12th day of Brownleaf, tenth month of the year, 983

  “This is the last time I am saying that the runes are all over the place! Can you see it or should I grow some eyes for you?!” Bellowed Albestus, all composure lost half an hour ago. After a two hour long debate over the dozens of possible failures that could have occurred in the manufacturing of this new spell circle that wasn’t working, the emotions were heating up. ‘This damned soil repairing spell is not worth this. Dice, please, give me a signal. Just erase it and let us be done with it!’

  “Has your age managed to liquify your brain, Albestus? Has it blocked your ears and made you deaf?! I will repeat this as long as it takes. These runes are the same ones from yesterday, when it worked! And no amount of your screaming is going to change it! Now, can you finally be constructive or are you and your ridiculous beard going away?” The forehead of Jil was red, no composure left in both of them. Their beads of sweat reflected the light of the morning sun that was entering by the window of the somewhat large ritual room.

  Albestus pointed at the runic construct. “So the whole making a three layered construction and praying to Eclair for it to work sounds constructive to you? Heavens above, the only reason yesterday worked was because the Gods were having a laugh! You are not even balancing your tridimensional formation to help with the mana flow, for knowledge beads! Your top and middle layers are sucking all the mana, decompensating the flow and causing a shortage in the bottom one! At least use a fourth layer to create some symmetry if you intend to continue with an unequal permeation of mana!”

  “It’s intended, intended!!!” Jil exploded, walking to an inch of the spell circle and pointed to each rune and part of it. “The outer, upper, layer is the most important part of the spell! It’s the basis and the structure that needs the most mana, together with the middle layer. Those two form the guidelines of the spell and give to the bottom layer the instructions along with enough mana to feed it! If anything, a fourth layer would lessen the mana, making it a shittier version!” Almost breaking their spell with wild gesturing, they backtracked a few steps. “The bottom layer is only needed for precision, containing the calculations of the needed nutrients and to regulate its creation. The information and inner workings is in the other two! And don’t get started again with the inner circles because those help to regulate the flow, as you keep complaining about! You want to add mana equilibrium so that you turn the soil to bedrock? Is that it!?

  The spell that had escalated into this argument could be imagined as three letters O, each a bit more smaller, stacked on each other. The outer layer had the feeder formulas, acting as mana focusers and suckers, that directed it towards the rest of the third layer and below. The rest of it acted as a soil analyzer, detecting what was wrong with it on the basis of an input of parameters for a baseline already established in the layer.

  The middle layer used another formula to compute the comparison, turning the mana of the third layer into information that was the difference between the parameters in the upper layer and those of the soil that was being measured. This created two cascades. From the ground up, the one that recollected all the necessary information. And one from the middle layer towards the bottom one of mana based on from what runes the mana rained from and how much, sending both information and mana towards the bottom layer.

  The last layer had the spell itself. The different combinations of mana intake activated certain runic paths that transformed that mana into changes of the soil while also echoing the changing concentration of the soil towards the inner circles, which restarted the process as a failsafe to prevent over or undercorrection. These last ones were inside the three hypothetical Os, one for each layer.

  The problem with these types of three dimensional was ambient mana and its currents. This was the reason most spell circles were done in the same level and on flat surfaces. Different concentrations, sudden spikes on intake and unequal distribution could alter or even destabilise the spell, causing a miscast despite correct calculations, more pronounced in spells with different concentrations of mana as it worsened the variations. This was the main complaint Albestus had.

  The problem with it is that it was purely from a theoretical angle as, inside a closed room with stable mana flow, variations on the local density of mana where the exceptions, not the rules, and, the higher the complexity, the less alterations could be generated. Adding to that that the ambient mana was a different kind, as mana used in spells acquired certain properties giving it, in this case, the name of earth mana as it was used in an earth spell, the only reasonable problem it could be caused was in the implementation of the spell itself. The mana currents could alter the information received by the bottom layer. It would not be able to stop the spell from working.

  And there laid their questioning. Taking into account the nitpicks of Albestus, there should be no reason for the spell to not work or, at least, to not start. While still lacking a protective layer for outdoors use, no changes had been implemented between morning and yesterday’s night. If it misfired, did not work as intended or did something, anything, they would be able to understand or get to work on why it did not work. Adding to that the usual, and high, success rate of spell circles, their quarrel was more a symptom of feeling completely lost than actual, constructive discussion.

  Their only option would be to start from the beginning, for a sigil would not cut it and trying to cast something so complex out of will and inner mana would be suicide. Albestus went to the table, filled to the brim with the prototypes of the spell circle written on paper, willing himself to find something, anything, wrong.

  Jil, on the other hand, started to stalk the spell circle itself, rereading every rune, every equation and every layer.

  This formation, the spell circle that was giving them so much trouble, was the backbone of magic itself that had bestowed upon the whole continent an era of change. Sorcerers, now calling themselves true mages, had been outcompeted by the, usually, efficiency and tremendous manoeuvrability and customization options of spell circles. The old magic, based on will and simple spells, mostly for combat, had given away to an era of science and innovation. Nowadays, almost eighty percent of all spells were for civilian use, a true golden age for architecture, magical industry and enchantment.

  This new focus barred all the old mysticism and cult like that the old magic had had directed towards itself, creating an era of researchers, investigators and mathematics. The very art of enchanting objects with proper spells, ‘magic binding’, was only possible thanks to spell circles, even if the mana conductivity varied from one material to another, characteristic still under investigation.

  And, while this new caste of mages had been great for the world at large, new and shinier military spells had also been developed. This had caused what had been expected to be a quick war with revolutionaries to turn into a meat grinder that had lasted for a millennium. Forges churning high quality equipment making the users almost impervious to damage. Artillery pieces with the power to crack the very earth. Firebreathers. Impromptu fortifications that sprung from a single written command. A golden age indeed.

  Jil huffed, their anger increasing bit by bit. “Yeah. Great. Excellent. And how are you going with the whole ‘It needs more mana. It needs fine tuning?!’? Because I am seeing a bunch of nothing of value coming from that angle!”

  “Blah, blah, blah!” Snarked Albestus, noise deep in the paper prototypes. “Jil, you are hallucinating right now. If you are so right, why ain’t it working right now?! ‘Three layers are better’ is a bunch of nonsense and you know it. Instability in the distribution of mana is the only problem that could be causing it to not work! This spell needs a well defined, unidirectional mana flow so that it does not contradict with the upward flows, and you are making it trickier by having chosen a three dimensional and making it manage three different flows at the same time! You are creating your spell either far more complex than it should be and it finally cracked or it was just a fluke that it worked yesterday.”

  Sighing, Albestus stretched himself and corrected his reading glasses. “We are going to have to scratch the whole focusing structure and pull apart the rings. No more three dimensional basis. No more inner rings for conductivity. A plain, one dimensional layer with everything in it. Maybe we can add some satellite rings as the analyzers. It will lose us exactitude but it will make it less of an overcomplicated mess.”

  “You gotta be kidding me!” Screeched Jil, pulling their hair. “We did that three days ago, you old man!! News flash, it did not work!!” Jil had half a mind to just lunge at Albestus. Tripping in a book and almost falling to the ground stopped that dangerous thought.

  “And maybe we were just a hair away from having fixed it! But you know what has not worked either?! Your three, cursed layered structure!!”

  “If I may interrupt?” Both Jil and Albestus, on the verge of coming to blows, had been too caught up on the not so refined art of screaming at each other to realise one of the servants had entered the room. Having been cleaning for the past fifteen minutes, they also had taken a look at the spell circle before feeling like they had to address them.

  Startled, and ashamed, they simply nodded, taking small breaths and trying to make themselves more presentables.

  “I could be mistaken but…” The servant looked back to the upper layer, thinking themself the fool for asking about something that, they thought, was supposed to be there by design. “Isn’t some of the upper layer’s runes written with fire spells’ characters? The bottom layer also has the wrong runes.” Said the servant, while showing the runes of their enchanted outfit.

  Both mages slowly turned to look more closely at the basics, a thing academics usually forgot to check quite easily. Both took a long and hard look at the fact that the servant was right.

  Speechless, both of them started to rewrite the spell which, five minutes later, worked as intended.

  ……….

  Not all of the mornings of Albestus started so chaotic nor pride crushing but it was rare the day a civil exchange of ideas didn’t resonate inside this building. Be it a discourse of the material already in the Guild, over random or new spells or over anything remotely academic in nature. After all, this was a place of learning, and the only topics that were banned from being talked about were politics, religion and all topics that spoke against the empire’s current establishment, after all it was the law. Nonetheless, a place of learning was always full of discussions.

  Properly dressed as a man of his position, a thing he discretely took pride in, he readjusted his bow tie. A marvellous, in his opinion, piece of clothing from the odd migratory orc tribes of the wild south. His pattens were of the best quality money and magic could make, stitched with expensive warg hide. His braies followed the trend, dyed an exuberant and expensive sky blue that combined nicely with his dark blue robe. A cape ended his attire, a piece he had spent countless hours enchanting. Its mere appearance of ever changing and mixing colours screamed mage, never getting soiled by neither dust, dirt nor any stain.

  His tall and pointed hat was something, on the other hand,that wore with less hubris, as his hair had started to fall, being but a reminder of his bygone glory. His piercing green eyes and northern physique, with an stature of a metre eighty, created the towering image of a powerful mage. All in all, his appearance did not help to keep his large pride in check.

  Nonetheless, all his high nobility airs could never destroy what he was at his core. A true researcher who would not hesitate to throw honour, prestige and power for a chance to discover a lone answer. His office was testament to that backbone as it reflected his almost mad pursuit of knowledge, a trait that any sane mage would have if it had the slightest pride for their career.

  The walls were full of enchanted bookshelves that allowed for an almost infinite storage, being able to rotate on the spot. Packed to the brim with almost all books, no matter the rigour or lack thereof, related to magic and science. Part of that achievement relied on the Endless Library of Alpin, an old monument built as the centuries passed and home to all known books of the Continent. Even the forbidden ones, as every stone of that library was enchanted to its last atom.

  His desk was marginally better, if only for its lack of being able to store infinitely. It had, at least, a bit of a gap for Albestus to settle his elbows on.

  “Home, sweet home.” Softly whispering his inner thoughts, he gazed at the surrounding chaos with fondness in his gaze. The smell of books was a thing he had loved since his father had teached him to read and, while the magic world could get exhausting, he had never felt more alive than when in his research.

  His eyes slowly turned towards the ‘Scientific Badger’, resting proudly on top of a pile of books. The highest honour an independent researcher could get, Noct had delivered on his word with prestige to spare. Albestus didn’t want to think how much time he had had to fight against the Duchess’ Courts for them to grant it. His Guild has also received the ‘Honourable contribution’ award and job offers were already raining on them. Not that any mage with half a smart would leave Alpin’s Library for meagre money. And his current employment was kind of nice, after getting used to the hellish deadlines.

  ‘“Albestus. You are an excellent mage but a horrid academian. I am sure you do not know why you should care for things you don’t know you don’t know, but I pray, for your great mind, for you to, soon, find the enjoyment that discovering something can bring. You, and the rest of the students, can change the world. You youngsters are, after all, always managing to make something even more outrageous every single time.” His old teacher stifled a laugh. “But I guess I was the same. I only wanted to blow up things. Be the hero I thought my powers could make me. Still, if academia is not for you, you should do what you want with your life. It's yours after all… And, if you ever need another nagging lecture, you know where to find me.”’

  Stopping himself from reminiscing a bit longer, he pinned the medals to his robe. After that, he resumed, reinvigorated, his work. His team had, still, a lot of things to discover.

  ……….

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Is the Light not with you today, veteran meat bad?” Asked a Dryad once Albestus had walked about two hours into the forest. Legendary monsters born from the feelings of the trees and plants of the forests, they were Nature’s will. Unforgiving, alien, almost immortal and with a completely different moral compass, they were the perfect killing machines of the forests. If not aggravated, they were calm and somewhat cruel, if weird, protecting the places they lived in with every bit of their energy. As per their taxonomic, and imposed, classification, few monsters had suffered as hard with the rise of the non monsters and “rational” species as these tree dwellers. Still, here they remained. Ancient reminders of the old orders before sapience was developed.

  Not really understanding nor willing to risk trying to, Albestus did his best to act as if he had heard nothing. “The Ashen Household has found itself preoccupied with matters of importance. Still, they have sent to your kin word.” He tried, and failed, to hand the missives he was carrying to the hybrid of a tree and a humanoid which slowly changed forms, who bothered not to come closer. Mistaking its lack of interest, Albestus asked, “Do you know or remember our letters or shall I read these myself?”

  The leaves of the surrounding evergreen trees shook. “Do not mistake our Light for meatbags. Do not think the forest would forget what has been bestowed upon it in exchange for nothing.” The dryad fell into the terrain. Albestus blinked and it was back out of the ground, only now it was nearer. “Yet we learn for the Light. The white one who made it shine soo deeply.” It moved its head to the side. Albestus flinched, even if there was no neck to break for that creature. “But yes, the Ashen Household has helped us. As if it had only been natural. We can’t relate to such…behaviour.” It struggled, showing in full its reticence about the meatbags trying to negotiate with them. It was strange. “Nature is everything but forgiving. Yet you chose to help for no gain? To grant us food, Light and Land? We should be fighting yet we find ourselves singing your names. Roots will know of them, as they know of the ones before you. Kindness to others kin is suicide, yet you partake in it.” It turned to look at Albestus again, chilling him to the core.

  “...I see.” Not really knowing what to say, he tried to speed this conversation up, “I came here to ask for your opinion on the new forestry practices our industry has put into place. Regent Noct has felt compelled to ask for your…the forest’s opinion. Do you mind them?”

  Surprised, the sounds of the forest died down. After a few minutes they started again. Inordinately noise. Uncannily alive for almost winter. Moving branches in absence of wind. Surrounded by rustling, Albestus flinched as the dryad fused with the treat near it.

  After a few seconds of movement, they talked again, faster and clearer words. “Why should the forest mind about saplings dying?” Albestus jumped, doing his best to not move too much nor fall, as he realised the dryad was behind him. “Our songs are a complex balance of life and death.” The voice, which tone had returned to normal. banished.

  Albestus' eyes trailed the trees, paranoia flexing his fingers, now ready,out of habit, to cast a spell. “We kill, we main, we devour. Expecting you to not is foolishness.” He found it, sitting on top of a branch fifteen metres above his head. “But you bring both life and death in equal parts on your side of the Edge. You do not encroach. You do not enter. You do not harm us. You help the Edge recede, you help us expand. Yet you kill quickly. You pity your kills. You do not prolong the fray.” It disappeared again, causing ripples of fear in Albestus.

  “We see no problem with your pity if it happens on your side of the Edge. We discussed it already, did we not? But your consideration is taken into account. Do not fret for, and we do not doubt it won’t happen, if you ever cross the Edge we will grant you the same pity you do to those saplings, a quick death. As always, the Edges are, and will always be, yours.” Another blink and it appeared in front of him. An eyeless face looking straight at him, the overwhelming smell of flowers contradicting its terrifying appearance.

  Almost frozen, Albestus watched as it took the missives out of his hands. Had he not worn gloves for the cold, he knew he would have stained them with cold sweat. Albestus gulped. “We thank you for this, Dryad.”

  “Speaking about thanks. Before you go,“ The dryad’s legs turned into roots that stabbed the earth with sudden violence. “You meatbags like to bury your kind, don’t you? These meatbags have been mostly processed, so we return what we have not wanted to eat.” Before Albestus could scream ‘Nethers’, the ground exploded, showering him with bones, dirt, stones and some insects.

  Falling backwards, the remains of ten skeletons in different stages of being eaten fell onto him. “These wore not your hides, so we did not have to abide by our contract, right? They brought fire and axes. They should have chosen to freeze. Hypothermia would have been painless. But we still expect the message to be sent, yes?”

  Albestus, pride long forgotten, nodded several times. Before he ended, the dryad had already been banished. Not waiting for a second, he roared an incoherent scream and kicked aside the remains while crawling backwards. Breathing heavily, he tried to calm himself down for a few minutes.

  Dusting himself as he got out, he cursed. “You are coming by yourself next time, bastard of a regent.” Looking around, he had never been more scared of a winter forest at midday. A sudden wind passed by, rustling the leaves of the forest. Albestus couldn’t help but think that it was the forest laughing at him. ‘If it were in my godsdamn hands I would have burned this whole cursed forest to the ground!’ He was smart enough to not give voice to that thought.

  ……….

  A few hours later, and back in the guild, Albestus was resting on a couch in one of its libraries. His usual hate for reading where he could hear and be disturbed by other people had been kicked aside by the need of civilization. Today, the distant sounds of discussion and the turning of pages were helping to calm him down. A reminder of the superiority of sapientkind and, more importantly, of civilization. Of things he lived with and could comprehend.

  Nonetheless, it still angered that, just as he was getting into his current book, ‘Components of a true blue fire spell and its similarities to air manipulation magic’, a highly interesting book on why stronger versions of fire spells needed a counterpart of air magic for better burning power, one of the servants interrupted him.

  “High Mage Albestus, Lady Ashen is requesting an audience with you.”

  Nodding with a reassuring smile, his perfect mask for treating nobles came into existence without a second’s pause, perfectly hiding his anger at being disturbed at such an inopportune time. Nonetheless, his mastery at trading honeyed words with his bosses was needed now.

  “If you could lead her to my study, I will receive her there.” Weaving spatial magic, he phased out of the public space without waiting to hear the positive response of the servant

  Back into his study, and cursing inwardly for the fifth time today, he did his best to manage his nausea. How Noct could handle teleportation magic so well was beyond him. Walking towards his desk, he served himself a glass of ‘Fenix Salt’, an energising mixture born from the cultists of Zh?n of the deserts of the east. Frowning at the sour taste, he readied himself for the task ahead.

  Not late enough, a knock was heard from the door of his study.

  “Come in.” Answered Albestus, sitting comfortably on his chair.

  Lady Soral of the Ashen entered the study, closely followed by the High Paladin Sorak. Being one to follow protocol, Soral curtsied.

  “I thank you for attending to my whims even to the detriment of your busy schedule.” Hailed Soral, undisturbed by Albestus’ lack of proper respect, as he was supposed to both open the door and bow to her while standing. On the other hand, Sorak was as readable as a book, and she was not happy.

  “And to what do I owe the unannounced visit, Lady Ashen?” Not one to miss an opportunity, he nailed the unproperness of the procedure, trying to get as much advantage as he could out of this friendly conversation. Seeing Sorak struggle to contain her sharp tongue was an added bonus, of course. He had never liked paladins, zealous bunch.

  “I will be blunt in consideration of your post, High Sorcerer Albestus.” His fake smile and easy going attitude faltered a tiny bit while Soral’s grew that bit more genuine. “I have come here to ask you to join my faction. A highly skilled individual like yourself should have an appropriate post, don’t you think? Evermore, your talent could be used for grander things, under my direct orders.”

  “Bold words to call the achievements my guild has achieved as not grand enough, Lady Ashen. I do no…”

  Soral raised a hand, her facade turned into a frown. “Save us the back and forth, Albestus. I came here to remind you that you serve the true sovereign of this barony. Me, the baroness. Pardon me for my current disrespect, Albestus, as your employer is a risk to my life and I would love to go back to my training as quickly as possible. As you would happily go back to your research once I let you, I guess.” Sharp eyes, cold tone. There was no fear in those words. They were a threat.

  Albestus reclined on his chair, also forgoing his own facade. His piercing glare duelled with Soral’s. While he knew nothing about Soral, he knew Noct was an unforgiving and cruel bastard. Yet, he had always been relatively just. He strived for the best end result for the majority of people involved, and strived towards it with extreme prejudice even against that same majority if they happened to not like the changes. Despising corruption and debauchery, he had cracked down on all crime activity that had not bent to his will, using these organisations as sacrificial pawns that he always discarded not too long after. His administrative skill had been passable all in all. Way better than what he had seen in the central provinces.

  And that very tyrant had been changing for the better over the last couple of months. If the iron fist started to lift under his rule, a raise in liberties would not be too far off. And, even if the situation only improved marginally, it would remain remarkably stable despite the weary winds that corroded the Empire.

  What’s more, the reports and investigations he had read over the advised, and so rumoured true, regency of Noct had been appalling. A bunch of power hungry maniacs that nobody had cared about except Noct had ruined in two years what had taken a hundred to build up. The next two years Noct had purged the realm out of those bastards and the rest of opportunists. It had been bloody, yet the reports had stated a normal amount of casualties for the average peasant report. All in all, he lived well. The people weren’t starving in the streets and most believed there was now hope for a better future under Soral after the recovery of the last decade.

  Focusing on Soral now, he seriously thought about her offer and her. He didn’t like what he saw. While Noct, ironically, had never acted for further his own gains nor interests, the lady before him was striving for just that. Her posture said it all, she was a kinder mirror of the average noble. She wanted her power and she would do anything to get it. She was not thinking about the barony nor about its people. She was thinking about her barony and her people. And he was not included in that hers.

  All in all, he saw in Soral a person acting like she thought she should act. Rumours already called her kind, calm and compassionate, yes, yet she had only spoken about doing things. She was taking advantage of a lack of opposition against Noct and was rallying the people easily because of that. She was the good they didn’t know against the evil they knew.

  He clasped his hands as he continued to look into the eyes of Soral, noticing the badly contained disdain in them. Noct had spoken highly of her character and skills, assuring the guild that she would surpass him in no time, but Albestus knew better than to bet on fickle resolution born out of revenge, and Soral was full of it.

  If Noct had been a stray arrow, Soral could be a whole volley. A half smiling coming to his face, something that startled Soral a bit, he made a bet to himself. If she held for six months trying to rule over her diverse coalition of “allies” after having had to dispense several concessions and balancing her new coalition without turning into a worse Noct, he would eat his hat. He could imagine the writing on the walls.

  ‘She seems amoral. Not to say bad but…she would discard her ideals the moment it benefited her.’ Albestus pondered. For now, and thanks to Noct, she only had had to contend with politically unskilled people, yes men or outright terrified vassals, granting her support base both high stability and letting it grow quickly. He would pray for Noct to teach her before a cunning merchant or commander started to whisper in her ear. Lastly, for her Albestus was just a puppet. A piece to be discarded, too close to the enemy for comfort. She looked at him the same way her brother looked at slave merchants.

  “I will also be blunt then. I refuse your offer. After all, my employer is the current regent of Alpin.”

  “Pardon me, High Mage, but, do you realise you are betraying your rightful Liege?” Sorak intervened. “You and your guild may be employed by the regent, but nobody would fault you for breaking a contract that, I am sure, has little to no loyalty from both parties. The baroness needs your mages to rebuild the barony, bettering it to what it could have been! See reason, Albestus. Following the orders and allying with the current regent will only stop the progress!”

  Albestus’ fingers started to hammer the desk as he raised an eyebrow. “Stop the progress? Who, or what, do you believe has been holding, nay, improving the city the last decade? The Great Fires of the Theocracy? I, for one, have grown tired of this nitpicking. Yes, our current regent may be overbearing in his duties but he is distributing justice in the baroness’ de jure realm, as regents are supposed to be able to do. He has secured and stabilised the barony and, with its history, that is no small feat.”

  Sorak shook his head, “You know perfectly well what I am saying, Hi…”

  “No. I do not know and I am starting to feel like my time is being misused for useless reasons. You come to my Guild, that I was founded and supplied by the rightful regent of Alpin, to accuse my employer of being a tyrant when he has been upholding justice and offer but empty and weak reasonings?” His index finger hammered the desk for the last time. “He has upheld justice. With overzealousness? Yes. And that is still within his power to do. Evermore, I have yet to see him condemn an innocent sapient after he reformed the legal system of the barony. Nethers, this is considered the safest place of all of the north with the best roads and you complain of brutality when he imparted justice on criminals of the highest degree? For Gods’ sake, they were part of the ‘Hands’, upstanding nobles would have tortured them alive, the rest would have kissed their feet.”

  Before Sorak could escalate the discussion Soral answered in her stead. “Yes. I agree with you on the ‘it was in his powers to do so’. And I do not doubt that every other noble would have done worse. But be that as it may, it is besides the point. Being able to do something doesn’t make it the right thing nor being less worse than others in similar positions can be considered a virtue.”

  Soral stopped herself with a sigh. “To not waste even more time, I will refuse to debate your semantics nor the misinformation you use as a shield. You yourself raised a valid point. The regent’s overzealousness. You are right.” Hiding her threatening smirk as Albestus reclined on his chair, she continued, “If I may construct a theoretical situation in which I went against his ideals, do tell me here, would he go against me? That’s why I wanted to see if your loyalties lay where they should lay. Insurance of course. Nothing more, nothing less. For what we know my brother could be truthful to his word and rescind his regency without problems. It’s not like I am putting you between a rock and a hard place, you lose nothing if you side with me.”

  ‘So there is the excuse. “Insurance”, huh.’ Albestus broke his glare and gazed towards his drink, slowly grabbing it and taking a sip. Appreciating the taste, he stirred the beverage with the spoon. “Forgive me for my straightforwardness, Lady Ashen, but I am far too busy to deal with imagined and fictional family feuds. Of course, as your loyal vassal, I am always open to carry out your orders, even if those would affect my performance.”

  No longer hiding her disdain, she frowned. “Then we have nothing left to discuss.” Not a minute later, Albestus’ study was as silent as before they had come.

  Sighing, Albestus mumbled. “Took you long enough.” Turning his chair towards the window he looked back towards the meeting. If anything, she had a backbone. It was not every day that he would get a threat on every sentence directed towards him. For once, he was glad to have the protection of the regent. Still, he would have to consider leaving the barony if push came to shove. Shaking his head, he took another sip from his cup. ‘Very rash, but expected of someone inexperienced.’

  Noct, as bad as both rumours and reality could get, was a capable and somewhat just, even if cruel, ruler. With the current state of the Imperial Nobility, that was more than enough. Cursed be Eclair, he had even come to like that bastard, going as far as considering him a colleague, if not a friend or a Lord. And Albestus was a lot of things but a betrayer he was not.

  ……………