There is politics to seating arrangements. A technique, a tradition, and some other t-word, all of it drilled into noble heads to ensure that nobody has any fun at any meal, ever.

  Truthfully, that was always Olivia's thing. I don't remember a lick of it, but even I know that putting me at Winston's left and his husband on the right is a statement. Equivalency, maybe? Or would it be rude if he didn't put me there?

  Feh. Politics. I let out a low growl into a bite of food, rather than vent my frustration for everyone to hear.

  Not my thing. I know how to py their game, sure, but I've no interest in doing so right now... not while I'm turning Winston's words over in my head.

  I know you'll want to stay, even if you loathe every moment.

  What could be so important that I'd want to stay in Craumont? It's been years since I lived anywhere longer than a month, and those pces were actually pleasant. Nobody out there cares if I was a Dame or judges me for my history, they just want Ivy Crawford to help deal with Delves.

  No. I won't stay. I already decided that. Not here, not with the same Church that tried to steal everything out from under me.

  The food in my mouth tastes more like ash than an expertly prepared roast. It’s hard to suppress the frustrated snarl rising in my throat.

  “So what did Winnie promise you, Ivy?”

  I snap my head up, dragged out from my thoughts by the voice of Winston's husband. He's a stouter man than my cousin, with a square jaw, an expertly maintained brown mustache, and a pair of bright blue eyes that tickled at my memories.

  I... have no idea what his name is. Gods, this is awkward.

  Looking to Winston for help, and finding only a knowing smile, I sigh. “Not enough. But by Adamantine, he's hard to say no to, isn't he?”

  That gets a ugh out of Winston's husband. Harriet? Henry? Definitely starts with an H.

  “And you've changed so much, Ivy... I like that name, but it’s harder to make a nickname of. Ames won't work anymore.” He winks. “Spill, then. What was it? Money? The family cookbook? Ten Delve Hearts?”

  I grin, letting it widen to its full extent. My lips pull back further than a regur person's, though I'm hoping it won't be too unsettling here. “The family cookbook? Winston, your husband’s gone mad. No, I’m being paid in coin, because I’m here on behalf of the Delvers’ Guild.”

  “Harriet, love,” Winston chuckles, leaning over to rest a hand over Harriet’s own. Their eyes meet, and something I can’t pce passes between them. “She was here for the Delve. I might— might— be able to hire her again to handle one or two more, but...”

  Harriet! Yes, Harriet. I’d be happier if I wasn’t so busy worrying about everything. The Church wants my nd and the Crawford treasures, no doubt. Some people want Winston out, Elizabeth included. Winston himself wants me to stay, and he wouldn’t dare ask me to stay for the politics. He wants a hammer he can trust to drive in a nail, I’d bet.

  Everyone wants something. They always do.

  I sigh, taking another nibble at the roast. Perfectly seasoned, beautifully savory, with fat that melts on the tongue; all of it falls into the anxious pit in my stomach.

  “Craumont’s done enough to me,” I say, looking down the table. Elizabeth looks back from the other end of the long table, sipping at a gss of red wine. She looks... sad? No. Annoyed. “I’m happy to see you again, Harriet. And you too, Winston. You look happy together.”

  “But it’s not enough to stay.” Harriet finishes for me, a smile flickering on his face. He looks back at his husband, and that smile brightens considerably. “Dear, you've got a bit of... something, on your lip. Lean over, I'll clean it off.”

  I set my fork and knife down, resting my hands on the table. My tail curls around a leg of the chair, taking care not to scratch the wood.

  Please don’t ask me, Winston. There’s not an answer I can give that’ll feel anything less than miserable.

  “I'd never force it on you.” Winston says. “You're family, Ivy.”

  “It looks like our hosts and Dame Crawford are having quite the conversation,” Elizabeth’s voice cuts across the room. She clears her throat delicately, pstering on a wide smile when everyone turns to look at her. “A shame to interrupt it, but I’d like to propose a toast, before we’ve all finished this course and drained our gsses.”

  Winston arches an eyebrow, moving his hand to curl around the stem of his winegss. “A toast? When we’ve already started, Elizabeth?”

  Several people ugh, and Elizabeth rolls her eyes.

  “You southerners are quite the nontraditionalists. Maybe it’s that Caliburn influence...” A man in a maroon suit chuckles, raising his own gss. “You’re not pnning on starting a civil war, are you?”

  Ugh. I can’t stand that kind of humor. Tasteless jabs, when it’s so much better to just say what you mean. So I grin, wide and sharp enough to make the man flinch.

  Elizabeth giggles, hiding her own mouth behind a hand. “I wouldn’t know about those closer to the border, Lord Aveside, but we prefer battles of words over swords, here. Now, I believe I had a toast to give, in defiance of tradition?”

  I raise my gss, still full of red wine, and raise my voice with it. I don’t have all day for this nonsense. “Let’s hear it then. We’ve talked around it enough, haven’t we?”

  Harriet huffs, and Winston’s boot taps against mine. I elect to ignore both of those things.

  “Of course, Dame Crawford,” Elizabeth inclines her head. She closes her eyes, hums, and raises her gss a bit higher. “A toast to the Southern Free Kingdoms. To the Ayldom, to the Hero, and to Eluvial the River Goddess. Lastly, to the Craumont and Crawford families, Dame included—”

  Her eyes glitter as they pass over the head of the table, and her smile curls into a practiced grin. “—for hosting tonight's dinner, and maintaining a key stopping point in the Ayldom's trade routes. To Craumont, and the Ayldom!”

  I exchange gnces with Winston and Harriet.

  “To Craumont, and the Ayldom!” I toast, and the rest aren't far behind me.

  From across the room, Elizabeth watches me as she sips from her wine. Just what is she pnning, I wonder?

  A knot of irritation forms in my stomach. What is everyone else pnning?

  The darkened hills spill out before me, exactly as I remember them— only, the person I once was would’ve seen far less. Her eyes were darker, untouched by magic even as it started to change the rest of her body. She would’ve felt the breeze that toys with the curtains thrown wide beside me, but she wouldn’t have picked up the faint hints of woodsmoke.

  Amelia was a different person, indeed. Another name that no longer fits me, though it definitely felt better than the man’s name that came before it.

  Now, though, I see lights flicker like warm stars, some from faint farmhouses, some making their way down the river that weaves its way into Craumont. Perhaps a barge carrying goods to be bought and sold? Maybe some vilgers, riding a ferry-boat into Craumont to use its train station? I’ll never know.

  I drag the tip of my tail across the floor, leaning more of my weight against the window frame. How many monsters are out there, too, hidden between the lights and lurking between the trees? Maybe I can work my way back up north by taking hunting contracts.

  “I’ve heard quite a lot about you, Dame Crawford.”

  Are there no clearer signs of wanting to be left alone? I already have to talk to that man from the church, Ain. I don’t need more connivers, though maybe that’s a rude assumption on my part. Still, I gnce out of the corner of my eye to check who it is.

  It’s the man in the maroon suit. Bck hair, portly... oh, it’s this guy.

  “Not sure there’s much to hear about, though I’m sure Elizabeth has been gossipping your ear off about me anyways. Saw her head right over to you when we came in,” I reply politely, turning around with a thin smile. I make sure to stand at my full height, forcing him to tilt his chin to make eye contact. “You’d be Phillip?”

  There’s a strange shine in his blue eyes as he nods. “Lord Phillip Aveside, ruler of Avestown and its surroundings. I assure you the gossip is all quite good; you’re one of the highest caliber Delvers in the Ayldom right now, according to the Guild. A valuable commodity, to many.”

  I don’t feel like a Delver of any caliber, really. Today’s performance was terrible.

  Still, I school my face and lean against the windowsill, draping my tail over it as well. He wants something from me, and I doubt ignoring him is worth the fuss that’d be kicked up. “Commodity, huh?”

  Running a hand through his hair, he hums. “Skills, Amelia. We have many talented Mages up north, especially in my own nds, but most don’t like how the depth would change them.”

  “That’s why it pays well,” I shrug. He’s definitely trying to warm me up to something, isn’t he? “And it gives some of us big egos. So, what’s the job you have in mind?”

  I must’ve caught him off guard, because he pauses with his mouth half-open for a second or so. He recovers quickly, though, straightening and beaming a smile at me. “She did say you appreciate directness. So. Yes, I do have a contract for you.”

  He raises his voice as he speaks, and it’s obvious people nearby are taking notice. Same tactic twice in a night, by two different people. Politics ages a bit like milk over the course of an event, in my opinion, and this is beginning to stink more like bad cheese. I can't escape halfway through the conversation, even if I've got him on the back foot, so I rein in my thoughts and focus. Negotiating prices starts early... and I’d like this to be worth my while, so I have an excuse to run out of this city before Winston drags me back in.

  “An important one, at that,” Phillip continues, just as loud. What’s his angle? Even Winston’s paying attention now, and I’m doing my best to ignore his disappointed expression. “I’d pay... ah, the standard price is ten gold? Twelve? I’ll pay double, and throw in potions for the Delve itself.”

  Twenty four gold would be quadruple what I'm getting for this job, and more than a good craftsman sees in a season. “It must be, if you want to drag me out of here early,” I lie easily, flicking my tail and making sure my fingers have shifted back into bckened cws. “And I usually take the bigger contracts through the Guild, so I’m not carrying ridiculous sums on me. Go on?”

  His eyes shift to my cws. “I have a Delve up in my nds with a recorded depth ranging close to two Grand Marches. I couldn’t find anyone to take the job, as the st yer is apparently entirely abstracted.”

  I can’t help but wince, even as I have to actively hold my tail in pce with a careful and casual hand movement. A fully abstracted Delve yer, huh? “Abstracted. To be clear, we're not talking about headaches and nosebleeds from looking at a structure?”

  “One of the Mages from the party I sent down took a week to recover.” Phillip says. The gleam in his eyes is sharper now, his lips curling into a smile that makes me want to snarl. “I'd say more, but I'd like to hear if you'd be interested, first.”

  Am I?

  At that depth, with those challenges, I might change even more. I might suddenly tap into a third source of magic, as some do. I might find a Delve Heart big enough and dense enough to force either outcome, if I think it's worth the risk.

  I could walk away from Craumont. They'll manage here, I'm certain.

  I look over at Winston. He's sitting with Harriet and speaking with Elizabeth, with his lips curled into a harsh frown.

  It's an easy choice, I tell myself.

  “I'll think on it,” I say instead, stroking my chin. “It's a tough sell.” offering an arm out for Phillip to csp. “You know how it is.”

  He regards my scale-coated forearm carefully, but nods all the same. “Of course! I'll try and find you before the night ends. I'd provide transportation for you, as well; you could follow me on my journey back north!

  “Ah... are your scales sharp, by chance?” He concludes, extending his own arm.

  I grin toothily. “Only if you slide back against them. You're safe.”

  My cws wrap around his forearm, nearly connecting pinkie to thumb, and his hand barely wraps halfway around my arm. “I might ask for closer to fifty gold, though.”

  “We'll weigh the costs ter,” he says lightly, letting go of my arm. He steps back, absently rubbing his forearm. “For now, I believe Lord Morgan has something to say about... mills and steam? Yes. Do have a good night, Amelia.”

  “And you as well, Phillip.” I incline my head, replying to his casual naming by naming him back. Hopefully that rusted old ‘noble poise' is enough to hide the turmoil in my thoughts.

  Adamantine, grant me strength for what is to come. The night is far from over.

  I'm chatting amicably with Harriet about old Imperial architecture when the next trial of the night arrives:

  Ain.

  Ain something-or-other, because I'm not going to remember his name, and I'm vindicated in my forgetfulness when he walks up and loudly asks to talk outside.

  Loud enough, might I add, for everyone to hear. Again. I look over to Elizabeth, raising an eyebrow— is this a men thing?— and she just nods sadly in return. I’m beginning to feel like a hound on a leash, tugged in every direction. Dame Crawford, a word. Dame Crawford, do some political posturing with me. Dame Crawford, spare a moment. They all want something from me, and they’re not even bothering to dress it up in something interesting.

  “I’d prefer if we talked here, Ain,” I say quietly, gesturing to the curious onlookers before looking back at Harriet. “Where everyone can see us. And Harriet is a trusted friend... and cousin by w.”

  Harriet raises his gss of wine, winking. “Truly? How kind. The air is brisk tonight, so staying inside is wise.”

  The wrinkles around Ain’s mouth deepen, and he moves a hand through his curly beard. “Are you sure? Dame Crawford, I’m sorry to impose, but privacy would be to your benefit, as well.”

  What, is he trying to air grievances? Didn’t he just wheedle an apology out of me earlier? No, I’m not pying his game, even if I don’t know exactly what it is. My tail drags across the carpet as I stalk forward, locking eyes with the man. “I think I’ll be fine. After all, the Church made the worst years of my life public knowledge, didn’t they?” I arch an eyebrow, and after a brief internal debate, I decide not to press further.

  Harriet puts a hand on my shoulder, tugging slightly, and with some reluctance I step back.

  Ain sighs, furrowing his brow and spreading more wrinkles across his face. Looking down, he mouths some words to himself, paces around, and runs a hand through his short, curly hair. “Ha! You win, then. You’re a hard woman to move, Dame. My apologies if you took my overtures as rude. I assure you, I had no malicious intent—”

  I snort, crossing my arms.

  “—and merely wanted to offer you a deal. Something to solidify our apologies.”

  Everyone’s listening now. They were before, but now it’s just btant. Winston’s got an anxious gleam in his eyes, one that makes my heart twinge.

  “A deal,” I repeat, with Harriet not far behind. I spare a gnce, and he smiles back at me. “Go on.”

  “We, the Restoration Church, would like to buy the Estate from you. It was not our right to take it, with a will that wasn't ratified. I am authorized by Priest Dongbaek to make this offer, to be clear.”

  Dead, cold silence follows.

  For a moment, I find myself genuinely considering the idea: There would be no Church to bother me, because they get what they wanted, and I’ll get an absurd amount of gold, most likely. Enough to fund an expedition to the Wild Continent, to duel the grandest beasts and learn the secrets of older magics. I could plumb the depths of the oldest Delves, or explore the castle that shifts with every full moon...

  “Excuse me?” I say, baffled. My tail curls forward, resting on the ground between me and Ain. You don’t just buy a noble title... Not around here. And to the Church?

  “Ivy has the right of it. Excuse me?” Harriet says aloud, his voice colored by confusion. “You cannot simply—”

  “No, no, I spoke poorly! I mean the Manor itself, not any titles. I’m sorry for the confusion!” Ain offers an apologetic smile, raising his hands in a pcating gesture. “Are you sure we cannot continue this in—”

  “No.” I cut him off. Heat coils in my gut, stirring like a dragon scenting gold. “I said what I said. Stay right here, Ain. Let’s have the room hear your deal.”

  Ain clears his throat, fidgeting in pce. “V-very well. The Restoration Church will discuss exact payment at a ter date, but we would like to buy the Manor itself. It is in a prime position, magically and geographically, to serve as a House of Healing. We could house more of those without a pce to go. The enchantments are capable of producing simple meals for dozens of people a day, if the will of your parents is correct in that respect.”

  Aghast is a good word for how I feel about this. Adamantine herself would not have enough mercy for a fool of this caliber. The enchantments could work on such a scale, yes, if I burned up the heart and thinking mind occupying so much of its magic. Typical of my parents to miss the details.

  He takes my stare as a prompt to continue, apparently. “We could do so much good, Dame Crawford. You may remove whatever you wish to take from the Manor, if you accept, and you will get the town house willed directly to the Restoration Church. You will not be without a pce to stay!” He chuckles amiably. “It is an excellent deal. We’ll apologize as publicly as we can for the past, and you will retain the title.”

  The peace of a sheep before a wolf devours it, I’m sure. He’s as oblivious as I am numb. I fought for years to take everything back from them, when my parents willed it away— not just the Manor, but everything.

  True freedom, and for a good cause that would also kill the Manor that greets me so warmly. I just have to give up everything I've fought for, to a man I'm rapidly learning to loathe.

  Origami_Narwhal