H - 137: Your Parents Failed You (Patreon)

“I guess I have another house to build,” Kaln said quietly as he strode down the corridor toward the central vault, flanked by Izayaroa and Commander Sharamin.

“You intend to house him in your residence, husband?” she asked in a carefully neutral tone. “Last I heard, there was an excess of habitable structures cleared in the city. Someone of a spymaster’s rank would be entitled to a manor…as justification for keeping him at a more comfortable distance.”

Kaln shook his head. “I’ve got two princesses housed in my vault, so that’s automatically the most prestigious dwelling. And I was gonna have one of the kids help me adjust the wards to keep Gisele out of the pantry anyway; while we’re doing that I can make…some further adjustments to ensure everybody in there stays safe, and harmless. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and your theoretically trustworthy but inherently suspicious subordinates under a perpetual reading glass.”

“I follow your logic, husband,” she said with a smile. “Be careful not to infringe too much on the privacy of your other guests. Aside from the importance of hospitality, we do not need to provoke Savasmittar again.”

“Yeah. I’ll ask about possibilities and options while I’m working on it… I might need to bother Pheneraxa after all. Not that Max and Ralshi aren’t smart, but this is turning into something more magically complex than I originally envisioned. You know, I really need to take the time to have someone help me unravel the ward conditions that try to keep Emeralaphine out of there. Those are ingrained deep; I’m afraid to mess with it without expert help. One thing at a time, though. Who’s this guy again, Commander?”

“A lordling from the city-state of Lavenna,” Sharamin said crisply. “He is acting as a messenger on behalf of a Duke of the same polity, who was behind Contessa Rafaela’s original outlawing.”

“I see.” Kaln vividly remembered witnessing that episode via the Storyteller. Rafaela had not been faultless in those events, but mostly due to being young, hotheaded, prideful, and too trusting of a powerful man who saw her as a disposable pawn. “And this guy of all people has chosen to take exception to my characterization of events? Ballsy.”

“Perhaps not, sir. I consider it of note that he did not come himself, nor send a member of his own House.”

“Hm.”

“Is ‘lordling’ a specific rank in the Lavenni hierarchy?” Izayaroa asked pointedly.

Sharamin lifted his chin, looking somehow even more precise than usual. “No, your Excellency, it is a designation I give in private to young aristocrats whom I do not respect.”

“I’ll take that as a warning of what I’m in for,” Kaln muttered.

“Husband, you urgently need two things: a schedule, and a dedicated secretary. It would be disastrous to establish the precedent that anyone of sufficient rank who wanders in here can demand a slice of your time. And having the Commander of your elite troops handle your affairs personally is going to cause at least two major organizational bottlenecks.”

“Her Excellency is correct in principle, my lord,” Sharamin added diffidently. “It has not been a problem thus far for me to organize your daily events, but as Dragonvale’s population and integration with the wider community increase, it will become one. It’s best to solve problems as soon as they are spotted on the horizon, rather than wait for them to begin accruing consequences.”

“I follow your logic,” Kaln agreed. “Good advice, I’ll get on it. I guess we do have a bit of a pool of talent, now… I could start holding interviews.”

“If I may, sir, I’d like to nominate one of the Legion’s scribes for the position,” said Sharamin. “I will personally vouch for her efficiency and skill—as I would for any member of my forces who was not supposed to be on watch and allowed Ambrose Clarent to tongue-waggle his way in here, and I will definitely be addressing that in detail at the first opportunity.” He paused for a second to master the growing anger in his tone before continuing. “Instant movement and freedom from the need to rest are particularly priceless assets in an executive assistant.”

“Very good,” said Kaln. “I’ll speak with her once we’re done with…this. And do let me know when you have a final report on that issue with the sentries. Clarent may be good, but that was still an incredible lapse.”

“Yes, sir, consider it done.”

They emerged into the central vault from the discreet side entrance—like many of the smaller corridors, it was partially concealed by the decorative Timesteel structures bracing the walls, and Kaln hadn’t even noticed this existed in his first few weeks living here.

His guests were being attended, he saw with relief, by a squad of the Phantom Legion—and, he saw with less relief, by Vadaralshi and Vanimax, who stood at an unsociable distance, watching as if they were naturalists observing particularly peculiar wildlife. Not the most hospitable of approaches, but considering it was the two of them, probably for the best.

There were four Valefolk, whom he could tell at a glance consisted of the young “lordling” Sharamin had referred to and three attendants. The latter three were older, noticeably more subdued in bearing, and dressed less ostentatiously, while their leader wore possibly the most colorful attire Kaln had ever seen. He was no student of fashion in particular, but was interested enough in other cultures to have taken note during his trips to Boisverd that Verdi commoners tended to wear earth tones, while the richer classes favored dark jewel tones; Kaln had thought at the time that it made sense given the overall Valefolk cultural emphasis on discretion and subtlety. This guy resembled a tropical parrot, right down to the bright feathers bristling from his hat.

A hat which he was still wearing indoors, and in the presence of his hosts. Percy had told Kaln enough about Vale hat etiquette that he recognized the insult.

Izayaroa stepped to the side, shifting into her greater form as soon as she had room, which naturally seized the attention of their visitors. The three attendants shuffled backward, looking suitably intimidated. The lordling turned with a more measured movement, looked the colossal predator looming over him with an analytical eye, then turned to regard Kaln and Sharamin, making no effort to greet the Empress of Rhivaak, though he had to know who she was.

Kaln had already concluded that this wasn’t going to be an amicable conversation. Now he was committed to ensuring it wasn’t.

“You are now in the presence of the Dragonlord Ar-Kaln Zelekhir,” Commander Sharamin proclaimed in a ringing tone.

All three of the attendants bowed deeply. The young noble studied the Commander closely, then let his eyes wander insolently up and down Kaln, twice, before speaking.

“Dragonlord,” he enunciated with audible contempt. “I am Conte Mario da Rianetti, representing the interests of Duca Alfonso, who is lord of the ancient and noble House of Rigardi. His Grace the Duca has received word of your outrageous deeds, Ar-Kaln Zelekhir, and demands apology and recompense for the insult you have given to his noble House and the realm of Lavenna entire. The return of the criminal and known outlaw Rafaela di Vampa to my custody will be a start toward the amelioration of your offenses.”

He simply stopped there, raising his chin as if he had just won a victory, and waited. That was it—no greeting, no bow, he didn’t even take off his hat. Kaln had already moved beyond all that by the end of his little speech, however, as Lord Mario had swiftly outdone himself.

“Excuse me,” Kaln said in his mildest tone, “but did you just use the word ‘demand?’”

All three of the Conte’s attendants huddled together behind him, with expressions indicating they expected death at any moment.

Vadaralshi was grinning as if this was the greatest show she had ever seen; Vanimax was visibly confused. Izayaroa simply regarded the proceedings with utter impassivity.

“Ah! Then the Dragonlord understands common speech. Wonderful,” Mario replied, sneering. “I assume it will take you some time to produce the Contessa from, no doubt, the tangles of your sheets. My party will refresh ourselves in whatever…passes for guest chambers in the meantime.”

He lifted his chin again, resting one palm upon the heavy pommel of his bejeweled rapier, smirking. Behind him, one of his attendants seemed to be whispering a prayer.

Kaln leaned toward Sharamin, lowering his voice. “Has this guy noticed he is surrounded by dragons?”

“I am honestly not certain, my lord,” the Commander murmured back.

Mario’s eyes shifted past Kaln, then back; following his gaze, Kaln noticed that Rafaela herself had just arrived. The visiting lord had instantly dismissed her, clearly having no idea who she was.

“Well then,” Kaln said out loud. “Thank you, my lord. Duke Rigardi’s message has been received. You may go.”

Visible relief welled up in the three attendants, but Mario himself swelled in such outrage one would think he’d just been slapped across the face.

“Perhaps you did not hear me,” he began in a snarl.

“Oh, how I wish,” Kaln interrupted. “I don’t know where you learned to behave in public, sir, but it’s clear your parents failed you. As the person of a messenger is universally considered sacred, you are spared the reaction your conduct deserves. Since your message has been delivered, and you have made yourself unwelcome, you will now depart. Commander, have Count Mario’s party escorted to the border and see that they cross it safely.”

“Yes, sir.” A squad of Legionaries flashed into position around the four human even as Sharamin gave verbal acknowledgment.

“How dare—” Mario was finally interrupted by the seniormost of his attendants, who dashed forward to whisper in his ear. Once again, Kaln found himself able to clearly pick up speech at a distance that should have been quite inaudible to him.

“My lord, this is an opportunity,” the man whispered hastily. “His Grace will be most impressed if you bring results ahead of schedule, even if they are not what he hoped—and by arriving before you are expected, a man of your talents will undoubtedly be able to seize advantage.”

Mario’s expression stilled, his eyes narrowing as he listened. He did not acknowledge his underling except to bat him away like an offending stray cat, but was evidently persuaded.

“You will regret this offense,” he hissed at Kaln. “Duca Rigardi is a powerful man.”

Vadaralshi burst out laughing so hard she flopped over on her side, waving her claws in the air.

Conte Mario simply spun on his heed, his brightly colored coat flaring out behind him, and stalked toward the great entry to the lair with his attendants scuttling along in his wake and the squad of stony-faced ghosts keeping a formation around them with weapons bared.

Kaln waited for the few minutes it took for Mario to fully depart the lair and Varadalshi’s howls of mirth to subside before speaking again.

“Okay, what the hells was that? Did I just… That guy was Valefolk, right? And yet he walked into Dragonvale, under the actual noses of multiple dragons, behaving like…”

He trailed off, unable to find the words, and just gesticulated broadly at the doorway.

“I’ve never seen that guy, but I know his name,” Rafaela said quietly. “The Rianettis are a minor House in Lavenna, of a similar rank to mine. Mario would’ve been a child when I…left.”

“He very much still is,” Vanimax grunted.

“Honestly, I felt like the morally right thing to do would’ve been to squish him,” Vadaralshi added, “but I just couldn’t stop listening. The more he went on, the more I wanted to see how long he could possibly keep going like that.”

“Same,” Vanimax confessed.

“Unfortunately, such people exist everywhere,” said Izayaroa. “It is a great crime, to raise a child with no friction and no barrier between themselves and their desires. In my opinion, the result qualifies as a mental disability. They are as unable to cope with reality as someone struck on the head by a coconut. In wealthy and stable countries, entire generations of aristocracy can go through life behaving that way until they inevitably cause socioeconomic collapse, but in a land like the Evervales, it does seem that teaching one’s offspring that their actions have no consequences would result in the extinction of one’s bloodline. Alas, it does not shock me that some nobles do so anyway.”

“Power destroys the mind,” Kaln murmured. Izayaroa’s concerned look at him was so small and fleeting that he was probably the only one who noticed, and he carried on before she could respond. “I remember the name Rigardi from your…backstory, Rafaela. Having seen this, I understand why he didn’t want to come here himself. What loses me is why such an apparently intelligent man would send that thing here to deliver his message.”

“The message itself was a provocation, my lord,” she replied, frowning. “Demanding an apology and recompense from Dragonvale? Nonsense. I think the messenger was chosen to ensure maximum insult was delivered in the process.”

“Hm. You think Rigardi instructed Mario to behave like…that?”

“He wouldn’t have needed to, my lord. This is classic Rigardi; he operates using catspaws whose antics give him deniability. Spoiled, temperamental young aristocrats are his favorite tools for exactly that reason. He has the manipulation of such people down to an absolute science. I speak as one humbled by personal experience,” she added bitterly.

“So,” Kaln murmured, “he wanted to…deliberately and directly provoke Dragonvale, the one thing everyone in the Evervales has known not to do for six centuries.”

“Five,” Vadaralshi corrected. “The old Valeri fought hard when the old bastard first took over. There were barely enough of them left afterward for the population to eventually rebound.”

Kaln raised his chin, his expression clearing in realization. “Rigardi is not in Lavenna, and not planning to be for a while.”

“I…think you are right, my lord,” Rafaela agreed. “If the city were destroyed or significantly damaged by dragon attack, he would be among the few who has the resources to rebuild, and would benefit from the death of multiple political rivals.”

“Wait—you think that was his plan?” Vadaralshi interjected. “Surely not, that’s crazy. What did he think would happen when we found out who was ruling over the rebuilt Lavenna?”

“You are not wrong, my lady,” Rafaela said, “but that is what makes it seem like a Duca Rigardi plan to me. I have had years to think on my experiences back home, and learn from rumor his subsequent deeds. I recommend you gather more information before taking action, my lord,” she added, turning to Kaln, “but based only on Conte Mario’s visit, I think this was Rigardi’s plan, simply because it is so characteristic of him. It makes skillful use of a noble catspaw, relies on its target being implausibly stupid, and would ignite a spiraling chain of consequences he could not hope to control and apparently hasn’t bothered to predict. This kind of thing is exactly how he was born the heir to Lavenna’s most powerful House, and through years of fathomless ambition, rose to be Duca of Lavenna’s fifth most powerful House.”

Vadaralshi snorted another laugh. Kaln narrowed his eyes in thought. For a moment everyone waited, watching him.

“I was counting on someone being stupid enough to make themselves an example,” he said at last, and remembering how stating that fact out loud had made Rafaela jump up to volunteer for the Storyteller. “Seems we have our volunteer. Before committing to a course of action, I want to consult with Clarent, and ask Emeralaphine to do some very specialized divination for me. And then take whatever additional steps are necessary, depending on what I learn from that. But at the end…”

He trailed off, frowning again in thought, then raised his head to look around at his assembled family and subordinates, awaiting his decision.

“Hey, Vanimax,” Kaln said. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Sure, Kaln,” Vanimax replied, stepping forward. “What’s up?”