Chương 117: Chapter 138: No Promises

But flying circles around Larianne's hometown was not the end of my day. We had to knock off in the late afternoon, at the fourteenth bell. When my portal dropped us off back in Hearstcliff we were back at the thirteenth bell, and it was time to start getting all dolled up for the evening. Tonight is the final night of Fashion Week, after all. It's an eight-day Week, as it worked out. From one Sixthday through the next Sixthday.

Different events scheduled each day, and six of them were specialty affairs like semi-formal occasions, accessories, traveling attire, or whatever. The first and final days were more generalized, to open and summarize the whole festivity. We had packed a little picnic for lunch, but even still we were all pretty near starving by fourteenth bell, traveling across time zones is weird even if you wind up in the same place you started from.

Elica, Rinnie and I were showered up, and only partially made-up but very much dressed down, and we descended on the dining hall like ravening wolves. Well, if wolves would get seconds of cake. Dinner that evening was a casserole of turkey and eggplant over a bed of rice. Rinnie refused eggplant and went with the second option, a plate of sausage, flatbreads and steamed veggies. She was two bites in before she made a face and then started using her fork to pick all the eggplant out of the veggies.

Rinnie was coming along with us for this excursion, and the plan was that she would look almost but not quite as elegant, refined and put-together as Elica. Apparently the Earl of Dandston did not place well last week with her Brunbling relatives because she arrived alone and without any maids or attendants. So rather than get herself pushed to the outer edges again, she was making sure to bring her local employee. We all three ate with unseemly haste and then bolted back to our dorm.

I took care of my side of the room and my own preparations, while those two did their best. Elica still refused to do anything that could be considered a job, and that included her own makeup sometimes and sometimes not. I have not made a specific study of the terms, but she seems to have her own system for when it is permissible for her apply her own makeup or not. But she somehow was not forbidden by her code from putting makeup onto Rinnie, so the two of them were alternating doing each other up.

Elica would go first, because she had a better idea what she wanted, and then would talk Rinnie through doing her own. Me? I conjured a dozen mannequin hands made of shining silver, and animated them to help me. Elica and Rinnie told me once each that this was creepy, and I told them once each that I took their concerns under advisement. Silver understands aesthetics and vanity, and its relationship to mirrors makes it particularly adept at applying cosmetics.

It's about the relationships of essential nature of these objects and materials. You just don't use steel and silver for the same things. Damn shame that I can't be seen crafting or controlling silver while I'm out and about, since it is extremely illegal for a sorcerer to learn an affinity for silver. It would be really hard for them to enforce that law in general, but it's a great crutch for anyone who needs a legal justification for giving me a hard time. My clothing this time was a very different take.

Last Sixthday: family colors, stark and cold, with sharp-edged predatory makeup. This time, the makeup accentuated the roundness of my eyes, the shape of my mouth, and the paleness of my skin. My hair was down loose, spreading like a shawl over my shoulders. And the dress was black satin-silk with black bobbin-lace. Full black, mourning black. Black was a popular color for dresses at society functions. Aumerje, Ebonder, Grennick, and Nhullit all featured black in their family colors.

But always softened with something, or contrasted with something. Ebonder had black and white, and Nhullit used black and gray. There were themes and styles and conventions to respect. But straight black, all black, is not house colors or fashion colors or social-event colors. This dress is a statement piece. During our trip to Uchislowi, I mastered just enough essence of blackhart to be able to conjure fabrics that are dyed a perfect light-swallowing black.

I used to remember the name of that color, but until I get back to earth or the internet I'll never know the name of that perfect black shade. But despite that, I can conjure it. And now I've got a mourning dress so stark that it looks like a glitch in reality, like the world just did not render me correctly. Elica and Rinnie told me, once each, that this was also creepy. I took their objections under advisement again. Tonight I do my damnedest to keep Wendy from being forgotten. Dong. Dong. Dong.

"Fifteenth bell," I said.

"This is the latest we can credibly arrive. You're either ready or you're not." I conjured black lace, a veil over my face, pinned to my hair. Just before my eyes, two lines of tighter stitching trailed downward, looking like ebony tear-tracks running down the veil. The blazing-white door appeared, and I stood with my back to it.

"One more minute!" Rinnie said, leaning into the mirror as she corrected her lipstick. Elica hurried to my side, because she knew I was not bluffing. Rinnie almost did not make it in time. She does not play cards with us often enough to tell when I am definitely not bluffing. We stepped back out onto the same walk as last time, and someone nearby screamed in shock as the night was punctured by radiance.

I had the shape of this place in my senses, and I took the two girls by their elbows and walked them with me to the doors of the Royal Arts Gallery. We had to join a line of late arrivals, but at least we were not the very last ones in. They still had not put any lamps in to light the walkway. But I compensated by pushing out my sorcerous senses and tuning to them. I would be with them all night, paying attention to the essence of what was around me.

Last week, I had learned my lesson about relying on just what I can see.

"Finally getting my eyes back," Rinnie said.

"And- holy shit Na- Lady Harigold, I did not realize how dark that dress is." I glanced down at myself. The place around us was barely starlit, no lamps and a deep overcast. The night was a deep gray color. It looked black until I looked down at myself. Blackhart dye is intense. I look like a hole punched through the darkness. My black dress in the darkness stands out more than the white piping of the Pinking-house dress ahead of us. Perfect. In this, as in all things, I want attention. I want people talking.

I want them to discuss and start rumors and argue about it. I need a legend and I need it to grow.

"May I see your- caaards," the herald said, blinking and stepping back as I loomed up out of the shadows, dragging a greater darkness with me. I reached into my sleeve and withdrew my card, and handed it forward. The veil over my face obstructed some of my vision, but I could compensate easily by invoking the eyes of the owl. So I could see the bob of his throat as he gulped in nervous surprise before turning to run our cards over to the doorman who would check us against the guest list.

I stepped ahead of Elica and Rinnie, and walked across the threshold like a specter. The vestibule this time was clear of the pressing crowd- someone had done a better job corralling the lookie-loos this time. I spread my senses wide, the movements and spaces of the air, the presence of fabrics, minerals and metals. I was channeling steel, early just in case. And also, just in case, I was still wearing my poison-detecting ring on my thumb, over the black lace gloves. The owl also has fantastic hearing.

Not just strong hearing, but very precise as well. It's not so much that the owl can hear sounds louder, but also more distinct, separate more of them out. It's not good enough that I can distinguish multiple conversations at the same time in a crowded room, not yet, but I can pick up a lot more snippets than anyone would suspect. So I could make out a lot of "it's her", "Harigold", "princess", "cousin", and a general dimming and dulling of the noise levels.

The handful of people in the vestibule went quieter and stiller as I walked in. The dress was comfortable, for my sake. Satin-silk is lovely stuff, and I would drive myself broke getting outfits made of it if I did not get mine for free. The back of the dress dipped just a bit, with a flirt of fluttering lace from the overskirt, just enough to resemble a skirt train. The veil was deep but narrow, covering my face but letting the spread of white hair show, just to make the most of the contrast.

A silhouette needs a distinctive shape, and with a statement piece like this the contour is everything- I used fluffy petticoats until the skirt was nearly a bell-shape. Inside the gallery space, Houses were already formed up. This time we did not trickle in and slowly accumulate with our like-minded brethren, we were mustered like camps of war in a thirteen-way skirmish. Which, basically, is what was happening. A catering server appeared at my side.

She had a pair of gold coins in her pocket, someone had already bribed her well. You can learn a lot from sorcery.

"Milady, I can see you to your people," she said with fawning eagerness.

"Could I bring you a drink?"

"I can see my own people," I said to her, my tone hard and cold.

"I will be speaking to my server from last week." She flinched.

"Ah, all the servers from last weekend have been replaced, my lady. And Sisa Wellen asked me to stay close by your side." I scanned the room. My eyes turned, taking in details. But also, taking in reactions, how people behaved when they saw me staring at them. My sorcerous affinities grasped out, taking in all. Whose suit had rental tags inside, and who was wearing a coat-of-plates under their shirt. Who was carrying both a thin metal stiletto and a length of garotte wire.

One by one I started picking out the assassins in this room, and the bodyguards. If Lady Hanje had been more forthright with me, I could have done this last week as well. But now that she told me about it, I know what to look for. She might think these people were impossible to sort out from the crowd, but I had not told her about my full range of senses. I was starting to sense the depths of these waters.

Hanje had told me that usually someone's first season was a free pass, nobody messes with you too much while you've got your training wheels on. Apparently only Yheta is shabby enough to ignore that rule. But I was starting to understand how many of the people around me are more than they seem. The quiet ones, the aides and messengers and servers, even heralds. Over half of the valets, nearly a third of the mistresses, were armed or armored or both.

Some had rune-scribed items on them, mana warriors waiting to burst into action.

"Very well," I said to the sweating server.

"Water. Wedge of lemon." It sounds so simple, but getting a fresh lemon here is actually kind of a delicacy, and asking for only one wedge is an extravagant waste if nobody enjoys the rest of the fruit. The room was dim already, candles high to cast wide arcs of low light. The walls were covered in crimson velvet, tied and bunched from curtain rods and gold-fringed sashes. Stately and luxe. I walked the thick-piled carpet towards the Harigold faction.

We were stationed conveniently close to the Greifirs and Pinkings, our Development faction allies. A close knot, show of solidarity. I did not move straight there, I had a detour. The server tagged along at my heels, staying close by as she had said, but also signaling something to one of the other caterers. Handsigns. Convenient.

I gestured, one hand flowing through a course of arcs while the fingers tapped out finger-written runes in the air while my other hand turned invisible lines in the air and drew them like a weaver. Magic shimmered, and a pair of steel hands appeared in the air before me, flexible as a human hand but disembodied metal. They grabbed a table and moved it out of my way, and then the chair beside it. A little bit showy for moving furniture, but I'm feeling pretty extra right now. I stopped at the empty space.

New carpet. Someone had cut that section away, and had cut a matching section from a matching carpet and fitted it in place. But the wear pattern was different, the pile was slightly higher. I bent low, my skirts pooling around me. I reached out, and brushed my hand across the space where Wendy had died, on the ground. Because of my mistake. Because I was hasty and panicked. Because my allies are dangerous, impetuous, amoral, and less clever than they believe they are.

Because I can not think of another way to save Meadowtam from the blight, and Hearstwhile from the Freckentops, and this world from itself. I paused, and I reflected. I became aware that the room was growing quieter. I tried to measure out the pause and give it a proper interval, enough to make an impression but not to look actually deranged. Then I stood, shook my skirts, and turned to my server.

"See that this table is placed somewhere else."

"My lady," she said, nodding. I walked to the knot of red-and-white coats and taffetas, my family. They parted eagerly before me, and collapsed together right behind me, urging me into the inner reaches. Behind me, some of the Harigold outliers walked back the way I came, and I could tell they stood lingering over the replaced carpet. A vigil for the fallen. Of course I saw Petty first, the family lighthouse. She was dressed in red-and-white stripes, vertical and horizontal, like classic gingham.

The same pattern Wendy wore last week. Petty wore it a few sizes larger, and with a black sash and arm band. Bruce was in the same clothes he had worn to his sister's funeral, neatly pressed, and his gaze was sharp now behind his glasses. And at their side was Sisa, the woman who represented my Mother and Father's persons and wishes within the city of Hearstcliff. All three of them nodded to me, somberly. Sisa was wearing a dress for the first time I'd ever seen.

Deep burgundy and ivory, not in keeping with latest fashions and also not very comfortable looking. She dipped a curtsy towards me.

"My lady," she said.

"It is good to see you." Bruce nodded sharply.

"You should know there were plenty of wagers whether you would be back again tonight."

"What odds?" I asked.

"Three-gets-you-two in your favor," Petty said.

"Not long odds, but it did attract takers." The idle banter should have been lighthearted, but it was somber, voices dull. They both seethed. They could be sad the rest of the week, but coming back here and seeing all this had to feel to them like a disrespect to Wendy's life. It felt like that to me, and I did not know her nearly so well as either of them would. Bruce looked over my shoulder.

"People kneeling at that spot."

"A vigil," I said.

"A shrine." He nodded.

"I'll be back." He moved away, parting the crowd of Harigolds, moving up to take his turn to bend a knee for his dead sister. Sisa looked at Petty, then at me.

"I've been exhausting my resources looking for answers, I bet both of you have too."

"Let's wait until Bruce gets back," I said. Petty's eyes lit up, and she took a step forward, grabbing my arm.

"You do? You know something?!" She was a head taller than me and more, but her grip did not even dimple my skin under the sleeve. I am channeling steel for my strength, for my resilience, and for my resolve. There are too many knives and too many garottes here, too much poison and too many secrets.

"I was looking and the answers stumbled into my way," I said.

"Not all of them. Just enough to get me even more angry." Sisa flinched.

"Well, at least I'll be able to tell your father that we know why his niece was killed. That is something."

"Gods I'm going to be glad when this night is over," I said.

"And the start of the new social season." Finally treated as a participant in the House politics. Out of the training wheels. Allowed to trade favors and set strategy. No more of this "wait and see" approach. After tonight, everyone runs back to their vendeuse and starts laying out their plans for the next six months. Where, when, how. And I'll be part of those plans now. Petty shifted impatiently, and Sisa was watching the room like she'd be able to spot the next ploy coming.

When Bruce came back, Petty grabbed my arm again.

"So what did you learn!?" Bruce was immediately on high alert, stepping in very close between us, practically inside my veil with me.

"What? You know something?!"

"Easy," I soothed.

"Now, this is coming through channels. I negotiated for this information, but under conditions I can't trace it back. So, take this much, and understand that I don't have any way to learn more, all right?"

"Sure," Bruce said too fast.

"The assassin was trying to kill Bruce. He poisoned both glasses because he wasn't sure which you would drink," I said. My stomach felt awful, like lead weights were falling into it. I could see how Bruce's face twisted with the revelation.

"But the reason that the assassin was targeting you was because the idiots who hired him didn't know you existed. They thought that you were my brother."

"What?"

"What?!"

" What?!" Ah, a chorus. Delightful.

"Yeah. Apparently someone wanted my brother dead, and saw you here, and thought you were Nathan wearing glasses and carrying a cane." Sisa was the first to speak.

"Why? Why did someone want your brother dead?" My parent's representative. Their mouthpiece, their catspaw. Her priorities were their priorities. And to her, there is nothing in Hearstcliff more important than the crown prince of Meadowtam duchy, Nathan. A possible threat against him was more important to her than the very real girl who had died.

"Based on the rest of this debacle, probably some very stupid reason," I said. Bruce paused, and then coughed a rough, harsh laugh.

"Fuck. My sister's dead because some shitshow bungled assassinating someone entirely different." Petty reached over and yanked him into a one-armed hug.

"Dammit, Bruce, this sucks. I am so sorry."

"I hate to be the bearer of this news," I said, pitching my voice down.

"If I find a way to-" Bruce shook his head.

"Whatever you're going to say, stop. Put it away. I've heard so many promises this past week. I don't want a single one more. If you need to make a promise, promise Petty or Sisa or yourself. Promises are just another way to be disappointed in the future, and I've got enough on my plate right now."

"Holy shit, I thought I was bleak," I said after a tense moment.

"Bruce, my hands are tied. I can't offer you answers. I can't help you dig deeper. I've made layers of promises to get this far. And you don't want my promises. I will honor that. Petty? I promise you that I'm going to get revenge for the death of your cousin Wendy. And when the time comes, you'll get to see me offer your cousin Bruce the opportunity to deliver the blow." Petunia looked at me, processing, and glanced back at Bruce. He looked up at her. She nodded.

"Thank you for that promise, Cousin Natalie."

"And thank you for graciously accepting it in the stead of a man too tired for promises," I said.

"Now, time is short, they're going to interrupt us shortly with ugly dresses. Can I impose on you both to bring me the current head of Meadwhite? We've not been introduced." Bruce blinked in surprise.

"The only Lesser House pledged to Harigold and they have never-?" Petunia looked around.

"Actually, yeah, that's weird. Normally she's right up in the mix, but now it's like she's hiding. C'mon Bruce, I've got elevation, but you're so damn nimble." Bruce paused at my side before he left. He looked like he was having an argument with himself. He looked like he got tired of the argument and decided to ignore it. He glanced at me, eye contact sparking. He sighed, a deep huff.

"It's all right, cousin," he said with a voice like leaden thudding.

"Not everyone is good in a crisis. Things happen." He and Petty moved out through the surrounding reunion, a somber sea of relations whose cheer was visibly dimmed by the stark reminder that I provided with my dress, and that they provided with their presence. Bruce wants me to know he doesn't blame me. That doesn't help much. It's not the first time that I've failed in a crisis. But my habit of taking control during a crisis? That is something I need to work on. But right now, other problems need attending.

I cleared my throat, and moved to my next step.

"You know what nobody ever bothered to ask?" I said idly as if to nobody at all.

"I never heard anyone mention whose idea was it to move all of the Harigold mail distribution into the Manor House. It's not centrally located. When we first started, the mail was routed through the Harigold holdings in Hearstcliff. And then, someone suggested that it instead come down to the basement of my own home. It's not more convenient. Nor safer, cheaper, or faster. Not with teleportation. And it meant that the family had two main mail centers- one in Hearstcliff, and one in Meadowtam.

One for the Duke's own family, and one for the rest of the family. And then one of those two mail centers exploded. And everyone wanted to know who set the fire, but the question nobody wanted to bring up until today was: why was all of this arranged in the specific way that only one property burned?" I fixed her with an icy glare that she could feel through the veil. Sisa stared at me, already sputtering protests that she knew I would not accept.