Chapter 90; w-wuh-whaaaa—

Lower Fire Month, 25th Day, 600 AGG

"Look at them," Baron Fernde raised a glass in the Dragon Queen and Goddess's direction. Noonday sun and crescent moon, the sole still bodies bound together in a space orbiting them. "Can't even get a word in edgewise."

Avila Marime Del Belfrig, a Countess of the Draconic Kingdom, glanced at the two women in question. The blonde was whispering something into Her Majesty's ear, a slight blush gracing their neck and face while Queen Oriculus nodded along to whatever unwritten scripture was being spoken into existence.

'Now, I wonder how much stuttering the Theocracy had to omit from their own holy texts,' despite standing beside a man as boorish as Baron Fernde, she allowed a small grin to grace her lips. The 'blasphemy' was not one she dared to openly voice; Slane's temples still wielded considerable influence in the kingdom even after the Goddess's advent. "Matters of great import, surely."

And so in her head shall the wry observations remain. Perhaps she'll write a book in the twilight years of life, assuming the memories were stubborn enough.

Maintaining entries of such thoughts in her journals now was just an unnecessary risk.

"Doubtlessly so!" Fernde's belly shook with how he laughed. "Why, when Her Majesty announced her intent to court the Lady of Wings—"

"The other way around, my good baron."

"Yes, yes, of course," he dismissively waved aside her correction. Oh, if only the beastmen hadn't passed by his domain… "Her Majesty courting Lady Yuriko, Lady Yuriko courting Her Majesty; the difference is academic."

'Something you've clearly neglected, you dunce,' there were better, higher topics to consider than Fernde's brutish, beastman-like excuse for a brain. 'Either way…'

"I suppose. So long as Her Majesty is happy."

Indeed, Queen Oriculus had never appeared this at ease in the past. Smiles were common, but never fully sincere unless accompanied with a double portion of self-deprecation. Guilt and shame couched in encouraging exhortations—all painful to watch when coming from the image of a child.

"That much goes without saying. Rather, I'd applaud Lady Belfrig were she to find somebody who would be upset with such an arrangement."

'How shocking! Lord Fernde's standards sit lower than his intelligence,' of the many high-seated delegates milling about the venue, why was she the one stuck at his side? Avila could bear this no longer—a topic for him to ramble on about then. "Is that so? Speaking of arrangements, I heard you were establishing an eastern outpost. For trade, was it?"

"Ah, yes!" The man's eyes lit up as he puffed out his chest. "Her Majesty approved my request earlier last week; I'm sure that spare of mine is making himself useful…"

Wonderful. She only needed to nod every few seconds, and Baron Fernde would be none the wiser. Of course, leaving was also an option, but what if the chittering buffoon decided to disturb Queen Oriculus?

He had already tried approaching the untouchable pair once, after all.

'I wouldn't be blamed,' however, it was undoubtedly preferable that she alone suffer the would-be patsy's presence than have the whole of the Draconic Kingdom's aristocracy humiliated on the international stage. "Mhm."

"… and eight Principality Observations are being sent, can you believe it? Truly, Her Majesty is wise to recognize the importance of…" Godsdammit, Fernde's words had a way of worming into her brain. It seemed the divine assigned the fiercest battles to their most devoted.

"Mhm," on the topic of the divine, Avila admitted she was still a bit shocked the Queen and Goddess got along as well as they did. The Royal Court wasn't privy to the contracts their sovereign had signed with the angel, and some rumors were, well, irreverent to say less.

Then again, the two did look quite happy. Fortunately—getting along with a deity was better than the alternative—though equally unfortunate were the missed opportunities to fleece her peers in their not-very-secretive betting circle.

Really, who decided it would be fair to allow insiders like the Prime Minister and the Queen's personal guards to participate? She'd have to be a fool to try her luck in that kind of environment.

"… the demihumans are proving to be a little troublesome to teach, though their compliance is quite pleasing…"

'Is that Ramposa's Warrior-Captain? 'Quite pleasing' indeed,' Avila's eyes peered at one Gazef Stronoff from over her fan. He paid no notice to her, or to the other noblewomen and a few men eyeing him, focused as he was upon Queen Oriculus and the Goddess. 'Ahhh… Perhaps Re-Estize isn't so bad, hm? The Draconic Kingdom could use its own grand tournament, its own Stronoff. Angels aren't much to stare at once the novelty wears off.'

Clothes pulled taut against trained muscles, delightfully selected to showcase the warrior's sculpted physique, beautifully complementing his southern features. Why, if she weren't already married, Avila would've abandoned her duty to keep Fernde occupied in favor of pursuing a possible Count Gazef.

Oh well. Roads not taken and whatnot.

"… still wary of sending caravans through those blasted mountains. You know, the beastmen mentioned feral wyverns—"

"Is that the branch-head of the Empire's Merchant's Guild?" Avila couldn't stand his blabbering any longer. "This is a miraculous opportunity for you, don't you agree Baron?"

"Where—ah, I see him!" Finally. "As always, it was a pleasure conversing with you, Lady Belfrig."

"Likewise," ha. "I look forward to seeing the fruits of your tremendous abilities."

"You're too kind," Avila's eyelids fluttered in exasperation as the man kissed the back of her gloved hand. "Then, I shall take my leave."

'Please do.'

With Fernde's gaze turned to another hapless soul, the Countess immediately began searching for the nearest wine-bearing attendant. Luckily, one seemed to pick up on her emergent need and immediately changed course.

"Thank you," Avila plucked a wineglass off the servant's platter like one might a blooming flower. She sipped, resisting the temptation to just forgo delicacy and empty the contents in a single draught. 'Mmm, staying in Oriculo is worthwhile for the alcohol alone.'

Sadly, Captain Stronoff was making an exit alongside some random blue-haired fellow with a roguish air about him. Avila's eyes tracked the two; Gazef's heart-pounding severity juxtaposed with the stranger's breeziness made for an excellent contrast.

The few scionesses of the Draconic Kingdom present at the reception looked on with equal if not greater attentiveness, energetically murmuring amongst themselves all the while. She sighed and wondered if Queen Oriculus held too much faith in the inexperienced before straggling the thought; hadn't she herself been leering?

'Stiff competition for one of their first few gatherings,' once the festival proper began, she could easily see the ballroom becoming a heated battlefield with the wealth of qualified suitors that were in attendance. 'But I suppose the two strongest contenders have already won their own little battles.'

The Countess dragged her scrutiny from the myriad of guests to their blissful hosts. Mountains and knolls, she'd say properly described the pair. On that note—

'It's a bit ridiculous to entertain the possibility,' Avila's hand twitched towards her chest, an already fading trace of defeat twinging in the depths of her breast. Her Majesty was quite 'threatening' with that… sensually adult appearance. 'But maybe Her Majesty's true form really would have caused meaningless discord.'

To resent Queen Oriculus for that would be foolish, but was not folly native to the soul of humanity? Hasn't envy been born from far more trivial desires? 'In any case, Her Majesty's out of the running so to speak.'

Thank the Goddess for directing that devastating firepower towards their most august self. Participating in a court presided over by a scantily-clad little girl was one thing, having to suffer through noblemen feeling justified in leering at Her Majesty had been another entirely. Those who held inclinations towards a younger age bracket at least tried to keep their degeneracy under wraps.

Exceptions like Cerabrate existed though.

Avila frowned at the reminder of the distasteful paladin—gods above, how did that man become a holy knight? Certainly, they were charming and heroic, but…

Her frown deepened, memories of the Holy Lord's appearances in Queen Oriculus's court resurfacing much to her dismay.

Praise the Goddess for liberating the Queen from a most stomach-churning fate. Among everything else, obviously, but the bards repeated those more than she cared to hear. There was no escaping the paeans and songs dedicated to the angel; Avila was seriously considering begging leave from the Royal Court just to return home for the sake of her poor ears..

'With the Goddess placing her claim, none will dare bother Her Majesty,' hm, the image of suitors begging to join Lady Yuriko's hypothetical harem still came far too easily. The Goddess's charm superseded description; although, perhaps unnerving perfection was its own deterrent…? 'Not the worst outcome if Her Majesty can stomach it; gods know the kingdom could use a few divine bloodlines or two—'

For some inexplicable reason, Avila felt her muscles seize and her spine shiver, blood slowing to a glacial grawl as the heart fought to pump the sluggish anima.

The Countess's head snapped up to Queen Oriculus's face only to find the draconic sovereign deep in conversation with—Roble's High Priestess and that Fat Prince from Re-Estize: all three flashing a pair of razor-sharp eyes. And was that Queen Bessarez and the Golden Princess talking to Lady Yuriko? Like called to like, it seemed.

'Beastmen weren't so terrifying…' The amusing observation failed to distract Avila from the chill that had temporarily overcome her. A chill warning her to not act on the foolish whimsie she had briefly entertained.

'Intuition,' she decided. 'I needn't meddle in Her Majesty's intimate affairs. Are those two not adults? Surely they have little use for the meddling of an old woman like myself.'

She pointedly avoided thinking about how Her Majesty was nearly the same age. Who knew if the Queen had somehow unlocked an ability to glean the thoughts of her surroundings? One could never be too safe when dealing with a draconic bloodline.

'G-Getting caught up in resolved rumors is a poor use of time,' Avila took a shuddering breath. 'Elsewhere—another topic to fixate on.'

But just like everyone else, like any other skybound satellite, completely resisting the pull of Sun and Moon was an impossibility.

One final glance at Queen Oriculus and the Goddess saw a soft smile tug at Avila's lips.

Holy lye scrubbing the beastmen scum off the Draconic Kingdom's bountiful plains and valleys. Holier flames branding the beastmen with an unforgettable lesson. Servants of heaven dispensing countless duties, but always always, in the business of purification.

Indeed, revel in the Goddess's blessings that Queen Oriculus won through her hard-earned… efforts. Were that the noble houses could afford to freely pursue leisurely activities in this turbulent era.

Avila polished off the rest of the wine, laid the glass to rest on a nearby platter next to its siblings, and took a step inwards: towards an Argland elf busy glaring at a Theocracy representative busy staring at the Goddess.

Work called.


Of the many tasks noted in Re-Kista Cabelia's planners, a visit to Oriculo, the seat of Dark Scale Dragon Lord's power, had not been among the scribbles.

'No thanks to these flea-bags,' Kista glared at the Jaguar Zoastia curled up in an armchair. She, and the City-State Alliance as a whole, wished to keep a healthy distance from the messy affair that was the Draconic Kingdom, but these Zrak Kshatras just had to scamper to Bebard of all cities. 'Let's see: we have a history of contracting their warriors, never took a firm stance on the Republic's aggressive expansionism, and I'm stuck in a castle full of angels that likely take offense at the continued existence of my furred guests.'

Yeah. Saying she wasn't having the time of her life would be accurate. Being sticky with sweat from navigating through masses of people didn't fill her with joy.

"Rejoice," Kista flatly congratulated the Jaguar Zoastia, stirring him from a restless nap. "Your group has acquired safe passage home. Queen Oriculus has kindly left the date of departure up for you all to decide."

'Harrowing' was the single most fitting word to describe the intercession. Queen Oriculus was nothing if not accommodating, but it didn't take much to dig up the hidden asperity beneath their clipped responses. Kista had spent every second of the short conversation worrying over tripping into some verbal pitfall or inadvertently making an insensitive statement.

Power differentials had a way of turning minor concerns into matters of life and death. The Equestrian King and his hordes taught her this lesson already, though it was fair to say angels were a 'few' steps above the savage centaurs.

"… I see," her left eye twitched in annoyance. The beastman did know he could stand to be a little more excited, right? Right? "You have our thanks, Miss Cabelia."

'Damn right I do,' the services of a top-level envoy like herself didn't come cheap. Vish'thri was lucky Karnassus was indebted to Clan Zrak—or what was left of it—for services rendered against the mongrels of the Steppes. "It's the least the City-States could do."

"…"

From a stressful reception to a depressing suite; Kista wondered how her grandfather would have coped with this situation. 'At least it isn't just me. Emperor El-Nix didn't seem to be enjoying himself either.'

Jircniv, a man in possession of plentiful charm, intelligence, and wealth, appeared sickly during the gala. In fact, she couldn't recall him talking with Queen Oriculus or the angel at all. Threats didn't make sense considering the positive relations between the Draconic Kingdom and Baharuth Empire.

'Probably met with them before the reception,' Kista settled her confusion. 'Cowed' and 'Jircniv Rune Farlord El-Nix' were mutually exclusive terms. 'Got the deals he wanted then pretends there's a distance between him and our hosts; it's a fitting method for a capable ruler like him.'

"When do we leave?" Vish'thri Zrak broke the train of thought. "There's the matter of restocking our supplies as well, and…"

"Queen Oriculus gave her blessings for you all to leave at your earliest convenience," and to never show your faces before her again, but Kista didn't think the Jaguar Zoastias would be willing to step foot in the Draconic Kingdom anytime soon. "She permitted the use of angels as well—ask, and they'll serve. Her words."

"I-Is that so?" As expected of Queen Oriculus: she never pegged them as one to forsake long-term gains in favor of indulging in pointless retaliation. "On behalf of Clan Zrak, please pass my thanks to Her Majesty."

"I will. May the gods watch over you."

" 'Gods,' " Kista bit back a wince while Vish'thri stood up and bitterly scoffed. "Yes. Yes, the gods and their almighty pantheons too."

"… Stay safe."

"Thank you, Miss Cabelia. Then, I'll inform my brethren of the news. Please excuse me."

The door clicked shut behind the beastman. She finally allowed herself to sink into the chair's plush cushions and groaned in relief. Clan Zrak had undergone horrendous tribulations throughout the past few months—their Rajan died, the adults of their Clan ravaged by angels, their major structures heavily damaged—but suffering the problems of others was too heavy a weight to bear.

'A discount on angels will be nice,' she dared not voice the gripe aloud, not with a veritable platoon of Archangel Flames 'guarding' her. Oh, she didn't doubt their intentions, though that hardly meant she'd carelessly permit her tongue to loosen. 'Need to ask around, see when Queen Oriculus or Lady Yuriko are available. Shame they forbid the use of angels for military purposes.'

Against a mighty foe like the Equestrian King, having the holy summons bolster Karnassus's levies would've been an incredible boon. Using them for manual labor and maintaining the health of workers was fine too though, especially with the quinquennial tournament looming 'round the corner.

"Fuuuu…" To celebrate the formation of the City-State Alliance, a massive multi-event tournament was held every five years. The twelve city-states took turns hosting it and Bebard happened to be next. "No mistakes, huh?"

If she were being fair, only the Connelier—a flashy team battle-royale that always had the highest turn-out—carried major consequences were she to miss even the smallest detail. That was just how popular the event was among the populace.

'Maybe we can lend the Standard of Peace to the Draconic Kingdom,' Kista idly pondered. 'Getting a chance to research a rare magical relic is always a boon.'

Sadly, the suggestion was unlikely to garner any traction with her peers. National treasures were tightly held onto, regardless of the country.

"No point holing up here," she poured out a cup of water with the provided pitcher—was it enchanted? Kista leaned closer, inspecting what seemed to be a magic item. 'Are all the guests provided with one? Most rooms seem to have temperature regulating magic items installed too. Rather extravagant if that's the case, but there's worse uses for spoils of war. Or the fruit of 'cooperative research,' whatever,'

The Mayor of Bebard rapidly blinked, wiped budding beads of sweat off her brow, and emptied the cupful of water with a gulp. Who cared about pitchers? She needed to figure out her next steps.

'Try to schedule a meeting with the Queen, establish stronger relations with the local aristocracy… ugh, might have to check on our intelligence agents here. Or maybe I can leave that to grandfather?' Re-Bern Cabelia's expertise in managing undercover operations exceeded Kista's by far. That, and she was deathly scared of causing a diplomatic incident. A person who could create permanent angels and overwhelm the Vahasi Republic's forces wasn't to be messed with. 'I'll send Valoss to leave a coded message in a drop-off spot.'

The sellsword she picked up on the road wouldn't be privy to the encrypted meaning, and could easily be disavowed if he got caught. That man was absolutely full of it, so denying connection to his actions would be a triviality. Honestly, boasting about being one of the Ten Sword Saints…

Steel-gray hair, and a gaze filled with a thousand swords. Something that hinted at an existence detached from lowly mortals.

Kista involuntarily trembled; perhaps there was a scrap of truth in Valoss's swaggering. It wasn't strange for strong people to be, well, strange. Pallavi Ro Vadh had been very much the same.

'Nothing wrong with him being more capable than he appears,' she made a mental note to investigate the man at depth later. 'Everyone has secrets they'd prefer to keep. Who knows? Maybe he actually ranks among the Ten now that Pallavi left an open space.'

With that in mind, she reluctantly pushed herself off the comfortable chair and straightened out the wrinkles in her clothing. Waiting for fortune to fall upon her lap, though pleasant to dream about, was a poor method of producing results. The hour of opportunity had struck, and Kista knew for a fact that every delegate, competitor, also knew this.

Although—

"I really need to take a bath."


'That went smoothly,' Draudillon twisted her torso, releasing a satisfying pop. There hadn't been any overt issues among the invited guests—a few disdainful and hushed whispers aside—and even those were more subdued than expected. "Make any friends?"

"You don't have to tease me," Yuriko, her wonderful, wonderful partner, puffed her cheeks in dismay. "I, I made friends! Like, um—"

"Queen Bessarez."

"Yeah, Calca!" They paused and scratched the back of their head with an abashed expression. "Was it that obvious?"

"Call it intuition," rather, she'd be shocked if the Holy Queen didn't get along with Yuriko. "Anyway, I'm glad. Making connections with faraway regions can widen your perspective."

On the other hand, there were people the angel was better off keeping a healthy distance from. Draudillon was just relieved Yuriko seemingly missed the jeers directed towards the dragon queen: nonsense about the number of names she had… or a topic as equally inane.

Her beloved's ire was a frightful force to gaze upon, and she didn't doubt that those with weaker constitutions would've fainted on the spot.

"Lady Custodio was a tad distant though, wouldn't you say? More circumspect than I remember her being," the High Priestess was counted among Calca's most trusted confidants yet shared none of her sovereign's softness. 'Queen Bessarez's sword in the field of politics.'

"Really? But she was talking to you for a while though."

"All business I assure you," Draudillon eyed the boxes strewn beside where she was sitting on the bed. While Yuriko was distracted, she had purchased… additional articles. "Though she does mean well. Mostly."

As long as they didn't butt heads with the Holy Kingdom. That said, she couldn't imagine even Kelart Custodio being able to do much with the power disparity in play.

"You came up as a topic of discussion every now and then. Prince Zanac was interested as well, actually. It seems everyone is eager to bolster their military forces."

They offered fair deals, that went without saying, but it felt exploitative nonetheless. The angel's heart was fit to burst with kindness; a sufficiently sincere plea was likely enough to move them to action.

"They all have their own stuff that's important to them," Yuriko stared out the window, looking and sounding every bit the equal of any passerine. "If I were them, I'd ask me for help too. I… don't think I'm gonna get too involved now—not with everything going on at home. Maybe later, earn some money, boost the kingdom's treasury y'know?"

"… Remember to rest, okay?"

"Pft," her beloved repressed a giggle, but failed to stop their mouth from curving up into a beatific smile. For a moment, Draudillon forgot how to breathe. "You too."

Sometimes she forgot just how beautiful Yuriko was. 'Beautiful' yes, Draudillon was always acutely aware, but beautiful… her elocution fell short of the perfection required to match the angel's guise.

Comparisons to the celestial bodies, the vistas of earth and sky, and that which was fashioned by intention and intellect: none properly conveyed what she felt.

They were an angel who had created, walked through, and overcome their own hell. A person who, through some miracle, remained as warm and welcoming as they were before—treating even strangers with the compassion of a saint. Someone whose inside and outside perfectly mirrored each other.

And that dress Ramona's boutique had fashioned for her beloved… the dragon queen reminded herself to leave a generous tip. The sentiment wasn't limited to just her either; Yuriko's sublimity drew the eyes of all towards them.

"I need to teach you to be more careful," Draudillon muttered under her breath. She had never marked herself as the jealous type, but life seemed bent on teaching her otherwise.

"O-Oh! Did you um, say something? I was spacing out a little. Sorry…"

She hummed in acknowledgment as deft fingers dug through one of the boxes Ramona had delivered alongside the dresses. "I will forgive you."

" 'Will?' Yay?"

'Cute.'

Right, this was revenge: payback for the absurdity regarding the Warrior-Captain Yuriko had subjected her to two or three days ago.

"On one condition."

Aha, there were the items she was looking for.

"Those, they erm, uh," and the reaction was a nice bonus, the dragon queen thought with no small amount of satisfaction. "Wow."

"So, what do you think?" She held up the silky black garterbelt and stockings. "Good? Bad? In between?"

"… I think it would look really good on you," Yuriko's face grew redder by the second.

"Me?" Draudillon tilted her head in mock confusion. "I bought it for you."

"E-Eh?"