Chapter 141: Twenty-Six Seven

It took five minutes before I realized I didn't actually have to wait in the dark. I wanted there to be a gap between Cordelia going back to the tent and me returning, but that didn't mean I couldn't just go to another tent. And so I slowly walked out of that darkness and into the light. There were two more tents. One where the ducal investiture had taken place, and which was doubtless empty by now. And the other, where the servants and everyone 'non-noble' was supposed to stay. I headed for it.

My mind was racing. It had been racing for the last five minutes. Somewhere beyond these three tents, there were dungeons. Somewhere inside them, there were monsters that Julian Greenward intended to point at my wall. I could choose the day, but that was no mercy.

The inside of this tent was less lavish than the other had been. For one thing, there was no orchestra at all. It seemed music was a privilege reserved for the nobility. Then there were the tables themselves. There were a great many circular tables, as there had been in the other tent, but these were dressed in linens that had clearly seen some use. Lastly, there was no split down the middle at all.

A few people had caught sight of me, and they pointed, and whispered to the people sitting next to them. There weren't that many of them yet, which was good. It was surprisingly or perhaps unsurprisingly annoying, not being able to go anywhere I wished without being recognized.

I looked around. I blinked. There was Carrion, the Inquisitor. He sat near the far end of the tent, at a table all by himself. All around him, every table was simply empty, as if everyone had taken one look at him and decided to sit as far away as they could. The man himself did not seem to care. His eyeless gaze was focused straight ahead. Well, at least I knew where he was now. And if he was here, there was zero chance of him running into Katarina.

Vaelin stirred again, and my hand twitched. We are not going over there, Vaelin. I looked away from the Inquisitor. I was hoping to find Damian and Sere. Instead, I saw a lot of reporters. It was easy to make out where they sat, with their Scrylens propped up beside their tables. I even caught sight of Dorothy, sitting at the edge of the reporters with Nial, her mentor. I made my way over to her first.

I caught fragments of their conversation as I drew closer. The older man was speaking, and he was speaking loudly. His face was half red, and judging by the half-empty glass in front of him, I could guess where the redness had come from. "-all the coin in the world. Doesn't sound too bad, even if it is that bastard. Might even be able to move to a part of the city that doesn't smell like sew-"

"Nial. You know that's too good to be true. You know that damn well better than I do. They kicked us out and never so much as looked at us again, and now they want to-"

Nial paused. He blinked, slowly, then raised a hand past Dorothy and pointed at me. "I'll be. Must be drunker than a monk. Now I'm seeing the Hero."

Dorothy sighed. "I told you to be more…moderate. We still have reporting to do! And stop pointing, it's rude." Dorothy checked behind herself, and saw me. Her eyes went wide even as her face went white. "Eep!"

I raised both hands. "I apologize. I just wished to talk. If now is a bad time-"

"No, no, of course not. Your Duch-" Dorothy was already on her feet, and scrambling. She pulled out one of the seats for me, though I had definitely not asked her to do that. "Your Hero-ness!" Dorothy gestured at the seat.

I slowly sat, and wondered if perhaps I should have talked to her another time. "Don't start with that, Dorothy," I said. "I get enough of that already."

Dorothy nodded, but she nodded too fast, such that I wondered if her neck might snap. "Sorry, sorry," she said, and took a very deep breath, her hands flat on the table linen. "Just, uh…old habits."

"You really are her-" Nial slurred, and pointed again. Well…at least I had gotten through to one of them. Nial's head dipped and thudded against the table. It did not rise again.

"Erm…is he going to be okay?" I asked Dorothy.

"Yes," Dorothy sighed. "He, uh…he really loves his drink. He also can't exactly handle it."

Well, it was none of my business. "I wanted to thank you," I said. "I have been meaning to, but I haven't had the chance. You've helped me quite a bit." Dorothy opened her mouth, no doubt to protest. I cut her off. "I know you haven't done anything that wasn't impartial, but you've still been a big help. So, thank you. It's good to know there's at least one newspaper in this city that won't just print whatever a certain man tells it to print."

Dorothy's mouth slowly closed, and then, strangely, she looked very guilty. "Thank you," she said slowly. "Erm…it's- it's great to hear you say that. Don't really get much appreciation from-" She closed her mouth again, and now she looked even guiltier than she had before. She glanced at Nial, then back at me.

For a journalist, she sure didn't have much control over her own face. I supposed I liked that about her. "Is something wrong? I thought I heard you two arguing before."

"I'm not sure I can say," Dorothy finally said.

"Are you sure? Maybe I can help," I offered. And it was a real offer. Dorothy had helped me quite a bit, and even if the helping had helped her in turn, I still felt like I owed her something, at the very least.

"Well-"

And so Dorothy explained. It was a surprisingly short explanation. She and Nial had once worked at the Aelheim Chronicle, the largest paper in the city. There had been disagreements over what a newspaper was for, and so they had set off and started the Aelheim Gazette. A two-man operation that was not only the smallest newspaper in Aelheim, but perhaps the smallest newspaper in the entire Kingdom. They had funded it themselves, sinking every coin they had into it. There had been trials. Days when they had both lived on water and slept on the floor. Apparently, things had only just started to change. And now, the Aelheim Chronicle wanted them back.

Not only that, but they were offering Nial an editor's desk of his own, and assuring Dorothy that she would get her share of important stories. The dilemma was obvious.

"I see," I said, when she was finally done. Dorothy slowly nodded, reached for Nial's half-filled cup, and drank all of it in one massive gulp. She set it down with a small clink. Apparently, she could handle her drink far better than her mentor could.

"The money is-" Dorothy shook her head. "More than I can even believe. And they all sound like they actually want me there this time. I want to say yes right away, but, well…."

I knew the Aelheim Chronicle. It was hard not to. Half the newspapers in this city had spent the last few months spinning whatever stories House Greenward needed spun, and painting me in every dangerous light they could. None of them had done it with quite the enthusiasm of the Chronicle. Whenever some new tale about the unstable Veyne heir appeared, it had a way of appearing in the Chronicle first, and loudest, and usually on the front page.

I doubted that was why Dorothy hesitated. She was a reporter first, a real one, as far as I had been able to tell. No. She had said it herself. It was a good offer. It was, perhaps, a little too good.

I was quiet for a time. Once, the Aelheim Gazette had been banned from every newsstand in the city. That had been an attempt at silencing them.

I had helped her where I could, and in turn Dorothy had helped me. The silencing had failed, and now it seemed like Greenward was trying to buy her out outright. I did not doubt for a second that this was an attempt to get to me. The man was petty beyond reason, and this was exactly the kind of thing he would push for from the shadows.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

And it was more than pettiness, now. Monsters were soon going to attack the wall. Even if we fended them off as I hoped, no doubt every paper in the city would have a headline written before the defense was even done. Every paper but one. I needed Dorothy. I needed her more tonight than I had on the day I first sponsored her.

"My Lady," Dorothy said, staring down at her own hands. They were clenched over her knees. "If it was you, what would you do?" She blinked and looked up at me. "Sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine. I don't mind," I said. I was surprised she had asked me at all, but I would answer her. The right answer was obvious, even if I did not like it. Even if it went against my own interests. I did not want to lie to someone who had only ever done right by me. "If you're asking me what's wise, then I think you should take it."

Dorothy blinked and stared. "What?" Her round eyes had somehow gone rounder and wider still.

"You should take it," I repeated. "If it will make things easier, then I think you both should take the offer while it's still being made."

Dorothy was quiet. She looked from me to Nial, who had not so much as stirred. I felt Vaelin shift in my mind. It seemed this was something the Godblade actually wanted to pay attention to.

"But you should know the cost," I added. Dorothy looked up at me. "If you left the Aelheim Chronicle once, there must have been a reason for it. I doubt things will be different when you go back. You will just have more coin, and maybe that will make it easier to ignore. Maybe it won't." Dorothy slowly nodded at that. "But coin is important too. The only people who say it isn't are the ones who have more of it than they know what to do with." I shrugged. "You asked me what I would do, if I was you. I wouldn't take it. And I'd call myself a fool in the mirror every morning for it."

I felt a vague hum from Vaelin. A faint approval. It seemed the Godblade liked that answer. That was good, for it was the answer I would have given whether or not he was watching. I watched Dorothy struggle over it. Her lips were pursed, and she was biting down on the nail of her thumb.

Well. Losing her would be more than a shame. I had planned to go through her for a few things yet, and one of them mattered more than she could know. Now I would have to find some kind of replacement, and I had no idea where one even began looking for an honest newspaper. Still, it was better to find out now than to be surprised by it later. Yes, that alone was worth coming here at-

Dorothy rose. She rose quickly, so fast that the chair she had been sitting on fell over. "I've got it!" she declared. "I know what I'm going to do now." She stepped around me, and toward Nial. She hauled him upright. A line of drool joined his mouth to the table as she lifted him. "Nial, I've made my decision!"

The man blinked and stared at her. "D-Dorothy, what the hell," he grumbled.

Dorothy shook him. "We're going to stay." She turned and looked at me. "Thank you, My Lady. You've helped me get a clear head."

Nial stared up at her for a long moment. I thought he might argue. Then he sighed and his head sank back toward the table. "What'd I do to get stuck with you?"

For the second time today, I pinched myself. Yes, this was not a dream. "You're…welcome?" I finally said, and rose. "If you are sure, then I might have need of you soon. So be prepared for it."

Dorothy nodded furiously. Her mentor half nodded and half slumped forward. I left their table. Was it just me, or were people starting to get stranger and stranger?

There was the prickling of a Scrylens, coming from somewhere to my left, and somewhere behind me. More and more people had noticed me, then. It was time to leave. I turned toward the tent flap to do just that, when I spotted Damian and Sere.

They stood in the far corner of the tent, in front of one of the long food tables. I approached.

There was a plate in front of Sere, and on it was a mountain of…not pancakes. This time it was a heap of small golden things, each one a tube no longer than my hand. White cream leaked out of the tube on one end, and dark cream leaked out the other. I had never seen anything quite like them, in this life or the last.

Sere was on her third, from what I could tell. She bit into one and cream dripped onto her fingers. She did not seem to mind. When she had swallowed, she picked up her pencil with the hand that was not covered in cream and wrote something on the open page of her notepad, which lay on the table beside the plate. I leaned in just far enough to see it.

Pancake: 10/10

Cream puff: 10/10

Chocolate tart: 9/10

Dohnut: 8/10

Strawberry cheesecake: 6/10 (strawberry)

Cannoli: 7/10

Behind the table stood a woman. She was middle-aged, with black hair pulled back into a knot and a pair of enormous round glasses that gave her the look of one of the slightly startled owls I'd once seen in pictures. She was leaning over the table, and she was looking at Sere's notepad with an almost absurd amount of seriousness. "Ah, I see," the woman said. "And what would you improve, Sere?"

Sere took another bite, and chewed, and thought. She thought for a while. Then she wrote two words beneath the last line and turned the notepad around. Too big.

The woman looked at the words. She nodded, very seriously. "Hmm. Too big," she said, mostly to herself. "Hmm…." One hand went to her chin while the other began to tap against the table.

Damian stood off to the side of all of this with his arms crossed. He was shaking his head slowly. "Where does she put all of it?" he murmured.

"What's going on here?" I asked.

All three of them looked at me. Damian seemed relieved, judging by his sigh. Sere just smiled, and there was white cream covering the space just under her lower lip. She swayed slightly. The woman's eyes went wide behind her glasses, and in the next moment she was giving me a bow. A proper bow, the kind I'd have expected from Anias.

"You told me to let Sere try more pancakes," Damian sighed. "Well…she's tried a lot of things. That's all I'll say."

I raised an eyebrow and looked back at the notepad, then at the woman. "Please, rise. I hope we haven't been a bother." That was the real worry. Damian was a noble. He might not come from a family nearly as important as mine, but it must have been hard for the woman to say no to him, if he'd asked for something. And Sere, the dessert-eating devil that she was, would have taken every-

"It's no bother at all!" The woman rose, and her eyes were practically sparkling. "In fact, I haven't gotten this much feedback in ages. My word, I thought I'd reached the pinnacle of baking, but it seems I was just standing at the top of a hill and thinking it was a mountain. I see now the error of my ways." She beamed down at Sere. "And it is all thanks to her."

I blinked. "Well, that's good. Apologies, but I don't know your name." I did suspect, but it was good to hear it from the woman herself.

"Oh, of course, My Lady." The woman dipped again. "My name is Eleanor Layer. I'm one of the two people in charge of the Layers Baking Company."

I nodded. "It's good to meet you." I gestured toward Sere. "And it seems you have met your greatest admirer in this city." I looked to Sere, who was already reaching toward…a tart. I put both my hands on her shoulders. "I would love to talk more, soon. But for now, I fear we are needed elsewhere." I needed to get Sere far away from this woman before she quite literally exploded.

Sere looked up at me and stuck her lower lip out again. I had expected as much. I was prepared for it. I defended myself by not looking at her, even as I guided her away. Damian moved to follow.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, My Lady," the woman said. Then, her voice rose. "And do remember! Whatever you're craving, whenever you're craving it, Layers is there for you. Twenty-fou- err, twenty-six seven, satisfaction guaranteed!"

It sounded like a slogan. The kind of line one painted above a shop door. I stopped.

"What's wrong?" Damian asked beside me. Sere was looking up at me too. I wondered if they could see it on my face. I hoped they could not. Vaelin stirred somewhere in the back of my mind.

"Nothing," I said, and kept guiding Sere toward the tent flap.

Twenty-four seven, huh?

It had been fifteen minutes by the time we made it back to the noble tent. Near enough, anyway. Sere leaned against my arm as we walked. It was probably fine. However much Sere ate, she was a rather active girl. At least, I hoped it was fine. We entered the tent, and I immediately noticed that something was off.

The orchestra was still playing, but nobody was dancing. The far end of the tent, where the couples had been, had emptied out. Everyone had drifted the other way instead. They stood in a loose ring near the center of the children's section, all of them peering at something I could not see.

"Did something happen?" Damian asked.

"Seems like it," I said.

There were murmurs all around us. They barely counted as murmurs, for I could hear them clearly.

"-really is like Scarlet Indri-"

"-at her own investiture, of all the-"

"-just like her mother, I told you-"

I had a bad feeling. I had a very bad feeling. I let go of Sere, and I stepped forward into the crowd. People moved for me. Then I heard Violet, and the last of the crowd parted, and I saw.

There was a table. Cordelia sat at it, perfectly straight, with Amelia Sunheart on one side of her and Shara Greengrass on the other, both of them frozen with their teacups halfway to their mouths. Across from the three of them sat Alexander Bulwark, in a coat of steel-grey and crimson. One that was absolutely spotless. He had leaned back in his chair, one arm hooked over it. Everyone was watching the girl who stood directly in front of the table.

It was Violet. One hand was wound tight around her braid. The other was raised, and it was pointing, and it was pointing straight at Cordelia.

"I'm not going to lose to you!" she declared, loudly.