Chương 314: Time For The Show

The footlights went down and the spotlight came up, the presenter dropped into shadow and my brother burst into view. He was breathless and tousled, and he squinted into the bright lights but he was smiling. The squint made him look like Bruce, spotlights affecting him how Bruce's nearsightedness affected him.

"Hello Hearstcliff! Esteemed guests, honored hosts, the king and the queen, good friends and family," he said through his microphone, and his baritone filled the room.

"I am pleased and proud to have this opportunity today. I would like to ask you now to look forward, as we leave the lingering chill of winter, gaze ahead to the warmth ahead of us. Welcome warmth and sunlight, long afternoons and bright mornings. Terrace breakfasts, tea at the gazebo, dinner with the warm breeze through the window. Such balmy moments demand more than winter wear and billowy wraps! The winter is a cold white witch and we happily leave her behind!"

A murmur in the audience as they wondered what he means by that. At least he's taking his shots openly. Nobody is confused who he really means when he refers to a cold white witch. And positioning me as the past and him as the future is just good portrayal in public relations. Unless you made your sister ugly-cry in front of everyone. Then you're adding insult to injury. It looks petty, and vicious. Works for me. I don't mind him proving that he's no better than I am.

Any campaigning he does today is just going to backfire on him. Even if his Charisma is much higher than mine, there's things you can't counter if you don't even know about them.

"So the first of our summery looks is being worn now by Curigi Ghant, and you'll see that rather than overlapping layers that will trap heat close to the body, she is wearing a loose and breezy gown that moves with her. No tulle petticoats, the drape of the fabric finds its own contours without building her out, giving a sleeker, slimmer silhouette. We use lightweight sleeves to keep the sun off the skin, and a curve-brimmed hat keeps her face frame, shaded, and flattered."

He's taken about a pound of lace off, and another pound of veils, swapped her bodice for the one that Dizzy had been wearing, ditched the petticoats, turned her hat backwards. The skirt swirled around her feet, the sleeves swished at her sides. The look was nothing like what everyone had been seeing so far, and in moments he had pushed back all the work the other designers put into sabotaging his show.

They had all clung to the same look to shame him, but his streamlined gown made them look stodgy, frivolous, and unoriginal, as if they had cribbed each other's notes. But it's not all bad news, the crowd is not entirely sold on this- She's walking around with only a single skirt between her bare legs and public viewing! That's practically indecent! Why, if she moved in certain ways, you could see the shape of her legs! -or something like that.

This is a culture, as I've mentioned, that actively resists any significant change. It takes a lot of preparation to get something like this accepted. And also, the surprise of the dress is not the only thing for people to notice and resent. Curigi looked nervous, her posture stiff, her jaw clenched. She could barely muster any sort of fake smile, and she startled when Nathan's voice pitched up just a bit.

She walked and hit her first mark, but she steered wide as she approached the front, as if afraid to get within the reach of Nathan's arms. When he turned her way, and gestured with a sweeping hand, she sidestepped off her path in reaction, flinching. She kept walking, came to the front, but she tilted her shoulder to keep him in her field of view, not giving him her back. It was not subtle. Even if everyone here was not watching him in a bad light, her movements would have been remarkable.

And it caused immediate reaction among the crowd. He stopped being "the brother who is cruel to his sister", he started being "the abuser who is cruel to women". That's especially bad if I've already been rallying the forces of chivalry. The earl of Tsilven must be bright red right now, his tiny scars bright white like inverted freckles. He represents a grand tradition of battlefield honor, strength that serves to protect others, and seeing a model flinch away from her fashion designer would rile him.

It calls to mind an unpredictable temper, a pattern of violence, a sadistic streak. And Nathan was entirely unaware of this. He just moved on with his presentation, smiling obliviously as he made a fool of himself. No idea that he's already been painted in the public eye.

"Thank you Curigi. Next is Delizabeth Capstan, showing another silhouette entirely. The straight drop of the gown shapes an elegant, uncomplicated figure that can walk, stand or sit comfortably anywhere at all. This bodice is fitted more loosely to let her breathe freely even in summer heat, and on cool spring mornings it pairs with a light jacket, or perhaps the fluffy scarves shown here. This is a perfect outfit for social occasions in a variety of settings."

And again, like Curigi, her posture was tense, her movements were stiff. I was close enough to her to see that her bare arms actually had goosebumps on them. Nathan adjusted his stance and she leaned to the side, making a bit more space. She stayed well clear of him, and mustered only a shallow brittle smile for the audience. This had not been hard for us to arrange, really.

Kimothy had chilled the room while he was backstage, starting it slowly so nobody would realize how bad it had gotten, along with a few sigils to create nervousness he had embedded in the door frame. As the girls left the dressing room, they were slightly spooked, but also moving from a cold room they had acclimatized to into a stage warmed by bodies, lights, and movement. The shock of temperature made muscles stiffen and skin prickle.

Belisa had moved the tape marks on the floor so that they would arc around Nathan's position, and the slightly longer path made them move just a bit faster to hit their marks on pace, moving as if eager to get this over with. And just as they got closest to his position, Belisa would walk right at them, angled to hit their shoulder with hers. The spells on her made them change their path so as not to hit her, since that would prove her presence and nothing that proves her position is allowed by these sigil tattoos.

So instead they have to jerk out of her way, and while the audience can't see Belisa they can see the other girls, and their movements can be perceived if the audience already knows of a good reason for them to move that way. Such as avoiding Nathan. It's not a small amount of work, but it's very effective at portraying my brother as a bully and a prick without him even noticing that we're doing it. He's made his way by being very sneaky in his own way, with forged letters and careful lies and subtle manipulations.

We're being sneaky in our own way: mostly magic. And when he brought on Filly, it worked again. Lyric startled harder than the others, even crying out just a little, and that was when Nathan noticed that something was going on. He seemed puzzled, but he did not have the bandwidth to sort out this mystery while also handling his microphone duties. After all, his speech here is all extemporaneous- he had rehearsed and prepared his remarks ahead of time, but those were extolling dresses that don't exist anymore.

All the color-commentary he had for the outfits featured skirts that he has changed, seams that he has ripped, and pieces he has replaced. He would sound quite delusional if he used his prepared remarks, so he's riffing and trying his best. When Zauria walked out, Nathan carefully edged back way from her side of the stage to give her extra space, but she still walked her marks. He kept his movements restrained and his voice level, so there was nothing to startle the girl.

Zauria looked nervous but not threatened, so that was a win, but it also meant that his presentation went flat and flavorless right when he most needed to make a big punchy ending. And after that, the Blah-Blah Man came back out to wrap the show, thank the designers, thank the venue owners and the fashion board, and thank the audience for their participation and attention. And then the house lights started to come back up, and we move into the main phase of our evening.

This was going to be a big night even before Nathan decided to get involved and make me actually interact with the fashion show. We've already taken the biggest win: because he had to improv his remarks he did not get his original script, which was loaded with techniques to encourage weekday meetings, daylight visits, and small get-togethers with a few choice people, as well as more overtly patronizing language to make the girls seem frivolous and flighty.

That was the big hinge for his campaign, to encourage all the political actors in this place to move their conversations out of my reach. After all, he might not be able to visit a lunch appointment either, but he can still write letters to anyone he wants, confident that I won't intercept, open, and alter his mail. I on the other hand would be completely shut off and he would craft his narratives unopposed. Right now there's no pressure in that direction, and that's my biggest relief.

And the Dominionists are probably regretting sorting him for their counterpoint to my coalition leadership. We managed to squash his ploy, and also to assassinate his credibility, but on the flip side he has been demonstrated to be an excellent fashion designer in his own right, even if I begrudge it. And now I have to worry about him being invited back. This is going to be an ongoing problem for me for years to come, I can tell. But that's not even the big deal right now. Tonight we declare war.

Just because it seems like the universe needs these narrative parallels, the next step happened in the washroom. Two hours ago, I fled here in tears after "Nathan" tore me to pieces. But also, this is the same spot that I used to come to clash with Lachel over and over. Most of the rumors about me hating her got started by the gossips that witnessed our arguments in this very room. I think the same bathroom valet is on duty, even, and about two dozen other women here, all tidying up or refreshing their cosmetics.

I walked in, looking small and soft and very deserving of compassion, and I controlled my pace very carefully. I wanted to be in the right spot when the big blow-up hits. I breezed in, right at the washbasins and the big mirror. I washed my hands and arms quite thoroughly, and toweled them vigorously dry. I took my combs and moved my hair back and up, pinning it high off my neck in my more accustomed fashion.

And now that my redness is faded away, my face is back to the same forbidding sharpness that everyone is used to.

"Borrow your eyeliner?" I asked the girl beside me.

"Certainly," Vanda said, and handed me the blackhart dye and a blood-red lipstick. The mana warrior from Lydpel's place, the one who let me know she was for hire. She cleaned up well. She had arrived with one of the Greifir earls, so that nobody would connect her to my group. It took only seconds to reapply my war paint. I thanked her, and then I turned, heading through, right to the bottleneck of the hand-towel station. And I came abruptly face-to-face with Her Majesty the Queen, Czoverenne Freckentop.

Lachel's mom. I have been tracking her location by her jewelry to make sure I could make this look like an accident.

"Done sniveling I see," she snapped, which was a hell of a way to open a conversation. One of the onlookers gasped in shock. I didn't have to do anything for this, she was just rude. She tossed her head and moved to sweep around me, but I stepped into her path and drew her up short. Rude? More like undreamt-of. Nobody treats her like that. A louder gasp came from the other side.

"Perjurer," I snapped back. I glared at her from the same height now, the shrinking salve on my arms carefully washed away. I look a lot less harmless than I did a few minutes ago. And unlike Nathan's, this dress was built to release a couple inches of allowance on short notice.

"Excuse me?" she sneered.

"On the witness stand, you told the world you had proof against me. That was a lie. That coward judge would not call you on it, but I will. Do you not remember that conversation? It was the same one where I told you that I will take you apart." The expressions of shock and surprise and giddy gossipy delight were not the only movements. Two of the silent ladies nearby stepped closer, jewelry flaring with mana-light, bodyguards making themselves seen.

But in that same instant a dozen other women all turned at the same time to face them, with the same hard, dangerous expressions. Vanda was a comforting presence behind me, and those other dozen out-of-work mana warriors she had promised to get in touch with all formed a wall. I held my staring contest with the queen. She had been confident that her security magisters were suppressing my sorcery. She had been confident that the two bodyguards she kept with her could handle threats.

But now, not only are her bodyguards outnumbered by five-to-one, but the battlefield just shifted. A dozen warriors in just the right place at the right time, undercover and waiting for a signal: that's an ambush. And she's in it. So now the staredown has a totally different inflection. Her bitchiness, my accusation, the hostility- that's not a snippy bit of bickering, this is a confrontation ahead of an ambush and a threat.

Right now, my people could hold her people off while I beat her to death against the tile countertop. She can see that. I am craving to do that. I'm sure she can see that as well. And none of the many witnesses here seemed inclined to intervene at all. The main thing that holds me back, straining against all that hate, is the fact that she is a fixed point in time. There are events she needs to be present for. I'm going to declare war against her, but I can't kill her.

In fact, all I can do right now, is the only thing I need to do right now: give a good show of strength. I glared at her, right up close, until she started having trouble holding my eyes. It's not that she's weak-willed, it's the heterochromia- the mismatched color of my eyes is hard for people to look at up close. I will use every dirty trick. And the instant she broke off, I spoke.

"Your majesty," I snarled, "you are in my way." I put my foot down, a half-step towards her, crowding her out of my path. She gave ground, and grudgingly stepped aside. From the look of her face, it cost her about a pint of blood to relent against my challenge, the shame stabbed deep. I swept past her, giving her my back. No threat to me. I stayed in a stall, arms crossed, tapping my toe, as she dawdled at the wash station to pretend she's not fleeing me. She's trying to salvage some pride and face here.

So I slammed the stall door open and let her hear my shoes clacking her way. She fled. Onlookers and witnesses sprinted out of there to tell everyone.

"You good?" Vanda asked me.

"That was awful," I said.

"She is terrifying."

"So are you," she pointed out. Several of the assembled warriors chuckled and nodded, or elbowed each other. It's not easy to smuggle this many warriors into an event like this, but fortunately I have a lot of allies that nobody knows about, and a lot of them could either bring a plus-one or could just hand over their invitation. I have leveraged a lot of favors for tonight, but they are paying off for me.

There is another minute until I'm needed again, so I take this chance to curve the fabrics of my dress, and adjusted them to my new size. I loosened my shoes just a quarter-inch as well, they had been pinching during the standoff. I adjust the tiara on my head, and check myself in the mirror. She's right. I am terrifying.

"Well, can't wait here all night, right?" I stepped out, and the entire armed contingent came after me, mana-glow leaking from gloves, chains, pins, combs, jewelry, and small concealable weapons in hand. I walked ahead and they spread behind me in a V. This time, the crowd parted for me, like a bow wave pushing back out of my path. The queen had not returned to her Freckentop camp to find a refuge waiting for her. She had fled from conflict to conflict, because her corner of the venue was in disarray.

Instead of an insulating cluster the lesser-stationed Freckentops were arrayed back in a pair of wide wings, watching and trying to offer tacit support to their monarch. Their position was split open to the core by a delegation of dukes, marquises, lord protectors, earls, heirs, assassins, and soldiers. A powerhouse assembly had pried open the Freckentop formation and now faced down the king at the core of it all.

Vobel was standing with his retinue bunched up, and his bodyguards crowding close, as Muranda Nhullit read him the riot act. She was still short, still plain, and still unassuming in appearance, but if there is even one person in this room that does not know how dangerous she is, that person is keeping their mouth shut. Even the queen, not quite running to the service exit, did not try to interrupt or talk over Muranda.

"- a continuing thread of abuses and exploitation. The more we see of you, the less we like. The more we investigate your affairs, the more embezzlement, self-dealing and nepotism we find. Frankly, this nation needs better, the people deserve better, and by the gods we are going to have better!" she barked. Someone signaled her from the side, and she started her proper introduction.

"We are calling now for a vote of no confidence in chambers, filing grievance against your claim, and deliver notice that kingdom soldiers will not be abided in our lands and provinces. You can expect your levies unsatisfied and there will be no cooperation with the government that we find to be illegitimate. And so it is, that we have taken inspiration from Duke Mathew's continuing resistance to your policies, and we join him in opposition to your continued rule." We had worked the timing of this exchange.

She invoked my father's name just as I walked up, my steps carrying me past all the leaders of all the coalition Houses. I shared brief nods for them as I passed, acknowledging the allies, the supporters. Gestures towards me, nods. I met their eyes, nodded back, and moved up. Approaching Muranda, alongside her, and then out in front. And I locked eyes with Vobel, this time without his wife Czoverenne. The king looked from me to the door that was closing after his fleeing wife and her cadre of guards.

Behind him, ranked rows of Freckentops, their retinue, the guards, and Nathan. He's two rows back, staring at me. His face is tense, but I can't really read much more than that. There's lots of different kinds of tense, and I can't narrow this down any. The whole delegation is rattled, taken aback. Unsure whether to stay to defend their king or flee to defend their queen. Nathan was not watching either of them, he was watching me. I did not have the luxury of leaving my attention with him, I have a war to declare.

Off of him, back to the monarch. Time to start the next catastrophe.

"Majesties," I said with just the skim of sarcastic irony, "your numerous missteps and overreaches have forced our hands. Every attempt to find an equitable solution has been rebuffed. We are left no conclusion but that we are not being treated in good faith. For our own well-being, we cannot abide the state of affairs. Too many people rely on the royal family to do the right thing; this situation is no longer disappointing, it is an eminent threat. I speak on behalf of a coalition of Houses, vassals and lands.

Effective immediately: Anquarry, Bismoque, Dimnitas, Fidiange, Hartrend, Meadowtam, Pierazard, Tumnassed and Woadrun are all operating in state of rebellion." And I paused, breathless. And then the air and light started to break.