A Rafael Interlude

Rafael had never been to the International Assembly before. Despite that woman being a Marchioness, the power she'd sought hadn't been of the sort that had elevated her profile enough to make her one of the worthies who participated in the event. Even as the vice-director of the Magic Tool Laboratory, he would have been unlikely to be invited under normal circumstances. However, because of the incidents of Dark Magic over the past year, as well as the incident where a Dark Magic wielder—who wasn't Maria—had actually manage to infiltrate the castle, it had been decided to invite the available Light Magic wielders of the Ministry—and Sora—to stand guard against further infiltration.

For his part, Rafael was unsure if their presence would actually be of any help. He himself had demonstrated that a more powerful Dark Magic wielder's influence could be essentially invisible and untreatable to a weaker Light Magic wielder. After all, many of the Ministry's Light Magic wielders had completely missed how Katarina's unnatural coma had been his work… which he was completely sorry for, and Katarina had for given him for it, and they were friends now and most importantly Mary and the Third Prince hadn't tried to have him killed so they had also forgiven him. So if the same powerful Dark Magic wielder somehow managed to infiltrate the castle, unless she was very sloppy only Maria probably had a chance of being able to perceive the traces she would leave behind.

Of course, if his beloved Maria did find some trace of that one, she'd probably kill them, so…

Which was why Rafael found himself wearing his Ministry robes over his best suit—a recent gift from Nicol when he had told his friend he'd attending the International Assembly—as he smiled and made polite small talk with foreigners. As a vice-director, he would have been relatively insignificant, but since his department was the Magic Tool Laboratory, some efforts had been made to try and get him to talk. He'd simply smiled and complained about his budget and how irresponsible the previous director had been so now they were mostly busy putting their affairs in order, which… was technically still true. Going through all the things Larna had made over the years, cross-referencing to records—or lack thereof, hex it Larna!—confirming which thing did what… it was ongoing work, and his department would probably be busy with it for some time. However, he fully intended to have Larna start actually training and involving everyone in the actual titanite shards of how to make magic tools, because being department in charge of something only a single person could actually do was extremely short-sighted.

Thankfully, however, being in actuality the vice-director of the department made him a lesser target when the actual director was also present. Nathan Hart was in attendance, looking quite presentable when people actually looked at him, and with the number of people in attendance at least a few people were noticing him at a time. Rafael certainly kept track of where Sienna Nelson, Nathan's minder, was so he could direct overly inquiring people towards the director. Most knew he was trying to get rid of them, but they were perfectly willing to leave, thinking that the department's director would be more important. The fact that Nathan's leg was shackled to a bracelet around Sienna's wrist made people take an amusing double take, and to Rafael's amusement, it actually made people treat him warily. Unfortunately for him, not everyone he tried the tactic on went to bother Nathan instead of him, but those who didn't at least treated him seriously.

He was walking around with Chad Braddington, who had been convinced to forgo his usual dumbbells for heavy bracers around his arms of comparable weight. Sure, he kept raising his forearms up and down, which got him very strange looks, but far less he would have gotten with dumbbells.

"Don't take off the sleeves," Rafael said quietly as they took a moment's break. "Formal clothes have sleeves, remember?"

Chad stopped tugging on the sleeves of his coat with a sigh. The sleeves had been tailored to be a bit loose on his physique, since he found sleeves constricting, and he'd even admitted they felt comfortable, but apparently habit was hard to break. "Yes, director," he said. "Sorry, I'm just… I went into the Ministry to get away from functions like this, you know?"

Rafael nodded. The Ministry, despite being a powerful regulating body, was fairly detached from noble society in general. Many of the people who worked there were still nobles, of course, but the way that the Ministry had over the centuries been a destination for many third and fourth sons and daughters, those far enough from their house's line of succession to have to make their own way, had led to it becoming its own culture. It was less formal, supposedly as a consequence of being a meritocracy where people of lower noble ranks or even commoners were fairly regularly put in charge of people of higher rank, and despite there being a uniform, people were given a large amount of leeway to accessorize. "Let me guess, you got told you should go be a knight a lot when you were younger?"

The snort that came out was both derisive and filled with remembered exasperation. "Oh, don't get me started," Chad growled, one arm starting to curl up and down as he started stress curling.

Rafael gave his coworker a pat on the shoulder, feeling the solid, almost rock-like muscles under the cloth that felt stretched tight. "Then don't," he said. "Keep a clear head. Remember, we know nothing useful, so just answer honestly."

That made Chad relax. "Right, right. Thanks for reminding me, director,"

"Vice-director," Rafael corrected.

"Yes, director, that's what I said." Brad's face was completely sincere and earnest, but his pecks were contracting the way he did when he was bluffing.

Rafael sighed, but he smiled as he did it. "Come on, let's get back to mingling. A few more hours and we can step out to 'get ready for dinner'."

Chad nodded, and Rafael turned to look for a group of foreigners that he didn't remember talking to yet, preemptively putting on his well-practiced Sirius Dieke smile.

"You know, it's kinda creepy when you do that," Chad commented.

"What is?" Rafael said, smiling pleasantly at him.

"That," Chad said, pointing in a circle around Rafael's face. "You usually only smile like that when you're going to make Larna fix something she messed up."

"Sorry," Rafael said, relaxing his expression into something more genuine. "I'm just... it's an expression I know I can hold for a long time, you see."

It was Chad turn to give him a pat on the shoulder. "That sounds like some kind of terrible backstory."

"It's… unpleasant. A Marchioness was involved, and I was young."

"Oh… wow, that's messed up."

"Ah, I feel like I should clarify and say nothing sexual happened."

"Still bad, if what you learned from it is to smile like that." He patted Rafael on the shoulder again, a bit more hesitantly this time. "I understand how it is. Look… I don't usually talk about this, but… my full title is Marquis Chad Braddington." The words were said in a tone usually used for admitting having killed a child.

Rafael blinked, then stared at Chad.

"I know," Chad said with a sad smile of understanding. "It's why I joined the Ministry. I don't have that hanging over my head in the Ministry. I'm just… Chad. Lord Chad sometimes, but…" He shrugged. "You want to talk unpleasant, imagine what it's like growing up with people expecting you to become a Marquis."

Rafael tilted his head and smiled knowingly. "Why don't we take a break Chad, and I'll tell you about my half-brother. His name was Sirius…"

A Millidiana Claes Interlude

With the royal family absent greeting their counterparts elsewhere, the Dukes and Duchesses of Sorcier were expected to take the lead in their stead.

Mili would be the first to admit she had once found that difficult. In the years after her marriage, while she still thought her dearest, darling Luigi had only married her as a favor to her father, she had continued the quiet, meek introversion of her younger years. Her only solace had been those few, shining memories of the times she had her husband had been carnally united—and even then, the memories had been tainted with the thought he was only doing so because he wished an heir of her—and her personal writings, into which she had written down her thoughts, distilling and refining what she knew…

That was a long, long time ago, and now if she wanted to be carnally united with her husband she only had to say so—or not even say so, simply sit down on his lap, or pull him down onto the carpet, or… anyway!—and while she still found herself writing, it was really more from habit and enjoyment than a way to release frustration. She was a different woman now, a leader in polite society, wielding power across the land. A single word, a mere crook of her eyebrow, and she could ruin men and women, and they would be nearly powerless to oppose her. It was a crown she wore lightly and wielded responsibly, lest she be little more than one of the petty Marchionesses raised by the previous, late and unlamented king from his sycophants, whores and hangers on.

This wasn't counting the power she wielded as a Duchess. Even if it was technically in her husband's name, for it had been he who had inherited the duchy when his brother Mario had abdicated in his favor after the civil war, her dearest, darling Luigi would never deny her anything. Even in the bad old days before she'd almost made the biggest mistake of her life and nearly left her husband, her word was law in the duchy of Morpork, and she could have lived as flagrantly and frivolously as Yuri the Vile. The soldiers of the duchy, all the banners to be raised by their sworn Marquis and Marchionesses, their viscounts and counts and barons and landed knights, were hers to command.

But the martial clash of arms and armor was not her battlefield, not in the way that it was shaping to be her daughter's, terrifying as that was to contemplate. Her domain was balls and tea parties, her armaments were words, her battles were of wits, and her soldiers were well equipped and armored. The Queen had aided her in logistics, the servants of the castle both her supply line and scouts. In years long past, she would have been confident in her preparations, and had she not been anything besides absolutely triumphant, it was only because a lady did not take absolutely everything from her foe. After all, that was just rude.

This year, she had her brother and sisters-in-law by her side. Even with limited time to become familiar with her sisters-in-law and to inform her brother of her methods and ways while learning theirs in return, simply knowing they were about was a wonderful boost in morale, and a secured fallback position if needed.

"A pleasure to see you again, Lady Siegarrie," she greeted one of the familiar nobility of New Catarina. They had met before in years past, when his majesty had called on her and her husband to represent the kingdom in previous International Assemblies.

The white-clad woman smiled, her hair gathered in familiar coils of buns on either side of her head. "And the same to you, Lady Miliidiana," the countess greeted her familiarly as old foes in this battlefield. "If I recall correctly, this is the year your children come of age, is it not? I have been looking forward to meeting them."

"I'm sure they're around somewhere," Mili said, having a hand idly in the side of the chamber she hadn't seen her children in. It was less out of a desire to keep this woman from encountering them as it was habit. Misinformation was her first recourse.

A few people sometimes joked, both maliciously and not, that she had failed as a mother because in this battlefield of wits, her daughter walked unarmed.

Fools who said that had obviously never actually met her daughter. She wasn't unarmed—though it had taken Mili some time to realize it—she simply favored different methods. Anyone who spent too long in Katarina's presence risked becoming subverted by her, and those too malicious to be subverted found their attacks not penetrating because Katarina simply didn't realize what they were doing.

Idly, she wondered how her daughter was fairing at the moment.

"Achmed, this is Lady Fanel. She's from Drang, but she is originally from Ashina," Katarina moaned, groaned and gurgled, gesturing towards the slightly uncomfortable but polite woman at her side. She switched to Japanese, reversing the gestures. "Hitomi-chan, this is Achmed-sensei. He's a doctor of philosophy, economics and history from Ethenell."

"Please tell him it is a pleasure to meet him, Katarina-chan," Lady Fanel said, bowing in greeting.

Katarina cheerfully relayed the words, causing Achmed to turn towards her. His lips were unfortunately among the casualties of his anatomy, perpetually baring his teeth in a skull-like smile as he moaned, groaned and gurgled in reply. One glowing red eye winked out for a moment.

"Dirty old man!" Katarina scolded half-jokingly. "I can't tell her that for you, she's married!"

Achmed made a regretful moan, then groaned and gurgled some more.

Katarina rolled her eyes and turned to Lady Fanel, switching languages again. "He says you have excellent bone structure, which will be a beauty that will last you over the years. Also, he'd like to apologize if he comes off as flirting, but it's been years since a pretty woman has talked to him, and he's only human."

"What in the abyss are they talking about?" a nearby Drang noble asked an Ethenell noble.

"I have no idea, I never learned how to speak hollow…"