RE: Monarch

Chapter 228: Fracture XXXIII

There was a flickering blur as our surroundings changed. One moment, I could see the familiar figures of my regiment through the oscillating black wreath of the privacy dome, slow tension building as they awaited the command to breach the sewers. Then the dome and the world beyond it fell away, replaced with another that was entirely different.

Long rows of dark-stained oak bookshelves and the occasional glass display buttressed a wide center space of marble tile, tall ceiling interrupted by a generous center skylight framing soft beams of illumination emanated by unfamiliar moons in the dark firmament beyond. Braziered torches stood like diminutive pillars, their combined heat raising the temperature in the room just beyond comfortable, shining dimly on silver inlays that sprawled a jagged geometric pattern too broad to parse.

Ozra, having returned to his typical appearance—I hesitate to call it true, though if it is not, I have yet to see his true face—of a tall, domineering man with harsh, angular features, strode towards the center, arms clasped behind his back, tails of his gray coat trailing behind him. The arch-fiend tilted his head back and proclaimed, "I, Ozra, Arch-fiend of the Asmodial Legion, call upon Loria, Diadem of the Fetid Wastes, to serve as my second."

A fountain of stinking red spurted upwards, filling the air with the scent of copper and rot before its curtains parted to reveal a woman's slim silhouette, thickening waves of crimson cascading down her form and solidifying into a dark-red garment, the long fringes that descended to just below her knees asymmetrical and uneven, reminiscent of dangling intestines. A tall pile of viscous matter accumulated atop her smooth head, macabre color fading as it became fibrous, forming an elegant lady's wig. She curtsied low, looking up towards the arch-fiend with an impish grin. "It is my pleasure to serve."

"We recognize the equivalency of this appointment, and accept its authenticity," Maya said dryly, glaring daggers at the new arrival, the faintest hint of mockery in her voice as she matched Ozra's overly formal tone. Like them, her wardrobe had also changed, light armor replaced with traditional infernal robes.

Only Annette, Vogrin, and I remained unaltered, intentionally out of place.

Loria started at the sound of Maya's voice, eyes darting back and forth from us, to Ozra, to the room itself. "Ah. Will I be serving as your second in a... traditional capacity this day?" She frowned slightly, as if puzzled.

"Yes, my gem. You will serve as scribe, and proctor, to ensure the intercessor's grasp does not exceed her reach," Ozra's lip pulled back unpleasantly as he glanced at Maya over his shoulder.

"Traditional indeed. But it has been some time since I've held a quill." The woman crossed her arms and murmured quietly, fingers plying nervously at her collarbone. "There is a possibility I'll fall behind." Her lips parted, and she was about to say more before Ozra silenced her with a touch, running a thumb down her jaw.

"Then you shall call a halt, and resume only once the pen has caught pace with your mind," Ozra said, uncharacteristically gentle.

As Ozra carried on with his assistant, beside me, my little sister was staring at the interaction. Hard. After a moment, she tugged my sleeve and whispered, "Why did the arch-fiend place so much importance on being able to choose his own second only to select a courtesan for the role?" She tilted her head. "A nepotistic appointment? Doubtful, as there can't be much acclaim to be earned in a negotiation intended to be kept secret. Placing importance on trust over competency, or..." Her scowl deepened. "A subtle slight, perhaps. Yes. A petty method to express his annoyance with our insistence on a retired framework, whinging about making things equal, only to elect some harlot, communicating exactly how unthreatening he finds us."

I debated internally, unsure of how much to say. It would be simple enough to poke a hole in the ruse, tell her what I knew. After all, unbeknownst to anyone present, I'd met the woman before while she was acting in 'service' of Ozra, and their dynamic was entirely different. But once the negotiations began, I wouldn't be able to interfere directly. It was better to teach her how to engage them, than provide the answer directly.

I cleared my throat and leaned down. "Before I answer, mind that you're not deceived by the illusion of distance. It is likely they can hear every word we speak in this room, observe every gesture, every flicker of expression. And the infernal registry will guarantee everything that transpires—big or small—is eternally put to record."

"What... they don't even need a scribe? Her presence here serves no practical purpose whatsoever?" Annette asked, her annoyance almost palpable.

"Recite Wi'rell's aspects of the hypostatic mind for me, if you would?"

Annette blew air between her lips, annoyance flagging as she recited by memory. "The rational mind, the inner-mind, and the mind that questions all. Drawing equally from the tripartite, as Wi'rell counselled."

"For our purposes, filter your perceptions through the Mind That Questions All. Self evaluate without bias. The moment that woman appeared, you hated her. Why?"

"Hate is a strong word," my sister argued.

"So is harlot," I noted dryly.

"It wasn't the moment she appeared," Annette pushed back, subconsciously straightening her attire. "In a macabre way, the entrance itself was... impressive. As was the arcane tailoring of her form. It resembled illusion magic, but it cannot be the same, as they would not hold an interest in me if they already possessed a close analog. To that point, she held my interest." Annette ground her teeth. "Only to lose it the second she opened her mouth."

"Good, so far."

"I suppose the source of my ire is because I am immersed in an environment full of utterly incompetent nobles who attain important, sometimes critical positions they are in no way qualified for through bribes, political maneuvering, and... other means. And there was a part of me that assumed, ancient as they are, the demons would be more meritocratic."

"Reasonable..." I waited, and when Annette declined to continue, prompted her again. "You haven't answered the original question."

"What? Was my answer not sufficient?" Annette stared at me blankly as if I'd said something very stupid.

"'The mind that questions all, flays both the world it inhabits and the mind itself in search of the truth that lies beyond,’” I recited the passage. Wi'rell had always been a little too dry for me, but the passage on the tripartite mind occurred near the beginning, and I'd read it aloud to her in my previous life enough times that it apparently stuck. "Why do you, Annette, as an individual, hate her?"

Annette struggled as she took that in, fists clenching and unclenching, as vulnerability and disgust warred with each other. "My prejudice is not at all unfounded. It is logical. The demonic legions are not so small that it would be difficult to find a second with a quicker quill or sharper mind, or one that serves a more practical purpose."

I nodded. "Yet, whether it is intended as insult or oversight, Ozra's second being nothing more than a pretty face works to your advantage, does it not?"

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"It... actually does..." Annette blinked several times in quick succession. "Hmm. It's not rational for me to be upset about it. In fact, I should be thrilled... and I'm not."

"Why?"

"Is it..." Annette swallowed, and glanced back at where Ozra and Maya were now negotiating terms in ancient demonic. "Is it wise to discuss this, given the fact that they will likely overhear?"

"If I'm right," I hedged, "They already know."

My little sister stared down at her skirt and repeated the quote. "The mind that questions all, flays all. I hear the way the maids talk about me, and my tutors. They wag their tongues the moment I depart a room, wagging, wagging, always wagging."

"I'm sorry."

"Not looking for sorry. Trying to do as you ask." Her speech grew more erratic, as it always did when she was distressed. "There's... been much commentary, on everything from my odd demeanor, to my eclectic obsessions, to my potential contributions to the kingdom. Above all, one particular comment has always stuck with me. 'You can put a pig in a dress, but it will always be a pig.'"

I scoffed. "Consider them exiled, the moment you share their name."

"Exiling them would make me feel better. For a day. But it does not change the fact that they are right." Annette's eyes grew hollow as she barreled forward, not giving me an opening to interrupt. "I have no talent for singing or any musical instrument. No one stands at attention when I enter the room like you or Sera, it's rare enough that they notice me at all. I appear cold and awkward if I'm required to make a speech. Half my suitors or political visitors cry within a half-hour of our initial conversation, and the other half has never bothered making arrangements to call on me again. I've never stopped sharpening my mind, my greatest asset, believing, stupidly, that it would eventually equal out, and I'd be recognized for my value beyond breeding or blood. It never works. If anything, the more I learn, the more competent I am, the more others keep me at arm's length." She cast a glance behind her towards Loria, who awkwardly smiled and waved over her parchment on the desk, and immediately looked away. "Meanwhile, someone who possesses little beyond charisma and wiles alone, stands at the side of an arch-fiend. Because she provides a pleasant sheathe for his sword."

"First of all," I nearly raised my voice, taking a moment to lower it. "You're young. Too young to be worrying about what 'wiles' you should or shouldn't have. And I'm pretty sure Wi'rell discusses the tactical benefits of not conforming to expectations in detail, but before you shut me out, I'll move on. What I've found in situations like this, diplomacy involving unfamiliar parties, is it’s best to view it—and I do mean everything—as a production."

"Like... a play?" Annette quirked her head.

"Exactly. Some might play a part that closely aligns with their personal views and experiences, while others take a role opposite of their nature. And like the theater, there are actors both talented and terrible. But the one, singular guarantee is that everyone is acting. Everyone. That's true in life, and truer still in diplomacy."

"Are you acting now, brother?" Annette challenged suddenly, a little antagonistic over how personal our mental exercise had gotten.

What would I even be like, if I wasn't? Reflexively, I saw a vision of myself collapsed at the foot of Lillian's grave in my mind's eye amongst a smaller cemetery of emptied bottles, denying food or water, weakly fighting off any attempts to rouse or move me, by people I could no longer focus on the voices of acutely enough to identify. Everything growing dimmer and dimmer until it all... just...

Stopped.

Which of course, would be pointless, as after a tumble in the dark and possible lecture, it would inevitably start again.

I cleared my throat. "As close to my genuine feelings and beliefs as possible. Especially with family. But, as I said. Everyone is acting." For this to work, I needed to disarm her bias before her dislike was solidified, lest the latter fuel the former. "Drawing on the inner mind, for a moment, can you perhaps find something about a person like Ozra's second you could empathize with?"

"What's the point of this?"

"Humor me."

Annette scoffed, and when I didn't waver, thought hard. "Her... sense of style is impeccable."

I rolled my eyes. "Alright, and?"

"The world is frightening enough, even though, for the most part, I understand it. If I didn't, if I was... slower, hadn't read as much and didn't have every tutor in the palace at my disposal, more innate difficulty connecting the dots... it would be a lot scarier. And if appearance and magnetism were my only weapons... I'd have little choice but to wield them," Annette admitted, begrudgingly.

"Given the power and authority we wield simply by happenstance of birth, we cannot afford to judge others simply because they differ from us, because they hold different talents, or because they chose a different walk in life. Or because they were born of a different region or share different physical characteristics than us. Maybe it isn't fair. In some cases, like the critical appointments you mentioned, things should change. But they should change because it is the just decision, and incompetence where competence is required will cause others to suffer. Not because you cannot stand the sight of them."

Her eyes burned with sapphire flame. "The parallel you're drawing between my beliefs and father's is as inaccurate as it is unappreciated. A false equivalency at best."

"Maybe. To the king's credit, he seems to have, potentially, left his antiquated perspective behind. But consider this. With all the wars he fought, the countless men ordered to their deaths to uphold his ideals? Do you think he believed them any less fiercely than you believe yours?"

"You've gotten better at arguing," Annette said, after a long moment, her voice almost glum. "A lot better."

"We're not quite done yet," I smiled thinly. "Bringing it–"

"–What could possibly come next?" Annette hissed. "Shall I invite the demon to a lady's night? Bond over how fundamentally broken we both are?"

"Trust me, you'll want to hear this part. Bringing it back to the rational mind for a moment, taking all the emotional context we gathered from the inner-mind, the caution and awareness we gathered from the mind that questions. Why might an ancient demon who, given the confident grasp on her magic is likely much older than most elves, act the part of a social climbing mortal at all?" I tapped my fingers on my arm, waiting for her reaction.

Annette's jaw dropped. "The second's been playing a role from the moment she manifested. Acting a part that the arch-fiend wrote for her, a disruptive factor intended to throw me off. In all likelihood, she's not at all what she appears to be."

I nodded, feeling a surge of pride. "I suspect your second theory—the intended slight—is what you were meant to believe. And when she interjects, or calls for a pause..."

"I'd ignore her out of hand. Assume the pauses were nothing more than idiocy instead of an intentional tactic, which would work almost immediately to their advantage." Annette pressed her chin into her fist, furious at herself for the oversight. "How did you see it when I missed it completely?"

"Experience helps," I consoled her, and then paused. Assuming Ozra could hear every word we were saying right now, this presented a unique opportunity to fire back. Sow the same sort of discourse in his camp he'd attempted to seed in ours. Because I had many, many, vivid memories of Loria. And as most of them ended in death, neither Ozra nor his second would have the faintest clue where my description was coming from. "And, to be transparent, I'm cheating a bit. Loria has many duties to the asmodial legion, but from my observations, her standout favorite is torture. Like any sadist worth their salt, she goes for the nails and teeth first, in that order, as they're straightforward and conveniently organized. But if I had to guess, her true love lies in a slow, lingering asphyxiation. Her preferred tool is a dark leather strap, which she tightens slowly, over the course of hours. More than three, but rarely exceeding twelve, the poor bastard's windpipe tightening to a pinhole, yet never closing completely. She is not to be taken lightly."

"That's horrible. If... I'm understanding you correctly... why would Ozra select her for this role in light of this shared history?" Annette asked, staring at me with barely restrained sympathy.

I smiled savagely, feeling some of the ebbing mania from the attack on the estate return. "You misunderstand. I've observed her. But she never saw me coming, and she never saw me leave. The asmodial concept of security is... somewhat antiquated."

Out of the corner of my vision I saw Loria twitch. Ozra trailed off mid-sentence in his negotiation with Maya, picking up a second later, the lull barely detectable. But it was there. More importantly, my sister had gone cold. It was clear in her frigid eyes that she'd reassembled the pieces I'd placed before her and come to the correct conclusion. She’d be more reserved, now, more cautious, now that she’d seen, directly demonstrated, how subtle the demons machinations could be. We'd declined Ozra's opening gambit and countered with one of our own.

The rest was up to her.

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