Chương 170: Chapter 191: Foundation

I thanked the head of Vuryta again and I moved to Greifir next. After the retainer cadets, I considered Greifir our most important ally. And the perfect place to make my alliances official. This is how I can know where I stand. Tonight's not like other nights. Tonight I turn six months of successful campaigning into declarations. It's not official and binding, but it's a step up from 'read the room' and 'there's a general sentiment'. There are so many steps, but I'm going to turn soft power into hard power.

The Duke of Woadrun was not here, but Wellstrong Greifir was present and he moved through his allies and relatives to greet me as I approached. Rather than bows and curtsies he came to me with his right arm presented, out from the body at waist-height, hand flexed open. I mirrored him and we came together in a forearm clasp, a gesture normally reserved for warriors who have served and fought together.

I thought maybe that was a bit presumptuous and might be considered an insult to the warrior class, but he initiated it and I would not claim to know the hearts and traditions of warriors better than the heir of Greifir does.

"Touring around to collect your due?" he asked, lip twitching in a smile.

"Gods and good weather, woman, what a grip you've got on you!" He squeezed my forearm, and I back, and he was smiling more broadly after. He was dressed in formal jacket and trews in house colors, with a wolf-fur capelet draped over his shoulders.

"Not collecting anything," I replied with a gracious tip of my head.

"Just settling the minds of those who like to speculate." He winked at me, with his finger alongside his nose, and walked backward back into the press of his kin. Many of them wore trim or accents of wolf fur, which did not necessarily commute to their family tradition of wearing wolves' skins when they arrive to declare war, but it does invite comparison, for those who know.

My next stop is Pinking House, and I stopped to chat with a couple of acquaintances before I pressed to find Crown Princess Junia of Pinking House and her husband Dawe, standing next to a figure I have not seen in several years, the Duchess Pinking.

"Your Grace," I said, curtsying to her.

"We met before, I was eight years old. Your delegate from Bismoque to exchange counts."

"And you were entirely up your own ass back then," the Duchess scoffed.

"Too idealistic to be that ambitious. It looks better on you now. Scuffed up some." She was white-haired and had squint-lines around her eyes, dressed at least twenty years behind the fashions but too powerful to give a shit. She wore mismatched jewelry which had extensive sigils hidden inside the metalwork. She looked just like Junia was going to look in thirty years, down the same wry sideways smile. And I was surprised.

"You told me I was sweet," I blurted.

"You were. Too much by half," she snorted.

"Now look at you. Seasoned, salted, smoked." She reached out and touched my hair.

"Cured, even. Sweet's for desserts, and dessert comes last. Now you're bitter enough to be worth following. Junia, her ring." And the duchess turned and walked away from me, instantly shut out of my sight by three large retainers who moved between her and myself, glaring at me with their hands clasped in front of them. Junia the heir took my hand and raised it up.

"I knew she'd like you," she drawled drolly, and then she kissed the backs of my fingers. She walked me out of the circle of Pinkings, leaving Dawe behind. I noticed that a lot of the high-station Pinkings were fond of a certain knowing, amused expression. I have to wonder how often I look like that. She draped her arm around mine like an older relative, and steered me out.

"Junia?"

"Hmm?"

"About Broghton." About the banking procedures your people set up at exactly the right time, for exactly the right people.

"Ah." I was wondering when you would bring this up, she replied.

"How?" How did your house know exactly when and where to strike?

"It's not like yours," she told me, patting my hand again. Which, honestly, did kind of address exactly the heart of my question, in the most infuriatingly obscure way possible. Fine. You've got a method to see what you need to see, but it's not like mine, which could mean anything. I looked at her smile, I don't think the obscurity or the infuriation were accidental.

She brought me to the edge of the Skyback delegation, and then she suddenly got into a conversation with a waiter, and untangled her arm from mine and nudged me forward on my own. If someone new to all of this, and rather colorblind, were to see all of this it would not look sinister or out of place.

Just plenty of people in varying degrees of couture clothes, eating hors d'oeuvres and sipping drinks, standing around in clusters or cliques and chatting about this or that, occasionally moving from one group to another. If this stranger was not so colorblind they would see that most of the gatherings were mostly color-coded, with dominant themes showing up in scarves, sashes, headwear or trim. Only a few really blazed like a flag, like I did.

Most chose their clothes to look good on them, hair that complemented their features, jewelry that set off their eyes. Anyone watching could be forgiven for not seeing that this is an arena of twenty-eight competing families and merchant empires. So it does not look like I'm invading sovereign territory when I excuse-me and if-I-may into the assembled Skyback patrons. I spotted Dean Troket, a familiar face.

"Ah, hello ma'am," I said to the wizened old woman. You know the type, somehow she's a hundred and five years old and is gong to outlive all of us anyway.

"It's been a while." My smile was sharp and precise. Hers was fake and polite. She and I have not spoken together since she and the head of campus security helped the king's secret police ambush me and try to force me to confess for Princess Lachel's disappearance. She harrumphed.

"Ah, Lady Harigold," she said, eyeballing me.

"It seems in the end you did reveal to us all the truth of the princess's fate."

"I told the authorities plainly what my terms were to reveal that- for them to formally acknowledge my abilities and in so doing, admit their role in the Cachexia's blight. Well, eventually they did. And so here we are." I don't think I convinced her at all that I deliberately scuttled my own birthday party in order to make good on a promise to the royals, but she was hardly going to call me out on it to my face.

I've got a dozen versions of the truth circulating, and I try hard not to get pinned down to any one of them.

"My lady?" said a polite voice just behind me. A smiling round-faced man gave me a nod and a bow.

"Could you spare a moment for the Duke of Anquarry?" the man said, waving me to accompany him to the center of the knot of people. With my liaison, the people of this House parted before me like the sea, and I arrived before a stoop-shouldered middle-aged man. He had a powerlifter's build but the posture of an overworked accounting clerk.

"Your Grace," I said with a smile, and a curtsy, and just a slight breeze to bring my perfume to him. It's a cheap trick. That has never stopped me. I'll stop using cheap tricks when they stop working.

"Your Ladyship," he returned, nodding deeply.

"I'm sorry to take you away from your conversation, but I find this may be my best opportunity to speak to you about disturbing developments of recent days." Ah. We're being vague. Time to take what Rabert taught me and put it to use.

"Yes, your Grace," I agreed.

"Some people are finding themselves cast in a fairly harsh light."

"Sometimes standing in the light is not all it's cracked up to be."

"Sometimes the best place to stand is behind," I said, taking a calculated risk. He inclined his head carefully.

"Did you know that Skyback was the founder of the Independent faction? The first to strike out and look for like-minded associates."

"I had heard that before, Your Grace. I have heard similar stories more recently."

"Some stories just call to their own." I smiled.

"Would you join me, your Grace?" I asked, gesturing at a server that was moving our way with intent. He took the highball glass that was hand-delivered for him.

"If you're toasting," he shot back.

"To your health," I said, raising my glass of lemon water.

"To your success," he said, raising his own. And at the same time, every Skyback member around me all turned, and raised glasses of their own. Well I'd say that went well. Thank you Rabert for teaching me to speak this language.

"You should speak to your dean again," he said.

"Anquarry does need those roads. Our offer has increased." I curtsied enthusiastically.

"Yes, Your Grace. I shall sort the details with her at leisure."

"Before you go," the duke said, harrumphing.

"Perhaps Aumerje is not a friendly port tonight. Their House may support Meadowtam, but their Duke believes he has a credible chance of taking ownership over you, and he would not jeopardize that with a kiss." That fucking contract. Fucking Nathan. Yes, it helped get me where I'm at. And yes I can beat it. But it's still annoying. Okay, so the duke wants to warn me that the magisters are actually planning on trying to enforce the terms of that contract, despite the numerous flaws.

And that means that Aumerje is not going to offer allegiance tonight, because they could not offer allegiance and also enforce that contract. So going to them is just asking for an embarrassment. Even though they're Independent. Even though the Independent faction is supposed to be a bloc that supports whatever measures or policies are most benefit to those Houses.

But it sounds like they're waiting for me to get several Houses lined up behind me, and then use that contract as leverage to push their own agenda using all my influence to push those Houses. All right, Skyback is almost sworn to help. They've given a symbolic approval in a vague sense, but only as far as choosing which side of the room to stand in, offering advice and wishing me success. And with the Freckentops currently embroiled in enough scandals, that was not a grand gesture. Just moving with the majority.

And they did not kiss the ring or offer the warrior's clasp, but they did toast to success and offer a business deal. Fine. I'm going to take the positives: measuring my recently-won popularity against the established authority and influence of the Freckentop House, I come out slightly ahead. That's pretty huge by itself. They're an institution, I'm the new kid. I'll pass over that and make my way over to Ebonder, the third member of the Independents.

Someone had told Larianne I was on my way, she was waiting for me when I arrived. More than the others, I was glad to have a friend on the inside who would vouch for me. As a Countess, Larianne was not far from the head of the House, a good pick to introduce me in. There were several houses that worried me, and Ebonder was near the top of that list. Among the population of Hearstwhile, they were known for not much, just another province house doing their work to guard the borders.

Their march-territory was largely self-sufficient and did not cause trouble, except when it might help swing an important vote in the council. No, the real excitement is what nobody knows. And it's an awful lot. From the beginning the Ebonder have practiced necromancy. Not dabbling, either, they're good. And that's important, because being good at necromancy means that it's safe. It's a practice that is most dangerous in the hands of idiots.

The Cachexia, for example, was kinda crap, and so she was unable to balance the elements of a fairly straightforward process and it mutated into a contagious curse that attracted a lot of attention to itself. The Ebonder were good enough that they could practice large-scale in secret for centuries and never get exposed. The danger of bad necromancy is uncontrolled curses and runaway undead.

The danger of good necromancy is that seeing a good necromancer just convinces people to try something dangerous, because idiots don't know they're idiots. To secure the materials and ingredients for their dangerous spellwork, the Ebonder had to turn to organized crime, the smugglers and thieves. And to keep their secrets, the Ebonder took to extreme measures. Hostages, blackmail, threats, kidnappings. But also they kept the circle small: Unlike the other Houses, every Ebonder who had a title also had the name.

From Marquis Ebonder to Countess Ebonder to Baronet Ebonder. Every lord, lady, knight and dame. You can marry into the family, if they trust you or have enough collateral on you. But they don't marry out. Ever. Their only cadet house is Toil, and they work exclusively for the parent house. The Earl of Toil never appears in public unless Ebonder minders are within arm's reach. Skyback, Nhullit, Grennick, Aumerje... any of them would pay any amount of money to know those secrets.

And if Marquis Septimus Ebonder knew how much I do know, I would for sure be dead within the hour. Fortunately Larianne only suspects the scope of my knowledge, and hasn't told anyone any of her suspicions. And now she's meeting me at the edge of Ebonder territory. From her posture, I'm not getting an invitation any further than this. I stopped in front of my friend, and mirrored her stance. Feet planted, shoulders square, hands clasped flat in front, neck straight, chin down.

"Good evening, I have come to exchange respects with House Ebonder," I said in careful tones to the girl who sometimes borrowed my shampoo when she needs a little more volume.

"The House appreciates your respect, Lady Harigold, and offers in return," she said with a tone so conspicuously polite that it came off as cold. As opposed to her regular, everyday coldness.

"The Marquis, Septimus, extends his regards. He is interested in your potential and your intentions." I was watching her eyes. My weakness as a poker player is not my inability to read other people. I've actually gotten rather good at it. And Larianne had reservations, but not about me. She was confused by something. I would have plenty of opportunities to speak to her about this later. It did not appear that the Lord Protector of Tumnassed was going to meet with me today.

But he sent my friend to tell me that, so I could read something into that. And I don't really have a way to follow up right now that would not waste my time and make a scene, so I'll just be moving on.

"Commend all my best to your uncle, would you be so kind," I said to her, and we exchanged curtsies simultaneously. I was stationed higher, but she was speaking on behalf of someone higher still, so this seemed the compromise. All right. The head of Ebonder would not treat with me in person. That's fine, I'm not already reading way too much into that, right? They lined up on my half of the room, like Skyback, and like Skyback this was not actually that big a deal.

I'm very popular recently, and especially this week. I've invested a lot and risked a lot to be on top during this particular week. I'd better not have put in all that effort and money just to get some one-time symbolic-only shows of support. I had thought that the Independent faction would be the soft target to pull to my side. adding their faction to my own. After all, their interest is self-interest.

I had thought that this process would be as simple as showing up, shaking their hands, and promising them that things would be better for them if they supported me, going forward. But of course the people who can be won over with self-interest do not stand around under neon signs spelling out "Promise Me Stuff". Skyback wants to pin down that construction contract. Ebonder wants to wait and see. Aumerje wants to own me outright. Who knew that the pragmatists would be harder to persuade than the idealists?