Chương 141: Chapter 162: Headstrong

We arrived at the front door and were ushered to the ballroom, our names announced. In so many ways so different from the intimate affairs of the tearoom, the drawing room, the salon. But in so many ways so similar. The skills we showed off to Thumper, about saying nice things without saying meaningful things, the fluff and fog that kept social occasions working. But also the tense and thoughtful byplay and messages that I had been learning from Rabert Frantlin.

We moved down the receiving line, ("So good of you to come", "what a lovely home you have") from the supporting stewards and majordomos up through the family hierarchy ("What a lovely dress!""Thank you, I had it made for the occasion!") and then to host himself ("Always a pleasure to see who will be representing your house for us", "The duty to the family often has us wondering to the very last minute, ha ha!").

Or, in order, "polite sound" "polite sound" / "I see you've represented your colors and ours together" "this relationship is worth the effort" / "I am implying I would rather have had your brother here" "Well, I'm taking care of family business without him so I guess you'll take what you can get." The ducal prince-heir, Millstrong, was standing at the bottom of the receiving line next to a table to receive gifts.

His wife was one stair above, and I chatted pleasantly with her while Yheta had gone ahead of me and explained the bottle in his hand, to the amusement of the Greifir heir. Yheta moved on to select drinks for us while I stepped down the stairs to take Millstrong's hands and share him a smile.

So he started with his opening jab ("always a pleasure to see who will be representing your house for us") and I volleyed back to let him know I'm not so easily insulted ("the duty of the family often has us wondering to the very last minute") and proffered him a curtsy. He's the inheriting heir of a duke, I am at this time not the declared inheriting heir of a duke, so I salute first, and he returns.

"Curious a Snairlin viscount could secure a bottle of the skywhale's blood without knowing what he held," Millstrong said. He was my height, and narrow-shouldered, with a prematurely receding hairline, but apparently when he was named he was a beefy and flinty-eyed baby who seemed worthy of a name like that. He still had the flinty eyes and forceful personality. I paused, and then rolled my head a little, shrugging tightly.

"He's got the title but no funds, and his uncle only authorized him a terrible business deal. As a favor to a friend I lent him some aid. The skywhale ichor is yours as you wish." He nodded.

"I will send it on to my elder brother, who has already felt the leading edge of the curse. Perhaps a sufficient quantity of skywhales could slow the attrition my family experiences." I inclined my head, half a bow.

"Indeed. The jungle has dozens of the beasts, and their deaths make the whole region safer. Last time we did not have the resources to collect all the benefits, merely a few bottles. Your paladins may fare much better in the future," and I smirked a little, "especially if they could explore the jungle all year as my party did in deepest winter." I reached into a glowing hole in the air and drew forth a thin long shape in wrapping paper with a bow.

"Your Grace," I said, handing it to him.

"With my compliments." He did not unwrap it, that would be uncouth, but I had his suspicion immediately.

"What is it?"

"It is a wand, your Grace, it is defined by what it does." He quirked a smile and agreed to play my game.

"So what does it do?" His wife stepped down and gave him a curt, but not cold, nod, and then she moved away through the crowd.

"It brings the winter, your Grace," I said.

"Your wizards grasp it, and any workings that bring cold, ice, wind or winter will be extended greatly, for months rather than the usual hours. With this, your teams can safely harvest wood, explore trails, and beat back monsters. The work you did in early spring can be continued all year long." He was quite taken aback.

"Among a great many other uses! A wand that enhances a wizard's power?... Where did you even find a thing like this?"

"On the Archipelago," I said casually.

"Hopefully this can change some lives for the better. And may I say: happy birthday, and many happy returns. Have you been to the jungle yourself?" And I stepped to the side, my hand on his upper arm, and he turned with me just as Yheta walked up with three champagne flutes in his hands. The receiving line broke up, Yheta and I were the last introduced. Nobody gets named after me save dukes, royals, and ducal heirs, none of whom were here tonight.

The other faction houses were holding a discreet distance, my parents were in Meadowtam, the Pinking duchess was notoriously withdrawn into seclusion, the Greifir duke was always found in Woadrun, and the royals would not be caught dead at a Development function right now. Not yet, that is. Give me a little time. This party was largely innocuous. No dance was scheduled, but musicians were provided. So if there was any dancing, cards were not issued and cutting in was permitted.

Refreshments were served but there was no seating for A Dinner. Plenty of drink but limited restrooms, indulgence would cost you greatly. The party was largely built around the ballroom, but there were opportunities for guests to spill to the garden, the balcony, the mezzanine, or the gallery. Just the usual elements in the usual configuration. I think by now I recognized about half the catering staff by their faces immediately- the others were either new, or just new to me.

The core structure was contrived to create circulation and churn. The main floor was divided down the middle by tables of drinks and refreshments, which guests and servers would approach constantly as a matter of course. Since the kitchen staff would only ever move in a counterclockwise direction, it compelled the attendees to do the same.

As they moved the rest of the gathering would interact, and some of the refreshment-gatherers would peel off into the surrounding throng, or would join the table-rounds from the gathered group. Since all the structured dances move in counterclockwise shapes, anyone that is inclined to take a dance even for a few mirthful seconds will provoke the party to move and adapt.

Since a hundred people cannot migrate around a ballroom floor in widdershins and hold formation, this kept the party's populace in a constant state of renewal. Small groups would be broken up and scattered to others, larger troupes would be compressed and squeezed out into the garden or gallery. It is a tried-and-true method to keep a social event fluid and flexible.

Honestly, it is the death of your party if you just let six friend groups show up, each hang out in different areas without interacting, drink your booze and then leave. Interaction may generate tension, but it also sets your event apart. Most good events will have some cause to churn the various areas. The main ballroom should circulate itself. With good architecture, the other zones all branch off of it. Your gallery will probably attract all the older participants or anyone with an old injury.

This alone keeps most others out of the gallery, and all the host needs to do is come up with an excuse to clear the gallery once or twice per evening to get all those folks dumped back into the circulation. The balconies are usually where couples or canoodlers will sneak away, so you can flush them by inventing an excuse for people to go out to the balconies, this makes them scurry off to pretend nothing was happening.

Gardens are a classic favorite for deep intricate plotting, since it is hard to eavesdrop on them but they are visible so unlikely to be fooling around. Simply send your own spies into the gardens every so often, and their own paranoia will send them back to join the main party. You may gain valuable intel while you're at it. Mezzanines tend to be a favorite for the thread-pullers that like a command view, and see themselves as the kingmakers and power-brokers that secretly run the whole show.

You rarely have to deliberately churn them, as soon as anything happens they did not account for and predict they will run downstairs and demand explanations. The old Harigold Manor included a newel stair that led straight from the mezzanine to the gardens so that the one-on-one plotters and the overseer puppet-masters could freely interact and exchange places. It was a busy stair. The traditional forms become so consistent that they're nearly universal. I see the same thing over and over.

Maybe it's because the RAM requirements insisted that each social environment had the same structure and assets. Maybe it's just that this world has been stagnated in this culture for a thousand years and there's very little variation in architecture or event planning. The end result is the same. Every Sixthday evening, it's the same layout and the same basic look but with different people to chat with.

To his credit, Millstrong Greifir did not lead Yheta and I to the gardens for plotting, the mezzanine for gloating, the gallery to rest our feet, or the balconies for that sort of assignation. We walked a slow tour, keeping up with the general procession of foot traffic. He looked over the thronging celebrants like he was reviewing troops at parade maneuvers, while he spoke to either of us.

"That jungle has been a rare source of unusual resources," he said aloud.

"And from the evidence we are uncovering, it is responsible for many unsolved disappearances every year in that region. In fact, we have already recovered enough of those claws from the primates to convert into magic weapons for every mana warrior in the Greifir armies, daggers enough for all. And, so many left over after that we don't know what to do with them."

"My organization would be more than pleased to take them off your hands," Yheta said with a broad grin.

"If you bore a hole for a lanyard, those claws can be accessories," I pointed out.

"I doubt most of your people use a dagger for a primary weapon, but every mana warrior needs mana-channel accessories, don't they?" I asked. Yheta made an annoyed face at me, but I shifted my grip on his arm. He obviously wanted his hands on a large stash of materials that could be enchanted for weapons. Either to sell or to stock his own private army. I on the other hand wanted the Greifir forces to be as powerful as possible, especially the magical aspects of it.

"Did we ever mention how we got around the influence of the poisonous pollen?" Millstrong asked, looking amused.

"It was an ingenious maneuver, concocted by our counterparts among the Brunbling host. Each expedition we sent in was arranged for each soldier to support those nearest them. And we alternated one troop from either army. One of ours, one of theirs. No unit cohesion, no morale-boosting, no comrades-in-arms. No emotional connection. So the soldiers were fighting for the sake of winning, not to protect those near them. With no sense of unity, the poisons did not activate. After that, we just explored.

The monsters would attack on sight, and we would win. Soon the region may well be safe to travel." He was talking about the deaths of every one of those species. Is it weird that my impulse was to critique this systematic depopulation? Food webs, ecosystems, invasive species, colonialism... those were my knee-jerk responses. But, to whatever degree that jungle is even a real place, it's an unnatural place. A poison in the air that drives you mad if you express a soft emotion? That's not something that can evolve.

And the monsters of that place, like monsters everywhere, live only for destruction. Monsters will attack even if there's a high risk to them, because their first priority is kill, not survive.

"Please tell me the thunderbeasts are being allowed to live," I said.

"They are dangerous because of their size, but they are not truly monstrous." He barked a laugh.

"Ironic that you hold compassion for such powerful creatures. But so far you've had nothing to worry about, they are far too large and thick of hide for our weapons to penetrate, and few of them seem inclined to respond aggressively. Most of the time they wander close, see our fighting line, watch for a few minutes, then get bored and walk away." He nodded.

"Should they start showing hostility, we will probably give ground. The jungle's denizens are dangerous. But the beasts that do not attack mindlessly and will not pursue when we flee, those are a fight we do not need to engage." Yheta was musing aloud.

"I'm surprised that stratagem worked. I understood the Brunblings and Greifirs to be uncommonly close allies, for being in different Faction divisions." Millstrong huffed a small laugh as he promenaded with us.

"It has been said. But also that the soldiers of Brunbling and the armies of Greifir do not feel as strongly about this as do the aristocrats and the deal-makers. To the man whose boots are on the front line, brothers-in-arms are brothers-in-arms, and another lord's army is at best an ally of convenience." He paused, and glanced my way.

"Sometimes it is not advantageous to be someone else's ally of convenience. Depending on their plans." I took that with consideration.

"Greifir and Harigold have been tightly-knit in the Development faction for a long time. United in a goal. If that does not suffice, and I would understand if it does not, I can point out that even my allies of convenience almost always profit greatly. For example the Uchislowi campaign, your house and your people have made great gains and taken only very small losses."

"There is more to be had than gains and profits," Millstrong began. Yheta snickered.

"Though, gods know, those do help quite a lot!"

"- and relying on traditions of alliance speaks to an intent to lean on those ties and abuse them," Millstrong continued.

"When people speak of you, Lady Natalie, they do not often invoke the word 'loyalty'. This is a concern of mine."

"In my defense," I said, "up until a few months ago nobody in these circles knew me at all. And since then I have largely been scratching and striving just to get a seat at the table. Four weeks ago I was not somebody that anyone desired the loyalty of, nor would consider offering loyalty towards. The gains I've made are very recent, and still precarious. So you've not heard many people speak of loyalty in my regard."

"Yet you have turned your back on your close family and still demand the obedience of the House's strength," he said with measured tones.

"This is hard for me to ignore." I felt my face heating up now.

"I put my life on the line to rescue the villagers of Uchislowi, and I handed you the knowledge of how to harvest its magic," I snapped.

"The smallest and easiest form of loyalty is a little basic fucking gratitude for services rendered and gifts given freely. If striking out against monsters and giving you the rewards of this does not mean more to you than whether I have a good relationship with my parents after they've used me and abandoned me, then that's fine. I'll just wait for the next Greifir heir."

I had wheeled on my heel and was stalking for the door, already planning how I was going to compensate for this in Lady Hanje's seasonal strategy. I probably would need to attend the Pinking memorial event next week instead of the Skyback mixer, but-"My lady! Lady Natalie please wait!" I became aware that he had been yelling after me for several seconds, and I had been too angry to hear him. I stopped in place, shoulders shaking. There was a high-pitched squealing sound coming from my hands.

I glanced down, steel was bending between my fingers. Most of the room was staring at me, I had just told off the host, the birthday boy, and almost jogged to the exit, with him running behind me yelling. Yeah, we were making a scene. All eyes on us, and the rumors are being composed in real-time. I gritted my teeth, but I was already stopped. If I was going to leave I should have just left instead of pausing. I looked over my shoulder, and Millstrong Greifir was trotting towards me, Yheta somewhat behind.

The heir looked abashed, and that was a good start. For a second I considered... I looked back at the exit doors. A pair of guardsmen had stepped clear of their alcoves when their lord began shouting. From the way their long tabards hung, they were wearing full armor. From the way their wolfskin cloaks hung, I would bet they had a hand on the hilt of an arming sword each. And they had the flat eyes I've seen in Greifir guards before, nothing-personal-just- following-orders.

Tall and wiry men who were not to be messed with. I turned back towards Millstrong. I don't feel like trying those odds right now.

"My apologies," he gasped.

"Apparently the rumors about your indifference to provocation were overstated. And, hah, the estimates of your stamina were somewhat understated,""Indifference to- you were trying to wind me up?" I asked.

"Only for the moment," he said, looking like he wanted to lean on something. I offered him my arm.

"Apologies. To my drawing room? We should speak." Yheta offered the ducal heir a glass of water, but stayed a step back. With an uncharacteristic degree of awareness and tact, he glanced about.

"I imagine a drawing-room conversation between the heir of Greifir and an heir of Harigold probably does not need a viscount of Snairlin present. Please do say if I am wrong, but I presume I would be a complication. Have you chaperones?" Millstrong took the glass and tossed it back.

"Yes, my wife, my eldest and a couple of family friends. I appreciate your understanding."

"So do I," I said, giving Yheta a smile with good eye contact. If he's going to be uncharacteristically self-aware, I'm going to be uncharacteristically warm.

"Yheta, while we're in chamber- would you see if there is anyone present from Skyback who is at liberty to discuss the Fissuring? I think that my contract with Eyellon was missing a clause to guarantee waypoint rights, perhaps a third house could be cut into the deal?" Yheta figured me out in a second, and smiled broadly.

"I'll start that conversation, with your blessing," he said, and moved off to find someone from House Skyback. The Snairlins would love to have a row of their own trading posts right at that boundary. They'd basically monopolize all smuggling trade on the north-south routes. They'd have figured it out eventually, I just prompted the idea a little earlier. I turned back to Millstrong.

"After you, my lord." I've not done a drawing room in nearly as long as I had been in a teahouse. It is not seemly for a ducal princess to be invited to a room by anyone of lower station, unless we are to be negotiating some particularly important matters. Since I don't have a house here in the city or a drawing room to call my own, I have not had leave to pull anyone aside for my own, and hardly anyone is at leave to draw me aside.

The entrance was well in view of most of the party space, so while the whole crowd stared at our backs and muttered about the scene we had just made, we headed for the curtained double-door. Four guards outside of it, and his wife was waiting just at the entrance. Too convenient, too pat, this was planned in advance. Pissing me off and then withdrawing? What game is this? The two inner guards opened the double doors. Three figures inside already, standing as Millstrong and I approached.

The prince's wife curtsied again as I approached, and I curtsied back, then over the threshold. We waited long enough that anyone in the ballroom who was interested could see that there were several of us in there and this is not a tryst in disguise. Then the two inner guards stepped inside, and pulled the door shut. Two in, two out. I tallied the occupants. Two servers. The two guards, and myself, Millstrong, his wife Segina and eldest son Wellstrong, nine years old. A name just as hopeful as his father's.

Also a baroness of my acquaintance, and a man who stood husband-close.

"My lady," Wellstrong bowed, hand to waist, and when I curtsied he moved back towards a corner.

"My son," Millstrong said, for the record. I knew of the boy and had been introduced before, but we had spoken little. Just a year younger than when I had first killed, if my age means anything. The father was gazing proudly.

"For continuity, my family prefers to keep a son in the room for important discussions. He's a good listener, and understands the need to keep things close."

"And, Baroness, yes?" I said to the other couple.

"We've met a couple of times but the name...?"

"Junia Pinking," she said, and tapped her husband's hand, resting over her forearm.

"My husband, Dawe. And depending on how a seating chart is filled out, I may answer to baroness, as you do to protectress. By right, I could sit for dame, baroness, countess, or earl." The same baroness that had sat right at my side during the Greifir feast where Nathan brought Lachel. The one where Petty had to knock some douchebag out cold to keep him from wrecking the party.

"Ah," I said.

"I recall now. I don't think we were completely introduced at the time." If she could claim an earl's title among others, that meant that she is an earl by courtesy, just as I am. A ducal princess, just as I am. I glanced over to Millstrong, the ducal prince. The three of us represented the next generation of Grace among the Development Faction. Harigold, Greifir, and Pinking- all of us of the same rank, raised in a duke's palace. Probably the most high-power room I've been in for a long time.

"Forgive us if this is presumptuous," Junia said, as she lowered herself to a settee, "but we would like to discuss your inheritance."