"I had nearly forgotten your presence, Sarah," Joanna Kenster remarked with glacial precision. "I thought your Wyrmδenborn kind emulated those haughty elves—maintaining neutrality, abstaining from conflicts. What business brings you here?"

  "I extended the invitation to Sarah personally, Joanna," Deborah Borealis interjected, displeasure evident in her tone. "Wyrmδenborn remains a northern realm. With a formidable adversary at our threshold, unity becomes imperative."

  "Sarah speaks truth," Augler observed, measuring his words deliberately. "Lostya, known as the 'Wind of Catoria,' presents danger precisely because she commands storm magic. Put plainly, she likely possesses the ability to manipulate weather itself."

  "Manipulate weather!?" Giselle Hardy, the Arisindra witch, uncrossed her legs abruptly and straightened her posture. "You suggest she controls atmospheric phenomena? Impossible—utterly impossible." She shook her head emphatically. "Throughout documented arcane history, neither human nor elven practitioners have dared exercise dominion over weather. Ancient elven sages decreed the magical alteration of natural order forbidden. Druids vehemently insisted that magical practice must never disrupt natural law nor disturb nature's delicate equilibrium. The Primal Source constitutes an intrinsic element of nature—of earth itself. Any attempt to alter or command nature through mystical means invites severe retribution..."

  "If my faculties of hearing remain uncompromised," Royce Paul Sain interjected at last, "I recall Master Prescott stating 'commands storm magic, thus likely influences weather.' Nevertheless, your concerns merit consideration, Lady Hardy. An enemy sorcerer capable of weather manipulation indeed presents a significant tactical disadvantage."

  The assembled sorcerers awaited his continuation in expectant silence.

  "Their capacity to influence atmospheric conditions poses a potential threat indeed—primarily because," his lips curved into a measured smile, "it may interfere with the weather patterns we ourselves intend to create."

  "Weather patterns of our creation?"

  "Precisely, distinguished practitioners. I summoned you under the authority of the Brigarian Crown because I require your collective expertise to cast an enchantment of monumental proportions—a magical working unprecedented in scale and effect."

  "Your Majesty proposes... weather manipulation?" Dorothy's fingers abandoned the golden strand she had been absently twisting at her shoulder.

  "Indeed, Lady Jones. I require you to generate weather phenomena and subsequently direct their course. Lady Borealis informs me that no solitary practitioner in our known world possesses sufficient power to achieve such a feat independently. Hence, I solicit your assistance, your solidarity, your combined arcane potential." He rose from his seat with deliberate grace.

  "I require you to conjure a tempest of colossal magnitude, with lightning that shatters the heavens and rainfall of biblical proportions—a storm without historical parallel. This tempest must ravage forests, its lightning illuminating midnight skies, its deluge obscuring all vision, penetrating armor, pulverizing flesh and bone alike. I seek a cataclysm capable of obliterating everything in its path, cleansing all it touches, reducing all to mere particles of dust."

  "Where do you intend to go?" Beth Keton blocked the doorway, her stance unyielding.

  "Nowhere of consequence, Beth." Kristina Petrova retreated cautiously, vigilant not to reveal the princess secured against her back. "I merely remarked that should the princess reach maturity and I receive leave, I might embark on a journey for relaxation." (Curse this interfering woman.)

  "Your appearance suggests an immediate departure rather than future planning," Beth observed coldly, her disdainful gaze fixed on Kristina's overstuffed satchel. "You stand before me dressed for immediate travel."

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  "...I was merely organizing my possessions." (They must both be silenced. They must die.) she thought with mounting fury. (Beth Keton and Mistress Hubbard—neither can remain alive.) "What explains your premature return?" she inquired with artificial lightness. "Did you procure the bobtail lion's tooth?"

  Beth Keton tossed a small leather pouch onto the floor with contemptuous precision. "This is no lion's tooth." Kristina summoned her considerable theatrical prowess. "My dear, what regrettable carelessness! It seems another excursion proves necessary."

  "These are canine teeth. You prove unworthy of a Cynthian Bobtail Lion's trophy."

  "You labor under some misconception regarding my character, Beth," Kristina managed, maintaining the barest semblance of a smile. "Regardless, the Archmage requires this particular research material. Whatever your opinion of me, I must insist you attempt the errand once more." (Depart now, and perhaps I'll grant mercy.)

  "Archmage Hamilton requires no lion teeth for his research endeavors. I encountered Scholar Vito during my errand—those were his precise words."

  (...Blood will stain my hands tonight, Kristina.) "I see you encountered that foolish boy." She sighed with calculated weariness. "It appears the Triad has bestowed considerable fortune upon you this evening."

  "I pledge my devotion to the Gods."

  (Damn your gods to oblivion.) Kristina assumed a crouching position, extracting a slender dagger from beneath her skirt and concealing it within her palm. "Perhaps I erred in my recollection, Beth. I apologize for the futile errand." She positioned herself directly opposite Beth while inching toward Mistress Hubbard's bedside.

  "What do you intend?" Beth's gaze remained unflinching. "Abandon this charade, Kristina Petrova. Return Princess Rebecca immediately."

  "Your excursion appears to have addled your wits, Beth Keton," Kristina replied with thinly veiled impatience. "Princess Rebecca slumbers peacefully in her cradle. Verify this yourself, if you require proof." (The moment you bend forward, your throat meets my blade, wretched woman.)

  Beth maintained her position with unwavering resolve. "Do not presume I remain ignorant of your luggage's contents, harlot," she declared with icy precision. "Relinquish the princess and surrender your dagger."

  "How infuriatingly prescient you prove to be." Kristina's eyes radiated lethal malevolence. "Very well, Beth. We shall conduct our discussion momentarily. First, however, permit me to conclude my unfinished business with Mistress Hubbard." She positioned her blade against the slumbering woman's exposed throat.

  "Your reign of manipulation concludes here." Beth Keton seized an ornamental longsword from the wall-mounted weapons display. "I will end your life -- this is no empty threat."

  The youthful portrait of Claire Grace observed the confrontation with an eternal smile, as if bearing silent witness to the unfolding drama.

  "That implement presents considerable danger. I advise you to lower it," Kristina cautioned, withdrawing her dagger slightly from Hubbard's neck. "You possess no swordsmanship skills, Beth. You risk injuring yourself rather than your intended target."

  "Is that your assessment?" Beth executed a deft wrist maneuver, causing the blade to slice elegantly through the air. "Secure the princess properly first. Neither of us wishes harm to befall her."

  (This contemptible woman...) The short-haired maid clenched her jaw in barely suppressed rage. (So be it—your death awaits regardless. I shall indulge this momentary whim.) She unfastened the binding straps and gently placed Rebecca Cynthia upon Mistress Hubbard's bed.

  Beth Keton maintained her single-handed grip on the sword, its point unwavering in its alignment with Kristina's form. "Now then, have you any final declarations, traitor?"

  "I reject that designation," Kristina Petrova replied with affected nonchalance. "My allegiance belongs to the Godma Empire."

  "Who dispatched you on this mission?"

  "Divine mandate," she answered, edging closer along the windowsill.

  "Explain yourself."

  "The Triad." Kristina Petrova secured her dagger with both hands at chest level, lowered her center of gravity, and launched herself toward Beth Keton with explosive momentum. Though she had never taken a life, she had methodically practiced lethal techniques. She selected the most efficient attack vector—targeting the heart or lungs. While lacking the guaranteed fatality of a throat-slitting, this approach minimized potential errors, particularly significant given her opponent's longsword.