Chương 186: Chapter 207: Accord

There was only one student in my history class that was as unconcerned with the lecture as I am, and that's Rabert Frantlin. In my case, it's because my stats and the translation that comes with them makes it virtually impossible for me to make less than perfect scores. For him, it's because he claims that the sanitized version of history taught in these classes doesn't matter at all. I'm inclined to agree on that point, but I think the real reason he's so cavalier is that he's bought his grades for the year.

"So, this certainly is a pivotal time for many people," he said with the customary Rabert Ambiguity. He sounded a little more interested than usual. Some days it seemed like he starts a conversation just to watch me slowly get more and more mystified by what he's theoretically communicating. But this time he looks less disaffected than usual, which is his version of eager.

"Pivotal is one way to put it," I said.

"But it presumes a change of direction. Some people are on a level trajectory straight to the top."

"Indeed. Maybe pivotal is not the right word, but rather impactful, I should say," he said, almost saying something.

"I like the word momentous," I let it roll off my tongue.

"It has a feeling of weight like a monolith, but focused on a moment in time. Like that one heartbeat that seems so real you think you'll never forget where you are right then." He let that sit between us for a while, as the teacher droned on at the front of the room.

"You really are a poet, aren't you?"

"You're not the first to be surprised by that," I said. Most of what I've done for theater and song in this world has just been transcription. But if you spend enough time paying attention to words, you eventually figure it out for yourself. He collected himself, organizing his thoughts.

"This is a pivot in at least some ways. For example, expectations have changed."

"In many ways, yes," I prompted him.

"And expectations are what define convention," he pointed out.

"The terms of what is acceptable."

"Foundation of rules and protocol," I said, conversationally. Give nothing. Just observe.

"And with a pivot of expectations, what had been impossible may have a chance," he said. He looked... uncomfortable?

"And isn't that the point? Progress is about the possible."

"Progress, yes," he said, smiling now.

"One of our favorite topics. Moving things forward." Hold up. Let's decode this. Whatever he's hearing is something serious, not the idle chat I thought we were having. He's talking about things that are possible now, as we move from 'gathering support' to 'actively approaching revolt'. Referencing expectations and acceptable behavior, in context of the run up to the Revolt. Soon, most of the people that are involved in it are going to start learning what they've signed on for.

I need to be ready for that experience. But Rabert is talking about something else. About something that had been off-limits but now is fine, or at least permissible. Something about the shift in gala culture now that we're more openly moving towards power. And then my lightbulb activated.

"Ah. Yes, we can progress where we had been held back," I told him.

"And with that, a lot of new opportunities." For the first year I've been sitting at this desk, I've gotten only a handful of quests for [The Ruthless], and I've only completed a couple minor ones. Now I'm realizing that his run is a lot like Josse, Filly and Zauria, none of whom really pick up in the first year. Rabert has just sort of been... there. Some helpful advice and he has prompted me towards the people I need to be in touch with if I'm going to take over the Revolt.

But we haven't had much else to do for each other. He was smiling freshly now, eyes twinkling. Honestly, more reaction than I would have expected.

"Ah. Opportunities. There's a key word that I love to hear." I spared a sharp glance his way, just in case he needed it.

"Not all opportunities develop at the same rate."

"Oh, of course," he said, gesturing to let me know this was not a problem. That he was not planning on jumping straight into my pants. Petticoats. Whatever. That he did understand that this was the part where he and I can start meeting in public and demonstrating that his branch of the Houses and mine are on friendly terms. Previously, it was decided that we need to not give too much away.

If I had started this year by letting folk know that the second heir of Harigold was looking at alliances within the Federalists, It would have put a lot of extra heat, extra attention, and extra criticism on everything I did. I would certainly not be where I'm at right now if I had. Like playing cards back at the common room: wait until the betting is over before you show your hand.

If it had been public knowledge that I'm actively campaigning for a power grab, I would not have been able to leverage the magisters against the royals if Aumerje saw Kinghand's involvement. And I would not have been able to command the weeks heading into Fashion Week if Nhullit's enemies had boycotted. Not to mention that I would not have been able to skate on Lachel's murder with nothing but a strong denial, decent alibi and a dangerous bargain offered to the royals.

But that was not actually part of the immediate power-grab plan, just... something I did to save lives down the line. But it was hardly as if I were the only one that needed that buffer of secrecy. Most of the maneuvering and manipulations and machinations that had brought the conspirators to this point had been quiet matters, a hushed conference in a hallway in passing, a message dropped at a parlor meeting, a stilted and oblique series of hints over tea.

The nature of the Houses was largely antagonistic, and assembling a working and viable alliance among them was a question of cagey and cautious folk who never wanted to commit more than their counterpart. A tiny "maybe?..." from one side, and a matching "maybe..." from the other side. Nobody wanted to expose themselves to an accusation, or give away any information, so the trust had been built up over quiet months of delicate maneuvers.

And that environment does not foster well in the presence of a high-visibility figure like a brash and outspoken ducal princess who uses flashy magic, extravagant costumes, outlandish hobbies and extremely mysterious capabilities.

They put a lot of work into getting Nhullit, Kinghand, Grennick, Ebonder, Aumerje and Skyback all in the same tent with the same goal, and that work could have unspooled in seconds if anyone walked in with Natalie Harigold on their arm. Everyone would have scattered like roaches when the lights come on. Even if they don't hate me personally, they still hate the massive metaphorical spotlight that follows me everywhere, just as bright as the literal spotlight that I conjure every time I make an entrance.

With all this in my head, I still need to hold a conversation with Rabert.

"That said, opportunities that... mature over time, are quite welcome these days."

"That is very true, these days," he confirmed. But he inflected 'these days' differently than i did. Not putting a question in there, but still needing a clarification. I did some calculations in my head. Not this weekend, I've got tombs to rob. Not next weekend, I've already got a date. After that is end of semester, I'm booked solid. But that we've got vacation before the new semester...

"By the by, have you heard about the charity benefit event being held by the Manroad Brunblings? It's an auction with interesting exhibits." He squinted for his own calculations. A Dominionist House, but one that is only conditionally loyal and has been slipping away in recent days. A low-stress and low-impact event for the larger society, but still high enough profile and a wide enough variety of guests to make sure that word spread fast to every corner.

It was a little adversarial for presenting at a Dominionist event, but since the Brunblings owe me more favors than they owe King Vobel right now, a relatively safe one. It communicates a lot of messages. And by bringing a young scion of the Nhullit, with no title to inherit but a high position in the House offices, I make sure that the "did you hear did you hear" crowd can buzz about the fact that the acting head of Development is chaperoned by one of the key thread-pullers for the Protector of Dimnitas.

"The Brunblings have been through so much lately," he agreed.

"It would only be honorable to help them back to their feet." And like this, we have reached an accord. I got to geography first because I cheated with portals. I took some of my books and staked out two desks at the back, setting them down to guard my spot. Then I walked to the front of the room and tried to look nonchalant while I watched the other students file in. I don't think I succeeded, I'm not good at nonchalant. When most of the room was filled up, I posted next to the door.

Behind me, I heard someone get too close to my desks, the books growled and snapped their covers like chomping jaws, and the interloper moved off at speed, leaving the books to patrol around restlessly. The last student through the door, as usual, was Belisa Roadaway. This time, instead of leaving her to trudge the aisle to her desk, I took her politely by the elbow and steered her to the back of the room.

There was more than the usual amount of whispering and staring, but since I don't actually care about any of these people, they can whisper. I just stand straight, composed and dignified, and I walk with the other girl at her stilted pace. Embarrassment is in presentation, never act as though what you're doing is out of place and you control the narrative. It's easy enough to change "what are those weirdos doing" into "oh, more princess drama". I used to have such a different posture.

My spine relaxed, my chin down, my neck easy, my shoulders dropped. Now, rigid uprightness is so ingrained that I default to it. Head up, chin raised, neck long, shoulders square, spine straight. That's part of my old life that is lost to me now and replaced by Natalie. The ducal upbringing has been stamped into my bones, the aristocratic identity has grafted to my own. I used to flinch when I was embarrassed in front of a crowd, now I challenge it by ignoring it.

With a waving hand I pacified the textbooks, and helped Belisa to one of the seats. People were still staring, and one by one I pinned them with a glare like a laser from my neutral, impassive face. After the second, people were ducking their heads to avoid looking my way. This doesn't need to be difficult. I always make it very apparent when I want attention, and when I do not. At the front of the room, the teacher began lessons. I did not care.

Another class that I would take a perfect grade in, unless I deliberately chose to fail. Or unless the House favor turns against me. Or if someone were to break into the admin building again and falsify some documents, which he definitely can do. Honestly, the outcome of my grades is largely out of my hands entirely, and the one factor that matters least is whether I pay attention to the lecture. Still, I was raised polite. I do make an effort to not disrupt the classes.

Despite the fact that my class periods are basically only included at all so I have time together with my love interests, I typically keep from disturbing people. Whispering, and a little fluctuation of the air to muffle us more, means that I don't need to be called out for chatting during instruction time. I do respect other people's educations, after all. Some months ago I stole, I mean salvaged, a particular book from the laboratory of a certain necromancer.

It was about Souls and Soullessness, and it was harsh stuff. I have been, off and on, reading through it. I am taking it very slow. I'm cautious. My system was simple enough: every time I got curious or excited about what the book had, or eager to read the next page, I put a bookmark in and walked away for at least two full days. And if possible, I would not come back to that passage again. If this starts getting fun for me, I'm out. The easiest part of that process to stop is the first step.

So anytime that I'm reading this thing and I think 'that's interesting, I wonder if that can be used for-' that's my cue to shut the book and walk away. I set my hand at the edge of my desk, right by hers. Palm up, fingers slightly curled. I held that pose for a couple of minutes while Belisa's eyes tracked over, and stared at me, and then started to motivate. Her hand drifted up slowly, haltingly. It was like the limb was moved by some ratcheting gears and cables under strain, rather than flesh-and-blood limbs.

And by slow degrees, she got her hand placed over mine, and set down. Palm-to-palm. Her fingers closed against me, and then her thumb, holding my hand in a grip that was both nerveless and desperate. I slowly closed my fingers too, holding her gently but firmly. She stared at our clasp, her eyes dull but tightly focused. And then I steadied my breathing, stilled my mind, and made myself intensely conscious of my body. I felt every part of me at once, and started gently prying loose from it.

I carefully handed off my active spells, from the collective essence of Natalie to just the mana channels of my soul. It's like handing off the reins of a temperamental horse, make sure you've got a good grip before anyone releases. Essences in mana channels will drain in a second if you're not careful. By degrees I started to slip my bonds, untangling my ephemeral self from the grip of flesh. Most of me I left in place. Most of my wispy nature was still anchored. But one hand I loosened.

And then I moved, and entered. From my palm to her palm, I started to overlap Belisa. And I was horrified by what I found there. Her mana channels were empty, dry riverbeds where the energy of life itself should flow. Her whole self was parched and desperate. She hit my soul like a vacuum, like a vortex, like a sponge. I held fast, using my anchoring in my own body, but I could feel the draw of it. I allowed it, slowly, controlled.

Belisa's nature wanted to pull me out of my own body and spindle me up, bask in my vitality. I did not let down my guard, but I let myself absorb into her slowly, mindfully. Her palm, fingers, knuckles. Her wrist, and halfway to her elbow. I stopped there, I had seen enough. The undertow that was her was still pulling, but only at the surface, the border halfway up her forearm. From her wrist down, there was no pressure, just a still settled feeling. Like it's supposed to feel. I have another experiment to run.

I used Belisa's fingers to squeeze my hand, then release. She straightened her fingers, and wriggled them once. Relax all of them. Lift just the pinky, then just the pointer. It was not just like working my own hand. There seemed to be some muscle atrophy, and her joints were stiff. But aside from those details? Her hand was my hand while my soul occupied that shell. [Checkpoint Reached: The Missing Piece, [The Broken]. +5 XP] And I could not ignore what was implied by that. I had hoped that this would not work.

For one thing, if this had failed then that would mean that I am definitely not the thing that certain people have insisted I am. But there is another aspect of it. Something else. The things I've found in the book, the breadcrumbs- I don't think they're leading me to a cure. I don't believe that those cute little +1 XP markers are steering me to a path of fixing her. The game and the goddess seem to have a different plan. Something where I use her to further my own aims.

For example, as a backup in case one of my mistakes gets me killed.