Chương 65: Book 2, Chapter 4: Mixed Together

Bel let out a delighted cackle.

"Oh, do not make that face. It doesn't suit you. You know, my eldest daughter Sofia had a little pony named Warry when she was a child. Most beloved animal she ever owned."

"Your Grace, please do not compare me to a pony," said an increasingly exasperated Warren. Conrad, perhaps sensing that he was no longer Bel's primary target, slipped away from the group, heading back inside with evident relief.

"Ah, but you see, Warry the pony was extremely well-mannered. It is a compliment," said Bel.

"If you must insist on informality, duchess, then perhaps simply using my first name would be enough."

"Mm. I can accept that compromise, provided you call me Isabel." Warren thought for a moment, then nodded. Bel put a hand on his shoulder.

"We have a deal, then, Warren." She gave Clara a quick nod and went to bark orders at some sailors.

"Righton," said Clara. His blue eyes met hers.

"Casewell. I see you've fully recovered."

"Never felt better." Clara turned slightly to the side, avoiding his gaze.

"Thank you, again. The rescue wouldn't have been possible without you."

"You've already thanked me more than enough. If anything, I did it for myself—it wouldn't do to lose my… rival like that. I trust you'll take better care of yourself in the future." His tone was unusually serious.

"Even now, we don't know whether the danger is truly over, and we have little information on Leofric's end goal. It is worrying to think someone like him was using the Church for twisted means, but I have faith that Her Holiness and the Grand Inquisitor will root out any of his remaining co-conspirators, if they exist." Clara didn't share Warren's optimism for a resolution coming from within the Church, given that the Pope had clearly failed to uncover the conspiracy thus far.

But Clara also understood it was much harder for natives of this world—and, without his modern memories, Warren was pretty much that—to distrust an institution they'd spent their whole lives trusting. That was another reason Clara wanted Professor Morris to find a cure for Forrest. Maybe, just maybe, the same cure could also be used to restore Warren's missing memories.

"Care to explain what you're doing here?" she asked, changing the topic.

"I should think that would be rather obvious. I'm accompanying Her Grace's expedition to Istantinople in order to defend the former Duke de Bragança at his trial. What are you doing here? Don't tell me you've returned to House von Rhenia's service, after all that talk of no longer wanting to be a servant."

"Wait, what?" Clara pursed her lips.

"Bel asked you to defend her father?"

"Indeed. A foreign power attempting to apply its 'justice' to a former Arcadian duke is a matter of some magnitude, and I am uniquely qualified among the Arcadian nobles who could undertake the important task of defending him in court, considering my experience as a prosecutor. There really is nobody else suited for this."

"Aside from me, you mean."

"You may have proven yourself in court, but this is a delicate matter, fraught with political implications. The Empire's accusation carries considerable diplomatic complexity, and the former duke's defense requires sufficient rank to absorb the consequences."

"Brave words, for someone I've defeated in court twice, in rather consequential matters, at that."" Defeated? I was under the impression that we were partners in search of the truth—you wound me, Casewell. And it was ultimately the duchess's decision to ask me and not you to take up her father's defense, so there is little point in complaining to me."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," said Clara.

"She did ask me." Warren furrowed his brow. Bel approached the pair again.

"Oh, did I neglect to mention you'd be working together? How forgetful—Papai must be rubbing off on me."

"Bel."

"Clara."

"You hired both of us without telling either of us about the other."

"Did I?" Bel pressed a hand to her chest.

"You know, now that you mention it, I do recall some sort of decision along those lines. But you must understand, I was so taken by your charm and the delicious pastries that the details slipped my mind. I am only a humble sailor."

"You are a duchess," corrected Warren.

"And I am more than capable of handling this matter by myself."

"The humblest of duchesses." Bel's grin sharpened.

"Look, my dears, it is very simple. My family's honor is on the line, and I am not a woman who places her faith in a single ship, no matter how steady, for the waves can be unexpectedly treacherous. You are both clearly capable, which you have proven by repeatedly trying to defeat each other in court. So why not act on the same side, for once? And see who comes out the better for it." Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

"This isn't a competition, Bel," said Clara.

"Everything is a competition, Clara. That is a universal truth. Besides, why the upset? From what I've heard, you two have a most interesting relationship. I look forward to observing it." Clara frowned.

"Who told you that?"

"Oh, several little birds. I loved hearing about the rings, by the way. Soulmates, they are called?" Warren coughed.

"It was a professional courtesy."

"It was for evidence," Clara said at exactly the same time. Bel's laugh was so loud that two passing sailors nearly dropped a trunk.

"You see? I have not even said anything specific, and look at the two of you, falling over yourselves. Excellent!"

"Isabel." Warren tried his best to keep a steady tone and recover some of his dignity.

"I think you misunderstood the nature of our—""Warren, my dear, I am wiser than my years, and I have watched many people misunderstand many things. I assure you, one thing I do not misunderstand is when people are working very hard to convince me to ignore the truth that is right in front of my eyes." Clara pressed her fingers against her temples.

"Bel."

"Yes, my love?"

"Please stop."

"Stop? But I haven't even gotten started." Bel clapped her hands together.

"Now! We sail the day after tomorrow, which means we must set out for Fontaineux within the hour. Warren, get your horse settled with the others. Clara, your trunks have already been loaded—Madame Silka outdid herself, I hear. Let us be on our way, for we have a country to conquer!"

"I thought we weren't attacking unless the trial didn't work," Clara protested.

"It's a figure of speech." Bel winked, then strode off toward the carriages. Clara looked at Warren again.

"It seems we'll be working together, co-counsel."

"Yes." He looked away. What was that? I thought he'd make some snarky comment, or tell me not to get in his way. Before she could say anything, Warren went down the steps to tend to his horse, and Clara stood there for a moment longer, watching the chaos of the von Rhenia and de Bragança departure unfold around her. She let out a long breath. Two days overland, then a week at sea. With Iris, Conrad, Bel, and Warren. After that, who knows how long under the blazing sun of Istantinople. Goddess help me.

Then, despite herself, Clara straightened the strap of her satchel and smiled. The ride to Fontaineux was long, but not overly bumpy. Bel's carriages were just as comfortable as the ones belonging to the von Rhenias, and the southern highway into the Duchy of Valois was well-maintained, crossing mostly through flatlands but with beautiful views of the Elysian Alps on the horizon. Clara and Emma were alone in one of the back carriages.

Well, not exactly alone—their company was Iris's baggage and its overwhelming smell of lavender. Clara had given Emma a children's book so she could practice some reading, and for herself she'd checked out 'A History of the Byzottoman Empire', by Professor Marie Baird, from the Claves library. Clara wasn't exactly keen on studying Byzottoman history, but since there weren't any specific books on its laws, this would be the best source she'd get for now.

After all, a lawyer ought to have at least a passing acquaintance with the country whose courts she'd be appearing in. She opened the first chapter. The introduction was quite dry, with only sparse details. The Byzottoman Empire, like most of the successor states of the Elysian Empire, was founded roughly eight hundred years ago, in the aftermath of the Cataclysm, by the disciples of one of the original twelve Saintesses. Clara paused when she read the word cataclysm.

What had originally been some stereotypical fantasy world flavor had recently become much more real, and her breath got stuck in her throat when her mind went to the abomination Aldric had turned into. Its horrible otherworldly bleating had already been the subject of more than one of Clara's nightmares. If the entire world was overrun with monsters like that, it's really no wonder people still worship the Goddess and the Saintesses who defeated them.

Clara pushed the gruesome memory away and focused on the book in front of her. The founder of the Empire was Sultan-Basileus Constantine Suleyman I. He was granted his crown by Saintess Irene, who established a seat in Istantinople as the Matriarch of the East after a schism with Saintess Elowen, the first Pope.

Today, the ruling Sultan-Basileus had nearly unchecked power in the Empire—there was no Parliament like in Arcadia, and even the role of Matriarch had lost its power over the years, becoming practically a subordinate of the emperor. Clara closed the book. The Sultan-Basileus. The Matriarch of the East.

"Are you okay, Miss Clara?" Clara sighed.

"I don't think I'll ever be okay again, Emma. But it is what it is." She opened it again.

By the time the carriage had stopped at a roadside inn for fresh horses, she had learned that Byzottoman royal succession was determined by a peculiar system in which legitimate heirs of the Sultan-Basileus had to spend a portion of their childhood being raised among janissary soldiers so as to better understand the hardships faced by those serving the Empire; that the Imperial Palace was a grand structure known as Hagia Topkapi; and that, prior to the advent of steamships, the Byzottoman navy was feared across the Elysian Sea for its fire-breathing warships.

Clara could feel a headache coming, and it had nothing to do with the road. Whoever had designed this country had looked at the entire Eastern Mediterranean of the early modern era, decided it was too much trouble to pick one civilization over the other, and then mixed their elements together at random. Oh, what I wouldn't give to watch a Greek and a Turk read this book together.

The journey settled into a rhythm of soft bumps, dull pages, Emma's snoring, and the occasional annoyed mutter from Clara when Professor Baird informed her of something particularly outrageous. Thanks to Vivienne's text illumination spell, which Clara had successfully managed to replicate, the darkness of the night wasn't an obstacle for her reading.

The convoy stopped at an inn for the night, and, in the afternoon of the second day, the carriages rolled across a long stone bridge into the seaside town of Fontaineux.

"Miss Clara, look!" Clara peered out the window. Fontaineux was a pretty town, with buildings of pale stone and blue roofs. Yet it wasn't the town that had caught Emma's eye; it was the harbor. Below, the natural bay opened wide into the deep blue of the Elysian Sea, which had been reddened by the sunset. There were dozens of ships around, most of which looked to be merchant barges coming and going from the port.

But there were ten vessels that were much larger than the rest, all of them bearing an impressive array of guns. Even from this distance, Clara could pick out the green, gold, and red flag flying from every mast of those heavily armed ships. They were House de Bragança's armada. Closer to the harbor, six steam frigates were arranged in a careful formation, their sails furled tight against their masts and their funnels smoking idly.

And further away, four massive iron-hulled warships dominated the horizon, one of which was even wider and more armored than the others. Clara didn't know how to reconcile a world of swords and sorcery with this kind of naval power. But there was one thing she did know: despite her casual demeanor, Isabel de Bragança was not someone to be underestimated. Not by Clara, and not by the Byzottoman Empire.