Chương 119: Chapter 140: Gauntlet

"Petunia? Bruce?" I said very sweetly.

"Traitors within the Meadwhite family are responsible for the firebombing of the manor in Meadowtam three years ago. I believe we no longer need their vassalage." Petty stared, mouth hanging.

"She just told you?"

"Well, no," I admitted.

"I've known for years. Long before the events happened. But when I told her that, she was quite relieved that she did not need to lie to me. Also, the last Duke Meadwhite is still leading the family from the shadows, he is a lich now." Bruce stumbled, his knees weak. But he caught himself on his cane.

"Truly!?" he blurted out.

"Cannot be!"

"It can," I told him, blandly, matter-of-fact.

"I kill him every couple of years just to exact a little revenge. He has been working behind the scenes to bring our family down for decades because he thought it would restore his family to the duke's throne. The Meadwhite house has been trying for years to stay out of my way because they were sure that I know. Rightly so." Petunia grimaced at me, hands on her hips. She was still having trouble with this.

"How do we know-?" Bruce recovered faster, and patted her arm.

"Petty, stop, you know damn well that Cousin Natalie is one of the most honest people in the kingdom." And here I am getting offended and protesting again." Really?" I snapped.

"I'm wearing a veil! You can't see my face!" He rolled his eyes.

"You're not doing any of the things with your hands or your head that you do when you're trying to hold back the truth. Also, nobody ever taught you how to tell a lie."

"You literally don't even need to see my face to know?!" Petty tucked her hands behind her back and averted her eyes to stay uninvolved, but Bruce likes pushing my buttons too much to resist, even in this moment.

"Cousin Natalie, if I were as bad at prevarication as you are, I'd have been killed ages ago. So yes, I have no choice but to believe you. The Meadwhites... very literally our closest allies! Our vassal house!" He was rocked with disbelief, enough to distract him from talking shit to my face. I sighed.

"I know. I know. But - well, I do not believe that every Meadwhite member was in on the conspiracy. But that nobody becomes the head of the Meadwhite family, or a ranking policy-making leader, unless they are part of the conspiracy and more loyal to their lich ancestor than to us." It was not about the fact that every one of the Meadwhite extended family has been funneling information and funding up the pyramid and from there to the lich tyrant. They did not know about that, and could not be held accountable.

It's about the fact that this is not just an association, this is a family. You can't just toss out the Meadwhite matriarch and expect things to be fine after that. There will still be favors. Children consulting their parents for advice, nieces cutting their aunts a break. This was what the House system is all about, the tight-knit sense of community. The same reason that baron-cousins support their duchess-cousin, or that an earl will be extra benevolent to their counts.

But, when someone goes wrong, irredeemably wrong, then we really have a hard time rooting that out.. At the end of the day, this is why Hearstwhile's corruption cannot be treated piecemeal. Bruce was nodding.

"Very well. We will need to remove their holdings and titles and transfer them to a minor house, nobody would take on a Lesser House that has been betraying their liege so deliberately. And, we cannot be seen to be lax or merciful in this, it would only invite more trouble." Petty nodded along, her face grim. Both of my cousins treated it as self-evident that forgiveness was not an option.

Even when I'm the stone-cold bitch that slams the door in the Meadwhite matriarch's face, I'm still more lenient than either of them would consider being. I've got a long way to go before I'm the mean one.

"I'm thinking the Vuryta house," I said.

"They've been exemplary, they have earned a lot of trust and responsibility, but without the perks and authority that should come with it." Petty rubbed her hands together.

"It's an excellent point. Let's get Sisa and start the - where's Sisa?"

"That's another thing," I said.

"Sisa was in charge of coordinating between Harigold and Meadwhite."

"no""Yyyyuuup. It was her suggestion that had the family's mail system split in two, half here in Hearstcliff so that the whole network would not go down, and half in Meadowtam so all the explosive letters could be gathered in one place. Then she handed a list to the Meadwhites so the booby-trapped letters could be sent to the right addresses to make sure they were all in the right place at the right time." Bruce was staggered, and leaned on the table in front of me.

"But how?" I shook my head.

"You're looking at it wrong. We knew that the fire was started by enemies with sigils in the mail. But a coordinated assault like that takes a lot more than accelerant. I was there, and let me tell you: that stunt was meticulously planned. Fine-tuned. It's not enough to have fire-bomb letters, it takes a ton of inside information. Schedules, blueprints, guard rotations, emergency plans, all of it. They even knew that the only sorceress on the premises could not control fire." I shook my head.

"These were questions we all left unanswered for years. Nobody wanted to look at that tragedy and say 'how much inside information would an enemy need to do this'. Because it is a lot. Remotely arsoning a huge mansion like that and cutting off every exit at the same time is basically impossible, that's why nobody has ever heard of it happening."

"But you knew," Petty prompted.

"I knew. I knew we were up against a network of conspirators. Some open enemies. Some hidden enemies. And some too close to suspect," I said. I sounded tired now, even to my own ears. Petty stopped, and turned, and put her back to the table, facing out.

"Cousin Natalie," she said, speaking just barely loud enough to hear.

"How many others?..."

"None," I said.

"At least, none that are serious. Maybe a handful of officers that are selling information, or cutting deals for family members in other houses. Just the normal amount. As of now, the house should be clean. Especially the upper levels. I'm having Sisa transfer control of the day-to-day operations in the city to the two of you. Nathan and I are out of contact most of the time because of the Academy's restrictions. It has become clear that only family can be trusted."

There was a pause, the three of us just huddled close.

"Now that all the life and death stuff is handled for now," I said, "please do allow me something I have wanted to do since I arrived." I stepped in close between them, wrapped an arm around each, and hugged them both tightly. When their arms settled around me and squeezed, I felt something important relax inside me. Hugs are really important. Petunia scrunched her face, she was trying not to chew her lip.

"We only turned our back on you for five minutes. You've gotten rid of our only Lesser House cadet and our primary liaison to your parents. You have to know what this looks like."

"My hope is that it looks like I'm decisive, bold, and ready to shake things up in this circuit. It probably looks more like I'm imperious and uncompromising." Bruce scoffed.

"You can certainly wish it will be seen in terms that flattering. Expect terms like 'amateurish' and 'inelegant'."

"Be fair. I'm new to these people. Anything I do for the next five years is going to be branded as amateurish and callow no matter what I do or don't do. I could walk left like an amateur, or I can walk right like an amateur. So that's out of my hands. And I don't think there's any way to act boldly without also inviting insinuations of inelegance." We made some small talk, or at least smaller than dead siblings and the betrayal of hidden enemies.

We tried to keep ourselves discussing small productive steps, like what messages to send to whom.

"Dear Mother and Father. I have proof that the Meadwhite family has been betraying us and that their ancestor is undead as a lich. I have given them their walking papers and told them to prepare for dissolution. Please look over the enclosed paperwork and include your signatures." Things like that. How we were going to step into Sisa's shoes and pick up all the various tasks she had been taking care of. How this would impact the family businesses. And of course inter-House politics.

I carefully phrased certain statements to gently introduce the idea that I would be most comfortable handling that aspect, the power struggles against the other Houses. Petty and Bruce both immediately deferred, clearly preferring not to wade through those nests of vipers.

"More power to you," Bruce chuckled.

"I'll happily hold the reins on the city-side businesses if it means I don't have to engage at these parties anymore." Petty snorted disdain at the subject.

"Damn right. And I'll happily hold leashes for the extended family here if it means I never have to talk about the weather with another Nhullit." Neither of them was at all ambiguous about the fact that they felt I'd taken the worst job for myself. Nor was there any real discussion about Nathan's role in this. Only a brief aside. Petty had stood by awkwardly while Bruce carefully said, "and, er, what about Nathan's role in this?" I had my answer carefully worded.

"I think Nathan has plenty on his plate just being the heir presumptive. Maybe he doesn't need to be bothered with any of this." Iced water in my glass clinked as it melted slowly, condensation dripping to the tabletop. Petty nodded.

"If he wanted an active role, he'd be here now, after all." The reason that the vestibule had been empty when we came in was that the abundance of people who had been here last Sixthday were not here again. The composition of the crowd was different. Last week, plenty of people who only rarely, barely or tangentially interacted with high-stationed House politics or major guild business ventures. This week, few of those people were allowed entry, having been offered seating at the overflow annex next door.

Last week, there had been plenty of people who treated high society circles just as tourists treat local attractions, or as visitors treat a zoo garden. This week, there was a vastly different make-up, and those people did not have room to sit down because everyone is here tonight. Everyone of the rank of count or higher, or immediate heirs and relations of similar standing, who was less than two days' travel from here- all were here. The relative density of noble titles was exponentially higher.

Last Sixthday, there had only been a dozen people who could dangle their rank above me. Today, being the highest-stationed Harigold on the premises only highlighted how under-represented the Harigolds are in Hearstcliff. Twelve dukes, twelve duchesses. A hundred ducal princes and princesses. A hundred more cousins, a hundred more nephews and nieces. The whole royal family: Lachel's parents and all her siblings, aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews and cousins.

Anyone whose best claim is that they are the heir of a count would have a fifty-fifty shot of being allowed in here. We were packed with privilege here. A single Target Two attack dropped in here would condense the entire French Revolution into about five seconds. What I'm emphasizing is that everyone is here, and yet Nathan is not. I'm not surprised that my parents are not here, they do not leave the duchy. But Nathan is in the same city and I know he received an invitation. Well, he snoozes he loses.

This was the day we decide the command structure of the Harigold family's Hearstcliff detachment, and he was not here for it. The house lights started to dim, and I excused myself. I stepped outside of the gallery hall and into the night. I raised my hands, and conjured up two owls. I gave them instructions, and sent them out. After all, once she's a few miles away Sisa Wellen might start to think that she didn't need to stay scared of me.

So two owls, one to travel to her office and one to scour the streets and carriages looking for her. One to stay visible and let her know she's being watched, and the other to keep a long eye on her and fly back to me to report what she does. Owls are simple-minded creatures, it's best not to assign them more than one complex task at a time. Either find her and let her know she's being watched, or look for a signal and report back. Can't trust one owl for both.

Then I cast them out into the night and felt them disappear into the darkness, before I turned to head back inside. The herald was staring. I stopped, and glared back.

"What?"

"N-nothing my lady!" the herald stammered. I stormed in. The audience was almost entirely done taking seats and preparing for the show. I really considered just passing on the whole thing. More and more I'm having a hard time pretending not to hate the garment customs of this world. But if I bailed and skipped the showing, it would be noticed. Because I had, in my urge to make a dramatic appearance, picked an outfit that could be seen clearly even in the dark.

So I excused myself past legs and knees and moved to take a seat in my assigned position between my cousins, and I settled into place with only a little fuss and bother. Hands folded, I just sat still and ignored all the over-energetic hype from the designers and the masters of ceremonies, and ignored all the promises they made and all the descriptions they offered. Clothing is for people to wear, not for someone to discuss.

As far as I'm concerned, the fact that none of the models were invited to speak was enough of an indictment for the whole process. And it's not just the scratchy starched lace. Or the stitched bustle that looked like it was dragging on one half of her body. Or the way that the layered skirts kept trying to tangle in her legs as the model walked it down. I'm just tired of wearing the same construction of dress every day to every function. Unless I'm sleeping or playing camogie, there's almost not real variety.

A shift, a chemise or maybe a camisole top, skirt with or without a petticoat, and a bodice or bustier. When I suggested a one-piece dress people stared at me like I had invented a new form of sacrilege. I want some real goddamned variety. Knee-length skirts. Jeans. Sweaters. Buttoned blouses. Halters. Tanks. Kaftans. Qipao. V-necks. Low-rise. Cardigans. Wraps. A-line. Sundresses. Peplum. Culottes. Tracksuits. Hoodies.

Fifteen goddamned years, everything that everyone wears is all the same structure, either dressed way down for the peasant classes or primped way up for the high-society ball. I could scandalize this whole room with a pencil skirt and a boat-neck blouse. And they're here holding a whole-ass five-ring fashion-show production to feature minor variations of the same dresses.

And most of those variations are guaranteed to be terrible because every non-terrible version of this has been standard practice for a hundred years. The music and literature of this world is so stagnated that it will destroy the planet. But the clothes are far more limited. Fortunately the clothing industry is not my problem and it is not going to become my problem either.

On the other hand I am eagerly looking forward to becoming so influential and so powerful that I can wear whatever the hell I want to and nobody will say shit about it. My goal is to get so powerful that I can (a) kick the crap out of that goddess that sent me here, and (b) wear whatever I like and know that it becomes okay just because I wore it. There are obstacles in my way. I am in the process of resolving this. Targets in a row. And then blessedly finally the travesty ended and I headed for the washrooms.

Because in the past week I have not learned my lesson about sipping water during social events when I'm going to need to stay seated for two hours. Fortunately my gifts let me travel a little faster than most and to reach the place ahead of most of the line. You don't have to pinch a skirt and hustle about all indecorously if you can hover just an inch above the floor and swish along at a nice five-to-six miles-per-hour without looking like you're doing more than a gentle patient stroll.

I was vowing to myself that if any of these boneheaded designers was going to get up in my face today, I'm going to lead with a swift punch instead of saying anything. Last week they got their warning. That thought had a grim smile on my face, and then I heard someone outside the washroom cutting in line over and over. I looked over at the restroom attendant, dressed in her Eyellon house colors and looking terrified to be addressed by a princess wearing the pitchest of dark black dress and veil.

"How bad do you suppose my luck really is?" I asked her. Rhetorical question. I can already hear the voice. And shouldering between one countess and the next, Princess Lachel popped through the doorway right in front of me. And she stared at me.

"You." So we're doing this again.

"Princess Lachel," I said. I gave a small curtsy. She ignored it, staring daggers at me.

"I haven't heard about you falling down in front of everyone again. Has some other misfortune or indignity entered your life that you wish to pin on me?"

"As if you didn't already know!" she hissed angrily. Sparks from her eyes. Huh. I guess something really did happen. Well, time to start dropping bombs. There's a decent number of women in here, of whom half are trying desperately to pretend they're not eavesdropping and the other half are practically reaching for popcorn.

"So sorry Princess, did someone put a necromantic blight over your homeland too?" I sneered. She blinked, surprised.

"Wha- necromancy? Bu- Now why does that have anything to do with your brother?" I would let myself try to figure out what that means later. I don't have time right now to parse out what the fuck she and Nathan are up to this time.

"Maybe you should just ask you father," I snapped.

"Ask him if the profits from those gods-damned grapefruit groves were really worth it." And now it's time to say something that you can probably only get away with saying directly to the princess's face if you're also a ducal princess yourself." Fucking Freckentops," I sneered.

"Everything's about money for you people." And she was still staring, aghast, wide-eyed, as I swept out of there. People practically hurled themselves sideways to avoid being in my way. Everything I've said here is going to travel as fast as any rumor ever could. The whole city will know that Natalie Harigold is accusing the king himself of responsibility for the berry blight, and that it's necromancy. Well, I've put that out in the open. The gauntlet is cast. It's time to pick up the pace and step up the pressure.