To The Knife [Complete]

[HypoSoc]

Imagine a man born with nothing. After a life of hard work and dedication, he ends his life with mere scraps. On his deathbed, he entrusts them to his child.

Imagine this child born with mere scraps. After a life of hard work and dedication, she ends her life with simple means. On her deathbed, she entrusts it to her child.

Imagine this child born with simple means. After a life of hard work and dedication he ends his life with great fortune. On his deathbed, he entrusts it to his child.

This is the secret of nobility: in a world where everyone is born with nothing, the noble is born with great fortune.

This is the nature of nobility: in a world where everyone is born alone and afraid, the noble is born a link in a grand chain.

To be born a noble is to be a single cog in a great machine: a momentary instance in a legacy so much greater than any individual could ever hope to be. It is the inescapable weight of the past; it is the crushing duty towards the future.

When a person fails, they fail only themselves. When a noble fails, they fail all who came before them and all who would have come after them.

In this way, a noble cannot be considered a person. Their wants are not their own. Their needs are not their own. A noble is nothing more and nothing less than a continuation of their lineage: a single limb of a greater body.

Is it not obvious then, why a noble will always be greater than a person? It will not, cannot, be a fair comparison. A person can no more easily triumph over a noble than a person could triumph over a city, over a nation. The person stands alone; the noble stands amid all before and all after.

A noble is not born alone. They are not born with nothing. A noble is born with the great treasures of a dozen lives, a hundred lives, a thousand. They are born with their secrets. They are born with their duties. They are born with their desires.

And, above all else, they are born with their miseries.

To The Knife​

Spoiler: A/N

To the Knife is a story set in the same universe as Phobos VII and Polyhistor Academy. It is entirely self contained, so no knowledge of the setting is required.

The story is already complete. After the initial three chapters, I will be releasing a chapter a day until we reach the end.

Before anyone asks, the story itself has no smut, hence being in the SFW section. However, I am open to potentially writing NSFW omake if there is interest.

 

[HypoSoc]

The opera house is an expression of opulence. It is a testament of wealth and taste where the lords and ladies of the League could experience culture and be seen experiencing culture.

The entertainment is world class, but that is not the point of the building. It is a set piece, a common ground of veiled neutrality where the nobility could have a proper pretext to meet without implying some grander design.

In my time in My Lady's service, I have been to this opera house four times. But this is the first time I am seated among the guests, rather than in my proper place, standing in the wing.

The balcony seating is as fine as any a luxury may be, but I cannot feel comfortable. The decadence crawls against my skin as much as this fine disguise does. This is not my place, and everything about it seems to be reminding me so. But I endure, as My Lady demands.

The opera begins with great fanfare, but I cannot focus on it. My mind is elsewhere. It is fortunate that my task does not demand much focus as of yet. All I must do is be seen.

My work proves successful as, halfway through the second aria, a silver-haired woman enters the balcony to take a seat beside me. Such lateness is fashionable, in some circles. But I know she is not here for the show.

I do not turn to face her, nor the cadre of servants that accompany her, waiting in the wing. I can see them in the reflection of my disguise's spectacles. I can see My Lady stoically move to a further wing.

I take the time to assess their strength, to count their number. These are not the greatest servants of House Alsace, but they are formidable. It is a good distraction from my growing nerves.

I have disguised myself as My Lady on multiple occasions, but never before in the presence of someone who knew her so well. It takes all that I am to keep My Lady's stoic visage. It takes all that I am to resist turning to look at My Lady's own disguised form.

Lady Alsace does not speak until the aria is complete. Her gaze does not turn to me.

"How strange to find you here, Marchioness d'Talmont. How many months has it been since you last graced society? Ten? Twelve? It must have been a year at least."

"The travails of mourning are many, Lady d'Alsace. It has taken time to put my estate's affairs in order."

"Please," the lady turns to me with a smile. Her face is soft, her features delicate. There is a mirth in her eye, visible even in the dim balcony. "Call me Electra. We would have been sisters, had you not fled my brother's altar."

A hot, burning rage stirs in my center. But I temper it, as I must. I imagine My Lady's own stoic demeanor. My Lady's fury was as cold as it was immense. It would not rise to the insult. While I wore her garb, I would not insult her by failing to live up to her virtues. "Many things might have been, Lady. It is best not to dwell on the hypothetical."

"Hm. Wise words indeed, Marchioness. The past is the past," Electra sighs, forlornly. "My dearest brother forgives you, you know? The Count is not insulted, considering the circumstances. He always had greater kindness than the rest of my family. Greater empathy. Greater patience in the face of insults. He would still accept your hand, should you agree, no matter the change in circumstances. My, I can just imagine how my uncle would sputter and rage should you accept."

"Such an arrangement is no longer to the benefit of House Talmont," I say simply, my eyes locked back to the performance. "I must regretfully refuse."

"Ah, yes. The great and glorious House Talmont. The most renowned of dynasties. So many are their numbers. So magnificent is their wealth. So inscrutable are their secret magics." She chuckles.

I do not rise to the provocation. The mocking taunts do not deserve a response.

Her hand traces against my neck, a finger dragging across it, glowing red with her magic. "You know, I am considering whether I should just kill you here and now. It would be a kindness, I think. Better a clean death, than to struggle and fail against the inevitable ruin. It would be merciful, yes, to let you join the rest of your family. You weren't even supposed to be the heir, were you?"

Behind me, the servants shifted, readying their magic. I could feel the energy thrum, a warning and a threat. They would strike at a moment's notice, without an ounce of hesitation.

"Do so or not. Don't waste my time ruminating on the matter." I said with as much coldness as I could muster. "I'd rather watch the performance than listen to you dither and threaten."

There were many reasons as to why I agreed to swap places with My Lady. Protecting her from these threats was one of them.

I imagine I can take out at least three of them before I fall. That will be my goal. Three.

"Hmm," the woman removes her hand from my neck. "My uncle will be quite upset with me, you know? He is quite concerned that you will whore yourself out to some rival house and throw them at us. But I believe House Alsace could do with some exercise. We have grown lax in the last year. For obvious reasons." She shakes her head. "I should thank you for killing Claudius. He was always the most odious of my cousins. His timely demise aided my brother's ascension quite effectively."

"It is always a pleasure to provide aid to our most loyal and steadfast vassal."

"Of course. The history between our two houses was unequaled." Her smile was soft and gentle, a complete defiance of what I know this monster to be. "You can flee, you know. Disappear into obscurity anywhere or way you wish. My brother won't pursue you. Those of the Alsace that would do so will soon be marginalized, or eliminated. You can live your life freely somewhere far from here."

Would but My Lady agree to such a proposal? Would such a possibility exist... for My Lady to be safe and happy, undisturbed and at peace. If it were an option, I would embrace it with all my might. But I know it to be a trap. Moreover, I know My Lady would never agree, even if it were earnest.

"Such is not possible. The die has been cast, as it were."

"Indeed, the die has been cast. Die cleanly, Marchioness Catherine d'Talmont. It is more than you deserve."

She rises from her seat. It is at this moment the explosion goes off.

As one would expect from a League Opera House, the entire building is instantly awash in magic. Barriers, strengthening, mental acuity... any and all spells at every level of competency.

The servants behind me act quickly to secure their lady, placing a rather strong looking barrier between the two of us. It is unnecessary, of course, but a sign of good habits.

There is a level of tension in their eyes, a wariness directed at me. I keep myself still and unamused.

When it becomes apparent that the explosion came from the lower auditorium and not from the balconies, the servants relax.

"Hmph." I level a dismissive gaze down below. "It seems some Barons have set upon one another. How uncouth."

Indeed, the lower nobility seemed to be holding two men back, forcefully ending their fighting. It is what one would expect from petty nobles.

If Electra had decided to attack me, she would have at least had the sense to not overshadow the performance. I must presume that her servants were trained to such a minimal standard, as I had been.

The performers do not halt their performance, even among the chaos. Though, I can see League security coming to escort the bickering Barons out.

I rise from my seat, a bored expression on my face. "I find myself no longer interested in this performance. I will take my leave. Have a pleasant evening, Lady Electra. Marcus, attend me."

My Lady comes dutifully with the winter coat and lays it on my shoulders. I move to the exit without stopping.

I try to avoid looking at My Lady. It is upsetting to see her dressed in my servant's garb. She pulls it off marvelously, as one would expect of her. Her figure is too dashing when cross dressing. But it is far below her position, and a sign of my great failure that she is even capable of playing the part.

But the signal hidden in the coat proves that we had succeeded.

Lady d'Alsace and her servants had been far too focused on me to notice My Lady. And, when our planned distraction went off, all their attention had been on myself and protecting Electra.

The servants failed to account for My Lady. And, more importantly, they failed to account for their own number. They were unable to detect the poison My Lady so stealthily unleashed.

By tomorrow evening, two of House Alsace's servants would quietly pass away. By tomorrow evening, My Lady and I would be ready to take their place.

The first step in My Lady's vengeance, in House Talmont's vengeance, was complete. Exactly as planned.

 

[HypoSoc]

I met my grandfather for the first time when I was nine.

"Please, Father. He's so young. He's not ready."

I'll never forget how my mother froze when he had arrived: a tall, dour man, old and wrinkled with an elegant black cane. There wasn't a single crease in his pristine suit. His face was harsh. Cold. My mother seemed to flee from his very gaze.

"He's already too old by my count. You've coddled the boy enough."

Not once did my grandfather look at me as he spoke. His pitiless words were only directed at my mother.

"He has friends! He has school! He has a life! You can't just take him away from all of that!"

"He has nothing and you know it, girl! This worthless Vav life you cling to… it isn't possible now that he has manifested his Concept."

My mother had never mentioned my grandfather before that day. She had flinched whenever I had asked. As far as I had known, it had just been her and me in our little family.

"He can hold it back! He can live a normal life!"

"He can do no such thing! I will not allow it."

I remember the contempt in his eyes. I remember the disgust.

I remember my mother cowering.

"I have permitted your vaunted 'freedom,' girl. When you fled your duties, when you shamed us with your… dalliance… I did not seek you. I did not discipline you as I had ought. I permitted you to raise the boy because you had assured me he would be as worthless and inconsequential as his sire. I granted you all this out of my love for you."

I remember how my mother flinched. I remember the tears in her eyes.

"But you were mistaken. The boy is not worthless. Our bloodline has proven true, in spite of your feeble attempt to taint it. The boy has a duty, girl. I will not permit you to keep him from it. My generosity is not so limitless. He will serve, as you ought to have."

"Father…"

"The boy is coming with me. This is not up for debate. You will remain free to do as you wish. Have another worthless swine soil your womb if you so desire. I will not stop you."

For the first time, my grandfather turned to me. His eyes were dark, piercing. "Come, boy. You have shirked your duties long enough."

That was the last time I ever saw my mother. I'll never forget how she let me go without a fight.

---

My grandfather didn't waste a moment. Training began the moment he had me in the carriage.

"Your will is underdeveloped," my grandfather declared. "What has your mother taught you of the arcane? Of your Concept?"

"I…" I hesitated. I didn't know what he was talking about.

"Nothing at all, then. The foolish girl had raised you like a Vav, ignorant of the truth before your eyes." My grandfather's glare harshened. "Listen well, boy. I will not repeat myself. What I am teaching you even the most addled child should know. Your current ignorance is an affront to all decency."

I shrunk in place.

"There are three forms of magic in Creation, divided by origin and expression." He raised a finger from his cane. "The first is the magic of the World. It is a magic of elements, of inscriptions, of force. It is the magic of fire and earth, storm and sea, space and time."

"Second," he raised another finger, "is the magic of the Self. It is a magic of enhancement, of healing, of domination. It is the magic of the mind and body, of wit and charm, of truth and deception."

"Third," he raised a final finger, "is the Transcendental magic. It is the magic bound in one's soul. It is the core of a person, the unique, the ideal. It is their very Concept, bound to them and them alone. The third magic is the most important. Why is that, boy?"

"Is… is it the most powerful?"

His cane smashed into my wrist. I cried out in pain.

"Quiet," he demanded, voice even but cruel. "Or you will get another."

I shook, but held back my tears.

"Your mother's coddling has done you no favors. Your mind is puerile. Brutish. There is no greater power in any form of magic over any other. A lowly Vav with a gun can claim to have something as simple as 'power.' It is meaningless.

"No. The value of the Transcendental Magic is that it is the proof of one's identity. It cannot be taught or copied or stolen. It cannot be given or taken. Even a Vav could learn the First and Second magics if they learned of their existence. But the Third is forever out of their reach.

"The Concept stands as proof of one's bearing: nobility inherent to the soul. Lord Charlemagne's Avatar. House Talmont's Narcissus. Even our own humble Protean. The Concept is the proof from on high of our place in this world. It is the ineffable mark of status and breeding."

My grandfather rapped his cane. "I will be teaching you to wield Protean personally. Tutors will instruct you on the other magics. I expect quick progress from you, boy. I will not have my time wasted. To begin, you must meditate…"

---

My grandfather was brutal. The lessons were relentless. Physical conditioning. Etiquette. History. Arithmetic. Language. Natural Philosophy. Every lesson rolled after the other, a gamut of exhaustion, all under the exacting gaze of my grandfather and the tutors he acquired. Every mistake was punished harshly.

Day in and out, when I wasn't sleeping I was learning. I didn't have a moment to myself. It was a far cry from the easy-going school life I remembered with my friends.

I was exhausted. I was in pain. I was alone.

There was no joy in this new world, only constant discipline and unachievable demands.

"You are too far behind," my grandfather would claim. "In the proper course, you would have begun when you were four. You will not be permitted to remain so stunted."

Before anything else, I was taught to serve. It was the core of my training, the fundamental thread around which all other lessons revolved. Every scrap of knowledge that was forced into my brain, every practiced form, every polished skill, were all to be in service of my new masters. Everything I learned was to make me a better servant.

"Our family has the splendid fortune to serve the Marquessate of Talmont," my grandfather would say. "We can only hope to match this honor through utter perfection. We are the prized tools of House Talmont. It is our duty to serve as befitting their station."

There were other children around me. Some were older, some were younger. None were my age. They would glare at me, hateful, disdainful. In some ways they were worse than my pitiless tutors. Even if they had been friendly, my grandfather discouraged me from speaking with them. "Unremarkable tools," he would call them. "Knives that would dull us out of jealousy."

"If you have the energy to mingle, you are not training as you ought," he would say. "You are still behind where you should be."

I spent my life at the manor exhausted, alone, afraid. I was lonely. I was miserable. Once, I tried to run away, to flee back to my mother and the life I had lost.

My grandfather was… displeased. I never dared to try again.

When I turned eleven, my life changed once more.

"You are of age with the heir," my grandfather declared. "This is your greatest asset, that which places you above all the grasping snakes. The timing of your birth is, perhaps, the only accomplishment I will acknowledge of your mother." My grandfather did not speak about my mother often. He did not permit me to speak about her either. "The heir of Talmont has reached the age of social obligations. You will serve him in all things, in all ways. Become his friend, boy, his boon companion, his personal servant. Earn the ear of the future Marquis of House Talmont. This is your duty, to this family and to all of House Talmont. You are not permitted to fail."

With that, and without further warning, my training suddenly eased. Where before every waking moment was to be spent in agonized practice. But now, I had free time: time I was to dedicate to attending my new master

And so, I met Augustus d'Talmont, future Marquis of the Great House of Talmont.

Augustus was a handsome boy, finely dressed, with an easy smile. His cheeks were chubby like any at-ease child. He had a small cadre of friends: the children of vassal houses that matched him in age. It became my duty to serve them.

It did not take long for me to come to hate them all.

Augustus did not waste any time ordering me about, sending me to and fro on useless tasks for his amusement. He set up little games against himself and his friends, knowing I would not be permitted to win. He loved to hold little spars in the yard, aping at real combat.

I was to hold back, my grandfather demanded. I was to accept each and every blow with a smile.

Lazy. Arrogant. Spoiled. I did not know which word best described that slothful little swine.The boy would shirk from his studies, demanding that I complete his assignments in his place. He would flee from his tutors; put the barest effort into his training. I was his go-to cover, a distraction to throw at his minders so he could play with his friends.

This was the vaunted heir of House Talmont? The great scion of the glorious house that demanded my family's unquestioned obedience? This sniveling little whiny boy was supposed to be my superior in every way? I was supposed to cozy up to him?

Not a day had gone by since my grandfather had snatched me from my home that I hadn't hated. My life had been a seething broil, a parade of abuse and misery and loneliness.

I hated my grandfather. I hated House Talmont. I hated every lesson that I was forced to take on pain of punishment.

And, as Augustus and his band of little friends pummeled me in the gut, crooning in victory as if they had actually earned it, as if they hadn't been lazily running away from training exercises so much less brutal than those I was forced to endure every single day…

My hate only grew deeper.

Imagine my surprise when a young, bespeckled girl threw herself out of the third story window, crashing into Heir Augustus d'Talmont's face, foot first.

The heir of the house went flying from the surprise kick, rolling across the field. The girl bounced off him and landed on her feet with perfect poise.

Augustus's friends recoiled.

The boy himself rubbed his bruised face. "What the heck, Catherine?! That hurt!"

Catherine d'Talmont. I'd heard of her before then, of course, but this was the first time I had ever seen her. She was Augustus's first cousin, about the same age as him and myself. She kept mostly to herself, reading in the House's extensive library, and lacked any personal servants as of yet. Augustus never invited her to any of his games, never interacted with her in the slightest.

I had heard rumors that she had been a contender for the heirship some years ago, but then she had manifested with the wrong Concept. Seeing as she lacked House Talmont's signature magic, the position of heir fell into Augustus's lap uncontested.

Catherine, from what I had heard, was a quiet and unobtrusive girl. Definitely not the sort to dropkick a boy from a third story library window.

"It is beneath our station to bully servants," she declared, drolly. Her eyes were locked on her cousin, not once glancing to where I was lying on the ground by her feet. "I suggest you find less puerile amusements, cousin. You are no longer a child."

"We're just playing," Augustus groaned. "Marcus is fine. No need to get upset about things. We are practicing how to fight."

"Perhaps you would be better served by sparring with someone who is permitted to fight back, hm? I imagine it would be more educational."

"What, you? Feh. It would be unchivalrous for me to beat up a girl, you know."

"And it would be improper for me to throw my future Head of House into a lake," Catherine retorted, holding his gaze. "Shall I assume you are declining my offer?"

Augustus looked away. "This is getting boring. Come on guys, let's play something else. I think we left the football by the shed."

The heir led his gaggle of friends away from his cousin. I spared the girl a final glance before I followed, but she did not look at me.

---

It took almost a week before I managed to find Catherine again. With some conniving, I managed to get Augustus to demand I fetch a book for him. I took well advantage of that order to find and approach Catherine in the Library.

I did not waste a single moment approaching her. "Please," I bowed my head as low as I could manage. "Take me on as your Personal Servant."

I needed a master who was willing to protect me, who wouldn't spend their time abusing me. My grandfather would be upset, but he wouldn't be able to argue if a Lady of House Tarmont requested my service specifically.

"I refuse," Catherine said, her eyes never leaving her book.

I clenched my fists. "I can assure you, I am properly qualified. I am more than capable to serve as your protector, to aid you in your tasks. I am training in a variety of skills and arts, and am well educated in all prudent matters." I inhaled. "Please. Allow me to serve you."

Her eyes met mine. They were a piercing brown. She held my gaze.

"I have no desire for servants who do not wish to serve," she said simply.

I grit my teeth. "You are mistaken, my lady. I desire nothing more than to serve you and House Talmont."

"You are lying," she said without a moment's pause. "But don't worry. I am not upset. It is expected for people to lie about that sort of thing."

I held her gaze, refusing to back down. I could see her evaluate me.

"Very well," she said. "I will allow you to make your case, in word and in deed. Convince me of your earnest intent and I will permit you to serve me."

There was a finality to her words, a forgone conclusion already in her mind. I could see that I was already being dismissed, discarded. She was humoring me.

It was in this second meeting, in these first words spoken, that my impression of the girl was solidified.

Catherine d'Talmont was an arrogant jerk.

 

[HypoSoc]

Two men follow us out of the opera house, but we are able to lose them in the winding city streets. Back in the hotel room, My Lady activates a privacy spell. Between it and the hotel's own wards, there is no chance we would be overheard.

I relax, letting the magic of my disguise fall apart. My Concept, Protean is never the most comfortable of abilities, but it is quite useful. My Lady has no such advantage. She peels off the rubber of her face mask in a smooth, surgical motion.

Many among the nobility would balk at using a non-magical solution to any problem. But that only means they are less on the lookout for it. With her practiced hand, My Lady's disguise skills almost match my Protean.

My Lady begins to strip from the butler's uniform, heedless of my presence. I cough and turn away with a blush.

"Lady d'Alsace's servants seemed subpar," I break the silence. "I believe I could have taken all five. If we had killed her right then… I imagine the lady's form would be more useful than the servants we sampled."

"Electra is a decorated combatant." My Lady says simply. "I do not trust my ability to defeat her without drawing attention. No. It is best to mitigate the unknown variables. We must tread carefully."

Taking care to keep My Lady out of sight, I hand her her dress. Her spectacles return to their rightful place.

She assumes a more presentable state and the image is no longer so dangerous.

"The servants you sampled, sketch them out." My Lady commands.

I do so, putting to paper what my magic informed me. Names, faces, proportions, ticks… everything we would need to know for infiltration.

My Lady watches me work in silence.

"That one," she announces, pointing to the left. "The facial structure is more similar to my own. I can pad my shoulders and stomach to match. Elevated shoes will cover the height discrepancy. You will take the other."

"As you say, My Lady." I set my magic to work. Protean crafts the body from its blueprints. In a few hours I would be able to disguise myself impeccably.

Tomorrow, the infiltration will begin.

I hesitate.

"My Lady," I broach, gently. "Lady d'Alsace's offer… have you considered the matter? Not," I quickly clarify, "not the resumption of marriage. Such a ridiculous demand should not be stomached. But fleeing? We have the funds for a comfortable life, the skills to find our own way. If we won't be pursued, then perhaps we should consider making a life out of the reach of our foes. In the Americas, perhaps?"

I know the answer, but I must ask regardless.

My Lady closes her eyes. "In the face of so grave an injury, there is only the single recourse. House Talmont must be avenged. Anything else… anything else and I might as well be smothering the last of its dying embers myself. Fleeing in cowardice, letting these insults go unpunished, it would be the death of my line. What would I be, in any other life?"

"You could be happy…"

"My happiness is immaterial, Marcus. It has never factored in my priorities. I serve the will of House Talmont."

As far as I am considered, My Lady is the only thing of worth from her wretched House. The idea of her throwing away her life to avenge the blasted thing… it gnaws my stomach like nothing else.

Her foolish sense of honor, her pride, her misguided loyalty to the House that would have thrown her away… these are the ugliest parts of the woman before me. How could one look at her and not see a stubborn fool?

But Catherine d'Talmont would not be My Lady if she were anyone else. And this is the kind of person she had always been.

I can see the question in her eyes. I refuse to let her insult me by letting the words leave her lips.

Of course I could flee myself. This feud has nothing to do with me.

But at this moment, I am the only person at My Lady's side. And I refuse to abandon her.

Perhaps I am just as stubborn a fool as her.

---

Infiltration is not particularly difficult.

The Alsace were vassals of the Talmont. Both My Lady and myself are well acquainted with the estate. We have experience with the members of the family, and the manners of the servants.

With my magic and our preparation, we are able to seamlessly insert ourselves among the staff. I spent half my life playing the servant. It is easy to slip into the role.

And so, we gather information. We have time. Neither myself nor My Lady are in a rush. Every habit we can learn, every tick we can witness, every secret we can uncover, all of it would aid our endeavor.

As luck would have it, it only takes a single month before we have a golden opportunity.

"Excellent work, you two," the man before me is Tiberius d'Alsace, the former regent and uncle to the current head of House Talmont. He is an old man, rail-thin, stern. His hair is a long faded red, a grayed-out remnant of its former luster. He gives the appearance of a man who detests joy, who lives his life behind a towering pile of paperwork.

If there is a single person that could be said to manage House Alsace, it is Tiberius. Among the staff, there are rumors that he organized the estate even when his sister, the previous Countess, was still alive.

In terms of ruining House Alsace, he could be considered our number one target. But My Lady's vengeance is more personal.

My lady and myself bow our heads in silence in the face of the praise.

"What I want to know is how a fucking thief got so damn close to the sanctum," the other noble growled. Nero d'Alsace, Tiberius's son, is a burly man with deep red hair and a glare in his eye. His mass speaks of a man who enjoys his food and drink a tad too much. As the first cousin of the current Lord, he would be a clear rallying point should his Head of House be killed. "Were you sleeping on the job, Brutus? Letting your subordinates pick up the slack?"

If both Tiberius and Nero were to die here and now, House Alsace would be devastated. But it would put the Count and his sister on alert. Our only chance is to avoid attention, and strike without a trace.

"There was never any danger in the thief succeeding, My Lords," the third man speaks with a deferential bow. He is a younger man, impeccably attired. Brutus, the bald head butler, had escorted myself and My Lady to the Lords of the estate after we had caught a thief. "I had foreseen the thief's failure just this morning. There was never a reason for alarm. House Alsace remains secure."

Brutus is also the biggest obstacle to killing the two Lords before us. He is, purportedly, a master of divination. Rumors claim that he can foresee any attack on himself or House Alsace. That he was there waiting for us after we had subdued the thief is strong evidence to that claim.

The man is also, supposedly, good friends with Nero. He is something like what I was supposed to be with Augustus, or what my grandfather had been with My Lady's grandfather. His loyalty is unquestionable, and his skill is concerning. He is the type of man who has risen high in his service, and who buys into the delusion of nobility unquestioningly.

"The end is the same, I trust Brutus would have intervened if necessary," Tiberius shakes his head. "Have you discerned the thief's masters?"

"I apologize, My Lord," Brutus bowed his head further. "My scrying efforts have shown no success as of yet. We may be well served by more traditional means."

"Hah!" Nero laughed. "Sounds like a treat. It's been too long since I've been able to let loose on a prisoner. Actually," he turns to me, "how about the two of you take a whack at it? As a reward for catching the bastard. Go wild, take your pound of flesh."

"Master Nero, I must advise against it." Brutus declares with a bow. "Few of my staff are trained in the proper course of interrogation. For such vital information, we should not risk any failure. This delicate task should be left to the hands of our gaoler."

"Brutus is right," Tiberius agrees. "This is not a game. The prisoner will be delivered to Sanson. End of discussion."

"A shame… could I perhaps have a go of it after Sanson has worked his magic?"

"Only if the oaths he extracts do not forbid it. Though I do wish you would find a more productive source of amusement." Tiberius turns to Catherine. "Boy, have the prisoner delivered to Sanson. Tell him to extract anything he can. He knows what promises he is allowed to make on our behalf."

"Belay that," the door to Lord Tiberius's office opens and a strikingly handsome man steps forth.

It is a testament to My Lady's acting skills that she does not clench in anger at his appearance. I can only barely manage the same.

Count Orestes d'Alsace. The Lord of House Alsace. The mastermind behind the fall of House Talmont. My Lady's former betrothed.

My Lady's rage burns for one man more than any other. Orestes is the target of all her scorn.

Nero is not as contained as the two of us. His eyes narrow into a glare at his cousin's entrance. "And what do you mean by that?"

"There is no need to disturb Sanson. I have already had the prisoner freed. Electra is escorting him beyond the estate."

"You what?!" Nero gapes.

"Orestes, explain yourself." Tiberius demands.

Orestes narrows his eyes. "It is my prerogative as the Head of House to do as I will, Uncle. It is not for you to question my decisions."

Tiberius flinches, and lowers his head. "I apologize for my impertinence, My Lord. I would ask that you explain your reasoning so that we may better enact your will."

Nero seems to bristle all the more.

Orestes nods. "The act was inconsequential. We have no need to treat it as anything worth responding to."

"My Lord," Tiberius keeps his head low. "Whether or not the result was worthy of consideration, the attempt was made. This was an attack on House Alsace. We must respond accordingly. Our pride demands it."

"If our pride is so fragile it demands a response to every insult, it is no pride at all." Orestes retorts.

"You are weak, Orestes," Nero growls. "You simply don't wish to shed a little blood. You are a coward, and a selfish one at that. You would weaken our House for your own comfort."

"You are correct on one count, cousin. I am selfish. House Alsace is mine to do with as I wish. I need no more justification than it being for my comfort. This is the true pride of House Alsace: to do what you wish in all circumstances, to never bend or bow before another, no matter what." He turns to the head butler. "Brutus, it did not escape my notice that you came to my uncle before me in this matter."

Brutus bows his head. "I apologize for the appearance of impertinence, My Lord. I foresaw you did not wish to be disturbed, and the matter was urgent."

"Hm… you were correct in your assessment this time." Orestes turns to face us. His eyes seem to pierce through us both.

For a moment, I worry that he is seeing through our disguise. But the gaze passes with a nod.

"Good work. Your efforts will not be forgotten."

He departs without further word. We are dismissed shortly after.

 

[HypoSoc]

I spent three months trying to convince Catherine d'Talmont to take me on as a personal servant. It was not easy. I was still at the mercy of Augustus's whims. And when I was not serving the heir to the house, I had my grandfather's training to deal with, to say nothing of my continued schooling.

Still, I found my ways. I learned to complete tasks quickly and efficiently, so that I could act freely before I would be missed. I woke earlier and slept later to complete my required duties or to finish my lessons in advance. I learned how to get Augustus to dismiss me for the day early, or have him send me on errands that would take me to Catherine. I convinced him to use me and my Protean as an alibi when he wanted to skip his own lessons, or to send me away when he wanted to play with his friends without observation. It all added up.

In these stolen moments of time, I pursued Catherine. Each day I tried to prove myself a suitable servant for her. Each day she would refuse me. But I would not be deterred.

Thankfully, she was easy to find. If she wasn't in the library studying this or that, she was in the yard training her magic or her body. The bespectacled girl only seemed to live in those two places. She was always alone, at that, meaning there was no one to call me out on my truancy.

By this point it had become a matter of stubborn pride. I was barely aware of how much time and effort I was spending on this task.

It was no longer just a matter of escaping Augustus. Rather, I was going to force Catherine to acknowledge me. I dreamed of having her beg for my service. I dreamed of denying her to her face, once she had become suitably desperate. I wanted to savor the look of shock.

It wasn't rational thought driving me. It was spite. And if I had slowed down for even a moment I might have realized it.

But it was too easy to get caught in a rut. It was too tempting to pursue a goal that I had chosen, for better or worse, instead of one that my grandfather had forced upon me. And I found myself unable to consider any alternative.

Each day I would demand a task to prove my commitment, or devise a trick to show off my skills. But each time I was ignored or rejected. And with each day I grew more stubborn.
As a servant to a Great House of the Thaumaturgical League, I had three duties. First, to serve my masters in all their whims. Second, to protect my masters from that which would harm them. Third, to protect the secrets of the House.

There was a priority to these duties. If a lord's life were in danger, our station demanded that we disregard their command if it would see them to safety. If the secrets of the House were at risk, our station demanded we let our patrons die before letting them be stolen. In choosing between saving a lord's life and chasing down a thief, we were to apprehend the thief without hesitation.

My grandfather insisted that a proper servant should be more than capable of handling any incursions without our masters coming to risk, and without their being upset by our conduct. He declared that only a worthless servant would allow such a situation to occur in the first place. A failure in even the least of our duties was an affront to our pride.

Even still, he made sure to drill into me the importance of the House's secrets. Lords could be replaced. New heirs could be born or adopted. Wounds could heal, but a secret stolen was the doom of the entire House.

In the Thaumaturgical League, two things held the nobility above their lessers. The first was their Concept, the unique magic of their bloodline. Second was the generations of research: magic born of study and experimentation, tested in battle, proven in might. It was the accumulating might of ages, passed down from parent to child, growing like an unstoppable avalanche. The hoarded magic of a noble house was the totality of their wealth, and it was jealously guarded, and enviously hunted for.

My grandfather spoke of hunting down thieves. He spoke of infiltrating the enemies of House Talmont to destroy them. The nobility were ever cutthroat in their dealings, and servants like myself were their swords and shields both.

I was only a child, of course. I was not expected to encounter these higher duties for ages to come. Instead, my miserable purpose was limited to serving the whims of children, and to training for the future.

It was to everyone's shock, mine most of all, when I was thrust into the grander role so soon.

"Excellent work, young man," the Marquis d'Talmont congratulated me with a clap on the shoulder. He was an older man, fat and jolly. It was only the second time I had ever spoken with the head of the house. The first had been when I had been bound by oaths of loyalty. "Splendidly done."

I bowed my head in silence, as my grandfather bid me.

In truth, I had not done much. My magic, Protean, had two functions. First, I could take the form of anyone I had studied, inside and out. This included some of their mannerisms and their bearing to give better weight to the disguise.. Second, I could see through the disguises of others. I had noticed a guard concealing his true face and had notified another servant. The infiltrator had been apprehended in short order.

Apparently the would-be thief had known to be on the lookout for my grandfather. They had not known to be on the lookout for me.

"We are ever grateful to serve, My Lord," my grandfather answered in my steed. "I must apologize for my own negligence. The thief should not have evaded me in the first place."

"Nonsense, old friend," the man jovially replied. "We cannot demand that you be everywhere all at once. This is why you are training your grandson. And to such an excellent standard, at that. The boy certainly is you come again."

Something slimy crawled down my spine. I held myself from shuddering.

"Still, such valiant service demands a reward. What say you, boy? What would you ask of me?"

A boon… I didn't let my mind dwell on the subject for even a moment. I knew that I would never be permitted anything.

"My grandson has no need of any remuneration," my grandfather answered in my place. "The act of service is reward enough. The opportunity to be bondmates with your heir is all that one could ask for."

"Hah," the lord laughed. "Augustus surely has a blessing in you. A trusted servant is all that a man could ever desire. Very well, be on then. And let me know if you change your mind."

My grandfather led me out of the lord's study. When we were out of earshot, he spoke. "You did acceptably, boy. Do not let your service falter."

I hitched a breath. My grandfather left before I could say a word.

It took me a moment to regain my breathing, a plan forming in my mind. It was fine that I would never receive a real boon from this. I would make one for myself.

---

"I caught a thief today," I bragged. Catherine was training in the yard when I found her, honing her body and sword forms.

To my great annoyance, she didn't stop. Rather, the arrogant girl just ignored me, as she often did.

My anger flared. "Didn't you hear me? I said I caught a thief."

"I heard you just fine," the girl didn't stop her exercises. "What of it?"

"Didn't you want me to prove my usefulness? Well, I have. Even the Marquis himself acknowledged me."

"I never asked you to prove your utility. Only your earnest intent."

"What more do you want from me?"

"Nothing. I want less of you than you want of me."

Her words were infuriating. I clenched my fists. "You think so little of me. I'm just a worthless servant to you. But what about you? You aren't the heir. You aren't anything. Just an unfavored spare. All you do is study and train, always alone." Burning bridges like this… it didn't matter. I just wanted to hurt the girl in front of me. Months of growing resentment poured out of me, a vile hate. "Do you think that makes you better? Every one of us servants trains as much, no more than you, and that's with all the demands you put on us. The only reason you do it yourself is because nobody likes you. So what makes you so much better?"

Catherine's eyes narrowed. But she said nothing.

"Say something, damn it!" Acknowledge me, I demanded.

There was silence. Then she spoke.

"Do you wish to spar?"

I was caught off guard for a moment. I shook my head. "Are you Augustus now? You know I am not allowed to harm you."

"No. I permit you to come at me at full strength." She tossed me her sword. I caught it without thinking. "I desire a chance to test my progress."

The rapier felt smooth in my grip. The training sword was a better blade than any I had touched before.

I give it a few experimental swishes.

"Don't complain if you come to regret this, my lady," I said, my voice dark.

"Hm." Another sword, one of shining silver, materialized in her hand. "En Guarde."

It was all the warning I had before Catherine leapt at me.

My sword rose to parry just in time.

She was fast. Much faster than I expected. But my grandfather was faster.

I took a steady stance and brought the sword up to meet where she was going to be. Catherine blurred, an image dissolving away.

I twisted. The sword pierced through where my head had been a moment ago. I poured magic through my veins and unleashed a salvo. A crash of wind shot out of the sword in a devastating arc.

Again, Catherine blurred out of the way.

She appeared to my right. In an instant, I formed a shield out of my will and caught her blow.

My shield cracked. The power of her strike was much more than I expected.

I swung around, stabbing the sword at the girl's center of mass.

She caught it in her bare hand. The blade cracked in her grip. She swept her legs and I fell out of my stance, onto the floor.

Catherine's sword rested against my neck. I could only stare up at her.

"Nobility is the perfection of self," the girl stated coldly. "It is the ceaseless demand for excellence. A noble has no need, nor desire, to compare with others. She may only look to herself as an example. A noble with even the smallest flaw has no right to demean another. Nor has she any right to seek the affirmation of others. She has only herself, and cannot demand anything of anyone."

She flicked the sword to the side, releasing it from my neck. It dissolved into motes of light. "I will not contemplate the differences between you and I. Your troubles are your own. I have no right to comment. But I will not be the instrument of your demands. A noble does not allow herself to be used and abused."

With a firm grip, Catherine pulled me to my feet.

I stood, dazed.

"Have a pleasant day, Marcus."

That was the first time she had used my name. I didn't realize she even knew it.

I watched as she departed, stuck in my own thoughts.

---

The next day I found Catherine in the library. I didn't badger her for her protection. Instead I pulled up a book and sat down beside her.

She did not tell me to leave.

 

[HypoSoc]

Our first target, by necessity, is Brutus, the head butler. The ability to see the future is not a magic we can work around. So long as Brutus remains, House Alsace would be able to anticipate any assault.

Twelve hours. That is the limit of the head butler's magic. But within that period, he has a perfect vision of what is to come. Any vision the man sees will come to pass without exception.

If Brutus were on our side, our efforts would be trivial. As an enemy, our goal is impossible. But My Lady judges that we should not try to subvert him. The risk is too great. Only the man's death can allow us to move forward.

After carefully establishing the limit of the man's ability, we set our trap. At five o'clock on the dot, the diviner makes his rounds of the estate, as scheduled.

We follow him into the forest, changing our disguises en route.

The man walks for ten minutes, through the winding trail of the forest. He emerges in a clearing.

Placing himself in the center, he turns around. "You have made a great mistake today," he announces, eyes closed. "I offer you this single chance to surrender, though I know you will not accept."

Catherine and I emerge into the clearing. Neither of us utter a word.

"Very well," Brutus announces. "I would say that you will regret this folly, but you will not live to have the chance."

Brutus adopts a firm stance. In the middle of his forehead a bulging, reddened eye opens. "Observe your doom."

Beside me, Catherine launches herself into a dash, a rapier of glowing silver forming in her hand. I pull a pair of heavy pistols from my hips. Without a moment's hesitation, I fire.

Magically enhanced bullets explode forth. Each has enough energy to crush through a castle wall, and to demolish any ward they might hide. The bullets themselves are an enormous investment, but My Lady did not hesitate to employ the full might of House Talmont's prodigious stockpile.

Brutus inhales and, with a stuttering motion, like light failing to capture the truth, he bends and twists out of the way of each bullet. Each one hits the trees behind him in an explosion of shrapnel.

My Lady stabs with a devastating thrust. Brutus pulls himself out of the way, letting the thrust pass right next to his neck.

I continue firing. I trust my aim. I trust My Lady. My Lady trusts me. There is no risk here as I attempt to pin the three-eyed man in place for Catherine.

Brutus attempts to palm thrust her, but a bullet prevents him from continuing. Fearlessly, Catherine takes advantage of the opening to stab at the man's heart.

Brutus grunts, and a wave of pressure and focus erupts from him. Catherine slides back, but she catches herself elegantly. Another of my bullets shoots for Brutus's head, right through where My Lady had been but a moment before.

I see the butler's third eye strain. His arm stutters and his hand intercepts the bullet. With a distorted motion, his arm swings around, bullet in hand. The projectile twists in an arc and fires for Catherine.

She catches the bullet with the tip of her sword. Diverted, it flies off into the woods, exploding another tree to the side.

Brutus aims a punch at Catherine. I send a bullet towards the ground between them. Dirt bursts as the energy releases. Catching the explosion, Catherine elegantly uses the lift to launch towards Brutus. Her sword strikes down.

Brutus catches the blade in his hand. He winces, blood dripping from his palm, but he is able to avoid a more devastating blow.

First blood to us.

With another wave of exertion, My Lady is again forced back by an invisible force. Brutus kicks up an obscuring mass of dirt.

With a distorted flicker the man is right in front of me. I have a gun aimed right at his head and fire.

At point blank range, the man dodges, his head twisted to the side. His arm rises up to punch me. I catch his blow with the side of one of my pistols.

The shockwave from the force blasts through me, but I keep my grip. This is a man who can shatter stone with his fists alone. But I have dealt with much worse. With my other pistol, I fire for his center of mass.

Brutus smacks my hand away, diverting my shot. I rise up into a kick.

A wave of force threatens to throw me off balance. I somersault back to ride the wave, my gun falling to the ground by his feet. In the space I had just occupied, My Lady thrusts her rapier at Brutus.

Again, he catches it in his hand, squeezing with all his might.

My Lady and I have him boxed in. As one, we activate our prepared talismans, letting them burn in a flash of fire. For the smallest second, the space around us warps. A portal opens deep into the earth below, occluding our view.

In that same moment, I detonate the bullet in my gun's chamber.

Brutus releases another wave of will, but it is not enough. The force of the explosion overcomes him. It passes harmlessly through the portal without hitting Catherine or I.

The head butler collapses to the ground in the crater the explosion formed. He is bruised, bloody, panting.

Another talisman is swiftly placed on his body, paralyzing it in place. It would last perhaps a minute at most.

"You won't…" he pants, "you won't win. You are doomed to fail. I foresaw it. Do you think I am afraid of pain?"

My Lady gives me a glance. I nod.

With the blood I took from Brutus's hand, I activate Protean. In a few agonizing moments, I am wearing a copy of his battered body as my own.

Another use of magic forces the paralyzed Brutus into the shape I had worn.

"Is this, perhaps, the image you foresaw, Brutus?" My Lady says, coldly. Brutus freezes in shock. "Ah, no, perhaps not. A moment, please."

My Lady jumps into the crater, some small distance away. She draws a red line on her own throat, and sets herself in a heap. "How does it look?"

"Quite convincing, My Lady." I nod.

"Wait!"

"Do it," My Lady commands.

I slam my first down. The head butler's head is crushed into a pulp.

I begin digging a grave for the body. My Lady still does not move. It is important that we retroactively establish the scene. We don't know exactly what Brutus saw or for how long.

Despite my anxiety, no backup arrives for Brutus.

"It is fortunate the man was so arrogant," Catherine says. "If he did not trust his foresight so much, he might have warned the House about the attack on his person."

"It is the nature of a servant." I shrug. "We are to effortlessly complete our tasks. Any deviation is a failure of our own pride." I could easily see my own grandfather falling for such a trap. I could see him insisting that it was the only proper course.

A servant is the one who serves, he had claimed. A servant does not permit themselves to be aided. The staff of House Alsace and House Talmont do not differ in this way.

Idiots, the lot of them.

My Lady closes her eyes. I take the opportunity to help clean the dirt and debris from her costume. The fake blood on her neck wipes off cleanly.

"Take a proper sample of Brutus," My Lady commands. "His form will be quite useful in our aims. I will activate the dummy for your previous disguise."

"As you will," I bow my head.

 

[HypoSoc]

Time passed. Weeks. Months. Years. My training with my grandfather continued, as did my studies. I managed to establish a new normal. So long as I was available the moment the heir requested my presence, my grandfather had no room for complaints. So, of course, I learned how to get Augustus to stop thinking about me.

The fact that all the other servants were eager to cozy up with him certainly helped. Not having to cater to the brat constantly made the situation far more tolerable.

The rest of my time I spend with Catherine. The library became something of a second home, quietly studying this and that. The girl seldom spoke, and she never commanded me. I noticed, after a bit, that she never asked me to do anything for her at all. It was the same as how she never asked any person for anything.

It was… annoying, in some ways, being treated just like anyone else in her mind. But more than that, it was part of a larger trend I had noticed. It was like she was subjecting herself to some stoic austerity: refusing to partake in luxuries or enjoy creature comforts.

On one occasion, after I caught her stomach rumbling. As I was already on the way to eat myself, I decided to fetch her some small sandwiches.

Catherine scrunched her nose at the aid, but she couldn't deny her own hunger, and accepted the food. Her thanks were tinged with a level of annoyance.

The frustration on her face was more delicious than the food.

From there I made a point of trying to anticipate her needs, fetching books, serving tea, grabbing her notes… being helpful in all the mindless ways that had been forcibly drilled into my skull.

Each time she would scrunch her nose at me, the warring desires of eschewing comforts and not being rude. It was a satisfying dilemma to observe.

Once, in a fit of whimsy, I challenged her to a game of chess. To my surprise she accepted. Seeing as my schooling included a level of proficiency in the game and how Catherine had never spent a moment on amusement in her life, I crushed her quite easily.

I found her the next day reading through chess books with the same fervor she had applied to every other subject. I won the rematch that day, but it was a much closer thing.

Perhaps I rubbed her face in her losses a bit too much, as she made sure to pay it back tenfold on the sparring grounds where she dominated.

Catherine wasn't cruel about it. She never used more force than necessary. Not like my grandfather did. But she didn't hold back. Ever.

Sparring was exhausting, but it was satisfying in some ways. I relished in every blow I managed to land, and Catherine never begrudged me for them.

To my annoyance, I never won. But unlike lessons with my grandfather, victory seemed attainable. It felt like I could stretch a bit further and grasp it in my hands. But Catherine always stayed frustratingly out of reach.

If she stood still for a moment, I would overtake her. But the girl was too stubborn… even when I tried to load her up on sweets.

Life went on as it did, until the day it didn't.

---

On my fourteenth birthday, my grandfather died.

There was no warning. The day before he had trained me as he always did. His lesson was unremarkable. Even the last words he had spoken to me were just a normal lecture.

In the morning I was informed he had passed.

It was a wasting curse, they said. Some years before I was born, the man had been struck in the line of duty. Everyone knew he was going to die. It was only a matter of when.

My grandfather had just gone on with his life as normal, continuing his duties until the moment he collapsed.

It was just like the bastard.

As per his wishes, there was no funeral. Marquis d'Talmont had a small gravestone erected on the estate, and my grandfather was unceremoniously buried.

I stood at the plot in silence. The Marquis stood vigil with me at the start, mourning in his own way, I supposed. He left after a long hour.

I was alone at the grave. I couldn't really put my thoughts into words. I just stared at the disturbed dirt and carved granite.

I couldn't really believe it. My grandfather had been like a mountain: imposing, impossible, always present. It felt like, at any moment, the man would rise from the earth and chastise me for laziness, or force me into a spar.

My feelings were a muffled mess.

It would have been easier if I just hated the man. I wanted to. The bastard had ruined my life. He had stolen me from my home. Tortured me. Forced me into a world I hated. By all rights, I should have loathed him.

I wanted to be able to scream and shout in joy that the monster had finally been felled. As far as I had learned, it was the painful end he rightfully deserved.

Except, the world felt hollow. I wasn't satisfied. I wasn't happy.

I was lost.

It wasn't even that I wanted to kill the man myself. I don't think I could bring myself to that. But if I could have beaten him, surpassed him, forced him to admit he was wrong…

In the end, I couldn't even imagine that. Overcoming my grandfather made less sense than him just dying out of nowhere.

For better or worse, my grandfather had been the singular force in my life for the past five years. He had been the constant, miserable presence, the center of the world he had forced me into. My grandfather was the chain around my neck that suffocated me.

And now that chain had rusted away, and I was left adrift.

I stood in silence.

The sun dipped in the sky. The shadow of the gravestone grew longer.

I closed my eyes and sighed.

At some point, Catherine had appeared and stood beside me. The girl had waited patiently in silence for some hours.

"I apologize for my rudeness," I began, when words finally returned to me.

She shook her head, interrupting me. She held out a briefcase, wordlessly.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Money. Letters of reference. It will be enough to allow you to establish yourself wherever you wish, doing whatever you wish."

"What?" my mind was still a mess. I couldn't process her words.

"Your grandfather is no longer present to keep you in bondage. You are now free to do as you desire. This is simple remuneration for the time already spent in service."

Her words hit me. I had never spoken to Catherine about my grandfather. Not once. I hadn't talked about myself or my problems before. We hadn't spoken on anything near the subject in our time together. And yet…

She was right. I was free. There was nothing keeping me here anymore. Nobody who would have hunted me down. Augustus would have barely noticed. The other servants would have been happier for the lack of competition. Even without the money, I could simply leave. Between my magic and my training, I could make my way in the world on my own.

With that briefcase, it would have been even easier. I could have been comfortable. Happy. Far, far, away from the estate of House Talmont.

And still, I hesitated. I could not reach for the briefcase.

"I don't have to choose now, do I?"

Catherine shook her head. "No. The money is available whenever you wish. Simply let me know."

"I will." The weight in my chest departed. I didn't have to decide now. The key to my freedom would be in reach whenever I so desired.

I could leave tomorrow. Or the next day. At any time I wished.

Later, I decided. I wanted to at least beat Catherine in a spar, before I left.

 

[HypoSoc]

For all that Brutus had been the head butler, he had also been a solitary man. It is not particularly difficult to assume his life. I had more than enough time to learn his habits and my Protean can cover some of the gaps.

My Lady and I set my previous identity to take an "extended vacation" and, for the time being, we have a bit of breathing room.

We both know the clock is ticking. We will not be able to hide Brutus's death forever. But he is also a great opportunity.

Case in point is his friendship with Nero. No doubt, Nero d'Alsace is the one man most likely to be able to see that Brutus has been replaced. But it is also true that Brutus is the man best positioned to kill Nero.

As is his habit, Nero invites Brutus to a hunt in the estate's great forest. As I had seen him do before, he eschews any other servant. And so I, in Brutus's skin, attend to the lord.

My Lady follows from a distance, out of sight and out of earshot.

Nero is agitated as we walk. I remain calm. His words are perfunctory. My responses are subservient.

When we are some distance away from the manor, Nero turns to me. "Do we have privacy, Brutus?"

I nod. "There is nobody around to hear us speak." Nobody but My Lady.

"Good. Then… I know Electra is departing this afternoon. Is this the time? Is Orestes vulnerable? What does your magic show?"

I hold myself still.

This isn't entirely unexpected. It is obvious Nero isn't happy with Orestes' leadership. But I didn't think he would be so brazen about it. Everything I have seen of Nero points to him as a lazy slob. He did not exercise or train nearly as often as the rest of his family. Every bit of effort was given grudgingly. He is a hedonist before anything else.

Brutus's involvement is far more shocking. How long have they been planning?

"No," I say simply. "This is not the time. Orestes remains vigilant."

The idea of helping Nero overthrow his cousin is quickly discarded. Nero is not our ally. My Lady desires the destruction of House Alsace in its entirety. Permitting a remnant under Nero is unacceptable.

"That conniving bastard," Nero hissed, seemingly unaware of my consternation. "He'll let his guard down one day, I guarantee it. Perhaps we should be looking to dispose of Electra on a more permanent basis… arrange a mission she will not return from…"

The brute thinks nothing of plotting away right in front of me. He trusts Brutus completely.

I abuse that trust by thrusting a hidden blade straight for his heart.

The Alsace family Concept is known as Nemean. Every acknowledged member of the noble house can make their skin completely indestructible. A skilled member of the family, supposedly, can harden themselves in the blink of an eye.

Nero proves to be so skilled, as my knife cracks and shatters against his flesh, leaving a gaping cut in his shirt.

Or, seeing the gormless expression on his face, he might just keep his magic going at all times. It fits more with the lazy attitude I have seen.

"What," he stares, dumbfounded. I bring up my pistol and shoot him directly in the face.

The ward-shattering bullet does nothing, but it was worth a try.

Nero's meaty fist locks around the barrel of the gun. He crushes between his fingers.

"Treachery? Mind control?" Nero growls. "It doesn't matter. You're dead either way!"

Faster than one would expect from a man his size, Nero launches his other fist for my face. There isn't much technique in his form, but I can see the bulging strength of his blow.

I let go of the ruined gun and tilt slightly out of the way, avoiding the lumbering fist. There is not a hint of practice in the blow, more suited for a tavern brawl than a proper fight. It is a far cry from Brutus's smooth precision. But even a drunkard's swing can be deadly.

My Lady darts forward and stabs her blade into the man's back. Like my knife, it crumples without piercing. My Lady replaces her broken weapon, silver reforming from nothing.

"Two… it's no matter. One, two, five, one hundred… I'll pummel you all the same!" With a roar, Nero claps his hands together and his hands catch ablaze. "Rah!"

Nero's next punch unleashes a massive blast of flame. The heat feels as deadly as the hulking fist behind it.

This one I can't simply sidestep. I leap out of the way of the fire, tossing a number of throwing knives at his face.

Nero flinches, his eyes closing. The knives bounce off his eyelids.

He swings around blindly, sending fist and flame towards My Lady. She flickers out of the way, her sword thrust aimed for the inside of the man's nostril. A wild fist forces her to abort her attack, the blade cracking harmlessly against the man's cheek.

I strike at the man's feet with a kick of my own. My technique topples the man to the ground. He roars and punches the ground. It quakes under his blow, a wave of cracked earth exploding out with monumental force.

My Lady and I jump to avoid the brunt of the attack. Nero tumbles himself off the ground. He ignores the potshots I take to his back, his eyes on My Lady.

My Lady kicks off the air, forming bits of shining silver at her feet to provide force. She launches straight for Nero at blinding speed.

The redheaded man grunts, and manages to catch her in his two bruning fists.

He grins savagely.

My Lady blows out the poison she had stored in her cheeks.

Nero yelps and hacks and coughs as the noxious purple gas covers his face entirely.

"What… no…" his aborted scream falters as his body seizes up entirely, locking in place.

My Lady takes her first breath in the entire fight.

Then she unceremoniously stabs her rapier through the man's eye and unleashes a burst of magic from within his skull.

Nero d'Alsace, the redhead scion and would be heir of House Alsace, falls dead.

A casual gust of wind sees the poison dispersed. I exhale sharply.

"His strength was lacking," My Lady comments dryly. "I cannot understand how he ever hoped to supplant his cousins. Electra would have eaten him alive if he had actually tried his little coup."

"The minds of the dim are a mystery," I reply with as much drollness as I can muster.

My Lady smiles. "Ah, I don't wish to dirty myself by even attempting to imagine. Our vengeance is proceeding quite smoothly, it should seem."

"Best not to bring ill fortune on ourselves."

"Indeed. Shall you continue acting as Brutus, or shall I assume the servant's face?"

"Nero will be under greater scrutiny, and the mass difference is larger. We should take advantage of Protean and have me assume his form." It feels inappropriate for My Lady to maintain a servant's form when a noble is available, but matters of practicality triumph.

"I shall defer to your expertise. Help me mold the third eye, will you?"

 

[HypoSoc]

When I turned fifteen, Catherine was betrothed.

House Talmont, like most of the nobility, was very particular about its engagements. Houses were unofficially split into two distinct sections: the core, which consisted of the Head, their heir, and their immediate family; and the periphery, which were loyal members who were subtly politically marginalized to ensure a unity in the house. Each section married for different reasons, but always with purpose.

An heir would marry to serve the continuation of the line. They might marry a vassal to shore up loyalty, a rival house to begin an alliance, or a member of their extended family to cycle the blood of their Concept back into the fray. Whoever they married would be brought into the fold, losing their own name, so that their heirs might maintain the house.

Those in the periphery were assets. They might marry upwards, to cultivate influence in their liege's house. They might marry fresh talent to strengthen the blood. Or they might establish a new branch house to serve as a vassal. That they could discard their name was an option the House would make full use of.

Catherine's betrothal was not a surprise. If anything, it was more surprising how late it had begun. This reflected more on the Marquis's slow deliberation than it did on Catherine herself.

For much of her early life, Catherine had been a candidate for heir. The Marquis had been hesitant to choose between his grandchildren. After his children died, prudence demanded he keep a spare, in case one should prove unsuitable or unavailable.

But there was no putting off the decision forever.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lady," the older boy greeted, pulling up Catherine's hand for a kiss. "It is a grand misfortune that I had no opportunity to enjoy your company before this day. Though I believe you are well acquainted with my dearest younger brother?"

Orestes d'Alsace was the heir to House Alsace, the most notable of House Talmont's vassals. The Marquis had agreed to the match between the man and Catherine, in the name of shoring up their loyalty. This was the first official meeting between the two, and our first visit to the Alsace estate.

I had come as a chaperone for the meeting. My counterpart, a butler much older than myself, stood in the corner of the room opposite me, silent and waiting.

Orestes was a young man, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years of age. He had a handsome face and braided silver locks. He was a stark contrast from his little brother, one of Augustus's compatriots. Orestes wore himself cleanly and confidently, compared to his cowering younger brother. His suit was impeccable and stylish, and his poise spoke of a perfect gallantry. He stood taller than me, with a cleaner frame, and had a more attractive form.

I didn't like him in the slightest.

Catherine nodded. "Atreus is a common sight in the estate, being such a close friend of my Lord Cousin. Though I will admit we have not spoken a great deal."

"Hah, my younger brother always has been a shy one," there was real mirth in his eyes. "Perhaps you will find the opportunity to speak with him more, now, or with my dear sister, Electra."

"I imagine such opportunities will be plentiful." Catherine said. "If I may be so bold, My Lord, might I suggest we partake in a game?"

"A game, My Lady?"

"Chess, My Lord, if that is acceptable to you. I would hope that some simple diversion might allow us to get a better understanding of one another."

"Chess is it? I'll admit I lack much experience with such amusements, but I am familiar with the rules." He smiled, but it lacked the same spark as before. "If you will forgive my inadequacies, I will be happy to play."

"Excellent. Marcus?"

Without further word, I swiftly set up the chess board we had brought, finding space away from the finger foods. The other servant watched me warily.

There was something of a deliberate aggression to our actions, in bringing the game ourselves and not relying on the hospitality of our hosts. But, as the nominal superior house it was out right. I trusted Catherine to make the most of it.

Her eyes were focused on Orestes, watching his reaction.

"As I proposed the game, I will permit you to be white," Catherine said. Her eyes gleamed behind her spectacles.

"Quite generous of you, My Lady." Orestes paused. Only after a great deliberation did he finally move his pawn.

Catherine responded swiftly and without hesitation. It was a memorized opening at this point, and one she was well acquainted with.

Orestes took another long moment before moving his piece. It was not the next step in the sequence.

Catherine took her next turn.

The two went back and forth, playing in silence. Catherine was confident and decisive with her every action. Orestes was slow and deliberate in turn, dragging the game into a long hour. But the man slowly sped up his play. The game continued apace until it was Catherine who hesitated, taking a long moment to choose her move.

But the scales had tilted and momentum had been lost. Though Catherine's face remained placid, I knew her well enough to see the subtle signs of displeasure in her expression.

"Unless I am mistaken," Orestes said, breaking his silence for the first time, "I have you in twelve moves."

Catherine frowned, and nodded. "It is as you said, My Lord. I have lost. It is difficult to imagine that you have not played before."

"It is an interesting pastime, no doubt. I can see the appeal of a leisure activity such as this." He smiled. "Perhaps we might find more opportunities in the future. It would be prudent to enjoy one another's company as much as we can, if we are to be wed. But alas," he shook his head. "The time my mother has permitted me has elapsed. It would be unseemly for me to keep you longer. We must find another time to speak. Perhaps next month, if I may be so bold?"

"That is agreeable, My Lord." Catherine bowed her head.

"Then, allow me to see you off, My Lady."

With a final kiss on her hand, we were escorted from the estate.

---

"I don't like him," I said as soon as we were back at the Talmont estate. "He's like some Prince Charming character. It feels like an act to me. But what do you think?"

"Everyone presents themselves at their best." Catherine said simply. "I was doing much the same. As for my thoughts… he's handsome enough I suppose."

That caught me up short. "That… you like him, then?"

"I need more time to form an opinion. As you said, he was acting for the station, as is proper for a first meeting. I imagine it will take more time for anything of substance to be unveiled."

"Hmm. I think I saw enough. I can't believe he had the gall to lie about not playing chess before."

Catherine frowned. "And I do not believe he was lying."

She looked especially frustrated at that. I switched gears, moving to comfort her. "Well, he's older. He's probably had more time to train up mental enhancement magic. There's nothing to dwell on with that. But even beside that, the audacity of the man, having you attend him instead of him attending you. He's acting above his station."

"It is only appropriate, as I will be marrying into his family."

I scowled. "I don't know what the Marquis is thinking, marrying you down like that. If you were joining a ducal house, it would be one thing. If Orestes were to join House Talmont instead, that would be another."

"The heir of a house cannot marry out of it," Catherine denied. "This would not be happening at all if that were the case."

"Perhaps it shouldn't be happening at all. You are worth more than this sham of an engagement."

"You have a distorted sense of my station."

"You may not have the House's Concept, but you are still a member of a Great House."

Narcissus was the Concept of House Talmont. It allowed the family to charm people with feelings of infatuation. Skilled members of the family could even charm inanimate objects so that they would "refuse to harm" the nobles.

Narcissus was the Emblem of House Talmont. No one without the ability could ever be accepted as the head.

"Marcus," Catherine's eyes were flat. "It is not that I do not have Narcissus. It is that I don't have any Concept at all."

I almost bit my tongue. The idea that Catherine lacked a Concept… having innate magic was the mark of nobility. It separated the blessed from the commoners. Even servants were expected to have some Concept or other, to better distinguish from the unwashed, magicless hordes in the world at large. One didn't even have to use it. They simply needed to have access to magic that nobody else could learn. They needed to be able to prove their own nobility.

I knew that Catherine didn't use her Concept in our spars. I did not realize that she lacked one entirely. I had simply assumed it to be like my own: unsuited for the rigors for combat.

I exhaled. "That doesn't matter. The fact you are so effective with only skills anyone can learn is a credit to your dedication. You are still the pinnacle of nobility."

Catherine smiled sadly. "That is kind of you to say, but it fails to reflect the world at large. The simple matter is that this match is the best I can expect. No… it is even better than one could hope for. That the Marquis was able to arrange anything at all, much less a proper match, is a testament to his skill. In other houses I might have been smothered, to hide the shame."

I swallowed. "The Marquis wouldn't have done that."

"No, he wouldn't," Catherine agreed. "As proven by the fact he did not. But my father would have. Had the Marquis died and not his sons, I would not be alive right now."

I didn't want to think about that. "Then… the marriage… is it what you want?"

"It is immaterial," Catherine shrugged. "My marriage will serve House Talmont, as determined by my Head of House. If he had demanded I marry a commoner to bring in new blood, I would have. If he had demanded I stay unwed, I would have. He is doing me kindness enough, requesting such an extended betrothal. It is more than I require." She exhaled. "Marrying a Count is not an ordeal, nor do I believe Orestes will be an odious husband. Perhaps I will come to love him."

"Even so… shouldn't you hope for something more than 'not an ordeal?' What if he is awful? What if you don't come to love him?"

"As I said, it is immaterial. I serve House Talmont. It is my purpose as a member."

I clenched my teeth. The idea was painful to me. Catherine was many things, but she didn't deserve to just be sold off unhappily. If she were enthusiastic, that would be one thing. But…

"Once you marry, will you even be part of House Talmont anymore?"

"..." Catherine did not have an answer to that.

 

[HypoSoc]

A proper hunt requires patience, an assassination all the more so. While it is tempting to strike at our next target immediately, we must be prudent. For all that every moment represented a greater risk of discovery, acting at the wrong moment risked complete failure.

As such, My Lady and I did not pursue Tiberius. He would call for his son in time, and for his head butler as well. We would not raise his suspicions by seeking him out ourselves.

Over the following days, Tiberius calls to consult with his head butler or myself on various matters. It is either one of us or the other, or there is a witness in the room. The opportunity is never perfect. But we hold ourselves well, and play our roles. My Lady's vigilance and observation substitute well for the head butler's divination.

There is something disgusting about playing the lout. Brutus, at least, had been a pinnacle of stoic servitude. It was an easy enough face to wear from my experience. Nero, in contrast, was a carouser, an avid consumer of drink and slothful indulgence. I am forced to gamble and drink and engage in petty competition over the days. It is good that My Lady is not subjected to the annoyance of aping his dreary conduct. Only the magical hints of my Protean allow me to make a convincing showing.

It is to my great fortune that the man lacks a wife or a mistress.

We bide our time, waiting for the opportunity. If need be, we would create one ourselves.

Today, Tiberius invites his son to his office for a private conversation. There are no witnesses this time. If My Lady weren't indisposed with her form's duties, it would be an ideal time to strike.

Tiberius offers me a stiff drink, some expensive whisky both he and this body favor. I accept it with a nod, settling in the comfortable chair.

We clink glasses, in observation of polite custom. I down the shot in a single gulp. Tiberius is more circumspect.

"The Thaumaturgical League is staging a swift intervention near Helsinki next week. One of The Scientist's dogs has come off the leash, and we are to make an example of them. You will be leading the engagement." The words are a command.

I snort. "Come off it, father. This again? Have Electra sort it out. It's all the bitch is good for. Let her serve as House Alsace's contribution."

"Mind your decorum, boy! I have allowed you to grow lax in your age, doing nothing of value."

"I've been fostering friendships! Maintaining ties with our vassals! Entreating allies!" I scoff. My disdain is real, but it is for Nero's actions, not Tiberius's command. "It's certainly more valuable than some worthless scuffle. The League demands we aid them? Fine, they can have our men. But I don't see why I need to be involved."

"You have shied away from too much, boy. You have allowed Electra to earn the honors and recognition for our house. But when she marries, the recognition will leave with her!"

"As if anyone would deign to marry the she-devil."

"She is your cousin, boy! And you will treat her with respect!" Tiberius scowls. "And there are your prospects to think of. Without coating yourself in honors, I will have great difficulty finding you a match. You will do as you are told, boy."

"Fine! Fine! I will slog off to some worthless backwoods and bring honor to the house. Are you happy, father?"

"Hm." Tiberius closes his eyes. "As a matter of fact, I am not." There is a weight to his words, a cold anger that surpassed the shouting from before.

I feel my throat stiffen. I feel my body stiffen. A cold knife seems to dance through my nerves. I can't move.

My gaze darts to the empty shot glass in my hand, then to the one before Tiberius: the glass he never drank.

"F…father?" I barely manage to get the words to escape my closing throat.

"Your disguise is superb. If I didn't know better I would have believed the Protean still walked among us." His words are cold, focused. "But did you really believe I wouldn't recognize my own son?!"

He crushes the whisky bottle in his hand. The expensive liquor crashes to the flood. The glass crumbles in his indestructible fist.

"I…" My heart is frozen. It's not just the poison. How could he have found me? My mannerisms were perfect. My answers were always correct. I know that Protean did not steer me wrong. All the time I spent studying Nero should have made me indistinguishable.

He flings a shard of glass at my face. It leaves a deep cut on my cheek. With the poison in my veins I can't move an inch.

"You failed to copy Nemean at least. That insult would have been intolerable. Save your breath. Save your lies. You can speak all you want when you are in Sanson's care."

Nemean. It must have come down to Nemean. Nero never disabled his Concept, or so Catherine and I had learned in the fight. But my Concept could not copy it. If my skin had creased at all, brushing against the arm of a chair, against a shot glass…

Someone on the lookout would have seen it. And Tiberius had noticed.

Tiberius rings a bell. A servant promptly arrives. She holds herself in perfect poise, despite the scene in front of her.

"Have this infiltrator delivered to the gaoler." He commands. "And fetch someone to clean this mess."

The servant bows her head. "At once, My Lord."

My sight is obscured and I am dragged away.

I can only silently ask My Lady for forgiveness.

 

[HypoSoc]

About a week after our first meeting with Orestes, his little sister invited herself over to the Talmont Estate.

Electra d'Alsace was a young girl, perhaps twelve at the oldest. Her hair was a striking silver like both her brothers, but she held herself with less care than either. Her sundress and sunhat were impeccable, as befitting her station, but her posture was slouched in a way that would have had my grandfather beat me bloody.

In the garden of the Talmont estate, snacking on the light treats we had hastily put together for her arrival, she enthusiastically chatted away.

"And the Retiarius fought with a net and a trident. A trident of all things. It doesn't sound very practical to me, but it must have been amazing to watch. Sanson tells me that he knew a man who fought with a magic trident back when he was young. Oh, Sanson is a servant back home. He guards the dungeons. But as I was saying, Sanson says he knew a man with a trident, but that person didn't use a net. I asked my uncle if he would hire someone who fought with trident and a net like a proper Retiarius, but uncle said it wasn't really practical to hire based on weaponry. And I told him, 'Obviously it isn't practical, it's just a cool thing, and I don't think anyone has a Retriarius on staff, so nobody would expect it.' But he shooed me away. Anyway, I think they are really cool, but if I have to say, my favorite gladiator has to be a Cestus. They fought with just a little bit of hard leather wrapped around their fists, just punching their enemies to death. They didn't even wear any armor at all, other than the glove. I think they could have spikes on their gloves, but that sounds like cheating to me, so it isn't as interesting, and they wouldn't be my favorite if they did. But, anyway, that's my favorite gladiator. So what's your favorite gladiator?"

The constant, unending babble ended in a sudden question to my lady.

Catherine frowned lightly, keeping herself well positioned upon the outdoor seat that had been set up for them. It was a stark contrast to the younger girl who was practically lounging. "I cannot say that I have any particular preference in that domain."

"Feh. That's boring," Electra declared. "You're boring."

Catherine twitched.

I held in my own chuckle at her expense. Catherine was rarely so off balance.

"Lady Alsace," Catherine offered, taking advantage of the first opening she had had in the whole meeting. "I must admit I am confused as to your purpose here. If you are seeking your brother, Atreus, we can fetch him promptly."

"No. I'm here to see you," Electra insisted. "You're the one who's supposed to be marrying my brother. So I'm here to figure you out."

"Figure me out?"

"Yeah!" she nodded. "I need to make sure you are good enough to be my sister. You're pretty enough, I suppose. But you need to really impress me if you think you deserve my brother."

The little girl spoke so brazenly, as if Catherine wouldn't have been the one marrying down. I may not have been ecstatic about the betrothal, but it was obvious that Catherine more than deserved the rank.

"And you," the little girl pointed at me. "You're her servant right? So you'd be coming with her? You're boring too. Say something. Don't just stand around like a statue."

"It is not my place to speak without being addressed," I responded with a bow of my head, hiding my own amusement. My grandfather had beat that lesson into me often enough.

"Well, I'm addressing you. So say something. Don't be so boring."

I glanced towards Catherine for her permission. She gave a silent nod. "Very well. If I must speak, I will say that the Lady Alsace would likely be unhappy to hear that her daughter was casting aspersions on the suitability of her liege lord's house, and that it is not your place to make judgements in her stead."

"Hmph," Electra grunted.

"I would also say," I continued, "that my favorite gladiator is the Anabata: the blindfolded ones."

"Hmm," she nodded, much more pleased. "That's a good one."

Catherine gave me a strange look. I shrugged. There were many books to read in the library and some topics were more interesting than others.

"Anyway," the girl continued. "It's not a matter of houses. Orestes is the best, so you have to prove you are worthy of him. What can you do? Can you fight? How good is your magic?"

Catherine pursed her lips, some level of challenge in her expression "I believe myself to be more than adequate by any reasonable evaluation."

"Oh, really? Watch me." Electra jumped to her feet. She went up to a rosebush and carelessly plucked one of the flowers, ignoring the thorns. She examined its stem, rolling it through her fingers. I could see the magic as she worked it, a glowing wisp of wasted energy. No doubt Catherine could see the same.

Electra tensed. "Hah!" With a yell and a step, she threw the rose, stem forward. It wobbled in the air a bit, until it hit the trunk of a tree a small distance away. The bark splintered. The flower lodged itself in the wood.

"Yeah!" Electra cheered. "You saw that, right? Can you do it?"

Catherine rose to her feet and went for the same bush. With care, she plucked a rose, avoiding the thorns. There was no show of her magic as she worked her will.

With a silent exhale, Catherine took a step forward, launching the flower. It flew straight and true, not for the tree, but for the small stone wall decorating the garden. Stone cracked, and the flower lodged itself into place.

The gardener would be able to smooth over the stone when he next came around. The damage to the tree and the rose bush were more troublesome.

Electra huffed. "Okay. That was pretty cool. I suppose you can be my sister. But!" She raised her finger high. "That's still not good enough for Orestes. So I guess you'll have to marry Atreus instead."

"I do not believe that would meet the terms of the agreement between our heads of houses." Catherine rejected.

"Feh. Who cares what the old people think?" Electra stuck out her tongue. "We don't have to do things just because they say so. We're going to be the ones in charge when they all croak, so why bother?"

In some ways, I couldn't help but agree. But mostly I was wondering just how lenient House Alsace was that their daughter could so openly voice such thoughts.

Catherine gazed darkly from behind her spectacles. "How selfish…"

"Selfish? What about it? They're the ones making demands. Why is it selfish to ignore stupid things?"

"It's not simply selfish towards our heads of houses. It is selfish towards the past, to take all that our ancestors have given us and waste it away, irrespective of their wishes. It is selfish to the future, starving our descendants in the cradle by not providing them all that they are owed."

"That just sounds like the past and the future are the ones being selfish, demanding so much from us."

"I am not so short-sighted." Catherine glared. "When I perish, I don't want that to be the end of me. I would hope that my descendents would honor me as much as I hope to honor my predecessors."

Electra scowled. "Hmph. Maybe I was wrong. You aren't even good enough for Atreus."

"Did somebody say my name?"

Atreus d'Alsace jogged over from across the grounds. Age had not come evenly to him, leaving him lanky and wire-framed. If he was anything like his brother, he would grow into his frame over the next few years, but for the time being, he was still awkward in looks and gait.

The rest of Augustus's gaggle of vassals and servants came jogging in tow.

"Oh, Electra!" Atreus called out when he got in sight. "I didn't realize you were here? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Hmph. I didn't see a reason to bother," his younger sister turned up her nose.

"How's Orestes doing? I haven't seen him lately."

Electra glared. "Maybe if you spent more time at the manor instead of here, you'd have the chance."

"Hah. Well, you know… mother wants me here. And I don't want to get in the way of Orestes's training… oh, Augustus!" He gestured to the Talmont heir. "I don't know if you've had the chance to meet my sister before. This is Electra."

Augustus sauntered forth. He looked like he was mimicking some gentleman he seemed, but he didn't have the poise to look like anything other than a buffoon. "It is a pleasure to meet a lady and future vassal," he reached for the girl's hand in greeting.

Electra pulled her hand away. "Ew. You're too tubby."

"What?" Augustus squawked in outrage. Catherine held back a snort at the incredulous scene. It was all I could do to keep my own face still.

"You clearly eat too much and don't exercise enough," Electra did not back down. "Brother, you should take some of your lord's fat. Between the two of you, you'd average out to be one normal man."

Augustus turned a deep red. Not enough people insulted the brat to his face. Atreus just chuckled.

"Hah. You have to forgive my little sister, Augustus. She's always been a gadfly." Atreus reached over and grabbed Electra. He dug his fist into the top of her head, rubbing it harshly. "But she doesn't mean anything by it."

"Ah! Quit it!" Electra complained, but there was something of a smile on her lips, despite the treatment. I supposed that, for two users of Nemean, such roughhousing was less impactful. "I said stop!"

"You need to apologize to Augustus first. And me, I suppose."

"Fine, fine. I'm sorry, My Lord. I shouldn't have drawn attention to your flabbiness." The fist dug in deeper. "Eek! I mean, sorry. I was rude for no reason."

"There we go." Atreus released his sibling from his grip. "And what about me, then?"

Electra kicked him in the shin.

"Oof." Atreus barreled over. Electra stuck her tongue out.

Augustus looked on with a strange expression. "You really act differently around your sister, Atreus."

"Ah… you know how it is with siblings," the boy shrugged it off, before blinking. "Oh, right. You're an only kid. But, Reggie, you know what I mean, right?"

Reggie, another of Augustus's cohort, nodded. "Yeah. I don't have a little sister, but my little brother is the same way."

"My older sister is like that too," a third agreed.

Augustus shrugged. "Well, there are advantages to being an only child." He blinked. "Catherine, when did you get here?"

There was a twitch in her eye. "Perhaps, My Lord, you should invest more time into observational practice?"

"Hah, I'm kidding, I'm kidding. You're too quiet, Catherine. So, you are here meeting your future family? That makes sense, I suppose."

"Oh, right. You're marrying Orestes," Atreus nodded. "Should we… should we get to know each other a bit better then? We were planning to kick the ball around a bit. Did you want to join? You too, Electra." He glazed over at Augustus. "If that's all right?"

Augustus kept a stone-faced expression, betraying nothing.

Catherine eyed the amassed boys stoically. "I do not believe that is necessary." Her words would sound harsh to untrained ears. But I knew Catherine just wasn't very comfortable around groups of people.

"Well, I'm going to join. I'll kick all of your butts!" Electra declared, jumping to her feet.

Augustus laughed. "Hah, we'll see about that, then." The rest of his entourage joined in. And the mass of them trampled off.

Catherine took a deep breath. I began to clean up the dishes.

"She's quite an energetic one," I commented.

"Exhausting…" Catherine bemoaned. "I can't believe anyone could be like that at that age."

"I'm sure she'll grow out of it. You did, after all." I pursed my lips in mock thought. "Well, that's a lie. You haven't changed a bit in all the time I've known you. Like a strict, forty-year-old librarian from the moment you were born."

"And you've only gotten more immature as the years have passed. Mind the liberties you are taking, Marcus." The smile on her lips betrayed her thoughts.

"Hm. Shall I brew some tea and fetch your books."

"You shall."

 

[HypoSoc]

I wake up in a cell, alone.

Immediately my panic subsides.

If I am alone, that means Catherine wasn't caught. If I'm awake that means I am not dead.

The situation is difficult, but it isn't complicated. My job now is to escape. My Lady can keep herself safe. I don't need to worry about her. All I need to do is avoid compromising her, and find the best opportunity to leave.

She will rescue me as soon as it is likely to be successful. I will try my best to escape before she has the opportunity.

The cells beneath the Alsace estate are not like those that had been at the Talmont's. The prison here is clean, well lit. There are no rusty bars or dripping pipes. The lights do not flicker or dim.

Tempered glass divides me from the room at large, leaving the entire cell visible at all times. Part of the cell hinges like a door, but the hinges are on the other side of the glass. There is a glass box embedded in the wall, with openings on either side. There is no access to a keyhole or the hinges from the inside.

I test the glass. As I expect, it is magically reinforced. I assume the protections are as great as House Alsace can afford.

I have a chair, a small table, and a cot in the room with me, alongside a small toilet. All of them are bolted to the floor. The cot has a simple blanket and a pillow. There is a small speaker embedded in the table, and what I imagine to be a microphone.

There are no air holes in the glass. Instead, there seem to be air filters feeding the cell. I imagine the entire cell is air tight, and paralytics can likely be fed in through those filters. Even if I could turn into gas, I don't think I'd be able to get out of the prison.

This isn't a prison I can escape on my own. I would need the cooperation of someone on the outside. A servant, perhaps? The gaoler?

I would bide my time.

From the speaker I hear some lumbering steps. I can see a door open in the corner of the room. An old man walks through.

He is extremely large, outright obese. His head is perfectly bald, and his skin is covered in old pox scars and deep wrinkles. His face is misshapen with a bulbous nose. Despite all that, he has an easy smile on his lips as he carries a large cloche in his hands.

This has to be Sanson, the gaoler. In my time infiltrating the estate I had not interacted with the man. He is supposedly the reclusive sort, who spends his time away from the other servants. I had heard he was ugly, but his appearance is even more off-putting than I could have expected.

"Oh? You are awake then? Good timing!" He cheers. His voice only comes from the speaker. I cannot hear anything through the glass at all. "Before anything else, I'm going to ask you to not do that shapeshifting thing where you turn invisible or pretend to be someone else so I open the door to check. I've seen movies, you know, I'm not going to fall for it!" He laughs, his smile reaching his eyes. "Oh, my name is Sanson. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Might I know your name, sir?"

I say nothing in the face of the strange, ugly man.

"The silent type. No worries. Take your time. You'll talk when you feel comfortable, and not a moment sooner. I won't try to rush you." Sanson nods sagely. "Oh, right! I brought you some food!" He pulls off the cover of the dish. I can't smell a thing, but it appears to be an extraordinary display of quality food. It's roasted goose, from the looks of it, with a number of sides. I am immediately put on guard. "Just let me know if you want it."

He waits a moment, but I remain silent.

"Hm." Sanson nods with a smile. "You aren't hungry then? Excellent!" He places the dish on a table, and sits himself down. Then, to my shock, he starts to dig in. "You see," he says between mouthfuls, "I figured out a trick some time back. Every time we get a new prisoner, I go to the chef and say: 'Gustav! You must make your most excellent meal! I need to establish a rapport with the prisoner!' And every time, Gustav does so."

Sanson takes a meaty bite of the fowl, sighing happily.

"Then, when I bring it to you, you always turn it down! Amazing! You think it's a trick, there's some poison in it or some such nonsense. Maybe you just think you are supposed to be stoic and silent and the like. Either way, I'm the one who gets to enjoy it." He slaps his bloated stomach. "As you can see, it's been quite a successful ploy for me! Haha!" He laughs, and devours more food.

I watch in disgusted fascination as the man obliterates the plate before my eyes. After cleaning the last bits of meat off the bone, he lets out a loud and content burp.

"There we are." He smacks his lips. "My compliments to the chef. Ah, don't you worry. If you get hungry later, I'll ask Gustav to make another dish. Can't have our guests go hungry, not on my watch. We don't do that kind of thing here."

This is a ploy, I realize. It's an attempt to baffle me into giving something away. I would stay silent in the face of this nonsense just as I would in the face of torture.

"I know what you are thinking," Sanson continues, ignoring my silence. "'I'm trapped in a cell. These people are going to torture and kill me.' Sad as it is to say, you wouldn't be wrong for most Houses. My profession tends to not have the most empathic folk in charge. As far as I'm concerned, none of that unpleasantness needs to happen. Not here." He nods to himself or to me. It is hard to tell.

"See, the important truth is, servants like us, we're tools. Now that's got some bad connotations, but there are some benefits that come with it. Them nobles… they aren't particularly angry at the knife when they get shivved, you see?. They're angry at the person who stabbed them. They don't see the point in going out of their way to tarnish the knife either. You're the knife, if that isn't clear. I don't know how obvious my metaphor is."

I can't imagine a single person who wouldn't understand such a blatant metaphor. Something in my expression must have conveyed that message, as Sanson started chuckling.

"Hah! Yeah. That's right. You're a sharp one. I don't have to dumb things down for you. 'So,' you must be thinking, 'if the nobs don't care about me, why am I in a cell at all?' And the answer to that question is simple: you may or may not know something of interest. The masters aren't keen on letting you go before you spill. But!" He emphasizes the word strongly, "once you do, you'll be free to go. Pat on your back and best of luck. Swear on my mother."

I don't believe a word of this nonsense.

"You don't believe a word of it, do you? Hah, I can see it in your eyes. But it doesn't matter. It's the truth of things. But all we really need to know is who sent you. As far as House Alsace is concerned, that's all that really matters. We'd be tickled pink if you could tell us what happened to Lord Nero too."

They didn't know? They had to have suspected. And only Nero?

"Oh…" Sanson's smile dims. "Poor Lord Tiberius will be sad to hear it. Unpleasant, bloody business, all of this. Makes me glad I'm just an insignificant little commoner."

He has to be reading my mind, even through the protections House Talmont had engraved into me. I immediately engage the active countermeasures I have been taught, cycling my magic, keeping my mind clear. I wouldn't compromise My Lady due to a stray thought.

"You're using magic now? Ah, I see. I'm not reading your mind, just your face. If Lord Nero were trussed up somewhere, you'd have reacted to the question. I've been in this business a long time, sir. You learn some tricks. No need for fancy mind reading or truth serums or that claptrap. You can't trust a word from a man unless they give it to you earnestly and honestly. There's no magic to get around that, in the end."

So he says, but I don't trust it. My shields will stay up.

"Suit yourself. Waste your magic if it keeps you comfortable. I won't bother you about it." He snorts, a loud, mucus-filled sound. "That's what it's about. Building rapport. And that's not just about food, or accommodations. Like the pillow. Did you notice the pillow? I picked it out myself. It's just like the one I use for my own bed. Nice and soft. But, yeah. We don't need to talk about anything important, if you don't feel like sharing. Say anything you'd like. I'm here to listen."

To speak is to risk giving something away. The ugly man is outright admitting his ploy. I refuse to open my mouth.

"Nothing to say. That's all right. We both have time. And I can do enough talking for the both of us. Now… I don't think you've got any sort of mind control in your brain. We checked for that sort of thing. So, you're staying silent because you're afraid, or because you're loyal. If it's the first… well, we'll get you feeling brave soon enough, don't you worry. But if you're loyal…"

Sanson exhales. "See that would be a bit of a problem. It's a nice thing, being loyal, you know? Someone does you a good turn, you want to do them a good turn back. That's how it is for me, at least. House Alsace took me in, way back when, you know? See… some seventy-something years ago, I was born a noble myself. You wouldn't have heard of the house, just some minor Barony that's long gone now. Bloody business. In a way, it's fortunate I wasn't part of it. Anyway, I was born without a Concept, so my pap was looking to off me, but to my luck, the Count d'Alsace himself intervened and took me in. He would be the current Count's great grandpappy. Good man. Orestes reminds me of him, strikingly similar. So, I lucked out of getting a knife to the throat and ended up here, and they raised me right, even though they didn't have to. Trust me, I was as ugly a kid as I am now. Hah!"

His laughter echoes from the speaker.

"I've been here ever since. I got to watch the little tykes grow up. Cute little things. Julia and Tiberius… Iphigenia, Orestes, Atreus, Electra. Nero and Claudius… shame to see so many of them pass before me… just Orestes and Electra left… and Tiberius is hardly a tyke anymore even if I remember him toddling around. But that's life. Bloody business… you just need to make things nicer where you can. Live without regrets and die without grudges. Take this advice from an ugly old fat bastard. Hah!"

He laughs, but it is more somber.

"But loyalty. That's good. Means you were treated right. You want to give as much as you were given. Admirable. Lord Alsace is not a spiteful man. There might be a way to resolve this whole issue without a big mess. If you can let us know who sent you, we might be able to—"

Sanson is interrupted by a glowing silver rapier stabbing through his skull. The man collapses in a heap without another word.

My Lady is here.

"Catherine… My Lady, you arrived far quicker than I had anticipated."

She is disguised as a new servant: a maid she had not used before. "It was an optimal time to retrieve you, Marcus." She takes a set of keys from the corpse.

"I could have waited. The cell is not so uncomfortable."

"I did not wish to wait." She unlocks the cell. I step through the opened door.

"What's the situation? Are we retreating?"

"No. I have established new identities for ourselves. We can reinsert into the staff without difficulty."

"As expected from My Lady." I reshape my form to match one of the other servants I had sampled. Losing the weight off my frame feels liberating. "We will not be able to disguise as any of the Alsace, not without failing under scrutiny."

"We have fifteen minutes. We must set the scene for a plausible escape. We can dispose of 'Brutus' at the same time."

"At once, My Lady."

 

[HypoSoc]

"Ah, Marcus, there you are."

Augustus sought me out one afternoon. This was notable as, for one, he was alone, rather than wrangling his gaggle of brown-nosers. For another, the heir apparent of House Talmont never really paid much mind to me anymore. I was still available for the minutiae of tasks that came up, either from Augustus himself or the other servants, but it was generally understood that I was Catherine's servant.

Being the only one, that was generally accepted as a reasonable division of the household. The Talmonts did not begrudge Catherine my presence, and the other servants were satisfied to avoid the "dead end" that they viewed My Lady to be.

For Augustus to actively search for me was a stark departure. My grandfather would have been rolling in his grave for it to ever occur.

But the bastard was long dead, and no one would chastise me for my "failure."

"My Lord, how might I assist you?" I still owed allegiance to the Talmonts in general. I was obligated to hear the request. I put aside the duster and stepped down from the chandelier.

"Right! I have been hoping to practice my skill with Narcissus, but I fear my companions and the other servants may have become accustomed to it. I wish to examine the effects on one who spends less time in my presence. It occurred to me that you would be an effective target, closer to some foe I might expect on my excursions."

Ah. I hid my distaste. In truth, I had no reasonable way to avoid such unpleasantry. Augustus's magic was not injurious in any true sense. I could not argue that it constituted undue harm. Nor could I claim it would interfere with my other duties.

I didn't know if the brat was aware of this all. Either he was forcing me with his position, or he was completely oblivious to the implications. I didn't know which was worse.

"When would you like to practice, My Lord?" Of course, I kept my true thoughts to myself.

"I see no reason why here and now would not work."

"As you wish, My Lord."

I did my best to brace myself. I could feel Augustus work his magic immediately.

Augustus's manifestation of Narcissus differed from his relatives'. The current Marquis, I had heard, could create deep bonds of friendship. According to some of the servants who had experienced it, the feeling was akin to going out for a long night of drinking with the lord, all condensed into an instant.

For Augustus's departed father and uncle, their magic had supposedly been a more… lurid… form of love. The maids who had experienced it were far less likely to speak of the matter, but there was some fondness to their recollections.

Augustus's form of Narcissus was, thankfully, neither as intense nor as… intimate. The boy rather cultivated a level of respect and admiration towards anyone looking at him. His words had a sweet weight to them, his bearing drew attention. It introduced some level of trust and respect coupled with distance, as one might obey a beloved general. Charisma was, perhaps, the best word to describe the ephemeral sensation, made all the more stark by its presence. It allowed one to easily ignore his many, many faults.

When Augustus used his magic, he had all the appearance of a man worth following. I could feel certain in his decisions, as my confidence in myself drained away.

"How about that, then?" the man asked. "Suppose you were my enemy right now. Do you think you could strike me?"

"No," I answered immediately. I was overcome by the thought of the consequences. I knew, intimately well, how striking the heir of House Talmont would go for me. Augustus's magic engraved such thoughts into my mind. "It feels like it would be madness to try, a miserable situation to contemplate."

"Excellent." Augustus smiled. I could feel his confidence, lifting my own.

"But," I continued, my desire to be of aid bringing the words to my mouth almost unbidden, "I would be remiss to omit, My Lord, that, though it feels madness to attack you, I can easily imagine a madman choosing to do so. If there were some twisted mind who did not fear consequences… someone who sought their own destruction, they could, quite easily, seek their end in your fall."

Augustus frowned. "Concerning. Rabid beasts or hopeless fools… I can imagine magic that could induce such a state. I will need to find a way to address this weakness. I would hate to be toppled by some disposable peon thrown out at me with no hope. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Marcus."

The magic dissipated.

I took a deep breath.

There was a click. I was moving before I knew what was happening.

I threw myself into Augustus, tackling him out of the way. The wall beside him exploded in a blast of fire and dust.

The noise shot the hearing out of my ears. My eyes blurred. I could feel the shockwaves of further explosions. My back burned in a hot flash of pain.

A gray figure emerged in the corner of my eye, weapon poised.

My throwing knife embedded itself in its center of mass. The gray figure popped, as insubstantial as a bubble. My next knife took out the one that had been beside it. I had a moment to glimpse the thing.

It was like a washed out silhouette of a person, colored entirely gray. It lacked any distinct features, face or clothing. In its hands were real weapons, which clattered to the ground when the body holding them popped.

Augustus scrambled on the ground beneath me. He was saying something, but I could not hear. I ignored him, throwing my daggers at the other gray figures surrounding me. Each one popped in turn before they could fire their weapons.

A trio of servants rushed into the room, fresh and healthy. They immediately took positions around Augustus, helping him to his feet and setting up warding positions around him. One of them said something to me, but my hearing had yet to recover. I indicated as much.

The servant frowned. He gestured towards the Marquis's office. I nodded and ran off, trusting the servants to see Augustus to safety.

But I did not run for the Marquis. Instead, I ran for the library.

Every servant in the building would be hunting down the perpetrator or aiding the Head of House. Nobody would think to help Catherine. Already, I could see a cadre of servants swarm for Marquis's office.

I cycled my magic, trying to recover my sense of hearing as I moved. Vague sounds, explosions, gunshots, shouting filtered in.

The manor was awash with scars and debris. A great number of explosions had been set off in the place, not just the one that had hit me. I scrambled past the collapsed stairwell to the third floor and made my way to the library.

I burst through the door to see a gray figure aiming a gun right for me. Its fingers clenched for the trigger.

A glowing silver rapier stabbed through its head. The figure popped. Its gun fell to the ground without firing.

"Marcus," Catherine offered.

"My Lady," I replied numbly. I had been stupid, reckless. But I didn't have time to dwell on it. "We need to get you to safety. We can't know how many more bombs have been planted."

"The Marquis? Augustus?"

"Augustus is safe. The Marquis was well attended, last I saw."

"Very well," Catherine nodded. "After you?"

I nodded. I threw another knife at one of the gray figures as it formed and made my way to the Library window. Checking the grounds below and seeing them secure, I lept.

Catherine followed.

---

The pair of assassins assaulting the manor were found shortly. The summoner had been bunkered up some distance away while their compatriot offered a defense. Both were dispatched quickly. The survivor was brought in for interrogation.

By luck or skill, nobody ended up dying in the assault, though many servants suffered similar injuries as myself. The damage to the manor was extensive, but ultimately fixable. House Talmont would be lodging in their winter residence while repairs took place.

The general mood was anxious. I found myself alone in the gardens with Catherine as the estate busied itself in preparation for departure.

"It astounds me that the fools even made the attempt," I commented to Catherine. "Considering how unsuccessful it was, especially. What could drive them to such things?"

"I would imagine they felt they had some chance of success. Sadly, the delusion and incompetence do little to narrow down the culprits."

"Truly? Are there so many possibilities?"

"House Talmont has many enemies," she said without much emotion.

I frowned. "The Marquis is an amicable sort. I can't imagine him making enemies with anyone but the most vile."

Catherine shook her head. "The Marquis's personal tastes matter little. Many of our enemies are born of past grudges. Many are born of our current actions. In the eyes of our enemies, the crimes of House Talmont are many."

"Crimes?"

"In their eyes," Catherine repeated, insisting. "House Talmont complies with the League. We are not outlaws to ignore the laws that govern society. Just as our enemies do. But it would be… myopic… to ignore how our actions could be viewed harshly."

I said nothing, waiting to see if she would continue.

"The houses of nobility act in their own interests. None of us are above sabotage, theft, desecration. To protect ourselves we eliminate enemies. To ensure our prosperity we cut threats in the vine. We snatch promising vassals from our rivals only to bleed them dry. We disrupt missions to deny glory to our foes. We hunt down vulnerable heirs so that our adversaries are left without a future. We conspire to place ourselves in positions of power within the League and abuse them for personal gain." Each of these crimes was listed without care or passion. "Only the most naive of Houses fail to participate in this level of subterfuge. House Talmont is not special in this manner."

Her indifferent depiction of the world of nobles was uncomfortable. I knew very well that the world of servants was full of duplicity and selfish advancement. I had been a victim of it. But I had been under the impression the nobility was simply lazy and entitled: playing petty games of status like children as they enjoyed the luxuries of their station.

I had not realized theirs was a cutthroat world of their own making. If anything, my opinion of the lazy bastards fell.

"House Talmont is especially unpopular, however," Catherine continued. "Narcissus is not a popular concept. My House has abused it quite frequently over the centuries. Breaking engagements, stealing servants, bewitching foes into subservient roles, marrying above our station… love is a weapon House Talmont has wielded to its great advantage. My own mother was ensnared by my father, despite a previous engagement. I would not be surprised if it were her old house, or the house she was meant to have joined, that struck this day."

I bit my tongue. Catherine's mother had passed without explanation many years ago, right after her father. The rumors among the staff claimed it was a suicide. I had wondered if it was related to Catherine's condition coming to light. But now I was forced to consider an even darker explanation: where her husband's death had released her from her spell, and where she could not accept the world she had been forced into.

"You don't sound outraged about it." I commented with a frown. "Do you approve?"

"This is not a matter of approval or disapproval," she replied blandly, pushing up her spectacles. "The lords of House Talmont acted in the House's best interests. That was only right and proper."

So she said, but I wanted to dig at it deeper. Catherine was many things, but she was not malicious. "Were they? If the actions created grudges, if it created lasting enemies for the house, could it not be said that it was against the House Talmont's interests?"

From the sounds of it, the nobles fought because they fought. They made enemies because they made enemies. It was circular logic to no benefit, and that made it all the more infuriating.

My grandfather had tried to instill a deep respect for nobility in me. All he had accomplished was fostering an annoyance at the hypocrisy.

If the nobility were as grand as my grandfather had claimed, perhaps they would be worth serving. But the reality failed to live up to the delusion.

I didn't mind serving Catherine because she was my friend. I didn't think I would bother with anyone else.

Catherine closed her eyes. "There would be enemies regardless. The other Houses would attack even if we did not. I cannot claim to have the full context, but I can trust that my forbearers made their choices with proper deliberation. I will not apologize."

This was not the first time I was struck by the heretical thought that Catherine would have taken well to my grandfather's lessons. Her trust in nobility matched the old man's rabid zeal. I could admit that even if I hated the comparison.

"That said…" she seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if she were committing a sin. "I will admit a personal distaste. In a position of strength, which House Talmont ought to pursue, such underhanded tactics should never be required. To better exemplify our own superiority, we could refrain from such base concerns. We would not require such short-term thinking."

I nodded. That was as much of a denunciation as Catherine would give. I wouldn't push her harder than that.

In the end, it didn't matter. Catherine was not in a position to make these decisions, and neither was I. But it helped prove that My Lady was better than the dregs. It was a nice, spiteful rejection of my bastard of a grandfather.

---

One week after the attack, the culprit was determined: a rival Marquessate of unimportant distinction. I was conscripted for the retaliatory strike.

It was the first time I killed a man.

 

[HypoSoc]

Tiberius glares, a deep red in his face. There is a storming fury in his eyes unmatched by any I have seen. "Absolutely not! I forbid it! Not a single soul is to leave the estate!"

In contrast, Electra stands with a lazy disdain, taking a long drag on a cigarette. She raises a single, bored brow. "You forbid it? I was unaware you had any standing to dictate the matters of House Alsace."

"You know damn well what I mean, girl! We had a Protean infiltrator! For all we know they are still among our staff!" Tiberius rages. He is, of course, entirely correct in his assertions. Both My Lady and myself are present to witness the exchange, having both been swept up in Electra's round up for volunteers for Helsinki. The whole of the estate had been under lockdown since my escape, but we had yet to be identified, despite the intense scrutiny. "You would let the bastard escape for your folly!"

Electra exhales, blowing a puff of smoke right in her uncle's face. "The folly has already occurred. You failed to secure your captive. Let us not compound your mistakes."

"Your cousin is dead, Electra! My son!"

"Your oaf of a son was a lazy, covetous wastrel. Had he done his minimum duty to our House, he would not have fallen prey so easily."

"You are a swine of a girl." Tiberius growls. "Incapable of empathy, vile and inhuman. Fine! If the death of your own flesh and blood matters nothing to you, then consider your selfish nature. Nothing is more important than the infiltrator. You cannot even comprehend how much the Protean accomplished in his prime. If this new one is a fraction as competent, a fraction as loyal to House Talmont, then the security of our house is at risk! You are jeopardizing your own life and the life of your brother!"

Electra took another long, slow drag of her cigarette. "Uncle, are we not leal members of the Thaumaturgical League? Are we not duty bound to answer any summons? To accept any mission?"

Tiberius grits his teeth. "The wellbeing of the House is more important than our fealty to the League."

Electra smiled. The expression looked cruel on her lips. "And it is in our House's best interests to obey the commands of the League, lest we invite trouble. We wouldn't want to appear weak, now, would we?" She blows another puff of smoke. "Your permission is irrelevant. I have already spoken with Orestes about the matter. I will be leaving, and I will be taking a full complement with me."

Tiberius clenches his fists, but does not move to stop her.

"Come," Electra demands to the assembled servants. "The jet is waiting. We will not delay further."

Catherine, myself, and five others follow Electra out of the estate.

---

House Alsace's private jet is quite spacious on the inside. It is more like a well-furnished parlor than anything else. With only eight occupants, we have ample room on the comfortable seating.

It is smaller than the one House Talmont possessed, but it is just as luxurious.

Electra's attendant, a stern man named Anthony who My Lady and I had considered replacing, hands out copies of a dossier to all present.

"The target is one Dr. Afanasy Aleksandrovich Taskin, a researcher of some renown within the Scientist's organization." Anthony explains as I and a few others thumb through the papers. "His research has consistently encroached on the Thaumaturgical League's law. Our division has commanded his death, so we will be seeing the matter through."

The Scientist… I know very little about the second Vice Director of the Thaumaturgical League and even less about his division. But rumors paint them as unscrupulous madmen who would damn the world for the sake of their own curiosity. I have heard it to be a cutthroat meritocracy: a division of commoners with only a few noble dregs. It is supposedly quite different from the proper League under Lord Charlemagne which Catherine and I are sworn to.

I have heard The Scientist himself mocked as a simple Vav, though I don't have high opinions of the slothful nobles who made such japes. I can't help but wonder how different a division without entrenched nobility must be.

The dossier I am reading lists details on the man's base and the expected defenses. It also covers some of his experiments. My eyes catch on the words.

"He's researching B̵̰͗l̷̻̊i̷̱̾ǵ̵͓h̶͈̿t̸̯̍?" one of the younger servants gasps. "Trying to create it?"

B̵̰͗l̷̻̊i̷̱̾ǵ̵͓h̶͈̿t̸̯̍… It's something of a horror story and a fairy tale. A pure white substance that could infest anything, proliferate wildly, and consume all. It could not be destroyed or cured, and any who had been infested would work to spread it as much as they were able. It is a cancer on reality itself. It is said that, once a person has become infected, even speaking their name could unleash the virulent plague. Anyone who had succumbed needed to be burned out of memory as a matter of course.

In the past, the Thaumaturgical League had been forced to literally tear out chunks of space and time in order to cordon it off. Every time B̵̰͗l̷̻̊i̷̱̾ǵ̵͓h̶͈̿t̸̯̍ infested the world, the world would be forever scarred by the containment methods. The last outbreak had been over a century ago, but the Thaumaturgical League remains ever on alert.

"Lady Electra," My Lady says. "Forgive my impertinence. But if this Dr. Taskin is truly researching such a thing… Are we a sufficient force? Should it not be left in the hands of Lord Charlemagne and his Court?"

My Lady would never be so cowardly as to ask such a question, but the form she is using would indeed.

Electra scoffs. "No need to be so concerned. Taskin is a madman, and an incompetent one at that. If there were any risk he could possibly succeed, the League's diviners would have caught it." She shakes her head. "No. At best he's aping at some pale facsimile. He is to be killed not for the risk he poses, but for the temerity of even attempting such foolishness."

My Lady nods in deference.

Anthony draws attention back to himself with a cough. "Study the maps. Choke points and potential ambush points have been explicitly marked out. We will not allow ourselves to be so foolish as to be caught by the man's defenses. We will be exterminating Taskin and any compatriots on site. After the criminals are disposed of, we will destroy the research. We will be landing outside the village hosting the laboratory in approximately two hours. Prepare yourselves."

"Yes sir." I speak in time with the other servants.

It does not escape my notice that this mission would be the perfect opportunity to assassinate Electra. Having her die amongst enemies would minimize suspicion, even with Tiberius on alert for a shapeshifter.

But a quick look at My Lady disabuses me of the thought. Catherine, despite the circumstances, remains a loyal member of the Thaumaturgical League. She would not allow us to sabotage any mission such as this.

And, despite everything, I find myself agreeing. A madman who would intentionally pursue such horrible ends is not someone I would suffer.

I set myself to memorizing every detail in the packet.

---

Electra proves to be a competent commander, leading the seven of us through the town and the laboratory in turn. We manage to infiltrate, silently dispose of the staff, and free the captured test subjects. Even Dr. Taskin himself perishes without issue.

It is what comes after that is the problem.

I would generally consider myself to be well-experienced when it comes to combat. As part of my training, I spar almost every day against a variety of opponents with varying weapons and abilities. I have been taught all that is due to a servant of a noble house and have honed it to an artform. I have even been on a handful of Thaumaturgical League assignments, as part of my duties to House Talmont. I would say the swift dispatch of Brutus and Nero would make my skills self-evident.

None of that prepared me for this horror.

A hulking beast of rotting flesh sprints towards me. I scramble to ignite the air between us before its virulent spores can work their poison. The very beast in front of me is a stark example of what would happen should a single germ touch my flesh.

My sword cracks against the monster's hardened carapace. I do not expect it to do anything better. Only a single weapon in our arsenal has proven effective against the beast's pustulating armor, and our supply of said grenades is limited. But I can use the sword as leverage to force myself out of the way of the noxious claw barreling for me.

My magic is pulsing, my heart is bursting from my chest. I trap a dagger inside the monster's gaping, spore-fumed maw and toss a grenade inside. The beast that used to be an innocent Finn shudders and cracks as space itself collapses inside it.

I roll out of the way of the next attack, firing my gun wildly in an attempt to get some breathing room. Two more of these fungal golems are on me. I spray fire wildly for the spores, vainly attempting to stay out of reach.

All around me, my fellows are in similar, dire straits. The whole of this small Finnish town is completely overrun. I don't know how many have died. I don't know how many have been converted into these beasts. Most damning of all, I have lost track of Catherine.

Our goal was to exterminate a single mad dog. Instead we are forced to fight the monstrosities he created.

What sort of insanity would drive a man to devise these horrors? What madness would permit such a man to unleash them? This last act of spite, born of a dying lunatic, might very well kill us all.

If he had launched it at a truly populated city, rather than this tiny village, the word itself may have been doomed. Though the infection might just spread either way. I could scarcely contemplate how much worse true B̵̰͗l̷̻̊i̷̱̾ǵ̵͓h̶͈̿t̸̯̍ would have been.

Perhaps the Vice Director would come himself to annihilate this tide of rot. But I would be dead either way.

The cobblestone beneath me shudders and crumbles. The earth shakes. I watch, in horror, as the very building behind me rises to its slumping height, a work of wood and stone infected by the spores.

It swipes at me with a grotesque limb. Prone on the ground, I have enough time to appreciate its deceptive speed.

There's a flash. The monstrous building shudders. It cracks in half.

Fungal stonework collapses in a heap as Electra bursts through the rubble. Her unadorned hand slices through the indestructible carapace of the two beasts assaulting me, splattering them with ease.

Electra glares at me. "On your feet, servant! You don't have my permission to die yet!" Her skin glows red with her Nemean. She flicks her hands, cleaning them of the accumulated gore. "We have monsters to slay!"

"I'm low on grenades," I gasp. "I can't kill any more without them."

"Feh! Then you're on fire duty. Burn every stone of this blasted town. I don't want a single spore surviving. Evacuate any Vavs you find. Sterilize them completely before you let them go." She tosses me a pair of grenades. I struggle to catch them, but manage. "Keep yourself safe. I haven't lost anyone under my command before, and I will be damned if you make a failure out of me!"

With a roar, Electra charges back into the fray: an indistinguishable blur of violence effortlessly cleaving through the monsters in her path.

I take a deep breath, reprime my fire runes, and set myself back to work.

I don't have time to think. I can only live in this endless hellish moment one step at a time.

 

[HypoSoc]

The downfall of House Talmont began when I was seventeen.

Rumors flooded through the estate that Lord Charlemagne was calling the banners for a new Crusade. The excitement was palpable. The person who, perhaps, best exemplified it was Augustus.

"A Crusade!" the young man crooned to his entourage in the parlor. "A Crusade! Who could have imagined that we would behold a Crusade?!"

The primary purpose of the Thaumaturgical League was to safeguard the world and its magics. Lord Charlemagne, as the most senior Vice Director of the League was not content to sit back and allow dangers to come. He and his most trusted fellows searched for threats high and low among the vast infinite realities that made up Creation.

Whenever a threat was discovered, Lord Charlemagne would rally his division in a Grand Crusade, bringing the might of the League to some other world to destroy its ability to wage war. It was a preemptive strike to protect us from invaders, a noble calling to defend our world.

And, more importantly for many in the League, it was an opportunity to cloak oneself in glory, to prove one's mettle, and to acquire the vast wealth of other worlds. It was not just the material either. Other worlds promised new secrets of magic which the noble houses coveted greatly.

On Campaign, under the harsh command of Lord Charlegmane, even the most bitter of rival houses would stay their hands against one another. Competition came in the form of achieving the greatest victories, not sabotage.

Houses have risen to grand heights through Crusade, in wealth, magic, and prestige. Individuals achieved renown that could strengthen their prospects. And the League itself grew stronger for destroying its foes.

Every noble in the League, from Lord Charlemagne himself to the meanest of petty barons clamored for a Crusade.

There was little wonder it drew so much excitement.

"Antoine! Your aunt participated in the last Crusade, correct? The one from ten years ago?" Augustus demanded. "What was it like? What stories does she tell?"

"Ah!" Antoine, future Count of House Hanriot, and a boy of about fifteen jumped to his feet upon being addressed. "Aunt Louise… yes!" He nodded. "She went on the expedition with the Twenty-Third Crusade. The world they visited was strange. There was no color at all. Light didn't work the same way there. Lord Charlemagne's mages were able to find a solution so that nobody was blind, but she said it was still strange to see. The world itself was completely barren, no plants or the like, and no water. Instead the inhabitants seemed to eat the dirt itself. There were some crystals, you see, like quartz, but they sparked like bits of electricity. They were mixed into every part of the world, like bits of sand in everything. You could even find big caves made entirely of the substance. There were animals like earthworms as large as your arm that just dug through the ground eating it, and bigger mawed beasts with long tongues that lived in the caves like bears, but they were terrified of every noise. Aunt Louise said she saw some fools try to eat the crystals, and apparently it tasted like salt, but she never tried it herself. All supplies had to be ferried through the portals and there was a big rear guard to defend it all. But my aunt was part of the Van!" He proclaimed proudly.

"But the battles?" Augustus prodded. "The wildlife does not sound particularly dangerous."

"Well, there were some issues, especially with the worms. Some of them could get extremely big. Bigger than the estate. They didn't have any mouth or anything, since they just ate the dirt through their skin, but they would sometimes plow into camp and make messes of things. Apparently they couldn't sense anything at all! They couldn't see anything or feel anything if you ripped their flesh apart, and they just kept coming and pushing everything around. Aunt Louise says they would have been a huge problem if they actually were trying to attack or could react at all. Eventually they learned to set dirt without any crystals in it under the camp and the worms stopped coming. All the enemy Hives were set up like that."

"Hives?" one of the other boys asked.

"Right… that's what my aunt says they called the alien settlements. They were massive mounds of earth, huge alien cities made out of the dirt, stacked up like a pyramid… no there's a better word for it, starts with a Z, I think…"

"Ziggurat?"

"Yeah, that," he nodded. "But like thirty stories high. The gravity was lighter and the dirt made for strong building material, so these things could be huge. The entire Hive was one big building. It had rooms and sections and stuff, but everything in a Hive was connected. That's why they were called Hives. That, plus the fact the aliens had bug-eyes and hard skin that looked a bit like an insect. There were something like three hundred or four hundred of these Hives across the world, but not all of them used magic. Lord Charlemagne had his commanders split the expedition to face off against the magic using Hives and take them down. They would cut off communications, use illusions to keep any of the other Hives from noticing, and lay siege to them."

There were murmurs of approval at that.

"The one my aunt fought used a lot of lightning. The whole Hive was set up as a ritual to call massive electrical storms as far as the eye could see. They had magic barriers and animated golems, and when all that failed, they sent out their champions to fight. They didn't have many of those, and they weren't that strong themselves, but they tended to summon things from other worlds to fight and those could be very tricky, according to my aunt. She… ah… she didn't see too much action beyond the big siege she was part of. The campaign lasted five months, before Lord Charlemagne declared it a success, so she only destroyed a single Hive. Some of the other groups were faster than that, but she says the Hive she fought was particularly well-defended. Only Lord Charlemagne himself could have hoped to overcome it any faster."

There was some more approving buzzing at that. I refilled some of the wine glasses that were emptying already, as I had been conscripted into doing for the large party.

"Hm." Augustus nodded sagely. "Gentlemen. Comrades. Compatriots." He addressed the room at large, the stirrings of his Narcissus building. "Lord Charlemagne is calling for a Twenty-Fourth Crusade. This is the opportunity we have been waiting for: a chance to prove our valor and earn glory for our Houses." He raised his glass. "My friends, I declare that we shall embark on this grand journey, to protect our world from invaders and prove ourselves before the whole of the League. We will join Lord Charlemagne on this Crusade!"

There was silence.

"Er, Augustus," Atreus d'Alsace said hesitantly. "We're a little young for that, aren't we? None of us have really fought before, so isn't this a little…" he seemed to struggle for a word. "Bold?"

"It is indeed bold, my friend." Augustus agreed with a beaming smile. "But is this not the time for boldness? The last Crusade was a whole ten years ago. The next may be another ten yet, if not even longer. This is the time to strike. We are the future of the League, the blooming chivalry of the next generation. Shall we stand back and let others consider us cowards?" There was weight to his voice, the sure sign of Narcissus being put to use. "Shall we let this fateful moment pass us by? No! This is our time! It is the future in our hands! We will prove ourselves in this crucible and reap the rewards! Victory will be ours!"

The announcement was met by cheers.

"Aunt Louise brought back all sorts of cool stuff," Antoine proclaimed. "I'm going to put her collection to shame!"

"If I earn enough glory, Maria will definitely marry me!"

"I'll lead the charge myself! They'll put my name in history books!"

"What about you, Marcus?" Augustus called, startling me with the direct address. "Will you be joining? Perhaps you might earn yourself a knighthood. Or a petty barony even, should you truly prove yourself."

That was another great draw of the Crusade: upwards mobility. It was not unknown for new noble titles to be granted in the aftermath. Second sons might be elevated to lords in truth. Marquises might become Dukes. No doubt Augustus and all his compatriots were salivating at the idea of rising in rank.

It took me a moment to gather my thoughts, shaking myself past the gentle call of Narcissus. A knighthood was useless to me. It would have made finding employment easier, but I had no desire to serve anyone but a friend.

As for a barony, I had no desire to nobility. A title as lowly as baron wouldn't allow me to accomplish anything of worth. A real title might permit… I shook my head of the thought. There would be no opportunity for any real title, so it was useless to consider.

"That is a matter for House Talmont to decide." I offered in lieu of a direct rejection.

Augustus laughed. "Of course. I will badger grandfather to allow you to go. No, to let everyone go." He directed himself not just to me but to the other servants present. "Every servant of House Talmont should have these opportunities. It is our obligation as your master to ensure you are cared for."

The servants offered their silent gratitude, as was appropriate. Any private thoughts they might have had were kept to themselves. But I could imagine a good many of them were salivating at the thought.

"What nonsense are you spouting, Augustus?" Catherine made herself known, a stern glare on her bespectacled face. I could feel her magic come into focus, cutting off the sound to and from the Augsutus's friends for a private chastisement. By simple habit, I was not cut off "I would have imagined you too old for games of make-believe."

"Catherine," Augustus gave a forced smile. "I can assure you I am taking this matter with utmost seriousness. The Crusade is vital for House Talmont's interests."

"The Crusade would be the end of House Talmont." Catherine declared. "Just as the last one almost was. Do you think yourself stronger than your father? Than mine?"

Augustus held his smile, but I could see the anger in his eyes.

I had forgotten that both of their fathers had perished in the last Crusade. I had never met either man and hadn't really considered the matter. But it was obvious that neither Talmont had forgotten.

It put Augustus's bravado under a new light. Perhaps he was trying to prove himself in some manner.

"I must consider my duty, Catherine, both to my House and to the League. We cannot allow ourselves to be paralyzed by the follies of the past."

"No," Catherine sharply denied. "You are confusing your duty with your glory. You are the heir to House Talmont. Your duty is to preserve the House, not chase after riches and renown."

"It is my right!" Augustus hissed.

"It is your death," Catherine said. "You have not trained for this. As heir, it is your prerogative to spend your time as you please. But you cannot pretend that you will succeed simply because you wish it."

"I am the future Marquis d'Talmont. I am strong enough, no matter what you may think!"

"That is a matter for the current Marquis to decide." Catherine dismissed the sound barrier before Augustus could retort. "I urge you all caution," she addressed the room at large. "Consider your abilities carefully. Marcus, attend me."

"My lady," I nodded, allowing myself to be pulled out of wine pouring duty.

 

[HypoSoc]

After thirteen hours of continuous fighting and decontamination we finally overcome Dr. Taskin's horrors. Perhaps a full third of the villagers perished in the plague, and the village itself was rendered into ruins.

I don't know how the mundane authorities will rationalize this devastation. Vavs have great difficulty recognizing magic or its results.

True to Electra's word, not a single one of us perished on the mission, though there are a number of serious injuries. As they are too wounded for travel, Electra ordered a compartment of League medics to meet us in Finland.

Rather than return without the injured, Electra has us stay in the country. She goes as far as buying out a small spa resort in order to "reward us for our exemplary achievement in the face of unexpected adversity."

It's something of a departure from the expected response by a noble. As servants and members of the Thaumaturgical League, our efforts in cases like this are demanded by duty. Death and injury are simple risks of life. Servants have no right to expect reward or recognition. The base compensation is considered generous enough.

But I can see the logic to it. If we are staying anyway, there is no reason for it to not be at a resort.

And so, amidst the strange staples of a Finnish spa, I find myself dragged along to one of its cultural icons: the sauna.

This is not, inherently, a problem for me. The concept sounds quite relaxing for my sore body, and I don't expect any issues with the temperature. Nor do I particularly have problems with nudity. The shared living spaces of the servant's quarters serve well to desensitize a person. And the resort itself separates its sauna by genders.

The problem, rather, is that I am currently wearing the body of a woman. And the other female servant is too injured to attend.

Meaning that I am alone with My Lady in the sauna, with not a shred of clothing between us.

My eyes are firmly peeled on the empty space straight ahead of me, locked in place so they have no chance of moving.

My Lady is in disguise, it is true. But her ability does not extend nearly as far as my Protean. Her hair is dyed and the contours of her face are molded in part. But My Lady had selected a target that was close enough to her form that clothing alone could mask the subtle differences.

This is My Lady's body sitting next to me, not even wearing a towel. Even in the steaming heat of the sauna, I can hear her every breath. I can feel every beat of my heart.

"Hm." Catherine sighs. "This is nice."

I say nothing. I don't dare look.

Catherine leans into me. I can feel her shoulder press into mine. I freeze.

"It is unfortunate that we are so depleted." Catherine says, ignoring my discomfort. "This would be the ideal time to kill Electra."

The topic is a great blessing. I find I can focus on it instead. "She should be just as exhausted. It may still be a fair match."

"No," Catherine's words are firm, even in her relaxed state. "Even if she has nothing else, Electra still has Nemean. We will not be able to harm her. Unless you managed to smuggle in any of the poisons we prepared?"

"I apologize, My Lady. I did not think it was safe."

"Hmmm. I agree with your judgment. There was too much surveillance before we left. We will find another opportunity. For now, we can simply relax."

As if I could relax. I feel tenser now than I was before. But it is good that My Lady, at least, can find enjoyment in this small respite. We had not had any true rest in months now.

I close my eyes and try to meditate.

My attempt is immediately thwarted by the door opening. I am shocked to see Electra enter the sauna. I am just as shocked to note that she has as little issue with nudity as My Lady.

I choke back any noise and force myself to look in a less dangerous direction. One of Catherine's fingers brushes against my hand.

The door closes behind her. "Ah… finally. I've been looking forward to this all day. You two mind if I ramp up the heat?"

"It is no problem at all, Lady Electra." "Whatever you desire, Lady Electra." Catherine and I respond in turn.

"Great." Electra splashes a large amount of water on the stones, generating a burst of steam. She takes the opportunity to work some magic, raising the temperature even further.

Electra sits herself directly across from me, sighing happily. I find the number of safe angles decreasing rapidly.

In the corner of my eye, I see Electra staring at me. "What's got you so flustered, Lucile? It's just skin. Nothing you've never seen before."

Lucile… it's the name of the body I am wearing. I try to respond as she would have. "It is improper, Lady Electra."

"Improper? Bah. We've fought together now. Bled together. Overcome a rat bastard together. As far as I'm concerned, we're blood sisters and that matters more than any stupid nobility nonsense. After the absolute bullshit we just had to deal with, I don't want you thinking you're anything less than me. Hell, I'd march over to Anthony and the others right now and demand a mixed bath, if I didn't know they'd panic and flee from the impropriety." She chuckles. "So, I'll let them relax."

As it is what Lucile would do, I turn to face forward. I am forced to drink in the whole of her form. Nothing is obscured.

I can feel the nail of Catherine's finger stab into my hand sharply. Accepting the chastisement for what it is, I try to look straight in Electra's eyes. But I can still make out most of her naked body.

Electra grins. "There we go. Not a big deal. So long as we are here, don't worry about any of that stuffy shit. Speak your minds. Nobody is watching."

"If that is the case, Lady Electra," My Lady speaks with some hidden edge in her voice. "I must disagree. The precepts of nobility, of master and servant, have inherent value. It is a matter of virtue, prudence, and mutual respect. We should not be so quick to discard them."

"Hah, you sure are quick to take advantage of it, Marie, disagreeing with me so directly. It's refreshing." Electra grins. "But honestly, all of that… It's just bullshit. Petty little people playing petty little games, pretending any of it matters. I was the fourth child of the grand a mighty House Alsace, a spare to the spare to the spare, with cousins to spare. I've been extraneous all my life, just someone for my mother to sell off once she got a good enough deal. And I'm supposed to pretend I'm somehow sacrosanct? That my bloodline matters at all? What a joke." She makes a mocking laugh. "It's funny, you know? I spent most of my childhood knowing there were just too many people ahead of me for me to ever actually matter, and now all that is left of the great and glorious House Alsace is me, my brother, and a tired old man. Such a pathetic lark."

"A House is not just its members, My Lady," Catherine insists. "It is the reputation, the history, the potential. It is the power it wields, the loyalty it commands, the household it employs. A House is bigger than any person, living or dead. It is the whole of its story, from start to finish. Death is insufficient to diminish any House."

"And I simply don't give a damn." Electra shrugs. "Not about the vaunted House or its future. If it weren't for my dearest brother, I would have left a long time ago."

"Your feelings are immaterial. You are a part of House Alsace because you can never be separated from it. There is, and never will be, an 'Electra' who is not 'd'Alsace.'"

"Marie," I interject, prodding My Lady's finger as subtly as I can. "Perhaps the heat is getting to you? Or your exhaustion?" Catherine is getting far too worked up about this subject. It is hitting her too close to home and she is getting sloppy in her tired state. I need to stop her before she goes any further. "Lady Electra, I sincerely apologize."

Catherine blinks and seems to realize herself. "Ah, my deepest apologies, Lady Electra. I have forgotten myself. I will accept any punishment you deem fit."

There is something of a scowl on Electra's face, but it parts shortly. "I suppose it's my fault for granting permission to speak freely. I should have expected that would include opinions I disagree with. Lucile? More steam."

I nod and splash more water on the stones.

"To address your unstated concerns," Electra continues. "I have no plans of dissolving the household, nor of convincing my brother to do the same. Your continued employment is not in question." She offers a wry grin. "It's not the being rich and powerful I have issue with, after all." She sighs. "In truth, I simply wish I could spend the whole of my time doing this." She gestures vaguely.

"I presume you mean missions for the League rather than indulging in a spa?" I say.

"Indeed. Though the spa is nice," Electra smiles. "Serving the League, fighting monsters, saving people… there's no bullshit in any of that… other than the shit you sometimes have to fight. There is no question of right or wrong, no selfishness, no backstabbing. There is no need to be polite or courteous or remember all those tangled webs of alliances and suck ups. It's just a simple world I can rip and tear through without a doubt in my mind. Instead I'm stuck dealing with bullshit."

There is a crunch as bits of the bench Electra is gripping splinters in her grip.

She takes a deep breath.

"I think…" she says. "In a perfect world, it would just be me and my dearest brother hunting down monsters until we finally die."

"Lady Electra… surely you can't mean you want to die?" I affect a shocked voice.

"No. Not particularly." She shrugs. "I don't want to get old. And I don't want to settle down. I don't ever plan on having a family. So, dying in a fight is the only end I can imagine. I think I could accept that, if I died for some noble cause and not some stupid, petty reason. 'Live without regrets and die without grudges.' That's the ideal, isn't it?"

"An admirable goal, Lady Electra," I nod. "But do you think it is truly possible?"

"If you avoid all the petty bullshit, sure. As far as I can tell, Regrets happen when you get tied up in all sorts of intangibles and convince yourself not to do what you want. Grudges happen when you care too much about things that don't matter. Propriety, prestige, power, tradition, it's like all of the League's nobility exists to create regrets and grudges. So I try not to care. It's much better to care about a good fight or a good massage."

Electra nods to herself. "Speaking of… Lucile, you are training in massage, right? Mind giving me a rub down?"

"Ah…" I freeze in place. I try to look at Catherine for guidance out of the corner of my eye, but her face is blank. Her finger is digging hard into my hand.

"Oh, never mind that. I'll get one of the staff here to do it after I'm done. You should be relaxing yourself, not catering to me." She stretches wide, producing a view I try my hardest to look away from. "I've just had so many strains since the fight. Nemean is so harsh on my muscles."

"A massage sounds lovely, I think I would like one as well," Catherine says, giving me a pointed look I don't know how to interpret.

"Agreed," I say, meekly. I throw more water onto the stones to avoid the awkwardness. Perhaps if there is enough steam to block all vision, I'll be able to relax?

 

[HypoSoc]

True to Catherine's expectation, the Marquis forbade Augustus from the Crusade.

True to Augustus's nature, he did not let that stop him.

With the help of his friends and ambitious servants, Augustus snuck out of the estate to join the muster. The Marquis didn't think to guard against it, assuming his word was sufficient.

Ultimately, no servants were punished. With a Concept like Narcissus, Augustus would have found willing help no matter what. But the estate was a chillier place as the Marquis fretted.

Catherine, of course, kept her perfect poise. But I knew her well enough to tell she was irritated.

"You've blundered," I said, taking the knight she had risked for no gain. "That's unlike you."

"Perhaps I am trying an unconventional tactic?"

"That's also unlike you," I mocked."You aren't flexible enough to try anything new."

She scrunched her nose at the insult. It was cute. I rarely managed to catch her off guard like that.

"Is Augustus's folly bothering you that much?" WIth no one else around, I could be as blunt as I wanted.

"He's a fool. He risks so much for so little. As weak and coddled as he is, he can't hope to accomplish anything. He should know better."

"I didn't think you cared for him so much."

"He's my cousin. Of course I wish him well. But his actions risk not just himself but House Talmont. If he should die…"

"All right," I interjected. "Let's go with that. Suppose he gets himself killed. What would happen?"

"House Talmont would lose its heir. It would be weakened by the loss."

"Would it, if the heir in question is a fool who would throw their life away? That doesn't sound like a strong Head of House."

Catherine was silent.

I pressed further. "Think of it this way. Either Augustus proves himself stronger than any of us think and brings glory to House Talmont. Or he dies, and House Talmont no longer has an heir who would throw their life away for idiocy. Either way, there is nothing for you to be concerned about."

"You are wrong," Catherine said blankly. "It is not just a matter of Augustuts's suitability as the heir. Augustus possesses Narcissus. He is the only one, outside of the Marquis, to possess it. And the Marquis will not father more children. Without Augustus, Narcissus will die out, and the unbroken line of magic from the first Talmont will be severed."

"Does that matter? Is the House nothing more than its Concept? Am I the same as my grandfather because we share Protean?"

"Nobody demands you be your grandfather, Marcus. It's different for you. It is not a matter of facts but a matter of expectations."

"Then why can't it be different for you, Catherine?" I insisted, game forgotten. "Imagine it: Augustus perishes. You are elevated as heir."

"I would not become the heir," Catherine cut me off. "The Marquis would select a member of a branch family, in the hope that Narcissus might reemerge. And I am engaged to Orestes. It is politically impractical."

"Engagements can be broken. And none of your cousins are as dedicated or as prepared as you."

"I don't have a Concept, Marcus."

"And who would know that?" My hand reached for hers, gently brushing against it. "Narcissus is not so obvious a Concept. If you were to claim to have it, if the Marquis were to agree, if the servants are loyal, who would refute you? If it is a matter of expectations and not facts, simply match the expectation."

"Do you think I have not considered that before?" Catherine bit back. "Do you think, as I watched Augustus laze away to adulation, as I worked myself to the bone in silence, I hadn't imagined how I might steal my cousin's birthright? How I might convince my grandfather to declare me the heir? That I have not spent years considering how I might shepard House Talmont to greatness, if I were only given the chance? Or what indulgences I could enjoy if I had such privilege?"

There was a great anger in her eyes, but it was not directed at me.

"I do not want that, Marcus," she stated simply. "I do not want to be a person who acts so selfishly. I don't want to be a treacherous snake. I don't want to be a ruinous fool who would attack my own family. I will do my duty, Marcus, whatever it may be, without complaint and without hesitation. I will never allow selfishness or petty wants to dictate my actions. My foolish desires are meaningless." Her hand pulled away from mine. I felt the loss keenly. "This is my pride as a noble. Even if I was born with nothing else, even if I end up with nothing else, I refuse to abandon my pride."

Her words were a slap to the face.

I bowed my head, accepting the chastisement. "I will not speak of the matter further."

"Good," her words were sharp, just another dagger to the heart. "Whether or not Augustus returns from his miserable adventure, we will do as the Marquis bids. And I will pray that my cousin has not brought doom upon us for his mistake."

---

Doom came, but not in the form we expected.

Seven months after venturing out, Augustus returned to the estate. Physically, he was unscathed. Gaunt and hollow, yes, but he was uninjured, He before the Marquis and his vassals unaided. Mentally, though…

"The entire world was a fathomless black ocean. A cloying ichor of death. Great leviathans swam beneath the surface… ravenous, undying monsters that would fight over every morsel that fell into the drink. Our enemies lived in sky ships and floating cities far above the cursed waters, never daring to venture below. When they fought… they did not strike to make us bleed. All they did was make us fall. Gravity, force, wind, anything to push us off to the certain doom below. Even their weapons were better suited for cutting harness than for cutting skin. The monsters were more lethal than anything they could have managed."

Augustus did not lift his head. He refused to meet anyone's eyes as he recounted his tale.

"The sky cities were well defended. We did not have easy supply so far in the air, while the enemy could bombard our platforms freely for months on end. We… I… had the idea of stealing one of the enemy's ships. We could disguise ourselves as the aliens with illusions, sneak into their port, and sabotage the city from the inside. If we ended the siege, we would be heroes… or so we were hoping. Atreus was hesitant, but we convinced him it was the best option. I didn't think anything would be able to harm him. I didn't…"

Augustus shuddered, before continuing.

"We found a scout ship far outside the viewing range of the city and made our ambush. We crashed our platform directly into the unsuspecting vessel. It was going well. We all had learned how to anchor ourselves so we wouldn't get flung off, and the aliens weren't that tough either. One hard smack and their bones would snap. Get them in the skull or the ribs and they were down for the count, easy as that. But then it went wrong…"

Augustus exhaled, tears growing in his eyes.

"I didn't see what it was exactly, or how. But there was an explosion. Fire. The ship broke. It couldn't keep in the sky. All the alien ships had lifeboats, like small zeppelins to keep people in the sky. But the aliens were so much lighter than us. We didn't realize, even if there was room, it couldn't lift more than a single person. It was… it was agreed that if only a single person could escape, it should be me… on account of my rank and what my death would mean. I… I watched as the ship slowly sank to that black sea, watched as the leviathans came."

"Lucian... Reginald… Antoine… Pierre… Cecile… Atreus… they… they fought bravely. I never thought anything would be able to harm Atreus, but the beast just ate him whole. I had to watch as…" Augustus went silent, eyes empty, words failing. "I spent almost two weeks in that balloon, using wind magic to try to get back to the Crusade, to try to find anyone at all. It is a miracle I managed it…even now, I wonder if I am not just hallucinating, dying of dehydration in that cursed balloon."

Augustus sobbed.

"It was a mistake. Everything about it was a mistake. I never should have gone. I never should have convinced my friends to come with me. Please… from the bottom of my heart, forgive me." The boy begged, a miserable sight.

Orestes, who had been listening to the whole story in silence, closed his eyes.

"Atreus was quite hesitant to embark on the expedition," the man began. "He did not believe himself, or the rest of you, properly equipped. The strength of your assertions, of your Narcissus, is not so potent when one has distance from your presence, you understand." His accusation is harsh, but his words were leveled. "He brought the matter to our attention, seeking proper arguments to convince you without losing face. But my mother intervened. She determined it was an excellent idea. As a second son, he was free to bring glory to House Alsace. As a vassal, he was duty-bound to support his liege. And so, against his own wishes, he went."

Orestes leveled his gaze directly at Augustus. "It was 'decided' that you should be the one to escape? Don't dress up your sins. You used your Concept to convince them. You selfishly fled, leaving your vassals to die."

The heat was growing in his words. Orestes rose to his feet. "Because of you, half a dozen boys gallivanted to a war zone. Because of you, your vassals left the safety of the League's position to have an insipid adventure. Because of you, my beloved little brother is dead!"

I could see the magic of Nemean gather in Orestes' hand.

"Please! Stop!" Augustus cried in fear, the full weight of Narcissus behind his words like a force of inviolable will.

But Orestes did not stop. He did not hesitate even in the slightest. The back of his hand smashed into Augustus's face.

Augustus crumpled to the floor, screaming in pain.

The servants in the room jumped forward, ready to act, but unsure of what to do. The other gathered nobles seem equally uncertain.

Orestes exhaled, the magic dissipating from his hand. "My apologies, Marquis d'Talmont. That was most unseemly of me. I allowed my heightened emotions to get the better of me." He bowed deeply. "I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit."

"No… no…" The Marquis gathered himself with a shake of the head. "It is… it was a shocking event all told. I can not hold you accountable when your humors were so displaced…"

It was hard to tell if Lord Talmont was truly being forgiving for its own sake, or if he had realized, just as I had, that his other vassals had approved of the assault. Many of them looked like they had wanted to deliver the attack themselves.

The Marquis might have risked rebellion if he punished Orestes.

The old man made a subtle gesture. A pair of servants helped Augutus to his feet, and escorted him out of the office for medical attention. Everyone watched them depart in silence.

"Perhaps… perhaps it would be best if we all took some time to process this tragedy," the Marquis declared. "We should convene… in a week's time, perhaps. But we must have time to properly mourn… Young Orestes… please convey my well-wishes to your mother, the Countess. I hope this devastating news does not impede her recovery."

The Marquis looked exhausted. His age seemed to weigh on him more than it ever had before.

His attending vassals, all mourning for their lost children, were gently escorted out.

Orestes did not spare a glance to either myself or Catherine.

 

[HypoSoc]

Some of the tension in the Alsace estate is gone when we return.

The fact that every single person who left for the mission returned is met with surprise. The estate had been assuming that the supposed infiltrator would have used the opportunity to fake their death and escape. Obviously, they would have volunteered to escape Tibereius's draconian observation, and obviously they would not have returned after being caught the first time. If they had not escaped then, they must have escaped before, or so the logic goes.

My Lady's quest defies common sense. It works well in our favor.

The discovery of the two original servants we had replaced simplifies the matter further, providing a tidy timeline to the incident. And so, the whole incident of Nero's assassination is chalked up as just another simple tragedy in the lives of the nobility.

Even Tiberius cannot cling to the matter further, not after showing no progress in his investigation. Under the callous direction of Orestes, the affair is dropped entirely.

And so, My Lady and I find ourselves well positioned to continue our mission.

Tiberius remains our target. The man is isolating himself, so his death will be far more easily concealed than Electra's. And My Lady still desires to confront Orestes last.

We resume our stakeout, searching for the opportunity to kill the old man. Poison is our best hope, for a man more skilled with Nemean than Nero. But he is also far more cautious.

Since my temporary discovery, the man never ate or drank without testing the substance. His guard is naturally high at meal times, and he is not prone to snacking. Contact poisons are not an option, as the man wears gloves at all times of day. My Lady and I are searching for opportunities to lace the inside of the gloves before he wears them, but we have yet to find them.

We are also investigating airborne toxins, but our options are either too blatant to go undetected or too weak to ensure lethality. Tiberius d'Alsace is not in the habit of locking himself in poorly ventilated rooms.

It is looking more and more likely that we will be forced to confront the man directly. But we are in no hurry to pursue such a course of action. We have already managed to miraculously evade being caught once. Drawing attention to ourselves and potentially failing might be the doom of our mission.

We always have the option of resorting to such measures later, but as of yet we are not so desperate.

It is in search of golden opportunities that I find myself in Lord Tiberius's office, cleaning. The man continues his work undisturbed, but I can tell he is keeping an eye on me at all times.

The experience is quite unlike that with the old Marquis d'Talmont. Catherine's grandfather, far older than Tiberius, often had his servants clean as he worked. The old Marquis had the tendency to get caught up in his work entirely, losing any sense of the world as he poured through his reports and plotted out his correspondence. I had, on more than one occasion, witnessed the man drink from his completely empty tea cup without even pausing to notice it was finished. I had even seen him grab for it while a maid was in the midst of pouring the scalding liquid, making a mess of his desk.

Other times when was less enthused with his work, the old man would take every opportunity to procrastinate, chatting with whatever servant was present. He would become completely engrossed by the people around him, in search of distraction, preventing the servant from getting through their tasks as he plied them with tea and cheese.

It was always one extreme or the other with the old Marquis. Not so with Tiberius: always aware, never addressing.

If the man has a moment of vulnerability, I have yet to witness it. Perhaps direct confrontation would be the best option, after all. For all that Tiberius is rumored to be an accomplished fighter, he does not appear to put too much effort into keeping his skills sharp.

My musing is interrupted as the door to Tiberius's office opens.

"My Lord," a butler addresses, "The Count and Lady d'Alsace are here to speak with you."

"Blast it all," Tiberius grumbles. "See them in."

The butler nods. "At once, My Lord."

Orestes and Electra stride into the room. Orestes gaze is focused on Tiberius, never even flicking to me. Electra, in comparison, acknowledges me with a slight nod.

"Uncle, how good to see you. You have not been attending meals." Orestes speaks with a sarcastic drawl, casting an accusing glare.

Tiberius narrows his eyes. "Servant," he addresses me, with a snap of his gloved fingers. "Depart. This is not a conversation for your ears."

"Belay that," Orestes interrupts. "There is no need to interrupt the servant's tasks. Nothing we are saying here needs to be concealed. Better to keep the estate clean, after all."

Tiberius glare turns colder. "Speak, then boy. Some of us have work."

"You have refused my invitation, Uncle. Twice now. One is beginning to think that you do not feel obliged to our company."

"I feel obliged to nothing. Rescuing this house from the tattered remains of its alliances is more important than insipid conversation." He gestures grandly at his correspondence. "Duke d'Durosoy makes impossible demands. The Renault grasp for our vassals. The Hanroit chafe and grumble. Quetineu sends her spies… and you would have me sit back and watch it all crumble to waste?"

"My dearest brother summoned you, Uncle." Electra says. "It is not your place to question or refuse. Do you think yourself regent still? Or the Count? Have you forgotten your place within House Alsace?"

"Daft fools, the both of you." Tiberius spits. "You don't know what it would even mean for me to be disloyal. If I were as conniving as you claim, we would not be in this mess. I serve House Alsace dutifully. I work within the crushing limits you impose on me, to see this house survive and thrive. I will not stand back and be accused."

"What else can one expect when you refuse to show proper deference?" Orestes says with a leveled voice. "When you refuse to offer advice when I desire it?"

"You have ignored my advice, boy. Over and over again. Every single time." Tiberius growls. "Every word out of my mouth falls on deaf ears. Why should I continue to waste time attending to your ego when there is so much more that needs to be done? If you want a fool to mock, hire one."

Electra chuckles. "With your face so red, why would we need anyone else?"

Orestes says nothing.

"Ungrateful, selfish scum." Tiberius seethes. "You blindly lead this House to ruin, acting on your childish whims. Ever since your ascension it has been nothing but the same: you make a mess and refuse to take responsibility. Your mother had such high hopes, put so much work into your training, but you are a complete disappointment! From the very start…"

"Please, Uncle, share your thoughts freely." Orestes' voice remains flat.

"From the very start, you have shaken this family to the foundation. Grudges are the death of a House. But you have done nothing but ferment them. We never should have attacked House Talmont. It gained us nothing, cost us much. But, once you had decided to do so, you should have finished the job. Allowing the Talmont girl to escape was worse than the betrayal itself. You act without thought on petty whims with no respect to the obvious consequences. No doubt, Talmont and her Protean will strike again and again. Our enemies are circling, but you would see this whole House dead!"

"No, Uncle. Not the whole house." Electra says with a grin.

In a flash, her red-glowing hand pierces through Tiberus's chest. The older man's skin crackles a blackened silver, but Electra's Nemean is far stronger. Her hand digs into his heart, twisting slowly.

"You… what have you done?" Tiberius rasps, blood spewing from his mouth. His eyes betray his complete shock.

"Putting an old fool down," Electra shrugs, twisting her hand even further. "I suppose we can take your advice to get a new one, now that this one has played out his welcome."

"You fools… you ungrateful bastards… I was the only one… the only one keeping this family…"

"You think far too highly of yourself." Electra mocks. "You never even bothered to ask about Orestes' plans. You never considered options beyond the same tried and true families, never recognized the changing circumstances. Your big contribution was always trying to keep everything the same. How gracious of you." She punctuates her words by stabbing further, breaking the skin on the other side. "Tiberius d'Alsace made many enemies in his time. His death will serve our aims well."

"Treacherous… shortsighted… fools… did you… were you the ones… to kill my sister?"

"Hm," Electra gives a wide, predatory grin. "Why don't you ask that bitch yourself? Rot in hell, you old bastard." She stabs even further.

Tiberius gives a final shudder before collapsing in his chair, stone dead.

Orestes says nothing, his face lacking any expression.

Electra hums, shaking the viscera off her hand. "Ah… I always wanted to do that." She sighs, turning to face me. "Well, looks like I've made your job quite a bit harder, Lucile. How about I send someone else in to help you with all this mess, all right?" Her smile is both cheery and threatening.

I stay completely frozen.

Electra frowns at me. "Oh, don't be like that. We aren't going to off you for witnessing it or anything. This was just an internal, family matter. It's not even a secret. So there's nothing for you to be concerned about."

"As… as you say, Lady d'Alsace."

Orestes breaks his silence. "Come, Electra. You need to get washed up."

"Ah, at once, dearest brother." The girl practically skips after her departing sibling.

With the door open I can see the butler outside looking on in horror.

 

[HypoSoc]

Being a commoner, the intricacies of noble politics were never the focus of my education. As part of my grandfather's torturous training, I was given some base insight into the complicated web at the heart of League politics. But it was not the comprehensive study true nobles would receive.

Still, I knew enough to see that Augustus's ill-advised and ill-fated expedition had put House Talmont into a miserable situation.

Within Lord Charlemagne's division of the Thaumaturgical League, the relationship between a liege and their vassal was, ultimately, a voluntary association. There was a byzantine series of law and customs that governed the rights and responsibilities of overlords and underlords and I did not pretend that I understood them. But my grandfather had made it very clear that, before any duty to one's liege, each House had a primary duty to Lord Charlemagne and the League.

At the time, he had been speaking of the relationship between House Talmont and their liege, the Duke of Durosoy. But it applied just the same for the Counts under the Marquis.

In the end, any vassal could petition the Court of Lord Charlemagne, arguing that their liege was ill-suited. The Court then had the power to transfer the fiefdom to another House. With the loss of so many scions at once, it would be an easy argument to find success.

As such, the Marquis spent the weeks and months following Augustus's return currying favor with his own vassals, doing whatever he could to placate their wrath. He also spent as much time plying the Court to preemptively curtail any ruling.

Catherine had explained that the Court of Lord Charlemagne liked to reward their favorites with the spoils of their rulings. Decisions were as much a matter of backroom deals as they were about the laws as written.

It was in this environment of humility that the wedding between Catherine and Orestes was advanced.

I found myself caught up in the overwhelming preparations of an expedited wedding, serving the bride to be.

Catherine's face was blank as I made adjustments to her dress. This bit of tailoring was well within my abilities: small adjustments to perfect the fit.

From her attitude over the last week, it felt like she was treating this whole ordeal as a chore.

In some ways, that was a relief. I didn't know how I would have felt if Catherine had jumped into this farce wholeheartedly. My own expression was carefully steeled, as it had been for days now.

My Lady was beautiful in her dress. But there was nothing to enjoy about it.

"It isn't too tight around the shoulder, is it? Move your arm a bit. Get a feel. It shouldn't hamper your range of motions."

"It is fine, Marcus. Excellent work."

"Good. We'll want to lengthen the sleeves a bit, to make up for the adjustments. But there is enough fabric at the hem. Unless you want to keep it shorter?"

"I'll defer to your judgment."

"As you say, My Lady. I will keep to the original style. Let me make some final measurements to ensure everything is as it should be."

"Hm."

I made my motions, trying to keep my mind dead to anything but the task at hand.

I failed.

"My Lady…" I paused. "Catherine…"

"Yes, Marcus?"

I swallowed. "You don't… If you don't want to get married, then you shouldn't. The Marquis… I'm sure he wouldn't force you. He arranged the match for your benefit, trying to do right by you as he best understood. But his efforts are worthless if you don't want them. You don't even have to decide now. You can just ask for more time. This wasn't supposed to happen for years yet. He would understand if you are hesitant."

I prayed I did not misread the situation. I prayed I did not offer counsel where none was desired. But Catherine lived in a world that did not care for her desires. Nobody advocated for her. Even she refused to do so.

If Catherine would not be on her own side, as her friend, it was my duty to do so on her behalf.

If I stood back and said nothing, I would always wonder.

"Marcus," Catherine's voice was blank. I could not tell how badly I misstepped. "The situation has changed. It's not simply a matter of prospects or individuals. It is a matter of Houses and Obligations. Politics."

I stayed silent, waiting for Catherine to explain.

"Orestes is not simply an heir anymore. He is a Count. An unmarried one. It is his duty to get married. As the overlord, it is House Talmont's duty to ensure he can. There can be no waiting."

"Then… perhaps somebody else? Perhaps there is someone Orestes would prefer, better suited for the changed situation. The Marquis could arrange it."

"No. If we were not betrothed, perhaps. But breaking an engagement is no small matter. It is a loud declaration. If House Alsace were to end the engagement, it would be an insult to House Talmont: a declaration that they do not view a match with their liege as respectable. It would be akin to breaking feudal ties. If House Talmont were to end the engagement, it would be a grave insult to House Alsace, to all our vassals."

"And what if it is a mutual dissolution?"

"There is no such thing," Catherine shook her head. "Every action is a statement. Every change is a declaration. The other Houses, great and small, are always listening. If there is any ambiguity, they will understand the matter as best benefits them. A House must always be prudent, knowing it is always observed." Catherine exhaled. "House Talmont cannot afford to alienate its vassals. Not now. If Alsace were to break away, the others would follow suit. Our every action, our every inaction, must work to strengthen our fraying ties. My marriage to Orestes will be a strong statement, a necessary statement. That is why it must happen now."

Catherine sighed. "If I must, I will admit to some disappointment at the expediency. I had… allowed the matter to escape my attention, as some far flung event in the future. But it was a settled matter. I would have married somebody someday. Better for it to be timed to best serve House Talmont."

I don't know what I was hoping for when I began this cursed conversation. There was no outcome I could imagine that would not be painful in one way or another. Knowing I was right, that Catherine was unhappy… What did that gain me?

I could only harden my heart. Becoming upset would not help Catherine in the slightest.

We fell into silence as I continued my work.

There was a knock on the door, startling us both.

"Lady Catherine? Lord Augustus wishes to speak with you. Shall I send him in?" The maid outside her bedroom said through the door.

"I am decent, yes." Catherine answered.

The door opened, and Augustus stepped in. The man was still thin. None of his fat had returned since he lost it in his folly.

I suppressed a scowl, keeping my face focused on the task at hand.

"Huh. I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress before," Augustus began, clumsily. "Or without your glasses. You… you look good. A proper bride."

"What do you want, Augustus?"

Augustus froze at the chilly remark. "Right… right… I…" He exhaled, looking like he was trying to gather his nerves. "You're getting married soon, leaving the estate. I thought that… I needed to talk to you before that happened. I should have spoken with you before now, but…" He shook his head, trailing off.

Catherine leveled him an unamused glance.

"Right… I should just spit it out. Catherine, I've always been jealous of you. Everything always seemed to come so easy to you. When I struggled with a lesson you would just understand it immediately, made me feel like an idiot. Magic came easier to you. Etiquette came easier. Politics… math… sword fighting… everything. I could tell the grandfather liked you more. My father always compared me to you. The servants liked you more. It was obvious that everyone preferred you. The only thing I had going for me was Narcissus. I was waiting for the day you would unveil it and I would be tossed aside entirely. But you never did."

He gave a sad smile. "It was like the biggest stroke of luck in my life. Finally, things were fair. You had everything else, but I had the most important thing, and that balanced it all out. You weren't better than me anymore. We were finally equals. Except… you never acted like it. You always acted like you were better than me, always acted like I was just that foolish child too slow in understanding his lessons. You acted like you were just hiding your Concept, just to set me up as a big fool, so you could swoop in and take everything. I had nightmares about it, over and over again. There wouldn't be a week that would go by without me waking up to your mocking laugh."

He chuckled. It was a sad, self-deprecating thing. "Maybe I deserved it. I was avoiding my lessons after all, avoiding any reminder that you were better than me. I played games with my friends because I had them and you didn't and it was proof I wasn't worse than you. I shoved it in your face in the same way I felt you were shoving everything else in mine. Friends, popularity, acclaim, respect, political power… I could comfort myself that these were the things that mattered, and I had them all, unlike you. Hah… and look where I ended up. I took all that for granted and threw it all away."

Augustus took a deep breath. "The truth is, Catherine, for my whole life, I've treated you like a rival, an enemy, like somebody out to crush me. I wanted you to have nothing, because I was terrified you would take everything. I don't know if I was ever fully conscious of it, but it drove me. And I treated you awfully because of it. I went out of my way to ignore and marginalize you. I refused to listen to you, acted like a contrarian."

He bowed his head. "I had a lot of time to think on that balloon, drifting over that abyss. Nothing but time. And I was forced to realize that a lot of the problems in my life… it was never you. It was me. It had always been me. Just a stupid kid lashing out. And, now that you are leaving…" Augustus bowed deeply. "I wish to offer my greatest apology, Catherine d'Talmont, for everything I have done to you, for every mess I made, for every bit of my stupidity. I do not, and cannot accept your forgiveness, but please know that I offer my contrition to you in full. I am sorry."

Catherine stood in silence. I was similarly shocked. I never would have imagined the pitiful heir ever deigning to apologize in such a way. He had always been allergic to self reflection. It was fitting it took a near-death experience of his own making to force any self-awareness in the coddled boy's mind.

"Augustus," Catherine said tonelessly. "You do not need my forgiveness." The young heir looked in dawning hope. "I never noticed any mistreatment from you. I have never, in my life, spared you a single thought. Not beyond the role you were failing to meet."

Augustus sucked in his breath, fists clenched.

"If you wish to atone, dedicate yourself fully to the House. Do better for your own sake. Don't seek my approval. You have never mattered to me."

Augustus shuddered.

"Do you require anything else, Lord Augustus?"

"No… no…" he shook his head. "I… I wish you well in your wedding. I… good evening, Catherine."

Augustus staggered out of Catherine's room in a daze. The door closed behind him.

"Loathsome oaf." Catherine hissed under her breath. "An apology of all things… A noble should stand by their actions, for good or ill."

I rubbed the small of her back in support as Catherine worked through her tangled emotions.

 

[HypoSoc]

Catherine's face is blank as I tell her about Tiberius's death.

"Is… this a good thing?" I ask with some hesitation. "Orestes and Electra made our job easier. There is less chance for us to get caught… I don't think you had a personal grudge against Tiberius."

My Lady closes her eyes in thought. Despite her disguise I can make out the familiar contours of her face. This is an expression I am well experienced with.

"It is not enough for House Alsace to destroy itself. For House Talmont to resurge, we must be the ones to claim our vengeance." She purses her lips. "Ultimately… it does not matter. When we tell the story we will claim Tiberius died at our hands. The Alsace will be in no position to claim otherwise."

I nod. "As you say."

"Still… we must minimize the scope of our lies. The triumph of House Talmon needs to be an unquestioned victory. To that end, we should not assassinate Electra by guile or poison. We need to overcome her directly."

That Orestes would also be confronted directly goes unspoken. Catherine has a clear need to look the man in his eyes as she kills him. For the closure, and for the "story," as she puts it. It is the most personal part of her vengeance, and one that I cannot dissuade her from.

I frown. "Does Electra need to die? If we are willing to stretch the truth on one matter, perhaps we can be flexible with another?"

My Lady blinks. Her eyes flash from confusion to coldness. "Have you perhaps developed a fondness for the girl, Marcus?" There is an edge to her words, a challenging threat.

"No. No!" I shake my head as rapidly as I am able. Even if that were the case, I know Catherine would offer no sympathy. "It's more a matter of other considerations. Electra has consistently acted as an agent for the Thaumaturgical League. We saw this ourselves. As House Talmont is loyal, should we not give due consideration to how our actions might be detrimental to the League?"

"As a loyal Marquessate, House Talmont is best able to serve the League by ensuring it is well positioned to serve. The welfare of the House serves the welfare of the League."

"Should we not take the time to consider other possibilities? Perhaps some method of ensuring the welfare of House Talmont and the League's agent both?" I don't know what exactly I am arguing for, but I feel the need to say it regardless.

"Marcus," My Lady looks me dead in the eye. "Electra cannot be allowed to live. Every trace of Nemean needs to be eradicated, just as every trace of Narcissus was. If Electra were a true servant of the League, she would not have taken part in the betrayal. Any value she might offer is irrelevant." Her glare intensifies. "Do not allow your petty personal desires to interfere. If you no longer desire to take necessary action, you are free to depart."

"No." I reject it immediately. "I am here through the end."

I can't abandon Catherine. Not now. I would stay by her side, even if everything else would burn.

So long as she needs me, so long as she wants me, I will not let her be alone.

"Electra is a skilled and experienced fighter," I bring the topic back on track. "How can we beat her?"

---

The opportunity comes quite fortuitously.

Electra, as part of her general training, is in the habit of selecting servants to spar with. She cycles through people to avoid tiring anyone out with her ravenous pace.

It is not long before My Lady is selected.

"Marie," Electra asks bluntly. "Got time for a spar? I'd like to work out some annoyance right now."

"I am available if it pleases you, Lady Electra," Catherine bows her head. She signals me subtly.

I don't respond in any visible manner, but My Lady knows I have received the message. I pull away, minimizing my presence.

"Great. Let's head to the sparring ring."

"If I may be so bold, My Lady," Catherine interjects. "Perhaps a novel environment would be superior? If you wish to overcome some frustration, then a more… energetic spar might be to your preference. In such a case, we wouldn't wish to disturb the estate with the noise."

"Hah. Energetic spar. Sounds fun." Electra says. "The sparring ground is a bit artificial. No cover, nothing at all like a real fight. Good idea, Marie. I know a place."

Catherine bows her head, following mutely towards the edge of the estate. I follow as quietly as I can.

Electra, as she is wont to do, speaks unprompted for the whole of the trip. "And he asked me to leave. Go on vacation out of the country, he said. Can you believe it? Obviously, I refused point blank. I'm not going to leave Orestes all alone here. Who knows what nonsense that overdramatic brooder could get up to without me to keep him grounded. Heh. I love him, but he gets stuck in his head too much."

"The mind of Count d'Alsace is beyond our understanding." Catherine says.

"It's not. It really isn't. Orestes has basically one thing he cares about. Everything he does comes back to it, no matter how convoluted it is. And he really overcomplicates things. My dearest brother is basically incapable of doing anything directly. That's why I know that if I were to go off like he wants me to, he'd do something foolish. And here we are."

The spot Electra has taken us to is very close to where we confronted Brutus. We could likely find his unmarked grave a few minutes from here. She sets herself a distance across from Catherine.

Electra rolls her shoulders. "Right. Let's get a good workout."

Her skin glows red.

My Lady flicks her sword into being. It glows a silvery light.

Electra purses her lips. "Interesting technique there. Reminds me of something."

"Hm," My Lady ignores the implied question. "Shall we end this?"

"End? We haven't even started!" Electra bursts into motion, tearing through the distance.

My Lady reacts in a flash, fast as a bullet, the tip of her sword stabbing forth.

Electra leans her head back, just barely avoiding the blade.

"Going for my eye? In a spar? Really?" she complains. "That's just disturbing."

Electra pulls back for a lunge.

I emerge from the forest and fire. A magically enhanced, city-destroying bullet slams into her back at supersonic speeds.

Electra staggers, but is otherwise unaffected.

"What?" She turns to face me.

Catherine capitalizes on her confusion by stabbing Electra in the eye.

The sword crumbles and breaks. Electra shows no sign of damage. She zips to the side, catching sight of us both.

I can see the realization dawn in her expression. "Marie… Lucile… you are the infiltrators then…" Her fists clench. I can see them crackle and pop under the strain, her nails digging into her skin. "Bastards! What have you done with them?!"

I answer with another bullet to her face.

Electra punches it before it can reach her. It explodes in the air, leaving her unscathed.

Catherine makes for another stab in the cover of the explosion, her sword glowing with all the magic can muster. Electra catches the blade in her fist, crushing it, throwing Catherine to the side. My Lady releases her grip and lands on her feet.

I fire another bullet. Electra glares through the explosion, doing nothing to stop it.

"You are fools. Worthless murderous scum. Did killing Nero make you cocky?" She spits. "I am nothing like that tub of lard. I actually train, you know?"

Another bullet is ignored, the size of the blast leaving me deafened. Another stab, deflected.

"My Nemean doesn't just cover my skin. Every cell in my body is hardened. Every organ, every drop of blood, is indestructible."

I fire another bullet. Again, she does nothing. This one, however, erupts into a cloud of noxious smoke, the deadliest poison we can muster.

Electra cuts through it with her hand, a snarl on her face. "Did you really think I haven't dealt with poison before? Did you think I haven't trained myself for that? Neurotoxins, cytotoxins, hemotoxins, parasites… I've made myself immune to them all. The Scientist's dogs are a lot more creative with it than you."

I stagger back, firing vainly, as she menaces forward. Her eyes shine with burning rage.

"I'm not even going to waste my time interrogating you. You should have run away the first time. Now, for Lucile, for Marie, for Sanson, and for every other soul you murdered… die!"

Electra moves faster than I can see, faster than I had ever witnessed her move before.

In the barest instant she is upon me. Her red hand pierces throw my heart, through the back of me.

I gurgle and stammer, body failing. I don't even have the ability to recognize the pain.

Her hand retracts, gory and viscous. I slump to the ground, in shock.

My Lady observes the scene in dawning horror. She shudders, turns her back, and runs.

My Lady is fast, but Electra is far, far faster. She is on Catherine in an instant, red hand extended for her back.

Then, at the last, perfect moment, My Lady activates her rune. Space warps. A portal emerges.

Electra's hand stabs through her own back. Indestructible flesh meets indestructible flesh. And, with force and practice on its side, the hand wins out.

Electra stabs through her own heart. Her last expression is of rage turning to shock.

And so, Electra d'Alsace dies at her own hand.

Catherine rolls her neck, the last vestiges of fear, both real and feigned, fall from her lips. She walks towards me without care.

"Marcus, are you all right?"

I let out a groan as my Protean ever so slowly replaces Lucile's heart. The body I had been wearing is dead. I would never be able to take the form of Lucile again, but I will survive.

"It will be some hours, My Lady, before I can move safely." I hate this technique. I hate the memories behind it, both at the hands of my grandfather and the time I used it in truth before. But I cannot deny its usefulness.

I feel some confusion as my head is taken off the hard ground and is placed on My Lady's soft lap.

"I will watch over you, then."

My cheeks burn. "This is unnecessary, My Lady. Do not discomfort yourself on my behalf. I will recover all the same."

"It is necessary, Marcus. I do not enjoy seeing you suffer. I did not desire sacrificing you in that manner, as necessary as it was in making Electra lower her guard. This is simply my duty as your master."

"Catherine…"

"Rest, Marcus." Her voice is soft. "Our trials are ending shortly."

I drift off to a restless sleep.

 

[HypoSoc]

I woke up the morning of Catherine's wedding with a horrible feeling in my gut. My head was screaming in agony. My nausea was almost overwhelming. The night before had been a mess of drink and sorrow, and I was more than regretting it.

Still, years of training and habit made for powerful inertia. I was able to force myself through, keeping my sickness from reaching my face.

I spent that morning in a daze, working through the variety of tasks one by one in preparation for the celebration. I did not see Catherine in the midst of her own preparations. I could not bring myself to.

She had more than made her opinion clear. It would be nothing but misery for me. And I refused to make anything harder for her when she had her own worries.

I was a servant. It wasn't my place to inject myself into the day. I let myself fall into the motions, unthinking, unfeeling. It was all that I could do.

As Catherine was marrying into House Alsace, the groom's estate was handling most of the organization. The staff around me were of the Alsace stock. Very few of the Talmont staff were on hand. I, of course, was present as the sole member of Catherine's personal staff, but there was no need for most of us.

I settled into my role, doing tasks as they came up. The venue was spotless, exacting: a proper cathedral for a proper marriage between nobility. As the hour dawned I took my place as an usher, greeting the guests as they came.

By the preference of both Orestes and Catherine, the wedding was on the smaller end. But a wedding of a reigning Count and a lady of a Marquesate still demanded a proper reception. Each of House Talmont's vassals were present, of course, as were those below House Alsace. Withholding an invitation would have been a grave insult, as would their lack of attendance. It was a given they would be present.

Duke d'Durosoy, the liege lord of House Talmont, was here. His presence was expected, but not guaranteed. A wedding between a spare daughter and a Count did not demand his august presence. He took a seat of honor above and outside the masses.

But that was the limit of those propriety demanded. No unallied houses were invited. No rivals or persons of note. The extended family of House Talmont, from their assorted minor branch houses, filled the seats on the Talmont side. The family of House Alsace, their vassals, and their peers, filled the groom's.

It was easy enough to organize that I did not need to put much thought to my role.

The ceremony began with some fanfare. From my place on the side, I watched Catherine enter the cathedral in her wedding dress, escorted by the Marquis. Her attire well-matched her husband to be, standing handsomely on the altar. Catherine's face was veiled. I could not see her expression. For all I knew it was as blank as my own.

I tried to catch her eye. I didn't know if I succeeded. Her slow procession did not stop for even a moment.

I didn't know if I wanted it to. Perhaps it would have been better if she didn't even see me.

After reaching the altar, and after Marquis d'Talmont took his seat beside Augustus, the priest began his speech. I wasn't paying much attention, lost in my own thoughts.

The priest blinked in confusion as Orestes placed a hand on his shoulder, interrupting him.

There was a soft smile on the lord's face. "My apologies. I have no desire to continue this ceremony in bad faith. If I may?" He snapped his fingers.

A sharp glow illuminated from the bride's side of the aisle, from the seat of every chair in the section. A mass of hidden runework lit to a chorus of confused yelling.

I jolted to attention, unable to process what was occurring but knowing I needed to act.

I was caught completely off guard by the knife stabbing into my spine. I collapsed to the ground in pain barely about to comprehend the scene.

All around me the servants of House Alsace went about their bloody business. The few servants of House Talmont in attendance were skewered and sliced just as I had been. The guests of House Talmont were slaughtered methodically by the same grim-faced staff.

The rune entrapped them, locking their movement entirely. They could offer no resistance but their screams as they were killed. Every member of the extended family, every member of House Talmont's branch houses, perished before my eyes.

One of the Alsace, a burly man I did not know, was holding Catherine tight. His disgusting arm was wrapped around her neck, practically choking her. A glowing rune was forced onto her, locking her in place. The veil had come loose from Catherine's gown. I could see the despair in her eyes.

Another of the Alsace, Tiberius, was ushering away the terrified priest.

The bastard who had stabbed me had moved on to the audience. Nobody was watching me. No doubt they had simply assumed I would perish, dismissing me entirely. But I could survive this. I just needed time to recover.

I needed to survive this.

Orestes stood calmly, watching all the guests die.

No… not all of them. The groom's side lacked the same restraining rune. The peers and vassals of House Alsace, the loyal subjects of House Talmont, simply watched in silence. I could see the myriad of expressions on their faces: the somber melancholy of Countess d'Renault; the boastful glee of Count d'Hanriot, the abject apathy of a number of Barons.

Above it all sat Duke d'Durosoy. His was a face of bored contemplation. There was not a hint of surprise to be found, neither approval nor disapproval. This was a man who did not care how this ended.

The servants carved a bloody swath through the guests until only Augustus and the Marquis remained. Their Concepts blared at full force, and the servants shied away.

"Alsace!" The Marquis roared, more furious than I had ever seen before. "You treacherous rat!"

Orestes smiled. "Marquis d'Talmont," he said with a bow.

"I order you to kill yourself!" The old man screamed, his Concept thrumming visibly through the air. "Each and every one of your traitorous bastards who rose a hand against us, I order you all to die!"

Orestes shrugged his shoulders. "I apologize, Marquis d'Talmont. I cannot hear what you are saying, though I can infer it from the context. We have rendered ourselves deaf for the moment, for understandable reasons."

The Marquis shook, the chains of the rune holding him locked in place.

"Narcissus is a potent Concept." Orestes said with a nod. "Love is a powerful force, both in commanding others and protecting oneself. But as loyal vassals, House Alsace has learned quite a bit about it over the centuries. Its strengths. Its weaknesses."

He made another gesture. Electra stepped forth, holding a rumbling box.

"Love is not always pleasant. It isn't always kind. The beasts we have here are quite affectionate indeed. Unfortunately, their affection can be lethal."

Electra opened the box. I could not see properly, but a number of small and furry winged things emerged. They crooned and immediately dove for the two Talmonts.

I could hear the carving of flesh and screams of pain.

"The beasts will burrow into your ribcage to make their homes. It is what they do with their favored hosts. I estimate you will die in perhaps fifteen minutes. They aren't trying to kill you, after all. But it will be excruciating. Of course, you always have the option of disengaging your Concept. I can promise you a swift death in such a case. The choice is yours."

I could feel a change in the air. Augustus's head fell from his shoulders with a swift slash by Electra.

The Marquis, defiant, died slowly. His head was also separated from his corpse.

Orestes exhaled sharply, a long cool breath, relief in his expression. Electra crushed the burrowing beasts in her reddened fists one by one.

Orestes snapped again and there was an immediate change. It was their hearing returning, most likely.

"What should we do with this one?" the burly man asked, still holding Catherine tight. "Chop her head off too? It would be a shame to only have two skulls to put on the mantle."

Orestes shook his head. "No. Catherine lacks Narcissus. She cannot be considered a Talmont. We have no reason to kill her."

The burly man scoffed. "I heard she doesn't even have a Concept. Like a fucking Vav. Maybe I should just put her out of her misery?"

Catherine shook. The fading runes constraining her shattered. A sword of silvery light exploded into being straight up the nose of the man holding her.

He shuddered and collapsed, falling to the ground in a dead slump.

"Claudius!" Tiberius jumped to his feet, running for the collapsed man. "My son!"

Catherine stumbled back, prone, breathing raggedly.

Tiberius glared at her, cradling his son. "What are you waiting for? Kill her!" He ordered.

The servants made to advance, but Orestes held a hand, halting them.

"Calm yourself, Uncle. Casualties were to be expected. Claudius should not have been so lax. Still… perhaps we should secure her, so that she cannot make a mess of things. We have holding runes to spare."

I needed to move. I needed to stop this. Nobody was looking at me. This was my chance.

My body was dying but I could not let that stop me. I had other bodies. It did not matter that this was my original. It did not matter that I would never be able to use it again.

I needed to save My Lady.

With my shuddering, dying breath, I reached for my gun. The Alsace were indestructible. I could accomplish nothing shooting at them. The servants were too many to take down.

I steadied myself as much as I could. I took aim, and fired at the Duke.

It didn't hit him, but it didn't need to. The Duke's bodyguard threw up a shield immediately, catching the bullet. But it served its purpose. The entire cathedral was thrown into chaos.

The Alsace could not afford for the Duke to be injured in an event they were hosting, especially not after they killed their own liege. The servants and scions on House Alsace all jumped to action to protect the man, losing sight of Catherine.

At that moment, with the last remnants of my magic, I rushed for her. It was a burst of speed impossible for anyone who could hope to live.

Catherine met me halfway, supporting me with an unsteady arm. Holding tight to one another, we threw ourselves through the cathedral's window out to the wider world beyond.

There was no pursuit.

 

[HypoSoc]

After Electra's death, Orestes orders all the servants to depart the estate without explanation or opportunity to protest. His face is blank as he does so, retreating back to his office without further word.

There are grumbles of concern among the staff, both for the Count's state of mind and their own livelihoods. As for myself and Catherine, we are left with confusion.

I, of course, suspect a trap. The circumstances feel far too convenient for our goals.

Catherine agrees, but she will not be deterred. Her need to confront Orestes overrides all other concerns.The time for subtlety is over. Only the end remains.

I can only hope this isn't some misguided suicide attempt on her part. I will ensure My Lady lives through this, even if I die, even if she hates me. I care about her life far more than I care about the bastard's death.

After the other servants clear out of the estate, we make our way to the Count's office.

Count d'Alsace's office is a stark contrast to his deceased uncle's. The furniture favors more creature comforts than practicality. The signs of work are limited, scattered and disorganized. The adornments are few, but striking: framed photographs of different people in different states of play. I see dozens of pictures of Electra, of Atreus, and a scattered few of a young girl I do not recognize.

I even see, to my great disgust, a picture of Catherine.

None of these photos had been present in my previous visits as a servant. He must have taken them out today, in the process of his mourning.

The man in question is lounging in his chair, idly swirling a glass of wine in his hand.

His gaze rises to meet us as we enter.

"Catherine," he greets with an utter lack of surprise, placing his wineglass on the desk, uncaring of the stain it leaves. "Or are you the Protean? I can admit I am unable to tell with the disguises."

"So you did know," My Lady says dryly. "I never expected to remain undiscovered."

"I suspected from the start, but I would say it was the gaoler's death that confirmed it for me. That the both of you were here was obvious."

"And yet you have done nothing. The height of arrogance." My Lady snaps her fingers. The rune we had hidden in his chair lit in a silver chain.

Orestes raises a brow, looking entirely unconcerned. "The holding rune? From the Alsace stores, I presume. How apropos, Catherine."

"That is Marchioness d'Talmont to you, Count d'Alsace."

"Please. I much prefer Orestes," He smirks.

In a flash, My Lady summons her silver sword and sets it at his throat. "What pleases you is of no concern, Count." She drags the tip across his neck. It draws no blood. "You made two mistakes that day. First was your treachery. Unforgivable and pointless. But second was leaving me alive. You did not consider me a Talmont. You dismissed me because I lacked a Concept. But your arrogance has led to the downfall of your entire family. You will die today because of your mistakes. I will see to it."

"Hm… I do believe you are incorrect, Catherine. You won't kill me."

Catherine stabs her sword straight into Orestes' eye. The blade shatters on contact. The man does not even blink.

"Case in point," he says.

My Lady grits her teeth. She exhales. "Marcus, fetch Electra's corpse. We will use the sister to puncture the brother."

Catherine had hoped her sword and the rune would have been sufficient, but we had brought Electra's still hardened arm and a number of poisons as a backup plan.

This draws a frown from the man. "I would ask that you leave my sister be. Save yourself the trouble at the very least, and allow my poison to do its job. I will be dead within the hour regardless."

My Lady pauses. "Poison?"

"I will not die at House Talmont's hand. Even if you slay me, it accomplishes nothing. I am dying by my own will, and no one else's."

Catherine grits her teeth. "Out of a grief I have driven you to!"

Orestes chuckles. "I'm afraid I must deny you even that satisfaction, my would-be wife. Allow me to explain."

He exhales a long breath. "I was not always the heir to House Alsace. No, that honor went to my older sibling. Iphigenia was wonderful, my adoring older sister. She was my first and only friend, my protector, my teacher. She was a marvel of wit and charisma, of magic and might. She was perfect but for a single flaw: she lacked Concept."

Catherine stills.

"She hid it, of course. Other magics might mimic Nemean for a time, and Iphigenia was quite adept at magic. But eventually the truth came out. It did not matter how skilled she was at everything else, as far as my mother was concerned, Nemean was the only thing that mattered. And so, my beloved older sister was unceremoniously killed, and I became the heir." He laughs sadly. "I lost my protector and the brunt of my mother's attention fell on me. Her training, her torture… I was the victim of it all now. It was all I could do to protect Atreus and Electra from it, to be the perfect heir so that my little siblings wouldn't suffer the same in turn, just as Iphigenia had protected me for so long. All the while, I swore to destroy this accursed House and everything my mother stood for. It was all that mattered."

He spits. "But then you bastard Talmonts failed! You were supposed to keep Atreus safe and happy, away from this miserable House! Instead that worthless shit led him to his doom, left him to die! I was naive. I had thought that it was just Alsace that deserved death, but that incident was proof. It was not just my House that was rotten, but every House, every scrap of nobility, every worthless fop born with a Concept. If I could tear it all down, I would do so gladly!"

I can see the madness in his eyes. His lips are practically frothing with spittle.

He forces himself calm, taking a deep breath. "But I know my limits. This world is much stronger than me. There is only so much I can do. The utter destruction of Alsace and Talmont is enough. Causing as much damage to the other Houses as I could manage is enough." He looks My Lady in the eye, smiling. "I must thank you profusely for your aid."

"No." Catherine says quietly.

"Hm?"

"I said, 'no,' you psychotic bastard!" she yells. "You do not get to claim that my actions were part of your plan. You do not get to claim House Talmont's righteous vengeance as your own! I made my decisions of my own will! These pointless mind games, this twisting of history… it means nothing! I am the one that destroyed House Alsace! You did not manipulate me into it! You did not simply permit it to happen! You do not get to invalidate everything I have done! Cease your worthless prattling!"

"I am dying, Catherine. I have no reason to lie," he says calmly. "I will admit I dreamed of this… gloating to someone who might understand my loathing, finally speaking my mind as I died in triumph… but this is indeed the end I had hoped for, the one I have fought so hard for. It is the finale of my misery and hate."

"Electra." I interrupt, speaking for the first time. "Your sister. Do you mean to say you wanted her to die? That you cared nothing for her death."

Orestes freezes, a look of sorrow painting his expression. "I… I had hoped she might leave. I had hoped she might have fled, even though I knew she never would. I never wished her ill, but… she was a carrier of Nemean, a potential heir to the legacy of House Alsace. And… in the end, it seems I hated House Alsace more than I loved my little sister." He laughs, lightly, madly, sadly. "I can only imagine Iphigenia would hate me just the same. She was always stronger than me."

The man looks pathetic. But it seems that is all he has ever been: a mess of rage and undirected vengeance under a thin facade.

It is all too easy to imagine Catherine falling for the same trap. Have I been enabling her own insanity, or have I been keeping her from falling off the edge?

Orestes collects himself and sighs. "I do not hate you, Catherine. You who were born without the curse of a Concept… I have no anger towards you. I do not hold you to the sins of your damned family. If anything, I can only offer you my deepest sorrow, for using you as the tool of my vengeance. The wealth of Talmont and Alsace will be yours, to do with as you wish. I have arranged it. I wish you well in your life. "

He grins. "But I will die with a smile on my face. With my death, the line of Nemean will be extinguished. Narcissus and Nemean. Talmont and Alsace. Two Great Houses stretching back to the foundation of the League, dead by my hands. I can only imagine how proud I have made my mother." He laughs, soft and mad.

My Lady stands in silence, in seething rage. I can barely imagine the turmoil she is going through. The cruel revelations, the pointlessness of it all… Catherine d'Talmont has spent the last two years of her life living for this moment, and it is all crumbling down in such a miserable way.

It is a nightmare of an ending to the story she was weaving. And that story was the only thing that had kept her going after the tragedy Orestes inflicted upon her.

I prepare myself. For what, I do not know. But if I need to restrain Catherine to prevent her from doing something drastic, I will do so in an instant.

The alternative isn't worth contemplating.

But My Lady stills. Then she smiles. It is like something has broken. Or like a momentous weight has lifted off her shoulders.

I am caught off guard by the change. Orestes seems to be just as confused.

"I'm afraid you are mistaken, Count d'Alsace," she says simply.

"Hm? I can't imagine what you are referring to. I have won my battle, Catherine, not against you but against the world."

"You claim your line will end here with your death. But that will not be the case. Marcus, copy his form."

"My lady?" I don't understand what she is aiming at.

But Orestes seems quicker on the uptake, his face dawning in horror. "No! You can't!"

"Count Orestes d'Alsace will not die here. He will seclude himself in mourning for a time, but eventually emerge to take back control of his estate and return it to proper standing. The misunderstanding with House Talmont will be resolved, and his marriage with Catherine d'Talmont will go through as originally planned. Of course, as Catherine is a reigning Marchioness now, the terms will be renegotiated, but I can't imagine that will be a problem." She smiles at me. "What say you, Marcus? I am thinking four children. An heir and a spare for each house. Perhaps five to be safe. Is that amenable to you?"

I choke.

"See reason, Catherine!" Orestes begs. "Are you giving up your own vengeance? Refusing to kill House Alsace… how can you reconcile that with your pride? With your duty to avenge Talmont's dignity?! You are throwing it all away… for what? Just to spite me?!"

"Perhaps I am throwing away House Talmont's pride. Perhaps I am failing in my duty to my House. Perhaps I am being horribly selfish. But… at this moment, even more than I wish for vengeance against House Alsace… I wish for vengeance against you, Orestes."

"It doesn't matter!" Orestes yells. "I still won! Even if you pretend otherwise, even if you hide the truth, I still ended both Houses. I still eradicated Nemean and Narcissus. I will happily laugh at the mockeries you plan to make. It will bring joy to my dying heart." Despite his words, there is only abject fury in his expression.

"Orestes, even without Narcissus, I am a Talmont. My children will be Talmonts no matter what they are born with. Or Alsaces, as appropriate. Whether they have Nemean or Narcissus or Protean or even nothing at all… they will be the inheritors of our two lines. And we will claim whatever we wish about their magic to anyone who cares."

"You…" but whatever Orestes is planning to say remains unspoken as his body gives out. His expression is frozen in a rictus of rage.

I stand in stunned silence. Catherine lets out a deep breath. She looks utterly exhausted.

She looks at me with tired eyes. "Well, aren't you going to copy him?"

"You were serious? I thought you were just saying that to make him angry."

"Well, I can hardly marry you if you are only a commoner, after all. So let's take advantage of the opportunity."

Once again, I choke.

Catherine smiles. It's a beautiful thing. She grabs my arm and holds it close, leaning her head against my shoulder. "Do you think a month is too short for the mourning period? A week? I want to schedule our wedding as soon as possible."

I take a deep breath. "I'll need to copy Orestes before we can do that, Catherine. I, uh, I need my arm for that."

Catherine only snuggles into me closer.

 

[HypoSoc]

Imagine a man born with a lie. After a life of deceit and concealment, he ends his life with a story. On his deathbed, he entrusts it to his child.

Imagine this child born with a story. After a life of recitation and repetition, she ends her life with a legend. On her deathbed, she entrusts it to her child.

Imagine this child born with a legend. After a life of reverence and obedience, he ends his life with a history. On his deathbed, he entrusts it to his child.

This is the secret of nobility: in a world where everyone is born with a lie, the noble is born with a history.

This is the nature of nobility: in a world where everyone is born alone and afraid, the noble is born a link in a grand chain.

To be born a noble is to be a forger of history, to put weight to a lie whose origin has been forgotten, to cling to a world their ancestor insisted upon. It is a fabrication of the past; it is a reshaping of the future.

When a person lies, they deceive only those around them. When a noble lies, they craft a tale for all who came before them and all that will come after them.

In this way, the truth of a noble cannot be considered the truth of the world. The original deception shapes their lives more than the world ever could. A noble is nothing more and nothing less than the tradition they follow: the lie they have convinced the world to believe.

But why do we cling so hard to stories we have been told? When the past is an inaccessible relic, when the future is an unknowable mystery, why do we insist on holding fast to any tale? The hateful past and the fearful future need not chain the present. To refuse to lie is to reject the power one has over this world of perceptions.

A noble is one born from the continuation of a lie. They have found meaning in it. They have built a tradition of it. They have twisted the world to conform to it. And they use their power to trap the future in their wake.

One must take care of the lies they choose to spread. One must take care of the lies they believe.

Lest they are beholden to their miseries.

Fin​