ARC 7-Cursed Fates-152
So, that’s it.
The March is as good as done. As soon as Geneva finishes tracking down the last of this Authority, we will divvy up the treasure and send Victory’s due north. That’s bound to be interesting. I don’t know what the duke expected when he sent Alana, and by extension , to collect the debt but I doubt it was the decimation of Quest. Which no one is going to believe, of course.
There is a very real possibility that the king will lay all of this at the feet of the Jas family. If he was annoyed by the independence of Quest, he must be livid about the fanatics in the fort who preach about the second royal family and the king of the north.
Either way, this is just the beginning. But for the mont, a break in the violence and ever-expanding repercussions for every decision. A mont of peace in between the bouts of chaos. And I choose to spend it reading.
I’m not fond of most literature. Particularly, fiction. Oh, listening to a good story over a drink is a great pasti, but that is completely different from curling up in a musty library reading so idiot’s wild imaginations.
I’ve done just that with summoning records but that’s different. Records are real. Each word is soone’s real experience, each little detail is important. Power lurks within the tos my family considers its greatest treasures. They give sothing back.
That’s how I managed to psyche myself up to dive into the Teppin’s accounts, both regarding the estate and the city. They are dull but there is sothing within them. This started with us snatching the hunters’ fortune but, since there are no obstacles in the way, I might as well take the rest the city has to offer. If I don’t, opportunistic souls will do so anyway. I’d rather take it than leave it to the human crows waiting to swoop in and feed on the city’s carcass.
Hence, the reading. There was a modest stash of a few dozen gold in the lord’s study but that has to be an ergency fund. His fortune is sowhere else and while the succubi are busy, Geneva with sniffing out more treasure and Bell with keeping an eye on things, the estate and to a lesser extent the city, I’ve taken on the issue myself.
During my childhood, I took far too much pleasure in avoiding my tutors, but no matter how much I tried to ignore them, the dedicated professionals forced so knowledge into my rebellious mind, motivated by my father’s crowns. I’m no academic, far from it. Yet, my initiate year has strengthened my faulty foundation, making more inclined to studying. I at least have the ability to shift through the account books with so degree of competency.
Seems Lord Teppin is a man who believes in investing, both in businesses and people. He utilizes the city guard to collect biannual taxes and takes a hefty forty percent into his own pockets. To his agre credit, the rest is genuinely used to finance the city, including public works that keep most of the non-hunters in the city employed. The guards are also well-financed, which ans their incompetency is purely their own problem.
The nobleman should be swimming in gold. And technically, he is. He’s just not the type keep his gold packed away in a room with half a dozen locks so he can sip whine while he stares at the shiny coins. Instead, he turned his wealth into things. Buildings. Weapons. Art. Land. Whatever he got was quickly reinvested, most of it in Quest. Which ans my little rampage destroyed a good portion of the wealth I’m seeking out. Oops.
A knocking interrupts as I find papers related to assets out of the city. “Co in,” I call, breathing in deeply instead of raising my head. Flowers, a faint musk, and a fainter hint of blood. I’m not surprised to feel the toned arms of my elf wrapping around my neck. “Getting bored?” I ask.
“Mm,” she purrs into my hair. “I should have joined the pet on her hunt.”
“Would have been just as bad, right? She does a lot of sitting and watching.”
“Yes, but there is a thrill to lurking beyond your prey’s ability to detect you. To be an unwelco observer to their secrets. To intrude on their hos where they think they are safest. Ask our star.”
“Well, I’m sure you can catch up to her.”
“I thought of it but there is sothing much better for us to do.” Her fingers catch my own as I reach for the next paper. “All of us.”
“I’m a little busy, my love,” I say, chuckling in amusent as we engage in a simple contest, my arm straining to move while she forces it to stay put. Neither of us put much effort into it, that I can tell because I don’t see the telling glow of her magic, but there isn’t ant to be a winner. It’s just about being able to compete like this. We knew this day would co but I know neither of us thought it would co this soon. I revel in it and I’m sure my lovely barbarian does too.
She gains the upper hand when her teeth scrape my neck, drawing a yelp from and using the mont of weakness to pull my hand against my side. Her chuckles make smile reflexively. “Cheat.”
“There is no cheating in war.”
“War? I thought we were playing.”
“Love is war.” Her hand tugs and I relent, climbing to my feet and letting her lead through the house. As we near the lord’s bedroom, the usual lighting is replaced by short candles with tiny orange flas at their tips. A poor choice for most eyes but I would have no problem navigating the gloom even without Kierra’s prodding and the warm glow they give off is quite soothing.
Her green hand reaches past to push open the bedroom door. And waiting inside was a sight that made my heart pound.
A dozen small candles sit upon the dresser and the side table, bathing the room in that appealing orange glow that’s reflected by the white sheets that soone put on the bed. Sprinkled liberally over them are flower petals in every shade of scarlet ranging from the color of blood to a vibrant pink I’ve only seen in the Myriad Zone. They cover most of the bed and spill over the end, forming a path to the door and filling the room with sweet air.
Seated on the left side of the bed is Talia, dressed in what has to be Kierra’s creation. More of that sheer fabric she likes, dyed a soft blue. Her front is bathed in candlelight but turning her head puts it in shadow. The white of her inversed eyes is especially prominent in the gloom.
On the opposite side of the bed, Alana stands with her arms crossed, dressed in tight-fitting pants and a loose white shirt. Her hair, normally left to its own devices, is tied back, her features more severe without the blonde locks to soften them. And is her face painted? Her glare needs no help being fierce but the black around her eyes gives it extra power. Her painted lips bring aback mories of the ladies that crept into my childhood ho when Father thought I was sleeping and a strange excitent rises in .
“Victories must be celebrated,” Kierra purrs in my ear.
How could I forget?
My eager step into the room is halted by my elf holding back.
“There is a special rule for tonight.” She turns around to face her and pokes my forehead. “No pri form.”
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