car. Huber didn't even need to command the driver, who knew their destination in advance. Huber engaged Weiss in small talk; their voices echoed in the empty interior of the vast car. "Are any other Hubers going to this party?" Weiss asked.
Huber raised an eyebrow. "They have their own cars," he said.
Weiss' mind reeled. This car cost more to own and operate than the trucks SDR used to ferry ore from the mine to Skjulte Perle, and rather than travel together, the Hubers elected to just have more of them.
Weiss remembered a joke about a trust-fund bachelor who, raised in luxury, never learned the value of money. When told he'd inherited a 200 million lien fortune, the only thing he could think to ask was, "Is that a lot?"
It wasn't as much a joke to her, now. As she looked around the party, at the people draped in impossibly expensive clothes they'd never wear again, as they picked at food prepared to within an inch of its life with effort and expense that would have fed whole families in Skjulte Perle…
No, the value of money wasn't a joke any longer.
She looked around, her mind untethered from the banal chit-chat of the party. With every glance, she noted something of ridiculous expense, considered how much it would have bought for a Crater Faunus, and blanched a little more.
To think this had once been her natural habitat!
"…oh ho, General Ironwood, so good to see you!"
Weiss' attention snapped back to the present. Ironwood had worn an even dressier version of his uniform. Dangling medals clinked against each other and his chest with every step he took.
If Ironwood was as perturbed by the gaudiness as Weiss, he was concealing it well—then again, stoicism was one of his calling cards. "Mr. Huber," he said neutrally and with minimally-polite head nods. "Mr. Brandaris. Ms. Orchid. And…"
His face turned pleased. The difference was startling.
"…Ms. Schnee," he concluded. "It's a pleasure to see you here."
"The pleasure is mine," she replied.
"Did Winter make it?" said Ironwood eagerly, craning his neck to look across the room.
"No, she had mining site duty tonight," said Weiss. Huber chuckled and Brandaris rolled his eyes, but Weiss ignored both; Ironwood was nodding in understanding, and that's what mattered.
"We do our duties," he said solemnly.
"Just like you did," she said, relieved to be able to get the conversation on-topic. "Congratulations on Atlas Academy's performance during the Vytal Tournament."
"I wish we'd earned more plaudits," he said ruefully. "We only had one team make the singles round. If only Team PeCe… well. I had high hopes for them."
"I meant to ask about their dropping out," said Weiss, looking around the room. "Where are they, by the way? I haven't seen them."
Brandaris snorted. "Of course you 'haven't seen them'."
Weiss' head whipped around. She took in Brandaris' haughtiness, Ironwood's embarrassment, and Huber's amusement. Her mind, sharp as a tack, leaped to the conclusion. "They weren't invited."
"Why would they be?" Brandaris said.
Weiss' jaw clenched; she loosened it just enough to speak. "I thought we were celebrating the performance of the Academy's teams."
"We're celebrating the General's performance," Brandaris riposted. "We don't need to invite the help to do that."
A rushing noise filled Weiss' head. Uh-oh—the Schnee temper was making itself known. She had barely enough self-awareness to reel it in. "The people who actually performed," she said, deliberately, as coolly as she could make her voice be, "who risked their own health and livelihoods… deserve better than to be dismissed as 'the help'."
"To you, maybe," Brandaris said flippantly.
Weiss' jaw was so tight she thought she might crack a tooth. "As Huntsmen and Huntresses in training, they're devoting their time, energy, and lives towards the protection of others. They're doing things you never could," she added, gesturing at Brandaris, who had the muscle density of matchsticks.
"They're doing things I never would," Brandaris replied, giving a nasty little smile. "Which is why they're at constant risk of death, and I'm, well, here."
"Maybe the competitors will come next time," said Ironwood as diplomatically as he could. He was interrupting Weiss and knew it; she shot him a heated look, and he replied with a miniscule shake of his head. Weiss pursed her lips, hard, but said nothing.
In the corner of her vision, she saw Huber looking like he might die chortling. She wanted to slap him silly. She had Aura and he didn't; it'd be easy.
She looked at Ironwood again. No.
"That depends on who's hosting, I guess," said Brandaris. "Maybe someone else wants to let the riffraff dirty up their party room, but I never will." He took a sip from his glass and grimaced. "Ugh, gone flat," he said sourly, though it still looked plenty bubbly to Weiss. He snapped his fingers at the edge of the room. Almost instantly a server appeared with a tray. Brandaris placed his more-than-half-full glass on it and grabbed a new one, barely bubblier than what he'd discarded.
What a waste. Weiss couldn't help herself. Each glass of that stuff would buy… twenty ration packs. Four good pickaxes, or two great ones. Six safety helmets with embedded lights. Eighteen truck round trips to the mine and back. Two days' pay for a junior miner.
And he's throwing them away.
She closed her eyes to try and squeeze the red out of them.
Was this evening just an exercise in tormenting her until she exploded? Was that Huber's big plan, just have her make a public fool of herself for his amusement?
"Ah, Ms. Fall, you look radiant this evening!"
"Mr. Brandaris, your tongue is as silver as ever."
"It's nothing but the truth, I swear. That dress is astonishing!"
Weiss opened her eyes and saw her enemy.
She didn't know why she felt that way, but she knew, from the bottom of her heart, just by looking at her, that it was true.
Cinder Fall looked beautiful. Weiss could see natural good looks, enhanced by top-shelf makeup and manicures and, yes, that dress—a daring, strapless, shoulder-less number that was red at its base but shimmered and shone. Different colors flashed out from different places, never the same from moment to moment, every shift of her posture and the light creating a new dazzle.
She boasted bright amber eyes and luscious dark hair draped fetchingly over one side of her face. More than any of that, though, was the feel she gave off. She demanded the spotlight and the spotlight obliged. She moved with enormous confidence, like everything around her existed at her whim, as if nothing could possibly touch her. She warped the space—and the people—around her just by existing, like a gravity well in human form.
Under other circumstances, Weiss might have used any number of compliments to describe Cinder: "sultry", "alluring", "hot" in all its meanings. And yet, as Cinder's eyes fell on Weiss at last, Weiss felt that she'd never been less turned-on in her life.
"Well, well," clucked Cinder as she raked Weiss with her eyes. "The littlest Schnee is here. Friedrich, dear, I didn't realize we were allowed to bring pets tonight."
There was tittering laughter from around, but Weiss couldn't really tell from whom. Her peripheral vision was falling away as she focused her attention on Cinder.
Her Schnee temper was louder than ever, roaring its fury in her chest, hammering at her sternum with every beat of her heart.
"I could hardly keep her away!" lied Huber with a smile—which Weiss was sure was half at her. "You know how Schnees are about Dust."
"Bad at it," Cinder said, to more titters. She met Weiss' furious expression with condescension. "They had a nose for quality, at least. The assets they so mismanaged are some of my best performers."
Weiss felt like she had a volcano in her chest, temperatures and pressures enough to melt rock building up within her. She didn't dare speak, lest it erupt.
"Though even that seems to be declining," Cinder said, ostentatiously looking down at Weiss again. "If this is the best the Schnees can do now…"
Weiss' top blew.
"At least I'm not pretending to be something I'm not," she said back with as much cut and force as she could muster.
"We can tell," said Cinder. She extended a hand elegantly towards the sword at Weiss' waist. "As everyone can see, you're a brute so insecure you need to be armed even in this most genteel company."
"Funny," said Weiss with negative humor, "but you're at least as well-armed as I am."
For the first time, Weiss became aware of how much attention she and Cinder were drawing—because of how quiet the room got at her words.
Cinder looked faintly amused and raised an eyebrow in Huber's direction. "It seems you need a muzzle for your pet, Friedrich. It's barking mad."
"Am I?" said Weiss, quickly and quietly before anyone could make any more of those ugly titters. She stared at Cinder until the woman, with no visible discomfort, returned the look.
The duel, they both understood, had begun.
For a moment they just glared, daring the other (in vain) to blink. Then, Weiss advanced.
Cinder betrayed only a flash of unease before burying it. She knew as well as Weiss did that they were on-stage now. Their every move was under scrutiny and the crowd was keeping score. She'd give them nothing.
Weiss would have to break that composure. Challenge accepted.
She turned her attention—steadily, to show she wasn't breaking eye contact from weakness—to Cinder's sleeve. She placed the nail of one finger just above the loose sleeve of Cinder's right arm, singling out a specific thread.
"Burn Dust," she said.
Cinder raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Weiss didn't look up, didn't look away. Her finger traced that thread. "That's most of what's here. It's what gives the reddish-orange color. Burn Dust, volatile by nature, processed into resin form to bind to the threads and give that shimmer effect. There's more, though."
Her finger found a new thread, close enough to Cinder's dress she could nearly feel it. "Combustion Dust. Orange-yellow. Higher ignition point, steadier burn. Used as a compliment to the Burn Dust here, and to transition to…"
Another thread. "Lightning Dust for the yellow." Another. "Stone… no, Lightning and Stone mixed, that has to be just for the color because no one would do that with Dust they meant to use… but it eases the transition here to Stone, then to Wind…"
Thread by thread Weiss went, tracing the individual lines of color, like a member of the audience yelling out the tricks to a magician's show as they went. Cinder's dress wasn't some great mystery. It was just stitchwork and money.
"…and, last but not least," Weiss said, her finger stilling near the bottom of Cinder's ribcage. She raised her eyes once more, her savage expression meeting Cinder's furious one. "…would that be Gravity Dust in the chest area, specifically?"
Now the titters came again—but not at Weiss, this time.
Weiss stepped back, out of Cinder's personal space, and set her shoulders firmly. "You say you're unarmed, but you're wearing enough Dust to power a small village."
"And what if I am?" Cinder challenged back, as poised as ever, her visible anger not undermining her voice or posture.
"Dust-weaving into clothing went out of style long ago," Weiss said. "No matter how pretty it could make you look, it was unsafe for most people. Most people couldn't be secure wearing a bomb. Most… but not all.
"So tell me, Ms. Fall. Tell everyone. Are you wearing Dust as a way to make your dress more expensive, and endangering yourself and those around you in the process… or…"
She drew the moment out, daring Cinder to betray impatience with an 'or what', but Cinder just glared at her.
"Or… are you just as much a brute as me?"
Cinder's eyes flashed as the crowd murmured.
"Because a person can be safe wearing that much Dust… only if the Dust is inside an Aura boundary," Weiss said triumphantly. "Under Atlesian legal codes, a dress like that worn by an Aura-wielder is classified as a deadly weapon."
She crossed her arms and gave her haughtiest head-toss. "Maybe you're the one who's so insecure she needs to be armed even in this genteel company."
Throwing Cinder's words in her face earned Weiss laughter from the vultures all around. For the first time, a crack appeared in Cinder's composure: her eye twitched for a moment. She recovered smoothly, leaning forward to emphasize how much she could look down on the much-shorter Weiss. "All sense of subtlety is gone from your family, I see. I'm a mistress of Dust. Wearing my product suits me."
Weiss spread her arms to indicate the crowd around. "Half the people here are in the Dust industry in one way or another, and none of them feel the need to wear weaponry."
Cinder's eyes narrowed. "Even if we're both armed, you're visibly armed. You're too weak to win a fight, so you need to scare people away from trying to fight you. I don't have that need."
"I wear my sword because it's part of who I am," Weiss shot back. "I am Nicholas Schnee's granddaughter, warrior and Dust miner both. You don't wear an obvious weapon because you're pretending to be what you aren't."
"Whereas you can't even pretend, little plus-one," Cinder said in her most sickeningly patronizing voice.
"I had to be compelled to come here. I bet you had to invite yourself."
"You'd bet wrong," Cinder said, a little too flippantly. "Unlike you, I'm far too important to be neglected. I'm here because of what I have. You're here as a curiosity."
"You protest too much," Weiss said, pouncing as ruthlessly as she might on a gap in a grimm's armor. "If you were that important, you wouldn't need to say so."
"I only said so because you wouldn't know better otherwise," Cinder said, recovering poorly.
"Denial is unbecoming," Weiss said.
Cinder's nostrils flared. "You're the insect here. You're who doesn't belong. I could buy and give away your company a hundred times!"
"If you think that, you don't understand my company," Weiss said drily and truthfully. "But it just goes to show you still don't get it. Really, neither of us belongs here. The difference is you want to. You want to be someone here. You crave it. You need them to acknowledge you."
Weiss had no regrets speaking for the crowd. She knew she was correct, and she was entirely too far gone, too invested in the duel, to hold back.
"But they never will," she said, wielding the words like a scalpel to cut away at Cinder's faltering façade. "You'll never be a Huber or a Brandaris or a Marigold… or even a Schnee. They'll never give you that satisfaction. The more you chase it, the more obviously you need it, the more they can make you twist by denying you. You'd better believe they know that.
"So, by all means, tell everyone how important you are, how much you matter, how much you deserve to be treated as one of them. And watch them move the goalposts ever further beyond your reach. I may not be an aristocrat any more, but Schnee blood still flows in my veins.
"And I can smell a pretender when I meet one."
Cinder's face twisted in her anger. Whatever beauty she'd possessed had abandoned her. She seemed even uglier as the crowd around gave murmurs of agreement, whispers of approval, and the occasional soul-crushing laugh.
Match point, bitch.
Weiss turned to Brandaris and Huber, who were both radiating delight, and gave her most mockingly formal curtsy. "Mr. Brandaris, thank you for the excellent party. The entertainment was especially stimulating. Mr. Huber, a pleasure, as always."
"The pleasure is mine," said Huber with a chortle. "Do drop me a line, won't you?"
I would sooner buy my own Dust-infused dress and set myself on fire. "When it makes sense to do so, I assure you I will."
"Gentlemen," said General Ironwood, to Weiss' surprise; the General had faded into the background for a long while there. "I'm afraid cross-continent travel is catching up with me. I think I'll go ahead and walk Miss Schnee out. If she doesn't mind," he added, giving her a brief but meaningful look.
Weiss had been about to declare that she didn't need an escort, but his look gave her second thoughts. "I appreciate the gesture, General."
"Until next time, James!" "See you soon!"
Ironwood gave another perfunctory nod of acknowledgement and set out for the door. To his credit, he didn't extend his arm or even his elbow for Weiss to hang onto. Weiss wouldn't have in any event, but especially not when she was riding this high on victory and spite.
The cold of the air outside felt wonderful against Weiss' heated skin. The moment they'd cleared the doorway, Ironwood slowed his pace to a crawl. It was a clear signal that his escorting her wasn't for courtesy alone.
"Well," he said, inelegantly breaking the silence, "that was intense."
Weiss hummed indistinctly.
"Don't get me wrong, I've felt for a while that Ms. Fall needs to be taken down a peg," Ironwood said, reaching for comradery. "Something about her rubs me the wrong way."
Weiss frowned. "That doesn't sound like encouragement."
"Good, because it's not." Ironwood chuckled, though not at her. "I can imagine what Oz would say if he saw me like this. Trying to teach someone else about discretion."
Weiss didn't know who Oz was, and in the moment didn't care. "You think I made a mistake."
"I know you did."
"Everything I said was both true and deserved."
"Do you think that matters?"
Weiss was looking up, trying to read his face, but he was a tall man, and no heels could bridge the gap between them. His eyes were distant, looking ahead; his clean-shaven face was blank.
"Did you ever read about General Malplaquet?"
It was such an out-of-nowhere question that Weiss had to shift mental gears to even find the right subject. Ah… history. "A little. His name appears in conflicts from Vale's early history. He won three battles, and then the King of Vale replaced him in command, even though the war was still going."
"That's right. And now we, in military circles, have the term "Malplaquet victory". Do you know what it means?"
"It means a victory you pay too high a price for," she said searchingly.
"Not exactly. At its most literal, it's a victory that's worse than a defeat. It's a victory that ruins you. The King of Vale relieved Malplaquet because his 'victories' shattered his army so badly the Kingdom had to go on the defensive for the next five years."
At last Weiss looked away from the general and gazed out over the grounds, at the many monuments of wealth. The fruits of accumulation. Of building up over time.
"So my embarrassing Cinder was a Malplaquet victory," she said. "Is that what you mean?"
"You took a person who was your competitor, and made them your enemy," Ironwood said gravely. "Cinder Fall had no reason to think of you differently from any other Dust company. Now she does, and frankly, she has a bigger gun and more ammunition."
Weiss' throat constricted. It had felt so good, so right to destroy Cinder like that… but she hadn't actually destroyed her. She'd simply enraged her.
"So now Fall Dust will devote its full attention to us," Weiss said. "That's your analysis."
"Yes. And you can't look to me to bail you out. As much as I like you two, if it's not a matter of Kingdom security, there's only so much I can do."
"But the others will help, right?" said Weiss. "I was acting on their behalf, speaking their minds—Huber, and Brandaris, and the others. Right?"
"You did what you did for free," Ironwood replied grimly. "They expected it, and they feel no obligation to pay you back for it."
"Expected it…" Weiss repeated. "Is that why they brought me? To sic me on Cinder, knowing I didn't have enough restraint to avoid it?"
"Now you're starting to think like them, for better and for worse," said Ironwood. He sighed. "You should have been a Huntress. You're too sincere for this. You have the skill to play the game at these levels, but not the temperament nor the experience. Honestly, I don't know what Huber's endgame is. All I know is that he hasn't been honest with you so far, and whatever he's up to, it's not for your benefit."
The full chill of the evening fell upon Weiss. The adrenaline from the duel was long gone; the bonfire of triumph had imploded. Still, courtesy made its demands. "I appreciate the warning."
Despite the slow pace, they'd neared the front gates. "I'll extend a similar offer to you that I made to Winter," he said, stopping and turning to face her. "If your company fails, I'll find you a spot at Atlas Academy. Plenty of students come in older than seventeen."
He gave a light chuckle. "Seventeen, and already making enemies at the highest levels. You are industrious."
"I started during the bankruptcy." She considered. "Although I didn't make any mortal enemies then, I guess."
He didn't respond, clearly at a loss for how to conclude the conversation.
"I appreciate the offer," she said to fill the void. "Winter gave me similar advice before we founded SDR. I'll keep it as an option."
"That's good," he said.
For a moment, she had to wonder. She had an out, if this all went bad. She had a golden parachute. But what would become of all her workers?
Part of her said that they'd no longer be her responsibility. The rest of her didn't like the sound of that.
Ironwood stiffly drew his scroll and pushed a button. "My ride's on its way. I could take you, too. At least as far as the subway."
"Thank you, sir, but I think I need to clear my head some more. I'll make my own way."
Knowing by now that Ironwood wouldn't have an elegant response to that, Weiss turned away and headed off. The lights of the Brandaris estate were so much brighter than the lights of Atlas before her that her shadow was thrown ahead.
It wasn't that she minded talking to Ironwood; far from it. And she would have appreciated the shorter trip.
Except that she needed extra time, and especially extra time alone.
Because she had to figure out how she was going to explain all of this to Winter.
Next time: (Can You) Remember (Why You're Here)
