ARC 7-Cursed Fates-92 (Patreon)

“Lady Tome!”

I swear softly and reflexively shut my eyes as a gust of wind blows my hair into my face. A moment later, I remember my ‘films’ and drop one to block the dust being thrown about. Then I look up.

Above me is Mr. Interim, eyes glowing with channeled mana and the air beneath his feet visibly moving to support him as he looks down at us. Staring at him, I can’t help but think of the last man to do so, that annoying bald bastard. Doesn’t bold well for this new flying bastard. Saints’ blessed asses, are all air casters this annoying?

The people around us scatter, coughing and futilely trying to shield their eyes from the chaotic storm of dust driving them away. Mr. Interim lands in the empty space and the air around us settles down. He’s still trying to keep his expression around control but the closer he gets, the more cracks I can see in his mask. “What did you do?” he demands, voice full of accusation and frustration.

“Don’t you have more important things to do than harass me?” I sneer, not needing to play it up. Does he think I’m going to cower like a frightened little girl after his oh so powerful display of magical might? I know someone didn’t just bomb another building in the city, but he doesn’t. Yet, he’s bothering me.

“Others are investigating.” His dark eyes narrow. “I find it suspicious that something like this happens just as you’re making a spectacle of yourself. Also, your thrall has disappeared.” His eyes flick around, perhaps confirming his observation. “Where is your creature?”

“She’s not setting anything on fire. Beyond that, it’s none of your business.”

He takes what I think is meant to be a menacing step forward. To me, invading my personal space only makes it that much easier to strike him should the need arise. His glower is equally ineffectual. “Please answer the question.”

Amusement turns up my lips in a smirk. “Don’t want to.”

“…do you know about the current state of the guilds?”

“I know a great many things. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

His glower loses its hostility but not its intensity, the man staring at me as if he believes his gaze can ferret out all my secrets given enough time. Thoroughly uninterested in a staring contest with him, I walk away. “If you’re going to waste my time—”

“Wait!” His exclamation is followed by a hiss of pain. I turn back around to find Mr. Interim holding one hand with the other, blood smeared across his palm.

Kierra waves her knife, also bloody, at him. “Correct me if I have misunderstood human customs, but I believe it is rude to grab a woman without her permission.”

“…it is,” the hunter forces out between grit teeth. He unclasps his hands and peers at his cut. I do the same and note with relief that it barely counts as a scratch. There are far too many innocents about to start a fight. Thankfully, my wife held back, the lovely barbarian. She really is trying. “Forgive my lack of decorum. I was…excited.”

“Understandable. My Lou has that effect.’

Mr. Interim removes a hankerchief from his pocket, folding it several times before tying it over his wound. “I was referring to the Swords and Shields,” he continues after he finishes tying the knot with his teeth.

I briefly consider playing dumb but decide against it. If this is the start of the guilds, even one of them, making an effort, then I don’t want to discourage them. Besides, he knows about my succubi and he’s already suspicious. I doubt he’ll believe I really know nothing.

The only way that could possibly be is if I were completely incompetent and that’s not a reputation I want to cultivate. “You’re referring in the split in ideology over the best way to settle the March. The Swords are the idiots that want to defy it and go to war with the north. The Shields the people with common sense who realize it’s better for the whole kingdom if they surrender.”

He nods. “Precisely. At the moment, the Shields are gaining sway with the leadership of the guilds but the Swords have the hearts of the rank and file. I believe that this can be resolved peacefully so long as nothing aggravates the situation. The muscleheads only need a good excuse to turn into a mob and the old heads won’t stand by if you burn down the city.”

“That’s good to hear.” It really is. “Because I haven’t done anything. This—” I wave in the direction of the wreckage. “—wasn’t me. And you won’t get any trouble from me so long as you can deliver that peaceful solution.”

“I suppose that’s all I can ask. Unless you can convince Victory to settle for gold? Our advisers are convinced that we must surrender a piece of all our wealth, including land and property. That is not going over well.”

“I’d be perfectly satisfied with a few chests brimming with crowns but from what little I understand of this insane tradition, your advisers are right. It’s supposed to hurt. You’re meant to make sacrifices.”

He looks at me strangely. “Why are you enforcing a tradition you admit is insane?”

“People have done crazier things for love.” I shrug at his incredulous expression. “Something you should keep in mind. I’m not a Victorian and I’m no one’s agent. Alana James, the youngest daughter of the duke, is the one who was sent to collect your debt. She believes in this nonsense. I have nothing against the guilds. Saints, I’m not even holding a grudge about you all kidnapping my friend. But, as her intended, I will support her with everything I have. Get in her way and I will remove you.”

“…I see. We knew the James’ daughters had some influence on the negotiations but it is an important distinction to know we are negotiating with a Victorian rather than…an eccentric noblewoman.” How politely put. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Feel like I’m repeating this a lot. “I want this to end peacefully.”

“Saints willing.”

As the silence between us stretches on, he resumes his staring. It’s a little unnerving. “Was there anything else?”

“Do you know a young man named Callan Atkinson?”

Who?

No, wait. I know that name. It’s important, I think. Ah, damn it. It’s right on the—ah! “Mr. Self-Made!”

“What?”

“Ah, that’s just something I do to help me remember certain people. I’m terrible with names. Like him. Commoner, lives in the Grand Market with his family, apprentice of some kind. Smith. No, cobbler. Jeweler? Whatever, something like that.”

“What is your relationship with him?”

“You know, you ask a lot of questions.”

“They’re important.”

I highly doubt Mr. Self-Made is important to anything. “Alright, but I also have important questions to ask.”

He nods. “Very well. I will answer a question of yours in turn.”

Excellent. “I met him through my wife.” Mr. Interim glances at Kierra, who is amusing herself spinning her knife into the air and catching it by its tip. “She is, or I suppose was, a foundation instructor at the Hall. Being the passionate and dedicated woman she is, she extended her lessons beyond the scope of her students, offering instruction to anyone interested, including those not enrolled at the Hall.”

“Generous.”

“She’s practically a saint.” I struggle to smother my own amusement as I hear Kierra’s soft snickers. “Anyway, Colton. Er, Callan, that was it. He was one of her projects. Unfortunately, he took a liking to my wife. He took a liking to my wife as more than a teacher. It led to some…conflict.”

“I see. Then, you’re not his summoning mentor?”

Close, but not quite. The suggestion is still offensive. “You think I would personally instruct a bastard lusting after my wife in my family’s most prized tradition? I didn’t think the guilds had such a charitable opinion of my character. And that was another question.”

He dips his head in acknowledgment. “Ask your questions.”

“What’s your name?”

“…you want to waste a question on that? I’m no one important.”

Please. You’re an interim guildmaster. I doubt he’s the next Harvest Hero in disguise but he’s not unimportant. Besides, the way he’s going out of his way not to share it has me curious. “Are you not going to honor our deal?”

A deep sigh sags his shoulders. “Lucas Macklemore.”

Macklemore? “You wouldn’t happen to have a relation by the name of Lane, would you?”

The mention of Alyssa’s lackey that made a spectacle of himself at my party cracks Lucas’ stern façade, the man wincing like someone punched him. “My younger brother. I’m surprised you’re acquainted with him. He’s not…”

“He’s not my normal kind of acquaintance for sure but he’s a package deal with Alyssa Filagree—” Well, maybe not anymore. “—and I like her very much.” Despite her tendency to vandalize my home.

“He’s still following that instructor around?” he mutters to himself. Then, louder, “Your second question?”

“Why are you asking about Callan?” The last I heard of him, he was still messing around with the summoning record for Vanity King. I can’t see how that fool could get himself caught up in the middle of this mess.

“The Swords have recruited him and his people.” His what? “There are those that think the answer to a summoner is another summoner.”

But…he’s not a summoner. He’s an idiot! He’s supposed to handle me? Solve me? “Is that a joke?”

“This is hardly a time for jokes.”

Sigh. It’s really not a joke. At least he’s doing what I wanted and spreading the art.

“Thank you for speaking with me. Have a pleasant rest of the day, Lady Tome. And I hope your creature knows how to keep its nose out of places it’s not wanted.”

Mr. Interim leaps into the air before I have the chance to respond, kicking up another cloud of dust and dirt. What is it with air casters and lacking manners when it comes to their magic? I shake my head as I continue my retreat from the area, my pace much calmer now that there is no longer a stampeding crowd to push me forward.

Kierra falls in step beside me. “You have an admirer,” she says playfully but there is a hint of…something in her tone.

Whatever it is, the sentiment is ridiculous. “The only thing that man admires is himself.” If he’s anything like Aurelius. “Or maybe a flawless account book.” He seems like the type.

“I’d know if he were attracted to me.” With my senses, it’d be obvious. But his heart rate didn’t change, there was no sign in his eyes, and I couldn’t smell a hint of arousal coming off him. “You’re imaging things.”

“There is more to attraction than the physical,” she says cryptically, her tone clearly communicating she’s not budging.

“Uh-huh. Well, since we’re out, we might as well pick up the others.”