Willem, Gustav, and Dirk sat in the lobby of the Society of Assured Prosperity. Off to the side, there was a completed contract to join with the society. Gustav had elected to do so of his own volition, but it was also symbolic of their deeper collaboration.

  “The biggest untapped market for our business is the capital,” Gustav said, speaking with Willem as though they hadn’t been enemies not long ago. “Olive oil soaps with added fragrances, colorations… they were a huge hit. And from my people that do business in the capital, now that we’ve scaled back production… prices and demand only rose,” he explained to Willem.

  Willem looked down at Gustav’s records. “I have to say… you’ve done a bang-up job.”

  “You think?” Gustav said, rubbing his hands together, before chiding himself when he realized he was seeking the praises of a man who’d only barely become an adult. “What would you have done differently?” he asked, hoping to alleviate some of his embarrassment.

  “I would’ve slowed your roll a little,” Willem said. “Could’ve made it a very expensive luxury product, sold it at a very high price. Only the highest bidders would buy it—the high nobles of the capital, maybe even the king himself. The fact it was being used by these high bidders would naturally create demand. Then, bit by bit, you lower costs, start welcoming more customers, start ramping up production… all while having collected the highest margins possible.”

  Gustav nodded thoughtfully. Dirk spoke up, saying, “In an ideal world, he would’ve. But he can’t access the markets for high nobility easy.” He pointed. “You, by contrast..”

  Willem scratched his cheek. “Fair point.” He looked over. “Still, you’ve built an excellent springboard for us, Gustav. We’re going to transform this thing into a well-oiled machine. The soapers are going to enjoy even cheaper prices for their supply. Since I made those acquisitions, I’m confident your supplies are going to be at cost.”

  Gustav smiled. “So… this did all work out, huh?”

  “Absolutely,” Willem said. “But we’re going to need to make some considerable reforms for the long-term. And for that, we’re going to finally make my man Karel van der Heiden make good on a promise that he made me. Well, commission, technically.”

  “A member of the Heiden family?” Gustav said in surprise.

  “Yeah, the man decided to come off his high-horse to pick up some of the gold that I sprinkled on the ground like breadcrumbs,” Willem said. “I’m sure that you can see it as well as I can. A lot of the work that soapers do can be streamlined.”

  “Meaning…?”

  “You standardize everything,” Willem said. “The formula, the temperature, the process, the molds, all of it. No more having individual soapers make individual batches or family formulas. We have one central facility that can mass-produce soap, with a few knowledgeable soapers overseeing unskilled workers. Net-net, we’ll end up hiring more people than we set loose, but they’ll require lower wages than the soapers you currently have. We’ll have more employees, but more product and more profit.”

  Dirk spoke up, saying, “You’ll have to end some people’s careers, Willem.”

  “Yeah, we will. That’s why we’ll compensate them, either with coin or a stake in the business. But as I mentioned—we’ll be hiring more people than we set loose. The alternative is staying inefficient until the end of time,” Willem pointed at Dirk. “Ever since we switched to metal tools, all the stone tool makers lost their jobs. Does that mean we should stick with stone tools? Nah.”

  “I hear you,” Dirk said. “Just never feels good, speaking as someone who’s been on the receiving end.”

  “I’ll do it,” Willem volunteered. “Or Viviene will. She’s gotten a little more empathetic lately, but nowhere near enough to feel bad about this.”

  Gustav nodded, having long ago accepted what needed to be done.

  “Great,” Willem said, patting his shoulder. “Gustav, you’re going to work with Karel to design these larger-scale production machines. He tells me that some can be controlled by a watermill since we have a river, but others will have to be manned by workers. He says it’ll only take a month or so to get a solid facility set up, provided the person he’s working with is ‘up to his standards.’”

  Gustav stood up. “I’m quite positive I’m far exceeding his standards.” He looked at Willem. “But what are you going to be doing?”

  “I’m going to be establishing a symbiotic business system here in Gent that works flawlessly, with our without my presence,” Willem declared. He stood up and stretched. “I want to be sure that once production starts, the systems in place will ensure it never stops. The flow of coin and goods… I’m quite adroit at managing the both of them.”

  Gustav leaned on his arm. “And once it is?”

  “I think I need to go to the capital,” Willem said thoughtfully, and Gustav raised a brow in surprise. “Before that, I have to teach Dirk to pick up my slack while I’ll be gone.”

  “Hold on, what?” Dirk said forcefully.

  “I just said I’ll teach you,” Willem said. “The thing practically runs itself by this point. You’ll just be a manager, basically. Pay out the bereaved, give the right values to the right members, give out prudent loans… it’s easy stuff.”

  Dirk looked too overwhelmed to even say anything.

  “Why go to the capital?” Gustav asked.

  “We need boots on the ground to expand into a new market,” Willem said. “In a couple of months, I’ll move out there. I’m going to make sure that our soaps are well-received, well-trusted, and utterly dominate. I expect copycats, but we can weather it with a strong brand.” He tapped his chest. “I’ll handle that. I’m good at building something great from nothing, as I believe you might’ve seen.”

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  “Didn’t you get a loan from Baron Tielman?” Gustav asked skeptically.

  “It was a small loan of a few thousand gold,” Willem said.

  “A small loan,” Gustav repeated. “Of a few thousand gold.”

  “Well… let’s not quibble over details,” Willem said. “Suffice it to say, I’m a self-made man.”

  “Whose father is a baron.” Gustav crossed his legs.

  “Listen…” Willem pointed. “I made the decision to take that money from the baron. So what if someone else built the ladder? I was the one that climbed it, baby.”

  Gustav looked at Dirk, then all three of them laughed.

  “By the way…” Dirk leaned in. “Suzanne asked about those tests.”

  “Right, right…” Willem rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I was planning on avoiding those until she angrily confronts me. How insistent was she?”

  “Quite insistent,” Dirk said simply.

  “Any yelling?” Willem asked.

  Dirk hesitated.

  “Hmm. The dithering tells me all I need to know.” Willem nodded. “I’ll talk to her.”

  ***

  “You’re being reassigned to the capital,” said the official of Avaria, the majority of his body cloaked in heavy black robes. Only two volcanic eyes could be seen, peering from behind the cloth veil he wore. His eyes gave off light, and thus could be seen even through the veil.

  Petronella cleaned her nails with her humanoid form while simultaneously cleaning her talons in her bestial body. She didn’t even look at the person speaking to her, instead focusing on grooming herself.

  “So, they want me to die?” Petronella asked disinterestedly.

  “On the contrary. You’ll receive yet another year of life from the Fount of Avaria,” the official said, his posture constant. Petronella laughed slightly.

  “Ah, yes. They give me yet another year of life, but send me into the place where few shapeshifters have lasted more than a few months.” Petronella smiled. “Subtle. Enough to delude me into thinking they have hope I’ll survive, but not enough for it to be a major commitment on their part.”

  “You assure us that your abilities are unparalleled,” the man said calmly. “Therefore, we’re giving you a task that’s up to how you speak of yourself, even in the aftermath of your failure.”

  Petronella raised a brow. “The King’s Dog arrives randomly, and you deem it my failure?”

  “Gent was your city,” the official said coldly. “And Dorothea, a very valuable asset, died on your watch.”

  Petronella only scoffed.

  “To wait for things to cool down, we’ll wait for around three months,” the official said. “Then, you’ll infiltrate with a new identity.”

  “What happens in three months?” Petronella asked, looking away from her nails finally.

  “The king will be holding an event to select a groom for his daughter,” the man continued. “You will—”

  “Assume the role of one of these grooms?” Petronella said amusedly. “That sounds like great fun.”

  “No,” the man said firmly. “You’ll use the opportunity to establish yourself as you did in Gent, and then you’ll wait for word to come down as to your next action.”

  “Very well,” Petronella said with a begrudging sigh. “When the Blood Traitor smears me upon the well-paved streets with that sword of his, I believe you’ll find your espionage efforts significantly hampered… but that’s hardly my problem.”

  “While you’re waiting the three months, you’re to warm the beds of some people in Avaria that need to be placated,” the official continued. “You’ll be sent a booklet with their preferences and fetishes. Match them, and adjust accordingly.”

  “No,” Petronella said simply.

  “What?” the official stepped forward, looking at her.

  “No. Find someone else, or do it yourself,” Petronella said simply. “I’d be willing to show you some tricks. You’d need to use wigs and makeup instead of shapeshifting magic, but I’m confident you can put those lips of yours to good use. They seem to have no trouble wagging about all day long, nagging me and others.”

  “Are you disobeying a direct order?” the man asked.

  “Yes, I am,” Petronella confirmed, bringing her snake-like tail around. “Do something about it, sweet lips.”

  “Swee—” he began, then cut himself off. He was clearly furious. The official of Avaria stared her down for a few moments, then said, “You’ve done this before. Why are you acting like this? We have your life in our hands, slave. It’d be best to remember that. I’m willing not to note this down as an infraction if you retract your words and obey.”

  “I’ll do what I want, or die where I stand,” Petronella said.

  The man shook his head incredulously and pulled out a notebook, writing something down. After a minute he shut it, and then looked up at her.

  “The Disciplinary Committee will likely see you soon,” he said. “You can be whipped playfully in a velvet bed, or scourged bloodily here in this cave. The choice is yours.”

  “And I’ve chosen,” she said, then laid back lazily. “Do your worst, sweet lips.”

  “Your defiance is alarming.” The man put his booklet away angrily, obviously tremendously offended at her nickname. “I believe I’ll accelerate your discipline. You’ve been away for quite a while. It’s long overdue for a firmer reminder than the timer slowly expiring in your chest.”

  The official of Avaria turned and walked out. Petronella started to hum an old tune, basking in the quietude of the rank cave.

  Petronella had never been as close to never coming back here than when she’d departed Gent. She had seriously contemplated letting the enchanted lava in her chest burn out, and allowing the life leave her body forevermore. But in the end… she had come back. Even she couldn’t fully explain why. Habit? Fear of death? There wasn’t an answer, really. She just wasn’t quite ready to die.

  The capital, she mused. I wonder if it’s as grand as they say. Perhaps I can meet the king. He seems like quite the interesting person. If I fought him… what would it be like? Perhaps that would be a fitting way to end things—a fight against the Blood Traitor.

  Petronella’s humming filled the cave. In the distance, she heard the rattling of chains, and heavy footsteps. It seemed the man had kept his word, and the Disciplinary Committee would be giving her some attention. But still she hummed, dreaming, hoping, and even praying that the future ahead of her might be better than no future at all.